“I wish.” Ethan chuckled. “Goodnight, Sharpe.”
“Night, buddy,” Sharpe replied. “Don’t get too worked up about the big day. A week’s a long time!”
Ethan smiled at his friend before disconnecting from the boardwalk map. Once all the shapes stopped fading and reloading, he found himself in his virtual home base. It was small, but cozy. More like a little home than a fortress, like some of the other sim kids had. But he preferred to keep it humble. He liked getting from his treasure room to his bed in short trips.
A bit of torch fire, not unlike those on the beach, lined his walls. They were digital flames, so they didn’t need fuel and there was no risk of them burning anything. He rather liked the ambiance they provided. They made the place feel warmer, more like home.
Even though he was just a human brain in a simulation with all his nutrients being fed to him by some mechanical process or another, he felt tired. Maybe it was the excitement surrounding their victory over the Ghoul King. Or maybe, it was more nerves about the impending birthday.
As he laid down in his virtual bed, he stared up at the canopy above it. He started to close his eyes and picture what it would be like to open them again, but in an entirely different bed. A whole new world.
The real world, Ethan thought. I wonder where I am in it.
The Motel
If Tera had skin, it would be crawling. She thought the streets of Slumside were pretty unappealing, but that’s because she didn’t know what the insides of some people’s shacks looked like.
The woman across from her lit another cigarette, staining the filter with her violet lipstick. The smoke rose up through the still air and into her eye, causing her to blink in pain. Her long false eyelashes waved at her like the wings of some sickly moth.
Tera could tell from her complexion that the woman spent almost all of her time indoors. It wasn’t a terribly healthy way to live, but Tera understood it. The chances of getting robbed, stabbed, or raped were much slimmer inside the frail shacks than out. If there isn’t a cop somewhere in eyesight, anything was free game on the street. Only the tough, the delusional, or the crazy thrived out there.
The couch Tera sat in smelled of dried urine and body odor. The entire left cushion was uncovered, surrounded by the stuffing that had once filled it, and the right one had a huge gash on the top. It looked like someone had slashed it open in search of a hiding spot.
Like rats do, Tera reflected.
She was on her first solo case since graduating from the academy. Abenayo got tied up at the scene of some shooting or another before Tera’s shift began, so she was forced to proceed alone. She received a call right away that brought her to this shithole to respond to reports of theft. Generally, a matter such as this was below the attention of the Council police, which is why it had been tossed to her. As a rookie, she needed to earn better cases, and the only way to do that was to start at the bottom.
And what a bottom it was.
Camila, the woman across from her, seemed like she might fall asleep between every sentence. Her words slurred together as she tried to articulate her story and she struggled to keep her eyes open. Tera felt secondhand discomfort for the woman as she seemed to be slouching against some hideous stain on her armchair.
Probably strung out on something right now, Tera thought. Doesn’t look like heroin, though — she’s far too alert. Unless she has a resistance, that is.
Camila was something the slum dwellers called a “motel.” She was a prostitute that specialized in I.I. clients — ones that wanted to feel what it was like to have a body. She “rented” her body out, so to speak, to anyone who was willing to pay the price. She would open her mind up and let them take over, paying her on an hourly basis as they did whatever they liked with her. Naturally, she attracted some real creeps, and one of them apparently saw fit to rob her blind.
“So, what happened after your client contacted you?” Tera asked. The microphone and camera in her bodyshell were recording the whole conversation.
“We set up the meet like usual,” Camila replied. “His bodyshell seemed nice. It looked like he had some money.”
“Then you let him mindshare with you?”
“That’s right.”
“What happened then?”
“That’s the thing,” Camila said. “The son of a bitch took some pill thing he brought along with him. A roofie or something like it. I don’t remember anything that happened after. He drugged me out of my own body, and when I came to, all of my cash was gone.”
“Was anything else missing?” Tera asked.
Camila seemed to resist a little. Her eyes darted around the grime-covered shack as she mulled something over in her head.
“You can tell me,” Tera said. “We won’t be holding you responsible for anything illegal he may have stolen.”
“He took my stash, too,” the motel replied after some hesitation.
“Your stash?”
“You know,” Camila said, blushing a little. “My drugs.”
“I see,” Tera replied. “How much?”
“Over four-hundred capsules,” the motel answered.
“Capsules?”
“Of kip. You know the stuff.”
“I do,” Tera said. Her training covered all kinds of narcotics education. The drug Camila was referring to was a tranquilizer.
That explains the droopy eyelids, the police officer thought.
“Anything else?” she asked the motel.
“A gun,” Camila replied. There was a sheepish quality to her body language.
“What make?”
“It’s homemade,” Camila said. “There’s no model number.”
“Caliber?”
“.32.”
“You know there’s a law against makeshift firearms, right?” Tera asked.
An indignant twitch furrowed Camila’s brow. “You told me you wouldn’t hold me responsible,” she said.
“We won’t, because we can’t,” Tera replied. “But if you are ever caught with one in your possession —”
“I know, I know,” Camila said. “Don’t worry,
