Axillon99

by Matthew S. Cox

  “Uhh.” Nighthawk stared at her chest. “Umm. Hi.”

  “Hello, ‘Hi.’” She laughed and glanced at the shoulder patch on his armor. “Really, what’s your name? You’re a fighter pilot, huh? How ’bout I play around with your joystick?”

  Nighthawk stood dumbfounded, gawking at her. His brain seemed to have shut down.

  Kavan fixed the Niath with a pointed stare. Two seconds later, she shifted her eyes onto him instead. Soon after that, her sultry expression evaporated to embarrassment.

  “Oh. I’m sorry.” She turned on her armored high heel and hurried away, gold-feathered wings rustling.

  What did he say to her? Fawkes glanced back and forth from Kavan to the hastily departing woman. She thought about the way Nighthawk had been around the young girl, that lonely, longing look in his eyes. Crap. Maybe he had a wife and kid and they’re dead. William knows him outside the game… probably told her to back off.

  She grimaced.

  “So, quests?” Kavan stood. “Looks like we’ve got about seventeen around here.”

  “You know they’re all like six levels under us, right?” asked Rallek. “But… Cool. I hate unfinished quests.”

  Kavan adopted the posture of a posh Englishman. “Oh, you dreadful completionist, you.”

  “At your service.” Rallek bowed with a flourish. “Leave no quest undone.”

  Angel813 yawned.

  “You know two of these have vanity pet rewards.” Rallek waggled his eyebrow at her.

  “Ooh.” Angel813 perked up. “Really?”

  Everyone laughed at her, but she folded her arms. “So what if I like pets? They’re cute.”

  Side Quest

  25

  The endless hammering of shrill digital beeping pounded Dakota’s skull. Her right eye peeled open and swiveled to point at the offending alarm clock. She tried to ignore it and go back to sleep, but the incessant, awful noise wouldn’t leave her alone.

  Six minutes after the cacophony started, she dragged herself out of bed and mashed the silence button. For another minute she stood in place, swaying side to side with her eyes mostly closed. Eventually, she stumbled down the hall, heading for the shower. Feeling around for the little handle, she opened the door and stepped in. It took her about three minutes of grasping in search of the faucet before she realized she’d climbed into the broom closet in the kitchen.

  “Ugh.” She let her forehead hit the wall.

  A few forced, rapid breaths woke her up enough to successfully locate the actual shower in the bathroom. Scenes from the fifteen or so quests they’d raced through last night replayed in her mind under the spray of hot water. They’d logged out around one in the morning (a little more than four hours ago). She regretted being tired, but didn’t regret staying up. Though she’d logged out at one, she didn’t fall asleep for a while after that, too worried and horrified by the information she’d unearthed about CSI.

  How much of anything she’d done in the past weeks since she’d started using the new helmet had been her idea? Other than voting in the last election, she hadn’t made any purchases more major than food, so she clung to the hope that no one had messed with her. But, she had bought food. What if they influenced the brands she’d chosen?

  “Argh!” yelled Dakota.

  The mirror teased her with a hint of her natural color at her roots where it had grown out enough to expose about a quarter-inch of blonde below the neon blue. “Almost time for more AI.”

  Chrissy, this girl she knew in high school, had jokingly referred to her hair dye as ‘artificial intelligence,’ since she used it to not be blonde. As much as that had annoyed Dakota at the time, she’d wound up referring to it as AI out of habit after that.

  “At least I work at a coffee shop. I’m going to need to drink as much as I sell today.”

  She dragged herself along the surprisingly difficult task of getting dressed, and stumbled out the door. Her key turned the lock on the Amazon Café at 6:01 a.m., late but not so much so that Hal would give her a hard time. Blake appeared at the end of the opposite block, fast-walking toward the store.

  “Guess I’m not the only one who had a rough morning.” She waved at him and went inside.

  Dakota floated in a haze of customers and coffee for a few hours, functioning mostly on autopilot and not making too many errors. When she mechanically took a giant sip from a drink she made for a customer, the man laughed it off. Of course, she made a new drink for him.

  She picked up the stray mocha latte. “Mine now. It’s a sin to waste coffee.”

  “What are you doing here?” half-yelled Blake.

  “I, umm, work here?” Dakota swiveled to face him, but he stared out the window at the line of cars in the drive-through lane.

  “I know that but you said…” He sighed. “I’ve already given you a minute.” Blake pinched the bridge of his nose, his lips quivering. A man’s voice murmured in the earpieces, loud enough for her to notice but not understand.

  “Okay. Okay. I’m at work. I’ll call you later.” Blake’s slightly-chubby fingers lined up like an army of small sausages as he gripped the counter in both hands and bowed his head. “I promise. I can’t do this now. You know I’m at work… you’re right in the damn drive-through.” He sniffled into a chuckle. “Seriously? Okay.” He tapped in an order for a medium peppermint mocha.

  Neal, a shortish, skinny blond guy about Blake’s age, pulled up in a little grey Honda. He paid for his drink without a word and drove off.

  “Anything you want to talk about?” asked Dakota, since no customers waited for anything.

  Blake shrugged. “I…” He sighed, and let it out… then started talking. Once the first few words tumbled forth, he couldn’t stop.

  He’d been dating Neal for almost two years, but had been too terrified to tell anyone about it, being deep in the closet. Even his family had no idea, or so he thought. Dakota decided not to mention that anyone watching him for twenty minutes would know, so his parents had to know, and tried to help him cope. Neal had grown tired of sneaking around and pretending to be his best friend in public, and wanted to make their relationship official. That terrified Blake and precipitated the argument that led to a breakup in the heat of the moment, though she had a feeling neither one of them really wanted it to end.

  She leaned close to him and whispered, “Before you can come out to anyone, you have to come out to yourself. You always seemed so happy when you talked about going to hang with Neal. That day you didn’t want to come in… you’re clearly in love.”

  Blake wiped a tear. “Yeah. Maybe.”

  “Would your parents freak out?” asked Dakota.

  “Nah.” He chuckled. “I think they know already. It’s just like one of those things that never gets talked about. You’re right. I need to face this head on.”

  She play-punched him in the shoulder. “Come on, man. It’s 2031… not like 2017, right?”

  “Hah. I was seven then… I remember on the news, all those politicians saying horrible things about…” He looked around and lowered his voice. “People like me.”

  “That left a mark.” She squeezed his hand, took a deep breath, and exhaled. “When I was sixteen, this guy I went on a date with attacked me…”

  An hour went by on conversation about mental scars. Dakota wound up telling him about the almost date rape, and even about one two years later when she hadn’t been so lucky to get away. That time, she’d been at a party full of seniors and blacked out. She woke up on the floor of an upstairs bedroom with no pants. To this day, she still had no idea who spiked her drink, or what exactly happened to her while she’d been unconscious. Anxiety and weeks of negative pregnancy tests led to depression, and a wild tornado of drinking, pot, and LSD, which lasted until she fell in with the fringe crowd her second year of college. Her new mission pulled her away from drugs. She couldn’t overthrow ‘the man’ if she couldn’t stand without holding onto the wall.

  Blake’s damage stemmed mos
tly from bullies, including his father who had intimidated him without even meaning to. Constant encouragement at sports Blake didn’t care for, martial arts, paintball, and all sorts of ‘man hobbies’ caused him to grow up feeling like a perpetual disappointment. It only worsened midway through high school when his father abruptly stopped pushing stuff on him.

  “I thought he’d given up on me since I’d been the ultimate disappointment.” Blake stifled a sniffle. “Look at me. I’m 325 pounds. I can’t sports. I can’t change my own oil. I thought he secretly wished I’d go away.”

  Dakota hugged him. “What if he realized who you were? Talk to him.”

  “Sorry you got, umm… attacked. You know. Guys can be such bastards.”

  A couple cops walked in.

  She gave his hand a squeeze. “Guess I have two brothers now.”

  “Thanks for listening. I haven’t ever told anyone that stuff. Not even Neal.”

  “Same here, not even my genetic brother.”

  They exchanged a moment of eye contact, mutual thanks, before she moved to the terminal to take the cops’ orders.

  Right as she started foaming the milk for the second latte, the television news mentioned Gavin Steyr, and his introduction of a bill to change state law, eliminating the sex offender registry as it amounted to ‘cruel and unusual punishment.’ The screen cut to an image of Steyr blathering on and on about how these men can’t find gainful employment and their ‘lives were over’ for ‘one mistake.’

  Her stomach churned. That piece of shit did not belong in office. He cheated, and she had evidence that might prove it. Evidence she’d agreed to keep quiet for now. Her hands trembled. If that law passed, the worst kind of scum could become invisible again. How many more victims would they create?

  “That guy is such an asshole,” said one cop. “What about the lives of the victims?”

  The other cop emitted a dark chuckle. “He’s just setting things up so the system goes easy on him when he finally gets nailed.”

  She grinned, and snuck both cops a little more espresso and flavor syrup. Hopefully, Hal’s profanity detecting senses weren’t tuned to pick up an overly generous employee. The cops took their drinks and headed back outside to their car. Dakota bit her lip, one hand braced on her stomach to hold back the nausea at the idea her inaction would make her responsible for everything that creep did.

  Get real. It’s not like I’d mail that stuff to the Times and he’d be out on his ear in an hour.

  Words like ‘election tampering’ and ‘federal crime’ danced around her head. Dumping the cash dispenser of an ATM didn’t seem like such a big deal anymore. Nor did winning a whole bunch of money. Not when she could stop an evil circus master from setting tigers loose in the lamb enclosure.

  Argh. I’ll talk to the others tonight. Maybe I can change their mind. She closed her eyes, tapping her shoe on the floor while thinking.

  For the rest of her shift, she functioned like an automaton, too worried to even eat anything when her lunch break came and went. Trini arrived at 1:45 p.m. and had things well under control by the time Dakota’s shift ended at 3:30. Hal mentioned hiring another person since the morning shift had been picking up and it would increase flexibility for people taking days off.

  “Sounds cool.” Dakota faked a smile.

  Not that she objected to the idea of another person working there, but she couldn’t stop thinking about how an entertainment software company manipulated a gubernatorial vote. If they could coerce people to vote for someone as odious as Gavin Steyr, they could do anything. It wouldn’t be a big leap to go from that straight to the top.

  She hurried out the door, more awake than she had been at any point so far that day. The others would have to see reason. Yeah, the fallout might result in Axillon99 being shut down, or losing so many players to anger, paranoia, or fear that it failed. Perhaps she’d kill full-immersion gaming completely. Would anyone be willing to use a Neurona helmet at all after the specter of mind reading and control reared its head?

  Or, perhaps the company would spin it… turn her into a crazy blue-haired malcontent making wild allegations for her fifteen minutes of fame. Of course, being a woman, they’d make it sexual, drag up everyone who’d so much as held her hand and pay them to say nasty things about her.

  She stopped walking, grabbed her head, and sighed.

  No. I’d need everyone to support me. We’d have to go public as a group so they can’t dismiss me as a lone nut job.

  Her nerves prickled at someone approaching a little too close, a big guy in a cheap black raincoat fast-walking down the sidewalk on a collision course. She sidestepped to let him go by without running her down, but he swung his left arm around her and grabbed on while jabbing a painful object into her thigh.

  “Hey! Get off―”

  The most intense, electric pain she’d ever experienced raced through her body. Dakota tried to scream, but her jaw refused to open. Her legs turned to jelly, and her arms twitched out of her control. Somewhere off to the right, tires squealed. The sidewalk spun into a disorienting blur. She couldn’t breathe. Foam dribbled over her chin as bright spots danced in her eyes.

  Her hand closed around cloth around where her attacker’s balls should be. She squeezed, and the electric pain surged over her a second time. A rapid snapping buzz accompanied the stink of melted fabric. She couldn’t see anything but flashes of light on a dark field. Dakota’s face struck a car seat and slid forward; a man’s weight pressed onto her back.

  She tried to scream past clenched teeth, spraying foamy spittle, but had no coordination to resist him grabbing her arms. A car door slammed and an engine revved. Handcuffs tightened around her wrists. Dakota kicked and struggled, but the man pulled something over her eyes and cinched a strap around her head.

  Panic exploded into a fit of thrashing.

  Fingers clenched a fistful of hair at the back of her neck, forcing her face into the seat to muffle her screaming. She pulled and twisted at her arms, but couldn’t get her hands loose. He tried to force something into her mouth, but she refused to open her jaw, turning her head away as best she could with a handful of hair holding her down.

  Cold metal pressed against her skull behind her left ear.

  “That’s a gun. Open your mouth,” said a man, eerily calm.

  She froze, no longer struggling, too frightened to even breathe.

  The object pressed into her skull prodded harder twice.

  Dakota reluctantly opened her mouth a little.

  He forced a rubberized sphere past her teeth, and snugged a second strap behind her head. Blindfolded, handcuffed, and choking on a ball gag, she about lost control of her bladder. He shoved her off the seat to the floor.

  “Stay down and stay quiet, you might see tomorrow. Sit up or get loud, you definitely won’t,” said the man.

  She tried to ask, “Who are you?” but managed only an incomprehensible murmur around the oversized thing in her mouth.

  Her captor didn’t answer.

  With only darkness to look at, she listened to the engine revving and fading. Not hearing music frightened her to trembling.

  No background music. This is really happening!

  There had to be at least one other guy behind the wheel. She remembered a glimpse of a black vehicle, but couldn’t tell if she’d been thrown in a car, van, or SUV. Her weight shifted toward her head on a turn. Whenever they slowed, she rolled into the front seats. Acceleration bumped her against a man’s leg. She tensed, but he didn’t hit her.

  The handcuffs bit into her wrists, too tight for her to even twist her arms around. After only a few minutes, her jaw ached from being forced open so wide for so long. As much as she tried to figure out where they took her, the myriad sounds of traffic and one helicopter wound up more confusing than helpful.

  She tried to estimate time by counting, roughly confident she’d accurately ticked off 1,652 seconds by the time the vehicle stopped and the engine cut out.

&n
bsp; That’s almost a half hour away.

  The man grabbed her left arm and pulled her upright. She cried out in pain from the tension on the handcuffs, though the damnable sphere wedged between her teeth kept her voice muted enough that no one threatened her. A second set of hands grabbed her legs, and they pulled her out of the vehicle. A waft of air laced with the fragrance of saltwater chilled her face and her legs through her black yoga pants, leaving her feeling as vulnerable as if she had nothing on below the waist.

  Dread at what these men would do to her got her trembling all over again.

  Again, she tried to ask, “Who are you people?” and “What do you want?” but her words couldn’t get past the rubber ball crammed into her mouth.

  Each man grabbed an arm, ushering her forward. She stumbled along, terrified at being blind and fearful of what she might step in. Her squeaking sneakers and the tromp of boots echoed, suggesting a giant warehouse type space or a massive studio apartment. They maneuvered her past a doorway and forward seven steps before taking a left turn.

  “Stairs,” said the man on the left.

  She reached out a tentative foot until she kicked the front of a staircase, and gingerly ascended.

  They guided her to the left at the top, paused long enough to open a door, and dragged her into a room that didn’t echo as much.

  “That was fast,” said a lighter-voiced man. “Any complications?”

  “Nope.” The guy holding her left arm tugged her sideways. “No one noticed.”

  They spun her around and shoved her into a chair. She curled up, shaking.

  “Damn.” The lighter voice approached. “Little younger than I thought.”

  The two guys who abducted her off the street each grabbed a leg, removing her sneakers and socks. She squirmed in protest at the cold air on her bare feet. Cords tightened around her ankles, comfortable by comparison to the handcuffs. While the two men secured her legs to the chair, the one who’d been waiting here pulled a belt around her chest, pinning her to the seatback.