Immersed

Levi’s charity live stream gets weird when he realizes he’s unable to exit a VR horror game. Even more concerning, the AI antagonist’s behaviour morphs from sinister to sensual.

Levi is struggling to maintain normalcy. He hates his cafe job, has few friends, no romantic prospects, no disposable income, and last year his older brother committed suicide. After their parents passed away, Ethan was all the family Levi had left. Now that Ethan is gone, the isolation feeds his anxiety. His grief counsellor tells him that maintaining a routine is important to his mental health. With her encouragement, he starts a streaming channel in honour of his late sibling.

Ethan loved video games. Levi has fond memories of animated discussions about gaming strategies. Streaming is a way to keep his brother’s memory alive. In Ethan’s honour, Levi schedules a stream to raise $300 for the Mental Health Awareness Foundation. His few loyal followers sign on to watch him try out a horror game with a brand new state-of-the-art headset sent to him by Virtual Vice Technologies.

The device’s box boasts about its adaptive AI and immersive experience, but the user manual includes pages of safety warnings.

The inside of the box was white with a bold warning printed in red ink: “Psychological effects may vary. Use at own risk. Discontinue use if experiencing prolonged dissociation, memory gaps, or intrusive thoughts lasting more than 24 hours post-session.”

The promise of an adaptive AI that maps and responds to a player’s psychological response and adjusts the fear stimuli accordingly would have thrilled Ethan. Levi, however, has to shake off his unease and remind himself that it’s just a game, right?

The game’s visuals are stunning enough to combat reality, and the stereotypical-horror NPCs already seem to know Levi. He follows along, enjoying the story. They gather wood, watch the stars, and sit around the campfire. A figure lurking in the shade of the trees, reminds him that this is a horror game and it’s only a matter of time before the carnage starts.

When Levi finds a body, bloody and motionless, beneath the soft moonlight, its overwhelming. The game has manufactured the smell of blood and the intricacies of entrails. In his panic, Levi runs right into the man responsible. Verbal commands to pause or exit the game have no effect. In fact, the killer is confused by the mention of a game environment, and studies Levi with an intimate interest before killing him.

The attacker’s face swam before him, those impossible eyes the only clear thing in Levi’s dissolving world. Then, impossibly, the pressure on his throat eased for just a moment.

Lips pressed against his own. A tender kiss, gentle where everything else had been brutal.

I was just trying to help people, was his last coherent thought as consciousness fled. I just wanted to raise money for the foundation. I wanted to make Ethan proud.

The kiss deepened as his vision faded. The man was breathing in his last breath, claiming even that small thing as his own.

Then darkness. Complete and absolute.

The game resets. Levi revives at the starting location, hysterical from the trauma of experiencing death, and the NPCs restart their scripted conversations, none the wiser. Once he calms down, he reminds himself this isn’t real, and he has another chance to win. Before long Levi learns that Asher, the murderous figure stalking them, doesn’t forget information on reset.

Levi can’t prevent the game’s progression or keep the killer from coming. He can’t even exit the game. The only thing left to do, is play.

Respectfully, warned

I appreciate trigger warnings so much, and Tate provides an informative breakdown at the beginning of Immersed. There are specific lists for violence, sexual content, psychological / emotional abuse, as well as contact information for crisis centres around the world. Tate also includes an empathetic request and reminder for the reader to look after their own mental health.

One of the reasons I read so much fanfiction is because all of the best stories have oodles of tags, including anything possibly problematic. I never have to worry about running into something unexpectedly triggering, because I have all of the information ahead of time.

The Motion Picture Association has been providing film ratings in the effort to help parents make informed decisions about content to share with their children since 1968, but there isn’t a clearcut equivalent for written publications. Instead, content flagging is performed largely by entities other than the publisher / author themselves after a book’s release. Schools, libraries, independent organizations like Compass Book Ratings and online publicly editable wikis like Book Trigger Warnings, attempt to categorize written works that are already widely available.

As an (undiagnosed) neurodivergent individual who has been reading at a college level since age six, I strongly believe that grade-based categorizations are not enough of a distinction to determine maturity / readiness for exposure to various subject matter. Mostly because of librarians who told me I wasn’t allowed in the reference section (requests that never stopped me), but also because there’s nothing that could have prepared me to experience racism while reading picture books, classics, or school materials.

I once attended a book launch, where the author chose to share a reading of a short story that included the non-consensual ingestion of biological waste, non-consensual physical and mental impairment that led to unconsciousness, implied sexual assault while unconscious, and rampant misogyny. I left after the reading. This event had been hosted by a non-profit writers’ guild that I was volunteering for at the time, and this experience had me so distressed I considered quitting.

I had panic attacks, I cried, I lost sleep.

When I calmed down, I spent the next few months advocating to have content warnings included in book launches, critique circles, contest submissions, and every other way that writing could be shared with other individuals who were part of that organization. My stance was not welcome. Several people argued that content warnings spoiled details, violated rights to free speech, and advocated censorship over artistic expression. All I cared about was making sure that no one else would have the experience that I did, and eventually, the guidelines were put in place and a safe space was setup at events to provide a grounding area for anyone who might feel overwhelmed.

I think writers, too often, include shocking / violent / controversial details to be provocative, despite these scenes being wholly unnecessary, and contributing little—if at all—to how the plot progresses (the sexual assault in Everything the Darkness Eats by Eric LaRocca, is an example of this). Sharing details that are essential to maintaining the mental wellness of the audience should not be all it takes to ruin the experience of reading a story. If an author’s writing can be compromised by the courtesy of a content warning, then the subject matter included probably isn’t necessary for the plot. That’s a skill issue, not a censorship one.

Please take care of yourself and be mindful of your triggers. It’s okay if you need to put the book down and never come back. I understand. Your mental health is more important than my fucked up story.

The thoughtful disclaimer at the beginning of Immersed is respectful of the reader, and crucial to the narrative. Levi and Asher’s dynamic is defined through brutal violence, coercion, and codependency; in a story where these interactions are both fuelled by—and enhanced through—environmental factors and narrative advancement. It’s a prime example of audience consideration done correctly, that does not endanger the impact of the story that follows.

Fusion of digital and analog horror

At 430 pages, Immersed is long for a horror novel, but the pace is fast, the tension thick, and none of the scenes are dull.

I don’t think I’ve read a book based around a horror game before, but I do enjoy watching horror let’s plays on YouTube, so the premise is familiar to me. The internet can be a strange place, and I’m sure that several people would tune in to watch Levi panic and cry—even if only to pop into the comments and taunt “fake!”

I’m not much of a gamer myself, but I did appreciate all of the references to game play in chapter titles and Levi’s internal monologue about strategies that Ethan would use.

Scream (1996) and Horror Movie by Paul Tremblay both utilize meta commentary to inject the diverse nuance of horror as a concept into their stories. By contrast, Immersed achieves similar meta injections through Levi’s introspection, the presence of horror stereotype NPCs, and the interesting pairing of Levi and Asher.

This is like forming a party with the final boss because you need his loot to progress.

Tate’s exploration of multiple sub-genres offer a fresh experience of horror staples. Concepts and tropes are borrowed from urban exploration, liminal spaces, found footage, slashers, research / investigative gaming, and puzzle games. While also including futuristic ideas of physical displacement, lack of awareness, and sensory manipulation. All of this combined, means Immersed is a fast-paced, brutal, and emotionally gripping story.

Psychological speculations

I do not partake in enough psychological horror. I’ll be the first to admit that I’m biased. Due to my own experiences, I have trouble engrossing myself in content that subverts reality unrealistically.

Remember the issue with the ending of Kingsman: The Secret Service (2014)? I missed an entire section of that movie (while in theatre) because I started yelling about how the princess is incapable of providing consent because she’s been mentally compromised, and the sex on display is equivalent to rape. I never watched the rest of movie, or its sequels.

Coercion invalidates consent as prisoners are in a vulnerable position due to the power dynamics of their situation. Authority figures control their entire lives. Favouritism and special treatment are simply pretty ways of saying manipulate, exploit, and impose influence.

Yet this is only part of the couple dynamic on display in Immersed.

Asher stood and offered Levi his hand with the formal gallantry of a Victorian gentleman—if Victorian gentlemen had been covered in arterial spray from recent murders.

At the other end of the power imbalance spectrum, there’s the saviour and victim structure. Similar to prisoners and inmates, medical professionals are also prohibited from engaging in personal relationships with their patients (and it’s not solely because a lawsuit can cost millions). Victims are mentally and emotionally vulnerable, too; they can develop trauma bonds through the intense gratitude they feel when a doctor or nurse relieves them of their pain and/or saves their life.

Levi experiences both of these relationship styles—at times, within moments of one another. Coupled with the trauma of exposure to—and experience of—violence, layered confinement (by being removed from reality by the game, his inability to affect the game’s progression or reset protocols, and literal restraint by Asher), love-bombing, fear of physical abuse, and sexual coercion; Levi cannot provide legitimate and informed consent. His mentality is clouded. He’s not in a stable environment or dealing with a level-headed individual.

Readers get to experience the transformative effect fear, confusion, and the curious attraction born from life-or-death stakes have on Levi’s mental and emotional state. And it’s fucking fascinating!

Asher was beautiful in the way dangerous things often are—he was a weapon in the shape of a man, honed for a singular purpose. And right now, that purpose was Levi.

A new favourite author

Immersed manages to stay true to horror’s queer roots while also elevating the expectations for the lone survivor.

Tate seamlessly blends multiple horror sub-genres to deliver a uniquely suspenseful story that’s hard to put down. Aspects of character insight, suspense, mystery, predator / prey dynamics, body horror, and urban exploration solidify the reading experience. Psychological manipulation and psychosexual subterfuge (also known as sexspionage) fuel an addictive “couple” dynamic that had me turning pages late into the night to find out what happens next.

No word of a lie, I was racing my eye strain to the end of this book.

People who love horror, slashers, survival-style video games, and body horror will love this. Immersed is for fans of multifaceted psychological thrillers, like The Game (1997) or Identity (2003). Fans of queer horror with non-stereotypical queer characters like those found the Chucky TV series and the Fear Street trilogy will appreciate Levi and Asher. As long as they remember to read the content warning!

I’m very interested to see where the story goes. The coercion and manipulation has already occurred between the characters, so there is potential for the relationship to deepen, as well as rupture. It thrills me to no end that this is the pilot of a series. I am dying to read Entangled.

He wasn’t just a walking red flag; he was the bubbling vat of dye that made the flags red at the red flag factory.