by Phoenix Ward
“What do you want?” he asked.
“You’ve been lied to, Ethan,” the redheaded man replied. “I want to show you the truth.”
“What truth?” Ethan said. He felt like he was going crazy or something. Like Gauge was just a figment of his imagination. “What are you talking about?”
“The world outside the simulation,” Gauge answered. “It’s not like they’ve been telling you. Not at all.”
Ethan just stared at him with a furrowed brow and wide eyes. He didn’t know where to begin with his questions, so he didn’t.
Gauge looked from side to side. There were a few pedestrians that started making their way toward them. He watched the people with a nervous expression.
“I can’t say more just yet,” he told Ethan. “I have to keep hidden so the system doesn’t detect me. Just know that we are working on getting you out of here safely. I’ll find you again.”
Someone in the alley tripped a little, but caught their footing. The stumble distracted Ethan, and when he turned back, the strange man was gone.
7
Sympathy
The American dream. It was something Tera had heard about, passed down almost like an urban legend or the myth of Atlantis. Like Atlantis, Tera found no evidence that it ever existed. Before the I.I.s took over, almost everyone broke their backs just to make ends meet. In the slums, it was no different. In a way, the humans were no worse off than they were before.
People had believed in the American dream, however. The idea that as long as you work hard enough, you will succeed in life. And people still did. She saw it in their faces as she patrolled through the streets day after day. That’s why they were so willing to set up dinky little market stands. It’s why people sold the drugs everyone else was hooked on. It’s why people like Camila rented out her body. They were drawn by the hope that one day, things would be better, and this was just what they had to do until then.
That’s why Tera decided to follow up on the motel’s case. It wasn’t just about the money, or the drugs, or the illegal gun. It was about her dream being stolen. That “one day” being pushed back indefinitely.
Tera also hated the image of her slum dwellers like Camila had in their heads. They saw her as an appendage of the fascist system that kept them down. To them, she was there to steal their dreams and soil their hope. She wanted to prove them wrong.
Not all I.I.s hate humans, she thought to herself as she made her way into one of the few decent brick buildings in Slumside.
Even though Camila had cursed the cop out of her shack, Tera was able to get an overview of the prostitute’s recent clients. One of them lived in the brick building. It had once served as a courthouse or something like that in the pre-war world, but was developed into apartments considered “high end” in the ghetto. Despite all that, there was still cracked concrete surrounding the apartments and graffiti on the walls.
The doorbell buzzed when Tera pressed it and she reflected on its archaic design. They didn’t use things like this up on the Pavilion, where the rich I.I.s lived. They just knew when someone was coming over and responded accordingly.
“Who is it?” a voice came over the building’s ancient intercom.
“Officer Alvarez,” she replied. “We spoke earlier.”
“Come on up. It’s unlocked.”
Ben, the client Tera came to meet, greeted her when she arrived at his apartment. Despite the superior status the brick building possessed, the interior was just as pitted as the rest of Slumside. The banisters of the stairwell that led up to Ben’s home were all warped and rotted, as though someone had picked up some driftwood from an ancient naval battle and used that. The carpeting that lined the halls was speckled with holes where moths and rats had chewed through it.
The I.I.’s apartment, however, was at least halfway decent — compared to the rest of the block, that is. He still had some unsightly warped wood panels on his floor and ceiling, but he did what he could to cover it up with faded area rugs. There were even a few tapestries and art pieces that blanketed the walls, no doubt concealing some other disrepair. Tera’s gaze locked onto one as Ben welcomed her into his apartment.
It was of a young Native American woman, no older than sixteen, with the full belly of pregnancy. She was sort of scowling out into the room, as if Tera had intruded on a private moment.
Who would make such a thing? Tera wondered, thinking the piece a little grotesque.
Her host followed her gaze and gave a little chuckle.
“Passed down in the family,” he told her. “One of the few things my father left me before he was installed.”
“It’s strange,” Tera said.
“Why’s that?” he asked her.
“She just looks so upset,” Tera replied. “It’s not a very happy painting.”
“Nor was the Last Supper, but is it not still one of the great masterpieces?”
Tera didn’t say anything, instead looking around at the rest of his decor.
She could tell he put a great effort into the aesthetics. He had a loveseat placed before an exquisite cherry wood coffee table. An afghan blanket covered the back of the furniture. Across from it was an old-fashioned rocking chair. Tera could already imagine the terrible creaking that came from it.
He enjoys his superficial comforts, Tera observed. So like a human.
“I suppose you didn’t come to discuss art, though,” Ben said with an air of humor. He closed the door.
“No, I came to discuss the motel — ”
“Camila,” Ben corrected.
“Right,” Tera said, a bit annoyed. “Camila. And how do you know her again?”
Ben walked past her into the main living area and sat in the rocking chair. It groaned and squeaked even more than she thought it would. “Take a seat,” he said, offering the sofa.
She did so, making sure there were no hidden stains on the couch like there were in the motel’s shack.
“I’m one of her clients, as you know,” Ben said.
“So you pay her to — ” Tera started, leaving the rest of the sentence open for Ben to complete.
He did. “To share her body, yes.”
“Do you mind if I ask what you do during your… ‘sessions’?”
“We’d just talk, go out to dinner, that kind of stuff,” Ben replied.
“Talk?”
“That’s right.”
“I don’t understand,” Tera said.
“I don’t have complex needs, officer,” Ben explained. “Not everyone who pays a woman like Camila is a scumbag. Not everyone wants to do unsavory things with her. I just enjoy the companionship.”
“The companionship?”
“Sure,” Ben replied. “You must miss that kind of one-on-one intimacy, being an I.I. yourself. I get to feel what she feels, so I like to treat her nice. We’ll even see plays, whatever ones they’ll put on in town. I try to take her to the best restaurants and feed her well.”
“Why would you pay money for something like that?” Tera asked. “Why not just find anyone out there willing to share their mind with you? I’m sure plenty of people would like to be taken out to plays, to be wined and dined.”
“Because she needs the money, and I have it,” Ben replied. “I’m an I.I. I have more than all the humans around me, even though I’m a slum dweller myself. She’s a good person, at least to me, and I want to do what I can. It’s not like I get nothing from it.”
“I guess I just don’t understand,” Tera said.
“No, I don’t expect you to,” Ben said. “You’re like the other I.I.s. But some of us are sympathetic to the plight around us. We’re still human, after all.”
Tera raised one of her synthetic eyebrows as she considered the I.I. She chose to ignore the comment.
“Did Camila mention any shady customers when she was with you?” she asked, referring back to her notes.
“Oh, all the time,” Ben replied. “I made a point of always asking her about her day.”
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“Anyone you think would want to rob her?”
“I dunno, I guess any of them could have,” her host said. “The only ones she talked about were the weirdos. None of them stand out over the others. Who knows which junkie might try to screw you over?”
Tera sighed, a bit of defeat in her tone.
“I just wish there was something I could do,” Tera said.
Ben smiled.
“That’s a good sign, officer,” he commented. “If more people felt that way, we wouldn’t have Slumside. In fact, Shell City would be a utopia for all. They certainly have the resources, they just lack the will to use them. It’s just the same old story, from before the war, before I.I.s took over. The inequality was still the same. It’s not about humans or I.I.s — it’s about the powerful wanting to keep the power. To horde it.”
“Yeah,” Tera replied. There was part of her that was worried someone might overhear her, someone working for the Council. She knew she was safe, though.
She started to rise from the couch.
“Well, Ben, if there’s anything else you can think of —”
“I know how to call you,” Ben interrupted.
At that moment, a page came through on Tera’s communication system. It was Abenayo.
“Officer Alvarez,” Tera answered.
“Tera, I need you to get to my location as soon as you can,” the senior officer said, forgoing a greeting. “Do you read my G.P.S.?”
“Got it,” Tera said. “En route.”
“Good. Hurry.”
Abenayo disconnected.
She turned to the I.I., who was still sat in his rocking chair, looking up at her.
“I’ve got another call,” she told him. “I’ve got to go.”
“I understand.”
“Thank you for speaking with me, Ben,” she said.
Ben nodded softly, a content look on his artificial features. “I’ll speak with anyone willing to show these folks a little compassion. The world needs more people like us, officer.”
Tera said nothing else before leaving the apartment.
8
Challenge
Sharpe was amused by Ethan’s story, to say the least. A look on his face indicated that he thought his friend was joking, that the interaction with Gauge was just some funny story he’d made up. Ethan didn’t like the way Sharpe reacted.
“I’m being serious,” Ethan said.
“Of course you are,” Sharpe said, a tinge of sarcasm in his voice. “And I suppose some fair maiden sent you on a quest afterward?”
It frustrated Ethan to not be taken seriously. His face turned a bit pink as he blushed. Sweat gathered under his brow, though it was just a digital rendition.
“He said the real world wasn’t what we thought,” Ethan said, ignoring his friend’s comment. “He said that we were being lied to.”
“Yeah, it sounds like a great hook for an adventure,” Sharpe replied. “I’d play it. Sounds intense.”
“It’s not an adventure, Sharpe!” Ethan replied.
Sharpe sat up in his virtual loveseat. His expression went from total amusement to thoughtful consideration.
“How do you know?” he asked. “Some of those adventures can feel pretty real.”
“Not this real,” Ethan replied. He refused to acknowledge the possibility. It was just so… different from anything he’d seen in the series of missions that made up the “game” part of the simulation.
“Did he ask you to take a red pill or a blue pill?” Sharpe joked. “Because, you know that you’re better off with the blue pill, right?”
“What if it’s real, though?” Ethan asked. He felt helpless. If Sharpe wouldn’t listen to him, no one would.
Am I really so wrong?
“Then I’d enjoy the simulation while you’re here, if I were you,” his friend replied. “Replication Systems worked hard to make it, after all.”
He became distracted by something on his personal interface. Ethan couldn’t see what it was, naturally.
“Shit,” Sharpe said, almost as a whisper to himself.
“What is it?”
“Someone’s at the door,” Sharpe replied.
“Who?”
Sharpe concentrated for a moment while his eyes saw things that weren’t actually there in the room with them. A smirk crossed his lips after a few seconds.
“It’s Taylor,” he replied, his focus returning to Ethan.
“Taylor?” Ethan repeated, thinking of their casual rival. “What does she want?”
“How the hell am I supposed to know?”
A knock came at the front door, loud enough for the pair of them to hear it down in Sharpe’s basement. The host turned his attention back to whatever security feed was showing him the front of his home base.
“She says she just wants to talk,” he explained. “Says she ‘doesn’t want a shootout like last time’. Think we should entertain her?”
“Hmm, I dunno,” Ethan replied. “She’s probably still sore about the hole we blew into her home base on the island.”
“She started that fight and she knows it,” Sharpe said. “She’s not unreasonable.”
Ethan sighed, feeling like he wasn’t being listened to for the umpteenth time that week. “Let’s go see her, then.”
Ethan and Sharpe were no fools. Their rivalry with Taylor meant that no one was above deception. If she was still angry about her home base, the worst thing they could do was get together in one place for her to do God-knows-what. Therefore, they both armed themselves with magical weapons and heavy artillery, just in case things got ugly.
In the end, however, it was all fake. She couldn’t really hurt them. Even if she killed them both and blew up the basement, they would respawn and Sharpe could rebuild it with infinite materials. Rivalries like these were just part of the fun.
As soon as they emerged from Sharpe’s base with their weapons brandished, Taylor lifted her hands. She was about a year younger than either of the boys, but more cunning and devious than both. There was no real hatred in her eyes, only that playful look she got when she was thinking about winning.
She must have a game in mind, Ethan thought.
“I come in peace, compadres,” she said, her arms still in the air. A smile crossed her face — she wasn’t worried about their weapons.
“How do we know that?” Sharpe asked. He held a pump-action shotgun that Ethan knew shot laser beams.
“You don’t, really,” she admitted, “but putting myself at your mercy like this would be a pretty funny way to start a brawl.”
“What do you want?” Ethan asked.
Her crystal blue eyes shifted over to him.
“Our birthday is coming up, you know,” she started.
“Don’t call it ‘our’ birthday, Taylor,” Ethan stopped her. “We’re not brother and sister or something. It’s just your birthday and my birthday. Got it?”
“But why, Ethan?” she replied. A bit of golden blonde hair fell in her face. She didn’t move to fix it, though; subtle things like that didn’t actually tickle in the simulation.
“What do you mean?” Ethan said, his eyebrow cocked.
“I mean, we could combine our forces to have one last fun sendoff before we graduate from the simulation,” she answered. “We could share our nineteenth birthdays in the spirit of competition.”
“You want to play some sort of game together?”
“That’s right,” she said. “The winner gets to enter the real world with bragging rights. Plus, it could add to your score just before graduating.”
“No,” Sharpe said. “We don’t want to do that.”
Ethan looked over at his friend. He felt a little strange about him answering for him, but his sentiments were the same.
“No?” Taylor asked. “Why not?”
“Because we tried that before and you cheated,” Ethan stepped in. “You lorded it over me for a whole year and no one believed me.”
“You’re right
, Ethan,” Taylor said. “I cheated. But we were only ten. You can’t hold that kind of stuff against me forever. I was kind of a little bitch, and if I remember right, you were a pretentious weirdo. It’s not like that anymore — at least, not entirely.” She couldn’t keep herself from smirking. “No funny business. I promise.”
Ethan looked over at Sharpe as if to ask his thoughts on the challenge. There was an interested expression on his friend’s computerized face.
“What do you have in mind?” Sharpe asked.
Taylor’s eyes lit up. It was clear that she hadn’t been sure if they would humor her.
“Last Stand,” she replied. “Heard of it?”
“Sounds familiar,” Ethan said, scrunching his face up as he tried to recall from where.
“A bunch of us enter the map — dozens of us — but only one can win,” she explained. “It’s a hunt-or-be-hunted situation. Last person left alive on the map is the victor.”
Ethan couldn’t deny that the concept intrigued him. Some of the details were starting to come back to him, as he remembered watching an interview about the game mode while it was still in development. If he remembered correctly, it involved finding weapons, sneaking across the map, and fighting for your life. Like something out of the Hunger Games.
“What’s the catch?” he asked.
That’s when Taylor’s grin grew even wider. She was obviously proud of whatever twist she invented for the Last Stand challenge.
“Spit it out already!” Sharpe demanded.
“We stake all of our points on the game,” she said, barely able to contain her delight. “Winner takes all.”
9
Shedding
“What took you so long?” Abenayo asked once Tera arrived on location. “I paged you fifteen minutes ago.”
Hello to you, too, Tera thought as she approached the scene.
They stood outside one of the few churches scattered around Slumside. It was an old wooden building with a short steeple. It was covered in white paint that was splitting and peeling away in the hot city sun. A few other officers patrolled around the area, their weapons already deployed and readied. The late afternoon sun caught all the bodyshells in such a way that they looked like a bunch of dazzling gems.