Virtual Eternity (the Serialized Novel) Episode 16 - The Simulated Afterlife: Presenting the Marketing Plan

This is Episode 16 of the serialized version of the novel, Virtual Eternity: An Epic 90s Retro Florida Techo-Pro-Life Love Story and Conversion Journey. These 52 episodes are presented here free for you every Friday. You can buy the paperback version  from Mike Church’s Crusade Channel Store (at a lower price than Amazon!).

Or you can start reading at the Table of Contents: here

The Simulated Afterlife: Presenting the Marketing Plan

Three days after the golf tournament, I stood in front of seventeen empty tables. In that mahogany-paneled meeting room, I would report on the report from the field. Managers eagerly awaited my analysis of the analysis of the data gathered from the test market area, where the subscription and Phase 2 games were available to all interested users. I reduced the seventy-page report to a twenty-minute presentation.

About forty white shirts and ties streamed in. Rumors that five vice-presidents might attend appeared to be untrue. Mr. Ted Bender was the only one.

Before the tables filled, the meeting started. When Bender began to discuss several other topics, I sat down in the nearest chair. After a half-hour, Bender looked over to Olson.

“Danny, do you have some items to report?” he asked. Olson looked ill. His face was thinner except for the rims circling his red eyes.

“Yes. That’s the purpose of the meeting.” Olson stood. “Jonathan here has a Phase 3 access, and he’s been very active in testing the Phase 3 games. He’s also just moved up into the more specialized position of a Marketing Lead for Magic Theater.” Several managers arched their eyebrows. “He’s reviewed the test market research very carefully and is gonna give us a report on its relevance to our marketing plan. I believe ya’ll will find the results very interesting.”

“Olson, didn’t Jacobean in Technical Sales analyze this report too?” a short graying man with a handlebar mustache asked. “Am I crazy, or didn’t we just hear this assessment yesterday?”

“I wasn’t there for that,” Olson said.

“His take on it was that the Percival plan was utilizable, in light of the research. The product appeared to be doing extremely well. We doubled the number of subscriptions we thought we’d deliver. Orders for the hardware also doubled. His assessment was that it was a winner and that we proceed with the process.”

“Okay,” Olson said. “But let’s let Jonathan present his bent on it.”

I stood in front of the group for two hours. I spoke for a total of five minutes. Discussions between the managers abound. Apparently, my assessment matched the Jacobean report, which I had never seen. They interrupted me at their caprice.

“What about these ‘Libidinous Illusions’ we’ve heard so much about?” Bender asked.

“What about them?” someone asked.

“How did it fare in the market research? Was there a backlash from the parents or the religious freaks?”

“The report says nothing significant about them,” I replied.

“That’s what the Jacobean report said too.”

“That agrees with what I read also,” a red-faced man said.

“Nothing that suggests this might be a problem?”

“No,” handlebars said. “In fact, the subscription rates and other indicators went up by 12-18% after we introduced that particular type of game.” I wondered if they referred to Teenage Love.

“Very impressive.”

Olson shook his head.

“What argument are the religious people using for it being illegal?” another man asked. “The computers modeled all the girls after 18-yearolds. Also, the laws in most states specifically apply only to film. These are not totally real images. Some of the graphics are enhanced digital representations of actual film, but more than half of the images are basically drawn from scratch by the computer, so it does not constitute pornography.”

“Have the legal people looked at the games in question?”

“I am the legal person,” the man replied. “And I have reviewed them extensively. We should have no problem getting through the courts.”

“You’re missing the point,” Bender said. “If we spend millions of dollars in court, we won’t profit. And it won’t resonate well with customers. Obviously, our strategy should be to prime the pump. Get the word out now that it’s pointless to battle us legally. Tercelli, make sure your contact at the ACLU knows what’s coming.”

“Besides, as the Jacobs report says, there’ll be brisk sales,” red-face said. “Even a few legal battles will be worth it.”

“Hold on a minute,” Olson said, his voice trembling. “Are ya’ll gonna talk about what this sort of thing will do to an eight-year-old child? If his parents know about it, they won’t subscribe to the system at all.”

“Olson, read your specifications. The very latest release says the newest systems will remove certain games that might be considered negatively. The subscriber has to order two different subscriptions and buy one set of hardware.”

“Time out,” Bender said. “No one will buy two subscriptions. We need to make the adult stuff a choice in the initial list of games for all subscriptions, to get them hooked.”

“So it will be available to children,” Olson said.

“It’s a brilliant stroke, Ted,” handlebars said. “Let parents police their own kids.”

“This is the perfect win-win product,” Bender said. “People want the new. Once they own something for too long, it becomes unwanted. The beefed-up network providers make distribution a snap. According to the Percibal plan, we give them new games constantly to justify raising their subscription rates. Then they’ll upgrade their hardware as the new technology becomes available. We could even look into long-term leasing and rollover agreements.”

“And the test market data empower that theory. The indicators give us a plus 30% return on the upgrades after three months.”

“And the Jacob report agreed.”

Olson turned and limped out of the paneled room. Is that all he could do? Has he given up?

“We’ve got consensus on our approach to this. Did the Percinal plan calculate the degree of sensation the television commercials need to create to reach the target audience?”

“Their approach rated a 26.7, which was similar to the Megendo ads of two years ago, but it’s a paradigm shift. Harrah rates it a 24.3, and Jacobsen rated it a 22.45. I say we go with the Megendo equivalent.”

“Sherrod, do you have people ready to give us some ad concepts?” Bender asked as he tapped his pen. “Olson, your people will give them inputs, right?”

“Yes,” I answered for him. Then I tried to continue my speech. Again they interrupted me.

“Did the report mention The Shroud?” someone asked.

“I’m not aware of that,” I said. Several in the room shook their heads and shrugged.

“For those of you who don’t know,” Bender said. “The Shroud should be the linchpin of Magic Theater. The Shroud is Phase 4. Could you give the description, Billings?”

“Sure,” Bill Billings said. “We don’t know that much about it, since we only have Phase 2 access. Development believes, and I hope that you marketing guys will agree, that people are inherently anxious about death. We believe that we can fill this need by reassuring their fear. The Shroud takes the user on a journey into the afterlife. First, we stage one’s death. The user chooses it, of course. Then we portray the next step. We do a fun game-like sequence. The user is asked a series of questions and witnesses events in history as a ghost. Always the result is very, very pleasant. We make use of the new SensorSuit for this game.”

“Great,” Bender said. “That’s what we need to do: Create our own market with our own products. Have we tried it in the test market?”

“No. Right now we’re at a conceptual level.”

“Intriguing, Billings. It sounds as if it’s progressing nicely.”

Mike and Scott would surely enjoy it, given their dislike of depressing, death-related movies.

“Jonathan, how does this specifically relate to the Phase 3 games you’ve been testing?” Bender asked.

“I can’t discuss specifics, Ted.”

“That’s true,” Bender said. “We’ll meet later. I’m interested in your assessment. I saw you’ve logged a lot of playing hours. I don’t understand how you get any analysis work done.”

Then Bender stood to leave and everyone else followed. As I left, someone called out the final “Action Item” telling Percy to review his marketing plan and consider Jake’s report on the field research.

I found the elevator, rode it and slid out, and navigated through cubicles to Olson’s office.

“Daniel? Are you okay?” He looked even frailer from up close.

“Oh. Yeah, Jonathan. Come in. It’s over? What a farce those meetings are. I’m sorry to put you through that, but I thought it’d give you exposure.” He folded his arms across his chest.

“Thanks, I guess.”

“You actually agreed with the Jacobean report?” Olson asked. “I’m surprised that you, of all people, believe in that product.”

“Well, nothing in the research suggests the games we released were bad products or that people won’t buy them.”

“You don’t see it? No one does. I thought the field research would reveal it.”

“Reveal what?”

“It’s a contemptible product,” Olson said. “Did they talk about The Shroud today?”

“Yes. They think it has great potential.”

“Oh, you bet it does. That’s the final straw. I’m sure I’m on the layoff list. If they’d only follow through on their plans, I could collect two months’ pay and unemployment. If I quit, I get none of that.”

“You’re serious? You believe the games are that bad?”

“Jonathan, I have a friend in the plant up north where they develop that stuff. I know what the results of that report actually said. I should’ve found the strength to report it myself. Even without the data that he ripped from the analysis, ya’ll shouldn’t be blind to its depravity.”

“Who ripped out what data? You think I’m blind to it?”

“I can’t blame you,” Olson said. “You’ve got such a grand opportunity to be a hero in this company. All you gotta do is sell this incredibly marketable product. In fifteen years, you’ll be the only one with any experience. You’ll have an unprecedented, corporation-saving success in your back pocket. If you network well and go to the right workshops, you’ll be a vice-president. And when someone tells you this product is ruinous to society, you probably write it off as fanaticism.”

“You think it’d ruin society?”

“Most of your generation is oblivious to the signs of ruin. For ya’ll, such ruin is routine. Ya’ll are no better than those businessmen, who disregard evil because of profits. Ya’ll are numb to it because of your lack of principle.” Pain attacked his face.

“Okay. I’ll take a second look at the report.”

“You must do more than that,” he grunted. “You’re the only one I could ever persuade. You must lead-balloon this thing.”

“What? I can’t do that.”

Olson doubled over with agony. I ran over and held his arm. “Should I call 9-1-1?”

“It’s just heartburn. Jonathan, you must consider what this product’ll do to people. Think what it does to you.”

He broke away from me and lurched toward the door.

“I wish I could do something,” I said as I held open the door. “I wouldn’t know where to start.”

“We’re not as powerless as you think. You must do it.”

“Will you be okay?”

“Yeah, I’ll make it,” Olson wheezed. He floundered through the maze of partitions to the elevator and disappeared behind its sliding wall.

***

As summer ended, the rains were more frequent, less predictable, and less violent. As Maureen drove home in the sunny drizzle, she imagined the sun and clouds developing a pact. The sun stated, “On this peninsula, you may rain as you need, as long as I may still shine and you shall stop that vain rumbling and flashing.” They celebrated the agreement. “We shall paint glorious arches across the sky.”

The rain relieved her, though usually her spirits rose in proportion to the sunlight. In emotional times, one’s soul tends to rise and fall with the slightest outer change, such as the amount of outdoor light. Not tonight. Maybe the showers would impede Klopp.

That day, as she drove back from lunch with Gina and Lisa, she had gasped when she thought she saw Klopp. He was driving a boxy, white car. Why a different car? She noted the license number, which began with a “Y” designating a rental. She scribbled it down as soon as she reached her desk.

She hoped his rage would recede soon. She could be free from worrying about every rustle behind her. She could romp about freely with her circle of friends again, join them in their parties, and meet their friends and their friends’ friends. She could unfurl her spirit and let it flutter in the cool wind of the approaching autumn. She could re-live the vitality of her college days with her new companions, and without the fear of Klopp’s body. Maybe she could love again. She smiled. She wanted to call her friend Winnie as soon as she got to her apartment through the safety of the rain.

She stepped over the puddles in her parking lot. “Oh!” The boxy white car was there.

From a seldom practiced childhood habit, she remembered to close her eyes and ask the Holy Spirit to calm her and help her.

She moved through the mist, toward her apartment, but around and closer to the car under the pine tree. The yellow piece of paper in her pocket, now stuck to her finger, could confirm her suspicions. The six characters on its rear tag emerged through the raindrops. They matched her paper. She stepped back. Fog lined the car windows. Is he in there?

The door burst open. Klopp leaped out and she froze the moment: his steamed glasses blurring his blazing eyes, his beard stretched out by his scowl.

She ran across the slippery asphalt as he tugged her blouse from behind. He snagged her bra, pulling her back, but her legs poured on. The bra ripped. She ducked to the ground. His shoe kicked her ribs as he flew over her. He landed in a clump of shrubs. Cursing, he climbed out, but she ran on. This time her early start favored her. She fumbled with her key on the way. At the door, she heard his shoes and felt his shadow approach. Her key shook in her hand.

“Hey!” Whoosh!

“Winnie?”

Klopp spun around, hands dug into his eye, with a screech. Winnie had showered his face with the pepper spray attached to her keys. Klopp turned again and slammed into the corner of a brick wall, then fell into a puddle. “Oh my God!” He screamed again, then rose. He wavered on his knees. On his hands and knees now, he wobbled and fell face-first into the puddle. Blood from his nose blended with the dirty water.

He cursed Winnie through his beard dripping with water and blood. He got up again. “I’m calling the cops,” he called over his shoulder as he limped away and cursed again.

“Go ahead, little guy!” Winnie shouted.

He stopped and turned. “What?”

“I heard about your tiny unit, pee-wee!”

Klopp jogged away.

“They hate it when we say their manhood’s small,” Winnie said as she waved to clear the biting air. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah, I’m good! Oh wow! You got him right in the eye with that stuff! Are you okay?”

“I’m alright.  That stuff stings.”

“C’mon in. What are you doing here?”

Next week: Episode 17 - The Surprise Deaths Numbers One and Two: Mourning such losses

Copyright © 2022 Christopher Rogers.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to any actual events or localities or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.