Replayability
Thousands waited their turn to scurry across Shibuya Crossing at peak rush hour. This Friday was no different, besides the unexpected rain shower compounding the discomfort. The stoplight counted down from fifty seconds. Kenshin Sato leaned under his pedestrian neighbor’s umbrella to stay dry. Her perfume was inviting, perhaps overly so.
Alas, Kenshin had leaned too close, and the woman jerked her umbrella away. Back to getting drenched, he sighed. The woman’s floral scent reminded him of his office crush. His infatuation with Ms. Asuka began two weeks ago, as she powered down the hall, yelling on the phone, unaware of Kenshin’s existence. He longed to introduce himself, but wouldn’t dare interrupt her phone call. Next time she’ll notice me, he thought. Next time—
An impatient man behind him shoved Kenshin, nearly toppling him to the ground. He apologized, not noticing the light had changed. The herds moved in unison to cross the street diagonally in four directions. Kenshin navigated through low-hanging umbrellas, oversized raincoats, and tourists stopping to take selfies on the way to his studio apartment. He walked slowly despite the downpour, looking for an excuse not to be alone on a Friday night.
His coworkers went out to enjoy a few Hoppys and shōchūs, though he wasn’t invited. An oversight, he hoped. Passing the bars and restaurants lining the streets, he thought about treating himself. Then he remembered his bank account. Instant noodles it is. He powered through the damp streets, hopping over puddles at each crosswalk.
Having worked 48 hours would pay off next week, if he could stay disciplined. He avoided eye contact with the inviting maid café girls on the next street corner. A few more blocks and he could lose himself in a video game or movie in the safety of his apartment.
The bright lights of Tokyo shone brighter than those from Kenshin’s hometown outside Osaka. The temptation of endless consumption options kept his wallet light. He barely covered rent last month and couldn’t return to his family penniless. Especially after seeing the glow in his mother’s eyes when she heard about his new job as a lawyer.
He wasn’t a lawyer.
But he did work in a law firm—as the janitor. Maintenance engineer, actually, he decided sounded better. As far as his family knew back home, he made it big in Tokyo. Familial expectations powered him through the chilly rain, ignoring the delightfully warm aromas of noodles filling the crowded streets he trudged through. Crowded streets he had grown accustomed to over the last few months. Crowds of people too busy in their own lives to notice a country boy sticking out like a sore thumb.
He turned the corner, passed a multi-level comic book building, and entered the alleyway leading to his apartment. A final temptation to overcome before making it home: the arcade. The alluring neon “Gaming Center” flashed spasmodically. His feet responded, dragging him to the entrance to peek inside.
Just a peek.
Kenshin was a regular at the Gaming Center, though he would never admit it. And once he was inside, it was hard to leave. These games were designed to be addictive, manipulative, yen-sucking money pits, and he knew it. Looking through the tinted window, his favorite games were occupied. Every stool at the bar was full, too. A good excuse to keep walking.
As he turned to leave, the door swung open. A hunchbacked man stumbled out and dropped his plastic bag, its contents spilling all over the wet alleyway. Kenshin bent over to help the man. Upon gathering his belongings, he bowed at Kenshin and looked him directly in the eyes before scampering away.
His unblinking bloodshot eyes fixated on Kenshin. He had seen that steadfast gaze before. Addiction. He wondered how long the hunched man had been in the arcade. It was easy to lose track of time there. Kenshin shook his head in pity. The man left behind a neon yellow card on the ground.
“Live Again: Version 2.0—BRAND NEW Most Realistic Life Simulator—2 Free Trials”
Surely good karma for helping the man gather his things. Kenshin didn’t recognize this simulator, but who was he to deny free trials?
Familiar sounds of techno music, coins jingling, and virtual gunshots filled the arcade. Musty man sweat permeated from the floor and walls around him. No matter, it always faded away after once he started playing.
He scoured the first floor for the “Live Again” game but couldn’t find it. He wavered between asking the bartender for help and giving up. Eventually, an employee saw his plight and said, “Good evening, Mr. Sato. Can I help you?”
“Uh, yes. H-hello,” Kenshin stammered, “I am looking for this game.” He showed the attendant the card, who immediately looked up and questioned him.
“Where did you get this?”
“I, well, I found it,” Kenshin admitted, shuffling his feet.
“This game is invitation only,” the attendant said. “Since you are a regular, follow me.”
He obeyed, following the attendant to the back side of the bar, leading to a large metal door with a large sign that read, “Employees Only.” He always assumed it held a freezer.
The attendant looked about. No one noticed them, too busy trying to level up to pay them any mind. He opened the oversized door and hurried Kenshin in after him. Stairs led down into a dimly lit hallway. They ducked as they passed through a red beaded curtain and entered another inconspicuous door.
The basement of his favorite arcade housed hundreds of other arcade games, booths, fish tanks, and bars for the higher-end clientele’s enjoyment. Kenshin feigned importance, walking confidently among those who made ten times (or more) his salary. After a few turns, the attendant pointed at a booth in the back that read “Live Again.” He returned Kenshin’s free trial card and bowed.
“Enjoy sir. Good luck.”
Kenshin pushed the curtain aside. A large man smoking a cigarette nodded at the solitary stool in the tiny booth. He sat, and the man put out his cigarette, frowning.
“Who are you?” he asked.
“I have this card,” Kenshin presented it to the man, whose frown only grew more pronounced.
“Yes, but who are you?” he repeated.
“Oh, my name is Kenshin Sato.”
“Kenshin Sato, nice to meet you.” The large man turned away and typed on his laptop before addressing him again. “Kenshin Sato, my name is Takahiro. Your first time playing, yes?”
“Correct. Yes.”
“Ok, spin the wheel for your free trial.” Takahiro pulled a tiny colored wheel from under his desk and placed it on the counter. He read over the options on the wheel as quickly as possible before Takahiro grew impatient and took it for a whirl.
Athlete, politician, historical legend, yourself, musician, random, living, modern, ancient, other.
The wheel spun wildly, its colors melding together. As it went round and round, he observed Takahiro, who seemed to have already forgotten his existence. The wheel landed on “historical legend.”
“Ok, historical legend, first free trial.” Takahiro said, reaching under the counter to retrieve a headset. “Put this on and I will activate it. You have five minutes for this trial.”
He did as he was told. Once the game started, he landed on a menu screen, which Takahiro must have been controlling. Trial was selected for him, then historical legend. After a quick loading screen that read, “White House, 1945,” Kenshin was teleported.
His worn stool had been replaced by an ornate upholstered office chair in a grand room. He lost himself in its realism almost instantly. The resolute brown desk in front of him, the circular rug with an eagle on the ground, it was a meticulous reenactment. The room reeked of cigar smoke, different from the little cigs Takahiro smoked.
Kenshin found a mirror on the side wall and had a good look at himself. Nice suit, complete with a World War I service pin and dark blue tie. He opened his mouth and blinked his eyes. The old white man looking back at him had bird-like features and sparse gray hair. As Kenshin moved his face around, the man’s circular glasses mimicked his movements. Humorous, but he didn’t want to spend all five minutes making funny faces.
He observed the beautiful lawn through three tall windows. The curtains were drab, but that was to be expected for 1945.
“Mr. President,” someone had entered the room while he was looking around. “You must make a decision.” The white house staffer placed two pieces of paper in front of him.
One read: Wait Another Year.
The other: Drop the Bomb.
Easy, Kenshin thought. He tapped the document to wait another year.
“As you command, Mr. President.”
The staffer left the room and everything went dark.
Another loading screen appeared, “Kyushu, Central Command, 1946.”
Kenshin moved his VR laden head around his simple tent, gathering his whereabouts. He gagged at stenches of burning gasoline, rotten meat, and moldy fruit. Beyond his tent, tanks and jeeps littered the battlefield. Piles of bodies smoldered. Soldiers ran toward him from the remains, covered in a muck of unknown origin. After a quickened bow and salute, the man with the most medals and largest fluffy moustache spoke.
“Prime Minister. Death tolls have reached one million. The mainland is starving. Defeat is inevitable.”
Kenshin froze, shocked by the devastation outside his tent. The captain noticed and cleared his throat to usher a response. Kenshin returned to his current reality and responded.
“I see,” a stern, graveled voice replaced his own.
The captain bowed again and laid two war-torn pieces of parchment on the impromptu desk.
The first read: Continue Fighting.
The second: Surrender.
He picked up the second document. We must surrender.
“Okay, that is the end of trial one.” Takahiro pulled off the headset as he burned through another cigarette. “Historical legend is difficult, don’t worry.” He must have seen Kenshin’s horror written all over his face. That, or the sweat droplets accumulating in his hair.
“I’ll spin again. Maybe you’ll be lucky this time,” he grinned through blackened teeth.
Kenshin hoped for a less serious experience on his second trial. He followed athlete and musician intently as the wheel spun. It came to a halt, and Takahiro sighed in disappointment.
“You landed on yourself,” he looked Kenshin up and down. “Might be a boring ten minutes, but good luck.”
Mildly insulted, Kenshin bit his tongue. He didn’t lead the most exciting of lives. That was undeniable. But this was all a lot to process.
“It will be my life?” he asked.
“Regrettably so,” Takahiro responded.
“How does it-?”
“No more questions. Here comes the last free trial. If you have more questions, you can pay.” Takahiro fumbled for the headset again, pushed a button on the side and shrugged.
“I’m only a salesman anyway.”
As the VR headset was once again placed on his head, Kenshin hoped to be transported to a happy moment in his life. There weren’t many to choose from.
An electrical current ran up his spine, straightening his back as the words “calibrating” displayed on the screen. It advanced quickly from 1% to 100%. And then he was… at work?
In his office’s elevator, to be exact. The elevator attendant asked, “floor?” without even looking at him.
“Seven, please.” Kenshin heard his own voice this time around. The attendant pressed the button, and up they went. But they stopped on the third floor.
“Good morning, Mr. Yamamoto,” the attendant said, bowing. Kenshin bowed and a tall man in a tailored suit took his place in the elevator. The attendant pressed the eleventh floor, without having to ask.
Kenshin exited on his floor, bowing again before heading to the men’s lavatory — his first station of the day. His watch read 6:30 AM. Plenty of time to clean both bathrooms before the employees arrived at 8.
Then he remembered he was in a video game.
Walking towards the offices, he dropped his mop. He passed the cubicles of the recent hires. He sat on the comfiest-looking chair and spun around. That was fun, but he could do better. He grabbed the monitor, yanked it out of its socket, and threw it across the room.
It crashed splendidly and he laughed. He wheeled over to the next cubicle, intent on doing the same. A door creaked open from the senior executives’ wing.
“What was that?” a female voice yelled from down the hall.
Kenshin instinctively hid under the desk he pillaged, pulling the chair in to conceal himself. The woman approached in her high heels, observing the destruction on one end of the office, before walking towards the scene of the crime.
Kenshin covered his mouth to mask his heavy breathing. His heart pounded through his chest. The woman’s legs stopped in front of his hiding place.
“If you don’t come out, I’m calling the police!” She yanked the chair away.
“Sorry, sorry,” he said, “I’m coming.” He crawled out of his hole in shame, bowing deeply before making brief eye contact with the woman.
It was Ms. Asuka, his crush. Of course.
“Ms. Asuka, please forgive me,” Kenshin pleaded, bowing so low his hands touched her feet. “I didn’t know anyone-”
“Was here? Or would catch you?” She asked, looking beautiful as ever.
“I, I…” he stammered, before remembering this wasn’t real. “I wanted to get your attention,” he rose and met her eyes.
“Well, you have it,” she replied. “Explain yourself.”
“I have worked here for many months, Ms. Asuka, and I would like to be recognized for my hard work.”
“Ok then, what is it you would like?” She turned to the desk behind her, ripping off two yellow sticky notes, writing on each before placing them in front of him. “Choose.”
The first read: A Promotion
The second: A Date
Finally, he thought, something to think about. He snatched the date note and Asuka beamed.
“So, where are we going?” she took his hand in hers.
“OK 10 MINUTES ARE UP,” Takahiro yelled, “SECOND TRIAL IS COMPLETE.” He pulled off the headset, but Kenshin’s eyes remained closed. He could still picture the desire on Ms. Asuka’s face.
“Oh no, no, no!” Takahiro yelled, fixated on a recent development below Kenshin’s waist. “Not in my stall! Out, out!”
Kenshin blushed, embarrassed by his uncontrolled excitement. “I apologize.”
“Eh, you’re not the first,” Takahiro said calmly, “but it rarely happens during a free trial.” His rage subsided as an idea emerged.
“You know,” he continued, extending his arms, “most people cannot produce such excitement in 10 minutes. Just imagine what you could do with more time! I’ll offer you a great deal if you want to continue now. One hour for only 15 thousand yen. I usually charge 30 thousand, but I see potential in your… abilities.”
“Oh, I… can’t, sorry,” Kenshin replied. “I need to go home. I don’t have money.”
“No problem,” Takahiro smiled. “I’ll be here when you need me. When you pay, you can choose anyone. No more wheel spinning. Last week I got bored with living as famous people and chose Tom Hank’s son, the funny Jamaican one. Endless possibilities!”
“Yes, ok then,” Kenshin bowed, backing out through the curtain, “thank you for your time, Takahiro.”
Kenshin was wide awake that night, replaying his conversation with Ms. Asuka over and over in his mind. When he finally fell asleep, he hoped to dream of her. He hoped and hoped for the next two days, only to awake disappointed. If only there were a game to play in dreams.
#
When Monday morning rolled around, Kenshin still felt the inescapable itch to play “Live Again” … again. That would have to wait. Instead, he wore his best outfit, gelled and combed his hair, and brushed his teeth twice before stepping out into the sleepy city.
On his way to a quiet train station, he crossed an empty Shibuya Crossing. He arrived at work at 6:30 AM, on a mission. He knew the video game was fake. But it felt so real. There could be some truth to it. It was designed from his life, after all.
He hurried through the lobby to the elevators. The door opened, and the attendant bowed at him before asking, “floor?”
Kenshin returned the bow and replied, “Seventh, please.” They rode up in silence, exchanging bows as he exited. Before cleaning the bathrooms to start the day, he walked by the cubicles and executive offices.
He was alone.
He cleaned and restocked both bathrooms before operating hours. As the employees arrived, he greeted them by name until Ms. Asuka arrived.
“Good morning, Ms. Asuka,” he bowed deeply.
“Good morning,” she replied, tilting her head downward. She walked straight to her office.
Kenshin trailed behind, asking, “would you like a cup of coffee?”
She stopped and stared at him. “Fine. Cappuccino, thank you.”
Kenshin bowed again before running the errand. He returned with his chest out and a hot cup of coffee. He knocked softly on Ms. Asuka’s door.
“Enter,” she yelled, and he obliged.
“Ah, coffee, thank you Mr.…”
“Sato. Kenshin Sato.”
“Thank you, Mr. Sato,” she turned her attention to a well-dressed man in the office. They spoke of business in terms that Kenshin couldn’t understand.
He bowed and stepped backward toward the door. No, he thought, I am already here. Be brave. Just like the game.
“Excuse me, Ms. Asuka,” he began, “If I may.” Asuka glanced his way and spoke without moving her head.
“Quickly.”
Kenshin took a deep breath.
“I, I have worked here for many months Ms. Asuka, and I, I would like to be r-recognized for my hard work.”
Asuka looked at the man in her office, struggling to contain a laugh. Ms. Asuka smiled momentarily, her face turning stern.
“You, Mr…”, she paused, “what is it again?” She snapped her fingers.
“Kenshin Sato,” he said, his shoulders hunched.
“Mr. Sato. I recommend you return to work while you still have a job. Thank you for the coffee.”
Kenshin bowed and hurried away, tears forming in his eyes. As he shut the door, he heard them speaking through chuckles.
“The nerve of some people.”
“Mr. Yamamoto, you have no idea,” Ms. Asuka responded. And their day continued as if nothing out of the ordinary occurred.
Kenshin clocked out and rushed to the arcade. The sun was shining, and birds were chirping, accompanied by a light breeze as he weaved through crowded Shibuya. He had replayed his stupid attempt at a raise–or something else–a million times over the last few hours. He resolved to find a new job. That could wait until he finished playing tonight. That would cheer him up.
He entered the arcade, neglecting his hunger. He found an attendant, who greeted him by name and led him to the false freezer door. Takahiro leaned back in his chair, asleep, as Kenshin entered the “Live Again” gaming stall.
“Hello, Takahiro,” he whispered. No response.
“HELLO, I want to play again.”
Takahiro jolted awake, wiping wildly at his eyes before focusing them on Kenshin.
“Mr. Sato, of course,” he coughed, “welcome back. It is my pleasure to offer you the same price as before. One hour for 20 thousand yen, Ok?”
“You said 15 thousand on Friday.”
“Is that so?” Takahiro scratched his chin. “Oh, yes, of course! You had potential. I remember now. I have many clients. One hour 15 thousand, that’s a great deal… Just for you! Who will you live as today?”
“Myself.” Kenshin replied.
“As you wish,” Takahiro got the headset ready, “but no funny business while I am here, ok?” He drew a circle in the air at his client’s groin.
Kenshin nodded, not intending to do anything of the sort. When the game booted up, he was in the office building again. On the elevator. Mr. Yamamoto entered. He would be the first to pay.
When the well-dressed man turned his back, Kenshin beat him to a pulp. The elevator attendant screamed in terror and covered her eyes.
Kenshin removed the headset himself.
“Again,” he commanded Takahiro, whose eyes widened as he pushed a button on the side of the headset.
The second time, he ignored the wealthy businessman. He walked straight into Ms. Asuka’s office and demanded a raise. She agreed. Then he demanded a date. She beamed at him and reached for his hand. He slapped it away, before slapping her across the face.
“I’m the boss now.” Kenshin stomped his foot and pointed at the ground. “Bow to me.”
Ms. Asuka did so immediately. “Yes, I’m sorry.”
“Not sorry enough,” he replied. “You’re the janitor now.”
“I’m the janitor now,” she agreed. He removed the headset.
“Again, Takahiro.”
He replayed Live Again until the hour was up, his fists clenched for the duration. Most of his plays resulted in mindless violence. The final left the seventh floor destroyed beyond recognition.
“Do you feel better, Mr. Sato?” Takahiro asked, working through another cigarette as he stowed away the headset.
“Or… how about another hour? I can give the same price, or two hours for even cheaper, only 25 thousand total.”
Kenshin cracked his knuckles, eyes darting around the room. He looked at his phone. Only 8 PM.
“Two more hours.”
The headset found its place onto Kenshin’s face.
Takahiro smiled. He put a neon yellow referral card in his client’s pocket. Valid for two free trials.
#
The sun was rising when Kenshin left the arcade. He went straight to work in the same smoke-covered clothes. He ignored the elevator attendant and pushed the button for the seventh floor himself.
As he entered the men’s restroom, he looked at himself in the mirror. His hair was unkempt, his clothing wrinkled. His lifeless bloodshot eyes blinked at themselves blankly. He dunked his mop into the soapy solution and wiped the floor.
After lunch, he fell asleep in the maintenance closet. Nobody noticed. When he awoke, it was time to clock out. He went straight to the arcade. The crowds of Tokyo hurried around him all the same.
#
He worked and played Live Again for the next two weeks. When he remembered to shower, clumps of hair clogged the drain. When he remembered to eat, it all tasted like cardboard. Takahiro commented on his appearance the last time he visited the stall.
“Kenshin, your cheekbones have become more pronounced. Very manly,” he had said, flexing and grinning widely. Kenshin held his hand out for the headset, which only made Takahiro’s grin grow wider.
Kenshin didn’t notice missed calls from his mother. He ignored his plummeting credit score. His declining performance at work, including his closet naps, was finally noticed. After two days of dirty bathrooms and sticky desks, he was called into his boss’ office at the beginning of the day.
He tapped weakly on the door.
“Enter!” Ms. Asuka yelled. Kenshin slumped in the chair, staring at his own feet.
“Do you know why you are here, Mr. Sakai?”
“Sato,” he muttered under his breath, eyeing the woman. She repulsed him. The way she tapped her pen on the desk. The way she slurped her coffee. The way she yelled. The way she breathed.
“What did you say?” Ms. Asuka asked. Kenshin shook his head and waved her off.
“It has come to my attention that you’re not completing your work. You are fired and must leave the building immediately. The man outside the door will escort you.”
Kenshin rose obediently. He took another look at Ms. Asuka and bowed. Her time would come soon. But not in this world.
#
He had never been to the arcade in the morning before. Besides the music and flashing lights, a strange calm settled over the first floor. He walked through the empty grounds, bowed politely at an employee who addressed him by name, and entered the Live Again stall.
It was empty. Kenshin speed dialed #2 on his cell phone. It rang twice before a groggy Takahiro answered, telling him to wait a few minutes.
He arrived yawning in his pajamas and slippers.
“Early today, Kenshin?” He unlocked the drawer holding the headset and handed it over.
“Just today,” he replied.
“I’m always here for you, my friend,” Takahiro laughed, his arms outstretched.
In a matter of seconds, Kenshin was in his office, as though he had never been fired. Takahiro didn’t interrupt anymore, having agreed to a rolling charge at a discounted rate.
Back in the real world, Takahiro went home to sleep. He had convinced Kenshin it was the deal of a lifetime. The longer he played without stopping, the cheaper it became. Kenshin intended to take advantage of that today. For hours, he pushed the limits of his imagination.
He overflowed the toilets. He ran through the crowded office naked. He went to the roof of the building. He walked to the edge.
And jumped.
Kenshin removed the headset and looked at the empty stall. He stood, paced from one end to the other, and took in the emptiness surrounding him. He expected to have an elevated heart rate, to be sweating. To feel something. Anything.
He put on the headset and played again.
#
“Good evening, sir. Sorry to wake you.” Takahiro spoke on the phone, twirling a pen through his fingers.
“What is it?” the voice demanded on the other end.
“Another pick-up,” Takahiro sighed. “I need the player disposal van.”
“It’ll be a couple of hours.”
“That’s ok, I don’t have any other customers right now.”
Takahiro hung up and wiped the headset clean. His most loyal client of the past few weeks lay motionless in his stall. Two dried streams of blood stained the skin below his nostrils. A scene Takahiro had seen before.
He rifled through Kenshin’s meager belongings, starting with his wallet. Empty, besides a neon yellow referral card.
Takahiro shook his head and sighed.
“What a waste.”
Andrew K. Langley is an educator based in Atlanta. He’s spent the past decade teaching English across Colombia, Vietnam, and the U.S.