by David Wong
“It happened once! A long time ago! I promise we won’t get trapped in a vehicle of any kind. They’d have to kill us first. Also, I’m going to need several drinks before I do this. I think we’re exceeding the limits of my mom’s hand cream here.”
Andre said, “There’s a wet bar on the helicopter.”
He wasn’t joking. A few minutes later, they were on board and Zoey found that the helicopter, like much of the gear they used, was military grade but tricked out for ultrawealthy executives who need to be dropped into hostile countries without risk of kidnapping. Leather seats, woodgrain paneling, and monitors all over to simultaneously check stock prices and track any antiaircraft missiles that might be heading their way.
They all strapped themselves in and as the three of them lifted off from the roof, Zoey found the interior was exceptionally well-insulated against even the reduced engine noise and vibration. It was the pinnacle of the kind of luxurious paranoia that Zoey never wanted to get used to. When several drones tried to follow them off the property, the aircraft automatically dispersed a shimmering cloud of something that caused each one of them to abruptly drop out of the sky. She could get used to that.
The residents of “the Screw” couldn’t really claim a neighborhood, as none of the area was supposed to be residential. The building was perched between a huge, nondescript hangar that Echo said was a chapulín farm, a place where they were raising tens of millions of grasshoppers that would be ground up as cheap protein filler for poor people and also packaged as an expensive, healthy superfood for rich people, depending on which vat any particular bug happened to land in. On the other side was a structure made of steel tubes and cylinders that, according to Echo, was a “Piss Plant.” It harvested human urine and extracted the phosphorus to turn into fertilizer.
In between them was a building that, from the air, really did look like a gigantic screw or a drill bit being driven into the earth. About thirty stories tall, it had been a festive orange and white at some point, but had long ago faded in the sun. There were metal railings and stairs that spiraled up the exterior. Echo explained that the whole structure was made up of detachable storage and if you wanted to put stuff in your locker, they’d actually run it out to your house on the back of a truck. You’d throw your crap in there, then they’d take it back and run it up the spiral of rails, to slot itself back into the stacks. The whole operation had gone broke years ago and every one of those boxes had since been turned into a living space. There were bibs and bobs stuck all over the building’s exterior—air conditioners, water recycling units, trash and feces incinerators, many emitting little tendrils of smoke or steam into the night air.
As they started their descent, Zoey could make out people hanging out on the stairs all the way up, watching. The aircraft lowered itself gently into a spacious patch of weeds that had been the parking lot at some point (it seemed like none of these people owned cars).
Echo glanced at a monitor and said, “Their Blink chat is going wild. You’ve kicked the nerd nest.”
“Good.” Zoey unbuckled herself and took a deep breath. The rotors went silent and that silence allowed the nervousness to creep in. She’d forgotten all about getting that drink as soon as they were in the air. “Everybody ready?”
Wu slid open the door. A little set of stairs lowered itself to the grass and he stepped out, scanning the landscape while Zoey descended behind him. She studied the people looking down at her. Some were playing it calm, legs dangling over the railing, smoking cigarettes or puffing steam from vaporizers. She was, no doubt, face-to-face with her tormenters, or at least some of them. Then again, at least some of the people living here probably had no idea what the hell was going on. Zoey’s heart was slowly revving up. She took a deep breath, trying to settle herself down. Using the technique she’d been taught: breathe in slowly for a few seconds, hold it for a few seconds, let it out slowly through pursed lips. She had no idea if it actually worked or not, but it always gave her something to do.
The three of them headed across the lawn and Zoey turned and scanned the sky for her drones. With the helicopter having shut down, she was certain she’d be able to hear them before she saw them. No sign yet.
Zoey got within shouting distance of the building and said, “Hey, it’s Zoey. I want to talk.”
No response. Some of the guys on the rails looked at each other, muttered things she couldn’t hear. She then heard the faint buzz from behind her and turned to find tiny running lights flying in formation. Six red, white, and green drones landed gently around her, each designed to look like an Italian man in a chef’s outfit flapping his arms like wings. Below each was a cargo hold the size of a small oven.
“I brought pizza.”
Zoey had been curious to see who, if anyone, would emerge to meet her. More people were popping out of various doors, but it was presumably just to get her on camera. Word spread fast on Blink, the watch counts would be skyrocketing. Echo helped her stack the pizzas on some circular metal tables nearby that looked like they’d been stolen from an outdoor restaurant somewhere. Zoey opened one of the boxes, pulled off a slice, and took a bite.
“See? Not poison.”
She waited. She looked back at Echo.
“Anything?”
Echo had her phone out, monitoring the Blink feeds. “Inside, it’s chaos. I think they’re trying to throw a plan together.”
Finally, a guy walked out from a unit three floors up. The setup of the stairs meant he’d have needed to walk all the way around the building to get down, but instead he climbed over the railing, dropped to where the path ran back around below him, then dropped down again to the pavement. It was the least handicapped-accessible building Zoey had ever seen.
The guy was a scruffy, thin twentysomething with a knit cap pulled down over his ears. Maybe he was one of the guys they’d pegged from the videos, maybe not. They all kind of looked the same to Zoey.
As he approached, Zoey said, “Hey, what’s your name?”
“He wants to talk to you.”
“Who?”
“The Blowback.”
“So that’s one specific guy? And who are you?”
“I’m also The Blowback.”
“O … kay. Do you want some pizza?”
“Come with me.”
“He can’t come out here? It’s a nice night.”
The guy was already walking back toward the building. “This way.”
Zoey now had a choice to make. The helicopter was probably a hundred feet from the building, but that actually meant they would still be well within range of the aircraft’s many dirty tricks should things go wrong. But if they went inside the building, they would be cut off, at least to a degree. It would just be her, Wu, Echo, and whatever they brought with them. For the thirtieth time, Zoey touched her necklace to make sure it hadn’t fallen off at some point. She had seen Echo packing at least one exotic bladed weapon. Wu, of course, had various devices hidden all over his body that could do everything from temporarily blinding assailants to vaporizing entire limbs.
Zoey asked him, “What do you think?”
“You know my thoughts already. But this is why you’re here, is it not? Only you can decide.”
So, up the clangy metal stairs they went, rounding the exterior of the building, past one storage unit after another. Some had music wafting out from behind the closed doors, some were blasting old TV shows or Blink feeds. Some doors were propped open and the tenants stood in the doorways to get a look. Zoey said hello when she passed. Most couldn’t maintain eye contact. From way below them, a couple of people mooed and giggled. They finally arrived at a cramped living space that was much deeper than it was wide. A pair of narrow beds were suspended from the ceiling and below them was a kitchenette on one side, a pair of gaming chairs on the other. At the end was a makeshift door that hopefully led to a bathroom. Zoey had lived in seven places in her life; she judged that this was better than maybe three of them.
There was a chubby kid with a round face sitting on the floor, typing on a laptop. He looked startled to see Zoey come in.
He said, “Oh! Hi.”
To the scruffy kid who still hadn’t given her a name, Zoey asked, “Is … this him? The ringleader?”
The kid on the floor looked terrified. “Oh, no! I’m just here to get you logged in.”
He pointed to the gaming chairs. Each had a pair of goggles dangling off one armrest. Ah. They wanted her to go meet them in their VR hangout, in the Hub. A situation Zoey was totally unfamiliar with, because the Suits had refused to take it seriously enough to go scope it out in advance. She should have pressed the issue, damn it.
The scruffy guy in the knit cap nodded toward Echo. “Her, too.”
Zoey gave her the choice. “You want to plug into this thing with me? Or stay here and keep watch with Wu?”
“You wanted me to come to the meeting, the meeting is in there. Apparently.”
Zoey eyed the googles warily. “Wait, this doesn’t count as following them to another location does it? If somebody wanted to booby-trap a Hub interface thing, what’s the worst they could do?”
“From the software end? Show you flashing lights to try to trigger a seizure, but only until you closed your eyes. Blast a loud noise through the earbuds, make your ears ring for a while. I suppose the device itself could be booby-trapped. Set your eyeballs on fire or something.”
The scruffy kid said, “No trap. But you can exchange the goggles for any you can get your hands on, if you’re scared. I don’t give a shit.”
Wu actually took him up on that offer. A few minutes later, the headsets were exchanged for two that had been gathered from two different sets of randomly chosen neighbors. Zoey and Echo sat and both the scruffy kid and the kid on the floor with the laptop vacated, at Wu’s instructions. They were to be left alone in the room, Wu would watch the door. He checked the makeshift bathroom to confirm nobody was waiting to ambush them. The whole storage unit smelled vaguely of the human waste incinerator back there. Like turd toast.
Zoey sat and put on the glasses, the attached speaker buds automatically lowering themselves into her ears so that her sight and sound went away in unison. In that moment, yes, it absolutely did feel like she had in fact just followed strangers to another, unfamiliar place.
Breathe in slowly, hold it, breathe out.
A series of login screens appeared and went away without any action from Zoey. Once those screens dissolved, she found herself in a vast marble room that was set up kind of like a courtroom, or some kind of royal judgment council. The walls on either side were white with waterfalls every ten feet running deep crimson, as if the room was gushing blood. In front of her was a massive golden throne that appeared to be built out of hundreds of severed heads, as if each had been gilded after the beheading, all bound together by barbed wire. Zoey moved forward to get a closer look and a line of text popped into her view:
GOLDEN SEVERED HEAD THRONE—UNLOCKABLE AT 25,000S!
She heard muttering and became aware of a couple dozen figures standing around her. Some looked like people but most were humanoid animals, all were wearing some kind of armor, none wearing the same outfit. Some had flames roiling from their shoulders, or tendrils of some kind of green energy. Their faces were all bare skulls of various types.
A moment later, a shimmering figure materialized next to her, a golden goddess of pure light. She wore a wispy shroud of undulating mist but was otherwise naked. She had Echo’s face, but the boobs of a much bustier woman.
Zoey said, “Why do you look like that?”
Echo looked down at herself and grunted in annoyance. “Ask whoever created the accounts for us. Or better yet, don’t.”
A man suddenly materialized on the golden head throne. Zoey knew the face, the chiseled features, and pompadour of plastic jet-black hair. Instead of fanciful armor, he wore a gleaming white tuxedo.
“Can we not meet in real life?” asked Zoey. “I showed up here myself, despite the threats and everything that’s happened. I’m not here to hurt you, I just want to talk.”
“We can talk here,” said the man who apparently called himself The Blowback. Or one of the men? The head man? He spoke with a deep, booming voice. Artificial.
“But we’re not having a conversation,” she said, “we’re operating puppets. You don’t really look like that, and I probably don’t—”
Zoey gestured with her right hand, and a hoof came into view. “Wait, am I a cow?”
She looked down and around at herself, and saw seven more hooves on the ground. She was inhabiting the body of a giant spider-cow hybrid, slick black skin like the terrifying drone they’d used the night of the hostage crisis. The only clothing it was wearing was a huge black pair of panties, with white skull polka dots.
She sighed and said, “Is there a point in me asking your name? Your real-life name, the one you were born with?”
“You may call me The Blowback.”
“Of course.”
“And while you and your savages may rule the Badlands, there is justice here. Equality.”
“It looks like a nice place, I see why you like it. You can’t have a severed head throne in real life without people asking all sorts of questions. But I don’t know what the Badlands are and I certainly didn’t know I ruled them.”
“When you take off your headset, that’s where you’ll be.”
Echo said, “The Badlands are what they call the rea—the, uh, physical world. The world outside the Hub.”
“Okay. Well, I still don’t really rule it but we’re not here to argue. What I’m here to say is that I think we’re all being played.”
“Oh, well, that’s good to hear,” said The Blowback, though in a completely different tone and cadence. “I take it you mean you have Dexter Tilley with you? That he is in fact alive?”
“No, he’s—”
“Or that his organs ain’t missing?” Yet a different voice, coming from The Blowback’s mouth. “Can you show us his organs? You got ’em with you?”
“He’s really dead, but I didn’t— Here, let me ask you this. Where do you think the bounty funds came from? You hate that I’ve got all this money, but somebody on your side has millions they can throw around. Or, and here’s what I think, somebody rich is jerking you around. And all of us, really.”
In the original deep, booming voice, The Blowback said, “That money was collected by true believers, who stand for justice—”
Then another voice, nearly overlapping, said, “A loyal member donated his winnings from an injury settlement.”
Then a third, slightly accented voice, said, “It’s none of your business where the money came from, bitch.”
All from the same digital mouth. Zoey finally pieced together that she couldn’t meet with the real-life version of this person because there was no single individual. A bunch of them were just taking turns. Were they all even in this building?
Echo said, “Is there any way we can talk to just one of you? Can you designate a representative, here in the city?”
“When you speak the truth, you speak with one voice.”
They clearly weren’t able to talk simultaneously, so it apparently came down to whoever keyed in first. Zoey imagined a bunch of guys with their fingers hovering over their respective “talk” buttons. The direction of this negotiation would be determined largely by whoever had the quickest reaction time. She wondered how Will would deal with a situation like that and decided that he had already given his answer: he’d bring an army, or stay home.
“You guys have access to my whole life history. You know that a year ago I was poorer than any of you. So my question is, do you think I was a cannibal back then?”
In various tones of voice, The Blowback said,
“You were indoctrinated into the cult when Arthur Livingston died.”
“You’re the one who killed Arthur and dined on his liver.”
“I don’t know what you did
back then, bitch.”
Zoey sighed. “Did you hear that I brought pizza?”
The original, booming voice said, “It is scientific fact that substantial wealth makes it physically impossible to feel empathy on a human level. Empathy comes from needing other people. Take that away, and the brain mutates, until it is indistinguishable from that of a serial killer. It becomes unable to perceive the consequences of its actions. The Blowback is here to show you those consequences.”
“So, Echo, too? She won’t eat any animal capable of feeling sadness but you think she dines on human livers?”
The Blowback looked down at Echo and asked in the booming voice, “Do they make you eat the flesh? Are you allowed to answer?”
Zoey threw her hooves into the air. “Wait, you think she’s our hostage?”
Echo said, “I’m really not. I work for her willingly. Whatever you accuse her of, throw me right in. We’re both innocent or we’re both guilty.”
The Blowback came down from the throne, using several golden faces as steps on the way to the floor. He put a hand on “Echo’s” shoulder.
“We know Arthur kidnapped you at a young age,” he said. “If you’re still in there, the real you, tell us. Send us a signal, and we’ll come get you. We can protect you.”
Echo said, “That will absolutely not be necessary.”
Zoey said, “What about Wu? Is he a cannibal? I’m sorry but I’m fascinated by the lore.”
“Wu does the killing and the cutting. These rituals originated with Chinese Mafia.”
“He’s from the suburbs of Oakland.”
Echo asked, “Do you know Titus Chobb?”
A member of the armored crowd behind them shouted, “Dirk!” Then this started a chant of that name.
Zoey said, “So, you do. Or apparently you know his bodyguard.”
The Blowback, in a new voice Zoey hadn’t heard before, said, “Dirk Vikerness is a supreme god among men. Someone send up the DV signal! See if he’s on!”
A short time later, a new figure popped into existence next to The Blowback. Dirk Vikerness looked exactly the same in the game as he did in real life, down to the finest detail. He’d even scanned in his patented yellow-and-black armor. Or had he started with the Hub version of himself and carefully re-created it in the flesh?
