by Alex P. Berg
“That actually wasn’t what I was implying,” said Paige, “but since you bring it up, I admit it’s a possibility.”
“Is that what you think happened?”
“I can’t really speculate without having more information,” said Paige. “Besides, it’s not really part of our investigation. That’s for the police to determine.”
The elevator slowed and spit us out. I walked with Paige toward the front doors, chewing on my lip and staring at the floor the entire time.
“Something on your mind?” asked Paige.
I looked up. “You can’t tell?”
“Yes and no. Clearly I can tell, but due to the specific architecture of the Princess Gaming servenets, your avatar and mine are separate. I can’t actually control all the things I normally would. It’s why I wasn’t able to bring up your HUD remotely during Marked 4 Death. I had to actually tap your temple twice. I also can’t read your thoughts. It’s simultaneously refreshing and disconcerting.”
I got the general gist of her discourse and gave in without protest. “Okay. So here’s what I’m thinking. Maybe it’s wishful thinking because I hate seeing damsels like Cat in distress, but the more I mull it over, the more convinced I am Leet isn’t dead.”
“Leet. But not Lars.”
“Correct—sort of,” I said. “The way I see it, between the timing of Lars’s death and his apparent online presence until a few short hours ago, we’re facing one of two possible outcomes. Either the man we found in Lars’s apartment is indeed Lars Busk, and someone has stolen his identity and is posing as him online, or the man we found isn’t Lars Busk, and the real Busk is safe and sound somewhere, continuing his gamer identity as LeetForce undeterred.
“If the first scenario is true, then we need to figure out why someone would want to take over Busk’s identity, because the reasons for doing so aren’t immediately obvious. What’s there to gain from taking over the life of a reclusive Intro who, based on his surroundings, had little if any wealth and resources to his name?”
“To steal his online girlfriend?” offered Paige.
“I suppose that’s possible,” I said, “but if Cat and her friends are to believed, Leet hasn’t changed his online behavior, well…ever, really—which is why I hold out some hope about her and Leet. It’s possible she’s never come across Lars’s true online avatar. That the man she knows as Leet is an impostor, but the same impostor she’s always known, if that makes any sense.”
Paige nodded. “There might be some trust issues between the two of them, but at least Leet would be alive in that scenario.”
“The other possibility is far more confusing,” I said. “If the man we found in Busk’s apartment isn’t Lars, then that’s great news for Cat. Leet may be alive and well and exactly who he claims to be. But then who did we find dead in Busk’s gaming chair, and where is Lars? And more importantly, why swap places with someone else? Why the subterfuge?”
Paige shrugged as we exited through the front doors. “I’m not sure, but the identity of the dead man should be easy to ascertain—for the police, anyway. I’m not sure they’ll be eager to share that information with you, though.”
I flashed a smile. “Why wouldn’t they? I’m such a nice guy.”
Paige snorted. “Yeah, I’m going to cast another vote into the ‘glad you didn’t become a cop’ pile. I don’t think you would’ve lasted long with such a cavalier attitude.”
“My distaste for rules and regulations notwithstanding, I think I would’ve made a great cop,” I said. “You know, except for the other reasons we already discussed, like not being able to deal with grieving friends and family or the schedule.”
“That’s the other problem with me not lurking inside your head in game,” said Paige. “I can’t stop you from putting your foot in your mouth.”
“Then we better move out as quickly as we can,” I said. “Why don’t you bring up one of those glowing portal thingies and get us out of here?”
Paige shook her head. “I’ll refrain from harping on the orientation session again and simply say those are for in universe travel only. Check your HUD settings for a log out option.”
I did as Paige suggested, found the button, and mashed it with a mental flick. The Princess cityscape faded, replaced instead with the inside of my living room. Gone was the gentle breeze that carried with it scents of the cherry blossoms, replaced instead by new sensations—a stiffness in my legs and back, as well as a notable pressure coming from the direction of my bladder.
Carl sat on the couch cushions where I’d left him. He looked at me as I glanced around, reorienting myself. “Ah, Rich. You’re back. How was it?”
“Interesting, if not necessarily as enlightening as I’d hoped,” I said. “How long was I in there?”
“Three hours, forty seven minutes, and change,” said Carl. “Why?”
“Just making sure I don’t have any urological problems in need of being addressed. I’ll tell you about it in a moment.”
I stood and headed to the bathroom. As I started to relieve myself, I heard a familiar voice in the back of my mind.
Ah. This does feel nice, doesn’t it?
I almost stopped in mid-stream. Excuse me? Since when do you get off on my bodily functions.
What? said Paige. I was talking about being back in your Brain where I belong. Get your mind out of the gutter.
Yeah, like I’m supposed to believe your impeccable timing was an accident.
Paige snickered but didn’t respond. Of course, that was response enough.
I zipped up and headed back to the living room, where I briefed Carl on what we’d learned from Oni, Dread, and Cat, as well as regaled him with tales of my brave exploits in Marked 4 Death, which I could tell from his vacant expression he found all-consuming. He perked up when I shared my theories about the possible connections or lack thereof between Lars and Leet.
“So,” said Carl with a perfectly raised eyebrow, “you really think the man we found in Lars’s apartment, who resembled the photo of Lars we had on file, isn’t actually Lars?”
“I’m not saying I believe it,” I said, “but it’s an avenue we owe it to ourselves to investigate. If nothing else, it’s an avenue the police will chase. Speaking of which…Paige? Can we give that officer from the crime scene a call? Sanz, was it?”
Time to test your sweet talking skills?
“Don’t you know it.”
I heard the trill of a Brain call. A few moments later the center of my vision blurred and a person appeared. Officer Sanz, seated in an uncomfortable looking chair in front of a flat gray cubicle backdrop. I didn’t realize Sanz would answer my call with a visual feed, but then again, police officers were trained in the physiological aspects of lie detection, so I could see why he’d want to meet me face to face.
He smiled, looking far more cheerful than anyone in his position and stuck in such a bland environment had a right to be. “We meet again, Mr….Weed, correct?”
“That’s right,” I said. “How are you doing, Officer Sanz?”
“Well, I’m neck deep in about four different investigations,” he said. “So I’ve been better. I’m glad to see you’ve changed your mind, though.”
“Changed my mind? What are you talking about?”
“You know,” said Sanz. “About you coming clean regarding your involvement in the Busk case. I’d be happy to take your revised statement if you’re ready.”
I blinked and stared into the projection. I’d completely forgotten about that particular conversation point.
“That is why you called me, isn’t it?” said Sanz.
“The statement,” I said. “Right. Well, to be honest, I had other things on my mind…”
Sanz rolled his eyes. “Come on, Mr. Weed. Really? Are we going to go through this again? I need to provide my superior officer with a clear, concise set of events leading up to Busk’s death and the discovery of his remains, and your statement remains a
lingering thorn in my side. Obviously you want something from me. Do you expect to get it without scratching my back first?”
I took a deep breath and forced it out through my nose. “Alright. Fine. I’ll play ball.”
“I’m listening.”
“I snuck a micro surveillance bot into Busk’s apartment through his exterior food delivery slot. That’s how I knew he was dead.”
I left out the part about me duping a lowly Smotrycz’s service bot along the way. No need for me to come across as a liar and a sleazeball.
“See, Mr. Weed,” said Sanz. “Was that so hard?”
“You’re not going to press charges, are you?” I said.
“Why would I press charges?” he said. “That would be Lars Busk’s choice to make, and he’s dead. His next of kin might, but if the rest of your story is true, then you’re already in his mother’s employ with her blessing to do precisely as you did.”
“Thanks.”
“I’m a cop, not a steel girder,” he said. “I can yield. Now let’s get to business. What do you want?”
“Have you performed a DNA test on Lars’s remains yet?”
“Perhaps,” said Sanz. “Why do you want to know?”
I gave him the same spiel I’d given Carl and, before him, Paige. I was starting to feel like a bot stuck in an infinite feedback loop.
“So,” I finished. “If I’m right about Leet’s online presence, it’s possible Lars is alive—somewhere.”
Sanz sucked on his teeth. “Well, I have to say those are very interesting theories. They’ll give us food for thought at the department.”
“And the results of the DNA test?”
Sanz stared in response.
“Oh, come on,” I said. “I updated my statement. I’m being a hundred percent honest now. And it’s not as if I’m trying to get in the middle of your investigation. I just want a simple answer. I’m still in Miss Busk’s employ, remember? What am I supposed to tell her? That I’m not sure, but her son may or may not be dead?”
Sanz shook his head. “Look. I get where you’re coming from, but my hands are tied. All I can tell you is we’re treating this as a criminal investigation for the time being. Once the autopsy is complete and we’ve finished the tests we want to run, I’ll see what I can pass along. Hopefully, we won’t find any evidence of foul play and I won’t get a muzzle order thrown my way. Trust me, that would be the simplest outcome for both of us.”
“So you’ll let me know?” I said.
“I’ll try.”
I sighed. “Thanks. I guess that’s all I can ask.”
“Not a problem. I appreciate you coming clean. Sanz out.”
The image of the police station interior blinked away, replaced once more by my own living room.
Carl gave me a nod, having followed along with the conversation thanks to Paige’s efforts. “Well, that could’ve gone better. But knowing you, I’d say you could’ve fared far worse.”
“I can’t tell if that’s a compliment or not,” I said.
“How do you want to play this?” he asked.
“Well, I’m not going to give up, if that’s what you’re implying. I’d welcome Sanz’s report, but who knows how long the police investigation is going to take. In the meantime, we can keep sleuthing, same as we always do. Chances are the police cleaned out Busk’s apartment, but I doubt they had a professional crew come in. Nor did the Meertori building manager, if I know his type. I’ll bet if we drop by tomorrow and slip another donation in front of the manager’s respirator, he’d let us take a second look around Busk’s apartment. Shouldn’t be too hard to find a rogue hair somewhere that we could use for our own DNA analysis.”
“And if the DNA comes back a match to Lars’s servenet entry?”
“Let’s take this one step at a time.” I stood and cracked my neck. “First things first, I’m going to snag something to eat and get a proper night’s rest. I know I didn’t actually do anything, but Marked 4 Death really took it out of me.”
“Rich?”
“Yes, Carl?”
My old pal gave me a concerned look. “We need to tell Miss Busk about what happened. I could understand waiting at first, but…she has a right to know.”
I sighed. “I know. You’re right. But let’s give it one more day, at least until I’ve tried to recover DNA from Lars’s apartment. If I’m going to deliver heart-breakingly bad news, I at least want to make sure I’m right.”
Carl nodded, and I headed toward the kitchen. Of course, Helena wasn’t the only one I’d have to notify. There was Cat, too. I really didn’t want to have to find out whose response would be worse.
15
I crept forward along a darkened hallway, my trusty buzz saw assault rifle amalgamation clenched between my hands. The floorboards creaked underneath me, and the walls to my sides stretched and loomed, pushing on my field of vision. The air floated around me like syrup, thick and hot and heavy. Sweat poured down my face and across my bare arms, slicking my palms and making my gun slip dangerously in my grasp.
I heard a howl off in the distance, like a wolf’s but sadder, more piercing, and more human. I spun, poking the muzzle of my gun into the darkness. I flicked the light atop it with my thumb to no avail. The battery had died, and it wasn’t coming back.
Where was Paige? She’d been here a moment ago, slinking behind me in the hallway’s tight embrace. I could still hear her snide, jocular remarks and biting commentary about my personal life as if she were an arm’s length at my back, yet when I turned I saw nothing. A hallway. No doors. No exits. Just darkness and walls, creeping ever closer. How long had I been down here? Where had the zombies gone? Their absence was something to cheer, wasn’t it?
I heard the howl again and spun back in my original direction. The high-pitched baying had been closer this time and less wolf-like. A stench of fear filled my nostrils, blood and rot and human waste all mixed together in a noxious cocktail. I tried to grasp my rifle tighter, but my sweat worked against me.
Something wrapped a limb around me, and I screamed. I turned and wrenched on my trigger. Bullets flew, but not where I wanted them to. A creature, over two meters tall, covered in slime and scales and with an abundance of tentacles, slapped the rifle from my slippery fingers, sending it clattering to the ground. Several more tentacles shot forth, gripping my arms and legs and pinning me against the wall. Its gelatinous face split in two, displaying rows of razor-sharp teeth. Hot, rotting fish breath blew across my face, and the creature cut loose with a melodious, chime-like yell.
I paused in my struggle against the tentacles. Though my blood pumped furiously through my veins, my fear lessened. That hadn’t been the haunting howl I’d expected.
The creature sucked air back through its mouth and let it out in another soft, ear-pleasing jingle.
Yup. Definitely not that scary.
I cracked an eye. Gone was the terrifying visage of an undead monster dredged from the deepest, blackest pits of the ocean, replaced instead with my nightstand, bedside lamp, and integrated holoclock. Everything was a dark shade of gray thanks to the automatic tinting on my bedroom windows.
Paige?
Morning, sunshine, she said.
I glanced at the clock and tried to process the numbers. It took me a little longer than it should’ve. Why am I awake? I barely hit the hay four hours ago.
Somewhere in the distance, I heard the creature from the black lagoon’s throaty, melodious death jingle. It sounded suspiciously like my door chimes.
There’s your answer, said Paige.
I groaned. Why is it people always come by when I’m sleeping?
Because God hates you?
You know I’m not religious, I said.
Sorry. Because a secular, deterministic universe hates you?
I tried to turn but found myself tightly bound in sheets. That explained the tentacles and the sweatiness. Why hasn’t Carl taken care of it? Who
ever’s there, I don’t want any.
He went out to buy groceries, said Paige. You were running low on fruit, cheese, and buttermilk.
Because I’m such a big buttermilk guy…
You ingrate. He was going to make you biscuits when you woke up.
The chimes sounded again, and I sighed. I wriggled and twisted, eventually liberating myself from the sheets’ loose prison. Crossing over to my closet, I threw on the nearest pair of slacks and a breezy shirt. Before leaving my room, I glanced in the mirror. My feet were bare and my hair had become a home for wayward birds, but making a good impression on my caller was the last thing on my mind.
I headed out and started down the stairs.
By the way, you had several Brain calls while you were asleep, said Paige.
Any messages?
Nope.
So who called? I asked.
Not sure, said Paige. It was an unlisted number.
That was ominous. Few people had the clout or the wherewithal to get those.
I reached my front door, but I’d learned my lesson from prior experience. Instead of opening it blindly, I depressed a button on its side. In response to my touch, the door faded away, revealing the person on the other side, but only to me. Unidirectional transparency was a wonderful thing.
Just outside my apartment stood a man with a wide nose, creases around his mouth and forehead, and a two day old beard—probably not a Cetiean based on appearances. He stood a little too tall, his frame wasn’t quite wide enough, and his dress was all wrong. A heavy gray suit jacket hung over his shoulders, and though his tie had been loosened and the top two buttons of his collar unbuttoned, the simple fact of his tie’s existence spoke to his ignorance. A trilby hat with a black band around it perched on his head, tufts of thick, black hair poking out from underneath.
The man had his arms crossed and tapped his foot against the ground impatiently. His jaw muscles clenched and unclenched regularly, either from chewing gum or from a nervous tic.
Nothing about the guy made me feel warm and fuzzy or overly eager to meet him, which is why I was so surprised with myself when I instructed Paige to open the door anyway.
