Ready Player one

to my feet and looked around. I was standing in a vast cube-shaped crater—the space where
the foundation and lower basement levels of Castle Anorak had stood. It was completely
barren and eerily silent. There was no rubble from the destroyed castle, and no wreckage
from the thousands of spaceships and aircraft that had filled the sky a few moments ago. In
fact, there was no sign at all of the grand battle that had just been fought here. The
Cataclyst had vaporized everything.

I looked down at my avatar and saw that I was now wearing a black T-shirt and blue
jeans, the default outfit that appeared on every newly created avatar. Then I pulled up my
stats and item inventory. My avatar had the same level and ability scores I’d had
previously, but my inventory was completely empty except for one item—the quarter I’d
obtained after playing my perfect game of Pac-Man on Archaide. Once I’d placed the
quarter in my inventory, I hadn’t been able to remove it, so I’d never been able to have any
divination or identification spells cast on it. I’d had no way of ascertaining the quarter’s
true purpose or powers. During the tumultuous events of the past few months, I’d forgotten
I even had the damn thing.

But now I knew what the quarter was—a single-use artifact that gave my avatar an extra
life. Until that moment, I hadn’t even known such a thing was possible. In the history of the
OASIS, there was no record of any avatar ever acquiring an extra life.

I selected the quarter in my inventory and tried again to remove it. This time, I was able
to take it out and hold it in the palm of my avatar’s hand. Now that the artifact’s sole power
had been used, it no longer possessed any magical properties. Now it was just a quarter.

I looked straight up at the crystal gate floating twenty meters above me. It was still
sitting there, wide open. But I had no idea how I was going to get up there to enter it. I had
no jet boots, no ship, and no magic items or memorized spells. Nothing that would allow me
to fly or levitate. And there wasn’t a single stepladder in sight.

There I was, standing a stone’s throw from the Third Gate, but unable to reach it.
“Hey, Z?” I heard a voice say. “Can you hear me?”
It was Aech, but her voice was no longer altered to sound male. I could hear her perfectly,
as if she were talking to me via comlink. But that didn’t make sense, because my avatar no
longer had a comlink. And Aech’s avatar was dead.
“Where are you?” I asked the empty air.
“I’m dead, like everyone else,” Aech said. “Everyone but you.”
“Then how can I hear you?”
“Og patched all of us into your audio and video feeds,” she said. “So we can see what you
see and hear what you hear.”
“Oh,” I said.
“Is that all right with you, Parzival?” I heard Og ask. “If it isn’t, just say so.”
I thought about it for a moment. “No, it’s fine with me,” I said. “Shoto and Art3mis are
listening in too?”
“Yes,” Shoto said. “I’m here.”
“Yeah, we’re here, all right,” Art3mis said, and I could hear the barely contained rage in
her voice. “And we’re all dead as doornails. The question is, why aren’t you dead too,
Parzival?”
“Yeah, Z,” Aech said. “We are a bit curious about that. What happened?”

I took out the quarter and held it up in front of my eyes. “I was awarded this quarter on
Archaide a few months ago, for playing a perfect game of Pac-Man. It was an artifact, but I
never knew its purpose. Not until now. Turns out it gave me an extra life.”

I heard only silence for a moment; then Aech began to laugh. “You lucky son of a bitch!”
she said. “The newsfeeds are reporting that every single avatar in the sector was just killed.
Over half the population of the OASIS.”

“Was it the Cataclyst?” I asked.
“It had to be,” Art3mis said. “The Sixers must have bought it when it went up for auction
a few years ago. And they’ve been sitting on it all this time, waiting for the perfect moment
to detonate it.”
“But they just killed off all of their own troops, too,” Shoto said. “Why would they do
that?”
“I think most of them were already dead,” Art3mis said.
“The Sixers had no choice,” I said. “It was the only way they could stop us. We’d already
opened the Third Gate and were about to step inside when they detonated that thing—” I
paused, realizing something. “How did they know we’d opened it? Unless—”
“They were watching us,” Aech said. “The Sixers probably had remote surveillance
cameras hidden all around the gate.”
“So they saw us open it,” Art3mis said. “Which means they know how to open it now
too.”
“Who cares?” Shoto interjected. “Sorrento’s avatar is dead. And so are all of the other
Sixers.”
“Wrong,” Art3mis said. “Check the Scoreboard. There are still twenty Sixer avatars listed
there, below Parzival. And their scores indicate that every single one of them has a copy of
the Crystal Key.”
“Shit!” Aech and Shoto said in unison.
“The Sixers knew they might ha ve to detona te the Ca ta clyst,” I sa id. “So they must ha ve
taken the precaution of moving some of their avatars outside of Sector Ten. They were
probably waiting in a gunship just across the sector border, where it was safe.”
“You’re right,” Aech said. “Which means there are twenty more Sixers headed your way
right now, Z. So you need to get your ass moving and get inside that gate. This is probably
going to be your only cha nce to clea r it.” I hea rd her let out a defea ted sigh. “It’s over for
us. So we’re all rooting for you now, amigo. Good luck.”
“Thanks, Aech.”
“Gokouun o inorimasu,” Shoto said. “Do your best.”
“I will,” I said. Then I waited for Art3mis to give me her blessing too.
“Good luck, Parzival,” she said after a long pause. “Aech is right, you know. You’re never
going to get another shot at this. And neither will any other gunter.” I heard her voice
catch, as if she were choking back tears. Then she took a deep breath and said, “Don’t screw
this up.”
“I won’t,” I said. “No pressure, right?”
I glanced back up at the open gate, suspended in the air above me, so far out of reach.
Then I dropped my gaze and began to scan the area, desperately trying to figure out how I
was going to get up there. Something caught my eye—just a few flickering pixels in the

distance, near the opposite end of the crater. I ran toward them.
“Uh, not to be a backseat driver or anything,” Aech said. “But where the hell are you

going?”
“All of my avatar’s items were destroyed by the Cataclyst,” I said. “So now I have no way

to fly up there and reach the gate.”
“You’ve got to be kidding me!” Aech sighed. “Man, the hits just keep on coming!”
As I approached the object in the distance, it became gradually clearer. It was the Beta

Capsule, floating just a few centimeters above the ground, spinning clockwise. The
Cataclyst had destroyed everything in the sector that could be destroyed, but artifacts were
indestructible. Just like the gate.

“It’s the Beta Ca p sule!” Shoto shouted. “It must ha ve been thrown over here by the force
of the blast. You can use it to become Ultraman and fly up to the gate!”

I nodded, raised the capsule over my head, then pressed the button on the side to activate
it. But nothing happened. “Shit!” I muttered, realizing why. “It won’t work. It can only be
used once a day.” I stowed the Beta Capsule and started to scan the ground around me.
“There must be other artifacts scattered around here,” I said. I began to run along the
perimeter of the castle foundation, still scanning the ground. “Were any of you guys
carrying artifacts? One that would give me the ability to fly? Or levitate? Or teleport?”

“No,” answered Shoto. “I didn’t have any artifacts.”
“My Sword of the Ba’Heer was an artifact,” Aech said. “But it won’t help you reach the
gate.”
“But my Chucks will,” Art3mis said.
“Your ‘Chucks’?” I repeated.
“My shoes. Black Chuck Taylor All Stars. They bestow their wearer with both speed and
flight.”
“Great! Perfect!” I said. “Now I just have to find them.” I continued to run forward, eyes
sweeping the ground. I found Aech’s sword a minute later and added it to my inventory, but
it took me another five minutes of searching before I found Art3mis’s magic sneakers, near
the south end of the crater. I put them on, and they adjusted to fit my avatar’s feet
perfectly. “I’ll get these back to you, Arty,” I said, just as I finished lacing them up.
“Promise.”
“You better,” she said. “They were my favorites.”
I took three running steps, leapt into the air, and then I was flying. I swooped up and
around, then turned back toward the gate, aiming straight for it. But at the last moment, I
banked to the right, then arced back around. I stopped to hover in front of the open gate.
The crystal doorway hung in the air directly ahead, just a few yards away. It reminded me
of the floating door in the opening credits of the original Twilight Zone.
“What are you waiting for?” Aech shouted. “The Sixers could show up any minute now!”
“I know,” I said. “But there’s something I need to say to all of you before I go in.”
“Well?” Art3mis said. “Spit it out! The clock is ticking, fool!”
“OK, OK!” I sa id. “I just wa nted to sa y tha t I know how the three of you must feel right
now. It isn’t fair, the way this has played out. We should all be entering the gate together.
So before I go in, I want you guys to know something. If I reach the egg, I’m going to split
the prize money equally among the four of us.”

Stunned silence.
“Hello?” I said after a few seconds. “Did you guys hear me?”
“Are you insane?” Aech asked. “Why would you do that, Z?”
“Because it’s the only honora ble thing to do,” I said. “Because I never would ha ve gotten
this far on my own. Because all four of us deserve to see what’s inside that gate and find out
how the game ends. And because I need your help.”
“Could you repeat that last bit, please?” Art3mis asked.
“I need your help,” I said. “You guys are right. This is my only shot at clearing the Third
Gate. There won’t be any second chances, for anyone. The Sixers will be here soon, and
they’ll enter the gate as soon as they arrive. So I have to clear it before they do, on my first
attempt. The odds of me pulling that off will increase drastically if the three of you are
backing me up. So … what do you say?”
“Count me in, Z,” Aech said. “I was planning to coach your dumb ass anyway.”
“Count me in too,” said Shoto. “I’ve got nothing left to lose.”
“Let me get this straight,” Art3mis said. “We help you clear the gate, and in return, you
agree to split the prize money with us?”
“Wrong,” I said. “If I win, I’m going to split the prize money with you guys, regardless of
whether you help me or not. So helping me is probably in your best interest.”
“I don’t suppose we have time to get that in writing?” Art3mis said.
I thought for a moment, then accessed my POV channel’s control menu. I initiated a live
broadcast, so everyone watching my channel (my ratings counter said I currently had more
than two hundred million viewers) could hear what I was about to say. “Greetings,” I said.
“This is Wade Watts, also known as Parzival. I want to let the whole world know that if and
when I find Halliday’s Easter egg, I hereby vow to split my winnings equally with Art3mis,
Aech, and Shoto. Cross my heart and hope to die. Gunter’s honor. Pinky swear. All of that
crap. If I’m lying, I should be forever branded as a gutless Sixer-fellating punk.”
As I finished the broadcast, I heard Art3mis say, “Dude, are you nuts? I was kidding!”
“Oh,” I said. “Right. I knew that.”
I cracked my knuckles, then flew forward into the gate, and my avatar vanished into the
whirlpool of stars.

I found myself standing in a vast, dark, empty space. I couldn’t see the walls or ceiling,
but there appeared to be a floor, because I was standing on something. I waited a few
seconds, unsure of what to do. Then a booming electronic voice echoed through the void. It
sounded as if it were being generated by a primitive speech synthesizer, like those used in
Q*Bert and Gorf. “Beat the high score or be destroyed!” the voice announced. A shaft of light
a p p ea red, shining down from somewhere high a bove. There, in front of me, a t the ba se of
this long pillar of light, stood an old coin-operated arcade game. I recognized its distinctive,
angular cabinet immediately. Tempest. Atari. 1980.

I closed my eyes and dropped my head. “Crap,” I muttered. “This is not my best game,
gang.”

“Come on,” I heard Art3mis whisper. “You had to know Tempest was going to factor into
the Third Gate somehow. It was so obvious!”

“Oh really?” I said. “Why?”
“Because of the quote on the last page of the Almanac,” she replied. “ ‘I must uneasy
make, lest too light winning make the prize light.’ ”
“I know the quote,” I said, annoyed. “It’s from Shakespeare. But I figured it was just
Halliday’s way of letting us know how difficult he was going to make the Hunt.”
“It wa s,” Art3mis sa id. “But it wa s a lso a clue. Tha t quote wa s ta ken from Sha kesp ea re’s
final play, The Tempest.”
“Shit!” I hissed. “How the hell did I miss that?”
“I never made that connection either,” Aech confessed. “Bravo, Art3mis.”
“The game Tempest also appears briefly in the music video for the song ‘Subdivisions’ by
Rush,” she added. “One of Halliday’s favorites. Pretty hard to miss.”
“Whoa,” Shoto said. “She’s good.”
“OK!” I shouted. “It should have been obvious. No need to rub it in!”
“I take it you’ve haven’t had much practice at this game, Z?” Aech said.
“A little, a long time ago,” I said. “But not nearly enough. Look at the high score.” I
pointed at the monitor. The high score was 728,329. The initials next to it were JDH—
James Donovan Halliday. And, as I feared, the credit counter at the bottom of the screen
had a numeral one in front of it.
“Yikes,” Aech said. “Only one credit. Just like Black Tiger.”
I remembered the now-useless extra life quarter in my inventory and took it out. But
when I dropped it into the coin slot, it fell right through into the coin return. I reached
down to remove it and saw a sticker on the coin mechanism: TOKENS ONLY.

“So much for that idea,” I said. “And I don’t see a token machine anywhere around here.”
“Looks like you only get one game,” Aech said. “All or nothing.”
“Guys, I haven’t played Tempest in years,” I said. “I’m screwed. There’s no way I’m going
to beat Halliday’s high score on my first attempt.”
“You don’t have to,” Art3mis said. “Look at the copyright year.”

I glanced at the bottom of the screen: ©MCMLXXX ATARI.

“Nineteen eighty?” Aech said. “How does that help him?”
“Yeah,” I said. “How does that help me?”
“That means this is the very first version of Tempest,” Art3mis said. “The version that
shipped with a bug in the game code. When Tempest first hit the arcades, kids discovered
that if you died with a certain score, the machine would give you a bunch of free credits.”
“Oh,” I said, somewhat ashamed. “I didn’t know that.”
“You would,” Art3mis said, “if you’d researched the game as much as I did.”
“Damn, girl,” Aech said. “You’ve got some serious knowledge.”
“Thanks,” she said. “It helps to be an obsessive-compulsive geek. With no life.” Everyone
laughed at that, except me. I was much too nervous.
“OK, Arty,” I said. “What do I need to do to get those free games?”
“I’m looking it up in my quest journal right now,” she said. I could hear paper rustling. It
sounded like she was flipping through the pages of an actual book.
“You just happen to have a hard copy of your journal with you?” I asked.
“I’ve a lwa ys kep t my journa l longha nd, in sp ira l notebooks,” she sa id. “Good thing, too,
since my OASIS account and everything in it was just erased.” More flipping of pages.
“Here it is! First, you need to rack up over one hundred eighty thousand points. Once you’ve
done that, make sure you end the game with a score where the last two digits are oh six,
eleven, or twelve. If you do that, you’ll get forty free credits.”
“You’re absolutely positive?”
“Positively absolutely.”
“OK,” I said. “Here goes.”
I began to run through my pregame ritual. Stretching, cracking my knuckles, rolling my
head and neck left and right.
“Christ, will you get on with it?” Aech said. “The suspense is killing me here!”
“Quiet!” Shoto said. “Give the man some room to breathe, will you?”
Everyone remained silent while I finished psyching myself up. “Here goes nothing,” I
said. Then I hit the flashing Player One button.
Tempest used old-school vector graphics, so the game’s images were created from glowing
neon lines drawn against a pitch-black screen. You’re given a top-down view of a three-
dimensional tunnel, and you use a spinning rotary dial to control a “shooter” that travels
around the rim of the tunnel. The object of the game is to shoot the enemies crawling up out
of the tunnel toward you while dodging their fire and avoiding other obstacles. As you
p roceed from one level to the next, the tunnels ta ke on gra dua lly more comp lex geometric
shapes, and the number of enemies and obstacles crawling up toward you multiplies
drastically.
Halliday had put this Tempest machine on Tournament settings, so I couldn’t start the
game any higher than level nine. It took me about fifteen minutes to get my score up above
180,000, and I lost two lives in the process. I was even rustier than I thought. When my
score hit 189,412, I intentionally impaled my shooter on a spike, using up my last
remaining life. The game prompted me to enter my initials, and I nervously tapped them
in: W-O-W.
When I finished, the game’s credit counter jumped from zero up to forty.

The sound of my friends’ wild cheers filled my ears, nearly giving me a heart attack.
“Art3mis, you’re a genius,” I said, once the noise died down.

“I know.”
I tapped the Player One button again and began a second game, now focused on beating
Ha llida y’s high score. I still felt a nxious, but considera bly less so. If I didn’t ma na ge to get
the high score this time, I had thirty-nine more chances.
During a break between waves, Art3mis spoke up. “So, your initials are W-O-W? What
does the O stand for?”
“Obtuse,” I said.
She laughed. “No, seriously.”
“Owen.”
“Owen,” she repeated. “Wade Owen Watts. That’s nice.” Then she fell silent again as the
next wave began. I finished my second game a few minutes later, with a score of 219,584.
Not horrible, but a far cry from my goal.
“Not bad,” Aech said.
“Yeah, but not that good, either,” Shoto observed. Then he seemed to remember that I
could hear him. “I mean—much better, Parzival. You’re doing great.”
“Thanks for the vote of confidence, Shoto.”
“Hey, check this out,” Art3mis said, reading from her journal. “The creator of Tempest,
Dave Theurer, originally got the idea for the game from a nightmare he had about monsters
crawling up out of a hole in the ground and chasing after him.” She laughed her little
musical laugh, which I hadn’t heard in so long. “Isn’t that cool, Z?” she said.
“That is cool,” I replied. Somehow, just hearing her voice set me at ease. I think she knew
this, and that was why she kept talking to me. I felt reenergized. I hit the Player One button
again and began my third game.
They all watched me play in complete silence. Nearly an hour later, I lost my last man.
My final score was 437,977.
As soon as the game ended, Aech’s voice cut in. “Bad news, amigo,” she said.
“What?”
“We were right. When the Cataclyst went off, the Sixers had a group of avatars in
reserve, waiting just outside the sector. Right after the detonation, they reentered the sector
and headed straight for Chthonia. They …” Her voice trailed off.
“They what?”
“They just entered the gate, about five minutes ago,” Art3mis answered. “The gate closed
after you went in, but when the Sixers arrived, they used three of their own keys to reopen
it.”
“You mean the Sixers are already inside the gate? Right now?”
“Eighteen of them,” Aech said. “When they stepped through the gate, each one entered a
stand-alone simulation. A separate instance of the gate. All eighteen of them are playing
Tempest right now, just like you. Trying to beat Halliday’s high score. And all of them used
the exploit to get forty free credits. Most of them aren’t doing that well, but one of them has
some serious skill. We think Sorrento is p roba bly op era ting tha t a va ta r. He just sta rted his
second game—”
“Wait a second!” I interrupted. “How can you possibly know all this?”

“Because we can see them,” Shoto said. “Everyone logged into the OASIS right now can
see them. They can see you, too.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”
“The moment someone enters the Third Gate, a live vidfeed of their avatar appears at the
top of the Scoreboa rd,” Art3mis said. “App a rently, Hallida y wa nted clea ring the fina l ga te
to be a spectator sport.”
“Wait,” I said. “You mean to tell me that the entire world has been watching me play
Tempest for the past hour?”
“Correct,” Art3mis said. “And they’re watching you stand there and jabber back at us
right now too. So watch what you say.”
“Why didn’t you guys tell me?” I shouted.
“We didn’t want to make you nervous,” Aech said. “Or distract you.”
“Oh, great! Perfect! Thank you!” I was shouting, somewhat hysterically.
“Calm down, Parzival,” Art3mis said. “Get your head back in the game. This a race now.
There are eighteen Sixer avatars right behind you. So you need to make this next game
count. Understand?”
“Yeah,” I said, exhaling slowly. “I understand.” I took another deep breath and pressed
the Player One button once again.
As usual, competition brought out the best in me. This time, I managed to slip into the
zone. Spinner, zapper, super-zapper, clear a level, avoid the spikes. My hands began to
work the controls without my even having to think about it. I forgot about what was at
stake, and I forgot about the millions of people watching me. I lost myself in the game.
I’d been playing just over an hour and had just cleared level 81 when I heard another
wild burst of cheering in my ears. “You did it, man!” I heard Shoto shout.
My eyes darted up to the top of the screen. My score was 802,488.
I kept playing, instinctively wanting to get the highest score possible. But then I heard
Art3mis loudly clear her throat, and I realized there was no need to go any further. In fact, I
was now wasting valuable seconds, burning away whatever lead I still had on the Sixers. I
quickly depleted my two extra lives, and GAME OVER flashed on the screen. I entered my initials

again, and they appeared at the top of the list, just above Halliday’s high score. Then the
monitor went blank, and a message appeared in the center of the screen:

WELL DONE, PARZIVAL!
PREPARE FOR STAGE 2!

Then the game cabinet vanished, and my avatar vanished with it.

I found myself galloping across a fog-covered hillside. I assumed I was riding a horse,
beca use I wa s bobbing up a nd down a nd I hea rd the sound of hoofbea ts. Directly a hea d, a
familiar-looking castle had just appeared out of the fog.

But when I looked down a t my a va ta r’s body, I sa w tha t I wa sn’t riding a horse a t a ll. I
was walking on the ground. My avatar was now dressed in a suit of chain-mail armor, and
my hands were held out in front of my body, as though I were clutching a set of reins. But I
wasn’t holding anything. My hands were completely empty.

I stopped moving forward and the sound of hoofbeats also ceased, but not until a few
seconds la ter. I turned a round a nd sa w the source of the sound. It wa sn’t a horse. It wa s a
man banging two coconut halves together.

Then I knew where I was. Inside the first scene of Monty Python and the Holy Grail.
Another of Halliday’s favorite films, and perhaps the most-beloved geek film of all time.

It appeared to be another Flicksync, like the WarGames simulation inside Gate One.
I was playing King Arthur, I realized. I wore the same costume Graham Chapman had
worn in the film. And the man with the coconuts was my trusty manservant, Patsy, as
played by Terry Gilliam.
Patsy bowed and groveled a bit when I turned to face him, but said nothing.
“It’s Python’s Holy Grail!” I heard Shoto whisper excitedly.
“Duh,” I said, forgetting myself for a second. “I know that, Shoto.”
A warning flashed on my display: INCORRECT DIALOGUE! A score of –100 points appeared in the

corner of my display.
“Smooth move, Ex-lax,” I heard Art3mis say.
“Just let us know if you need any help, Z,” Aech said. “Wave your hands or something,

and we’ll feed you the next line.”
I nodded and gave a thumbs-up. But I didn’t think I was going to need much help. Over

the past six years, I’d watched Holy Grail exactly 157 times. I knew every word by heart.
I glanced back up at the castle ahead of me, already aware of what was waiting for me

there. I began to “gallop” again, holding my invisible reins as I pretended to ride forward.
Once again, Patsy began to bang his coconut halves together, galloping along behind me.
When we reached the entrance of the castle, I pulled back on my “reins” and brought my
“steed” to a halt.

“Whoa there!” I shouted.
My score increased by 100 points, bringing it back up to zero.
On cue, two soldiers appeared up above, leaning over the castle wall. “Who goes there?”
one of them shouted down at us.
“It is I, Arthur, son of Uther Pendragon, from the castle of Camelot,” I recited. “King of
the Britons! Defeater of the Saxons! Sovereign of all England!”
My score jumped another 500 points, and a message informed me that I’d received a
bonus for my accent and inflection. I felt myself relax, and I realized I was already having
fun.
“Pull the other one!” the soldier replied.
“I am,” I continued. “And this is my trusty servant Patsy. We have ridden the length and
breadth of the land in search of knights who will join me in my court at Camelot. I must
speak with your lord and master!”
Another 500 points. In my ear, I could hear my friends giggling and applauding.
“What?” the other soldier replied. “Ridden on a horse?”
“Yes!” I said. 100 points.
“You’re using coconuts!”
“What?” I said. 100 points.
“You’ve got two empty halves of coconut and you’re bangin’ ’em together!”
“So? We have ridden since the snows of winter covered this land, through the kingdom of

Mercia, through—” Another 500 points.
“Where’d you get the coconuts?”
And so it went. The character I was playing changed from one scene to the next,

switching to whomever had the most dialogue. Incredibly, I flubbed only six or seven lines.
Ea ch time I got stump ed, a ll I ha d to do wa s shrug a nd hold out my ha nds, p a lms up —my
signal that I needed some help—and Aech, Art3mis, and Shoto would all gleefully feed me
the correct line. The rest of the time they remained silent except for the occasional giggle fit
or burst of laughter. The only really difficult part was not laughing myself, especially when
Art3mis sta rted doing note-p erfect recita tions of a ll of Ca rol Clevela nd’s lines in the Ca stle
Anthrax scene. I cracked up a few times and got hit with score penalties for it. Otherwise, it
was smooth sailing.

Reenacting the film wasn’t just easy—it was a total blast.
About halfway through the movie, right after my confrontation with the Knights of Ni, I
opened up a text window on my display and typed STATUS ON THE SIXERS?

“Fifteen of them are still playing Tempest,” I heard Aech reply. “But three of them beat
Ha llida y’s score a nd a re now inside the Grail simula tion.” A brief p a use. “And the lea der—
Sorrento, we think—is running just nine minutes behind you.”

“And so far, he hasn’t missed a single line of dialogue,” Shoto added.
I nearly cursed out loud, then caught myself and typed SHIT!

“Exactly,” Art3mis said.
I took a deep breath and returned my attention to the next scene (“The Tale of Sir
Launcelot”). Aech continued to give me updates on the Sixers whenever I asked for them.
When I reached the film’s final scene (the assault on the French Castle), I grew anxious
again, wondering what would happen next. The First Gate had required me to reenact a
movie (WarGames), and the Second Gate had contained a videogame challenge (Black
Tiger). So far, the Third Gate had contained both. I knew there must be a third stage, but I
had no idea what it might be.
I got my a nswer a few minutes la ter. As soon a s I comp leted Holy Grail’s fina l scene, my
display went black while the silly organ music that ends the film played for a few minutes.
When the music stopped, the following appeared on my display:

CONGRATULATIONS!
YOU HAVE REACHED THE END!

READY PLAYER 1

And then, as the text faded away, I found myself standing in a huge oak-paneled room as
big as a warehouse, with a high vaulted ceiling and a polished hardwood floor. The room
had no windows, and only one exit—large double doors set into one of the four bare walls.
An older high-end OASIS immersion rig stood in the absolute center of the expansive room.
Over a hundred glass tables surrounded the rig, arranged in a large oval around it. On each
table there was a different classic home computer or videogame system, accompanied by
tiered racks that appeared to hold a complete collection of its peripherals, controllers,
software, and games. All of it was arranged perfectly, like a museum exhibit. Looking
around the circle, from one system to the next, I saw that the computers seemed to be
arranged roughly by year of origin. A PDP-1. An Altair 8800. An IMSAI 8080. An Apple I,

right next to an Apple II. An Atari 2600. A Commodore PET. An Intellivision. Several
different TRS-80 models. An Atari 400 and 800. A ColecoVision. A TI-99/4. A Sinclair ZX80.
A Commodore 64. Various Nintendo and Sega game systems. The entire lineage of Macs and
PCs, PlayStations and Xboxes. Finally, completing the circle, was an OASIS console—
connected to the immersion rig in the center of the room.

I rea lized tha t I wa s sta nding in a re-crea tion of Ja mes Ha llida y’s office, the room in his
mansion where he’d spent most of the last fifteen years of his life. The place where he’d
coded his last and greatest game. The one I was now playing.

I’d never seen any photos of this room, but its layout and contents had been described in
great detail by the movers hired to clear the place out after Halliday’s death.

I looked down at my avatar and saw that I no longer appeared as one of the Monty
Python knights. I was Parzival once again.

First, I did the obvious and tried the exit. The doors wouldn’t budge.
I turned back and took another long look around the room, surveying the long line of
monuments to the history of computing and videogames.
That was when I realized that the oval-shaped ring in which they were arranged actually
formed the outline of an egg.
In my head, I recited the words of Halliday’s first riddle, the one in Anorak’s Invitation:

Thre e hidde n ke ys o pe n thre e s e cre t gate s
Whe re in the e rrant will be te s te d fo r wo rthy traits

And tho s e with the s kill to s urvive the se s traits
Will re ach The End whe re the prize awaits

I’d rea ched the end. This wa s it. Ha llida y’s Ea ster egg must be hidden somewhere in this
room.

“Do you guys see this?” I whispered.
There was no reply.
“Hello? Aech? Art3mis? Shoto? Are you guys still there?”
Still no rep ly. Either Og ha d cut their voice links to me, or Ha llida y ha d coded this fina l

stage of the gate so that no outside communication was possible. I was pretty sure it was
the latter.

I stood there in silence for a minute, unsure of what to do. Then I followed my first
instinct a nd wa lked over to the Ata ri 2600. It wa s hooked up to a 1977 Zenith Color TV. I
turned on the TV, but nothing happened. Then I switched on the Atari. Still nothing. There
was no power, even though both the TV and the Atari were plugged into electrical outlets
set into the floor.

I tried the Apple II on the table beside it. It wouldn’t switch on either.
After a few minutes of experimentation, I discovered that the only computer that would
power on was one of the oldest, the IMSAI 8080, the same model of computer Matthew
Broderick owned in WarGames.
When I booted it up, the screen was completely blank, save for one word.

LOGIN:

I typed in ANORAK and hit Enter.

IDENTIFICATION NOT RECOGNIZED—CONNECTION TERMINATED.

Then the computer shut itself off and I had to power it back on to get the LOGIN prompt
again.

I tried HALLIDAY. No dice.
In WarGames, the backdoor password that had granted access to the WOPR
supercomputer was “Joshua.” Professor Falken, the creator of the WOPR, had used the
name of his son for the password. The person he’d loved most in the world.
I typed in OG. It didn’t work. OGDEN didn’t work either.
I typed in KIRA and hit the Enter key.

IDENTIFICATION NOT RECOGNIZED—CONNECTION TERMINATED.

I tried each of his parents’ first names. I tried ZAPHOD, the name of his pet fish. Then TIBERIUS,
the name of a ferret he’d once owned.

None of them worked.
I checked the time. I’d been in this room for over ten minutes now. Which meant that
Sorrento ha d ca ught up with me. So he would now be inside his own sep a ra te cop y of this
room, probably with a team of Halliday scholars whispering suggestions in his ear, thanks

to his hacked immersion rig. They were probably already working from a prioritized list of
possibilities, entering them as fast as Sorrento could type.

I was out of time.
I clenched my teeth in frustration. I had no idea what to try next.
Then I remembered a line from Ogden Morrow’s biography: The opposite sex made Jim
extremely nervous, and Kira was the only girl that I ever saw him speak to in a relaxed manner.
But even then, it was only in-character, as Anorak, during the course of our gaming sessions, and
he would only address her as Leucosia, the name of her D&D character.
I rebooted the computer again. When the LOGIN prompt reappeared, I typed in LEUCOSIA. Then

I hit the Enter key.
Every system in the room p owered itself on. The sounds of whirring disk drives, self-test

beeps, and other boot-up sounds echoed off the vaulted ceiling.
I ran back over to the Atari 2600 and searched through the giant rack of alphabetized

game cartridges beside it until I found the one I was looking for: Adventure. I shoved it into
the Atari and turned the system on, then hit the Reset switch to start the game.

It took me only a few minutes to reach the Secret Room.
I grabbed the sword and used it to slay all three of the dragons. Then I found the black
key, opened the gates of the Black Castle, and ventured into its labyrinth. The gray dot was
hidden right where it was supposed to be. I picked it up and carried it back across the tiny
8-bit kingdom, then used it to pass through the magic barrier and enter the Secret Room.
But unlike the original Atari game, this Secret Room didn’t contain the name of Warren
Robinett, Adventure’s origina l p rogra mmer. Instea d, a t the very center of the screen, there
was a large white oval with pixelated edges. An egg.
The egg.
I stared at the TV screen in stunned silence for a moment. Then I pulled the Atari joystick
to the right, moving my tiny square avatar across the flickering screen. The TV’s mono
speaker emitted a brief electronic bip sound as I dropped the gray dot and picked up the
egg. As I did, there was a brilliant flash of light, and then I saw that my avatar was no
longer holding a joystick. Now, cupped in both of my hands, was a large silver egg. I could
see my avatar’s warped reflection on its curved surface.
When I fina lly ma na ged to stop sta ring a t it, I looked up a nd sa w tha t the double doors
on the other side of the room ha d been rep la ced with the ga te exit—a crysta l-edged p orta l
leading back into the foyer of Castle Anorak. The castle appeared to have been completely
restored, even though the OASIS server still wouldn’t reset for several more hours.
I took one last look around Halliday’s office; then, still clutching the egg in my hands, I
walked across the room and stepped through the exit.
As soon as I was through it, I turned around just in time to see the Crystal Gate transform
into a large wooden door set into the castle wall.
I opened the wooden door. Beyond it there was a spiral staircase that led up to the top of
Castle Anorak’s tallest tower. There, I found Anorak’s study. Towering shelves lined the
room, filled with ancient scrolls and dusty spellbooks.
I walked over to the window and looked out on a stunning view of the surrounding
landscape. It was no longer barren. The effects of the Cataclyst had been undone, and all of
Chthonia appeared to be have been restored along with the castle.

I looked around the room. Directly beneath the familiar black dragon painting there was
an ornate crystal pedestal on which rested a gold chalice encrusted with tiny jewels. Its
diameter matched that of the silver egg I held in my hands.

I placed the egg in the chalice, and it fit perfectly.
In the distance, I heard a fanfare of trumpets, and the egg began to glow.
“You win,” I hea rd a voice sa y. I turned a nd sa w tha t Anora k wa s sta nding right behind
me. His obsidian black robes seemed to pull most of the sunlight out of the room.
“Congratulations,” he said, stretching out his long-fingered hand.
I hesitated, wondering if this was another trick. Or perhaps one final test …
“The game is over,” Anorak said, as if he’d read my mind. “It’s time for you to receive
your prize.”
I looked down at his outstretched hand. Then, after a moment’s hesitation, I took it.
Cascading bolts of blue lightning erupted in the space between us, and their spiderweb
tines enveloped us both, as if a surge of power were passing from his avatar into mine.
When the lightning subsided, I saw that Anorak was no longer dressed in his black wizard’s
robes. In fact, he no longer looked like Anorak at all. He was shorter, thinner, and
somewhat less handsome. Now he looked like James Halliday. Pale. Middle-aged. He was
dressed in worn jeans and a faded Space Invaders T-shirt.
I looked down at my own avatar and discovered that I was now wearing Anorak’s robes.
Then I realized that the icons and readouts around the edge of my display had also changed.
My stats were all completely maxxed out, and I now had a list of spells, inherent powers,
and magic items that seemed to scroll on forever.
My avatar’s level and hit-point counters both had infinity symbols in front of them.
And my credit readout now displayed a number twelve digits long. I was a
multibillionaire.
“I’m entrusting the care of the OASIS to you now, Parzival,” Halliday said. “Your avatar is
immortal and all-powerful. Whatever you want, all you have to do is wish for it. Pretty
sweet, eh?” He leaned toward me and lowered his voice. “Do me a favor. Try and use your
powers only for good. OK?”
“OK,” I said, in a voice that was barely a whisper.
Halliday smiled, then gestured around us. “This is your castle now. I’ve coded this room so
that only your avatar can enter it. I did this to ensure that you alone have access to this.”
He walked over to a bookshelf against the wall and pulled on the spine of one of the
volumes it held. I heard a click; then the bookshelf slid aside, revealing a square metal plate
set into the wall. In the center of the plate there was a comically large red button embossed
with a single word: OFF.

“I call this the Big Red Button,” Halliday said. “If you press it, it will shut off the entire
OASIS and launch a worm that will delete everything stored on the GSS servers, including
all of the OASIS source code. It will shut down the OASIS forever.” He smirked. “So don’t
press it unless you’re absolutely positive it’s the right thing to do, OK?” He gave me an odd
smile. “I trust your judgment.”

Halliday slid the bookshelf back into place, concealing the button once again. Then he
startled me by putting his arm around my shoulders. “Listen,” he said, adopting a
confidential tone. “I need to tell you one last thing before I go. Something I didn’t figure out

for myself until it was already too late.” He led me over to the window and motioned out at
the landscape stretching out beyond it. “I created the OASIS because I never felt at home in
the real world. I didn’t know how to connect with the people there. I was afraid, for all of
my life. Right up until I knew it was ending. That was when I realized, as terrifying and
painful as reality can be, it’s also the only place where you can find true happiness. Because
reality is real. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” I said. “I think I do.”
“Good,” he said, giving me a wink. “Don’t make the same mistake I did. Don’t hide in
here forever.”
He smiled and took a few steps away from me. “All right. I think that covers everything.
It’s time for me to blow this pop stand.”
Then Halliday began to disappear. He smiled and waved good-bye as his avatar slowly
faded out of existence.
“Good luck, Parzival,” he said. “And thanks. Thanks for playing my game.”
Then he was completely gone.

“Are you guys there?” I said to the empty air a few minutes later.
“Yes!” Aech said excitedly. “Can you hear us?”
“Yeah. I can now. What happened?”
“The system cut off our voice links to you as soon as you entered Halliday’s office, so we

couldn’t talk to you.”
“Luckily, you didn’t need our help anyway,” Shoto said. “Good job, man.”
“Congratulations, Wade,” I heard Art3mis say. And I could tell she meant it too.
“Thanks,” I said. “But I couldn’t have done it without you guys.”
“You’re right,” Art3mis said. “Remember to mention that when you talk to the media. Og

says there are a few hundred reporters on their way here right now.”
I glanced back over at the bookshelf that concealed the Big Red Button. “Did you guys see

everything Halliday said to me before he vanished?” I asked.
“No,” Art3mis said. “We saw everything up until he told you to ‘try and use your powers

only for good.’ Then your vidfeed cut out. What happened after that?”
“Nothing much,” I said. “I’ll tell you about it later.”
“Dude,” Aech said. “You’ve got to check the Scoreboard.”
I opened a window and pulled up the Scoreboard. The list of high scores was gone. Now

the only thing displayed on Halliday’s website was an image of my avatar, dressed in
Anorak’s robes, holding the silver egg, along with the words PARZIVAL WINS!

“What happened to the Sixers?” I asked. “The ones who were still inside the gate?”
“We’re not sure,” Aech said. “Their vidfeeds vanished when the Scoreboard changed.”
“Maybe their avatars were killed,” Shoto said. “Or maybe …”
“Maybe they were just ejected from the gate,” I said.
I pulled up my map of Chthonia and saw that I could now teleport anywhere in the OASIS
simply by selecting my desired destination in the atlas. I zoomed in on Castle Anorak and
tapped a spot just outside the front entrance, and in a blink, my avatar was standing there.
I was right. When I’d cleared the Third Gate, the eighteen Sixer avatars who were still

inside had been ejected from the gate and deposited in front of the castle. They were all
standing there with confused looks on their faces when I appeared in front of them,
resplendent in my new threads. They all stared at me in silence for a few seconds, then
pulled out guns and swords, preparing to attack. They all looked identical, so I couldn’t tell
which one was being controlled by Sorrento. But at this point, I didn’t really care.

Using my avatar’s new superuser interface, I made a sweeping gesture with my hand,
selecting all of the Sixer avatars on my display. Their outlines began to glow red. Then I
tapped the skull-and-crossbones icon that now appeared on my avatar’s toolbar. All
eighteen Sixer avatars instantly dropped dead. Their bodies slowly faded out of existence,
each leaving behind a tiny pile of weapons and loot.

“Holy shit!” I heard Shoto say over the comlink. “How did you do that?”
“You heard Halliday,” Aech said. “His avatar is immortal and all-powerful.”
“Yeah,” I said. “He wasn’t kidding, either.”
“Halliday also said you could wish for whatever you wanted,” Aech said. “What are you
gonna wish for first?”
I thought about that for a second; then I tapped the new Command icon that now
appeared at the edge of my display and said, “I wish for Aech, Art3mis, and Shoto to be
resurrected.”
A dialog window popped up, asking me to confirm the spelling of each of their avatar
names. Once I did, the system asked me if, in addition to resurrecting their avatars, I
wanted to restore all of their lost items, too. I tapped the Yes icon. Then a message
appeared in the center of my display: RESURRECTION COMPLETE. AVATARS RESTORED.

“Guys?” I said. “You might want to try logging back into your accounts now.”
“We’re already on our way!” Aech shouted.
A few seconds later, Shoto logged back into his account, and his avatar materialized a
short distance in front of me, in the exact spot where he’d been killed a few hours earlier.
He ran over to me, grinning from ear to ear. “Arigato, Parzival-san,” he said, bowing low.
I returned the bow, then threw my arms around him. “Welcome back,” I said. A moment
later, Aech emerged from the castle entrance and ran over to join us.
“Good as new,” he said, grinning down at his restored avatar. “Thanks, Z.”
“De nada.” I glanced back through the castle’s open entrance. “Where’s Art3mis? She
should have reappeared right next to you—”
“She didn’t log back in,” Aech said. “She said she wanted to go outside and get some fresh
air.”
“You saw her? What—?” I searched for the right words. “How did she look?”
They both just smiled at me; then Aech rested a hand on my shoulder. “She said she’d be
outside waiting for you. Whenever you’re ready to meet her.”
I nodded. I was about to tap my Log-out icon when Aech held up her—his—hand. “Wait a
second! Before you log out, you’ve got to see something,” he said, opening a window in
front of me. “This is airing on all of the newsfeeds right now. The feds just took Sorrento in
for questioning. They stormed into IOI headquarters and yanked him right out of his haptic
chair!”
A video clip began to play. Handheld camera footage showed a team of federal agents
leading Sorrento across the lobby of the IOI corporate headquarters. He was still wearing

his haptic suit and was shadowed by a gray-haired man in a suit who I assumed was his
attorney. Sorrento looked annoyed more than anything, as if this were all just a mild
inconvenience. The caption along the bottom of the window read: Top IOI Executive Sorrento
Accused of Murder.

“The newsfeeds have been playing clips from the simcap of your chatlink session with
Sorrento all day,” Aech said, pausing the clip. “Especially the part where he threatens to kill
you and then blows up your aunt’s trailer.”

Aech hit Play, and the news clip continued. The federal agents continued to usher
Sorrento through the lobby, which was packed with reporters, all pushing against one
another and shouting questions. The rep orter shooting the video we were wa tching lunged
forward and jammed the camera in Sorrento’s face. “Did you give the order to kill Wade
Watts personally?” the reporter shouted. “How does it feel to know you just lost the
contest?”

Sorrento smiled, but didn’t reply. Then his attorney stepped in front of the camera and
addressed the reporters. “The charges leveled against my client are preposterous,” he said.
“The simca p being circula ted is clea rly a doctored fa ke. We ha ve no other comment a t this
time.”

Sorrento nodded. He continued to smile as the feds led him out of the building.
“The bastard will probably get off scot-free,” I said. “IOI can afford to hire the best
lawyers in the world.”
“Yes, they can,” Aech said. Then he flashed his Cheshire grin. “But now so can we.”

When I stepped out of the immersion bay, Og was standing there waiting for me.
“Well done, Wade!” he said, pulling me into a crushing bear hug. “Well done!”

“Thanks, Og.” I was still dazed and felt unsteady on my feet.
“Several chief executives from GSS arrived while you were logged in,” Og said. “Along
with all of Jim’s lawyers. They’re all waiting upstairs. As you can imagine, they’re anxious
to speak with you.”
“Do I have to talk to them right now?”
“No, of course not!” He laughed. “They all work for you now, remember? Make the
bastards wait as long as you like!” He leaned forward. “My lawyer is up there too. He’s a
good guy. A real pit bull. He’ll make sure that no one messes with you, OK?”
“Thanks, Og,” I said. “I really owe you.”
“Nonsense!” he said. “I should be thanking you. I haven’t had this much fun in decades!
You did good, kid.”
I glanced around uncertainly. Aech and Shoto were still in their immersion bays, holding
an impromptu online press conference. But Art3mis’s bay was empty. I turned back to Og.
“Do you know which way Art3mis went?”
Og grinned at me, then pointed. “Up those stairs and out the first door you see,” he said.
“She said she’d wait for you at the center of my hedge maze.” He smiled. “It’s an easy maze.
It shouldn’t take you very long to find her.”
I stepped outside and squinted as my eyes adjusted to the light. The air was warm, and
the sun was already high overheard. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky.
It was a beautiful day.
The hedge maze covered several acres of land behind the mansion. The entrance was
designed to look like the facade of a castle, and you entered the maze through its open
gates. The dense hedge walls that comprised the maze were ten feet tall, making it
impossible to peek over them, even if you stood on top of one of the benches placed
throughout the labyrinth.
I entered the maze and wandered around in circles for a few minutes, confused.
Eventually, I realized that the maze’s layout was identical to the labyrinth in Adventure.
After that, it took me only a few more minutes to find my way to the large open area at
the maze’s center. A large fountain stood there, with a detailed stone sculpture of
Adventure’s three duck-shaped dragons. Each dragon was spitting a stream of water instead
of breathing fire.
And then I saw her.
She was sitting on a stone bench, staring into the fountain. She had her back to me, and
her head was tilted down. Her long black hair spilled down over her right shoulder. I could
see that she was kneading her hands in her lap.
I was afraid to move any closer. Finally, I worked up the courage to speak. “Hello,” I
said.
She lifted her head at the sound of my voice, but didn’t turn around.

“Hello,” I heard her say. And it was her voice. Art3mis’s voice. The voice I’d spent so
many hours listening to. And that gave me the courage to step forward.

I walked around the fountain and stopped once I was standing directly in front of her. As
she heard me approach, she turned her head away, averting her eyes and keeping me out of
her field of vision.

But I could see her.
She looked just as she had in the photo I’d seen. She had the same Rubenesque body. The
same pale, freckled skin. The same hazel eyes and raven hair. The same beautiful round
face, with the same reddish birthmark. But unlike in that photo, she wasn’t trying to hide
the birthmark with a sweep of her hair. She had her hair brushed back, so I could see it.
I waited in silence. But she still wouldn’t look up at me.
“You look just like I always pictured you,” I said. “Beautiful.”
“Really?” she said softly. Slowly, she turned to face me, taking in my appearance a little
at a time, starting with my feet and then gradually working her way up to my face. When
our eyes finally met, she smiled at me nervously. “Well, what do you know? You look just
like I always thought you would too,” she said. “Butt ugly.”
We both laughed, and most of the tension in the air dissipated. Then we stared into each
other’s eyes for what seemed like a long time. It was, I realized, also the very first time.
“We haven’t been formally introduced,” she said. “I’m Samantha.”
“Hello, Samantha. I’m Wade.”
“It’s nice to finally meet you in person, Wade.”
She patted the bench beside her, and I sat down.
After a long silence, she said, “So what happens now?”
I smiled. “We’re going to use all of the moolah we just won to feed everyone on the
planet. We’re going to make the world a better place, right?”
She grinned. “Don’t you want to build a huge interstellar spaceship, load it full of
videogames, junk food, and comfy couches, and then get the hell out of here?”
“I’m up for that, too,” I said. “If it means I get to spend the rest of my life with you.”
She gave me a shy smile. “We’ll have to see,” she said. “We just met, you know.”
“I’m in love with you.”
Her lower lip started to tremble. “You’re sure about that?”
“Yes. I am. Because it’s true.”
She smiled at me, but I also saw that she was crying. “I’m sorry for breaking things off
with you,” she said. “For disappearing from your life. I just—”
“It’s OK,” I said. “I understand why you did it now.”
She looked relieved. “You do?”
I nodded. “You did the right thing.”
“You think so?”
“We won, didn’t we?”
She smiled at me, and I smiled back.
“Listen,” I sa id. “We ca n ta ke things a s slow a s you like. I’m rea lly a nice guy, once you
get to know me. I swear.”
She laughed and wiped away a few of her tears, but she didn’t say anything.
“Did I mention that I’m also extremely rich?” I said. “Of course, so are you, so I don’t

suppose that’s a big selling point.”
“You don’t need to sell me on anything, Wade,” she said. “You’re my best friend. My

favorite person.” With what appeared to be some effort, she looked me in the eye. “I’ve
really missed you, you know that?”

My heart felt like it was on fire. I took a moment to work up my courage; then I reached
out and took her hand. We sat there awhile, holding hands, reveling in the strange new
sensation of actually touching one another.

Some time later, she leaned over and kissed me. It felt just like all those songs and poems
had promised it would. It felt wonderful. Like being struck by lightning.

It occurred to me then that for the first time in as long as I could remember, I had
absolutely no desire to log back into the OASIS.

Acknowledgments

Many of my favorite people were subjected to early drafts of this book, and each of them
gave me invaluable feedback and encouragement. My sincere thanks to Eric Cline, Susan
Somers-Willett, Chris Beaver, Harry Knowles, Amber Bird, Ingrid Richter, Sara Sutterfield
Winn, Jeff Knight, Hilary Thomas, Anne Miano, Tonie Knight, Nichole Cook, Cristin
O’Keefe Aptowicz, Jay Smith, Mike Henry, Jed Strahm, Andy Howell, and Chris Fry.

I’m also indebted to Yfat Reiss Gendell, the Coolest Agent in the Known Universe, who
managed to make several of my lifelong dreams come true just a few months after I met
her. Thanks also to Stéphanie Abou, Hannah Brown Gordon, Cecilia Campbell-Westlind,
and all of the awesome folks at Foundry Literary and Media.

A huge shout-out to the amazing Dan Farah, my friend, manager, and Hollywood partner
in crime. My gratitude also goes out to Donald De Line, Andrew Haas, and Jesse Ehrman at
Warner Bros., for believing that this book will make a great movie.

Thanks to the incredibly talented and supportive team at Crown, including Patty Berg,
Sarah Breivogel, Jacob Bronstein, David Drake, Jill Flaxman, Jacqui Lebow, Rachelle
Mandik, Maya Mavjee, Seth Morris, Michael Palgon, Tina Pohlman, Annsley Rosner, and
Molly Stern. And to my fa nta stic cop yeditor, Dea nna Hoa k, who found the Secret Room in
Adventure back in the day.

I owe a special debt of gratitude to Julian Pavia, my brilliant editor, who believed in my
ability as a writer long before I finished this book. Julian’s startling intelligence, insight,
and relentless attention to detail helped me shape Ready Player One into the book I’d always
wanted it to be, and he made me a better writer in the process.

Finally, I want to thank all of the writers, filmmakers, actors, artists, musicians,
programmers, game designers, and geeks whose work I’ve paid tribute to in this story.
These people have all entertained and enlightened me, and I hope that—like Halliday’s
hunt—this book will inspire others to seek out their creations.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Ernest Cline lives in Austin, Texas,
where he devotes a large portion of his time

to geeking out. This is his first novel.

For more information please visit:
www.ernestcline.com