by Baron Sord
The bedroom was dank and dark.
Smelled like pizza farts.
Fucking disgusting.
Probably hadn’t been cleaned in three years. There were candy bar wrappers and crumpled cans of Red Bull everywhere.
“Open a window already,” I muttered to myself. A piece of cardboard was tacked to the window frame. I peeled it off and set it aside. The window didn’t want to open, but I muscled it up and a faint cool breeze seeped inside.
I stared at Jason.
He lay on his bed wearing grimy boxer shorts and pneumatic compression sleeves on his legs to prevent DVT blood clots. His arms and legs were so damn skinny. I could see all his ribs. When we were kids, Jason could run farther than anybody. I bet now he couldn’t run half a block. Why did he do this to himself? Maybe if Mom had never died, he wouldn’t be like this. But I knew what ifs and wishes never came true.
A tube trailed down from Jason’s boxers to a bag of piss strapped to his calf.
“Is that a catheter?”
Dad sighed in the doorway. “Yeah.”
“Jesus,” I groaned. “How does he take a dump?”
Dad opened his mouth to speak.
I held up a halting hand. “I don’t wanna know.”
“It’s not that bad, I just—”
“Stop. You just? He’s not a baby, Dad. You shouldn’t be changing his diapers. You’re the one with the bad back.”
Dad shrugged, looking away, slightly embarrassed.
I wanted to punch Jason in the face.
But I needed his help.
The blue LEDs of the NeuraLink flickered rapidly. Jason’s eyes were closed, but I could see them bouncing around like he was in REM sleep. They said using a NeuraLink put you in a sleep state similar to lucid dreaming. I didn’t know one way or the other.
I reached down to tear the damn thing off, but I didn’t want to break it. If I did, I knew Dad would end up paying for a new one, which he couldn’t afford. So I carefully pushed it up off the top of Jason’s head and set it on the little table next to his bed where it was plugged into a smart phone. These days, nobody had towers, laptops, or even tablets. If you needed a bigger screen, your phone projected it on a wall. If you needed a keyboard, your phone lasered it on a desk or wherever. Call me old fashioned, but I stilled liked a clunky old keyboard. You could feel the keys.
Jason’s eyes fluttered open and he stared at me.
“Wake up,” I growled. “We need to talk.”
Jason’s face was slack for another 10 or 20 seconds as he continued to stare. Then his brows knotted. “Do you have any fucking idea what you just did? I was in the middle of an epic raid and I—”
“Shut up, Jason. You need to listen.”
“Screw you, Logan! Gimme my NeuraLink!” He immediately twisted toward the table.
I snatched up the headset and his phone before he had a chance. His reaction time was so slow it was pathetic. A three-toed sloth riding on the back of a snail could whup his ass in a footrace.
I held the phone and headset at shoulder height.
Jason reached for it with his arm. Not even close. He tried to sit up. Couldn’t. He was too weak, his muscles too atrophied.
Seeing him wasting away like this made me physically sick.
“Give it to me,” he grunted. “Now.”
“No.”
“Fuck you, Logan.”
“Sorry, buddy.”
He shot a look at Dad, “Tell Logan to give me my—!”
I cut him off, “Shut up, Jason. I’m serious.”
Jason sounded like a spoiled child and it was driving me nuts. He dropped his head on his pillow and glared at the ceiling.
I turned to Dad. “Can we have a minute?”
“Sure,” Dad muttered and walked away.
I closed the door.
Jason whined, “You’re a complete dick, Logan.”
“Least I don’t have a catheter in mine.” I couldn’t resist, but saying it made me cringe.
“Would you just gimme my headset and go?” He sounded like a 5 year old. The sad thing was, he wasn’t this much of a bitch when he was 5. It was depressing.
“No.”
Jason huffed a sigh.
“I need your help, Jason.”
“I’m not helping you, you turd.” He squeezed his eyes shut, wishing I would go away.
“It’s about Emily.”
“What about her?”
“She’s in trouble. Big trouble.”
His eyes popped open. “Is she okay?”
“Not even close.” I pulled my smart phone out of my pocket and read the email to Jason and showed him the 3D pictures.
“What the fuck,” he muttered. “This is bad.”
“You think?”
Jason shot me a look. “Body donor?”
“Don’t look at me.”
“Do you know what that means?”
“I don’t wanna know,” I grumbled. “I just wanna get her back.” Then I told him what I’d found out from Susan Mirsky, Cisco, and the State Department guy.
“Did you try tracking her in Bangkok?”
“How am I gonna do that, Jason? I can’t afford a plane ticket.”
“I meant, have you tried tracking her phone with GPS?”
“I checked. It didn’t show up.”
“Did she turn friend tracking off?”
“I have no idea,” I grumbled. This wasn’t my area of expertise. It was Jason’s.
“Lemme see your phone.”
I handed it to him.
He thumbed around for several minutes. “Yeah, she turned it off.”
“You sure?”
“Sadly. But we can still track her phone.”
“That’s good,” I said.
“Unless someone caged it.”
“What?” I was totally out of my element now.
“Put it in a Faraday cage.”
“A what?” I pictured a cage at the zoo with a bunch of Lions talking on cell phones.
“For something like a phone, all you need is a Faraday sleeve. A pouch about the size of a phone case, lined with wire mesh. It blocks all signals to and from the phone.”
“That doesn’t sound good.”
“Actually, it doesn’t matter. For all we know, someone threw her phone in the ocean or the trash. We need to try something else.”
“You got any ideas?” I hated that I couldn’t figure this situation out myself, but at least Jason was on it now too.
“Yup.” He held up an arm. “Help me up.”
“Are you serious? Can’t you do it yourself?”
He scowled, “No.”
“Dude, you’re turning into an invalid. At the rate you’re going, you’ll die of a heart attack before you’re 30. You’ll be walking up a flight of stairs, and plfft! Dead.”
He glared at me, “So? It’s my life.”
“So, I’m your big brother. Maybe I don’t want you dead in 4 years. Call me selfish,” I smirked as I bent down and picked him up. He weighed nothing. I was afraid of breaking him.
“Help me to my chair.”
I led him to the rusty folding metal chair in front of his cheap chipboard desk.
“Would you put the cardboard back up on the window?”
“It’s too dark in here.”
“I need to see the screen.”
“Fine,” I groaned and tacked it over the window.
Jason thumbed his own phone and set it on the desk. Lasers drew a keyboard on the chipboard top and projected a screen on the grimy white wall. Jason started opening computer windows left and right. Some were internet browsers, others were terminal windows filled with lines of multi-colored code.
“What are you doing?”
“Trying to trace her phone number and locate her phone.”
While Jason touch-typed on the phantom laser keyboard, more code poured down the wall and multiple maps flickered open and closed for several minutes.
“I can’t find it,�
� Jason sighed and leaned back in the chair, breathing hard like he’d run a mile.
“Fuck,” I barked. “Whadda we do now?” I ran my hand through my hair, trying to stay calm. I wanted to throttle the kidnappers so bad it hurt.
“Back door into her email and use any recent purchase receipt emails to backtrace her credit or debit card account number. Then hack her bank and check her entire transaction log. That’ll give you an idea of where she’s been recently. Then you can crack the US State Department servers. They triangulate and track passport RFIDs, but you can’t do a global search. You’ll get booted off the network before you find anything useful. If you have a fairly precise idea of where she is, you can narrow your query and retrace her steps.” He said it like it was a no brainer. For him, it probably was. “Then hack the government security cameras in Bangkok. I hear they’re pretty easy to break into. People like watching the live sex cam feeds coming out of the sex show clubs. Anyway, that’ll be easier than tapping into her credit card.”
“Okay. How long will that take?”
“A few hours minimum. Maybe all day.”
“All day?!” I yelled. “We don’t have all day!”
He frowned. “You know anybody who can do this quicker?”
I grit my teeth. “Just do it already.”
“You two okay in there?” Dad asked through the closed door.
“We’re fine,” Jason hollered. Then whispered to me, “Did you tell him?”
“No,” I hissed. “And don’t you tell him either. It’ll kill him. We gotta find Emily before he asks any questions. How often does she call him?” I knew Dad rarely called her. Wanted to give her her space.
“Lately? He calls her maybe once or twice a month.”
“When did he talk to her last?”
Jason looked around thoughtfully, “I don’t know, three weeks ago?”
“Okay. So he’s probably not worrying yet. What about you?”
“Huh?” Jason’s eyes darted to the side.
“When was the last time you talked to Emily?”
“You mean like on Skype3D?” Jason wasn’t usually this dense.
I grumbled, “Skype3D, email, text, whatever.”
“Oh, man. I’m not sure. It’s been a while.”
I scowled at him. “Don’t you two talk? She’s your sister.”
He scowled back, “Yeah, we talk. So quit asking questions. Anyway, she’s been busy with GHW in Cambodia. You know that.”
“And you can’t find five minutes to shoot her a text every few days? I do.”
“Would you lay off, Logan? I’ll Skype her after we find her, okay?”
I glared at him.
“What?” He sounded defensive. “I can’t talk to her now, can I?” It was a challenge.
I shook my head. “Never mind. Let’s focus on finding her.”
“Great idea,” he snarked.
“Okay, tell me what you know about mind-locking. I mean, other than what I already read online.”
“Not a whole lot. Until recently, I thought it was some B.S. urban legend.”
“Are your buddies in Reternity talking about it?”
“I’ve heard a little, but you gotta remember, RO has a billion players. It’s like a whole ’nother world.”
I shook my head. “Why do people want to play a game that can trap their brains?” I almost said D&D didn’t trap your brain, but I didn’t want to switch gears. The word D&D was now sadly taboo in our family and made everybody miserable.
“Have you ever played RO?”
“Hell no! And I’m not going to. It misses the whole point of RPGs. They bring people together in the real world. Ask Emily. She’ll tell you.”
Jason shook his head dismissively.
“Look, forget about that. Is her brain really locked in the game?”
“As long as she’s got the NeuraLink on and she can’t log out of the game, yeah. That’s my understanding.”
“Who would do that to Emily?” I pleaded to nobody, like it would make a difference.
“I don’t know, man.”
“This makes no sense. Why not just sedate her? Why use the game?”
“Did you not read the part about donor body?”
A wave of disgust slammed into me.
Jason said, “Mind-locking is easy. Anybody can do it. Just slap a NeuraLink on your victim and put a feeding tube up their nose. You can buy those at any medical supply place, and you don’t need to know anything about sedative dosages. You don’t even need to get prescription sedatives. Just buy a NeuraLink. As long as you make it so the victim can’t log out of RO, which is easy to do, they’ll lay there on a bed in the real world doing nothing for as long as you keep them alive.”
“Doesn’t the game boot people off if they play too long? So this kind of thing can’t happen?”
“It doesn’t. It would interrupt the flow of the game.”
I laughed in his face, “Are you hearing yourself?”
Jason remained calm. “You’ve never been there. You don’t understand.”
I almost blew my top, but more yelling wasn’t going to find Emily. “Can you make me understand?”
“People love Reternity. The live in it. They don’t want to leave. They only log out when they have to.”
“Don’t people die if they play too long without a break?”
“They could. But not if you’re smart about it. There’s a guy in South Korea who’s been logged onto RO for something like 120 consecutive days. He uses the compression sleeves and a catheter like I do, but he also has an NG feeding tube and nurses to turn him every 6 hours to prevent bedsores, keep food in the tube, change his diapers, sponge bathe him, and whatever else.”
“Damn, sign me up for that shit!” I chuckled sarcastically. “Guy may as well be in a coma.”
“Trust me, it’s not even close.”
“How?”
“Because he makes his living playing RO.”
“What, in the game? Does he work for NeuraSoft?”
“No. He’s a regular player. He crafts magic items and sells them to other players for real money. He has an in-game factory pumping out magic armor, magic swords, magic wands, the list goes on and on.”
“How much money does the guy make?”
“Enough to live in a mansion and pay a full time nursing staff. I’ve seen pics of his house online. It’s huge. I’ve heard he makes anywhere from $1 to $2 million US a year.”
“You know that for a fact? If there’s one thing people like to do, it’s exaggerate about how much money they have. Guys especially. They do it to impress women.”
“Yeah, I know,” Jason said it in a way that made it clear he didn’t.
“You’re sure it’s not PR bullshit? Pretty easy to rent a mansion for a weekend, hire some models wearing nurses uniforms, and do a photo shoot for an article that talks about how rich you are from your sick gaming lifestyle. You could do it for a few grand. You do it in South Korea, who’s gonna know it’s fake?”
He shrugged, “It’s what I heard.”
I wasn’t going to touch that, rumors being what they were. “Okay, for the sake of argument, let’s say it’s legit. Let’s say this guy runs a business inside the game. What if he tries to logout one day and he can’t for some reason?”
“I don’t think he’d care.”
“If he can’t, who’s gonna pay his nurses to keep feeding him? Or pay his property taxes and file his tax returns so his mansion doesn’t get foreclosed or repossessed?”
“He has a business manager who logs in and out to talk to him, so he can handle all his real world business inside RO.”
I took it all in and thought about it for a minute. If Jason could actually make some money playing Reternity, I wouldn’t be so frustrated with him. Hell, if he could kick down $100 a month to Dad, that would be progress. “Maybe you should make a magic factory like this South Korean dude.”
“It’s not that simple. There’s permits, guild approva
ls…” He trailed off. “Anyway, the point is, if Emily can’t log herself out, they can keep her mind-locked in the game forever.”
I shook my head, hating the existence of FIVR games. Then a lightbulb went on and hope flooded my veins. “Wait! If she’s logged on, we can find her, right?”
“Not if they’re spoofing her IP address.”
“You mean hiding it or whatever?”
“Yeah. It’s easy to do and nearly impossible to crack. They use a TOR network or even a free VPN service to—”
“I get the idea.” Then another thought hit me. “Wait! You have to have a username and password to play, right?”
Jason arched an eyebrow, waiting for me to continue.
I said, “Can’t we contact the people who monitor the game? Ask them to tell us where Emily is?”
“Who, the admins?”
“Yeah, them. Let’s shoot them an email right now.”
“You need a username if you want to block or report somebody or whatever.”
“I bet that Ryder prick made one for her. Or her kidnappers. Too bad we don’t know what it is.”
Jason stared at the floor. He was hiding something.
“What, Jason?”
He cleared his throat.
I barked, “Talk, Jason!”
He glanced at me then looked away. “I know her username.”
“Huh? How? Emily doesn’t play any FIVRs.” I smirked, “Did the kidnappers tell you or something?”
Jason looked me in the eyes, looked away.
“What, Jason?” Now I was pissed. “Talk to me, bro! What aren’t you saying?”
Jason bit his lower lip. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed hard, guilt all over his face.
“Talk! I swear to fuck, Jason! Tell me, or so help me—!”
“Hey, you two!” Dad yelled from the living room.
“Sorry!” I hollered. I pointed my finger at Jason’s chest like a gun, wishing it was loaded with bullets. I whispered, “Talk. Or you’re dead.”
Jason hung his head and mumbled, “I got her into RO.”
“You what?” I didn’t think I’d heard him right. I couldn’t have heard him right.
“It was me. I got her into Reternity.” He said it like he’d turned her onto heroine and she’d turned junkie.
“No you didn’t,” I laughed. “She would never play a FIVR.”
“She doesn’t really play. She just logs on so we can hang out.”
