Later the next morning Brittany’s vision was filled with a brief moment of static when she pressed her right temple to log out of the NeuReality game CONQUEST. Surrounded by hills and valleys of thick green foam, she glanced about as several other players lined up to exit the CyberBolt’s Chicago Arena. A message popped up in her NR enhanced field of vision:
Thank you for using CyberBolt’s Sleep Mode Service. We hope your experience was tranquil. To help improve the quality of our services, please take a moment to fill out this customer experience survey.
With a wave of her hand, she brushed the message aside. She was grateful that she had paid for the annual arena membership several months ago with her tax return, because due to a recent government sequester she was short on rent money. On the plus side, she now had a lot of free time to herself.
Climbing over the foam hills to the nearest exit, she joined the throng of unhappy-looking players. She innately knew they weren’t displeased with the game – quite the opposite. They were dreading the return to real life.
She walked through the massive doors, smiling at the eager young faces passing in the opposite direction. A trumpet sounded overhead, heralding the new players as they entered the arena. Walking through the hallway, she admired the medieval décor. She passed the enormous gift shop and entered the women’s locker room.
She stripped off the gray CyberBolt jumpsuit and threw it in the laundry chute. She washed the three-days-worth of sweat and grime off of her body and toweled herself dry. She was proud that, during her absence from the precinct, she had successfully achieved level 8, and now had a plethora of weapons. She had also raised her Strength to 9, Agility to 4, Stamina to 5, Intelligence to 4, and Willpower to 4.
Brittany sighed as she opened her locker, beholding her police uniform and gear. The last thing she wanted to do right now was return to her shift. Her three-day ‘staycation’ at the arena had been liberating, a much-needed reprieve from her stressful job.
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Hours later Brittany sipped at her coffee while she watched the ongoing questioning session through the one-way mirror. Her partner, Officer Jill Brown, questioned the teenager.
“Just leave me alone!” Jack yelled as he struggled to hold back his frustration.
“Come on Jack. If you cooperate, we can all go home happy.”
“But I didn’t do anything!” he insisted.
“If that’s the case, then you have nothing to hide.” she smiled, “Now in your own words, tell me what happened.”
“Well…” he hesitated, “It was kind of weird to tell you the truth.”
“Try me.”
“Like I said earlier,” he rolled his eyes, “I was playing Conquest at the Arena last night…”
“Continue please.” Jill urged after a period of silence.
Jack flinched, “I stayed overnight using their Sleep Mode service so that I could earn some extra cash by renting out my Avatar. But when I woke up, I was in that alleyway when your partner tackled me to the ground and arrested me.”
Brittany rolled her eyes. She was very familiar with Cyberbolt's Chicago Arena, and was intimately familiar with their Sleep Mode service as she utilized it on weekends too. Sleep Mode controls your body’s natural circadian rhythm by tricking your brain to believe that your levels of adenosine have peaked. This effectively puts your brain into a temporary comatose state while you rent your avatar for use by other players. She was also very familiar with the controls CyberBolt had in place to prevent players from leaving the Arena while in Sleep Mode, so she knew he had to be lying.
Likely story kid.
“Hold on.” Jill huffed, “There’s a flaw this hare-brained story of yours...”
“Stop interrupting me!” Jack roared with eyes bloodshot, “Will you please listen to me this time?”
“That depends on whether or not you intend to fill in the rest of the details.” she scoffed.
“Fine then.” Jack shot a look of utter contempt, I hope you don’t expect to get any more answers out of me.”
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With all the professionalism she could muster, Officer Brown stood and spoke, “The psychiatrist will be in shortly.”
“Great.” Jack muttered as she left the room, “Now everyone thinks I’m crazy.”
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It was nearing noon when the psychiatrist arrived at Brittany's desk to give her a report.
“I have both good and bad news.” he stated.
“Let’s hear it.”
“The good news is,” he paused, “he wasn’t lying.”
“That’s impossible.” Brittany retorted, “This morning after we arrested him for drug trafficking I questioned him personally. Are you trying to tell me he was sleepwalking?”
“Well, that’s where the bad news comes in.” he sighed, “My analysis confirms that Jack suffers from Dissociative Identity Disorder.”
“Diss-what?”
“Also commonly referred to as Multiple Personality Disorder.”
“You’re kidding.” she retorted.
“I’m sorry, but you may never find whatever it is that you’re looking for. He can’t answer any of your questions unless he falls back into another lapse, which likely won’t happen again anytime soon. I am recommending him to be monitored for a few weeks at the mental facility downtown.”
“Thanks.” she replied in frustration.
Brittany thought back to earlier that morning when she dragged the teenager handcuffed to her squad car. She had caught him in the act trying to sell drugs when his client scurried off and got away. The boy seemed to be in an utter daze when Brittany demanded to know who his client was.
Jack Timberland was seventeen, and came from a wealthy family. And now he can’t be questioned on account of his delirium? This case was already getting more frustrating by the minute.
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Later that afternoon Brittany found herself sitting in Chief Herbert's office.
“This looks really bad for the Precinct.” he moaned, “Several news stations have already taken flight with the story. My office has been slammed with phone calls all morning. How do you intend to fix this, Officer?"
“I just need more time to question the boy further, sir.”
“I'm afraid that's out of the question.” he interrupted, “The Timberland family has contacted multiple media agencies as well as the American Civil Liberties Union.”
“But what does the ACLU have to do with anything?”
“They claim that the Timberland’s son is being held against his will rather than being provided with the medical treatment he needs.”
“But we just found out about this so-called ‘medical condition’ a few hours ago!”
“Regardless, the media will spin this story however way they please.” he sighed, “The ACLU is already demanding an answer from me as to how I intend to resolve this ‘blatant abuse of human rights’ regarding Jack’s detainment.”
“This is turning into a nightmare.”
“Agreed.” he nodded glumly, “That’s what happens when you arrest adolescents who have wealthy parents.”
Brittany's head hung in frustration, “So what do you want me to do?”
“I want you to hold a press conference this afternoon.”
“And say what, exactly?”
“Confirm to the public that Jack is being released back into his parents’ custody.”
Defiantly, she squared her shoulders, “But he’s our only lead to the recent string of drug trafficking…”
“Drop it.”
Aghast, Brittany stared at him for a long moment.
“Fine.” she huffed and stood to leave, “But you better be there too. I'm not doing this alone."
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Brittany stood in front of the microphone with her tongue caught in her throat. The room was filled with reporters, and the flashing lights were blinding.
“Officer Parker,” another reporter clamored, “how do you intend to respond to the ACLU’s demand for the boy’s immediate release?”
“I assure you the boy will be receive proper treatment.” Brittany attempted to be vague.
“The proper treatment, eh?” the woman sneered, “Are you referring to medical or disciplinary treatment?”
“The suspect will be released in due course.” she steeled her gaze, “Next question.”
“Is it true,” another interrupted, “that the boy sustained wounds at the time of arrest?”
“That’s preposterous!” she was starting to get agitated, “I’m the one who arrested him. He was fine.”
“So, are you admitting to police brutality?”
“No!” Brittany stammered as the Chief nudged her shoulder anxiously, “Aside from his recent diagnosis of mental instability, the boy is perfectly healthy.”
The Chief of Police nudged her again, signaling his desire to bring the public announcement to an end.
“That’s all the time we have.”
The room erupted in a myriad of jumbled questions and flashes from cameras. Brittany held up her hand to shield her eyes as she stepped down from the podium and escaped back behind the locked doors of headquarters.
“Good job. You did well.” Chief Harris patted her on the back, “Thank you for bringing that to a close. It was starting to get a bit unruly out there.”
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