by Damien Boyes
“We’ve only been here a few minutes,” I reply in my head. “The excitement wears off when you get to hour twelve and your pee bottle is full.”
“What are you going to say to her?” She knows why I’m here and what Dub wants me to do, and it’s a good question, one I haven’t got completely figured out.
“I’m not sure—” I say and then the back door swings open and Anika steps out.
She’s wearing a grey Humanitech warm-up suit with a baseball cap pulled low over her short hair. She stiffens when she sees me.
I keep my distance—if she triggers on me I’ll want a head start when I make a break for it—and flash her what I hope is a disarming smile.
“Hey,” I say, “remember me? Finsbury Gage—we witnessed a felony together.”
Her eyelids twitch and she glances from side to side. “I know who you are,” she says. “What are you doing here?”
She doesn’t sound angry, or look like she’s about to lunge at me. But I’m sure if she did I wouldn’t see it coming. She seems more annoyed than anything else.
“I wanted to thank you for saving my skyn the other night. If you hadn’t been there to stop me I would have done something stupid.” I smile again, trying my hardest to be charming without seeming like it. “I’d be all ones and zeros right now if it weren’t for you.”
She considers me for a moment, but her shoulders relax. “Dub told you I’d be here?”
I nod, and she makes a little growl in her throat.
“I know,” I say, commiserating. “He’s frustrating. But he’s a good guy. Wouldn’t hurt anyone.”
“I’ve seen him rip a guy’s arm off,” she counters.
“That’s just his job. At home he’s a pussycat.”
She licks her lips, swallows. “Well, then you’re welcome, I guess. Next time send a text.”
She turns to leave. “Wait—” I say, but don’t have anything to follow it up with.
Anika gives me an expectant look, but there’s something there. The steel is gone from her eyes. “There’s something else?”
“Yeah, I…” I toss a glance at Connie and she just shrugs. I’m looking to the ghost of my dead wife for dating advice. What am I doing? “I didn’t send a message because I wanted to thank you. In person.”
“Which you’ve done…” she leads.
“And to ask you…” I don’t know how to do this. “To have a meal with me. As a thank you.”
Meal? Why did I say “meal”? Who says “meal”?
What the hell is wrong with me?
“A meal?” Her face cracks, almost to a smile but not quite. “Well isn’t that precious?” Then she closes right back up again. “But not necessary. Besides, I have a fight coming up. Not a lot of time for meals.”
“How about coffee? Fifteen minutes,” I suggest. “I’ll even splurge on real beans.”
I glance at Connie once more, and from the look on her face she’s enjoying this. For some reason she likes watching me squirm.
“Thank you, Mr. Gage—”
“Fin—”
“Thank you, Fin, but my life doesn’t have room for coffee dates right now.”
Of course it doesn’t. Why did I think this would work? She isn’t interested in socializing, she’s training for the biggest fight of her life. I’ll just tell Dub I did my best, but I’m out of ideas. He’ll just have to live without knowing if she’s shady or not.
But she’s still standing there. Could she be waiting for me to say something? One last shot.
Connie’s still smirking at me, and without thinking I blurt, “I know this isn’t a great time, but when is it ever? And I’ll be honest with you—I could use the company. It’d be nice to talk to someone other than the sprite of my late wife for a few minutes.”
She blinks at me, and her head dips to the side while her mouth purses in a confused smile. “For real?” she says.
I shrug, give a little nod, and feel my cheeks tingle. Why did I tell her that?
“You made a sprite of your dead wife?”
“I had nothing to do with it. She did it, thought it’d be funny. And it was— at the time.”
Guilt stabs me in the guts and twists. This isn’t right. I shouldn’t have said that—I’m using Connie’s memory to worm my way into a stranger’s life. It’s not fair to either of them.
“Is she here now?” she asks, looking around.
I dart a look off next to me, and she follows my eyes then barks out a laugh before she can cover it with her hand. She stares at me for a second.
“I’m sorry I laughed,” she says, her green eyes wide, “but that’s fucked up.”
“No shit,” I say. She’s right, no point arguing. Mental note: never use the fact that you still live with the ghost of your dead wife as a pick-up line.
But again, she’s still standing there. For longer than I expected.
Finally, her lips part in a tentative grin. “Okay, Fin. But I wasn’t lying, I don’t have room for coffee.” She considers me for another moment. “I’ll be tubing tonight though, after practice. I’ll send you an invite if you want to join me for duos.”
She wants me to game with her? I’ve spent plenty of time in virts, but not a lot gaming. I won’t wow her with my fragging skills, but it’s a start.
“I’d like that,” I say, still surprised she agreed.
My stomach twinges as she gives me a last, quizzical look. “I’ll ship you the invite,” she says before taking two steps and launching herself into a full-on sprint down the sidewalk.
“Way to go, slick,” Connie teases. “Looks like you got yourself a date.”
Ugh. At first I felt bad about taking Dub’s money for this.
I don’t anymore.
GAGE, FINSBURY
9:09:12 // 8-JUL-2059
I head back to my room and spend most of the day lying on the couch with my head in a game. Growing up I was more of an outdoor kid and didn’t get into video games much, but since my head went digital I’ve had plenty of time to catch up. I’ve played through a bunch of narrative sims, and I’ve basically lived in a survival virt for these past few months. They’ve grown on me, so shifting into pure action games isn’t too much of a stretch. Over the day I take runs through Anika’s favorites—Decimation Island of course, plus Underlook Champions and Warfire 1944. She’s a pro and I know she’ll kick my ass at whatever we do, but I don’t want to come off like a complete potato.
The games are all first-person sims, and while each is wildly different—from the visuals to the body mechanics to how much it hurts when you die—some are more complicated than others. It takes all day, but after the initial learning curves I’m at least passable in all of them. Mostly.
Enough, anyway.
I don’t hear from her until later in the afternoon, when I get a message from someone called GulfGaytR—which turns out to be one of Anika’s alt IDs. It says she’ll be running duos in Decimation Island at eight if I’m still interested. You’d think after all she’s been through she wouldn’t want to play that game ever again, but it’s still the most popular content on her feed. People want to see her challenging the game that beat her, and she tubes it like a champ on the regular.
DI’s fine with me. Out of everything I played today it’s the most straightforward. Collect weapons and gear and kill anything that moves. Bots, players, NPCs—doesn’t matter. It’s easy when everything’s an enemy. Even better, the body mechanics and the weapon simulations are the closest to realistic of anything I’ve played. There are no real special abilities or super powers or team economies or complicated itemization paths to learn. Point and shoot, I can do that.
I reply, telling her I’m looking forward to it. Then that’s it—it’s a date.
Connie smiles at me. “I think you’ll have fun.”
I don’t. I was never good at this, even when it wasn’t all based on a lie.
“This in no way will be fun,” I say. If I had a body right now it’d be drenched
with anxiety sweat. Now that this is for sure happening I want nothing more than to cancel.
“We’ll see,” she says over her shoulder as she disappears into the bedroom with an inviting look, but that’s the last thing I’m interested in. It isn’t even her that wants me to follow, it’s her algorithm, pulling her strings to give me what it thinks I want.
I know she isn’t real, and I’m reminded all the time, but here I am, all the same, feeling guilty about going out with another woman. And not only because I’m betraying Connie—but also because I’m running a game on Anika.
What if she figures out what Dub and I are up to? Dub seems to think it’s justified but … what if he’s wrong? There’s a very good chance this is all a misunderstanding, and here I am messing with her head.
I need to relax, pull myself together. It’s not a big deal, we’re just gaming. We’re not even going to be in the same room together. No one gets hurt playing video games, right?
After a few more rounds in Decimation Island, I spend the rest of the evening pacing in the cabin until suddenly it’s five to eight. I call up Anika’s invitation and hit accept and a second later the air above me twists open and a beam of light sucks me up and leaves me standing in the DI lobby, right on the edge of the floating drop tower.
I stagger backwards, my heart in my throat. Even though I’ve played a few dozen games, the vertigo of arriving on the drop tower still gets me every time. I’m up high, standing on the hexagonal launch deck. The floor’s only a thin grate with nothing under me but the ground far below. I’ve never been great with heights. The first time I cast in here my guts heaved so hard I nearly had to bail back to my headspace. It’s a good thing that for whatever reason bursts of sudden adrenaline don’t rouse Deacon when I’ve got my head in a virt. If this was out in the real world my brain would be thick as cold soup right now as the governor tamped him down.
I’m getting used to the height now, but my stomach still hitches once before it settles down. No one else seems to have a problem with it though. Players regularly pop in and immediately jump from the ledge, casting into their selected lobbies without a second thought.
The tower’s hovering in the dead center of an island, and each side of the hexagonal deck leads to a different level, each a unique game scenario with specialized environments and NPCs. This week’s rotation offers a mining and shipping island occupied by a despotic general, a manufacturing center overrun by renegade bots, an uninhabited tropical island infested by zombies, one that recreates the island from the live game, a prehistoric tropical map with dinosaurs, and one with hostile aliens on the moon I still can’t play—even though I don’t have a stomach in the game, somehow the lowered gravity setting makes me queasy.
Anika shows up right on time, except I don’t know it’s her. I’m watching a heard of sauropods grazing in the dinosaur level below when a guy in a union jack jumpsuit, white cravat, giant mirrored sunglasses, and thick blond hair hanging in what I can only describe as “locks,” taps me on the shoulder.
“Hey big boy,” he says, and his voice is musical. He flashes his eyes. “Lookin’ for someone?”
It takes me a second but then I realize it must be Anika. We couldn’t look any different. I’m wearing the game’s basic starting gear, grey fatigues and black boots, and she’s walked straight in from a Swinging Sixties nightmare.
“GulfGaytrR, I presume?”
“Oh this ol’ thing?” she says, putting on a voice. “I’ve had him forever.” She shrugs. “It’s my dickhead camo.”
My aspect’s confused expression is detailed enough I don’t have to come right out and ask.
“Fewer assholes hitting on me,” she explains, “and the ones that do tend to take rejection better.”
“Got it,” I say, and can’t help but laugh. “Something I’ve never much had to worry about.”
“Come on,” he says, and leans into me. It’s weird, this is all just in my head, but I can almost feel her. She’s smiling as she whispers, “You’re telling me you’ve never slipped into a female aspect? Never pulled on a pair of long legs and a tight dress and strutted around the Hereafter, just to see what it felt like?”
The sudden intimacy startles me and my thoughts go blank. All I can think to say is a version of me hijacked a woman’s skyn and rode her identity for six months. But I don’t think that counts.
“Not the Hereafter,” I say after a second, deadpan, and she winks and pushes me away. “You’re not tubing now?” I ask, changing the subject. I half-thought this might all be going out live.
She smirks. “I figure we’re gonna do this, we should do it right. I haven’t been on many dates, but I’m still pretty sure they shouldn’t have an audience. Besides, I haven’t had a night off in months. You’d better be worth it.”
A low-voltage tremor quivers through me. The game trying to replicate my throat tightening.
What am I doing?
I shouldn’t be here.
Anika thinks I’m interested in her. I made off like I wanted to get to know her, like I’m not just another asshole who wants something from her. She’s been through a whole fuck-ton of tragedy, lost someone she loves and a bunch of memory in the process, and must be struggling with what to believe.
I’ve been through it myself, I know how disorienting it can be. Plus, she’s got the tryouts in a matter of days, a shot to become the next Ludus Humanitech novi—a huge step in her career—and I’m contributing to the mess in her head, all in the service of some vague notion in Dub’s overprotective mind.
This isn’t fair to her. I shouldn’t be doing this…
Except—I saw it myself, at the gala. Violence is supposed to be shocking, and she didn’t so much as rustle the bubbles in her champagne when the shooting started. Either she’s dead inside, or she knew it was coming. And whichever she is, neither of those people should be given a lethal skyn and a stage to use it.
If we’re wrong, I’ll own it and apologize. But I don’t think it’ll come to that.
This isn’t a date, it’s not supposed to be fun. I have a job to do.
So do it.
She’s waiting, her eyes starting to narrow. “I can’t promise anything,” I say, matching her energy, “but I’ll do what I can—even if it means strutting around in a long pair of legs.”
She angles her head. “Well, let’s hope it doesn’t come to that,” she says, then looks out across the map selections. “Have a preference?”
“Anything but the moon.”
She smirks. “Vanilla it is,” she says and walks to the edge of the decking facing the slice of island swarming with bots, then looks at me over her shoulder. “Ready?”
“I’ll follow your lead,” I say as I step up beside her. “And try not to hold you back too much. Any pro tips for me?”
“Stick together.” She spins around and her heels hang off into space. “Quickest way to die is alone.”
Then she tips over backwards, watching me, and she only falls for a second before her body disappears.
No getting out now.
I wait a beat, then follow her in.
AniK@
100:00:01. 100 Players Remain
Game 2 drops from the East Tower, and while the zone completely cuts off the island’s coast, it opens up hotspots in the lava fields to the south, the coniferous forest to the north, the mountains to the west, and the river plains directly east. Other than in the heart of the forest, the sight lines work well for the Redeemer. It’s a good sniper game, you should be okay.
The tower launch shoots your fresh skyn out facing toward the ocean but you immediately bank the wingpack around, checking to see where the other survivors are dropping. You don’t care much about the hour zeroes, but you want to keep as far away from the returning players as you can. You angle upwards, maintaining altitude until you know where everyone is.
One at a time the survivors pop their look-at-me red parachutes, first the trio then the duo, until only you and a team o
f four are still cutting through the air—must be OVRshAdo and his crew. You spot them to the south and just behind, but they’re paralleling your path, almost as if they’re waiting for you to open your chute before they do.
Shit. This could be a problem.
“Well y’all, looks like we’re being hunted,” you mutter in your head. Being a newly crowned survivor, your aud has blossomed between games, and you feel their presence like an overinflated balloon in your skull.
Your plan was to pop your chute early and float as far as you could toward the foothills at the base of the dormant volcano at the center of the island. You wouldn’t have to fight for real estate, there’s only one reason anyone goes there, and that’s if they plan on hitting the caldera hotspot at the very top, but not many do because it’s basically impossible.
The Caldera Warbot Fortress is the single most risky hotspot in the game, and almost never attempted—it can take up to thirty hours of straight fighting into a warbot-defended factory built deep into the volcano, and unlike the other hotspots, it doesn’t reset. It’s a constant lure—defeat the bot overlord at the heart of the fortress and you walk away with a tank-like robot protector of your very own. It’s a walking target, and draws all kinds of attention, but it’s lethal and damned hard to kill. It’s not transferrable to the next game, but any team who’s able to secure it is all but guaranteed a spot in the top ten. Plenty of people attempt it because the reward is so OP, but never straight off the drop.
You’d planned to find somewhere quiet to hunker down, watch for potential targets through the Redeemer, and pick them off from afar. It’d be hours before anyone found a weapon that’d outrange you, and by then you’d have a good idea where everyone close by was, and you could move with a sense of security.
Instead you’ve got OVRshAdo and his squad on your ass. You’ll need to do something to dissuade them.
All at once you push yourself into a dive, plummeting head-first toward the ground as fast as you can. There are a few hotspots nearby—Robot Junction is the starting zone this game but there’s also the Monorail Heist or Crater Expedition—and most of the mottled grey parachutes are headed toward one of them, but you pick a block of grey concrete buildings directly below that you don’t think anyone else is aiming for and head straight down.
