Slum Online

by Hiroshi Sakurazaka

  My head moved sluggishly, but my fingers launched into precise action. Hashimoto dashed forward, leaping over a sofa, kicked open the door, and ran in the direction of the mysterious character.

  Jack was a middleweight, Hashimoto a lightweight. I would have no trouble catching up. I had my laptop open and had been intending to check some data, but there was no time for that now. The slightest blink of delay in entering a command could decide everything. Luckily, I knew this place better than the back of my hand. As long as I didn’t get into any fights, nothing could slow me down.

  As I ran, Hashimoto leveraged a small jump onto a hedgerow into a large jump. I looked around in midair and found the person I was looking for. It was Jack’s face, all right. But the body was wrong—it looked like the girl from that late-night anime everyone seemed to be copying lately.

  My mark ducked into an alley. I mashed some commands and sent Hashimoto in aft er him. There he was. I stopped Hashimoto about three and a half steps away—just out of dash-throw range.

  > Who are you?

  Without answering, my mark lifted his girlish arms and removed the mask, which should have been impossible. Masks in Versus Town weren’t placed on the face, they were directly applied to facial textures. If there had been a patch to change this, I hadn’t heard anything about it.

  My surprise at that was nothing compared to what I saw next. I was looking at myself—Hashimoto, to be precise. My mark wore the face of a grumpy old man on the body of an anime girl.

  > I will ask you again. Who are you?

  A speech bubble appeared above the mystery figure’s head, his diction mimicking my own antiquated style.

  > Before I may respond to your request, I have a question of mine own. I want to hear your thoughts on the meaning of our existence here in Versus Town.

  Was he serious or merely having a laugh at my expense? I had no way to tell. What seemed clear was that he had looked into the window of the house with the express purpose of drawing me out. I was the mark, not him. There was nothing to lose and everything to gain by taking this matter very seriously indeed. Leaving my controller where I could grab it at a moment’s notice, I began to type.

  > While performing a hundred push-ups might make one’s arms strong, vaulting an E-rank wall one hundred times does not make one any stronger. All that we can advance is our sense of arcane command timings, all of which could change with the next patch. In other words, all characters in Versus Town stand upon the deck of a ship that might capsize at any moment.

  > Not what I would have expected to hear from Hashimoto’s player. Why, your assessment of VT is practically the same as that of the sneering old man who dismisses all this as a “virtual” waste of time.

  The impostor Hashimoto looked as unimpressed as an impassive mask of polygons could look.

  > Then what would you say we are?

  > Focusing prisms. The online environment possesses the capacity to augment one or more parts of a player’s personality. The imaginary character we create online is a delusion or fantasy, if you prefer, above and beyond the fantasies we carry around with us in RL.

  > We’re just fantasies, then?

  > We cling to fantasies in both the real and virtual. What I wish to point out is that those fantasies are different.

  What this Hashimoto was saying was perfectly in character for Hashimoto. I felt almost like he’d stolen Hashimoto away from me, leaving me, the player, standing naked in an alley in Versus Town. Not a pleasant sensation.

  > So what are you trying to

  I began to type, but the other Hashimoto cut me off with a stream of text in his own speech bubble.

  > The real Etsuro Sakagami would never turn to Jun Yamanouchi for help unraveling a mystery. Why? Because the real Jun Yamanouchi doesn’t match the RL image of someone capable of unraveling mysteries—he doesn’t fit the fantasy. Not so with the imaginary online character Hashimoto. He might be capable where Jun Yamanouchi is not. At least, that’s what Etsuro Sakagami thinks. He entrusts Hashimoto with a task he would never entrust to his player.

  > Yes, but Hashimoto is merely a part of Jun Yamanouchi, a character whom I role-play, nothing more. How could Hashimoto divine anything I could not?

  He spoke again.

  > Of course the intellectual limitations of the player are those of the character. My brain and yours are the same, after all. Yet I, who possess augmented capacity for thought in a certain direction, have abandoned whole categories of things that you do, allowing you to choose from certain paths of action that you have already discarded because you did not require them.

  That is how I am able to arrive at conclusions well outside Jun Yamanouchi’s usual framework of thought.

  Apparently, the Hashimoto I was talking to was the real Hashimoto. He was making me feel like an impostor.

  > Sounds like you already know the answer then.

  > Of course I do. It’s quite simple.

  > Easy for me to say.

  > It’s not only a question of virtual theory. If you are able to leverage this new personality you have found within yourself, to accept it as part of your total being, then you can bring it back to serve the needs of Jun Yamanouchi in RL.

  > Sounds complicated.

  > I never said it would be easy.

  Hashimoto deft ly shrugged the polygons in his shoulders— one of my favorite emotes.

  Back when all Sanchōme had been abuzz with talk of the ganker, Tetsuo hadn’t been the only one hot on Jack’s trail. There were plenty of guys out there looking to bring Jack down and make a name for themselves in the process, Hashimoto being one of them. But though I had been chasing Jack, I never wanted to defeat him. I couldn’t claim the online miracle that was Jack all for myself. I wasn’t so arrogant as to deprive all those people chasing aft er a fantasy of their one chance of justifying hours spent idly wandering the streets of Sanchōme just to satisfy my own sense of purpose.

  Nor was there any guarantee that Hashimoto could have taken Jack down even had he gone that route. Rather, it was highly unlikely. That it seemed likely now was an illusion brought about because Tetsuo had defeated him and taken the title of reigning champion for his own. If I rewound my memory to the time before Tetsuo’s victory, I found Jack standing like a monument over Versus Town: undefeatable, superhuman. For Tetsuo’s player, Etsuro Sakagami, the decision to take on Jack couldn’t have been an easy one. But he had chosen it and had made it across the tightrope to victory.

  It had been an unusual situation, to say the least. They had decided to fight without an audience at all. That had been what Tetsuo wanted, of course. Jack as well, no doubt. Hashimoto himself understood the justice in it, and Pak hadn’t seemed to mind either. But it must have been a particularly bitter ending—having been stuck lurking out of the spotlight—for whoever sent the trophy to Etsuro. That was why he was trying to reboot Jack’s story now.

  Hashimoto could simply walk away, and this second chapter in Jack’s story would likely find its own ending, somewhere in between VT and RL. But would it be an ending I wanted? No—it doesn’t matter what I think. Hashimoto, this imaginary character I had created, was me, but at the same time, not exactly “me.” Hashimoto lacked some parts of my personality, while possessing others in even greater abundance than I did—probably a mixed blessing for him. For me, I had a little more flexibility. It all came down to whom I chose to favor at any given time: myself or Hashimoto.

  I realized that it wasn’t about whether I wanted a reboot of Jack’s story. The question I really should be asking was, “Would Hashimoto want this new ending?” I could probably get through this as a bystander. That would be more my style anyway—to stand back, out of the action—especially now that I knew Tetsuo’s player was my old friend. Yet the memory of my joy at having been, as Hashimoto, even a spectator at the miracle that was Ganker Jack and the frenzy that erupted around him pulled me irresistibly into the thick of it. I could not ignore that memory. To do so would be to allow RL t
o overwrite Hashimoto.

  But would that be such a great loss? No matter how well I played the role of Hashimoto, I didn’t really expect his character to rub off on me in any appreciable way. The potential for personal growth online was a fleeting thing, a little dream quickly lost in a deluge of data. Trying to catch it was akin to catching a silvery fish bare-handed.

  Yet that hope for personal growth fueled my role-playing of Hashimoto. I had to conclude that it was vital to prevent RL considerations from destroying online potential, no matter how small that potential. The one who had stolen the trophy didn’t understand this, and I couldn’t abide that. It wasn’t a question of who had been inconvenienced or who was helping whom. This was a personal aff ront to Hashimoto and every other resident of Versus Town. In a place where action was king, taking action sans understanding was the worst thing you could possibly do.

  It fell to me to bury this second chapter before it even got started, and as Hashimoto I was uniquely qualified to do that. As a bystander, he had watched as Tetsuo pursued Jack. I was now quite sure that the trophy thief had also been one of Jack’s pursuers. It would be a simple thing to simulate the thought patterns of someone who hadn’t been happy to see things go the way they had.

  I realized I’d been staring at my twenty-four-inch flat-screen monitor for some time without looking at anything in particular. The AFK chime in the game began to sound. In Versus Town, that warning only went off aft er several minutes of inactivity. I checked the time on my laptop and saw it was already ten PM in RL. I’d been dreaming.

  Had I really been chatting with someone? Had I been playing while I was asleep? It was possible that Jack’s player had really shown up looking and acting like Hashimoto, and as long as he was acting like Hashimoto he would be Hashimoto. But why would Jack have any reason to go so far out of his way on my account? No, I must have been dreaming.

  Real or not, the episode had left me with a new insight on the case. I now knew who the trophy thief was. Once I understood how he felt, it hadn’t been hard. In fact, I realized the problem had never been the thief ’s identity. The real problem, one I still faced, was how virtual aHashimoto was going to get the drop on an RL thief.

  CHAPTER 4

  I PRESSED THE BUTTON and became Ganker Jack.

  Well, to be precise, I became Hashimoto, except today, Hashimoto was role-playing Jack. I looked just like him: a middleweight snake boxer. From the outside, it would have been impossible to tell the diff erence.

  The time was nine PM. Still a little before peak time on the server. Hashimoto, in Jack-guise, stood in a relatively deserted Sanchōme. Tetsuo stood a short distance away, rotating his camera at regular intervals.

  > You really think he’ll bite?

  Tetsuo asked. I entered my response.

  > Absolutely.

  > There isn’t a single pixel moving around here besides us. > Recall that I said it might take ten or even twenty attempts. > Look, if you think you know who might have done it, why don’t we just ask them?

  > Knowing who stole the trophy in RL is immaterial. I know what I’m doing. Leave this to me.

  > There you go again.

  > Someone may be watching us. I suggest we speak no further.

  > Fine, fine. Whatever you say.

  > We should get started soon, with your leave. Same as before.

  I did indeed have a pretty good idea of who the thief was, but there was a chance I had missed the mark. Still, I didn’t really think that mattered. In this place where the only meaning lay in action, the thief ’s name was merely information. It was knowing why he had done what he had that was important.

  This was the fift h such mock battle between Tetsuo and Hashimoto/Jack. I had already planted rumors in such a way that it would reach the ears of my suspect that Ganker Jack had returned. If my hypothesis was correct, a Jack reboot would be the one temptation the suspect could not resist.

  I worked the controls, making Jack retreat back down a narrow alleyway. It was important that we always began our mock battles in precisely the correct predetermined locations.

  > Let us begin.

  I swapped controller plugs on the game console and pressed enter on my laptop. Jack sprang into action. When he had closed to three and a half steps, Tetsuo too began to move. Dodging Jack’s opening kick by a hair, Tetsuo went on the off ensive. Jack ran, Tetsuo in hot pursuit. A series of attacks and counters played out on my twenty-four-inch display, almost too fast for my eye to follow.

  Obviously, I would never be able to control Jack as well as Jack’s original player. Trying to pretend otherwise would only reveal me as an impostor to anyone with any combat experience, and my mark was one of the best fighters in Versus Town. So I had to improvise. Instead of controlling Jack’s moves directly, I left that to a program on my laptop. Hashimoto-in-Jack-guise was free to engage in pitch-perfect choreographed combat against his sworn enemy.

  Tetsuo dashed in close, grabbing Jack by the collar for a throw. Jack brushed Tetsuo’s arms aside and the two of them rotated 45 degrees before separating again.

  I could picture Etsuro Sakagami working his controller, far away, at the other end of a fiber optic cable in Saitama. Jack was merely playing out the predetermined steps in a solo dance, but with Tetsuo’s accompaniment, the dance became a battle royal. Tetsuo lunged and countered at preplanned intervals. There was a margin of error of only a few seconds in the entire fight. He truly was the best fighter in Sanchōme. I don’t think anyone else in the game could have pulled off such a perfectly choreographed dance.

  Jack and Tetsuo wore away at each other’s defenses as their fight slowly moved deeper and deeper into the backstreets of Sanchōme.

  Jack swept gracefully across the screen—a dance I could no longer even pretend to be following. Th ere was a diff erent personality within Hashimoto’s body now. Now I was the observer, watching him and Tetsuo spar. I had no idea what Etsuro was feeling—only my laptop felt the force of his kicks and quick jabs—but to me, it looked like a happy reunion of two old friends trading blows beneath a clear blue sky.

  The fight went on for ten minutes, when history was reversed (for the fifth time) and Ganker Jack sealed his victory over Tetsuo. Sprawled at Jack’s feet, Tetsuo’s body became translucent, then faded entirely.

  Our suspect was still a no-show. I yanked the USB cable out of the console to replace the controller that would once again put Jack under my control.

  A bubble appeared in a corner of the screen.

  > U Jack?

  It took me three tries to get the controller plugged in. As I was fumbling with the cable, another message appeared.

  > R U Jack?

  The controller clicked home. First I checked to make sure that Hashimoto and the new arrival were three and a half steps apart, then I began to type. From here on out, the fight would be Hashimoto’s. Tetsuo fought with the controller, Hashimoto with the keyboard. And I couldn’t leave this coming battle to my laptop bot.

  > Regrettably, I am not.

  > U beat Tetsuo.

  > We were merely putting on a performance. I knew that if Tetsuo fought Jack, you would appear.

  There was a pause before he replied.

  > What?

  > I am pleased to meet you. I am Hashimoto, gatherer of information various and sundry. It was you who sent Pak’s trophy to Tetsuo, yes?

  > U got proof?

  > Plenty. You see, it was I who spread the rumor that Tetsuo and Jack would be fighting again, this time for possession of the trophy. Only one who knew that Tetsuo possessed the trophy in the first place would give the rumor any credence at all, i.e., you.

  The man did not move.

  He was a snake boxer, middleweight, wearing a nondescript martial arts uniform, with a nondescript texture on his face. It was exactly as I had predicted. This was the nameless snake boxer who had made top four in the second season tournament.

  A moment passed before more text began to appear above the man’s head.


  > OK. What now?

  > I would like you to answer some questions.

  > OK.

  > Why did you send the trophy to Tetsuo?

  Neither the man nor Hashimoto moved a pixel. No one else was in sight from where we stood. Th e only motion on the screen was the text scrolling above their heads.

  > To give credit where it was due.

  > But he DID receive due credit. I know of Tetsuo’s strength.

  As do you, as did Jack. What other need could there possibly be?

  > Everyone thinks Pak’s number 1.

  > Indeed, he is properly number one. He did win the tournament where such things are decided.

  > Pak’s a n00b!

  > That has nothing to do with weakness or strength. That trophy was made to honor the one who took first place in the tournament. Not to honor the best fighter in Sanchōme. What Tetsuo deserves is a trophy for defeating Jack in a back alley.

  > Like anyone would want that.

  > In this town, there is no such thing as “money.” There are no electricity bills, gas bills, water bills. Th ere is nothing real here at all. Th e only thing that counts in Versus Town is action. All else, including titles and glory, eventually fades. Here, our actions are the only things that remain.

  As I typed, the image of a saber-toothed tiger rose in my mind. Saber-toothed tigers were carnivores known to have existed in prehistoric times. The theory was that each generation of tiger had longer fangs than the previous, until they became too long and the species died out entirely. We here in Versus Town were much the same. This virtual place online would not exist forever. Its popularity would die out in half a year or so, and eventually the servers would shut down, leaving only a few memories and random data on a hard disk somewhere. This only made it all the more important that we make the most of our virtual selves—and our virtual fangs—while they lasted.