At 9:00 AM, in the laboratory of the research corporation "Wolkenhirn," all ten capsules were opened. These were giant white sarcophagi, reminiscent of those in science fiction films. But instead of alien mummies, real people lay inside.
All participants—players of the virtual game "Caspace"—emerged from immersion safely. They underwent the necessary tests, and no psychological abnormalities were found, except for one participant, Chris Stone, who displayed signs of a nervous disorder. Overall, the general state of health for the group was normal.
When Chris's capsule was opened, the lab staff helped him onto a couch. His pupils were darting, and his face was filled with fear. He grabbed his head and began to rock back and forth.
"Where am I?" Chris's voice was hoarse and barely audible. Then, as if electricity jolted through his nerves, he screamed. Two lab technicians administered a sedative injection. Chris quieted down, curled up, lay down, and closed his eyes.
Dr. Gerta Grosskopf was in her office, watching the monitor with satisfaction. She then made notes in the game participants' files. Reopening Chris Stone's medical record, she skimmed the data: game addiction, anxiety disorder, history of medication—unsurprising. She added a few notes to his file and closed the computer.
A phone call came in. The screen displayed the number of Albert, the head of the lab.
"Dr. Grosskopf, I've reviewed the reports. Out of a hundred people who played the game, four exhibited severe mental disturbances. This is a serious issue, isn't it?" Albert voiced his concern.
"Four percent. That's even less than in clinical trials for psychotropic drugs. Everything is within normal limits," responded Dr. Grosskopf.
"But these are people's lives..." Albert began.
"It's just statistics," Herta Grosskopf replied flatly.
"What should we do with Chris Stone? His emergence from immersion was difficult. Should we send him to rehabilitation?" Albert asked.
"Let him stay a few more days under observation. It's adaptive stress. His body is simply readjusting. He's not the first famous athlete to use virtual technology to… let's say, 'escape.'"
"But he…" Albert started.
"He made his choice," Grosskopf interrupted him without any hint of sympathy.
Hanging up, Albert pondered for a moment. Dr. Grosskopf was head of the department, so the responsibility rested with her. Besides, all game participants were wealthy individuals who had voluntarily chosen these "thrills." Let them take responsibility for their own lives. Well, if everything was within normal limits, then fine. Albert sighed and returned to his work.
Everything was going smoothly—better than she had expected.
"Now I need to check on the 'Island' and settle some matters there," she thought, leaving her office and heading toward the "Island."
On the laboratory grounds, there was a three-story, twelve-room hotel, created in a separate wing of the lab specifically for the participants of the virtual game. Seven of them had already left the "Island" by noon.
Dr. Gerta Grosskopf, head of the research department at "Wolkenhirn," had nearly lost her career and her department two years ago. Investors and management were troubled by the work of her and her team. At an extended meeting, primarily focused on the research department, tensions ran high. Andy Wong, Chairman of the Board, voiced his displeasure:
"Dr. Grosskopf, we expect profits from your project on developing a metaverse with artificial intelligence. But there has been no income. Your project is a black hole that endlessly consumes funding. This cannot continue. You have three months to fix the situation, or we'll let you and your team go without regret!"
After the meeting, in a sour mood, Dr. Grosskopf returned home and opened a dusty folder containing her father Otto's manuscripts. The first page caught her attention immediately. After reading the handwritten note and reviewing the program her father had created, an idea came to her—one she could apply to her work.
She presented the code and the idea to her team and asked, "Any suggestions?"
Young team member Hans Klein came up with an original idea—to create the virtual game "Caspace" with an exciting space theme. The concept also included a commercial angle, which was crucial: wealthy people would pay a premium for unique, thrilling experiences.
The team enthusiastically supported the idea.
Max Wong, the nephew of the Chairman, usually arrived at work by 11 AM, played online games until lunch, and then disappeared. This time, he spoke up:
"I'll bring in clients—but I want a percentage."
The team burst into laughter.
"I'm not joking! Fine, you'll create your unique game. But where will you find clients? Who will come to your lab and pay that kind of money? There are plenty of other entertainments out there for the same price."
"Max, we'll handle that," replied Dr. Grosskopf. "If everyone agrees, let's get to work. We need to write the concept and technical specifications. I also need to think about how to finance the project. Management won't give us more money—we'll have to make do with what we've got. Let's make this happen!"
Without the leadership's consent, Dr. Grosskopf diverted all the research department's funds into developing "Caspace." She took a risk—either the game would be completed, or she would leave "Wolkenhirn" along with her team.