Thank you for playing, Malik! What is your next course of action?
{EXIT GAME}
{REQUEST TRANSCRIPT}
Good choice. Below is the requested text-based transcript of your most recent gaming session narrated in the Personalized Monological Language built to specifically imitate your avatar’s diction:
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Session: 631XN. Date: 06.25.2020
Welcome to Kolumbo 1619, the world’s greatest techno-empathy simulation, developed by CRACK® Inc. as part of our efforts to eliminate racism, inequality, and injustice through highly immersive, story-driven roleplay experiences.
Please keep your helmet on throughout the game so as not to interrupt the experience.
{SINGLE PLAYER MODE ACTIVATED}
{CHOOSE AVATAR NAME}
{a} Bullseye
{b} Bullseye
{c} Bullseye
SMART CHOICE! THANK YOU FOR YOUR SELECTION!
{LOADING}
LEVEL ONE
{GAME STARTS IN 5 … 4 … 3 … 2 … 1 …}
Somewhere in Sanford, Florida, you settle into your avatar’s body. Welcome. You are not the only thing Black here tonight. The moonless sky mimics the amber of your skin. You stroll down these streets proud and fly in your big black hoodie; the knockoff Timbs are a little too small for your feet, but you don’t care. The flex is worth the pain.
Man, the cold is brutal out here. To keep warm, you raise the hood over your head and slide your hands into the kangaroo pocket. You are jamming to a classic: N.W.A’s “Fuck tha Police.” You try not to think about him, if he’s ever going to respond to that text you sent three days ago.
A siren goes off. You turn to find a police car parked behind you. A cop, Wonder-Bread-white fella, is out of the car, pointing a gun at you. “Aww shit,” you chorus with MC Ren on the track. What have you done this time? What wanted nigga have they mistaken you for this time? The cop is screaming at you, but you can’t hear him underneath Dr. Dre’s heavy ass beats.
Time to choose! What is your first response?
You:
{a} unplug your headphones to hear him properly.
{b} bring out your hands slowly to raise them in the air.
{c} go on your knees, because maybe something about you towering above him makes you too threatening.
{d} carefully explain what you plan to do before raising your hands, so as not to spook him.
{e} refuse, because maybe something about the compliance makes you susceptible to death.
BOOM! He shoots. You spooked the officer with your sudden movement. Backlash. Hashtag. Police do PR. They find the tweet you made a year ago about how much you loved weed. FOX News does not forget to mention it. It is somehow relevant to the discourse. Your people do PR. Talk about what a lovely guy you were, how you loved to feed the homeless and play volleyball with the kids at the park.
You are still dead.
{GAME OVER}
{END GAME}
{RESTART}
• • •
{GAME STARTS IN 5 … 4 … 3 … 2 … 1 …}
Somewhere in New Orleans, Louisiana, you become Bullseye. Welcome. You feel the wet, cruel heat of a sunny afternoon settle on your skin as you bike through the chaos of Bourbon Street. Sweat slithers down your back underneath your tank top. The mid-July sun is bearing down on you like a lammergeier descending on its prey. Your shorts are a few inches too short, and you feel people staring, but you don’t give a fuck. You did not spend all that time at Uptown Fitness—three leg days a week for the past three months—just to hide these jiggly thighs away.
You turn onto a lonely street lined by creole cottages and trees of vibrant green. Your headphones are bumping a modern classic: Frank Ocean’s “Thinkin Bout You.” Unlike Frank, you try not to think about your guy, if he’s ever going to respond to the text you sent three days ago. Then: the cry of a siren.
You turn to find a police car parked behind you. A cop, wearing a nazi ass mustache, is out of the car, pointing a gun at you. “Ooh no, no, no,” Frank says on the track. What have you done this time? He is screaming at you, but you can’t hear him underneath Frank’s high-pitched crooning. You ease your bike to the side of the road and slowly dismount, turning to face the armed man.
Time to choose! What is your next course of action?
You:
{a} unplug your headphones to hear him properly.
{b} bring out your hands slowly to raise them in the air.
{c} go on your knees, because maybe something about you towering above him makes you too threatening.
{d} carefully explain what you plan to do before raising your hands, so as not to spook him.
{e} refuse, because maybe something about the compliance makes you susceptible to death.
BOOM! He shoots. Your unusual movement destabilized the cop trained with your taxes. Your body looked like a weapon. Backlash. Hashtag.
Police do PR. They find the article you published on Medium a year ago about your hatred of the American Empire. FOX News hosts read it out on live television. All one thousand nine hundred and fifty words. It is somehow relevant to the discourse.
It is somehow proof that you deserved to die.
{GAME OVER}
{END GAME}
{RESTART}
• • •
{GAME STARTS IN 5 … 4 … 3 … 2 … 1 …}
Somewhere in Ferguson, Missouri, you become a Black thing. Hello, Bullseye. You are the only thing Black here today. Something about this place—the eerie sameness of family-sized houses positioned side by side, the perfectly mowed lawns, the large driveways, the suffocating quiet—tells you that you are not welcome here. But you have a job to do. After all, there’s a reason you’re in this boring ass suit, carrying a briefcase as if you’re an extra on fucking Severance or some shit like that.
You can feel eyes watching you in windows as you walk by. You don’t know why the Uber driver dropped you off so far from your destination, but you can’t get mad right before an interview. Your headphones are playing Lana Del Rey’s “Born to Die.” Even though it’s such a relatable love song, you try not to think about him, if he’s ever going to respond to that text you sent three days ago. Anyway, this is not the time to think about him. Focus, Bullseye! Jesus Christ!
The song of a siren drowns out Lana’s voice.
You turn around. A cop car. You see a policeman, white but non-threatening in that Guy-Pearce-in-L.A.Confidential sort of way. He is out of the car, walking towards you. “Why? Who, me?” your mind choruses with Lana on the track. He must be wondering what a guy like you is doing in the suburbs. He is talking to you, but you can’t hear him underneath Lana’s sad-girl lamentation.
Time to choose! What is your first response?
You:
a} unplug your headphones to hear him properly.
{b} bring out your hands slowly to raise them in the air.
{c} go on your knees, because maybe something about you towering above him makes you too threatening.
{d} carefully explain what you plan to do before raising your hands, so as not to spook him.
{e} refuse, because maybe something about the compliance makes you susceptible to death.
BOOM! He reaches for his gun and pulls the trigger in a split second. He cannot make out your words in that stupid ass monkey accent. All he hears is: Black, Black, Black. Backlash. Hashtag.
Police do PR. They find your tweet from nine years ago about how much you distrusted white people. Hannity spins it: you probably tried to attack the poor white cop who feared for his life and the well-being of his kids—Frank, eight,and Ashley, six—if he died at the hands of a thug. A thug. You are a thug because your Spotify Wrapped, which you posted six months ago, had Fatman Scoop, Ol’ Dirty Bastard, and Wu-Tang Clan. You are a thug because when you wear that bag of skin, you become a threat in every room. You are a thug because our algorithm doesn’t have room for you to be anything else.
Your people are doing PR now. Talk about what a lovely guy you were, how you were only there for a job interview.
News flash: you are still dead, thug.
{GAME OVER}
{END GAME}
{RESTART}
• • •
{GAME STARTS IN 5 … 4 … 3 … 2 … 1 …}
Somewhere in Baltimore, Maryland, you settle into your avatar’s body. Welcome. You’re a little tipsy and it’s dark out but you know your way around these streets. You can get from the clubs to your house with your eyes closed in five minutes. You walk home in your heels and your pink hoodie, the knockoff Margielas are a little too tight for your feet, but you don’t care; the flex is worth the pain.
It’s getting a little chilly, so you raise the hood over your head and slide your hands into the kangaroo pocket. Your headphones are bumping your guilty pleasure: Nicki Minaj’s “Super Bass.” The Pink Friday album still slaps today, your feelings about that lady aside.
You remember he used to love this song. You try not to think about him, if he will finally respond to your texts.
A siren screams behind you.
You turn to find a parked police car. A cop, a jitterbug even more nervous than you, is out of the car, pointing a gun at you. “Boom, boom, boom,” Nicki mimics the sound of your heart beating out of your chest. Palms all sweaty. What have you done this time? He is screaming at you, but you can’t hear him underneath Nicki’s EDM madness.
Time to choose! What is your first response?
You:
a} unplug your headphones to hear him properly.
{b} bring out your hands slowly to raise them in the air.
{c} go on your knees, because maybe something about you towering above him makes you too threatening.
{d} carefully explain what you plan to do before raising your hands, so as not to spook him.
{e} refuse, because maybe something about the compliance makes you susceptible to death.
You stay put. He keeps screaming, but you can’t hear him. And you can’t take the headphones off because you are going to die. You stand still and watch him scream. He is confused. Calls for backup.
Soon enough, another cop car pulls up behind you. Thank goodness. Maybe this one will be more reasonable. You turn to the other car, but the light is so fucking bright it’s blinding. You raise your hand to shield your eyes from the light.
BOOM! BOOM!! Gunshots from both sides.
Backlash. Hashtag. Police do PR. You resisted arrest and tried to fight off the cops. They thought you had a gun.
You are Black, so of course Ben Shapiro has opinions about what you did wrong: If a policeman asks you to raise your hands, you do it, no questions asked. It is just common sense.
Your people are doing PR. Talk about how you could never hurt a fly. A law-abiding immigrant who stayed in his place and loved to do Nicki and Beyoncé karaoke when he thought his roommates were asleep. How could you be the aggressor?
That does not bring you back. Your body is still cold.
{GAME OVER}
{END GAME}
{RESTART}
• • •
{GAME STARTS IN 5 … 4 … 3 … 2 … 1 …}
Somewhere in Minneapolis, Minnesota, you become Bullseye. Hi there! You are speeding through the street as the sun begins its slow fade from the sky. The cold is brutal, man. But running helps you fight it off. The sonic distraction also helps: your headphones are playing “Baby Shark,” the version with Luis Fonsi. It calms you. His nephews, whom you both used to babysit, got you addicted to the song. You try not to think about him, if he’s ever going to respond to that text you sent three days ago.
You are a few blocks from the pharmacy when a siren goes off behind you. You turn to find a police car. A cop, a Black man, who looks just like your Uncle Ayo, is out of the car, pointing a gun at you.
“Run away,” Luis advises on the track. You consider it, but you decide not to. After all, this is a brotha, one of you. He looks like the brotha you fist bumped at the barbershop last night, like the brotha you played basketball with this morning, like the brotha who bought you a drink last week at Ground Zero, like the brotha who gave you the nod at that conference in New Mexico the other day.
It’s probably all a misunderstanding. A misunderstanding that can be cleared up in no time. But now he is screaming at you. He is screaming at you, and you can’t hear him underneath Luis’s bad advice. You think of what to do.
Time to choose! What is your first response?
You:
a} unplug your headphones to hear him properly.
{b} bring out your hands slowly to raise them in the air.
{c} go on your knees, because maybe something about you towering above him makes you too threatening.
{d} carefully explain what you plan to do before raising your hands, so as not to spook him.
{e} refuse, because maybe something about the compliance makes you susceptible to death.
FINALLY. A SMART CHOICE.
CONGRATULATIONS! YOU ARE ALIVE!
Your hands in the air, he tells you to take off the headphones.
You do so.
Very slowly.
His gun still pointed at you, he asks what you are doing in this neighborhood. You say you have lived here for five years; your house is just four blocks away. He asks why you are walking around so late. It is 6:00 p.m., not very late, but you answer anyway: you are heading to the pharmacy to get your Xanax prescription. He asks if you deal drugs. You say you don’t.
You are on the edge now.
You are unraveling.
He asks for your name. You tell him.
He asks for your age. You tell him.
He says you are lying, then asks for ID. You put your hand, ever so slowly, into your pocket, announcing every two seconds that you are only bringing out your wallet and not a weapon. You manage to pull out the wallet.
You are still alive. Whew.
You bring out the ID. You fidget as you raise it up. You show it to him. He walks up to you. He says he wants to confirm your details. He grabs it from you and walks back to his car.
You are still alive.
Half an hour later, he is still holding you.
You are still alive. You are still alive but you’re freezing. You get jumpy, jerking from side to side. You are feeling sick. It does not help that you are off your meds. You ask the officer how much longer this will take.
He does not respond.
You ask again, louder this time. He says you are being disrespectful. You apologize.
An hour passes.
Everything is spinning. You cannot take the stress anymore. Your body is covered in sweat, though you’re freezing inside. You start to pace.
Then: your phone rings. He is calling. He is finally calling! You move to pull out your phone.
Bad move, buddy.
Shouldn’t you know better by now? No sudden movements, remember?
{GAME OVER}
{DOWNLOADING TRANSCRIPT}
Thank you for playing. We hope that this experience informs your approach to social justice causes and conversations that lead to meaningful change. To explore more interactive, empathy-building experiences, you can check out our other simulations: EcoWarrior 2100, sHERO Adventures, and TRANSverse: Rainbow Island 2.0.
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