Virtual Kombat (Pocket Money Puffin)

by Chris Bradford

Somehow I have to find Kate. Get her out before Shark kills her.

  Hurrying down my row, I look for a date four weeks before mine. As I pass one pod, I catch the sickening smell of burnt hair.

  I pray it’s not her. I check the vuescreen. Thankfully, the date’s too early.

  Then I find her PlayPod. She’s still battling for the Crown. But her life-bar is at 20%.

  I call up the menu. 15%.

  Rapidly search for an escape option. 10%.

  Her body’s convulsing within the pod. 5%.

  I find the icon and press ESCAPE. The vuescreen freezes at 1%.

  I pull back her Hoody. Her eyes focus on me, seem to spark blue, then fade.

  ‘Scott, never forget who you are,’ she says, smiling weakly. ‘I won’t.’

  Her head lolls to one side. The PlayPod emits a long, droning beep. Her vital signs zero-out.

  I choke back tears. On the street, friends are few and far between. It’s survival that matters most. Kate was my first real friend.

  But I don’t get time to grieve.

  All of a sudden, the overhead lights come on.

  I duck down as two Analysts head towards the pod with the Burn Out inside.

  ‘What a week!’ grumbles one. ‘Three in a row. We’ll have to promote more kids to Elite Gamer status.’

  Passing my empty PlayPod, he shouts, ‘Hey, a player’s unplugged!’

  Then he slams a red emergency button and a klaxon alarm blares out.

  I run.

  The Greater Good

  Weaving between the PlayPods, I head for the nearest exit.

  Barging it open, I enter a stairwell and begin to climb. Bounding up two steps at a time, I wish for my avatar’s strength. By the sixth flight, I’m gasping for breath. Every door so far’s been locked.

  I hear voices and footsteps clattering up the stairs.

  Forcing myself onwards, I reach the top floor. To my relief, this door opens.

  I burst out on to a roof garden, the cold night air hitting my face.

  Streetscreens blaze across the city. A glass dome rises before me, through which I see the orphanage’s refectory. I hammer on the glass, desperate to warn the other kombatants of their fate. But no one can hear me above Primetime VK.

  The shouts of my pursuers are getting louder.

  I dash to the edge of the roof. But the other buildings are too far away. Below in the darkness, an inky strip of the city’s river reflects the glow of Streetscreens.

  ‘I wouldn’t, if I were you,’ advises a silky-smooth voice.

  Emerging from his rooftop penthouse, drink in hand, Vince Power flashes his pearly-white smile at me.

  ‘A waste to lose such an impressive kombatant. How ever did you beat Destroid’s Skullcrusher?’

  I don’t answer. Trigger Time must remain a secret.

  ‘You know VK kills!’ I rage, thinking of Kate.

  He shrugs indifferently. ‘An unfortunate glitch. Only seems to affect kid players, though.’

  ‘But why don’t you fix it?’

  ‘It’s not that simple. You kids feed VK2’s processing unit. Each mind acts as a super-conductive microchip, powering individual enemy avatars. For some reason your death in the game causes overloading. A Burn Out.’

  ‘You’re worse than the devil!’ I exclaim.

  ‘I’m not evil!’ he snaps, his smile evaporating.

  ‘But you’re killing kids.’

  ‘I’ve always believed in the greatest good for the greatest number. VK not only provides entertainment for millions, it’s solved many of this world’s problems. Reduced crime. Taken kids off the streets. Provided this city’s only orphanage. It’s even environmentally friendly! For a few to die is a small price to pay.’

  ‘Murder is never justified.’

  ‘Yet gamers round the world get a kick out of killing in a virtual game environment,’ he counters. ‘And besides, some pay more, a lot more, for the privilege of killing for real.’

  ‘But it’s not supposed to be real.’

  ‘Is it really that different? The same murderous intent is there, whether someone dies or not.’

  I’m stumped by his argument. Like a politician, Vince Power’s ready with his answers.

  ‘We could do with a gamer of your calibre,’ he says, all smoothness and smiles again. ‘Together we might be able to fix the Burn Out issue.’

  Two Analysts appear behind Vince, their stern gaze not to be trusted.

  ‘Never,’ I reply. ‘I’d rather die free on the streets than live like a slave in VK.’

  ‘I’m sorry to hear that,’ says Vince, gesturing to the Analysts.

  They advance on me. One of them has an electroshock stungun.

  I take a last glance over the lip of the roof.

  ‘You’ll never survive the fall,’ says Vince.

  ‘WHO DARES WINS!’ I cry … and leap into the darkness.

  Log-Off

  Vince was wrong.

  I did survive.

  But now I’m on the run.

  With a secret no one believes.

  Vince Power must be stopped.

  If you’re reading this, be warned …

  TO PLAY IS TO DIE!