Catch and Kill

by J D Lasica

  “Very well. As long as she abides by the nondisclosure agreement.” Volkov was uncomfortable with letting outsiders see how Fantasy Live worked. But he had too much on his plate to begin micro-managing Lucid.

  “Evelyn understands her obligations.”

  “Proceed. I’ll be monitoring.”

  “Yes, Chairman.”

  Lucid opened the door and signaled for Evelyn to enter. Volkov called up Evelyn’s background details on a side monitor. American. Forty-six. Twice divorced. Made her fortune as a broker trading futures in energy and metals.

  Evelyn entered the room, her eyes sweeping across the full-color high-def screens. It was late afternoon and the initial Fantasy Live simulations were just getting underway.

  “Intriguing.” Evelyn moved closer to the bank of monitors and brushed the screen closest to her with her fingertips. “Lucid, I may need to write you another check to have some recordings sent over.”

  “I’m afraid I can’t do that.” Lucid handed her a pair of Eyewear that covered her eye sockets. “Observe the action in each scene. Wholly interactive, no latency, wide field of vision from the guest’s point of view.”

  Evelyn put on the small rubbery goggles and moved to the next screen where a troupe of Chippendale look-alikes was entertaining one of the female guests.

  “What am I looking at?” she asked.

  “Our soft launch,” Lucid said. “You’re looking at the first Fantasy Live stories being played out. Each Fantasy Live simulation has a story arc. You’re a player in your own story, a story with pacing, anticipation, rising action, and a satisfactory resolution.”

  “I can’t wait for mine. But thanks for the sneak peek, so to speak.”

  Lucid explained how it worked. Instead of watching the action through a TV monitor, the Eyewear transported Evelyn into the room of the simulation. Each guest was having a high-touch, intimate, immersive AR experience while Evelyn was having a VR experience that let her toggle between the perspective of the guest and each Chippendale performer.

  “I understand you’re a VR and AR aficionado?”

  “I dabble,” she said. “Always disappointed by the limitations. In your literature you promised revolutionary breakthroughs. You said you’ve made the magic leap.”

  “We have.” Lucid guided her to the next simulation showing a French maid with a feather duster and a naughty outfit. “We’ve taken AR from 3-D to five dimensions—the dimensions of sight, sound, taste, smell, and touch. Your audio receptors live in an ancient part of your brain. We’ll pull you into the experience in a deep way by using advanced reverbs from audio projectors embedded into the sets. You’ll notice the sound picked up by your skin, not just your ears.”

  Evelyn stared at the simulation through her headset. “You make it sound so high-tech, but it’s just a French maid in a slutty outfit.”

  Lucid frowned. “When you’re in the simulation, you’ll understand. Shall I continue?”

  “Please do. How does it work?” She squinted behind her goggles. “I’m not seeing any sensors.”

  “We apply a thin chemical compound to the performers’ faces like makeup. They also wear sensors on any part of their torso that needs re-imaging. But hearing and sight are only two components. You’ll have to wait until your simulation to experience the remaining three senses: taste, smell, and especially touch. We’ve cracked the tactile nut.”

  “I’d go for a different metaphor if I were you.” Evelyn chortled as she moved down the row of monitors on the wall. She peered up at one simulation with a young woman wearing Playboy bunny ears and another with the Dallas Cowboys Cheerleaders. “Just curious. I see several copyright violations or trademark infringements. How do you get around that?”

  “We hired two of the world’s leading IP law firms. The augmented reality aspect means the performance is both transitory and transformative. That’s one reason I can’t send you a video. We’re in the clear if we limit the simulation to a brief AR or VR experience where the guests bring their own personal media to us and they’re the only ones who see the performance.”

  “But they’re not the only ones. Do they know we’re watching?”

  “They know they’ve signed a privacy waiver.”

  Evelyn flounced her mane of red hair dismissively. “I’d be surprised if they’re okay with this.” She moved to her right along the long row of glowing screens. “What have we here? It doesn’t look like the others.”

  Lucid nodded. “Mother of three. We do have a handful of women clients.”

  They peered at the simulation through their Eyewear, then nudged down their goggles to see how she really looked. She was a slightly overweight woman around fifty years old. In the simulation, she has the gorgeous, rock-hard bikini body of a twenty-year-old. She’s lying on a lounge chair overlooking a pool and eating a cheeseburger with a buttered bun. A server clad in tight swim trunks brings her a piña colada and then begins cooling her with a fan. Awaiting her at arm’s reach is a silver dessert tray with a slice of strawberry shortcake, fresh strawberries, and real whipped cream. Her eyes move to the shirtless pool boy who’s getting sweaty in the midday sun. The pool boy is flanked by three bronzed male models sunning themselves or doing laps. In the tented veranda just beyond, three middle-aged white men are hard at work. One is washing a mountain of dishes, another is diapering an infant, another is on his hands and knees scrubbing the bathroom floor.

  “That’s inspired.” Evelyn moved to her right along the long row of glowing screens. Her Eyewear switched to the next simulation. “A strip club? Tell me about this one.”

  “Our guest remains fixated on an ex-girlfriend. His fantasy involves her performing a pole dance. Think of it as a form of immersive therapy.”

  “Oh, really? So this becomes a fantasy shrink session for some people?”

  “We give people a chance to work out their shit. We give them a second chance to make things right in their own minds. To express those pent-up feelings or to live out that wild night you always regretted you passed on. In this case, seeing his ex perform a striptease act on stage provides a kind of release and emotional closure.”

  “Bullshit.” She knitted her brow and scowled. “He’s in it for the revenge and humiliation.”

  “You’d be surprised how many revenge fantasy requests we received for launch week,” Lucid said.

  “And you’d be surprised at how unsurprised I’d be. Do you green-light all your guests’ fantasies?”

  “By no means. Some of our guests’ fantasies are impractical to pull off from a logistical standpoint. Others are … quite dark.”

  Shouts in the hallway were followed by a loud, efficient knock on the door. An assistant burst into the Multimedia Room. “Sir, we have a problem.”

  Volkov’s eyes went from Lucid to Evelyn and back again.

  “It’s all right,” Lucid told the aide. “Speak!”

  “One of the new girls. There’s a big problem with one of the new girls.”

  19

  Samana Cay

  The medallion dangling on Alex’s chest vibrated as he approached the resort’s Ready Room across the courtyard from the Fantasy Theater. It buzzed two other times in the past day when a “Type 22” Opt-In came within fifty feet. He’d struck up a conversation with the dark-haired beauties both times but didn’t take advantage of the privileges during his first full day at Fantasy Live.

  Now on day two he entered the Ready Room, a larger, more impressive space than he’d imagined. Tasteful modern art, contemporary furnishings, mood music personalized to his tastes—a contemporary bossa nova. Thank you, pre-island questionnaire.

  Rachel, also a Type 22, smiled at him from across the room. The late afternoon sunlight glinted off her bare shoulders, her flawless tanned skin accentuated by a one-piece turquoise print dress with a tropical palm design. They were alone.

  She smiled, strolled past him, and locked the door. “This is our private time. To get you prepped. Just a half hour from now.�
� She sounded more like a sultry date than an ambassador.

  She glided to the black lacquer table beneath a colorful print of a Caribbean beach and poured two glasses of red wine. She handed him a glass of Cabernet Sauvignon. “Ready for your first Fantasy Live simulation?”

  “I’ll admit I’m damn curious.”

  A knot of nervous energy was forming in the pit of his stomach, a mix of anticipation and dread. He wanted to see whether the augmented reality wizards at Fantasy Live could really conjure up a realistic likeness of his first girlfriend, Cynthia Esposito. They’d dated during their senior year of high school, a torrid romance she broke off at the end of summer when they went off to different colleges.

  My first true love. My first heartbreak. I never got over you.

  The dread came from what he suspected was about to unfold. Cynthia had never opted in to his fantasy. He scraped together some old video clips from when they were young and stupid and posted everything to Facebook. He sent everything he could remember about her to Fantasy Live as part of his Fantasy Prep Kit. Even though Cynthia wouldn’t be in the room and would never know about it, it still felt invasive. Even a little creepy.

  Aren’t fantasies supposed to be unattainable by definition? Maybe not anymore.

  Rachel glided back to the lacquer table and picked up a small canister. It looked like the inhalers he used to take for asthma as a kid.

  “Here, this will help you relax.”

  Alex inspected the canister and shook it. “I don’t do drugs.”

  “It’s not a drug. It’s a neurochemical mist to enhance your experience. Trust me.”

  “It’s not a matter of trust. I need to know what’s in it.”

  “You sure? It takes away the air of mystery.”

  “I put nothing in my body unless I know what it is.”

  “Fair enough. No secrets, I promised. The visual and auditory stimuli from the Eyewear you’ll be wearing make the simulation hyper-realistic. The mist opens your sensory pathways and takes the experience to a whole new level.”

  “What are the ingredients?”

  “A blend of neurotransmitters. Endorphins, dopamine, testosterone, and oxytocin, the so-called cuddle hormone.”

  “Cuddle hormone, huh?” He flipped it around in his palm. “What do your scientists call this little blend? They must have a nickname for it.” She hesitated, so he reminded her. “You said full disclosure.”

  “You’re persistent, Andrew. ‘Perception Mollies’—that’s what our neuroscientists call it. But there’s no meth involved. It’s a hundred percent safe.”

  He still wasn’t ready to take a hit. So she snatched the canister from his palm, held it to her mouth, and inhaled a single puff. “See? Now your turn.”

  “I won’t get the full experience unless I give this a shot?”

  “Exactly.”

  He retrieved it from her hand. Did he want to do this? Certainly not. Would Andrew Bayless? Almost certainly yes. “Never let it be said Andrew Bayless wussed out.” He took a puff.

  Rachel smiled. They took another sip of wine. She headed to the opposite end of the room and fetched what looked like a makeup kit. “One last thing to get you ready.”

  “To make me look good?”

  “It’s not about appearances. It’s about perception. Lean closer.”

  She used an application brush to apply a powder to his face.

  “You’ve heard of double-blind experiments? At Fantasy Live, all our simulations are double safe. You never see what the fantasy performer really looks like. And she never sees your true identity. When you’re walking around all week, you’ll never know which young woman you interacted with the night before. Adds an added layer of security. And mystery.”

  She daubed his cheeks, nose, forehead, chin, and around his mouth.

  “Like a masquerade ball,” he said.

  “That’s a good analogy. I’ll have to steal that.”

  She finished with his perception makeup. He felt the neurochemicals kick in. The effect reminded him of the rave parties in college where everyone was dropping Ecstasy. A sense of well-being coursed through him. He felt strangely at peace. Even the lights and the artwork now seemed more vivid, pulsing as if they were alive and had stories to tell.

  Rachel clinked wine glasses with him. She looked so beautiful. Part of him wanted to kiss her right now. And part of him knew the oxytocin and endorphins were messing with his synapses. He took a last sip and set down his glass. He couldn’t take notes during the Fantasy Live simulation so he needed to remember every detail of what was about to unfold.

  “I have questions before we begin.”

  “I can answer any questions you have, Andrew. Take whatever time you need.”

  He gathered his thoughts. Since his arrival he’d heard stories from fellow guests about dark fantasies they’d requested. It was a subject he’s never discussed in polite company. Maybe he was just out of step with his contemporaries. What kind of fantasies did his friends and neighbors harbor? Did some secretly desire a night of sexual domination? Did they want to exact vengeance on an overbearing boss? Would any of them hire a hitman if they could get away with it?

  “You must have received some outrageous requests for fantasies,” he probed. “I mean, beyond the kinky stuff.”

  “Yes. Nothing I can share, though.”

  It makes sense Fantasy Live can’t cater to all our fantasies. We’d all love to be rich, good looking, popular, brilliant, well respected, famous. But how convincing would those simulations be? No, Fantasy Live was mostly an excuse to act out some of our darker impulses. I’m happy to chronicle this for my undercover series, but I’d be happier to see those secret impulses stay sublimated, thank you very much. There’s a reason society clamps down on the lizard side of our brains.

  He needed to return to the task at hand. Cynthia Esposito.

  “The model or performer, she volunteered for today’s simulation?”

  “Yes. Every girl is evaluated and scored across a wide range of criteria, including physical attributes and resemblance to the fantasy subject.”

  “And then they’re given some kind of script?”

  “No, nothing that detailed. Just some biographical material. Some info about you and your relationship with her. And a storyboard that maps out the story path we’d like her to take you down. But don’t ruin the experience by asking too many questions. Let it unfold!”

  She was right about that. “Okay, last question.” He hated himself for what he was about to ask. But he needed to probe deeper for his story and separate the B.S. from the reality. “You said part of your job as ambassador was for the build-up before the main event.”

  “The appetizer.”

  “Right. The appetizer.” He paused and checked the color of her Opt-In bracelet. It was still glowing bright green. “Would you take your clothes off for me, please?”

  She laughed. “I had a feeling this was coming. Well, since you said please. I feel safe with you, Andrew.”

  She reached around to her back, untied a knot, and her sundress dropped to the floor. She wasn’t wearing a bra. She reached down and removed her panties.

  Alex stood there in wonder, looking at Rachel standing naked in the middle of the Ready Room. She was flawless. If Leonardo da Vinci or Botticelli sprung to life and painted her, they wouldn’t do her justice.

  She was only a few years younger. In another time, he might have fallen for her. He was single, amped up on biochemicals, and a jumble of emotions right now. He found her sexy as hell. Intoxicating. But he knew he would never act on it.

  He was in a committed relationship with Valerie. They were moving past the tear-your-clothes-off stage of animal lust and exploring things like compatibility, intimacy, common interests, worldviews, life goals. He was still coming to terms with Valerie’s decision to use a surrogate for the baby they planned to raise together.

  For him, love at first sight had happened only once. With Cynthia Esposito. God kn
ows, when you’re seventeen, you’re hopped up on pheromones and oxytocin and other mysterious chemicals that turn your brain to mush.

  He thought of all this while this goddess stood before him, assured and unselfconscious in her naked sensuality.

  “You’re a beautiful person, Rachel. Thank you. I’m ready.”

  She smiled demurely and put her clothes back on. “Take a deep breath, lover boy. Let’s go meet Cynthia.”

  Map of Zug and Wildspitz, Switzerland.

  20

  Zug, Switzerland

  Kaden hopped aboard the fishing boat at mid-morning when the streets of old town Zug began to come alive. Bo, Nico, and Judy joined her along with the captain, as the boat’s owner introduced himself. He pushed the aging vessel out into the lake that kissed the edge of old town.

  “Thanks again for working us into your schedule,” Bo told the captain, a dude with gray whiskers and a bandage across his nose that made her think skin cancer. He was smoking a pipe that smelled of cherry, menthol, and death. Working on lung cancer, too.

  “It’s just good to see you again, my friend,” the captain said in a Swiss German accent. She figured he’d met Bo somewhere along the line during his overseas stints.

  The captain turned the wheel to head out to the middle of the lake. “First time in Zug?” he asked her.

  “First time in Switzerland,” she said.

  “Welcome.” He smiled. “How do you like Zugersee?“

  “Zugersee?”

  “Lake Zug.”

  “Pretty.” She breathed in the crisp Alpine mountain air and watched the seabirds trailing their boat. The captain turned the wheel and the boat began tracking the lakefront, gliding past the snug little village enveloped by ice blue mountains with wisps of fog curling through stands of evergreens.

  “A lot of visitors here for the Crypto Summit,” the captain said. “I’m an investor myself. Zug’s a big financial center. Has been for decades. It has a special tax status within Switzerland—our version of the Caymans. There are more companies on the tax rolls than locals.”