12
DEATH AND VIDEOGAMES
“Hey, K,” Russell Milligan said, smiling up at me from behind a pair of thick black designer glasses. “What’s up?”
“Not much. Just living, I guess.”
“Aren’t we all?” he said. An impossibly high wave of thick black hair atop his head barely moved as he stood up for a quick embrace.
“Can I sit?” I asked.
He motioned to the empty chair across from him.
The day after Chloe and I had discovered Russell’s unique pseudonym on that website, I’d tracked him down to the Suzzallo Library on the University of Washington campus. He was sitting in the Reading Room—a huge Gothic hall, something right out of Harry Potter.
“When was the last time I saw you?” he asked.
“I don’t know. A long time ago, maybe at Monty’s place?”
“Yeah, Monty’s place. Wow.” He nodded, probably doing his best to remember who Monty was. I’d grown up around Russell’s younger brother, Luke, but I didn’t know Russell very well. We’d spent a grand total of a few hours together, spread out over five or six years, a hell of a long time ago.
“Yeah, so listen,” I said. “I need to ask you a question.”
“What is it?”
I lowered my voice a little. “What do you know about Rabbits?”
Russell’s face twisted up and changed before he’d even heard the last syllable. He shot out of his chair, yanked me up, and dragged me through the Reading Room, outside, and onto the front steps of the library.
“Whatever you’re doing, you need to stop,” he said, looking around nervously as he spoke.
“What do you mean?”
“The game isn’t what you think. You’re not going to get rich or become a secret agent, K.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about real people actually dying while playing.”
All of the color had drained from his face and his eyes were wild. I suddenly felt scared, exposed.
“Jesus, Russ, did something happen?”
“Look, it’s not a game—or, at least, it’s not only a game. It’s something else. Terrible shit has been happening around that thing. It took me a long time to get my life back, and I’m not getting pulled in again. It’s nice to see that you still exist, K, but please, leave me the fuck alone.”
And with that, Russell Milligan turned and made his way back into the library while I stood outside on the steps, trying to work out exactly what the hell had just happened.
* * *
—
“So, how freaked out was this guy?” Chloe asked, sitting cross-legged on my couch.
“On a scale of ‘who gives a shit’ to ‘totally freaked out,’ I’d put him somewhere just shy of ‘Scanners-style exploding head,’？” I said, handing Chloe a cup of tea.
“Thanks,” she said.
“I don’t get it. I mean, I barely knew him, but he always seemed cool—not the kind of guy who’d lose his shit at the mention of a game.”
“He told you to stay away from Rabbits, that people had died while playing,” Chloe said.
I nodded.
Chloe took a sip of her tea, then added one more packet of sugar.
“He’s right, you know,” I said.
“About what?”
“That people have died while playing Rabbits.” I did my best to judge Chloe’s reaction to my statement. She didn’t even blink.
“People die playing all kinds of games, K.”
“Yeah, but what if this is…different?”
She stared at me for a moment. “Did you read that thing on death and videogames I sent you from VICE last year?”
“I don’t remember.”
“I sent it to you twice.”
“Maybe?”
Chloe shook her head, unimpressed. “So, that article talks about how game addiction creates the same changes in your brain as drug addiction.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. A kid actually died just this year from playing Diablo for forty hours straight without eating.”
“That’s messed up.”
“It’s fucking horrifying is what it is. I love Diablo. I’ll send you the article. Again.”
Chloe toyed with the handle of her mug for a moment before she looked up. “K…”
“Yeah?”
“Did you know somebody who died?”
I’d told Chloe that I’d been in a car accident as a kid, but I never mentioned the fact that the accident had anything to do with Rabbits.