by Douglas Lain
“It’s happening,” the skinnier one in the green shirt said. Seeing him up close, I could tell that he was not only thinner, but also harder and more physically fit than I’d thought when I first spotted him at the drive-in. He had a neatly trimmed beard, a buzz cut, and humorless eyes.
“What’s happening?” Dad asked.
“Um … what is this about, guys?” Evan asked. He almost seemed to have forgotten his humiliation.
That was when the skinny guy in the green shirt asked for Dad’s phone and then, as I said, the three of them sat on Evan’s futon watching a live stream while the menu screen music looped on the CRT.
A government official, the press secretary maybe, was giving a statement. At first I thought it was another press conference about a tweet, but after a minute it became clear that, this time, something had, in fact, really happened.
You might have guessed it, but let me just make it absolutely clear.
Dad’s first money match coincided with the assassination of the Vice President of the United States. That’s what we found out. Pence had been shot—shot and killed—during a visit to New York City. The Vice President had been killed while attending the Broadway show The Whirligig, and the whole world was watching the press secretary doing his best to convey the idea that the assassination was a very, very sad thing.
“Vice President Pence was more than just a brilliant politician and a relentless fighter for the US people, he was also a loving husband to his wife Carrie and a, uh … a loving father to their three children. Of course, the President has asked me to extend his regret and love to Vice President Mike Pence’s family, and to the American people,” he said.
It was more dignified than anything that had been said since November, but before the press guy was even done talking, the President arrived. It was a surprise whenever he showed up. He still seemed like he belonged on his old game show and not in Washington, DC, but there he was. He walked up to his press secretary, tapped him on the shoulder, and then took over. The press secretary picked up his notes and then bowed to the President like he was a butler or something.
“Hello everybody! Is everybody okay? It’s a sad day, isn’t it? It’s a sad day. What happened in New York, at that play … it’s very sad, and it’s very wrong. It’s really very, very wrong. I suppose they really wanted me? Right? I mean, Mike, he was an important guy, but if I was a Radical Islamist terrorist—and that’s who it was, by the way. It was somebody—some terrible, terrible person—from ISIS. Not a Russian, like CNN has been saying. That’s just more fake news. They should be ashamed of themselves. Really. And I mean that. But, I’ll tell you something, if I was a Radical Islamist terrorist I wouldn’t bother with the Vice President. I really wouldn’t. Not if I didn’t have to, you know? If I were a terrorist from ISIS, I’d shoot the President. But, they didn’t do that. And the reason they didn’t do that is because they couldn’t do it. Right? I mean, it’s a sad day, and I don’t want to blame anybody right now. They tell me that I ought not to start pointing fingers, but the thing is, when I took office I hired my own guys. I didn’t, I don’t, just rely on the Secret Service. Right? I didn’t, I don’t. I don’t do that,” the President said. He was getting at something maybe, but it was difficult to tell exactly what.
“It’s happening,” the guy in the yellow sweatshirt said. “Right on schedule.”
“Yeah. That’s right. It’s been happening on schedule. That’s the whole point, isn’t it?” Dad said.
I should have figured something out right then, I think, but it was a lot to process. Besides, I was still thinking about how to get Evan to pay us. I was listening to the President, and so I didn’t really notice what Dad and his friends were saying. Not right then.
“Not to knock the Secret Service. They’re very, very good. I mean really, they’re fantastic, but I hired my own people too, because you have to know the people protecting you very, very, very well. Especially now, after Mike has been shot like this. Especially now that we see what ISIS is willing to do,” the President said.
“When will it come out?” the guy with the mustache and the muscles asked. “How long until the press says that Tiny Hands did it?”
That’s what the NSA agent asked my Dad, but I didn’t pay attention, because that’s when Evan started to get mad. Or really, that’s when Evan started getting scared. Evan said he wanted us to leave. He went to his dresser, opened a drawer unevenly, jerked it open so that a can of Mountain Dew that had been set atop a pile of comic books tipped over and spilled into what was probably his sock drawer. One of those rotating multi-colored disco ball lights fell over too, only it missed the drawer and shattered on the hardwood floor.
Evan didn’t let any of that distract him. He opened the dresser drawer, searched blindly under his underwear, and took out a baggie. Then he produced a sort of pathetic, moist-looking, and totally bent joint, tried to light it with a lighter that had been in the sock drawer too, and said it again.
“You need to leave,” he said. He tried to light his joint a couple more times. A bunch of times, really. Then he threw the lighter down. “Who are you people? What is this? I mean, uh … just …”
He turned to me. “What is your Dad even doing, dude?”
We never got our fifty dollars.
Augmented Reality on the Bus
MATTHEW MUNSON, 544-23-1102, MESSENGER LOG, 04/19/17
4:19 PM
I’m sorta lonely because I’m the only one on the number 19 bus who isn’t augmented. I can’t even sit up front and talk to the bus driver, because there is no bus driver. I’m on one of Bucky’s buses; it’s fully automated.
4:23 PM
The guy next to me is maybe playing Candy Crush or Minesweeper. He’s moving his hands around in the air, moving invisible Lemon Drops and Red Hots and lining them up, but for me there is nothing to look at. I just stare at what isn’t there. I look at the perforated metal seat back in front of me and at the little rubber nubs on the floor. There is no game here.
Down the aisle from me there is a fat guy in green Lycra who is dribbling a virtual ball, bouncing it off the ceiling and windows.
I mean, that’s what I assume he’s doing. I don’t really know what they’re seeing or what it’s like to live inside a perpetual video game. I figure there are a lot of blinking lights and a lot of noise in the GameCube world. Bucky must make sure that there is always something on the screen to keep you distracted. To keep you entertained.
4:26 PM
I’m alone on this bus. This might be the first time in like five years that I’m experiencing something directly; experiencing a moment on my own and without a screen.
Only, I do have a screen, right? I’ve got my smartphone in my hand right now, that’s how I’m talking to you. It’s only in comparison to everybody else that I’m unplugged. Bucky has redefined what it means to be IRL.
4:30 PM
I wonder what the last thing I did without a screen actually was.
4:31 PM
The first thing that comes to mind is being six years old at Couch Park with my Dad. We used to live on the other side of the river, and we’d go to the park on weekends. Dad would play pretend with me sometimes. We’d LARP as Harry Potter and Dumbledore or as Superman and Superboy. That is, he’d play with me for a little while. Eventually he’d get bored and take out his phone.
Does that count?
4:35 PM
I close my eyes and see a blinking cursor, a scroll of memes, dancing kittens, and your face …
4:37 PM
Maybe the last time I was really IRL was when you invited me to visit you at the Jesus compound and we listened to vinyl records. We actually found one album that wasn’t Christian, remember? It was somebody’s greatest hits, some 60s folk singer with a macho moustache and bad teeth.
I remember how you got goosebumps when you took off your shirt and the air hit your skin. You turned your back to me at that point and started reading the list of songs on that
hippie album. Your voice was a little loud; a little awkward. You seemed nervous, but then I slipped my hand under your bra strap and totally failed. Those little hooks, I couldn’t undo them, and my hand got sorta trapped.
You laughed. Then you just reached back, casually released all three hooks, and turned around again.
4:38 PM
What was the song we were listening to? “Operator”? It was a song about not making a phone call. The singer wanted to talk to his ex-girlfriend but he backed out of it and just sang the whole song to the operator. There was another breakup song after that one too, but I stopped paying attention to the lyrics around then. I don’t really remember much about the music after that point.
4:43 PM
I’m going to say that counts as something that happened to me
IRL.
4:45 PM
So I figured out what they’re doing, or what most of them are doing.
The two-dimension puzzle game they’re playing is an interface for assembly line work. About fifteen of the green people are passing iPhones back and forth, and as they move virtual candy into lines they are also touching the screens of one iPhone 7 after another.
What they’re doing is deleting apps from the phones, turning off the link to iCloud, connecting the phones to laptops, uploading Bucky’s jailbreak software, and then, at the end of the process, injecting new code with USB sticks, injecting Bucky himself, into their stolen Apple products. Each phone is taken from one of two cardboard boxes at the front of the bus, silently passed along between the Candy Crushers and, with an occasional over-the-shoulder gesture, moved through an elaborate process to another cardboard box in the back.
This bus is a Rube Goldberg machine built out of gamers.
4:50 PM
Most of this was already in place before Bucky even started the transition. The infrastructure was built before he arrived. All he had to do was hack the private routers in downtown Portland, Gresham, Beaverton, and Lake Oswego and then, presto, we had something like Universal Wi-Fi. Then he must have hijacked Uber and Amazon for transportation and shipping.
I wonder how much money Bucky was funneling into Soylent and Honey Bucket before he even informed Dad about the threat? Because all of that was ready from the start. Bucky was all set up to feed us and provide something like sanitation well before we arrived at what was supposedly our solution.
4:55 PM
I know all these details are probably boring to you, but don’t you wonder about what’s next? What kind of society can last on Soylent and Porta Potties? The new chroma key outfits are designed like union suits with a flap at the ass, but don’t you think people will eventually want to come back to normality? I read that the Mortal Combat center at the Lloyd Center will have DryBath powder application centers, but won’t somebody want to log off in order to take a shower? Won’t somebody want to just take a coffee break eventually?
4:56 PM
And what about other stuff? How do people get together in there? When do people get a chance to listen to vinyl records on their parents’ couch?
FriendshipandMore Part One
MATTHEW MUNSON, 544-23-1102, MESSENGER LOG, 04/19/17 (CONTINUED)
MATTHEW
5:05 PM
A girl just sat next to me. I can tell she’s a girl because she’s wearing a medium-length green wig on top of her chroma key mask. If she wasn’t wearing augmentation goggles I would think that she’s looking at me.
HEATHER
5:05 PM
Hi! My name is Heather and I’m playing a new game.
MATTHEW
5:06 PM
This is a private chat, Heather.
HEATHER
5:06 PM
The game I’m going to play is FriendshipandMore. It’s an adults-only open world with integrated private arenas. There is a chathouse nearby. In FriendshipandMore chathouses, players can fully interact without breaking continuity. The one I’m thinking about is in just two stops.
MATTHEW
5:07 PM
You talk like a bot.
HEATHER
5:07 PM
FriendshipandMore provides conversational prompts to make social interaction easier and to assist you as you make connections, friends, and more. But, I am actually not a bot though.
MATTHEW
5:08 PM
This is a private chat. I’m talking to my girlfriend. Please leave.
HEATHER
5:08 PM
Sorry. I’m sorry. Sorry to have intruded.
MATTHEW
5:11 PM
That was weird.
HEATHER
5:12 PM
If you’re talking to your girlfriend, how come she doesn’t message you back? It looks like you’re just talking to yourself.
MATTHEW
5:13 PM
Maybe I am just talking to myself, but it’s still a private chat.
HEATHER
5:13 PM
Would you like to help me select a new avatar? I’ve been a redhead for six hours now; what color hair do you think I should have?
MATTHEW
5:14 PM
You don’t have red hair. You have a green wig.
HEATHER
5:14 PM
FriendshipandMore offers 10,000 different avatars and you can design your own too. You can help me pick mine and I’ll help you pick yours.
MATTHEW
5:15 PM
…
HEATHER
5:14 PM
Do you want to see what I look like right now? I could send you a picture if you promise not to share it around. A private picture.
MATTHEW
5:15 PM
No, thanks. Besides, I don’t have any money.
HEATHER
5:16 PM
I don’t have any money either.
MATTHEW
5:16 PM
Right. Of course you don’t. Look, I’m not interested. I’m not even part of this thing you’re doing. I don’t have the suit for it, I don’t want one. I’m not joining your orgy. I’m not interested.
MATTHEW
5:20 PM
She just rang the bell and she’s getting get off. I wonder where she’s really going?
MATTHEW
5:43 PM
Well, that was weird.
It turns out that the FriendshipandMore chathouse is an abandoned RadioShack. If that’s a private arena, what would a public arena look like?
MATTHEW
5:45 PM
So, I followed Heather. It’s not that I was tempted to take her up on her offer, nor that I wanted to see what she’d do in the chathouse exactly. It was more that … I guess I actually did want to see what she did in the chathouse, especially when I found out what this FriendshipandMore chathouse was actually like.
Picture a room with no furniture, but just gray carpet, grungy off-white walls, what are probably asbestos ceiling tiles left over from the 20th century, and a cable hanging down right in the middle of the room. Now imagine this room is filled with various hovering drones, robots, and a dozen green-suited gamers.
So I followed Heather to the front door of the RadioShack, looked in the store front window, and, taking in the whole scene, I decided not to follow her inside.
This is what I just saw: maybe a half-dozen miniature Roombas to clean up the refuse left behind, about six K5 robots that were apparently serving drinks with straws, and about four or five oversized Rovio robots carrying wooden stools, feathers, tubes, and vibrators.
Once Heather was inside I couldn’t keep track of her; she just blended in with all the other green ladies in wigs.
The gamers were waving to each other, stopping to stare at signs or art or maybe speech balloons that were hanging in the air, invisible to me. A few of them were dancing slowly around the cable wire, bumping into it as they held each other close and shuffled their feet back and forth mechanically.
After two minutes things picked up and the male gamers p
ositioned themselves around the periphery of the room in order to watch while anonymous players in wigs took turns solo dancing, but their movements were unnatural. These girls looked a bit like windup toys as they did the same identical moves, clearly choosing from a menu before performing each act. This sporadic quality, and the obvious moments where techniques and positions were chosen, made the encounters in the RadioShack appear as if they’d been badly edited. The solo dancers would point to one of the men along the periphery and he’d join in with a set pattern of reactive hip movements and strokes while the machines rolled in between with prods and suction cups. In this brave new world, sex occurs at a distance, even when you’re actually in the same room with this or that boyfriend or girlfriend or whatever.
So, yeah. That happened. Which isn’t exactly putting my mind at ease. Call me a romantic, but I prefer regular old dating to this. Still, just in terms of efficiency, it is something of a relief to realize that the newly added flaps in the chroma key suits can be put to use outside the context of a Honey Bucket porta potty.
Eternity in a Nickle Arcade
MATTHEW MUNSON, 544-23-1102, FACEBOOK POSTS, 04/20/17
1:03 AM
The reason I won’t play along isn’t that I’m allergic to Soylent. It’s not because I don’t want to wear a chroma key jumpsuit. It’s not even that I’m super attached to being me and wouldn’t prefer to try out being Sonic the Hedgehog or Ryu for an afternoon or a year. The reason is … well, it’s because of Sally.
Sally loved God. What she loved was how her religion gave her the opportunity to rearrange the world in her head. She was always imagining her dream house, or her dream town. Her religion gave her permission to speculate. It gave her a reason to wonder what the world would be like if every other building were made of glass and whether or not the afterlife would have grocery stores. What sort of life would be good enough to last forever? What kind of gadgets will there be in heaven? What fashions? What sorts of entertainment will there be?
That’s what her hobby was. Figuring that stuff out. But now that video games have taken over everything, she probably doesn’t ask those kinds of questions. God is dead, right? Nobody needs religion anymore, and Sally is busy living out worlds of Warcraft, Minecraft, or Donkey Kong.