Moral Zero

by Set Sytes

  Red stopped outside a sex shop, wanting to go in, despite having passed so many in his time in Rule. Johnny pushed him on. On an adjoining street Johnny entered a gun shop and left empty handed, all three evicted when Red started playing around with the guns. Red then wandered into a tattoo parlour and eyed the artwork with interest.

  What are you after? said Mr White.

  Big tits devil girl in flames, I was thinkin.

  Maybe you should wait till you get back home, said Johnny quietly. When it’ll be worth it.

  I guess. Red seemed a little glum.

  They left and saw a couple of men get mugged, by a trio of girls with shivs and switchblades.

  Should we help? said Mr White.

  Not if you value your life.

  The day dragged on and they walked without purpose and they saw a throng of cops beating and kicking an old man on the road.

  I thought it was District Five! he was crying. I’m sorry! I thought it was Five!

  A cop gave him a ringing blow with its black stick. You fivers are disgusting, it droned. You’re all the same. Don’t you have any morals? Don’t you know the truth?

  You hear that Johnny, said Red.

  Johnny curled his lip. There’s no truth here.

  RULE

  Johnny had separated from Mr White and Red without explanation. Merely telling them to be ready at the appointed time. Hours later when darkness had fallen rich and velvet they saw him once more.

  They stood looking at each other in the lobby of the hotel. Each of them was looking their best, as though they had fit themselves for some occasion. Johnny Black was like the night, with a black shirt and a leather jacket, and jeans like coal. His head was for once hatless, and his hair was that of a raven. His eyes were clear and bright and his boots were tightly laced and polished black. A long, fresh scar ran down the side of his face and nobody knew where it came from.

  Kidd Red wore a tattered and sleeveless dark grey work shirt, with half the buttons undone to expose his chest, on which hung several medallions and pendants, the chains, beads and cords all jostling up against each other at different lengths. His arms were decorated in further accessories, bracelets and a tied bandana around his wrist, and his hands sported rings on every finger. His cowboy boots looked cleaner than they had ever before and his jeans were thin and tight and a rich blue. He wore silver earrings with black and red feathers hanging down from them and his face was fresh and clean except for deep black eyeliner and his beach blond hair was perfect. He grinned at them like a pirate and went to run his hands through his hair and then stopped, not wanting to mess up all the time he had spent on it.

  Mr White was in his best suit, his hair combed and his shoes polished and his face shaved baby smooth.

  They looked at each other looking their best and none of them understood why he or the others had dressed up. It seemed a coincidence, but Johnny narrowed his eyes and for a second Mr White felt anxious. This passed as soon as Red yelped out.

  Fuckin hell look at the rain! It’s fuckin slashin it down! Red stared out of the lobby into a downpour. They could hear the thunder of the rain on the stone ground from inside.

  Come on, said Johnny, moving towards the outside.

  My hair, man!

  It ain’t going to lighten up anytime soon. Come on.

  Red grumbled but left with them. Within seconds they were soaked, their hair dripping down their faces. They continued on.

  There was something in that night that they all observed. Their best clothes, all of which was arranged unspoken and without prior consideration, even to themselves. The pounding of the rain on the ground and the rumble of thunder above them. Flashes of lightning could occasionally be seen through the clouds. Mr White shivered and even Red looked unnaturally serious, his eyes furrowed and his smoke drifting like ghosts. Black strode on ahead, hard, crunching the wet ground under his bootheels.

  The atmosphere was portentous, and they could all feel it. They felt each of them their own omen, and they felt it in each other, and together they shared a connection the like of which they didn’t understand and had never felt before.

  For a while nobody smoked. And then Red started to complain, about the rain and his hair and the walk and his clothes getting ruined. The complaints turned random and abstract, about anything he could think of and then nothing, incoherent and senseless.

  Eventually Johnny span on his heel and they came to a dead stop in the storm.

  Shut. The. Fuck. Up. Johnny spoke harsh and cold and yet without emotion.

  Fuck you, retorted Red, and spat on the ground, which was instantly washed clean. Everybody’s hair was plastered to their faces and rain dripped off their noses and ears and chins. The air was heavy and they all felt heavy, as if gravity was pulling them down to Hell. The sky hung over them, tightening.

  Johnny looked hard at Red and shook his head slowly. You couldn’t have always been like this.

  Been like what.

  Like this.

  I’m the same boy as I was. The same fuckin boy man. You hear me? I ain’t never changed! I ain’t never changed.

  That’s a lie, said Johnny.

  It ain’t. It ain’t.

  Mr White saw their faces, nought but plastic sheets with the rain running down like cotton threads and he saw that the rain was wrong, all wrong, and their faces were wrong, the sky was wrong and the world was wrong and their souls were wrong.

  Red puffed on his cigarette and kicked a stone away from him. I ain’t never been somethin new. Ain’t never been somethin other than what I was.

  A user and a pervert and a complete and utter fuckup.

  Go fuck yourself.

  Don’t try me Kidd, said Johnny calmly. Tomorrow I could be wearing your skin for a coat.

  Giiiive me a fuckin breaaak, Red drawled, sing-song. But his eyes were narrowing and Johnny noticed.

  I can do it Kidd. Don’t think I won’t. I’ve torn up guys before and you’re no different. You never did find out what it feels to be hurt, to die. I think everybody needs to feel it, to understand it. Perhaps it might teach you a little respect.

  Fuck off Johnny! Red snarled. I’ll respect your mother.

  Johnny closed his eyes and turned around slightly, as if Red was not worthy of his attention. You’re pathetic, Kidd. A man-boy living life by the trip of his boot.

  I'm sick of this! Red blurted out. Pathetic? As if you’re not?! You ever listen to yourself? Red turned to Mr White, his hand cocked like a gun and pointing at Johnny. It's all bullshit, every fuckin thing he says!

  Johnny Black lazily turned his head and laid a cool eye on Kidd Red as the rain beat down hard on their faces and the thunder rolled and cracked like the shot of a gun.

  You think you're some big shot intellectual, some fuckin god of a philosopher, but you're not! Red shouted angrily, his arms waving wildly. Have you ever fuckin listened to yourself? None of what you say makes a goddamn piece of sense, just random sentences you've tossed into a junk pot to see what sounds good! You got no philosophy or great wisdom, you're just a guy, just some deluded fuck who is fucked in the head and pretentious about it as shit! You think with some husk of a voice and a black cowboy hat and a don't-fuck-with-me gaze you're impenetrable, but you ain’t! Back home I bet you're nothin, bet you're some two-bit hillbilly fuck with a heart as soft as shit. You spend every day lyin about on a stained couch drinkin light fuckin beer and stuffin your fat face with potato chips, surrounded by piles of fuckin books you pretend to understand, scratchin your fuckin balls through your hick pants and pattin some pampered pussy. I got you fuckin figured, Mr big man actin the fuckin psychopath.

  There was some explosion in the world, and Mr White clamped his hands to his ears. Everything about seemed unsettled and confused, even the air seemed different – distorted and smelling of hot smoke and hot blood – and everyone but Johnny Black struggled to make sense of it.

  Kidd Red looked down and found himself with a hole in his chest. He di
pped his finger in tentatively, and it came out stringy and wet. Red looked up, his face contorted more in puzzlement than horror, and his eyes met the single sight of a gun held like a shadow in Johnny Black's hand.

  You . . . fuck. Red managed his last words before he fell face down into a puddle of mud, his face smirched in what looked like shit.

  Mr White made a noise that was some kind of half point between the whine of a pup and the strangled cry of an infant. It came out from his throat in stuttering stop-starts, and timed itself in measure as if it were to some invisible beat.

  Calm yourself now, Johnny Black said, holstering the gun nobody thought he had behind the folds of his jacket. It ain’t that bad.

  You – you killed him!

  That looks about the measure of things, yes.

  Why!

  We need to get out of here. People will have heard. Johnny reached out to Mr White, who flinched and shuddered as his arm was gripped and dragged along.

  Mr White stumbled often and kept looking back and kept making strange, inarticulate noises. We can't just leave him there! he cried.

  If we come back later the body will be gone.

  Then we need to bury him now!

  Johnny Black made a sound that was a bit like a laugh. You're kidding?

  Mr White stared at him, his eyes aghast and scared.

  Johnny sighed as he continued to rush them both along, dragging Mr White behind him like a child in tow. You're too far down the goddamn rabbit hole. You need to dig yourself out.

  You killed him!

  We've established that. It ain’t as big a problem as you are making out.

  What!

  Johnny Black sighed again. Get a grip White.

  Mr White was calming, or at least gaining some control over himself. He could find his voice better now, and stop repeating himself. Why did you kill him?

  I saw no reason not to. Johnny steered them down another alleyway and slowed down, loosening his grip on Mr White's arm, but carefully, as if this was a test.

  You hated him, didn't you?

  Hate is an unreasonable emotion. It shows a lack of control over an unstable temperament.

  Stop it! You hated him!

  If I had hated him, why would I have stayed around him for so long? I don't make company lightly.

  So you killed him just because he insulted you?

  That would be a rather poor display of self-control, do you not think? I killed him because there was no reason he needed to be alive. It was a nothing, a non-event.

  Bullshit! Mr White shouted, and was taken aback momentarily by himself. Every event needs a cause! I know you killed others, I thought I could forget it or ignore it or something, but I never thought you'd kill one of your friends!

  Johnny smiled widely, and the smile even reached his eyes. Is that what we are, friends? he said, and then added, like it was an afterthought, How quaint.

  Oh, stop it, please! Mr White ran his hands through his hair, his face creased up with all manner of emotion, not least exasperation. Johnny had let go completely of his arm, and yet he followed anyway, as though some kind of animal dumb in obedience, or as though he was bound to this murderer in spirit and body. The image of Kidd Red's death kept replaying itself over in his mind: the sense of a profound disturbance and disarray in the world, the hole in Red's chest, the abject confusion, the sudden, whispering clarity, the red fingers, the smoking gun. The calm. Johnny Black's expression. Nothing. Calm.

  Closer and closer he leant to Johnny's side, as if this man of untouchable power offered protection and safety from this evil world, as though the man beckoned him in to a warm, comforting embrace that would never come. He walked along with a murderer, and for a long while neither of them spoke.

  They were nearly at the border to the next district when Mr White stopped suddenly and held up his hands. He sat down in the middle of the street.

  I’m not going any further.

  Yes you are, said Johnny.

  No. I’m going back.

  Johnny dug his fingers in to his eyes. Mr White, he said. Mr White. What’s your first name? What’s your first name Mr White?

  I’m going back! I’m going to get Red’s body. We just left him there, for fuck’s sake!

  Johnny shook his head. The body will be gone.

  Why will it be gone? We can get to it before them . . .

  No! Johnny grabbed Mr White by his neck. It’ll be gone! Disappeared! There’ll be nothing!

  What?!

  Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck, said Johnny, letting go and turning around and walking a few steps away. This is crazy. It’s fucking, just, argh. What’s happened to you? You ain’t who you say you are. Nobody is!

  What’s happening?

  Listen friend! Remember! Remember the Game! Johnny said urgently, and the sky roared overhead, a thunderous clanging and wailing siren. Red flashes of Hell in the clouds. The nearest people stared at them; further away on the street, others kept on with their business, their attentions unaltered.

  The what?

  Shut up, you know this. Think. For fuck’s sake think. What are we doing here?

  We’re here to -

  No. Where did you come from? Do you remember that?

  From . . . somewhere else. Mr White put his hands to his temple and tried to think. He felt like he was down a well, closed in and unable to see but a prick of light at the top. The distance seemed abstract, something impossible to grasp, like an infinite staircase.

  It’s a game! Rule! You’re playing it! Johnny Black shouted, and this time the sky wailed purple, and the siren and clashing felt all about them, as if they were held in a concave of noise and calamity.

  Two of the people close to them moved forward purposefully, their faces hard and brows furrowed.

  Get the fuck away from us before I rip your entrails out.

  They hesitated.

  You can still feel pain, don’t forget that, Black growled, standing up to face them. And that won’t be the end of it. I’ll hunt you down. The real you. Does that mean anything to you cunts? You’ll be breathing through a tube when I’m done with you, and half the bed will be empty and red because your legs will be sawn off. Look at me, do you think I won’t? Really? Come closer. I’ll find you. I’ll find you and I’ll tear you into strips of meat for my cat.

  Within a minute even the shadows couldn’t find their forms.

  Johnny knelt down and leant into Mr White. You know what will happen if I say it again.

  What will happen? Say what again?

  Johnny scrunched up his eyes and gritted his teeth. So be it. You’re playing a game. He shook his head. You fucking cretin.

  Johnny’s body shivered, and then his whole form quivered like it was static on some untuned television. And then it winked out from the world, and there wasn’t a trace left, not even the smell.

  Mr White’s eyes boggled and he yelled out into the silence.

  The next several hours were spent scared and confused, full of anxiety and madness. He grabbed cops by their shoulders and was thrown off and hit. He wept. He asked everyone for help, sounding like a drunken loon. Everyone turned away from him or punched him apart from their person.

  The next day bruises had sprung up all over his skin. He spent the day groaning and trying to understand what was going on.

  At night, he curled up in the corner of his room with his head in his hands. Eventually, he looked up and stared at the wall. He watched the plaster peel itself away from a locust family buried in the cracks. A fat mother insect wriggled out and a jumble of maggots dropped to the carpet. Even the plagues were plagued.

  Fuck it, he said at last. He got up and got out and wandered the streets like a vagabond with nothing to lose.

  And after that, just like that, the Game was over.

  WASTELAND

  Johnny Black sighed and put his feet up on the couch. It’s up to him now, he said to himself. Damn idiot. But he spoke this softly and with an almost air of sadness.
<
br />   Johnny picked up the manual off the table and read through it for the umpteenth time. He knows what words to say. Least he should do. Two simple goddamn words. Will anyone help him? He exhaled slowly through pursed lips. No, no they won’t. Bastard better not be Stuck.

  Everyone playing the Game of Rule, or any of the countless others, hooked themselves up before they started, connected themselves to a drip and a bag and the like to keep their body running through all that time spent in virtual reality. It was all packaged together if you bought (or stole) a good enough system. He’d got his on the black market. Your body really didn’t need much at all once its mind was occupied somewhere else. Just enough real nutrients and liquid to keep you alive, and your mind would be tricked into satisfaction from virtual food.

  But eventually, whatever you had set yourself up with would run out. Mr White would get the warning signs. His virtual body would be as active as ever, but his mind would feel weak and sluggish. His speech would slur. He would become increasingly incapable at simple tasks. Eventually he would just drop, and the connections would cut out. The Game would cut you off before you died and your vitals flatlined, but only just. If you were technical minded you could fiddle with the settings to keep you in as long as possible. Some Players liked to play it perilously close. If you didn’t have someone around to look after you or an ability to get immediate medical attention then you were fucked once you finally dropped out. Mr White just had to recognise the signs for what they were, that’s all. He couldn’t stay confused. He had to know before it was too late.

  It’s up to him. I’m banned. It’s his call. Red will be out for a week, if he even wants to come back. And he knows fuck all. Couldn’t even use the same body. White might not recognise him, would confuse him further if he did.

  He rolled his eyes and then yawned. He wriggled his face into the crook of the couch. Somewhere in the room a cat miaowed.

  Not my problem, Johnny murmured quietly.

  The City was full of game junkies. The thing was you didn’t even have to leave one game in order to play another. There was no need to return to reality and re-hook up. There were games within games. And each game was connected to a multitude more. You played, you looked, you found a node to another game and you jumped ship. You could always jump back again. It was a network, where each game could connect you from within to a hundred or a thousand different games via hook up nodes. If you could set your body up enough for long stretches inside – and the hardcore noders could have pretty expensive systems keeping their body fed while they were away – if you could get a good enough setup then you could fix yourself for weeks, even months. You might see a guy you thought had died, a guy who had just vanished from the scene and suddenly returned out the shadows like some crack of a ghost, atrophied and shivering with zombie eyes. You hadn’t seen or heard from him in six months and then he was back and then he was gone again.