The Metaverse: Virtual Life-Real Death

by William Kurth

  An instant after Stuart saw him leap, he was startled to see Argosi fly past the windows and up out of his sight for a second time. Hewitt who had stepped outside of his command post to survey the crater made by Caroline Greshold looked up to see if any more debris was coming his way. As he did so, Argosi streaked away from the hotel. Hewitt ruined another cigar.

  The rocket motors fired for about 20 seconds before they suddenly quit. This was the part Argosi hated. The landing was where it always went wrong. As he arced head first downward, his CAR-20 still held out in front, the ground and buildings quickly came up to meet him.

  “1900 feet.”

  “1600 feet.”

  “1100 feet.”

  The altitude announcements coming faster and the numbers were getting smaller.

  “500 feet.”

  “Deceleration rockets activated.” The pleasant female voice sang in his headset.

  Argosi felt like he had slammed into a wall as the top of the rocket canisters fired, dramatically slowing his free fall before shutting down as quickly as they had ignited. A ballistic chute shot from the top of the pack. As it raced up and out, it filled with compressed hydrogen, inflating the thin material to the maximum deployment in a millisecond like an automotive safety airbag.

  Argosi swung violently from heading to the ground head first to now feet first.

  “80 feet.”

  “50 feet.”

  “30 feet.”

  Argosi again felt his downward motion slow dramatically as the spent first stages of the primary rocket canisters were blown off and the final stage fired. The parachute held him from above. The hydrogen interior keeping it fully open to catch the air.

  Now with the landing rockets firing, he was held in a hover about 20 feet from the ground. Argosi suddenly realized that the Personal Rocket System or PEROK’s were calibrated for a combat troop that would have been carrying a lot more equipment and thus more weight. In his haste to escape, he had not adjusted for his current weight. Fortunately, the engineers had indeed made it soldier-proof. The rockets compensated as they slowed, then quit.

  Argosi stepped gently to the ground. The chute and spent rocket canisters automatically ejected from his pack and he began to sprint away. The PEROK had worked as designed, putting him within a hundred meters of where he placed his get-away vehicle.

  FLETC Training Facility, Artesia, New Mexico

  The director of training for the Federal Law Enforcement Training Center (FLETC) stirred his coffee as he added creamer trying to get the color just right. It was always a challenge to know how much was needed to get it to the taste and texture he liked. The coffee, usually made by one of the students attending a course at FLETC and that duty rotated each morning which meant it was inconsistent in its strength. But since it was “cop Joe” it was either strong, extra strong or really extra strong.

  Sipping his coffee, the director was still trying to decide if it was just right. The color looked good; the smell indicated it was somewhere between extra strong and really extra strong. Lost in thought about his coffee, he was a bit taken aback when a loud, all too familiar voice boomed behind him. It made him smile.

  “You! Do you know what it’s like to fall 1000 feet? I don’t give a damn that it was a simulation. It was God-damn terrifying.”

  Lt. Dominic Argosi took a moment to think about that, in fact, he knew all too well. A virtual fall was indeed a terrifying event even though deep inside you knew it was not real. The ability of virtual reality to simulate everything from falling, to flying, to sex had claimed more than its share of panic attacks, hyperventilation and aneurysms.

  “There was nothing in the script about me getting blown out the window! You were supposed to shoot me if the rescue attempt failed and those windows on the actual Sky Tower are in fact bullet and blast proof.”

  As the students hovering near the coffee pot made themselves scarce, Argosi studied the woman who had now moved from the hallway into the break room. Dawn Stezno was a 39-year-old no-nonsense police commander with the Bureau’s Police Operation division. Based out of Denver, she oversaw several divisions including the Bureau’s Special Weapons and Tactics-Hostage Rescue Team, or SWAT-HRT elements for the western United States.

  Her command also included “Real world” investigations as well as those in the “Metaverse.” The Metaverse was the interconnection of virtual reality the internet and real life that brought all together into one universe, or Metaverse. Like any other human society the Metaverse had its outlaws and social ills. Law and order had to be maintained for the common good, and it was Stezno’s responsibility to see that it was. Nicknamed Stiletto—not for a style of shoes she could wear quite well. But because she was known to carry a stiletto switchblade, a spring-loaded knife that sprang forward out of the handle. Dawn Stezno was a respected part of what was still very much a man’s world: law enforcement tactical operations and hostage rescue.

  Argosi sipped his coffee before he responded.

  “Technically the script said that your character would be killed depending on whether the hostage rescue team got there in time. As for the windows being bullet and blast proof, you are correct that they are.” Argosi took another sip of his coffee.

  “From the outside. But the steel frames and glue that hold them in place can still be cut by directional pressure and heat. In short, disintegrated. The simulation accepted it because the math in the real world works out.”

  Argosi hated saying “real world.” Dawn fumed.

  “You could have just shot me.”

  “Come on, Commander. You know by setting up the charges, I gave the rescue team more time. By me not shooting you they had an additional opportunity to take me out and rescue you, which they still fucked up. Besides, I thought your weight on the window would help in case, my math was a little off.” Argosi chuckled.

  “Now if you would excuse me, ma’am, I have a debrief to conduct. You’re free to sit in and offer your perspective on the operation. Or on what it’s like to fall 1000 feet.” Argosi smiled as he slid by Stezno, coffee cup in hand.

  Stezno whooped at his backside. “Oh, fuck you, Argosi! And one more thing, we go too far back for you to call me ma’am.”

  Indeed we do. Argosi smirked behind his coffee and strutted down the hall. Students and officers parted in his path, giving deference to the bureau’s most famous living legend.

  ***

  Argosi found himself lost in thought at Stezno’s words about going way back. He recalled how some years earlier Stezno had saved his ass in the Gulf of Mexico. After the economic and political collapse of Mexico in the 2020’s chaos reigned and the Mexican drug cartels ruled large swaths of the country. The cartels, emboldened by a lack of a functioning Mexican government and a U.S. preoccupied with its own economic difficulties fired rockets into Brownsville, Texas killing scores. The cartels overreached one time too many. The United States invaded and set up a demilitarized zone extending for dozens of miles south of the border as well as around Mexico City and many of the major cities, and many of the resort towns to stabilize and maintain some semblance of an economy and separate the cartels from vital assets.

  With the advent of “virtual highs” a combination of aroma, virtual reality, and synthetic legal compounds, the drug trade had all but dried up. So naturally the cartels turned to what had been Mexico’s greatest other resource, oil. Cartel pirates had crossed the line when they seized a U.S.-flagged rig drilling in the Gulf of Mexico. International waters, even if disputed by what was left of the Mexican’s cartel-filled government.

  Argosi’s team had been sent in to rescue the hostages and neutralize the pirates. The operation went like clockwork until the cartel members set off explosives. Argosi’s team had planned for that bringing with them an Explosive Ordinance Disposal element that was able to detect and disrupt the detonation. Known as Munitions Chemical Interruption Explosive Specialists, they were affectionately just called MUNCHIES. These were some of the braves
t men and women that Argosi had ever met.

  Each of the MUNCHIES carried a large wand-like device that resembled a flame flower from WWII. All Explosives have a chemical tag that is both unique to the compound and more importantly detectable. Bomb dogs could be trained to alert on the chemical tag or the scent of the explosive. Initially, the chemical tag detection units were only useful post blast to help identify the types of compounds used.

  As the technology advanced, detection now could be determined before detonation, by handheld sensors more sensitive and precise than a dog’s ability to smell. Identifying the device quickly became possible and when paired with a circuit interrupter fired from a laser beam, any electronics attached to the explosive, or nearby could be neutralized.

  The MUNCHIES had successfully identified and disarmed most of the bombs planted by the pirates. But the one thing that this technology could not stop was an old fashion fuse lit by a flame. A MUNCHIE Team tracked a source of TNT being carried by some pirate, who was quickly blasted with the laser interruption-beam. The device did a great job disabling the man’s radio but could not disable the cigarette lighter now lighting the satchel’s fuse. The MUNCHIE team, having identified the source of TNT, locked the interruption signal to the satchel dropped by the pirate who fled.

  As they slowly walked up to the bag, they radioed other assault members about the fleeing pirate and set about to permanently disarm the device. One MUNCHIE kept the beam locked on as the other bent down to examine it. Opening the bag, he was horrified to see the fuse burning, nearly to the top of the bundle. Releasing the bag he turned and yelled. “Run!”

  It was too late.

  The dynamite exploded, killing both MUNCHIES’s before they could move. The blast set off a nearby fuel tank for a generator, igniting a few thousand gallons of diesel fuel that poured out of it and over the superstructure. Two SWAT members chasing the pirate that had dropped the first satchel got a bead on the man and shot him dead, but not before he lit off a second satchel. That explosion destroyed the platform he’d been standing on. Worse, it buckled one of the main supports leading down to the stairs above the egress boats.

  The explosion also separated the two SWAT members from the stairs, and now they would have to jump. Argosi was the team member who had just shot the pirate. He was a Sergeant then and an Element Leader. His backup was Officer Steve Keyton. Argosi surveyed his situation, with flames in one direction and a gaping hole open to the sea below in the other. Shots rang out and rounds bounced off a nearby metal bulkhead just as Keyton fell to the deck.

  “Shit! Shit! Shit!” Keyton hollered over the inner team net.

  “I’m hit! Fuck, it hurts.”

  Argosi instinctively turned in the direction of the gunfire and brought his CAR-20 up. His sights quickly identified the source, who now shot from an elevated platform through the hole at the rescue boats. Argosi let off two three-round bursts in the man’s direction. Argosi saw him pull back as the rounds impacted near his head. Argosi turned to Keyton and grabbed him, pulling him behind a metal bulkhead to the edge of the platform.

  Argosi squinted at the wound in Keyton’s thigh. Blood was coming out at an alarming rate. His limited medical training told him that it was not a major artery and Keyton would not bleed out, at least not right away if the bleeding was staunched. Tearing open a pouch on his vest, Argosi snatched at different first aid items falling out. He soon found what he was looking for. He ripped open the package of blood coagulant and poured it into the wound. Argosi ignored Keyton’s yelp as the coagulation powder developed by the Israelis hit the injury. He continued dumping it on until the wound was completely covered and no more blood was visible. He then tore open a second package containing an adhesive pressure bandage and placed it over the wound and shoved down hard, prompting another yell from Keyton.

  Argosi leaned over Keyton, their facemasks nearly touching.

  “Hold on, you. Hold on!”

  Argosi knew that Keyton had lost a lot of blood by the paleness of his face. He flipped Keyton over onto his stomach and reached up to the top of Keyton’s backpack. He opened a cover and studied the buttons. Argosi pushed Manual then Delay before setting the timer to Keyton’s ballistic chute for fifteen seconds. When the number changed from 15 to 14, confirming it was armed, he slammed the cover closed.

  Argosi rolled Keyton over, knelt next to him and lifted the two hundred-plus-pound man and his equipment up and onto his shoulders. Tucking him into a fireman’s carry, Argosi took off running.

  The smoke from the flames now obscured the whole platform, although Argosi could still breathe normally in his enclosed helmet and facemask with its internal air supply. He slid his feet along the platform feeling for the edge, his vision blocked by the smoke. Argosi figured he had maybe five seconds left. Finally, he felt it with his left foot. Quickly he slid his right foot up, bent slightly at the knees and pushed up, tossing Keyton over the side.

  Argosi heard the chute fire. He knew he had done all he could do and radioed to the rescue boats, which had moved away from the gunfire and the shrapnel showering the sea. Argosi received no reply and checking, found that his radio was dead. Apparently, the pirates’ earlier near miss had not been so lucky for the radio system on the back of his helmet. Argosi checked everything else, inner team net was still up but designed to only operate at voice distance, within three meters or less. The boats could not hear him.

  Argosi looked into the darkness of the night, the black smoke making it darker still. He was preparing to jump when gunfire blasted from above. The pirate, having climbed to a higher vantage point, was shooting down into the sea again.

  Argosi swung around the metal wall with his CAR, his sights searching for a target. Although the sighting system could see through the night or bright sunlight glare, thick smoke from a diesel fire was another thing. Without a target Argosi, selected a three round burst and squeezed four times in quick succession. Hoping that would keep his adversaries head down Argosi sprinted to the ladder he had seen the pirate climb. He could feel the heat of the bars being licked by the raging infernal through his Nomex gloves that both protected and cooled his hands. For him to feel that kind of heat the bars must be quite hot. Argosi didn’t care. He was going to get this guy. Judging by the burning twisted metal on the deck, he figured the best escape route at this point must be up.

  Argosi raced up the ladder. The smoke that obscured his view now covered his movement. As Argosi neared the platform where the pirate had shot Keyton from, muzzle flash’s illuminated the next level. Argosi raced up the ladder with the billowing smoke, the flames now following him up the ladder. Argosi pushed his CAR up through the ladder opening. The integrated sighting system immediately found his target. The wind was blowing the smoke clear from the platform. Argosi glimpsed the man, assault rifle in hand, shooting down at the sea and Argosi’s teammates. Before the top of his helmet even broke through the opening, Argosi squeezed off two more 3-round bursts all of which hit the pirate who had climbed onto the railing to better angle his fire down. The impact and shock of the rounds threw him forward, and gravity did the rest pulling his body over the railing, sending him the 100 meters or so to the Sea. If the bullets had not killed him, the impact on the water from this height surely would.

  Argosi leaned over the railing, not to see what happened to the pirate but to determine if he could clear the rig in a jump. Seeing the Egress Boats begin to move quickly away he keyed his radio again to no avail. Then he knew why they were moving as the rig began to groan. Just then, one of the massive cranes rotated and fell towards his position. The deck that it was supported on was buckling from the damage sustained by an explosion and the intense heat of the diesel and crude oil-fueled fires.

  He leaped over the open ladder opening now filled with flames racing upwards like a torch and ran towards the other end of the walkway. The crane impacted the access platform he was now running down, the force slamming Argosi against a bulkhead. He recovered and continued
to run for the other end as another loud explosion rocked the whole rig. Reaching the railing he did not bother to look over it as he stepped up onto it using the middle cable as a step with his left foot as his right stepped onto the top wire and pushed with all his might propelling him out and away nearly thirty stories or so above the choppy sea.

  Argosi was surprised that he did not travel very far forward despite the adrenaline-fueled push he gave off the railing; it seemed that the only direction that he was going was down. After what felt like an eternity making Argosi sure he was about to hit the water he felt the kick of the rocket canisters of his PEROK. Activating it by voice command as he was running to the railing he had set it for Max Distance to get him as far out and away from the fiery exploding oil rig as possible. The gyroscopes had quickly adjusted the angle of the rockets and now were accelerating him in a gentle arc up and out to sea. At about a mile out and an altitude of 2000 feet, the rocket engines cut off. Rather than go through a harrowing head first reentry designed for maximum stealth and deploy the chute at 100 feet, Argosi opted to activate it now.

  Argosi felt the reassuring upward jerk as the parachute deployed, stopping his forward trajectory and speed. Swinging gently from the canopy he looked down to the sea trying to see where the Coast Guard and the assault boats they used were. With the night vision of his facemask, Argosi caught glimpses of circling VTAL aircraft and the bright fires burning off the rig. But much of the time his vision was obscured by the black smoke of the fire, which unfortunately he was downwind of. He waved his flashlight around hoping that someone would see him. He continued doing that till the landing rockets fired and lowered him gently into the sea.

  Steve Keyton was barely conscious when one of the assault boats fished him from the water. His life vest automatically inflated on landing. The team medic immediately took charge beginning an IV and administering Morphine. Keyton was quickly out of it by the time he was hoisted up to a hovering VTAL-11 that raced him to the Navy hospital ship Lesperance. Lt. Dawn Stezno, the SWAT commander, blinked at Keyton as he was wheeled into sickbay. She noticed the pressure adhesive was still wet. She asked the medic if he had put that on. He wagged his head.