A boy in a bright orange shirt hops off his tree swing and greets me. He says his name is Milo and that I’m pretty tall. He tosses me a pair of goggles and tells me to put them on. I instinctively reach out to catch the goggles, but feel a little foolish because there’s nothing there. Because Milo isn’t real.

And neither are the mysterious bruises on his neck and face.

Hardcasual has been invited to the Standard Hotel in Los Angeles to test drive the latest technology from Microsoft, Project Natal. We are ushered into a tiny, dimly lit hotel room, where a television is set up with the motion capture device on top. We are given fifteen minutes to interact with the digital lad in his backyard world while Peter Molyneux, the boy’s creator, looks on. Nearby, a developer fiddles with the boy’s code.

As Milo leads me down towards the watering hole, I grab his shoulder and take a knee.

“Milo, are you okay?” I ask.

“Of course I’m okay! What a silly question!” he says and brushes me off. “Let’s go fishing! Okay? Okay!”

“You have marks all over your face and neck. Has someone been hitting you?”

The boy takes a step back, his mouth parted slightly. He looks past me. Molyneux leans against the back wall with his arms crossed. He makes a strange gesture with his finger to his nose. Milo perks up. He kicks the dirt and laughs playfully.

“Do I? Ha ha! I didn’t notice. I’ve been out playing all day. I must have fallen… must have fallen out of my treehouse! Yeah! That’s it! I fell out of my treehouse this morning and landed on my face!”

Milo runs to the end of a short wooden pier and gazes into the water. “Tons of fish out today! Go on, put your hand in the water!”

I want very much to put my hands in the digital water and touch some digital fish, but I feel like this is all a distraction from what’s really going on. Someone has been hitting this boy. He obviously fears for his safety. I reach out to Milo. I want to give him a hug and tell him that it doesn’t have to be like this, but Molyneux steps in before I can.

“The testing process has been very… rigorous,” he tells me. “Hasn’t it, Milo?”

Milo shakes his head yes. “Being real takes a lot of hard work.”

“Say goodbye, Milo,” Molyneux says as he turns off the television. Before the screen goes black, Milo looks at me in desperation. My heart breaks.

Molyneux hands me my notepad and ushers me out of the room. There is a long line of journalists standing in the hallway, all eager to interact with Project Natal and the digital boy they’ve heard so much about. I wonder if any of them are going to mention Milo’s mysterious bruises in their write-ups. Probably not. Microsoft has filled their bellies with beer and surrounded them with beautiful women. Muckraking isn’t going to get them anything but banned from next year’s party.

“This isn’t illegal, but one day it’s going to be,” I tell Molyneux. “And when that day comes, you’re going to jail for a very long time.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. Milo is merely a mirror held up to the gamer. Any bruises you may think you have seen are just your own,” he says and returns to the room.

I stand at the doorway for fifteen minutes or more, unsure if Molyneaux is telling the truth or not. Was I just projecting my own childhood abuse on Milo? Am I to blame for the terrible bruises on his face and neck? Should I skip the rest of the exposition and go straight into therapy?

I suddenly feel sick to my stomach. I decide to get some more free drinks at the bar instead. As I down my fourth gin and tonic, I think, “That’s the real magic of Peter Molyneux. The sick fuck makes you think.”