Gus blinked against the sudden harsh light, then turned to see the cyclops next to him. It wore Shawn’s traditional khakis, along with a plaid shirt open over a white tee, but its head was a solid sphere of white plastic. It stumbled through the empty room, waving its arms in front of it like a small child playing zombie.

Gus grabbed the cyclops by the shoulders, then pulled the globe off its neck. Freed from the helmet, Shawn glared at him.

“You’re never supposed to pull someone out of an immersive reality like that,” Shawn said. “You could have destroyed my brain.”

“The only thing destroying your brain is that stupid game,” Gus said.

Shawn stared at him. “Sorry, Dad. I didn’t recognize you with all that hair and the new tan,” he said finally.

“I am not some grumpy old man trying to unplug the computer because you’ve been playing Monkey Island for sixteen hours straight,” Gus said. “Although I’m beginning to see his point.”

“What, that people shouldn’t be allowed to have fun?” Shawn said.

Gus put the two helmets into their slots on a low shelf that ran along one side of the handball court-sized room. As soon as they were back in place, there was an electronic click and the door set into one wall sprang open.

“Now look what you’ve done,” Shawn said. “I hope this game saves itself automatically, or we’re going to have to start all over again. And I don’t know about you, but I don’t feel like hijacking another bus full of schoolkids.”