His face was friendly but his eyes were liquid, full of both sadness and rage. “There isn’t anything here that needs to be acted on. It was just stuff that all of the CEOs do. Just stuff that the president himself does even! And it's my company. It's not like it wasn’t mine to do with as I wanted anyways.”
Brian snorted. “No, you lost your money a long time ago buying stupid shit to show off with. I looked through the papers. This is stuff from investors. This is money from us– money that is supposed to be in a retirement pension. This is government grants and, I can’t… this is even donations to your orphan’s fund?”
“Everyone does it,” Brett returned obstinately. The blood had drained from his tanned face.
“And now I’m going to do it too. I want money. Lots of money. I’m talking money enough to live well for the rest of my life. Socks made of silk money. Never work another day in my life money.”
“Bullshit, I’m not giving you a dime.”
Brian pulled out his phone, its 3D holographic screen immediately hopping into the air before him. Brett could see that the police were prepped for dial, and that a million scans of the documents were ready to be sent with an utterance of a tone. He slumped down and dropped himself into his cushy command chair.
“I’m not robbing you. I’m not blackmailing you, not really. I’m becoming your partner in crime. And I’m negotiating a proper return for my services.”
Brett peered up into his eyes and started to laugh. Ha ha ha– it sounded like the measured staccato of a disciplined machine gunner and yet Brian was pretty damn sure this was genuine laughter for a genuinely horrible person. He frowned.
“What’s so funny?” Brian yelled, suddenly worried and impatient. He wanted to hit the hills of Slightly Left of Center Earth. He wanted to live the life of a mage in a world full of armored knights and big-breasted damsels. And he wanted it now.
“I’ve done this before. I’ve been where you are now. And it felt so damn good to stick it to the man. I just never thought I’d be the one getting stuck. You win, Brian Morecock. You win, I lose, and I’ll give you so much money that these damn documents will burst into ash on their own accord. So, have we got a deal?”
Brian’s triumphant grin displayed teeth wide and straight– perhaps the only attractive feature inherent to his body. Definitely the only thing he was going to keep once he checked into Prestige Gaming and his magical retirement.
“You’ve got it, Muskyteer.”
***
The world around him was amazing. Dark blue skies, puffy white cotton clouds - the smog wasn’t too bad right now either. Brian huffed it in. It had an almost peppery taste, maybe mixed in with some grade A chicken byproduct. He skipped and did a little pirouhette. It was a beautiful day to be alive!
They’d sat down together and Brett Musky had cycled through emotion after emotion as they got down to work. It took a lot of documents, an agreed upon backstory, and a fake paper trail years long to put off suspicion, but once it was done Brett Musky was the now retired former Director Internal Covert Know-it-all. Which sounded stupid but, in the process, Brett had become privy to a lot of people with the same sorts of ridiculous titles, so it wasn’t anything that would arouse suspicion. He smiled again, thinking about how Brett had frowned after it was all done, and how he had reopened the office door, after Brian had closed it quietly behind him, only to slam it shut again. So childish. So angry. So satisfying.
Now here he was strolling down the side of the Brooklyn tollway, gazing out to the murky rainbow sheen that was the Brooklyn Bay. A few scummy looking old-timers were drinking beers at its edge, fishing lines out in the depths. He gave them a slute. Why the hell not– he was a billionaire now and he could afford to act anyway he wanted to.
He strolled over the bridge at a leisurely pace, then flashed open his brilliant-phone. Five-hundred and one new messages it intoned.
He stopped.
“Play new messages,” he told the air shimmering before him.
First message– “You son of a bitch– I thought we had a deal! I’m going to tell them all about your blackmail–”
“Pause. How many messages are from Brett Musky?”
“Five-hundred.”
“I see. Synapsis on said messages?”
Calculating– calculation complete. He says that you took his money but broke the deal and that federal agents have swooped in and taken him into custody. His emotions change over and over between each message - the last is incoherent sobbing and begging.
“Interesting. Play message five-hundred and one.”
Message Five hundred and one– “It was nice doing business with you. You made the right call. Enjoy your wealth– and don’t worry about Musky. He’s been brought exactly to where we want him. Good day, Mr. Morecock.”
Brian smiled and nodded. Musky can rot in jail, and then in hell. He laughed aloud, gaining some strange glances by passersby, but nothing could faze him today. He walked straight down the final block, turned right, and sauntered through the doors of a glistening and shiny building labeled “Prestige Gaming”.
The interior, a massive angular entry hall, flashed with scenes from the Augmented Reality games as played by famous actors. Except, no, the corner of each screen said ‘live feed’ at the bottom. In one, a pair of charioteers wearing leather armor and crested helmets raced against a huge, seething minotaur, swinging a battle axe as it thundered after them. In another, an imperious, ancient woman in an impossibly high and intricate embroidered collar scowled down at a young man, then motioned for him to enter her Victorian parlor, where the most beautiful young woman Brian had ever seen waited with hands clasped before her ample bosom. In a third, three metal-covered figures dashed down an alleyway. One, a huge monstrosity of cybernetics the size of an elephant cradled a fourth figure in his arms, who had a computer running into her brain via a cable jacked into the base of her skull.
These flipped over to various other scenes while he stood and took it all in: pirates shouting and preparing to board, spaceships firing while darting in and out among larger capital ships, and soldiers taking cover against half-demolished buildings while creaking tanks neared on the road just feet away.
And there, last but not least, was the gem: swaying fields of emerald grass, dotted here and there with pitted, ancient statuary and a handful of adventurers all bedecked in packs, each with their signature weapon. The bard strummed a lyre and presumably sang a shanty, while the ranger scanned ahead with an arrow nocked. The looming, tattooed barbarian stomped merrily along, while the wizard paused and shoved his steely beard out from in front of the tome he was currently studying, then pushed half spectacles up his nose.
Yes. Prestige Gaming– he was finally here! All it took was four years of having Musky constantly walk all over him, climb him like a freaking ladder.
He was soon greeted by a stunning, immaculately shaped and dressed young woman with a hat that screamed airline stewardess, but upon it were the letters RPG. Randomized Prestige Gaming, the latest and greatest in AR simulations.
“Welcome to Prestige,” the woman said, “Please call me Andrea, Mr. Morecock. It’s a pleasure to have you here with us today.”
Yes, he could get used to this.
“Our initial credit scan shows that you could be purchasing a month of gaming on a ten year loan and repayment plan formulated by our underwriters, which would comprise eight percent of your estimated monthly wage. A small price to pay for the experience of a lifetime! You can discuss your options with Trev–”
Be the alpha.
He puffed out his scrawny chest and sucked in the spare tire. “I’ve recently come into a bit of money. Is there a place where I can review bigger plans? Someone I could sit down with?”
It was as if Andrea could see her commission skyrocket, the way her face brightened.
“In fact, I’d heard of a retirement option,” he said. “Can Trevor handle that?”
Chapter 2- Butler Butler and the P
ENIS Ride
Brian had never flown anything but coach before, so this time he went with five star executive, of which there were ten seats in the whole plane. He grabbed up the Premium First-class triple A+ Imperial seat at the front of the automated behemoth and called in about every luxury anyone could imagine.
He then proceeded to get roaring drunk, swear loudly at the rest of the passengers while naked from the comfort of his soundproof, opaque walled booth, then chase the alcohol away with a sobriety nanite wash. It didn’t quite purge the feeling of being used as a factory replacement part, but it did most of the work. A nice meal and a movie later, the broken eyes of a cute short haired sexbot stared at him from the corner where he’d cast it off. He’d always wanted to break something expensive and that hit the spot.
Disembarking was a cinch as well. The airport, a decrepit and archaic place in Albuquerque, had gone decades without modernization and it looked like it was headed straight to the dumpster. Yet, disembarking from the plane, Brian was surprised to see that an immaculate butler type stood waiting for him as he took his first leave pass to exit at his own pace from the aircraft. He ogled the man, who stared back with firm and polite eyes and a face unmoved by emotion.
The butler cleared his throat. “If you are ready, sir, we have a PENIS awaiting your use in the rear.”
Brian coughed hard. “Wha– what?”
“Your PENIS awaits you, sir. Your Prestige Electric Non-polluting Iridescent Skiff is waiting to give you fast transport into our VIP facilities at Prestige Gaming.”
Brian was stunned. Most guests had to use the monorail line. He was a little disappointed too. The way he had set things up, he wasn’t going to ever get to ride it. Still, nobody that he’d ever heard of got to ride a PENIS from the get-go. It might make for good bragging rights in the park. He suddenly had a question.
“How hard is it to get a PENIS at the airport?” he asked the man. A couple exited the plane, probably from Premium First-class double A+ Imperial seating, and gave him wide eyes as they moved past.
“Hard enough,” the butler informed him. “I’d be careful not to ask for a PENIS ride from anyone but myself, sir.”
“Has anyone ever told you that your company should think through its acronyms more?” Brian asked the man.
The butler’s face fell into a grimace. “The complaints and suggestions inbox crashes whenever Meredith Johnston announces a new one. It never changes anything though. If we can move on from here, I can fill you in on any details you might wish to have as we make our way to your–”
“Don’t say it!”
“I’m contractually obligated to, sir. I’m sorry. PENIS.”
Brian cringed, then laughed. “Well, at least we are not running around saying VAGINA, am I right?” He put up a hand for a high five but was left hanging.
“Ah, the Virtual Antagonist Graphical Imaging Navigational Amplification system? That awaits you within the game, sir.”
Brian’s face reddened a little. It made his face even uglier, adding an apparent pox to the mix of it all.
“I didn’t catch your name,” he said.
The butler’s face twitched yet again. “Butler, sir. Gregory Butler.”
Had he been hired specifically because of the name, or had Meredith Johnston insisted that he change his name when he got the job? Brian stared for a moment, shrugged, and said, “Let’s just get out of here.”
Butler the butler lead the way through corridors moldy with mildew and strange bulky phones from a century past, the kind that were bolted to the walls and required coins or credit cards. He made a mental note to copy this style into his holographic phone display. They rolled passed the customs bots, simply flashing a badge that clicked and beeped as they read it, and running under the green lights of a molecular scan. Then they whooshed through an antiviral airlock and were into the airport proper. A vaping room beckoned with gleaming lights to their immediate right and Brian made to veer that way, then saw the hint of disapproval upon Butler the butler’s face and changed his mind. I guess rich people don’t vape he pondered.
Still he was quite surprised when, seeing the sign for luggage retrieval, he turned to head in that direction– and was stopped by a polite, but firm hand.
“Hey man, I need to go get my stuff. There’s quite a lot of it I should add.”
The butler shook his head. “You are a Prestige Gaming VIP. That means you are a VIP everywhere in this state. Prestige Gaming employs almost 90% of the people who live in this region, and that means that your everything has already been taken care of.”
“How about–”
Butler stopped him with a white-gloved finger to his lips. “Everything. Taken. Care. Of.”
What was it with this sass? Brian reddened again, this time with anger. Can everyone smell the bullies on me? Even clothed as I am in the wealth of billions? Be an alpha the man at the restaurant had said. Brian took a deep breath. Here it goes.
“Listen, Butler, I am a man of money and means. Do not touch me without my permission. Do not shush me, do not treat me in any way that might be considered disrespectful. You got it?”
The butler’s face went white and he looked over Brian with new eyes. “Yes, indeed, sir. I am sorry, sir. It won’t happen again, sir.”
“Yeah, okay, whatever,” Brian said and then he cursed himself. That first part had come out so well and now he finished with a goddamn duck fart. Ah well, he’d learn to be an alpha in the game world, where he’d have magic powers and items to back it all up. People would learn that Brian Morecock, or whatever name he picked, was someone who spoke softly and carried a big ass stick. Fuck yeah, this was going to be awesome.
The butler lead on again and Brian followed. The rot and wane of the airport, long stripped of all but its most basic government funding, gave him quite a lot to gape at. A fountain spilled water made blood red by the rust of its pipes. The hologram of an automated piano played the same chorus over and over again, stuck in a loop that no one had bothered to turn off or fix. A renegade waxing robot was busy chasing a couple that had stepped on its shiny floor, squirting streams of wax at their feet. He felt a pang of sympathy towards them. They didn’t look rich enough to lodge a complaint that anyone would care about.
And then they whooshed through another airlock– and there it was. A Prestige Gaming PENIS– larger than he had expected. It hovered firm, its head facing the mouth of the passenger dock, its tip gleaming shiny, almost seeming liquid in the desert sun. Brian turned a questioning look to butler Butler, who cleared his throat.
“Welcome to the start of the rest of your life, Brian Morecock. You have purchased the Prestige Gaming VIP Retirement Package and are just moments away from the life that you have always wanted. Anything you’d like to go do before we leave?”
Be an alpha, not a beta flashed into his head. “Yeah, I’m gonna vape,” he said, pulling out the purple and white plas-glass device and taking a deep pull. He blew a cloud of smoky mist into the butler’s face. The man looked angry for a second and coughed, but his professionalism took over and his face morphed back to its placid self.
Brian surged on the inside. It was the first time he’d bullied someone and it felt amazing. No wonder so many people in the world are such assholes, he thought.
Puffing thoughtfully, Brian let the sun play off his face as he gazed up in contemplation. He thought about swords clanging against metal, fire and lightning arcing over and through, and he couldn’t help but break into a toothy grin.
“Alright, Jeeves, let’s get a move on,” he announced, putting a hand onto the PENIS and sighing.
***
The Hub came into view about twenty minutes later. It was a towering edifice of gleaming mirror with twelve sides. They had passed great big clusters of white out in the desert, and a smaller building that appeared to be the Hub, but butler Butler explained it was a different part of the game, a sub hub perhaps. He had a fully rotating seat, which was pointed toward Butler at fir
st. Since the butler didn’t appear to be very interested in making small talk (and Brian detested small talk anyhow), he swiveled around and watched the landscape flow by. Huge reddish buttes and scrubland the likes of which he’d never personally set eyes upon now all rushed past.
They passed close to one of the blobs of white blocks. As he watched, they pushed outward and reformed around each other, liquid in a way, though the bigger blocks rearranged themselves in jerky, mechanical movements.
“What is that?”
“That, good sir, is a gameworld in action. Within that shell one or more park guests are engaging with the game. These can vary in size, take up a considerable amount of real estate, and they can also move.”
He imagined the barbarian, the wizard and the ranger all plodding through what was essentially a massive treadmill. Once, when he was very young, his mother had bought a new refrigerator, and the cardboard box it came in was a behemoth. He’d transformed it into a castle, a rocket ship, a burning house in need of rescue, and then, once he’d battered it enough, it had served him as a tank tread. His living room hadn’t been all that large, but it’d been big enough that he could crawl around on the inside of his ‘tank’, and had done so for hours.
Put that way, just crawling through a huge tank tread seemed far less impressive, and much more… masturbatory.
He hoped all the images he’d seen from the advertisements were more impressive than a huge formless blob of white against the New Mexico landscape.
“How… do we eat? In there?”
“Oh, it’s all automated, sir. Food can be prepared near your location and brought directly to you via a much smaller, drone PENIS.”
“Let me guess, MICRO PENIS?”
“DILDOS, sir.” Brian accidentally located a screen on the console when he brushed it with his elbow. He bypassed all the Frequently Asked Questions and searched straight for the meaning of DILDOS. The computer offered up a short explanatory video, but he was only after the acronym’s meaning: Drone Interpark Luncheon Delivery Operation System.
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