From my early childhood, I developed a love for entertainment rooted in the remnants of a bygone era, guided by the devoted influence of my parents. This isn't a rare or isolated event; the reality is that "modern" entertainment has slowly turned into a desert of repetitive and monotonous overexploitation, driven by the desires of large corporations. Their boundless greed and pursuit of profits gradually choked the industry in a vicious cycle of self-destruction.
Faced with such a scenario, many people ended up returning to the roots of entertainment. You'd think that after so many years, those works would start to show contradictions with the newer generations. But going from scraping the bottom of the barrel to this felt like a much-needed breath of fresh air… ironic as it may sound.
Over time, as a large portion of their customer base drifted away from their main offerings, big companies—like sharks smelling blood—pounced on the graves of their former glories with every shovel money could buy. Their clear intention: revive that old market and begin another cycle. Despite their poor reputations of late, this move was still welcomed, mostly because they adapted the works to new technologies, increasing their appeal even more.
Personally, I greeted these changes with a positive yet cautious attitude. I knew that, eventually, things would end up going south… but I couldn't resist. They played dirty. New technologies bring opportunities that are just painful to ignore—like visiting the Shire, having a drink at Bag End, smoking weed with Gandalf, or having a fierce lightsaber duel with a powerful Sith Lord somewhere on Tatooine.
Eventually, problems emerged—In true predictable fashion—and companies repeated the same mistakes that had devastated the entertainment scene just a few years ago.
But the truth is, the problem was always us. We let ourselves be swayed by the slightest temptation, throwing our wallets at any mention of the IPs we love. But that ends today. I won't fall for the newest releases anymore, no matter how attractive they seem. I'll harden my heart, soaking it in conviction and skepticism, and I will never buy again…
ANNOUNCEMENT: Skyrim re-release for its 60th anniversary… well, I guess I can start tomorrow.
Soon enough, the game was installing furiously in my booth. Don't look at me like that—it's my oldman's favorite game! I have a tradition of replaying it every year in his memory. I've probably beaten it at least a dozen times since my first adventure on tamriel. It was the first game I ever 100% completed. I know that might not sound like much, but the version I played was on the immersion booth. They'd expanded the map and, well… I had to learn to fight from scratch. Learning to wield cold weapons to slay a colossal dragon that left you more roasted and dead than a lump of charcoal with just one sneeze. Let's just say my first playthrough was a bit rough, at best. Still, I remember it fondly. I still recall how hard it was to pull my sword from the corpses of my enemies… *sigh*, those were good times.
While thinking about this, I browsed community mods with interest. At some point, they stopped becoming incompatible no matter how many new versions came out. After all, aside from some minor changes, the game remained the same as the one I played when I was ten.
I didn't have to search long to find an interesting mod. [Ooh, this looks pretty cool!]. It was a modified version of the map to play in the world of Harry Potter using Skyrim spells adapted to fit. "Oh… so awesome!"
While reading the mod notes, I stumbled upon a couple of images. In one, a beautiful sorceress with a huge personality spewed furious flames from her mouth, forming a massive roaring dragon. Green electric arcs—characteristic of an unforgivable curse—shot from her eyes and danced across her body, while a thick layer of frost formed pieces of armor, including massive gauntlets adorned with ram skulls, worthy of a death knight.
There were more images, but I skipped them on purpose. They had me at "HP world"—I didn't want any more spoilers. This was the chosen one.
It wasn't exactly the visit to Tamriel I was looking for, but it looked way too awesome not to play. The only problem: every time I tried playing as a mage, I ended up using a bow or greatsword. Now that I think about it, I've never completed a full playthrough as a mage. I blame bound weapon spells for tempting me to swap out grimoires for a sword. I guess it's time to fix that and play a mage-only run. And what better way to do it than this.
While the mod was downloading, someone knocked on my door, slightly killing my excitement. Somewhat reluctant, I went to answer, dodging the massive and old booth that covered most of my small apartment. But knowing this could be the final piece for my epic journey, My mood's life points quickly restored to full.
Outside, there was indeed a large package begging to be opened, lighting up my face. But just as I was about to drag in the bulky box, I saw a stranger a few doors down, very interested in one of my neighbor's doors. I stared for a moment. Mainly because he was strikingly tall, nearly gracing the ceiling, and broad like a bear, dwarfing the passage in comparison., with his face hidden behind a white mask with a couple of filters shaped like an owl's head. He seemed to be wearing some kind of cosplay… of a detective? Hard to tell, though it looked like a mix of several famous detectives. He wore a tuxedo, a dark gray deerstalker, and used a black umbrella as a cane. Dang! Even the handkerchief poking out of his jacket had Scooby-Doo's initials on it.
As I tried to make sense of his strange outfit, he seemed to notice me. Normally, someone caught in the act would try to play it cool or just leave. But not this guy—he darted toward me at full speed, as if afraid I'd vanish. The idea that he might have bad intentions hadn't even crossed my mind once … until I saw him sprinting toward me like a maniac. I guess his estrange drip stun me for a while, but the speed he reached was astonishing—especially considering he limped and leaned on the umbrella. Not gonna lie: I was tempted to rush back into my apartment. But I hadn't dragged the package inside yet. It was way too pricey to abandon with that guy around. I figured I'd have to deal with the supposed maniac—and if it all went south, I could always put my hundreds of hours of deadly booth combat to the test.
—Excuse me! Can I ask you a few questions?
The high-pitched and hurried voice of a woman came from the large figure just as I took a standard fighting stance in front of the bulky box, holding a wrench that had somehow appeared in my hands at some point.
The stark contrast between what I expected and what I heard nearly made me drop my improvised weapon.
—Ummm... please tell me that's not a voice filter —I said, trying to calm the chill crawling up my spine as the huge figure spoke with such a sweet voice.
—Mmm? Of course not! It's an android —said the melodious voice, tapping its body with a massive arm. Thud thud —Titanium alloy. Pretty cool, huh?
—Um... sure. *Sigh*. Lucky I didn't hit you. I almost broke my hand.
—Why would you want to hit me!? And how would you break your hand using a wrench?
I shot the massive android a look of disbelief.
—You're built like a bear and ran at me like a maniac. Of course I'd throw a preemptive punch! The only reason I didn't rush back into my apartment is because I doubt I'd get my money back for the package once I explained what happened, even if I sent the security footage. Plus, it'd have to be a bare-handed punch—this thing —I said, pointing to the wrench— is just for show. It's made of soft plastic, with amazing paintwork tho. It'd be a shame if it broke—it's a limited edition.
That said, I placed the wrench back inside the apartment.
—Anyway... why are you running around like a lunatic with an android?
—Well... I recently switched androids and I'm still getting used to operating it —said the behemoth, drawing circles on the floor with its massive foot in an oddly cute gesture.
—You're lucky it was me. Anyone else would've called security or the cops. Or worse—they might have shot you. There are some nutcases in these buildings —I said, more concerned than annoyed, recalling how someone on a lower floor almost shot a police officer thinking he was a shape-shifter spying on him.
—Ohh, security and police were already called! But there are lots of investigators like me roaming around, so they just ignore us or tell us to leave. After a few days of truce, we can come back without issues. And about getting shot—no need to worry: this baby's built on a juggernaut frame. It could withstand a point-blank explosion without blinking —She said, lifting his nose to the ceiling while placing his giant hands on her...waist?. It was hard to tell—her android frame was a bit chunky.
—Okay... that's pretty cool but also seriously concerning for too many reasons. Sigh. Forget it—what are you doing here? —I asked, tired and helpless. It wasn't the first time I'd seen reckless android operators roaming around carelessly. It was fairly common... although not right outside my apartment. That was new.
—Umm... well, I was just looking for a good Samaritan to ask a few quick questions, but it seems nobody's home —said the android, giving me a hopeful look.
—Questions? About what?.
She looked even more hopeful and said enthusiastically:
—I'm trying to gather info about the tenant in 202, where the 'incident' happened last week.
The robot eagerly pointed toward the door at the end of the hallway.
—I have some data on him, but a big chunk comes from a somewhat... sensationalist source. I'd like to cross-check it with his floor neighbors to paint a more accurate picture.
—"Incident," you say? What happened? I don't recall hearing anything —and I wasn't lying to brush her off. I really hadn't heard anything about it. The way he said it made it sound serious, but I'm not so out of touch as to miss something like that.
As for the neighbor in 202, I didn't know him well. Only met him once at a supermarket. We chatted for a bit he seem to be a chill guy, and he told me he liked booth games—especially farming and resource management ones. I even recommended Stardew Valley to him, an old gem. It wasn't a booth game, tho, but he seemed to like it. I thought we'd get along—we were floor neighbors and had shared interests—but our schedules were totally opposite, so we didn't get to play or talk much after that. What's more, sometimes I had to sleep at the office. That's probably why I hadn't heard anything about the supposed incident.
—Too bad you didn't see him, but I'm not surprised. It's pretty rare—almost nobody seems to notice these cases, and that's what makes them so fascinating to me —she said, practically bouncing with excitement—. As for what happened, it's actually simple: he vanished.
He said it while gesturing like a magician with his hands.
—"Vanished" as in got kidnapped, or as in skipped out of the apartment without paying his deposit?
—No, I mean vanished. He disappeared into thin air —he whispered conspiratorially, like he was sharing a CIA-level secret—. No, don't shut the door. I'm not lying and you still haven't brought in your package.
—Okay, okay. But move aside. I need to bring in my package.
I crouched down to lift the heavy bundle and carry it into the safety of my apartment, while the hulking robot stepped aside after declining her help.
—Look, I don't mean to kill the mystery, but he probably just left. Rent went up recently, and tenants' deposits vanish the moment you set foot here. Plus, I've heard the landlord's stingy with damage fees once you move out. So odds are he snuck out with his stuff to avoid drawing attention.
—A reasonable guess, but that's already been ruled out —the robot pulled out a phone and showed me a missing persons alert with the guy's face—. Three of his acquaintances filed a report. Apparently, the last time he was seen was last week entering his apartment, according to footage from this hallway —said the girl, pointing to the camera at the end of the corridor.
—He wasn't seen leaving, nor was anyone else, in the days that followed. The interesting part —and why I think this is "our kind of case"— is that when they entered the apartment with help from the landlord, there was no trace of him. According to his close contacts, everything was in its place. No conclusive evidence was found. As if he vanished into thin air. Like I said, some details may be a bit exaggerated, but the core points should be accurate.
A chill ran down my spine, and a creeping sense of dread settled in my chest.
—Great... too bad he's not my immediate neighbor —I said sarcastically, glancing nervously toward the end of the hallway.
—I know, right? I seriously envy you. I tried renting an apartment here, but it seems there's nothing available… aside from that one, of course. But they vehemently refused to rent it, even when I offered to pay extra. Poor business sense, if you ask me —she said, shaking her head and sighing in disapproval.
—Anyway, I don't think I can help you much with your investigation. I just found out someone on my floor went missing recently. As for the guy, I didn't really know him that much. Honestly, you'd probably get more from his social media.
Still, I briefly told her what little I did know and answered a few questions she asked.
—Oh… shame there's nothing new. But no worries, some people are already digging into his profile. Aside from that, I can give you my number in case you see or hear anything. Since we don't really know what we're looking for, feel free to call about anything. At this point, we'll take whatever information we can get. We can't leave cameras behind… I've already been fined a couple of times —said the giant, pleadingly.
—Alright, but don't get your hopes up. I mean, I didn't even know someone on my floor had disappeared a week ago —I said, shrugging.
The android's friendly smile froze. She likely realized asking for my cooperation was as good as not asking at all. Still, she gave me her contact number anyway.
After receiving it, I said goodbye and returned to my apartment. But I couldn't help casting one more glance toward my floor neighbor's place.
Trying to forget the strange encounter, I turned my attention to the impressive package. After locking the door, I began to open the box with the delicacy of an ape . The moment I saw the thick metal capsules—each larger than my head—every stray thought was banished to the far corners of my mind.
I carefully lifted the capsules one by one, handling them with utmost caution. They'd cost me an arm and a leg. They were mods for the immersion booth. Normally, these come with integrated modules at purchase, and mine—though extremely old—was no exception.
It came with a few mods, but they were primitive. They worked, sure, but tended to malfunction from time to time. These mods allow for more immersive interaction during ventures into games or other applications, integrating primary senses like smell, taste, and touch. These are the most commonly used and therefore the 'cheapest'—though still very expensive.
Another module I regularly used (and that frequently broke) was muscle coordination. It replicated some of the effort you exert in the booth onto your real body—basically a gym alternative. It worked so well that many people adopted it and abandoned their workout routines entirely. There was even an attempt to ban it, arguing that the tech was robbing people of an essential human experience. And even if that were true, I dropped my gym membership without hesitation the moment I found out it worked great with video games.
The only real issue came from malfunctions with my old module. It wasn't unusual to get booted out from a match due to a cramp or sprain. Now that I think about it, I was lucky I didn't break a bone with that relic.
Lastly, the least popular—and therefore the most expensive—module was the pain receptor system. Plenty of people defend its usefulness, and I count myself among them. Not because I'm a masochist... but if you enjoy roleplaying your runs, it's a great asset. That touch of authenticity just elevates the experience. On the competitive side, it's a great motivator knowing you might suffer pain if you mess up. That's one kind of stimulus you really don't underestimate.
After all, I climbed five league ranks in Star Wars Arena with that thing. It all boils down to: improve, or suffer for your incompetence. A very Spartan approach… but very effective.
I'll admit though—it has a brutal learning curve if you're new. Even on a low pain setting, if you get an arm chopped off by a light saber, you might as well get stunned for the rest of the match or just call it 'good game,' because you ain't moving—well, maybe a bit while you convulse on the floor. I ended up replacing my old module because during a match in Street Fighter, the pain threshold bugged and ramped up to x3 while I got combo'd by a furious Akuma, leaving me with just 20% health. I was icing myself for four days. Honestly, I've never been more grateful for module limit regulations.
That's when I knew it was time for a new one… though, judging by the prices, I still suffered plenty.
Despite my booth's age, the modules installed correctly. Everything seemed in order, although I was still a bit wary given my past experiences. I ran some quick safety checks just in case. Luckily, the modules worked fine.
The booth, however, started making a strange noise. Not a new problem—the noise came and went from time to time. It never affected performance, and even if it did, I was too broke to afford a new one. The prices on the new modules were plain daylight robbery, and the older models weren't worth making the switch, especially since I already had the replacement mods for the booth. I feel more comfortable repairing my booth myself if it comes to that—it wouldn't be the first time I've used DIY videos to fix this bad boy.
As for the booth failing and compromising my safety, I wasn't too worried. By law, all booths have multiple fail-safes in case of errors. Even my ancient model should have a couple… or so I believed. I never bothered to confirm.
A chime signaling that the game and mods had installed successfully snapped me out of my daydream, reigniting the excitement that had dimmed during the wait. Thrilled, I closed the booth door and lay down inside once again.
As the game started, that strange noise returned… but my focus was already locked onto the iconic start screen.