Dithers continued to be unable to think of a reason to go home while the night progressed. As more patrons left, the only chief topic anyone seemed to be discussing in any real seriousness was the possible conspiracy. “Think about how different your life is now that you don’t play games anymore. What did you ever talk about back before when you still played simutronic games? Talked about a bunch of made-up shit all day. Didn’t discuss politics, economics, or any of that stuff. Just swords and which Dragon needed killing. Now? I read the news, I keep a pet, and I go jogging. Really jogging,” Mark said. Several people around him chimed in their agreement. “This is the real world. This is the truth. This is what people are really like,” one said to Dithers. For the briefest moment Dithers found himself wondering what the big deal was about the real world if this was it, but he kept his mouth shut. One patron that had been mostly silent for the evening looked at Dithers and muttered, “All these assholes are just talk. That’s the real world for you. A bunch of talk. Me? I’m a programmer. A creative engineer. But I’ve quit working for those fucking machines. They were the biggest talkers of all,” the stranger said. “I learned a thing or two while I was working though. About how those things work, those Artificial Intelligences. And buddy, they’ve got a glass jaw if you know where to hit them. If you know the right kind of program to install. And maybe someone ought to do just that. Put us all back to the time before they were here, or maybe farther. Maybe take us all the way back to Ground Zero. To men with sticks, tribes, and no one knowing how to read or even speak the same language. No more talking. Goddamn…doesn’t it sound wonderful?” the stranger said. Dithers shrugged. It sounded like another game.
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