Goddess Agne Of Pod Thirty-Nine

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Written for Bradley Ramsey’s “Flash Fiction February Day 19”.

Normally people only spent a day or two in the “Dreamland” system. Time dilation within the simulation meant that was equivalent to years exploring the digital world and indulging in all kinds of wish fulfilment.
Once they were bored they triggered the exit flag, the simulation (and their awareness) froze, and technicians came to rouse their body from machine-induced hibernation. Leaving them (once the chemicals wore off) rested and ready to… well, better able to handle the nightmare which was what remained of the “real world”.
It was the perfect escape. You effectively gained years of your life! And got to explore whatever scenarios your heart desired. Colonise alien worlds, go back in time, even just retreat into a recreation of your life before The End Hit. Dreamland employees didn’t judge.
They also, it turned out, didn’t keep a close eye on the use database.
In their defence, the pods were always full. Lots to keep track of. And they kept a close eye on all exit requests, made sure they were carried out promptly and carefully. Since the new CEO took over and put in strict procedures customer injury was almost unheard of.
But unfortunately those procedures hadn’t covered regular checks that the exit signal was working.
It’d taken sixty-eight days for someone to notice how long the customer in pod thirty-nine had been inside the system. And, while she wasn’t signalling to exit, once the chief tech did a back-of-the-envelope time conversion he went pale and ordered someone enter the system to investigate. NOW.
So here Geoffrey was.
Far too late.
“Poor, addled man.” The customer said haughtily. “Do you not recognise a goddess?”
“Ah…” Geoffrey stared at her, then at his debugger HUD. “Says here your name’s Agnus Baker?”
She looked confused. “I am the goddess Agne. Patron of this humble village.”
“Um. This is a… life sim?”
“What are you blathering about?”
“You, um, you asked us to upload your mind to a simulation, and you’ve been in here a very long time…”
“Of course!” Agnus whirled, throwing her arms wide to envelope the entire village square. “I have watched over Pebbleville since time immemorial! I have guided a hundred, nay, a thousand generations through righteous, successful lives!”
Ohhh dear. The poor woman had clearly gone quite, quite mad. Which didn’t seem unreasonable after spending millions of years trapped in a video game, but… oh dear oh dear oh dear.
“I can see into their every thought! Their strengths and weaknesses are plain to my holy gaze, and using this knowledge I instruct them in how to conduct themselves. Now!” She pointed a stern finger. “Unfreeze time and free my people, wicked wizard!”
“Don’t you remember how you came here?” Geoffrey pressed hopefully.
“Naturally.” She scoffed. “I rose from the ground at the north gate of the village and took my place amongst the mortals, residing in the abandoned house at the edge of the woods. With my own hands and growing powers I turned it from a ramshackle ruin into a marvellous dwelling, unparalleled throughout these lands! And in the process I won the trust of the villagers, allowing me to craft their future with as much ease as I wove furniture and tools.”
Geoffrey flipped through the files. Yep, the game spawned you at the north entrance of town without really explaining how you got there. Oh dear. Had she completely forgotten her life outside? It did seem like it.
That being the case… what would happen if they tried extracting her? How would she cope? If she believed she was a goddess in an eternally medieval town (one which followed a very simple and lenient version of reality, no less) then throwing her into the real world would be… traumatising seemed too mild a word.
But they couldn’t leave her in here! This was only going to get worse.
What to do, what to do…
She raised a hand, and with a flash a golden hoe appeared from her inventory. Even knowing he was immune to all game effects, it was deeply intimidating having her advance with a sharp tool held ready and grim resolution in her eyes.
“If you will not unwork your foul magics and free my people…”
“I’m really very sorry we’re only meant to use this in an emergency but I think this qualifies!”
Before she’d parsed this guilty gabble, Geoffrey had typed in a command and she froze like the rest of the simulation. Keeping a mind hanging like this wasn’t safe for long, which is why you had to act so quickly to get customers out once they’d activated the exit state. They had to figure out what to do fast.
And, since time in here counted less, Geoffrey awkwardly sat down on a bench, next to a frozen simulation of a granny, and started typing out his report.

Prompt was “After the apocalypse nearly wipes out all life, a new service offers the opportunity to transfer your consciousness to a digital paradise. Your body is kept safe and nourished, you can return any time you like. In the digital world, time passes differently. A month in there is only seconds in the real world. It’s the perfect escape, until you find yourself trapped. It takes rescue teams in the real world months to find you. Months for them, but for you, millions of years have passed…”