There were only three things that kept a corporate slave happy and a hard-working slave.
A literal ton of salary, a quiet office with no boot-lickers, and the legendary long weekend.
There were other things, such as nice understanding bosses, a yearly performance bonus, and projects that went smoothly.
But two of them certainly fell in the fantasy category, so Martin was happy having the basic three needs.
He was a manager himself, not the top brass, but high enough in the ladder that he didn't need to make his own coffee.
"If miracles do exist, then I want to live as a noble in a fantasy world with modern home appliances and nothing to do other than doing whatever the hell I want."
Was the dream that Martin kept close to his heart, not letting it go despite his soul having been long dead from years of morning briefings and weekly progress update meetings.
Martin sent out the last email to the senior manager, messaged his interns to review the PowerPoint they made, and finally, clicked the shutdown button on his PC.
After 8 PM, Martin finally went to the basement, where he parked his car, and greeted his buddy, the one who was always there even when he finished working in the middle of the night.
"Don't work too hard, Mike. If you burn out, they'll just replace you with a traffic cone and say it's 'AI-assisted security'."
Mike shook his head slowly, his hand wiping a nonexistent tear, and the other held Martin's shoulder.
"You know, Martin, every time I see you leave at this hour, I whisper a prayer for your nonexistent date night."
Martin's face froze in place, and real, genuine tears began welling up in the corners of his eyes.
Martin shot a hateful look at the smiling security guard, leaving him behind while shouting, "I will report this to the security vendor as harassment! I will get that AI cone to replace you!"
Mike remained unfazed. He shouted instead, "Go and cry about it! They won't find someone else stupid enough to take night shifts in this haunted building!"
Martin turned to Mike, then the two locked eyes for a few seconds. Laughter burst from the two as they accepted the reality of their lives.
"I mean it though, Mike, don't work too hard, we're old enough to be hospitalized from coughing too hard.
Remember your wife and kids at home."
"You too, Martin. Maybe it's time to slow down a little and find someone to take care of you?
You have enough money to live happily in the countryside with a loving wife and kids of your own."
Martin just smiled wryly at Mike's advice.
The two then said their goodbyes as Martin hopped in his car and went home.
Overseeing the night light of the capital from his apartment window, Martin cracked open a cold one and scrolled through his phone.
"What should I do this weekend?"
Even as he grew older and didn't need to steal his father's booze anymore, the beer still tasted bitter.
The only change was Martin now liked the bitterness.
As hurtful as Mike's words were, they were the truth. Martin didn't have a significant other, or even a potential one.
He could strike up an interesting conversation with almost anyone, including women, a skill that he got from years of corporate networking, but he wasn't sure about having relationships at all.
He got some experience from his younger days that made him afraid of creating stronger bonds with someone else.
He'd really gotten over those traumas, with time heals everything, or something along those lines.
But now, the problem was, Martin was already comfortable living alone.
Checking his schedule, Martin found nothing on his calendar.
No friends were getting married or asking him to hang out.
The only thing that he could do was probably visit his old man at the retirement home, something that he quickly decided against.
"He will just mock me for visiting him every week, telling me I have no life, and I should be taking girls out instead..."
"More reading, I guess."
After finishing his beer and he was about to call it an early night, he noticed there was an unopened package near the door.
"A package? I don't remember ordering anything, though."
Then it occurred to him.
He scrolled through his phone and found the message, sent back on Monday, "Try out this new game! It's still in its early release phase, and it's about the fantasy stuff that you liked so much, sir! *side note: you will DEFINITELY like this game."
The message was from Stephen, his former intern, who was also his mentee while he was working for another company.
Martin read the whole message this time and sent a message to apologize to the kid because he had ignored his message for 3 whole days.
After reading the full message, he found out that the game was really a unique one.
It required a special console to play, one Stephen had even provided for him, and he was told to start the game while he's in bed.
With nothing better to do, Martin decided to give the game a try.
He unboxed the package and found a single helmet lying there.
Martin's eyes opened wide. He hurriedly brought the helmet up to his hands, cradling it like a newborn child. He had never been as gentle as this other than the time he bought an expensive espresso machine.
"Could this be…?"
The helmet looked eerily similar to a certain animated show about a virtual reality game that trapped people inside it, forcing people to use swords to fight their way to their freedom.
"Is this kid working in a tech company now? And he is important enough to pick beta testers on his own? Well, damn, that is a successful career."
Martin scrapped his plan of an early night and instantly wore the VR helmet.
With his eyes closed, a smile of anticipation plastered on his face, Martin clicked the button on the side of the helmet.
Martin's consciousness was transported elsewhere, and he saw a single screen in front of him.
"It's real VR… A real one that happens in your consciousness!"
If he had a physical body, Martin would be jumping up and down, and doing a front and backflip, regardless of whether his character would be having back pain or not.
Martin inputted his username, "Martin", and clicked "Confirm".
He had his usual usernames for games that he had been using since high school, but since this was a virtual reality game, he didn't know whether his 30-year-old mind would stand it if people called him ShadowLord or SugDeez.
Martin expected to find a character creation screen next, but he found himself in a pristine white room instead.
A door that seemed to pop out of thin air opened in front of him.
Out of the door, came a teenage boy who reminded Martin of his distant nephew, one who played a building-shooting game and cursed like a sailor.
Martin didn't know where he was, who the boy was, or what was happening at all, but he sure as hell didn't expect the words that came out of the boy's mouth.
"Ewwww!!! An old man has appeared! Get away from my sight immediately!"