by Arthur Stone
Real gyms were, after all, increasingly losing ground to virtual training facilities. As soon as feedback tech was affordable enough to be available to everyone, the real-world gyms would die out completely.
Cleanse, a phenomenon caused by drugs that were not the most-friendly to your health and to flash doses by the “smart” medical injector were still an issue. Its effects included pupil dilation problems. Hence, Dark failed to focus right away—but once he did, it was the advertisement that drew his eye. A targeted advertisement. The mirror knew his preferences and matched the product it promoted to what its algorithm said should interest Dark.
“The next gen fighting environment is here! Full immersion, with no restrictions. Fighters experience real pain, with no limits. Genuine, unmanaged suffering! Every season, a few warriors die during cleanse, or turn into vegetables. But they know the risks, and they know the rewards. Watch the Mortal Arena, the biggest illegal show on this planet! Available via live broadcast with partial immersion. Video is for weaklings. VR is for warriors! Note: All battles are conducted via underground data centers, run on state-of-the-art hacked equipment. Near-zero ping, near-unlimited responsiveness!” The AI should have picked an image to complement the text that showed two naked athletes locked in a deadly struggle, but instead it looked like a shot from a low-budget film whose key conflict was a bar scuffle between two gays on steroids.
Dark shook his head. “This mirror knows why we do this, Conan.”
“Well?”
“Well... I don’t even know why. But the stupid mirror does.”
“Come on, I mean the whole goat thing.”
“What goat thing?”
“The ‘fucking goat’! Are you OK, Dark? You need to see a doctor. This time’s really got to you. You have the money for it now. We’re talking about your health here, and your synth. No sense taking chances with those.”
“Look, I’m not mad about the...”
“Doctor. Now. Or you enjoying the thought of losing your mind? I hurt you bad in there. Sure, you say you don’t mind, but your face says otherwise.”
Dark tossed another pill in his mouth, this one the color of tree frog orange. “Forget about it. I had already forgotten. Come on, would you take seriously anything like that I said to you??”
“Look, get yourself to the doctor. You’re taking too many fights these days. That’ll kill you. Endless cleanses, no breaks. And something’s off this time. I’m in cleanse right now. Usually I’d have a killer thirst for beer right now, but I’m feeling nothing of the sort. Don’t even want to think about it. Something’s wrong with this cleanse.”
Dark was still looking at the mirror. “Look, this one’s telling me to open a secure tab and pick up some fairy dust.”
“What?” Conan’s mouth opened wide.
“Yeah.”
“Holy hell. They’ve got some balls.”
Dark still stared at the mirror. “I know. They’re not afraid of anything, I guess. Open advertising! I guess they’re swimming in enough dough to take care of anyone who makes trouble.”
“But really, what do they have to fear? This is the kind of neighborhood where you can get your kidney yanked and it’s already inside some rich immigrant by the time you notice. Powder’s on every corner, in every bag. As long as you have money, you can get it whenever you want. Just that it’s always kids selling it now. The adults don’t touch the stuff, just pull the strings. Decent job for the kids who haven’t hit twelve yet.”
Still Dark drilled into the mirror with his drugged gaze, popping yet another tablet. When he spoke, his voice was distant. “Gave you back your one-fifty, Conan. Check your wallet. Thanks for bailing me out with that.”
“Feeling rich, eh? Decided to pay off your debts.”
“When better to pay off debts?”
“Sure, but you know that was an unfair fight. Victory was mine. Nobody would stick their hand in front of an attacker’s sword like that in the real world. The shock alone would have taken you down. We were fighting in a simulation, not reality. That place doesn’t feel anything close to real yet. If it did, your trick wouldn’t have worked.”
“So? Are you suggesting we fight outside?”
“Look, I don’t really mean anything by it. I’m feeling like crap right now. You know what I mean.”
“I do. So the mirror is showing me some game for majors. I look like a major to you?”
“You don’t look like somebody who lives in a dump. Pretty well groomed, clean clothes. There’s a bit of major in you, maybe. What’s the game?”
“‘X’. I’ve heard about it before but never saw pictures. It’s gorgeous.”
Conan nodded. “The majors get all the best stuff. Only budget accounts for the rest. X is about real pain, not cheap simulation like the Arena. A direct synth connection, checked by official inspectors and all that. You can even get high, or orgasm, or both, and feel it. And that’s really all anybody goes there for.”
“So, for once, the advertisement is true,” Dark said without surprise.
“No advertisements are true. But this... The picture looks just like outside. I don’t know who designed these models, but they’re hot enough to raise the dead.”
“They could look a little different outside. Or a lot different. Hell, they could be bearded fatsos.”
“You really think that bothers the people who use X?”
“No, I’m not thinking anything right now. Thinking is the last thing I want to do.”
“I get it. Look, can you lend me two-fifty? It’ll almost save my life.”
“What do you mean ‘almost’?”
“Exactly that. You know the place I’m living at? The woman in charge has been after me for over a week now. Promises to send in some thugs to kick me out.”
“Why?”
“Well... She really wants me to pay up. You know the drill. No delays. So either I end up out on the streets, or... Well, they say there’s another way I can get out of the debt.”
“So why haven’t you taken it?”
Conan hesitated. “It’s not the most pleasant option. They say I just need to, well, satisfy her. And then she’ll leave me alone. As long as we do it three or four times a week.”
“Sounds like good news to me, no?”
“Why would I be happy about this? She looks less feminine than you do, Dark, and her voice sounds like a sewer. Smells like one, too. And she’s got enough body positivity for nine women. She’ll get into bed with anyone, for hours, screaming so loud the whole block hears.”
“Look, you’ve got an imagination. Just close your eyes and imagine you’re with Desiree Aisha.”
“I’d have to plug my ears, too. That voice, remember?”
“So put on some of Aisha’s songs during.”
“Quit joking around, Dark. It’s not funny. She’s older than my great-grandmother. I’d rather set my own brains on fire inside with regulators open to max than drag Aisha through the mud like that. So, can you lend me the money?”
“Alright sent. Check your wallet.”
“A million thanks, brother. This really helps.”
“I had an agent like her once. So I get what you’re dealing with, Conan.”
“I’ll give it back when I get my next win. You know I will. Where are you off to? I’m heading to the Metal Plant. Could drop you off.”
Dark reluctantly pulled away from the mirror, whose ads had turned to soft porn, and shook his head.
“I have to go the other direction. Thanks anyway.”
“How’d you get here?”
“On my own two feet.”
“A wonder they’re not broken, then. This is a tough area, and you’re even less of a fighter coming right out of a cleanse. Two crippled junkies could take you down if they wanted to. So get a taxi. Only the cheapest ones will even come here, anyway.”
“Got it.”
“Let me at least take you down to the boulevard. It’s a little nicer there.”
; “I’ll get there on my own,” Dark answered. “Hey Conan, look in the mirror now. What do you see?”
“Why can’t you look for yourself?”
“No, you look.”
“Alright. I’m looking. What now?”
“Do you see two pictures? Completely identical pictures?”
“Yeah. They look the same to me. Must be a glitch in the targeting and design AI. Happens all the time. What, bro, did you think you were going nuts? I guess worse things can happen right after a cleanse. Sometimes I think I’ve gone nuts, too.”
* * *
The door creaked shut as he shuddered in the damp air. His knees trembled and threatened to give, and his vision dimmed. Dark felt like dizziness was about to send him into the pavement, so he leaned back against the primitive graffiti on the wall and pressed his eyelids closed. The cleanse didn’t want to let him go, despite the near-fatal dose of meds he had taken. Maybe a neurosynth tech was indeed what he needed.
But why? What would a man like that even say? That virtual battles with all restrictions and protections removed was harmful for your brain?
And then charge a pretty penny.
Dark had just scored a nice victory, but that only dulled his financial difficulties for a time. Even if he spent what he had on his debts and the bare essentials, he would need more money soon in order to feel safe.
As if anyone here can feel “safe.” People who had to hide from the law, like he did, had to pay a lot more for things.
Maybe he should listen to Conan and pick up a cheap taxi. Normally, he wouldn’t worry. The area was a haven for criminals, but they picked on the weak. He was strong. Cleanse could turn the mightiest brutes into mewing, stumbling kittens, though.
Nah. A taxi is cheap, sure, but I should avoid every expense I can. Dark would summon the strength to make it to the subway.
Five deep breaths, open your eyes, and get going. He took a few seconds to get up to walking speed, then broke into a run until he reached the station.
Running was always a helpful way to come to his senses. Especially when his head was filled with nothing but the effects of medicines of dubious quality.
Good exercise helped purge the stuff from his body so his thoughts could begin working again.
Dark lifted his leaden eyelids and jerked reflexively away from a massive dark figure looming in the thick evening twilight. He redirected the jerk backwards to the left, attempting to dodge the incoming attack, but he still took it, a blow that wasn’t very strong but made him crumble nonetheless. Men were built to feel intense pain in that area even when the strike was relatively light.
Dark grunted like a wounded duck as he went down. Something fell out of the offending hand, glistening, clinking its glass on the asphalt.
Wait. Glass? Why glass? He expected the metal of a knife or brass knuckles.
But Dark could answer that later. He moved to the left, looking every which way as he did. The predators on the street preferred to work in packs, so he found it odd that he saw no others.
Then the corner of his eye spotted movement in the very corner he was retreating towards. Urgently he turned away, but then something flashed, much stronger than the sparkle of glass, and his body contorted as it was hit by a powerful blast of voltage. The last thing his eyes registered in the mounting haze was a swift movement just in front of him. Towards him.
He blacked out.
Chapter 3
A Father’s Wrath
Total stat levels: 5
Character level: 0
Mastery level: 0
He woke in a sizable, unusual room. Its walls were bare, but so detailed that his eyes fought to place his location. Either he was seeing immense amounts of work by interior designers or minimal, primitive work on the raw product of nature itself. No plastics, nor any other synthetic materials. The heavy rocks gave the instant impression of impregnability. It seemed like they were simply placed, without any mortar, but Dark doubted that.
The rough wooden door, reinforced with bars of iron, was tall and narrow, and complemented by window slits showing off multicolored glass that was impossible to see through and barely even let light through. Candles provided the main lighting for the place. They were positioned at intervals, in fittingly rough bronze candlesticks. The smell reminded him of a beehive, so the wax was natural.
Why would such creative interior designers use such outdated lighting? Was Dark hallucinating? That happened with a cleanse sometimes. He was sitting in a massive wooden armchair, unable to move an inch, so this new theory was a likely one. All of his limbs were fettered, in shackles as strong as the walls of the place. No flimsy handcuffs, no zip-ties, no cheap ropes. Outside, in the real world, this wouldn’t have made sense.
Why use wax candles and ancient binding systems when modern lamps and cutting-edge restraints were widely available?
The door flew open, the creak echoing throughout the chamber, reluctant to leave its walls. A man of predictably odd appearance entered. He had a sleeveless gray jacket cut of coarse, thick leather and matched with trousers of the same material. Beyond that, he had a strange belt – over six inches in width and chaotically decorated with polished brass rings. He carried a hefty cleaver around his belt, on his left side. His face was long, pale, unhealthy looking, and his hair was long and discolored, cut so that on his sides it only ran to his shoulders, but on his back it ran down much further.
Strangest of all were the two, pointed ears that poked out, through his hair. What, is he trying to play an elf? Is this a mod? No, he was dressed too unfashionably for that.
This contradiction was approaching the only item Dark had seen so far which had the presumption of elegance: a chair carved of light wood, with a tall back and head rest. The man placed the chair in front of Dark, then left without saying a word.
Someone else came to take his place. This one looked like a regular person. Well, his clothes did, anyway. He wore a stern business suit and tie, finished off with a pair of shoes polished to a shine. No elven ears. No mythological features at all, in face. Eurasian human features. The man took too good care of himself for Dark to easily guess his age. He was forty, or perhaps fifty. His face wore the look of a man who had kept the world in his pocket for decades.
Sitting on the chair his forebearer had placed, the stranger stared at Dark without emotion. “Do you understand what is happening?”
Dark nodded, barely. “Pretty well. I’m in a chair, and you’re in a chair. You’re free to move. I’m not.”
“So you do not,” the man stated. “You once earned your living in virtual battles. You are a cyberfighter. Right?”
Dark didn’t like his line of work being spoken about in the past tense. And out of all the sins he could think of that would make other people tie him to a chair, none of them were virtual activities. Who could he possibly have gotten so upset? Other than the people who had bet against him. But nobody kidnapped upsets. That was absurd.
So Dark just nodded.
“Alright, cyberfighter, what can you tell me about this place?”
“That I don’t like it.”
“I understand. It seems your last battle had quite a traumatic effect on you. You have still not recovered from its effects. Too much escapes your notice.”
“Or maybe I haven’t recovered from what happened after the battles.”
The stranger nodded. “Your reaction time is good. My people had to taze you. Then they gave you some drugs which are not, shall we say, the most elucidating. Among other things.”
“If I owe you money, or if you have some other complaint against me, let’s settle it.”
“You prefer to get right down to issues. Very well. Tell me, then, do you remember Mila?”
“Which Mila?”
“Which? Do you really know more than one Mila? Well, then look at me. See my face? Anything you recognize about it?”
Dark strained his eyes and his brain and saw a touch of Asian features in the man’s app
earance, enough to hazard a guess. “Mila Kim? Are you a relative of hers or something?”
“I am her father.”
“I don’t owe her anything, nor you.”
“That is your opinion, and in this we are in disagreement. You and my daughter were seeing each other for a while, if I have heard correctly. You had a relationship.”
“You can call it whatever you want. We just screwed, that’s all. I didn’t beat her, I certainly didn’t rape her, and I wasn’t her first guy, nor her last. There was nothing special between us. She wasn’t a strict girl, you know. Easygoing. So I just don’t see a reason for this shakedown. If she’s pregnant, well, the child isn’t mine. I haven’t seen her in a long time.”
“Mila is dead.”
“Dead? Oh no. I’m sorry. She was always so cheerful, so full of life. When did this happen?”
“Forty-seven days back.”
“I haven’t seen Mila for almost a year now. If you’re saying I had something to do with her death, well, I have an alibi. Forty-seven days ago, I was an inpatient at the hospital. Serious injuries, neural recovery, and circuit regeneration, secondary synth circuits. You can go verify that, if you’d like.”
“No. I know you didn’t kill her.”
Dark shook his head. “Then why am I here?”
“You said you were neither the first nor the last man she was with.”
“That’s right. I’m sorry if this is a shock, but your daughter didn’t believe in strict relationship norms.”
“My people have found seventeen men, including you. All of them were her lovers, at one time or another.”
“Exactly. Did you sit all of the other sixteen on this chair? Is it our fault that your daughter preferred, well, variety?”
“No, I haven’t. Not all sixteen. You weren’t easy to find right away, since you were in hiding. The rest, they weren’t so difficult.”