I’m running through Disney World with an AR-15, twin drum magazine, shooting round after round into the crowd, my face is dusted in blood, sweat and cocaine. People are livestreaming themselves running from the gunfire, their screams becoming punctuated by bullets, ceasing. It is silent besides the animatronic things advertising the theme park rides. I stalk through the abandoned walkways, noticing something in the trees. Too late. Sixteen shots hit me, ripping my body in half, I look down at my legs that are now only connected to me by a string of bleeding intestine.
Game over. I take the VR headset off and laugh.
“Holy shit. That was so realistic.” I say. The ride designer nods, writing something on his clipboard before speaking.
“We wanted to give visitors ultimate freedom to do what they wanted at Disney World. Anywhere, anytime, you can log-in, download the game files and you’re good to go.”
“Why make it so violent though? It seemed a bit…unnecessary for a family theme park.” I say, hitting the vape.
“That’s up to the player. Most of our testers have fun on the rides or get time with our characters.”
“Ah.”
“You broke into our security office, stole drugs and weapons and went on a rampage. I’m surprised it went on for so long. Why didn’t you stop?”
“I didn’t know I could.” I say, feeling a little embarrassed. “Did I play the game wrong?”
“There’s no right or wrong way to play Virtual Disney World. But I see we need to do some more thinking about how we can safeguard experiencers, as well as protect the brand.”
“The brand? Who gives a shit, if someone wants to run through a theme park shooting people, they should be able to do it. Its called video game libertarianism, how about you look it up sometime?”
“Is it fun?” he says, moving close to me. Was it fun? That
was the billion dollar question that Walt Disney Industries asked itself every
year, playing a game at the craps table of blockbuster movies and usually
coming out on top. Sure, hundreds of millions of dollars had been wasted on
meaningless projects that were so utterly average it made you challenge the
concept of money, but these big budget capers were loved by many people across
the world as well. Who am I to say that a majority of arts and culture is better than what Disney produces, when the content it produces is loved by the best people you ever meet? Eh
If you played a real life computer game, what would you do? What would be the limits to your ethics if there were no repercussions on what you did? There were certain things I would never do. Other things, like cutting off somebodies head and kicking it, maybe I would consider. Of course, it is important to realise that the simulation of an event is not, in the first instance, reality, but the simulation can play upon the mind in terms of what’s possible and so may end enacting the event. That is why even in a computer game, I wouldn’t cut off someone’s head and use it as a football. We can only talk ethics properly if you would do something if there were no repercussions, otherwise you are repressing yourself like a 19th century psychology patient. But you might be asking yourself, what’s actually going on? Actually?
I had managed to nab an invitation to Disney World Labs Studios, where boffins designed the latest rides and gizmos that were meant to be the future of theme park enjoyment. They had all sorts of silly little models everywhere, and one of those robots that hoovers the floor, and they had a drone fly around with some coffee, that kind of shit. I find a desk, sweep its contents onto the floor and explain my own idea.
“It’s the Minions, but the rides called ‘One In A Minion’.”
“We don’t have the rights for Despicable Me, that’s Universal.” explains Edwin Frenum, one of the lead engineers in the lab.
“Oh.” I say. I was about to show them how the ride works with some tic tacs I had dipped in yellow paint and drawn eyes onto. “What do you have then?”
“You mean you don’t know? Are you even a Disney adult?”
“Of course I am for Christ’s sakes. I’m testing you to see if you’re superfans. Guess what? You failed.” I say, giving them the thumbs down.
“Do you want to see some of our newest rides we’re testing out?” says another scientist.
“Nah.”
“Why are you here then?”
“I wanted to pitch ‘One In A Minion’ to you. Guess there’s nothing left for me here.”
“Sir, do you like computer games?” says another ride designer. And that’s how, two hours ago, I entered one of the most realistic simulations I had yet experienced. As I walked around later, my hands still trembled from the gunfire. It had felt so real. Whilst walking through the park later, I anticipated that the police would come and arrest me at any moment for the crimes I had committed. It had happened virtually, yet was stored in my memory as real as anything else.
In a yellowing pair of headphones, I listen to Liver King on the Joe Rogan podcast in one ear, in the other I’m listening to The Terminator OST by Brad Fiedel.
“Sir, you’re not allowed to smoke here.” Says one of the restaurant staff. They are dressed like a Klingon.
“It’s medicinal.” I explain, blowing out a big lungful of weed smoke. “But I’ve had enough.” I add, dropping it into my drink before throwing it on the floor. I have now been at Disney World for a week and it was starting to get to me.
After the first couple of nights where I stayed at the hotel, I ran out of money and needed to sleep in the park. I would hide amongst the undergrowth, away from the gaze of security cameras I had mapped throughout the day, lying in wait as security guards and visitors would walk nearby. The first couple of nights I had slept amongst a thicket of trees, then decided I needed to keep moving. The longer I waited in one spot, the higher chance of getting caught. I found money on the floor, stole it off tables where it had been left as a tip, generally took advantage of any situation where I might be able to get a free meal or a free drink. They noticed if you started eating from the trash, so you had to be sensible. Sometimes I’d offer to take other people’s stuff to the bins, then quickly stuff my mouth with their leftovers on my way there. I got to know the rhythm of the park, the changes in staff routines, the paths that costumed characters took, how they could be used as distractions for some easy pickpocketing. All of this wasn’t sustainable. I needed to go deeper.
The best way of infiltrating was when it was allowed. I posed as a security consultant doing pen tests for big corps, I had created a website, designed some brochures in Canva and had let myself do the talking. I hopped over the fence, circled round then presented my credentials to the park staff. I was posing as the founder for an emerging tech startup that was also a big fan of Walter Disney. I’d used the knowledge I gained from my homeless existence at Disney World, understanding the pattern of the system. There always existed another pattern with a pattern. There was always a way. I was posing as a security expert posing as a billionaire posing as a Disney adult. You are reading this and posing as me. There is no end to the imaginary positions that one can take on, so by drilling down through potential selves, we can arrive at a station where the crime you are about to commit is not only expected and allowed, but also one that the staff has been instructed is due to happen yet act as if it wasn’t. The whole thing didn’t make any sense, but I didn’t give a fuck. I re-entered the park as Tom New-York, security specialist with a penchant for elaborate costumes and vaudeville tendencies. I’d served eighteen tours in Iraq, Afghanistan, and was one of the leading operators of Global Management Imaging Systems Limited, a shell company operating from within a charity that was founded inside the United States Army as a secret way of operating outside the realms of the law. I was also posing as Brandon Jeremy, billionaire dipshit who’d used his connections across Eastern Europe to found a company that develops robots that look after babies. We had offices filled with parent representatives that actually controlled the robots, deciding when a baby had had enough milk or sleep from the comfort of their office cubicle. The whole organisation was made up, yet would also play an important element in playing the role of this rich scumbag. I’d organised people to phone me throughout the day with various business issues, where I would act like a petulant child. I had also made it my duty to be a Disney Adult, studying the Disney movies as I rubbed at sunburnt skin in my homeless hammock a few days previously. I needed to go into the heart of Wally Dis, find the crucial key to its success and swallow it along with any other cultural detritus that would sink into my gaping maw.
I flip back to the present. The people around me are disgusted by my presence. I raise my arms up into the air.
“There’s something I want that nobody can give me and so I have to do it myself.” I shout. The pen test was complete. That was the code I had given to one of my sleeper agents, somebody I had employed just a few days previous via Global Management Imaging Systems Limited, a mercenary and escaped Death Row inmate, Barry Gary. Barry began climbing one of the rollercoasters, playing popular music through a Bluetooth speaker that hung on his belt as a way of silencing any further footage through copyright claims. Barry stood at the apex of a rollercoaster and then delivered the following poem;
“Watch me whip,
Watch me nae-nae,
Watch me whip, whip,
Watch me nae-nae.” He said. Then he leapt from the steel scaffold, popped off his jacket and spread his arms into a wing suit. He flew overhead and there was a GoPro attached to his forehead that live broadcast the Disney World flyover to every guest in the park.
In the shadows of a vending machine I laugh to myself, shaking my head before hitting the vape.
“Step one of the plan is complete. Step two…engage.”
