West of Reality

The sun hung low on the horizon, stretching long shadows across the dusty plains. A hot wind swept over the land, bringing the scent of dry earth and the faint jingle of spurs on the breeze. Dan blinked against the harsh light as he sat up, the world around him sharpening into focus. It all felt real—too real. The dry air stung his throat, and the rough fabric of his clothes scratched against his skin. As he stood and dusted off his pants, he realized he wasn’t alone.

At a modest five feet seven inches tall, he was far from the ability to see through the crowd of others, just as dazed and fresh as he was, who were all gathering in front of a large wooden building. The Welcome Center. The start of everything. This was it. His new life. The Wild West, exactly as he’d imagined.

The shift from physical reality to this virtual one stunned him, but it wasn’t the strangeness of the world that did it—it was how natural it felt. Just moments ago, he’d been strapped to a table, wires attached to his freshly shaved head, naked as the day he was born. And now he was simply here, as if waking from a vivid dream, fully clothed in 19th century attire, complete with deep green coat, slacks, and a thin vest. He pulled off his stetson hat to take a look. It was a light tan, which nicely contrasted the dark tone of his clothing. His dark brown hair was slightly longer than it had been before, and his beard had filled in—now about the length of ten days stubble, though his mustache was long, growing over his mouth to conceal it.

“Alright!” Dan shouted, unable to hold back as excitement took over. Those who weren’t still loading in flinched, and a few cast him disapproving looks. He quickly apologized to the startled ones, but the rest? They could deal with it. This was how they should all be reacting. It was a dream come true.

Dan wasted no time in joining the large group of people who were gathering in front of the welcome center. To say he was eager to get started on his new life would be a massive understatement. The entrance was still shut, and in front of the doors stood a small team of about ten, their uniforms crisp and name tags gleaming with the Lucid Enterprises logo. They had to be the ones running the show, preparing to guide the newcomers through their indoctrination. One by one, they instructed the group to form orderly lines before handing out fliers. Dan’s suspicions were confirmed when a woman reached him, her name tag displaying "Claire.” She was very thin and short, had short cropped blonde hair, blue eyes and perfectly white teeth.

Claire smiled warmly, though her eyes flickered with the efficiency of someone who had done this too many times to count. She handed Dan a flier—heavy, embossed with a glossy finish that somehow felt more substantial than paper. He flipped it over. "Welcome to the Frontier," it read in bold lettering, followed by a list of instructions and basic guidelines.

Around him, the other uniformed employees began to step forward, calling out small groups of newcomers by name. Each Lucid representative took their group toward different doors leading into the Welcome Center, splitting the crowd for the indoctrination. Dan watched as people were ushered inside, disappearing into separate rooms. Some looked confident, others hesitated for a moment before following, but the whole process ran like a well-oiled machine. Each group was led through the doors without delay, a smooth operation that spoke of years of experience in handling wide-eyed recruits like himself.

Claire remained at the front, seemingly waiting for her own set of names to be called out. Dan felt the electric buzz of anticipation—he was ready to dive in, no matter what awaited him inside those doors.

She glanced at the group, her voice clear and rehearsed. "Congratulations on making the leap," she began. "In a few moments, the doors behind me will open, and you'll each be given the tools to start your journey. Remember, this world is designed to be as immersive as possible. Pain, hunger, thirst—it’s all real in here. Well, as real as it needs to be." Her smile widened. "But don't worry, you won’t die unless you truly want to."

The crowd stirred, a few nervous laughs rippling through the group. Dan felt a prickle of excitement in his chest. This was exactly what he'd signed up for—a life where everything mattered, where every decision felt weighty. He wondered briefly how many others around him felt the same or if some were already regretting the choice to leave the real world behind forever.

Claire continued her instructions, "Once inside, you'll each receive your starter kit which will include, well, everything you need to start!” Claire smiled broadly again, and gave a light chuckle. As Claire continued with her introduction, she gave an occasional glance at the other groups, watching them enter. Dan, charged with giddy anticipation, was so focused on Claire’s speech that he hadn’t noticed they were the only ones left outside until Claire suddenly stepped forward, having watched the last door shut completely. Her tone slightly changed, now more direct, yet still measured. "Now that we’re alone, I can freely inform you that we will be doing things a bit differently than everyone else. As you’ve surely noticed by now, they entered the building, yet we remain out here. Why? The answer is simple. You all remember the tests you took in the weeks leading up to today. You were told that they would serve as a baseline for your character models and their, or rather your, physical bodies. We said we would use that information to match the ones you’ve now left behind. All of that was true, of course, but there was one additional trait we at Lucid were looking for. Each of you has been selected for a reason," she said, her eyes scanning the group. Claire then gestured at an empty portion of the wall, causing some commotion to slip through the already curious and mumbling crowd, before astounding them all as that wall began to split, revealing a secret doorway.

"Any questions before we begin?"

Dan’s mind raced, questions piling up faster than he could organize them. But he stayed silent. He wanted to experience it for himself, not spoil it with too many preemptive details. Instead, he looked around at the faces of the others—some eager, others hesitant, but all captivated by the prospect of stepping into a world where their fate was entirely in their hands.

The large wooden doors creaked open, and the group collectively tensed, leaning forward as if about to be let into paradise. Claire motioned for them to enter, and Dan found himself jostling along with the rest, heart pounding in his chest. He was ready for this—for the adventure, the danger, and everything that came with it.

#

Dan’s group had all finally congregated into a space so large and empty that it resembled a hangar for a commercial aircraft. Claire, at the front of the group, began to speak again. Her voice carried unnaturally, even for an empty space like this.

“As I stated outside, each of you has been selected for a reason," Claire repeated, "now before we move ahead, I need you to stand on one of the numbers you see beneath your feet." Dan blinked, glancing down as bold numbers began to materialize, seemingly painted onto the floor beneath them. There was no clear pattern—no logical order to how they appeared. Some were close together, others scattered randomly across the room, with no visible correlation. Fifty of them, one for each person.

He hesitated for a moment, eyeing the two closest to him: a large, blocky 12 and a sleek 28. Something pulled at him, an instinct that urged him to keep moving. As he stepped past the two numbers, his gaze caught on another: 47, positioned right next to a nervous looking woman. He recognized her as one of the people outside who had given him a dirty look. Her caramel skin was complemented by her long black hair, split into two braids pulled over her shoulders. She was already standing rigidly on her number, her equally black eyes staring straight forward, but Dan could tell she had noticed him approaching. She was attractive, standing just a bit taller than him and had wide curves at the hips.

Without another thought, he stood on 47. He wasn’t sure why. The number didn’t mean anything to him. It just seemed… right. The floor beneath his feet felt oddly cool, solid, but not uncomfortably so. It was quite the contrary actually—though he wasn’t sure if it was the number itself or something about the moment. Claire watched as the remainder of the group settled on their chosen numbers.

"Now," she said, pacing slowly in front of them, "Most of what you receive will be the same as everyone else, including the other groups, though based on the style preferences you provided in your tests. However, each of you will also receive one additional item, unique to you. This is where that little ‘trait’ we were searching for comes in. You all have exhibited extraordinary leadership capabilities, for different reasons. We will need people like you to aid our other residents who will undoubtedly go… astray at times. This world is near perfect, but it is not, because we are all still human beings. We have accounted for that. That being said, we are not designating you any positions of responsibility. Aside from your own nature and your individual item, you will start the same as everyone else. You will live your lives as you wish, just as we promised. Some of you may never lead, and that’s fine. This is simply a precautionary procedure.”

More mumbling passed through the group for a brief moment, before Claire continued. “Since you’ve all been determined based on different aspects of your personalities, no two of you will get the same thing. It’s designed for you—based on your skills, your instincts, and what you’ll need moving forward. Here, ladies and gentlemen, is your starting point. Get to it, wranglers!" She finished, pausing to let the weight of her words sink in.

Dan felt his heart race in his chest, his mind buzzing with possibilities. A leader? What would he receive? Would it be a weapon, a tool, something more abstract? And how could something so unique be tailored to him when the numbers seemed random? Did they somehow know what number he’d pick? Was the number even important, or had it called to him in some way? The air around him seemed to hum with anticipation as he waited, eyes flicking to the others, each standing firmly on their own number, for what seemed like eternity.

A low rumble vibrated through the floor. Dan looked down, startled, as the ground in front of him began to shift. Slowly, a section of the floor lifted, rising into a perfectly smooth, two-foot by four-foot table. The surface gleamed, and on top, neatly arranged, lay an assortment of tools and weapons—each item meticulously placed, waiting for him to claim.

He glanced around, seeing the same thing happen to the others. Each person now had a table before them, but no two sets of items looked alike. Dan's eyes traced the objects on his table—each piece carefully chosen, though for what purpose, he wasn’t sure.

The first thing that caught his eye was a finely crafted, waxed bedroll. Its forest green color stood out against the rest of the gear, rich and deep like pine needles after rain. The straps were tough, embossed leather, intricate patterns etched into the surface, and the buckles gleamed like freshly polished bronze, shining in the light as if they had just been made.

He picked it up, feeling the weight and quality in his hands. The waxed surface shimmered, clearly designed to repel water and weather. Without hesitation, Dan unrolled it briefly, checking its length before deciding it would be perfect for carrying the rest of his gear. He placed it back on the table and began setting the other items inside, taking his time as he inspected each piece.

Dan carefully set the bedroll opened onto the floor, its tough leather straps unbuckled and ready to hold his gear. He reached for the first items he’d be packing, practical yet plain in appearance. A small, cast-iron pan sat near the edge of the table—solid, heavy in his hands, the kind of tool that would last a lifetime. He slipped it into the bedroll without a second thought.

Next was a steel canteen, simple but functional, with a matching cup that fit neatly onto the bottom. It clicked into place with a quiet snap, both items sturdy and unadorned. Dan slid it beside the pan, making sure it was secure.

A single set of utensils: a fork, knife, and spoon followed. They were plain but dependable, with no unnecessary flourishes, just the bare essentials. He tucked them in alongside the other items, noting the reassuring weight of the gear he was assembling.

Lastly, enough rations to last a week, neatly wrapped in thick paper, and a coin purse filled with various coins of copper, silver, and a couple of gold. The values of which he had yet to find out. There was nothing glamorous about these items, but they were the kind of things that could mean the difference between survival and failure out there in the unknown.

After securing the basics, Dan’s eyes landed on something a bit more striking. A pair of spurs gleamed in the light, their golden color catching his attention immediately. He picked them up, feeling the surprising weight in his hands. Despite their rich appearance, they were as tough as titanium, built to last. The stars of the spurs had five points, sharp and bold, not unlike the stars on the American flag. He turned them over once before tucking them into the bedroll with care. These weren’t just decorative, they had a purpose, one he’d soon find out.

Next, his gaze fell on the pistol holster. The leather was the same as the straps on his bedroll, embossed with the same intricate patterns. It was sturdy but elegant, crafted with precision. Dan lifted it, running his fingers over the familiar texture. Instead of setting it aside, he strapped it around his waist, tightening the buckle until it fit snugly. The holster felt like it belonged there, settling against his side with a sense of purpose.

The revolvers were another sight to behold; silvery and polished to perfection. Their handles were made of fine, light-colored wood, carved with intricate swirls that morphed into ravens on each side. The craftsmanship was beyond anything he’d expected, each curve of the carving flowing seamlessly into the next. He turned the pistols over, appreciating the balance in their weight, before sliding them carefully into the holster. These weren’t just weapons—they were art, and they fit into his growing collection as naturally as if they had always belonged to him.

Dan’s gaze shifted to the last item on the table: a beautifully bound leather journal. The cover was dark and smooth, with intricate embossing along the edges, the craftsmanship as fine as anything he had ever seen. The pages inside, thick and slightly yellowed, looked as if they could belong in another time. There were no words written on the pages, at least not yet, but something about the journal felt alive, as if it was waiting for him to make the first move.

He picked it up, feeling the weight of it in his hands. The journal was heavier than it looked, the leather soft but worn, like it had seen many years of use. A thin cord wrapped around it, keeping it closed. He flipped through the blank pages, half-expecting to see something, anything, that would explain its significance. But nothing. No words, no instructions. Just empty paper. Instinctively, he looked around the table for a pen or pencil, eager to test it out, but there was nothing. A small wave of disappointment hit him as he realized he couldn’t even write in it if he wanted to.

He stared down at the open journal, lingering on the first page, still curious about its use. Just as he was about to roll it up and set it aside, something strange happened: a faint shimmer crossed the surface of the paper. Dan blinked, watching as words slowly began to materialize, as if drawn by an unseen hand. Brief, cryptic, but undeniably clear: Lead with purpose, or others will lead you.