“What’s cookin’, good lookin’?”
I follow her eyes to my suit, which is covered in NPC blood. “Oops,” I say. A new suit appears on my body instantly, freshly pressed and free from bloodstains.
“Good morning, Quantum. You’re looking sharp today.”
Dolly and I have been going steady for some time now. She never calls me Mr. Hughes and she has this very feline way of moving about the room, as if she knows I’m watching her every step. She’s tall for a broad with a nice caboose and a classy chassis, who likes making out and giving massages. I’d say we hook up about three times out of seven, when I’m not in Devil’s Alley at Barfly’s, or slaying maggots at The Pier. I am a magnet for maggots.
“Say, what’s the scoop with Jim the Doorman?” I ask.
“What do you mean?”
NPCs don’t usually acknowledge the death of other NPCs unless they’ve personally witnessed it. Still, I figured a question was worth asking. “He came at me this morning… ”
“I don’t know nothing about it,” she says just a shade too quickly.
“ … and he did it with a mutant hack.”
Her eyes dart down to her order pad. “Don’t know nothing about that, either.”
“Hey, you ever heard of a dame name of Frances Euphoria?” I ask casually.
She looks away, equally casually. “Nope, doesn’t ring a bell.”
“What’s the word on the street then? Anything I should know about?”
“You writing a book or something?”
Her voice is sultry, smoky, honey to my ears.
“You reading one?”
“Quit teasing, Quantum, you know I’m working.” She bats her eyes at me and my heart twists into a knot.
“Baby, you’re always working.”
Dolly shakes her order pad at my face. “Come on big spender, what do you want? I don’t got all day.”
“What, you got an appointment or something? “
“Yeah,” she says playfully, “with a classy millionaire crime-fighter.” The wink and the accompanying crooked grin makes my cyber-pulse pound.
“Well, if he can’t make it, how about a little snooze in my room. What do you say? How about 4:30? A little shut-eye never hurt nobody.”
“I don’t know … ” By her tone of voice I know she knows she’ll be there. I decide not to press the point.
“I’ll have my usual then.”
“Eggs over easy, three pieces of toast, bacon and a beer?” she asks, scribbling away on her order pad. ‘sound about right to you?”
“Sounds about right. Let me get a plate of pancakes too, extra butter. I got a long day ahead of me.”
“Pancakes it is, sweetie, extra butter.”
The food comes and boy it is beautiful. The grease is still sizzling on the bacon; the eggs are glazed, the yolks unbroken; there are squiggly grill lines on the toast; the pancakes are perfectly round, golden brown at the edges. Too bad I can’t actually taste the food.
Food in The Loop has no flavor, produces no energy nor is there any point in eating it. I eat simply to remember what it was like to eat. I eat simply to go through the motions of eating; I eat to remind myself that somewhere I have an actual body that is currently being nourished through a feeding tube.
Sounds, smells and visuals are ever-present in The Loop due to the Neuronal Visualization Visors – NV Visors – that users wear back in the real world. The visor developers never got the taste mechanism right, but for all I know they may have been perfected by now – two years is a long time for technology to progress.
I down my beer and ask for another.
“You’re getting started early,” Dolly says with a wink. “A real trooper, you are.”
“What can I say? Is there a better way to fire up your engines in The Loop?” Of course, I can’t get drunk, but I can at least pretend I’m drunk.
“Let me know if you need anything else, Quantum.”
“See you at 4:30, Doll.”
Dolly swivels away from me, moves real slow back to the kitchen so I can watch her depart.
~*~
I stumble up to my room and check the time. An assassin should be here any moment now.
The bullet holes from earlier are gone, as is the shattered window and broken mirror. The physical environment of The Loop resets itself periodically. I could use my grenade launcher – item 35 – to blast a crater-sized hole in my wall and it would be fixed by the time I returned from the lobby downstairs. I find this slightly unsettling – while everything is grimy in the rat trap that is The Loop, the fact that the environment quickly repairs itself nullifies the filth, constantly reminding me that this is all prefabricated, nothing more than an advanced algorithm. For once I’d like to see a bullet hole last for more than an hour. For once…
I access item number 520, a bear trap, which I recently picked up at The Pier. After I set the trap, I hide a landmine – item number 72 – directly next to it. That should do the trick.
Once the trap is set, I get in bed and watch the digital rain plink against the window. Lightning cracks in the sky and thunder rumbles like a giant’s belly after a plate of stewed Englishman. The sound of thunder is eventually annoying. It’s supposed to be randomly generated, but it too is stuck on a loop that repeats itself every five minutes. It took me a while to notice it, maybe a hundred and fifty days, but the repetitive thunder sounds have irked me ever since.
Like clockwork a goon breaks through the window, sort of Morning Assassin Lite. He lands in the bear trap, which slams shut and triggers the landmine, tearing his NPC body to shreds.
The blast radius is controlled, although it shouldn’t be, by a hack I installed before the days started repeating themselves. The hack makes it so that I can’t be injured by the explosives I set, something that has come in handy multiple times, like right now.
The smoke clears. All that is left of the man is a blackened hole in the ground rimmed with blood. I can see the floor below me through the hole, and get the urge to explore the room simply to kill time. Upon lowering myself to the floor below, I find a child sitting on the bed clutching a pillow.
A lone child generated in a hotel room in The Loop? Something’s hinky here – there’s never been anyone in this room before.
I quickly access my inventory and select the nun chucks, item 547. I might as well test them out. My list disappears and the ankle-biter begins to sob. “What’s the beef, chief?” I ask, the nun chucks behind my back.
“My mommy left me here…” he sobs.
“My mommy left me here too, kid, but you don’t see me getting all boo-hoo about it.”
I’m seconds away from cracking the little germ on the head with my chucks when he looks up at me and asks, “Can you help me? P-p-please?”
“Help you what?”
“Find my mommy… ”
“Where are you from, kid?”
“I live in The Badlands.”
“Which part?”
He says, “Near Devil’s Alley with my mom and my uncle. He has a problem.”
“What kind of problem?”
“My uncle’s not like the others… ”
“None of us are.”
The yoot sure knows how to tug a heartstring. He’s an NPC and he doesn’t have a real mother, nor does he have a real uncle. My brain tells me this, but my heart takes in his oval eyes and his tear-stained cheeks and the fact that he’s all alone, stuck in a hotel room somewhere without his mother and my heart nearly overcomes my better judgment.
Nearly.
“Sorry kid, you’re on your own.”
I turn to the door, ignoring his sobs. I need to stay alive today. It’s hard enough to make it to seven o’clock without going on some hide “n’ seek adventure with some kid to find his mommy.
I’m just about to turn up the stairs towards my room when I hear some moaning in room 202. One solid boot to the door later and I find a bald guy with an ugly gut reaming some older broad with dye
d blonde hair.
“Hey buddy!” he says, turning his ugly face my way. He resembles one of the taxi drivers in The Loop, jowly and grody. “You mind closing the door? I’m busy here!”
The thought of killing them both crosses my mind. They are, after all, in my hotel and what’s worse, they appear to be randomly generated just like the kid, which leads me to believe that something really isn’t right in The Loop, as if I’m being tested. They freeze mid-hump as I access my inventory list and select the sawed-off shotgun, item number 21.
Lightning cracks outside as my list dematerializes.
“Hey!” the man says as soon as he’s looking down the barrel of my shottie. Clickety-BOOM, Clickety-BOOM. And just like that, digital blood is Jackson Pollocked on the headboard. I’m just about to turn around when I hear a sob behind me.
“Mommy?”
I turn to find the little NPC crumbsnatcher clutching his pillow, staring in horror at the two bloodied corpses lying on the bed.
“It’s for your own good, kid.”
I raise my shotgun. Clickety-BOOM.
~*~
The floor and the wall in my room have repaired themselves; everything is in its right place.
I feel no remorse for what I’ve done to the kid, his mother and the cabbie pounding her. To kill is to be part of The Loop; the name of the game is maim. It’s why I was the top hunter before the days began repeating themselves. There is no room for guilt, compassion, or mercy inside a virtual entertainment dreamworld. The weak sisters don’t last long.
I relax onto my bed, waiting for the next assassin to arrive. He should be here in less than an hour, at 10:34.
As I wait, my mind tries to piece together little slivers of my memories of the real world. What does it feel like to taste something? To breathe fresh air? To hold someone’s hand? To know that you can die, that your life can be quickly extinguished by a nuanced mistake?
My eyes open, settling on a pack of smokes on the nightstand. I reach out for the due backs, only to remember I’ve saved a cigarette in my inventory to mark the passing of day 545. I decide to smoke this cigarette instead, as it will replenish itself by tomorrow. The coffin nail appears in my mouth, conveniently pre-lit. After a long drag, a perfectly pixelated cloud of digital carcinogens materializes in front of me.
Back to the real world. Will I ever go back? Will I ever know what it’s like to truly exist? And what of the real world, the world into which I was born? How has it changed? What’s become of the place in the two years I’ve been trapped inside The Loop?
My mother. Her face comes to me, crow’s feet in the corner of her eyes, her skin aged but glowing, her hair fair and curled at the ends, white on top and brown on bottom. She was the one who named me Quantum against my dad’s better wishes. “Quantum is a futuristic name. The future begins anew every morning,” she was fond of saying.
How was she? Was she still alive? Was she sitting in a hospital next to my body right now? For that matter, how was I being kept alive? Who was taking care of me? Who was making sure I didn’t die trapped in the algorithmic dreamscape that is The Loop? And to add to this, was I already dead?
Feedback. It starts slowly, bathing me in its cantankerous jittering, neural calm sputtering. It sounds like someone has sliced off my ears and taped them to the sides of a rainmaker. The feedback is all-encompassing, all powerful and furious.
The sound of my entrapment is something I’ll never grow used to.
~*~
Fast forward to 4:30. I’ve killed nine assassins in creative ways since the start of the day and haven’t done much else. A single knock at my door and Dolly enters in a strapless red gown. She smells fresh, as if she’s just come from the spa. Her skin is radiant, healthy, damn near translucent. Drop dead gorgeous.
“Dolly,” I purr, all Rico Suave. “I thought you’d never arrive.”
She sits on the corner of my bed, looking at me over her naked shoulder. “Why the fancy threads?” she asks.
“Oh, this old thing?” I shrug. “Sometimes a boy just wants to look nice. Anything wrong with that?”
“No… ” She scoots up until we are both sitting with our backs against the headboard. Rain taps lightly against the window outside, separating us from the gloom of the city. Her arms cross in front of her gown, lifting her breasts in a way that kick starts my engine. “You meeting someone?”
“No.”
‘”Then why are you all dressed up? You got a hot date or something?”
“You’re my hot date, doll face. Why d’you ask?”
“Just curious.”
“Long day?” I ask her, changing the subject.
“Long enough.”
The strangest thing about our relationship is the fact she never recognizes that she’s an NPC, that she’s essentially a string of ones and zeros that has a sexual relationship with a human player marooned in her world. She doesn’t realize that each day is the same, nor does she ever make mention of our previous encounters. While her actions can’t be exactly timed like those of the other NPCs and objects in The Loop, they are still predictable. I go for breakfast. We arrange to meet at 4:30. She arrives in a red dress – this is our routine.
“What about you?” She tucks her head under my chin. “How was your day? You just lounging around all day?”
“Playing it safe. I have places to go and people to see and I’d rather not die before I can get that squared away.”
‘”De?” Her laugh is bizarre, unusual, not at all the cheerful, tinkly music it always is. “You big lug, why are you so worried about dying? You seem healthy to me… ” She dips her chin and looks at me through lowered lashes. “You feel like showing me how healthy you are?”
“You do know that…” I am about to remind her that she is an NPC and I’m a human when I decide to keep my mouth shut. These types of discussions never end well between us. “We should catch a flick sometime,” I say, just to say something.
“I’d like that, Quantum.”
“I could borrow a flip-top and we could head to the old drive-in cinema near Three Kings Park. A little back seat bingo… ”
She play slaps. “Behave… ”
“Come on, Dolly, it would be fun. Nothing wrong with a visit to the old passion pit.”
“Stop it, you’re embarrassing me. You know I have to work at night.”
Dolly reaches back, undoes the hooks, and the top of her gown falls away. She really is a superbly rendered example of a higher order female mammal. Her arms fold in front of her breasts to preserve her modesty, and she shivers slightly.
“You cold?”
“Getting there,” she says.
“I can tell.”
My stylish garments go back to their digital clothes rack as her arms go around my neck. She presses against my chest, round and warm and firm. I kiss her cheek, her ear, wishing that she was a real woman, that we could have real sex, not some simulated version where anything goes and yet nothing does – there’s no release, no relief, no real reward.
My best gal in this never-ending hell-hole lies back and welcomes me with open arms… and open legs. I take a moment to savor this simulated vision of loveliness. She’s stacked, but skinny – not bad skinny, but bend-me-every-which-way-skinny, and she puts her ankles on my shoulders and her nails in my back. She moans low and sweet and sultry, urging me on, “Oh, come on baby, come on – fill me, thrill me. Oh, come on honey, come on and do me like you do!” as she showers my face in kisses.
Oh Dolly, I’d love to; I wish I could, but it just doesn’t happen here in The Loop. Well, it does, but not like it does in real life; here it’s a shadow of a shadow – Diet New Coke instead of Jolt Cola, a kiss on the cheek from your sister instead of tonsil-hockey with the slutty cheerleader. It’s not unfun, and it’s better than nothing, but it still ain’t the real thing.
Our movements synchronize as she rakes her nails down my back, slides her gams down and around and clenches me tight. I hammer her towards the i
nevitable, unsatisfying conclusion.
“Oh, Quantum, oh honey baby darling, Oh come on, my rodeo rider, make it happen, Oh. Baby, Take Me THERE! Oh yes, oh yes, OH YES YES YES!”
Oh No!
Out of the corner of my eye I detect motion that shouldn’t be there; the world freezes around me as I access my inventory list. Dolly’s eyes are crazy orange, her lips a berserker’s snarl, her hand full of item number 33. I’m really starting to hate that big, bad, bone-handled Bowie.
I select a fire extinguisher, item number 299, and I shift my leg to the left as soon as the inventory list disappears. Her knife swipes left as I lean out of the way and avoid the blade. I hammer the fire extinguisher into her face, again and again, hating myself in the process, hating the fact that I’m bashing her to death.
“Why Dolly?” I ask. “Of all people, why you?”
I’m on my feet in a matter of moments, waiting for her to come back to life, for her to attack me again. Her arm lifts and falls onto the bed; the small indicator above her head turns red, announcing her NPC death. I trusted Dolly more than I trusted anyone else inside this godforsaken virtual entertainment dreamworld. She has never tried to attack me before, never shown me any sign of animosity.
Now this.
“DAMMIT!”
Her bloodied head on my pillow and the knife on the ground sends a bolt of fury through my avatar. “Dammit!” I scream, tossing the nightstand over. I walk over to the window and punch it until it shatters, until my knuckles are covered in blood and my life bar has dropped a few notches. The thunder on repeat outside and the sharp rain only makes me that much angrier.
“Dammit!”
The painting of the sailboat comes off the wall, and I break it against my knee. I access my tommy gun from my inventory, item 247, and fill my wardrobe with bullet holes. My hands come to the splintered wood and I tear it apart piece by piece, tossing the pieces over my shoulder.
The Feedback Loop (3-Book Box Set): (Scifi LitRPG Series) Page 3