367 years later
Bryn
I’m still tasting marshmallows from our Cooking Manipulation class, Teo grumbles. Pink ones. He swings up both hands, thumbs and pointer fingers touching to create a triangle, and shoots blue lightning into the terracotta golem trying to skewer him with a spiked fist. He’s right in front of me, yet while I’m in Coleridge Place, he’s really four neighbourhoods over in Eastcorner on the other side of Level Five.
The golem explodes into shards of clay and our team receives another 20 points. We’re only 50 points off beating our highest score, even though our usual team of four is down one member.
I wish I was tasting pink marshmallows, Chevette sighs dramatically and I roll my eyes beneath my modes, the headset pressing feather soft against my cheek bones. I imagine her sprawled across her bed, vibrantly coloured hair splayed across the pillows – it was my new favourite colour, a stunning turquoise – wearing a pout big enough to sink a ship. In the game, her warrior avatar’s face doesn’t have the nuances to express frustration. My modes are fritzing and no matter what I drink, chocomint cof-tea or diet kiwi juice, all I taste is calcium water.
I do sympathise, really I do. Unaltered drinks or foodstuffs are bland at best and disgusting at worst.
Another golem spirals up from the ground, kicking up dust and dirt that stings my eyes even though none of it’s real. The game’s just that good. The golem is twice the size of the last one and worth twice as many points, too.
I’ve got this. I step forward, dozen of calculations buzzing through my head. Weight. Speed. Weaknesses. Strengths. The game’s chaperone wall shimmers and I adjust my position in my room to have more space to swing my sword.
As I move, I feel strong and fierce. I see all the potential outcomes to every attack, my mind splitting into tiny segments as I predict the golem’s every move. I know I’ll win before the fight even begins. Here, in the virtual, I’m the hero, the leader, the victor. When the golem stumbles, I dance in close and drive my sword up through its throat. It crumbles to dust and fanfare announces our new score. Our highest yet. I can’t wait to tell Harper about the battle.
I’m panting and a little sweaty, but that fizzy rush! I exit the game with a facial twitch and slump into the desk chair, stretching my arms overhead and arching my spine. My muscles burn pleasantly. It’s habit to salute the poster of Torin Hunt hanging by my bed, and the image salutes back. It’s an action shot from one of his first films, The Valiant Heart, and he’s dressed as a knight, armour gleaming gold and sword readying for an attack. No matter what any of my friends say, it’s definitely by far his best work even though he’d yet to rank number one when the film was released. Still, maybe I should give my room a digital makeover before I Activate?
Brynnie babe, how do you move like that without taking out bedroom walls? Teo asks. I’m constantly tripping over things. He sounds as if he’s perched on my shoulder.
But you’re always so graceful, Teo, Chevette mocks, and I send her the equivalent of an ear flick in Teo’s defense. Chevette’s always pushing her nastiness too far while Teo’s too sweet to say anything against the sharp edge of her words. Normally Harper, the unofficial leader of our crew, keeps her in line, but he’s currently Away.
Whatevs, Chevette grumbles, yet I catch the afterglow of the virtual hug she sends him in apology.
As much as I want another round in Day of the Terracotta Army, I’m meant to be doing my Texting assignment. I groan, head thumping against my desk, and a stack of homework files scatter across the screen like fleeing cleanbots before an electromagnetic pulse. My modes warp for a moment as the desktop messes with their optics.
“My brain’s running out of space. The lag’s dreadful!” I focus on my breath fogging against the glass top, drawing a wonky circle with a thin, smiley mouth. Wiping the image away with my sleeve, I huff again and, this time, write my name. Bryn. The Y looks more like an X. Maybe I need a proper break.
Sounds like you’re about to go viral, Teo teases.
I sit up with a snort, swiping my homework into a corner of my desk. Its text crashes into the desk edge and skitters off in all directions. “We deserve a break.” I tap my music icon, a wiggy bell-hop deep metal instrumental blasting from the walls.
Ooh, is that the new song from Recursive Absurdity? Harper’s voice is sexy, like hot caramel — and it’s his voice, not a design feature. I smile as my cheeks grow warm, tucking a braid behind my ear and fiddling with an old wheel bearing I found on Level Seven. I’d polished it up and used a bit of wire to attach it to my hair.
“Hey Harper, I didn’t know you were online,” I say then feel stupid because of course he’s online. “I mean, yeah it is. It’s called World on Fire. Jonas shared it with me.” I flick the icon and message the song link to my friends as well.
Your brother is so tricking! Teo says, sending his admiration and envy in waves of bright yellow and lime green.
Jonas is an Experiencer. He creates experiences, both in the virtual and real world, and sells them as a total immersion package: thoughts, emotions, all five senses accounted for, and then some. He’s always had an amazing imagination and the majority of his friend allocation spots are filled with high value people. Maybe one day he’ll be as popular as Torin Hunt. He’s left one position vacant for me when I Activate in three days, joining the adult ranking system and finally having access to the Cyberinth. There are so many quest realms I’m dying to try out in the virtual system.
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“He’s not too bad, I suppose.” A little smug, I push off from my desk and head out into the hallway, trailing my fingers along the custard yellow walls so the music follows me. My mothers are out on a dinner date (I assume together), and who knows where Jonas is, so I’ve the unit to myself for a bit. Is there anything good in the fridge? I spied a half-eaten orange food packet earlier.
Yeah, well, not all of us are lucky enough to have a sibling, Chevette snarks. I frown, the hairs on my arms bristling. What did your mothers have to do to get another kid? Kill someone? I mean, I’m just saying, she continues. I’m about to say something I know I’ll regret when Harper interrupts.
If her parents stopped at one then we wouldn’t have Bryn. She’s the youngest remember, Chev. The Triumph without Bryn would be a much darker place.
But I’ve wondered the same thing. How had my mothers gotten around the One Child Policy? Mom’s a surveyor and Mum’s a holo-glamour cosmetic specialist, and while their rankings are in the top third of the population (150 000 citizens and rising), it isn’t like they’re crazy popular. What had they done to be awarded a second child?
I know. Sorry, Bryn. Chevette sends me a kiss, a puff of air across my cheek that smells like rose petals. Out of the four of us, Chevette’s the only one who gets on my nerves, and sometimes, when I’m feeling particularly nasty, I want to Unfriend her. Half the time I think she doesn’t realise how sharp her words are. We were close once, but somewhere along the line, things changed.
Guess I’m just jealous. Chevette admits. How does Jonas get his hands on this stuff?
A friend of a friend. You know how it is. I step into the kitchen, the lights taking a moment to flicker on, and open the fridge, searching until I spot the food packet. It’s open at one end and carefully folded over to keep the contents fresh. Across the side is a barcode and an image of an orange cut in half and glistening.
“Score! I love oranges!” I do a little happy dance, bumping the fridge door closed with my hip and setting my prize on the breakfast desktop. Virtual black and purple fish retreat to the far edge as water ripples out from my plate. I slide onto a tall chair, already opening the packet and shaking out the orange quarters. If I take my modes off, they’d be grey, slightly squishy and taste like soggy cardboard, but instead my headset allows me to taste each sweet section. Mum’s splashed out and gotten the expensive taste experience. I love biting down on the tiny capsules full of juice, exploding on my tongue like little bursts of starlight. I tag that memory, planning to share it with the others later. For now I want to be selfish and keep the taste to myself.
My music quietens automatically as the front door unlocks, and I lean back to see who it is.
“Mum?”
“Nope. Just me. Disappointed?” Jonas calls, and I blink twice, calling up my modes screen and changing my status to Busy.
“Jonas! I didn’t think you’d be home tonight.”
Jonas’ modes project a fit, tall young man with neatly trimmed blonde hair, tanned skin and shoulders too broad for his narrow waist. In reality he’s borderline scrawny, his blonde hair hangs limply around his ears in greasy pieces and he’s pale, the veins in his arms a bright, vivid blue. I keep inviting him to go adventuring with me, but he’s all about creating authentic experiences, not formulaic game ones.
“I do live here, Bee.” He drops his bag by the doorway and enters the kitchen. Honestly, he should’ve moved up a few levels years ago. “Nice tunes,” he says as he opens the fridge, scanning its contents, then glances at the breakfast table and sees the crumpled remains of the orange packet. “I was saving that!”
“Well, it didn’t have your name on it.” I offer him one last wedge, coded to be more skin than flesh.
“Didn’t think I had to.” With a mock growl, he snatches the piece and tucks it between his teeth. The portable coffee machine is already full of water, so he drops the remaining orange coded food bar inside and it fizzes softly as it dissolves. Lid screwed shut, the glowing numbers along the rim indicate the increasing temperature and the chemicals and minerals being defused inside. It beeps softly and he pops the lid, inhaling the orange scented steam.
“How’s school?”
“Now you sound like Mom. Or Mum for that matter,” I say, wrinkling up my nose in disgust. “They’re both harpies about it.”
“Ha, sorry, Bee. Actually, I got you something.” Taking his mug with him, he collects his bag and drops it on the table, fish swirling off frantically as tiny waves lap against the edges.
“A surprise?”
“Maybe. I hope not,” he says with a strange clip to his voice, revealing a cloth-wrapped package. He pulls back each corner to reveal a strange object.
“What is it?” I pluck it out of his hand and run the pad of my thumb over one jagged edge. They’re like blunt, little teeth. The other side is straight and smooth, one end pierced with a small, round hole. My internal archive throws up information in my right eye: brass and nickel, but it isn’t identified as anything. It sort of looks like a tiny knife, but its pointy end is blunt. I gently stab it into the palm of my hand, and it doesn’t leave a mark.
“Thought you could put it in your hair or something.” Jonas gestures vaguely over his head and stands up with his drink, slinging his bag over his shoulder as he heads towards his room. “Just don’t lose it.”
“Course not.” I pull open a drawer beneath the table and rummage through for some wire or thread. “Hey Jonas, what’s it like?” I glance up to see him leaning in the doorframe, his lips twisted in wry amusement. “You know,” I add, embarrassed. “Being Active?” I turn to the drawer and triumphantly pull out a spool of blue thread. I unwind it, dividing the length into four parts then braid it, all the while pretending I’m not too keen for his answer.
“On Activation night, on the stroke of twelve, a portal with appear in front of you so make sure your modes are on, else you’ll miss out on the big reveal. Everyone’s entrance to the Cyberinth is different. Mine had lasers. Yours will probably have slimy monsters.”
“Ha ha, you’re not funny. I meant, what’s it like to be Active. Everyone says everything changes overnight. Like your friends stop being your friends.” The thread matches the rest of the coloured ribbons in my hair, and I make a note to increase the brightness of my holo-glamour because the older ribbons are fading to lavender. I choose a thick, dark braid and work his gift into my hair.
“Everyone says, do they?” Jonas teases, and I scowl, ducking my head. My skin is too dark to show my blush even if he could see through my holo-glamour. “Hey, it’s not as bad as they,” and his tone of voice stresses what little he thinks of the mob mentality, “make it out to be. Your relationships with your friends will change, but it’s a normal part of growing up.”
“Not with my friends,” I interrupt. “We’ve been in sync since first year.”
“I’m sure you have,” he says, “but don’t be upset when you find yourselves drifting away to do your own thing. With only 2000 allocated friend spots, you’ll have to choose your friends wisely or risk a cruddy rank and a one-way trip to Level Eight. ”
“Wow, is that meant to cheer me up?” I tug the object to check it’s secure. It tinkles against smooth chunks of glass and metal beads as I toss my hair over my shoulder.
“Oh, is this meant to be a pep talk? Right, how about this then: if they don’t know how valuable a kid you are, they don’t deserve you as a friend.” He throws his hands up in surrender as I fling the scrunched orange packet at him, too light to even make half the distance between us. “That’s clearly my cue to fly.” He plucks the rubbish off the floor and neatly pops it into the waste disposal chute. “Now go do your homework.”
“Yes, Mother.” I roll my eyes and he laughs, shutting the door behind him.