Kage smiles as if he understands. "The Ministers knew you'd be a problem. Rebelliousness is deeply entrenched in your personality. You were bred to rebel. That's why Cyber Corp gave you to me. I was once like you, a long time ago. I remember when I had a minder attached to my skull, just like you."
His smile widens as the horror dawns on my face. "Yes, Enigma. I didn't volunteer to become this way. I was broken and reformed, given an opportunity to serve instead of indulging in my former selfish and wasteful lifestyle. And I will break you as well. You will fight at first, because that is your nature, as it was mine. But in time you will succumb and be reborn as I was. You will be grateful to serve and earn a place in our productive society as a Sentry of Cyber Corp."
I look into his artificial eyes and know I don't have a choice. Not from the ease of his control over me, but because as I look at his inhuman face, I know I'm staring into my future. And the worst part is that there's nothing I can do to stop it.
He picks up a towel from a chair nearby and uses it to dab the blood on my lips. "Now, let me explain what's going to happen. I'm going to hurt you. Then you're going to tell me everything. Every word from the moment the transmission was lost in the Spider's Den. And in return, I won't believe you. Not the first time. Perhaps not the second time. So, I will hurt you again. And again, until you convince me that you've told me everything."
I tell him everything. Every moment, every word, every detail I can remember. With pain cutting like razors into my brain, I still concentrate enough to paint a vivid picture of precisely what happened.
But true to his word, he isn't convinced. Not for a long time.
I'm in an autocab, light and shadow flickering across my face. Eyes blank to the shimmer of grandiose buildings, the stylish fashion of the picture-perfect residents who stroll the sidewalks for the sole purpose of being seen. I'm in no shape to ride my rumble bike, no shape to do much of anything except lay on the cushioned seats while the computer-operated vehicle shuttles me to my destination. I still have to meet Zen, and I use the transit time to pull myself together. I know she'll just get worked up if she learns what happened, and I can't deal with the shame of her knowing. That would be worse than the mortification I felt while cleaning myself up after Kage finished with me. After sobbing until my chest burned.
I hate the weakness in myself. The begging, the tears. Dabria trained me better than that. If she were here, she would tell me that as long as I'm alive, then I can figure things out. Find a way to survive. But Dabria isn't here. She's somewhere else, waging her eternal war while her soldiers fall by the wayside. We're just the collateral damage she leaves behind.
I don't even know the time when I arrive at Zen's hotel across town. The door syncs to my holoband and automatically opens when I approach. A seven-foot teddy bear looks my direction when I enter. He's dressed in his usual outfit: padded vest and cargo shorts. A harness crisscrosses his stout chest, centered by an orb that activates protective nano-plate armor in battle-mode. Far from cuddly, he looks like an abandoned toy out for revenge, complete with matted fur, dull marble eyes, and a grizzled face.
"Hi, Brutus."
"Hello, Enigma," he rumbles.
"Enigma, is that you?" Zen wears an oversized VR helmet and goggles, cyber-dreads hanging from the headgear like Medusa's serpents. Her fingers slide across the air, interacting with invisible interfaces.
"Yeah. Take your time." I crash on the sofa, feeling completely exhausted.
Brutus stomps over, leans forward and thrusts his enormous furry head in my face. "Zen, look. Enigma is hurt."
"What?" Zen removes the helmet and glances over at me.
"Nothing. Move, you big, dumb bear." I try to shove him away, but he's immovable, fortified by a heavy alloy skeleton under all the fur and fluff.
"You are in pain, Enigma. Tell Brutus who hurt you and Brutus will crush him."
"Outta the way, Brutus." Zen shoves past and places both hands on my face, checking for injuries like I'm her child. "I don't see anything. You smell clean, though. Did you use soap? That's always a bad sign."
"Yeah, thanks. Look—I'm fine, okay?"
She crouches on her haunches, glaring. "No, you're not. Brutus has empathy sensors off the charts. If he says you're hurt, you're hurt. What did Robo-bastard do to you this time?"
"Brutus will crush him," Brutus growls from behind her.
I shake my head. "Neither one of you are gonna do anything. They're listening to every word and see everything I see. So forget the threats and let's concentrate on the mission, all right?"
Frustrated tears slide down Zen's cheeks. "Damn it, Enigma. I hate this so much. I don’t see how you can take it."
I take her hand and squeeze it. "I can take it. And you shouldn't even be here. I told you to cut me loose when you had a chance."
"You mean when I thought you died with everyone else? No chance. Me and Brutus don't leave people behind."
"Doesn't mean you had to turn yourself in. They're controlling you the same as me, using my situation to keep you in line. You're lucky they didn't plant a minder in your skull. You should let me talk to the Ministry. Maybe I can convince them to cut you free."
Zen's face regains its normal stubborn look. "We're in this together—the last of the team. We're not leaving until you do. Right, Brutus?"
"Damn right," he growls.
"That means you've been outvoted, Enigma. We're not going anywhere."
I laugh despite myself. "Not fair. Brutus does everything you say."
"Of course. I built him like that." She gives Brutus a big hug, arms reaching only halfway across his massive girth.
"Yeah, you're a genius. Since you're so smart, why don't you share what you found on Specter?"
She smirks triumphantly. "You're gonna love this."
"You found him?"
"I found his Deep Sleep location."
She opens her holoband and flicks the screen into the air, where it widens into a much larger version. On it is an identification file for a Deep Sleep resident, including a picture of a young man's hollow-eyed profile displayed along with his pertinent information. He looks nothing like the square-jawed, perfectly handsome synoid I spoke to last night. It's almost a relief to see that the infamous Specter is just a normal human being. Dean. I have to remember that. It's hard to believe anyone could think he's essential to anything. He's so…average.
I look at the name on the file. "John Smith? Wow, he couldn't have been more original?"
"Yeah, I know. An obvious alias. But this guy fits the bill. The synoid he made into street pizza was stolen in transit to Palm Springs, which is only fifty-four miles from this Deep Sleep complex in San Bernardino. The real kicker is the clue you gave to me yesterday."
"They've had some synoid malfunctions."
"Right. The synthetic staff kept granting bonuses to different sectors of residents. Our guy was smart. Kept it scattered, but his sector benefited more often than any others. It kept on until management finally staffed human supervisors in that wing."
"Which is unheard of."
"Right."
"How did you narrow it down to our boy here?"
"Other than the alias red flag? Of all the residents in that sector, he's the only untraceable one. Fake ID, last known residence is a condemned building, all financial records are quick deposits and withdrawals using only v-notes. He's a ghost in the system."
I stare at the digital photo. "You mean a Specter."
"Exactly."
"Looks like we're taking a trip to San Bernardino."
Her eyes roll. "Yeah, can't wait. Goodbye Haven, hello flaming garbage dump."
"C'mon. It's not that bad."
"Wrong. It's even worse."
It's a fifteen-minute ride to San Bernardino via the jet chopper, too fast to see the swaths of abandoned and crumbling buildings we flew over on the way. But I'm more than familiar with the wasted stretch of badlands that encircle Haven Angeles. My earliest memories a
re of pock-marked tenements, yellow-eyed squatters, and sudden violence. I can't remember my mother's face, but I remember holding on to her, crying uncontrollably after a gang of kids beat a puppy to death with stones outside our building. It was the first of many experiences with the vicious nature of people at the lowest spectrum of existence.
And here I am, nearly in the same position as the puppy.
Zen glances back at the chopper. "Brutus, stay there."
His large button eyes manage to look wounded somehow. "Brutus wants to come with Zen."
"You'll be in the way. Just chill in the chopper. I'll call you if I need you."
He stays in the chopper with the HSSC squad, staring at us like a lonely dog watching his family leave on vacation. Zen walks on beside me, looking at our surroundings in disgust. I can't tell if it's the environment or the suit she's forced to wear when on official business: pleated black slacks, white shirt, black tie, black blazer. A lot less conspicuous than the cyber-goth getup she loves so much. The faux-dreads are gone too, leaving her natural mid-length hair, which is dyed purple now. With bio-dye so popular, she can change her hair color at the touch of a button on her holoband, so she never keeps the same shade for long.
I'm more tactical in my black Scyther ensemble, complete with metaflex jumpsuit, light combat armor, and an array of straps and harnesses to hold my weapons in place. You'd think I was here to break into the site, which is the point. The word Scyther is closely associated with intimidation and sudden violence.
Zen pulls her hood over her head to keep the light rain off. "The zombie fortresses. God, I hate it here."
I can't argue with her. The Deep Sleep compound does look like a fortress, constructed to provide security for the residents inside. The solid fencing, sentry guns, roving android guards, and endless cameras only reinforce the reality of the prison aspects of the place. Dabria always said that just because the prisoners volunteered to be there doesn't excuse the obscenity of the building's purpose.
"Remind me why we're doing this in person instead of making a call from the Haven? Hell, creepy ol' Kage can do this in his sleep with his cyber-mind. Hack their system, get whatever info he needs. So why send us, unless he likes to see us do his dirty work? Yeah, I bet that's what it is."
I don't bother responding. Zen is just ranting, and I don't want Kage to hear what I think anyway. Because I believe that he's still limited in spite of his enhancements. Being able to access information instantaneously is helpful, but there's always something to be said for human instinct, something machines still can't match. We're not here to process information. We're here because a human touch is still necessary if you want to get the job done right.
When we approach the main entrance, a spherical robot thrusts itself in our faces like a dislodged eyeball, scanning for identification and perceived threats.
"You are not Residents. Please state your business."
I point at the crossed scythe emblem on my chest. "I'm a Scyther for the Allied Security Bureau. This is my partner. We're requesting detailed information on one of your residents for a highly classified case. Refusal isn't an option for you."
The orb whirred. "Will this investigation reflect unfavorably on this facility or any of its employees?"
"No. I'm just here to ask some questions for now."
The orb clicks a few times before returning to its housing. The doors open, and we enter the compound.
"Damn, girl. You pulled the ASB card on them," Zen says.
"Works every time."
"Yeah, only because no one knows what the heck the ASB is. A security detail that operates across Territory boundaries when the Territories act in their own self-interest? How's that supposed to work?"
"The Territories are allied. One big happy family."
"If by happy, you mean fully dysfunctional."
"Exactly."
The lobby is a grand setup, massive and equipped with floor-to-ceiling holographic displays of the footage from the thousands of worlds inside Elysia. Crowds of tourists mill about, taking in the sights and talking excitedly. For them, Deep Sleep is a diversion. A vacation. A way to completely escape the world and its worries for a few days or weeks. From here, you can travel safely around the world, engage in endless adventures across complex worlds and environments, even soar into the stars on an intergalactic cruise. There's no end to what you can experience, and all of it without even leaving your city.
I pause as one of the wall-sized advertisements shows footage of a bedridden young girl, born with a rare form of severe combined immunodeficiency. Reduced to a life of mandatory isolation in a sterile environment, she found a new life inside Elysia, where she went to school, made close friends, enjoyed every type of social interaction without focusing on her crippling illness. Her bright eyes and smiling face fill the massive screen.
"Because of Elysia, kids like me can live a normal life. I got a second chance, and so can you. Reality is what you make it."
I shake my head. "Wow. Going hard for the feels, aren’t they?"
Zen smirks. "I wonder why where the ads for the mature-rated sectors are."
"Those ads pop up when you're inside. Besides, everyone knows about the sleazy sex and ultraviolence. There's no real need to promote what nearly everyone comes here for anyway."
People automatically step out the way as we make our way across the lobby. I get no end of curious and cautious stares with my height and Scyther uniform. I stare straight ahead, not bothering to make eye contact. These people are nearly alien to me. Romantic couples, husbands and wives, families with children. It's a life I never experienced, a world of which I've never been part of. I've trained and fought and killed nearly all my life. If I wasn't forced into being a Scyther, then I'd still be in Dabria's Underground movement, fighting in her war. I wonder what I would be doing if my life had any normalcy. If I'd grown up in a regular home, had a typical childhood like the boys and girls that run around, laughing and staring in wonder at the attractions around them.
I push the thought aside as we pass the lines of tourists and head for the residencies. An android in a suit and a glossy, featureless head greets us at the door.
"Hello. My name is Gary. As per law, any investigative inquiries must be witnessed by a duly appointed escort."
"Let me guess. That's you, Gary."
"Yes. How do I address you?"
"My name is Enigma. My partner's name is Zen. That should be good enough."
He bobs his gleaming head in acknowledgment. "Very well, Enigma. You may follow me."
He leads us into the residency sector. We pass a massive counseling ward, nicknamed Purgatory by the residents. From what I hear, most of them are filled to max capacity with people dealing with reality confusion, a common malady afflicting millions who Immerse for lengthy periods. Unable to separate the virtual world from the real one, they lapse into fits of severe misperception, paranoia, rage, and even violence if untreated.
Though robots and androids freely roam the roomy halls, the sector is eerily quiet when coming from the tourist area. Only a few residents are visible, almost all aided by an android assistant. Some stagger on walkers; limbs shrunken, hollow-eyed, barely able to support their own weight. They look like patients battling debilitating diseases instead of people who volunteered to live in a virtual wonderland.
Zen shakes her head in disgust. "Look at these idiots. They're killing themselves and don't even care."
"Not true," Gary says. "Residents in danger of malnutrition, organ failure, or any other concerning issues are removed from their apartments and administered treatment to get them back to health. The Deep Sleep corporation has an excellent preservation rating, one of the best in the Territories. We pride ourselves on our ability to preserve the minds and bodies of our happy residents."
Zen sneers. "Yeah. Look at the joy on their faces."
I glance at Gary. "How many Deep Sleep customers have residencies?"
"At this moment, around one
hundred twenty-nine thousand."
"And what's the rate you're so proud of?"
"We retain an excellent preservation ratio of ninety-eight-point-seven percent."
"So, you're telling me that you expect over a thousand of your customers to die under your care."
"Like I said—an excellent ratio. Ah, and here we are."
We go into the Reentry office and visit the small cubicle where a cheerful woman greets us with a dazzling smile. Her glossy black hair is pulled into a neat bun, and her gleaming lips practically bleed red.
"Welcome to Deep Sleep, where reality is what you make it. My name is Cindy. How can I help you today?"
"Nope. This is all wrong." I tap on my holoband and pull up the dossier on the employees for sector seven. "According to my records, this station is operated by either Flo or Fran. They've been pulling twelve-hour shifts for months now."
Cindy's face never changes, and right away, I know she's a synoid. "I'm sorry, but Flo and Fran never showed up for their shifts. Is there something I can help you with?"
I turn to Gary. "Don't you think it's odd that both of your human employees just don't show up for work on the same day?"
"It is highly irregular, but all we can do is try to contact them. We weren't able, so we activated a backup operator until they should decide to resurface for evaluation."
Zen glances at me, frowning. "No way this is a coincidence. Someone got to them first."
I nod. "I can only think of one person who would take the risk."
"Who?"
"Dabria. She's got a head start on us. We have to move fast because her next move will be for Specter."
Chapter 7: 5P3CT3R
I float in the digital cosmos, a single star in a galaxy of glimmering billions.
My body is immobile, seated in an uncomfortable chair. A heavily modified neural interface device encases most of my head. Heavy enough to be a problem for long periods, its weight is supported by cables and wires that dangle from the ceiling. The warehouse is somewhere on the outskirts of Downtown, guarded by Keno's hired muscle along with sentry drones and an array of booby traps prepared to maim or kill any unauthorized visitors.
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