by Terry Miles
Sidney pressed for more information, but they told her, now that this proprietary technology was in play, Sidney—unfortunately—no longer had sufficient security clearance to access anything connected to her game.
Sidney told them to fuck off, said they couldn’t do that, then called her lawyer—who took a look over her contract and told her that, sadly, legally, they could.
Sidney had been completely shut out of her own creation.
“I started asking around,” Sidney said, “and apparently, right after they’d started testing, some of the players began experiencing headaches, nausea, and intense vomiting.”
“And you think their reactions may have had something to do with your game?” Chloe asked.
“I had no idea. Baron had been assigned the testing module right beside the woman who’d experienced the seizure, so I asked him what happened. He told me he’d heard banging coming from the pod next to his, and that he rushed in to discover a woman convulsing on the floor. He said he did his best to try to stop her from swallowing her tongue, and then the emergency medical staff intervened and took her away.”
“Any idea what happened to her?” Chloe asked.
“They told me that she was fine, but when I looked into it later on, I discovered that she’d actually died in the hospital a couple of hours after they admitted her.”
“Shit,” I said.
Sidney nodded and then looked around, seemingly unsure if she should continue.
“What?” Chloe asked.
“Baron told me something else about that incident. He said he’d seen something on the woman’s monitor, just before the paramedics arrived and security eventually escorted him out.”
“What was it?” Chloe asked. “What did he see?”
“I don’t know, but he told me that whatever he’d found reminded him of a game called Rabbits.”
I felt a chill.
Sidney continued. “Almost immediately after I’d started asking questions, I was told that all testing connected to my new game was being moved to The Tower and that I would no longer have security access. That’s when I asked Baron if he’d help me look into what was happening. He agreed, and promised he’d send me something as soon as he could. At this point he also mentioned you guys, and promised to introduce us.”
“Did he find anything?” I asked.
“I don’t know. I never heard from him again. I assumed he’d changed his mind about helping me. But when I heard he’d…passed away, I checked his file. It turns out that Baron had been caught trying to access one of WorGames’ behind-the-scenes servers and was sent home, suspended without pay.”
“Shit,” Chloe said.
“Less than a week later, he was…gone. I’m sorry.”
I nodded. “Thanks.”
“So,” Sidney continued, “it looks like Baron may have been trying to help me after all. I felt terrible about what happened already, but if what happened to him was somehow my fault, I…”
“I’m sure it wasn’t your fault,” Chloe said.
I nodded in agreement. “Did Baron mention anything specific about what he saw on that woman’s screen before she had that seizure?”
Sidney shook her head. “Just that whatever he’d seen reminded him of Rabbits.”
I looked over at Chloe. I was pretty sure she was thinking exactly the same thing I was.
What the hell had Baron seen?
“Did he say anything to you guys about what he was doing…before he died?” Sidney asked.
We explained how we’d found Baron sitting in front of his computer watching that weird video, about his murder wall, and how we’d lost touch with him for a while shortly before that night.
“I think something is happening in The Tower,” Sidney said. “Something fucked-up and dangerous.”
“What’s The Tower?” Chloe asked.
* * *
—
Sidney explained that The Tower was one of the newer buildings at WorGames. The Scandinavian construction team brought over exclusively to work on the building were flown back overseas the day they completed their work. The Tower was where WorGames kept everything connected to the Byzantine Game Engine.
“What’s so special about this Byzantine thing that it needs its own building?” Chloe asked.
“It’s what made me take the job,” Sidney said. “The BGE produces virtual reality that looks, sounds, and feels exactly like real life. All that’s missing is smell. I have no idea how it works, but it’s amazing. Putting somebody’s face on another person’s body and using available online voice samples to create a deepfake version of a scene that never took place is one thing, but what the BGE technology is capable of doing is game-changing, literally. It’s fucking breathtaking. When this goes mainstream, it’s going to require regulations and oversight on par with complex genetic splicing and manipulation. The BGE will force governments to completely remodel digital ethics and corporations to revamp their intellectual property rules, and players will have to redefine what it means to play a game. It’s also going to make WorGames a shitload of money.”
“That sounds pretty…out there,” Chloe said.
Sidney nodded. “Yeah, it’s an ethical shitshow, but it’s still really fucking awesome. It became Hawk Worricker’s final project. He’d started working on the Byzantine Game Engine shortly before his death. He called it the most important thing he’d ever created.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. Apparently he discovered the key to his new technology while combining quantum field theory with something called the Baader-Meinhof phenomenon.”
“Is that confirmation bias or something?” I said.
“That’s part of it, yes—although the term ‘frequency illusion’ is probably more accurate. It’s about how something you’ve recently been told, experienced, or noticed suddenly crops up everywhere. What Baader-Meinhof suggests is that you’re seeing this thing constantly because of selective attention in your brain.”
“You’re thinking about it, so you see it.”
“Exactly.”
“And what does that have to do with Byzantine?” I asked.
“I have no idea,” Sidney said. “But apparently Worricker was also obsessed with advanced pattern recognition toward the end of his life. He thought everything was preordained—that certain patterns were everywhere, but we didn’t notice them because we had no idea how to look for them.”
“Sounds like he might have been losing it a little,” Chloe said.
“Maybe,” Sidney said as she refilled our wineglasses.
“So what’s your new game about?” I asked. “Any reason to believe the content might be…dangerous somehow?”
Sidney shook her head. “I think it’s a super-fun game, but it’s not all that different from what I normally do. Character-first action, try to tell a cool story.”
“Anything else you can tell us?” I asked.
“Sadly, the NDA I signed was insane. I think I may have given them permission to inject me with a microchip capable of recording anything and everything I say.”
“Really?” Chloe asked, raising an eyebrow.
“Yeah,” she said. “I can’t share specifics. Sorry.”
“I understand,” I said—and it was true, but damn, I really wanted to hear about Sidney Farrow’s new game.
“Did you and Baron talk about anything else?” I asked.
“He asked a lot of questions,” she said, “but nothing stands out. Although…come to think of it, there was one thing he asked that did feel a little bit odd.”
“What was it?” I asked.
“Baron asked if I knew Alan Scarpio, or if I was working with him on a game.”
“And?” Chloe asked.
“I told him I didn’t know Scarpio, not really. I met him once, at a Sunda
nce party. We had a long talk about Richard Linklater movies. Alan told me Before Sunset was his favorite, and that he thought they’d eventually end up making a third film, but that was the entirety of our conversation. I told Baron I’d never seen Scarpio at WorGames—and, as far as I know, he wasn’t working on anything for the company.”
“Before Sunset is my favorite of the three Before films as well,” I said.
“Three?” Sidney asked.
“Yeah,” I said. “Before Sunrise and Before Midnight.”
“Before Midnight.” Sidney nodded. “That’s the perfect title.”
“Yeah, it is…but—”
“So,” Chloe interrupted, “you don’t know if Baron discovered anything while he was digging around your servers?”
Sidney shook her head. “No idea.”
We sat there in silence for a moment before Sidney turned to face us. “Do you guys mind if I ask you a really serious fucking question?”
“Go ahead,” I said.
“What the fuck is Rabbits, really?”
Chloe poured us all another glass of wine, and then we sat down and told Sidney Farrow everything we knew about the game.
* * *
—
After Chloe and I had answered Sidney’s questions to the best of our abilities, our conversation moved away from Rabbits and WorGames into other areas.
Sidney told us how she’d grown up writing stories. Dune was her favorite novel. She told her parents and anyone who would listen that she was going to be the next Frank Herbert.
“I never share this with anybody,” she said, “you know, outside of certain intimate moments where sharing is unavoidable.” She unbuttoned her jeans and showed us a tattoo on the front of her right hip. It was a graphic of a tiny red hawk with its wings spread.
“Do you recognize it?” she asked.
Chloe and I shook our heads.
“It’s the symbol of House Atreides, from Dune.”
I thought I was a nerd, but Sidney Farrow had a tattoo of a fictional hero’s family crest hidden on her body.
Sidney went on to explain how she’d given up writing prose fiction as soon as she met Nintendo’s Zelda. From that point forward, all she did was write games.
The three of us compared notes on some of our favorite games and debated the merits and flaws of the movies and comic books that inspired us growing up.
It was amazing sitting across from Sidney Farrow talking about this stuff. I didn’t want our conversation to end, but I was exhausted. I hadn’t been sleeping very much lately, and had been drinking semi-heavily all day. I kept trying to fight it, but I eventually fell asleep sometime after Chloe opened the second bottle of wine.
* * *
—
When I awoke, it was just after ten o’clock in the morning and I’d somehow ended up in my bed. I did a hangover status check, mentally going over my body one muscle at a time. I was definitely dehydrated, and my stomach felt like a ball of loose wires, but it was nothing a fried egg sandwich and eleven cups of coffee couldn’t handle.
I walked out into the living room. Chloe was asleep on the couch, and Sidney was sitting at my dining room table putting on her shoes.
“Hey,” I said.
“Hey. Did you get some sleep?”
“I think maybe, but it doesn’t really feel like it.”
Sidney smiled. “I know what you mean.”
Chloe sat up and rubbed her eyes. “What time is it?”
“Ten,” I said.
“I’m off to work,” Sidney said. “I’ll see if I can dig up anything else about what Baron was into at WorGames.”
“That would be amazing,” I said. “And if there’s anything we can do on this side, let us know.”
“Will do.”
Sidney left, and I took a seat next to Chloe on the couch. She stretched her arms up to the ceiling and we sat there in silence for a moment.
“We just had a sleepover with Sidney fucking Farrow,” Chloe said, and the two of us started laughing.
“I’m glad Baron got to meet her,” I said. “Before he…you know.”
Chloe nodded.
Sometimes Baron could be a pain in the ass, but I really missed his boundless energy. It wasn’t that he was especially optimistic or anything, but Baron Corduroy was an enthusiast. And Sidney Farrow’s work had meant as much to Baron as it did to me.
I really wished he were still alive.
“Who’s going to make coffee?” Chloe asked.
“Rock, paper, scissors?” I suggested.
“I’ll do it,” Chloe said, but she didn’t move.
“Maybe we should go out? Eggs?”
“Eggs sound good.”
“So good,” I said.
“Do you really think Richard Linklater is going to do another Before movie?” Chloe asked.
“I hope so,” I said. “But Before Midnight was a pretty perfect way to end the trilogy.”
“Trilogy?” Chloe said. “Since when are two movies a trilogy?”
“Um…there are three movies, Before Sunrise, Before Sunset, and Before Midnight. You know this. I’m pretty sure we actually saw Before Midnight together at the Cinerama.”
“What the fuck are you talking about, K?”
Chloe pulled out her phone and searched Richard Linklater’s filmography to prove her point. Before Midnight wasn’t listed. She showed me a list featuring a dozen websites. There was no mention of the third film in Richard Linklater’s Before series.
“That has to be a mistake,” I said, and searched the title myself.
There was nothing.
“What the hell is happening?” I said. I felt a lightness in my head and the room started to dim. I tried to stand, but I could feel the walls and ceiling closing in. I sat back down.
“Are you okay?” Chloe sounded worried.
“I don’t know,” I said. “I remember that film. This doesn’t make any sense.”
There was a knock at the door.
“Come in,” Chloe and I yelled in unison.
“What did you forget?” Chloe added, as the person both of us expected would be Sidney Farrow entered my living room.
“It looks like somebody forgot to lock the door,” said a voice that sounded nothing like Sidney Farrow’s.
We spun around to see who’d spoken.
It was the mystery woman I’d met at the diner, the woman who claimed she worked for Alan Scarpio.
“I hope we’re not interrupting?” she added.
“We?” I asked, just as two women in their late twenties or early thirties trailed her into the room. They were identical twins, dressed in matching black leather jackets, white T-shirts with dark red stars in the center, denim shorts, and black motorcycle boots. They had cropped bleached-blond hair, wide green eyes, and matching tattoos of two machine guns crossed in the shape of a long X on their right thighs. There was no difference in their hair, expressions, and movements, and—outside of the matching tattoos—there wasn’t a single visible beauty mark or scar visible on either one of them.
They were absolutely alike. Perfect copies.
The missing Richard Linklater film was suddenly the furthest thing from my mind.
“Have you spoken with Alan Scarpio?” I asked.
The woman ignored my question and began exploring the room. “Who’s your girlfriend?” she asked, as she ran her finger along a row of books on one of my three floor-to-ceiling bookshelves.
“I’m Chloe,” Chloe replied. “Who the fuck are you?”
Although we were confronted by all kinds of threatening weirdness, I couldn’t help but smile a little when Chloe didn’t flinch at this strange woman referring to her as my girlfriend.
The mystery woman smiled. “I’m a brand-new friend. You can call m
e Swan, if you like.”
“Okay, Swan, what’s with the suicide girls over there?” Chloe nodded toward the twins leaning against the wall near the kitchen. They looked alert, but there was an air of boredom as well, as if they’d seen this conversation play out a million times before.
“They’re with me,” Swan said. Clearly that was all we were going to get by way of explanation.
“Scarpio?” I asked again.
“I haven’t heard from Alan,” she said as she went through a stack of vinyl sitting next to my turntable. “But we do need to find out what happened to him. It’s important.”
“We?” I asked.
“Yes,” she said. “You and me.” She slipped Bob Dylan’s Bringing It All Back Home back where she’d found it and sat down between Chloe and me on the couch. “I need you to tell me what you found on his phone.”
“We didn’t find anything,” Chloe said—probably a bit too quickly.
“Is that right?” Swan asked, as she picked up my Patti (from The Leftovers) Funko toy from the coffee table and looked it over. “Which one of you has Scarpio’s phone?”
I looked at Chloe, then back over at Swan. I was torn. Part of me wanted to tell her about the rhubarb, the weird video, Tabitha Henry, and Jeff Goldblum, but there was another part of me—the suspicious part currently watching the two oddly dangerous-looking identical twins leaning against the wall outside my kitchen—that won out.
I handed Swan Scarpio’s phone, but didn’t tell her anything. I was pretty sure they’d eventually find the video, but, whoever Swan was, I didn’t think she was police, which meant we didn’t legally have to give her anything.
“Thank you,” Swan said as she stood up and tossed the phone to one of the twins. Then she just stood there, staring at me for a long time before finally shaking her head and smiling.