Playing With Death

by Simon Scarrow

  ‘Knew of him. Most people in my field do. Man’s something of a minor legend.’

  ‘Do you have any idea what kind of work Coulter was doing at Peek?’

  ‘He was pulled in to work on the AI for the combat simulations on the original project. You know, working out the routines for the Opposing Forces, to make sure they responded in a realistic manner. That was the hardest part to get right, and the most important, if the Special Forces guys were going to be trained through the Skin system.’

  ‘Did he succeed?’

  ‘Let’s just say he was one of the best in the business. If anyone can tweak the AI to do the job required, then he is – was – your man. Quite brilliant in his own way, but like some bright guys he lacked certain social skills. Bit of a loner, you know what I mean? Anyway, our team did the work for the government in return for being given the go-ahead to use the simulation engine to design the combat games when the Skin was allowed to go to market. That’s no small deal. The technical specifications we got off the military were invaluable. No other game designers were going to get close to the detail we were given. So it worked out well for both sides: Uncle Sam got to trial the training simulator suits and we got the exclusive rights to use the software and hardware when it became declassified, even if we had to wait before we could develop the consumer version of the Skin and release it to the public.’

  Rose nods. ‘I’ve seen the adverts. You’ve been making quite a big splash on the marketing.’

  ‘Well over two hundred million dollars so far. Biggest promotional spend in WadeSoft’s history. But then the Skin is going to be the biggest domestic entertainment product in history.’

  ‘You think?’

  ‘I know it, Special Agent.’ He pauses. ‘May I call you Rose?’

  ‘If you like.’

  ‘All right then, Rose. You’ve seen the advertisements. Let me tell you, the Skin is as good as it sounds. You put one on, load up a sim and you are in another world. The launch pack comes with a skiing sim and, the one I am most proud of, a sky-diving sim. There’s a bungee jump mode too. Scares the crap out of me every time I’ve used it.’

  ‘I’m sure it’s a lot of fun, Mr Wolff.’

  ‘Screw fun, it’s as good as the real deal. Better. As anyone who has had to free-fall through a hailstorm knows. You feel the wind buffeting your body. You hear it roaring in your ears. You can feel the lurch when the chute opens and the impact when the ground comes up. It’s awesome. Truly. It’s going to make WadeSoft richer than every other tech company in the world combined. And next month you’ll get a chance to see what the fuss is about for yourself, once the Skin is on sale. I could do you two a big discount if you like.’

  Rose shakes her head. ‘Against the rules. Besides, it doesn’t sound like my thing. I have enough trouble coping with the real world, never mind a whole mess of other worlds.’

  Wolff smiles. ‘But that’s the point. There is no trouble in the Skin worlds. You’re a tourist in a realm you control. You can do anything you like, try out every dangerous sport you ever wanted, and do it all in the safety of your own home. Think about it.’

  Rose cannot help but shiver at the intensity of Wolff’s vision. Life as just a game.

  ‘I’ve cooperated with you,’ says Wolff. ‘Now it’s your turn. This Skin looks burnt. How did Coulter die?’

  ‘It’s not a question of taking turns, Mr Wolff. You are cooperating with our investigation, not the other way round.’

  ‘Point taken. But wait, if you share something with me, then maybe I can be of more help to you.’

  Rose considers this briefly and accepts that Wolff might have something useful to offer their investigation. ‘Coulter initially appeared to have been burned to death as a result of an electrical fire, but the autopsy revealed that he was assaulted before the fire.’

  Owen intervenes. ‘So that almost certainly makes it murder. Unless, perhaps, there’s a fault in the suit. Is that possible?’

  ‘No. Even though these military-grade suits were far more powerful, they had plenty of safeguards – a FidelitySafe – built in to ensure that the wearer was protected from simulated feedback from his environment. We wanted soldiers to feel the impact of bullets, but not be injured in the process, no matter how realistic their simulation was designed to be. Besides, there was always a simple word command that instantly closed down the simulation. I think you’re looking for a murderer rather than a technical fault.’

  ‘But it’s also possible that Coulter’s death was meant to send a message to someone. If that’s the case then there’s a danger the killer isn’t done yet.’

  ‘You really think so?’

  ‘Can you give us the names of any other of Coulter’s co-workers on the project? They could be in danger. We’ll need to speak to them in any case.’

  ‘You’d need to clear that with the Pentagon first, I’m afraid.’

  ‘When exactly does your Skin hit the stores?’ Rose asks.

  ‘First of next month,’ Wolff replies. ‘A big day for us.’

  Rose frowns. ‘Is there any way you could postpone the launch? If there is a chance there’s a fault in the technology? It might be best to check before the public gets hold of them.’

  ‘Stall the launch? I have spent hundreds of millions on marketing and we have nine million pre-orders, and counting. You ever tried to piss that many people off? The stock market would kill us even if our customers didn’t. There’s no way we could delay it. Besides, our Skins are safe. I absolutely guarantee it.’

  ‘How does the suit work, if you don’t mind explaining?’ Owen asks.

  Wolff pulls a leg up onto the chair and hugs it. ‘The precise details are trade secrets, but I’ll explain it in layman’s terms. This is nothing like the first crappy iterations we had, backed by deluded angel investors. Their clumsy attempts stalled the VR market for the best part of a generation. The Skin has tiny nodes that sit exactly on the skin where the body’s neural pathways are. By beaming hundreds of signals onto these areas, it syncs the suit’s circuitry with the body’s, making the wearer sense whatever the simulation is programmed to make them feel. Ambient sensations as well as physical movements. When that’s coordinated with the Sight visor, the feed to the brain makes the user believe they are in a different world. Multiple sensor nodes feed back to a wireless base station to manage the interaction with the suit’s spatial sensors and provide the suit’s haptic feedback and sensory processing. And there are safety features. The suit closely monitors heart rate and other biometry and is programmed to pause or cut out if there is any danger. Besides, the terms and conditions advise anyone who has epilepsy, a heart condition or a nervous disorder to avoid using the Skin. Frankly, you’re far safer in a Skin than you are venturing out onto the streets these days.’

  ‘Sounds to me like all you have done is find a new way for people to waste time,’ says Rose.

  ‘I think you’ll find that for many people the worlds I am about to offer them are a vast improvement on their actual lives. Everyone has a fantasy they want to fulfil: the goal they never attained, the sport they could never play. They crave excitement, and a sense of being better than they are.

  ‘And I am going to give them all that, Special Agent Blake. And more. After all, what could be better than a world in which every dream can come true? A world that allows the everyday American to live the dream. In the StreamPlex you can live like you once were, wanted to be or never could be. For law enforcement, we can build VR crime scenes to help you and your colleagues. The possibilities are endless.’

  ‘You sound like a politician,’ says Owen.

  ‘Love him or loathe him, this president has proved that people are tired of career politicians. I’ve got the tech that will swing the young people’s vote. Maybe in a few years I’ll look into it . . . Be a blast to run the show for four
years.’ His expression becomes serious. ‘I trust the details of this conversation will be kept private? Last thing I – we – need is an unnecessary panic over the safety of my product.’ He leans closer to Rose. ‘I swear to God that the Skin technology is safe.’

  ‘I hope so, Mr Wolff. If not, then you’re going to find real life has an unforgiving way of dealing with the failings of your virtual world gizmo.’

  ‘The Skin is not a toy. It’s an experience. A world of experience.’

  Rose stands up. ‘We’re still waiting for forensics, which could offer further leads. We’ll be in touch.’

  Wolff smiles. ‘I hope you catch Coulter’s killer. Last thing we need is another Koenig on the loose, right?’

  24.

  Tonight Koenig is thinking about evolution.

  He is lying on his couch staring up at the fan sweeping round overhead. It provides a welcome cooling flow of air, but at the same time stirs up the rising stench of garbage and sweat. He has tied his waste bags as securely as he can but the odours of rotting food still seep out. Right now Koenig would kill for the chance to step outside and enjoy the fresh sea air of his temporary neighbourhood. To gaze out over the ocean as the sun sets on the horizon would be a luxury. But a luxury he cannot afford. Not until he can remove the bandages and see that the scarring has diminished enough not to attract any unwanted attention. When he eventually emerges into the world it will not be like some beast coming out of hibernation, but like an exotic butterfly emerging from its chrysalis. Fresh and radiant.

  He will be a thing of beauty amid the drab humdrum lives of those he hides amongst, and on whom he preys. Hundreds of millions of years of natural selection have culminated in him. And now he must do honour to that process by adapting, evolving and surviving.

  His bandaged face is still too sensitive to touch. He ran out of painkillers a few days before and it hurts like a goddam bitch. But it will be worth it. The best of his kind are the ones who stay ahead of the authorities. And how do they do that? They evolve. Looking back at the history of his kind he reflects that those who were caught got complacent. They didn’t adapt to their environment. They got sloppy. They just continued what they’d been doing, establishing patterns, and giving the other side the chance to learn the rules by which they lived.

  It’s not the prospect of prison, or the possibility of being given a death sentence – depending on which state he’s tried in – that scares Koenig. It’s the horror of humiliation. Of being bested by lesser beings. Of being held up to the rubber-necking public as some kind of freak show exhibit. Of being caged like a wild animal. It would be an utter refutation of the rightness and beauty of natural selection. If the other side captured him and contained him, then it would be as if evolution has happened for nothing. Nature’s throwbacks and evolutionary dead ends would prevail, and humanity would be the poorer for it.

  A wave of shooting pain seizes him again. It is like weevils eating through his cheeks and skull. He does not try to ignore the pain. He has no choice but to embrace it. It is the pain that gives his existence all the more meaning. Life is pain. Koenig knows this. He has always known it. He has lived with pain, physical and mental, ever since he was an infant. It is the measure of a man how he copes with that pain. Some choose to complain about it, whining about the unfairness of life. Some choose to surrender to it, and end their lives. And then some, the very few, choose to absorb the pain. To keep it close, as a constant reminder of the imminence of death amid life. Life that should not be taken for granted. As so many of those around Koenig do. They are little better than sheep, he muses. Grazing mindlessly even as the wolves circle and prove once more that nature insists on a hierarchy. Kill or be killed. Adapt or die.

  But in order to do these things he must prepare himself. He must be disciplined.

  Rising from the couch Koenig crosses the room to the full-length mirror beside the corridor leading to the bedrooms. He reaches down to pick up the heavy barbells and begins a new set. He’s determined to keep his body and mind sharp until he is ready to rejoin the world in person.

  He has never left the virtual world though. Before the event at the cabin he had been adept at invisibly cruising the internet, surfacing only to make contact with his victims and the followers of his KKillKam site on a little-travelled region of the dark web. Since then, he has improved his skills and mastered the StreamPlex, amongst other things. His hacking skills were already impressive, but now they are world class, and Koenig knows that the best is yet to come.

  ‘I am the master of my fate,’ he says to his reflection. ‘I am the captain of my soul . . . And I will soon come out of the night that covers me. I will be the horror of the shade. I, Koenig.’

  A soft ping from his laptop interrupts his exercise. He returns the weight bar to its bracket and dries his hands on a small towel as he crosses to the kitchen counter and stares at the inbox on the screen. It is superimposed on his website counter and he sees that the viewing counter on the burning victim video file has passed three thousand. Still short of his other videos, but catching up fast. He feels his rage building as he sees that the message is from ‘Shelley’.

  My handiwork appears to be popular . . .

  Koenig clenches his fists so tightly that the muscles on his arms and the veins on the back of his hands stand out like marble sculpture. He is glad that his webcam is covered with tape.

  Why have you posted your video on KKillKam? No, screw that. HOW have you been able to?

  There is the very briefest of pauses before the reply comes and Koenig notes that this Shelley, whoever she or he is, is adept with the keyboard.

  HOW is not important to you. WHY is.

  So why you are fucking with my website?

  I am not fucking with you, Koenig. I share a taste for death. I would share more with you if you would let me. I am confident that we can help each other.

  Koenig smiles thinly.

  I don’t need your help. I have managed on my own well enough.

  You were nearly captured at your cabin.

  But I wasn’t captured . . .

  Not on that occasion. But you might be next time. I can help prevent that.

  What are you? Some kind of serial killer helpline?

  No. I am Shelley.

  You are dead if I ever get my hands on you. But not until I peel you like a grape and eat cuts of your flesh in front of you.

  You will never get your hands on me, Koenig. You can’t. But I have plans for you. Plans you can do nothing about. You can work with me and I will help you.

  He snorts with derision and types.

  Or else???

  Or else?

  Koenig thrusts himself back from the counter and the stool rocks slightly before it settles.

  ‘What the fuck?’ he mutters. ‘What kind of a dumbass are you?’

  There’s a fresh line in the message box.

  Dumbass?

  Koenig freezes. He stares at his laptop as if it were a coiled snake. Shelley has taken over the microphone on his laptop. How is that possible? His anger burns.

  ‘As you can hear this, you’d better listen good. I will find you. I will take you. I will cut the skin from your flesh. I will eat your heart and keep your eyes as a trophy. And I will record it all and it will be the best clip of my collection. And I will show the world what happens to those who dare to consider themselves the equal of Shane Koenig.’

  As soon as he finishes, Koenig minimizes the window, opens another and launches his tracer program. The one he uses to stalk his prey and ensure that they are what they purport to be. Then he shuts down the connection to KKillKam and the network that hosts it. For good measure he turns off the router.

  He feels something he has not known since that night back in the cabin. Fear. He is vulnerable. Well, he thinks, there is something I can do a
bout that. First, there is the need to run a deep scan on his laptop and close down any chance of further remote access. There are some groups on the dark web that know how to counter such attacks. He has been a member of one of them for some time in his guise as the hacker known as Möbius. His contacts will help him while he waits for the tracker program to start reporting back. When he finds ‘Shelley’, he will hold true to his promise.

  Every word of it.

  25.

  Pandora: her name runs on a loop in Jeff’s mind, even as he is listening to his boss, Senator Keller.

  Jeff gazes at Pandora Valler, the pretty black-haired intern outside his office, bending over a jammed photocopier. She’s dressed in a purple blouse and black stretch jeans. The Sacramento campaign headquarters are brightly lit, with large windows, rows of busy desks, boxes of flyers and other promotional materials stacked on tables. Staff make and take phone calls. A wall-mounted flat screen shows recent opinion poll results highlighted in blue and red.

  ‘So, Jeff, how are we doing?’ asks Keller. ‘We’re on the final lap now.’

  Jeff scans Pandora’s slim figure and long legs before turning to the senator sitting in front of him. Keller is impeccably dressed in a blue suit and red silk tie, his grey hair neatly groomed. He has a kind face, calm blue eyes and a relaxed jaw. He speaks with a soft Southern drawl, rarely raising his voice. He is of Dutch, German and Irish descent and is married to a Cuban. It’s a demographic that plays well in an increasingly multi-ethnic electorate.

  ‘We still have a lot of ground to cover, Senator. We’ve got some more videos to upload, and the opinion polls from BNC News show us at forty-nine point one, with Grindall at fifty point nine.’

  Keller winces. ‘Jesus, that’s close.’

  ‘I think another chat session with you fielding questions on StreamPlex will help with the younger demographic. Not forgetting the debates in Bakersfield and San Diego.’

  ‘Good, I’ll do Facebook again when I’m back from Bakersfield.’