“Fine—I guess I need a stronger word,” she replied. “The point is something’s happening, and a gamer’s being blamed for it. Who ever heard of people hacking into their own systems to commit suicide? VirtNet Security has never had this problem before.”
“Unless VNS has been hiding it,” Bryson added.
“Who would do what she did?” Michael murmured, more to himself than to the others. He knew his stuff, and suicides within the Sleep had always been rare. Real suicides, anyway. “Some people like the rush of offing themselves in the Sleep without the real consequences—but I’ve never seen this before. The skill and knowledge to pull it off … I don’t even think I could do it. Now several in a week?”
“And what about this gamer—Kaine?” Bryson asked. “I’ve heard he’s big-time, but how could someone possibly trap others inside the Sleep? It has to be all talk.”
The tables around them had just grown quiet, and the name seemed to echo throughout the room. People stared at Bryson, and Michael understood why. Kaine was becoming infamous, and the name made people pale. Over the last few months, he’d been infiltrating everything from games to private meeting rooms, terrorizing his victims with visions and physically attacking them. Michael hadn’t heard the part about trapping people until Tanya, but the very name Kaine haunted the virtual world, as if he lingered just out of sight no matter where you went. Bryson was all fake bravado.
Michael shrugged off the other customers in the café and focused on his friends. “She kept saying it was Kaine’s fault. That she was trapped by him and couldn’t take it anymore. Something about stealing bodies? And things called KillSims. I’m telling you, even before she started on that Core, I could see it in her eyes that she was dead serious. She definitely ran across him somewhere.”
“We don’t even know much about the guy behind Kaine yet,” Sarah offered. “I’ve read every story on him, and that’s all there are—stories. No one has any scoop on the gamer himself. No pics, no audio or video, nothing. It’s like he’s not real.”
“It’s the VirtNet,” Bryson countered. “Things don’t have to be real to be real. That’s the whole point.”
“No.” Sarah shook her head. “He’s a gamer. A person. Lying in a Coffin. With all that publicity we should know more about him. The media should be all over this guy. The VNS should be able to track him, at least.”
Michael felt like they were getting nowhere. “Hey, back to me, guys. I’m supposed to be traumatized, and you’re supposed to be making me feel better. So far, you suck at it.”
A look of genuine concern crossed Bryson’s face. “No doubt, dude. Sorry, but glad it was you, not me. I know that whole suicide negotiation thing is part of the Lifeblood experience stuff, but who could’ve known yours would be a real one? I probably wouldn’t sleep for a week after seeing something like that.”
“Still sucking,” Michael replied with a halfhearted laugh. In truth, he was better now just being with his friends, but something inside him felt like it was trying to gnaw its way out. Something dark with big teeth that didn’t want him to ignore it.
Sarah leaned over and squeezed his arm. “Neither of us has a clue what it must’ve been like,” she said softly. “And we’d be idiots to pretend. But I’m sorry it happened.”
Michael just blushed and looked at the floor. Thankfully, Bryson brought them back to reality.
“I gotta use the bathroom,” he announced, standing up. A person even did stuff like that inside the Sleep, while your real body took care of business back in the Coffin. Everything was meant to feel real. Everything.
“Charming,” Sarah said through a sigh as she released Michael’s arm and sat back in her chair. “Simply charming.”
3
They talked for another hour or so, ending with their usual promise to meet in the real world soon. Bryson told them if they didn’t do it by the end of the month, he’d start cutting off a finger every day until it happened. Michael’s, not his own. That got a much-needed laugh.
The three of them said their goodbyes at a Portal, and Michael Lifted back to the Wake, going through the usual routine inside the Coffin until he could get out. As he walked over to the Chair, his gaze naturally landed on the big ad for Lifeblood Deep outside his window, followed by the usual few seconds of coveting and figurative drooling. He almost sat down but changed his mind, knowing he’d never get up, exhausted and sore head to toe. And he hated falling asleep in the Chair—he always woke up with cricks in places humans weren’t meant to have cricks.
He sighed and, trying not to think of the girl named Tanya who’d killed herself right before his eyes, somehow made it over to his bed. Then he collapsed into a long night of dreamless sleep.
4
Getting himself out of bed the next morning was like breaking out of a cocoon. It took twenty minutes for the smart side of his brain to convince the stupid side that taking a sick day at school wasn’t a good idea. He’d already been out seven times this semester. One or two more and they’d start cracking down.
He’d only gotten more sore in the night from his plummet into the bay with Tanya, and that strange feeling still turned in his stomach. Somehow, though, Michael made it to the breakfast table, where his nanny, Helga, had just placed a plate of eggs and bacon. A nanny, his amazing VirtNet setup, a nice apartment—he had a lot to thank his wealthy parents for. They traveled a lot, and at the moment he couldn’t remember when they’d left or when they were getting back. But they made it up to him with the many things they gave him. Between school, the VirtNet, and Helga, he hardly had time to miss them.
“Good morning, Michael,” Helga said with her slight but still noticeable German accent. “I trust you slept well, yes?”
He grunted, and she smiled. That’s why he loved Helga. She didn’t get all huffy or offended when all you wanted to do was grunt like an animal waking from hibernation. It was no skin off her back.
And her food was delicious. Almost as good as in the VirtNet. Michael finished every morsel of breakfast, then headed out the door to catch the train.
5
The streets were bustling—suits and skirts and coffee cups as far as the eye could see. There were so many people that Michael could almost swear they were doubling like reproducing cells right before his eyes. Everyone had the usual blank, bored look that Michael knew well. Like him, they’d suffer and slog through their dreary jobs or school until they could get back home and enter the VirtNet once again.
Michael entered the flow, dodging commuters left and right, and made his way down the avenue, then turned right at his usual shortcut—a one-way alley full of trash cans and piles of garbage. He couldn’t understand why the discarded trash never seemed to actually make it into the big metal containers. But on a morning like this, sharing the street with empty chip bags and discarded banana peels beat the heck out of the marching masses.
He was halfway to the other side of the alley when the screech of tires stopped him in his tracks. The surge of an engine reverberated up the street from behind and Michael spun around. The instant he saw the oncoming car—its paint gray and dull, like a dying storm—he knew. He knew that this car had something to do with him and that it wasn’t going to have a happy ending.
He turned and ran, recognizing on some level that whoever was after him had planned to trap him in that alley. The end seemed miles away now; he’d never make it. The sound of the car grew louder as it gained on him, and despite all the strange and crazy things he’d experienced in the Sleep, terror exploded in Michael’s chest. Real terror. And he thought, What a way to end—squashed like a bug in a trash-riddled alley.
He didn’t dare glance behind him, but he could feel the approach of the vehicle. It was close, and he had no chance of outrunning it. He gave up on trying to flee and dove behind the next garbage pile. The car screeched to a halt as he rolled and jumped back to his feet, ready to sprint in the other direction. The rear door of the sedan popped open and out stepped a sharply dressed man with a black ski mask pulled over his head, eyes fixed on Michael through slits in the fabric. Michael froze, just for an instant, but it was long enough. The man tackled him, slamming his body to the ground.
Michael opened his mouth to scream, but a cold hand clamped over his face, silencing him. Panic cut through his body like a hot sword, and adrenaline flooded his system as he twisted and shoved his attacker. But the man was too strong and flipped Michael over onto his stomach, pinning his arms behind him.
“Stop fighting,” the stranger said. “No one’s gonna hurt you, but we don’t have time to mess around. I need you to get in the car.”
Michael’s face was pressed against the cement. “Oh really? I’ll be perfectly safe? I was just thinking that.”
“Shut your smart-aleck mouth, kid. We just can’t let anybody know who we are. Now get in the car.”
The man got to his feet, dragging Michael up with him.
“Your butt,” the stranger said, pausing for effect. “In the car.”
Michael made one last pathetic attempt to break free, but it was useless. The man’s grip was iron-strong. Michael had no choice but to do what he was told. The fight drained out of him, and he let the man guide him to the backseat of the car, where he squeezed in next to another masked man. The door slammed shut and the car lurched forward, the screech of the tires echoing up the walls of the concrete canyon.
6
As the car tore out of the alley and onto the main road, Michael’s mind spun—who were these people, and where were they taking him? Another wave of panic washed over him, and he acted. He slammed his elbow into the crotch of the guy to his left, then lunged for the door as the man doubled over in agony, cursing things that would’ve made even Bryson blush. Michael’s fingers had just curled around the door handle when the original thug yanked him backward, his arm encircling Michael’s neck. The man squeezed until Michael was gasping for air.
“Stop it, boy,” he said far too calmly. For some reason those were the last words Michael wanted to hear. Anger surged in his chest, and he struggled to break free from the grip.
“Stop it!” the stranger screamed this time. “Stop acting like a child and calm yourself. We’re not going to hurt you.”
“You’re actually hurting me right now,” Michael coughed out.
The man loosened his grip. “Behave, and that’s the worst of it. Do we have a deal, kid?”
“Fine,” Michael grunted, because what else could he do? Ask for time to think about it?
The man seemed to relax at that. “Good. Now sit back and shut up,” he directed. “Wait, no, first apologize to my friend—that was totally uncalled for.”
Michael looked over at the guy to his left and shrugged. “Sorry. Hope you can still have babies.”
The man didn’t respond, but his glare through the ski mask was fierce. Humbled by the man’s anger, Michael looked away. The adrenaline had faded, his strength was exhausted, and he was being driven through the city by four men in black masks.