In case any of you care, Tami’s inspired and succulent chef’s sampler was something straight from heaven. She showed me how to plate it and then had everyone in the kitchen and the wait staff taste it. She took a chicken leg-bone and wrapped some shredded pork rib meat around it so it looked a bit like a mini ham hock complete with a dab of marrow on top. That thing was nestled in a slaw of cucumber, jicama, and apple that was quick fried in a sauce mix of brown sugar that had been allowed to get crunchy in a butter base that she’d sprinkled a dust of freshly ground mustard seed on. Her second mouthful of heaven looked almost like a deviled egg, but it was done to this hunk of bone its marrow resulting in this knee-loosening mousse with a sprig of thyme sticking out of the top and torched with a glazed mohawk of Himalayan salt. For the third delectable morsel, she’d done a dessert of chai-tea flavored cheesecake with a crème brûlée topping seated on the most delicately sugar-encrusted, edible, crystalized pumpkin leaf.

I thought about the donuts in the dressing room and knew I’d never upgrade our catering. The magic that Tami could turn out in food form was nothing short of miraculous. The whole of the AI cast filtered through the dining room that evening and we’d never need our dressing room faire with Tami around. I didn’t even notice my feet start to ache as I stood there and tucked that perfect thyme sprig in each one of the hundreds of those that went out that night. I didn’t notice my feet aching because it all went by in fast forward montage that only paused to slow down to slow mo when a customer’s face reached full ecstasy. We didn’t see Jean until the dining room was about to close.

Exp +400 (Establish a Cover. Quest Complete!)

“Mark’s in the dining room,” she sidled up to Tam to say. I might have let it slip by me, so in the groove of kitchen duty, except that the fastfo (we’re just going to shorten it to the crew language, okay?) slowed down.

“Does he look guilty,” Tam murmured out of the side of her mouth, the contrast to her kitchen persona so drastic that the kitchen didn’t even notice it happening.

“As sin,” Jean said, sliding a browned-buttered pork chop out of its cast iron bathtub and onto her own plate.

“Are we still testing him?” Tami didn’t miss a beat, replacing the pork chop with a fresh one for a new bath of yum.

“We could, but I don’t have any doubts,” Jean said, and I piled a scoop of the perfectly chilled slaw onto the pork chop on Jean’s plate.

“What would we be having doubts about?” I asked Jean, handing her a fork and knife as she lounged at the place where we’d met Mop-moper.

“You want plausible deniability or 20-to-life if we get caught?” Jean raised an eyebrow at me. I was jealous of the one-liner, but more jealous of how she speared the pork chop on the end of her fork and used it to scoop up a bite of slaw for every bite of pork in almost perfect proportions.

Quest: 20-to-Life

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Rewards: 400 xp

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“20-to-life sounds more fun,” my beast answered Jean. I’d handed my final plating duties off to the saucier to take my break, so I was happy to take a moment to grab a stool next to Jean and get an idea of what we were really here for. “But I’m going to need something more effective than an adjustable wrench if I’m going to meet Slimer in one of these hallways.”

“Table five,” Jean pointed through the swinging doors, chuckling around a mouthful of succulence.

The main dining room had calmed down now that it was after 10pm, but there were enough people who had found out about Tam being the guest chef for the night that we had a waiting list. It was just that by this time, the kitchen was humming with the routine of it. Tami kept her eagle eye on the plates going out and juggled four cast iron skillets while our dishwasher frantically tried to keep up with the pots and pans that they could wash. The table map was posted just outside the swinging door on a bulletin-board-covered partition that separated the kitchen from the high-end patrons.

Tami, like an elegantly choreographed gazelle, did something like a Bourrée across the kitchen to glance out and around the partition. I followed much less gracefully, but together we probably looked like a couple of kids peeking into the adult’s room after bedtime. At table five sat a man and woman dressed up appropriately for the fine dining room. The woman wore a long-sleeved and high-necked black dress with a peekaboo window in the back that emphasized her long, slender limbs and tense shoulders. The man wore a tailored black suit that matched the pepper in his salt-and-pepper hair with the $200 haircut. He held out the chair for her as she sat down, and I’d have thought they were a happy upper-class couple if she hadn’t flinched at the caress he laid across her shoulders. That, followed by his smirk as his caress tightened made me want to smack the guy and save the woman.

“What a slimeball,” I whispered as Tam and I re-entered the kitchen itself.

“We think so,” Tam nodded with raised eyebrows. Tam and Jean exchanged a look that probably spoke volumes between the two of them.

“What am I missing?” I asked Jean, who was still eating her gourmet dinner like a cavewoman.

“You don’t want to get involved,” Jean warned me, not meeting my eyes. As she had a dozen times, Tam was sneaking another handful of raw slaw ingredients to the ferrets, who were otherwise sleeping through the day on the hook.

“She’s a famous opera singer,” Tam put in, rearranging the sugar shards in the nearby chai cheesecakes ready to go out. “I heard she sings like an angel. She was on Broadway before she married that guy.”

Okay, yeah, I’m dense. I still didn’t know what was going on. I just knew that 400 xp was riding on going along for whatever ride Tam and Jean had planned for the couple. My mind whirled with plans to use Kodo and Podo to sneak into their rooms and steal their jewels from the safe. The woman hadn’t been wearing much more than a gawdy wedding ring and drops of diamond earrings. Then again, I was a beginner-thief so maybe they were about my level. I could practice shaking hands while I slid off that ring. Still, I felt a little dirty thinking of letting the poor woman take the fall with that nasty of a husband if she “lost” her rock of a wedding ring.

“Ah, come on,” I wheedled, snagging a slice of the cheesecake and a fork for myself.

“I’m telling you, you’re not ready,” Jean said, stealing my cheesecake onto the plate that used to have amazing food on it.

“I’m telling you, I’m in, whatever you need,” I professed, full of bravado, snagging another piece of cheesecake and keeping it out of Jean’s reach as I took a bite.

“I’ll tell you what,” Jean pointed her empty fork at me with a stern look. “You go set the men’s bathroom up as closed for cleaning. You can be my lookout. Do the job right and we might trust you.”

Leave it to unrealistic television that they trusted me so quickly, but I wasn’t arguing because I was only a few points from having an even smarter World AI, which was… Wait, why had I done that? Then again I’d already gotten that 400 and was excitedly working on the next for pre and post production bonuses. Those were the thoughts I was thinking as I set up the closed for cleaning sign, complete with kitchen mop and then stood near the door eating my chai cheesecake brûlée. I slipped Hex a bit of the creamy cheesecake center on the end of my fork. Hex was licking it off for a super-cute camera moment that was framed by my nonchalant stance as guard at the door and Jean slipping into the bathroom.

“If the mark comes, let him in, but no one else,” Jean told me as she strolled by me like she owned the hotel. Either that or like she was a mobster who worked for the guy who owned the hotel. Yeah, more like the second than the first.

“You got it.” I gave her a thumbs up and knocked the bucket on wheels into the way of the door.

“And if the mark is coming, make some noise before letting him in,” Jean poked her head out to say.

Quest: Guard the Door

This can’t go wrong, right? She’s only cleaning the bathroom, right? Wrong! You’re the lookout!

Rewards: 200 xp (bonus 150xp if you make enough noise)

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“Got it, boss,” I mugged with what I hoped sounded like a gangster accent.

“And don’t do that accent,” Jean frowned at me on a pause before she closed the bathroom door.

“Check, sorry,” I muttered, stifling a smile.

Hex and I ate our cheesecake, though I saved her from the sugary bits that she didn’t seem to like. There was quiet shuffling from the bathroom, but I ignored it, imagining my xp rolling up halfway into the next level. It took a few minutes, but the mark did indeed turn the corner into the hallway with the bathroom, staring down at his tie and crisp white shirt that he was brushing at with a dining room napkin. I slid my plate into the bucket of not-clear water, then had an evil thought. Well, it was evil for old me. I took the rag off the back of the bucket, a rag that was discolored and ratty as it was used to get to into corners of the kitchen floor that the mop didn’t reach.

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“Sorry, sir,” I apologized like a I was a nobody, swinging my nasty rag back and forth, “but the bathroom is being cleaned right now.”

“Unbelievable,” he said in that way that truly arrogant men can say it. It was how they stressed the wrong syllable and spaced out those syllables like some crime against their humanity was happening to them.

“It’ll just be a moment,” I told him in that polite tone that can only be mastered by introverts who have been cornered into having a conversation they don’t want to have.

“It might take less time if you were inside the bathroom,” he waved toward the door with his napkin, “instead of out here lollygagging.”

Lollygagging? We needed another upgrade or four. That’s when I saw the sloppy blur of what could only have been a glop of the mousse that was sorely wasted as a stain for this man’s attire. “That’s going to stain,” I said, pressing my lips together with a sympathetic cluck of my tongue.

“My idiot wife,” he snarled out, with a vicious slur that spoke of a little wine on his breath. “She has got to be the clumsiest woman I’ve ever met.”

Something got cold in me. “That so?” I asked, begging him to dig himself in deeper, as I bent to wet the rag in the dirty mop water.

“If she wasn’t so beautiful, I’d have buried her in the back yard by now,” he joked with a sly smile as he looked down at me.

“I can help with that stain,” I offered, my eyes gone a bit flat.

“No need,” he scrunched his nose up at me as I rose from the place I was sure he thought I belonged, kneeling at his feet. “I’ll just wet it in the sink and let my wife get the stain out tomorrow.”

“Are you sure she can do that if she’s so clumsy,” I said, my rag dripping, not that he noticed as he was back to scowling at the bathroom door.

“She’d better or there’ll be hell to pay,” he growled, his eyes glinting with yuck, just yuck, just want to smash the rag in his face kind of yuck.

I was kind of stuck there. I wanted to shove the dirty rag in his face, but he was already kicking my bucket into my shins and pushing into the bathroom despite the sign. It’s not like I’d met guys like him. They didn’t see people like me. I’d met the lower-class kind that came home drunk and had too much to apologize for in the morning. I’d even walked away from one of the ones that used words instead of fists. I almost hadn’t walked away from him. As I stood there thinking all that, the door was shutting on my lost opportunity to say something that would have cut him down to size.

Then I thought about plastic and duct tape. I thought about Jean in that bathroom alone with him. I moved my hand to push the door open only to find it locked. And I heard noises. I stood at that door and reminded myself of Independence Day, Earl, Gunpowder and Lead, Sleeping with the Enemy, and the fact that this was a VR show and not real. And I thought about plastic and duct tape and realized that I wasn’t going up against Slimer in the hallways. I thought about Broadway and Sweeney Todd and was relieved that Tami hadn’t brought her own meat. I thought about what I should have understood 20-to-Life to mean.

Postproduction would be highlighting the dawning comprehension on my face as they played the orchestral version of “The Point of No Return” from Phantom of the Opera. It was interspersed scenes from inside the bathroom that I didn’t watch on the rerun later in the dressing room. It was just all too real and immediate to me to put it in the context of fiction. Don’t worry. My beast took hold of me at that point and shut real-me back up in the box as it reminded me of the woman’s flinch and the man’s tone as he’d called her clumsy. In a perfect world, that guy ended up in VR world sentenced to 20-to-Life as the victim of a very large spider, my beast decided for me.

“You okay?” Jean stuck her head out to ask me.

“You okay?” I asked back more carefully, shocked at the fact that she looked perfectly normal.

“Yeah,” she nodded in her short-cut way of saying shit. “Anyone come by?”

“No,” I answered.

“Great,” she said with a glance over her shoulder. “Move the sign to the end of the hallway and make sure no one comes around the corner for two minutes tops.”

“Okay,” I said, and used the mop to steer the bucket on wheels to the end of the corridor.

The sign did all the work, because I was staring at Jean lugging a body over her shoulder and over to a back employee elevator. There wasn’t any blood, and he didn’t quite look dead. I looked up and down the hallway and then sneaked a peek into the bathroom. There wasn’t any of the plastic or duct tape that I’d expected. Once Jean’s figure disappeared behind the closing doors of the elevator, I wheeled my little mop back to the kitchen where I belonged.

Exp +350 (Guard the Door. Quest Complete!)

Tam took in my shocked look and puttered over to the dessert tray, a bottle of dark chocolate sauce in her hand. “You okay?” Tam patted at me and then used her chocolate sauce on a piece of cheesecake.

“Is someone going to explain all this to me at some point?” I asked her, soothing myself with some scritches for Hex who was knitting through my hairnet and into my shoulder. She didn’t use claws, so it felt like a mini-neckrub of sorts with fur and a purr.

“Well, yeah,” Tami gave me a beaming smile as she finished a flourish of chocolate sauce and handed me a plate. “For now, go out there and hand this to the opera singer. If you can, you could ask for her autograph in a spectacular way that the reporter at table nine notices?”

Quest: Autograph Hound

Go get that autograph and make as much noise as you can doing it.

Rewards: 100 xp for the autograph (bonus 50xp/person you inspire to notice Sara)

Accept Y/N?

“Sure?” I took the plate from her and headed out the doors to the dining room, Hex disappearing back into my hair.

Not sure what I was doing, I followed directions. I was the new kid on the crew. That was my job. Could I be prosecuted for committing a crime in the VR world I was already incarcerated in? In which case, could I use the fact that the World AI told me to do it as a defense? The mind boggled at the possibilities. Did the chocolate syrup sauce spell out “Exit stage left?” Every time I thought I was getting a handle on all this, I got some whacked out –. Wait, was this the World AI getting back at me for messing up its plans? Was this a product of its upgrade? I wondered if I could keep up with it at this point. What had I done?!

I laid the chai cheesecake in front of the nervous woman, careful to put the message part where only she could see it. I watched her read the message and smear it out with a bite of cheesecake on her fork. Startled eyes flicked up to mine.

“Aren’t you the famous opera singer?” I asked too loudly, reaching out a hand to shake hers.

“Sara Brightman,” she said, nervously at first but with her tone firming. She took my hand graciously with a smile that belied her nervous flutter of a few seconds earlier.

“I knew it,” I said in a loud stage whisper that could easily be heard from the few tables away that table nine was. “I’m not supposed to do this, but could I have your autograph?”

“Sure,” she answered, her eyes flitting around for a pen and paper.

I patted my pockets, but there was only a monkey wrench and a pocketknife in there. I’d obviously misused my four seconds of prep time this morning and brought the wrong tools. Giving her a shrug, I scooted over to table nine where I kindly asked for a pen so I could get Sara Brightman’s autograph. The reporter gave it up without protest, so I figured I was on a roll. I stole a pad of paper from a passing waiter as several pairs of eyes slid to table five, where Sara Brightman blushed, ever so prettily.

I backed away with her signature and a line of fans, not the last of which was the reporter who was asking her for commentary on the cuisine and status of her tempestuous marriage. I stayed close to listen to the conversation and because I wanted to make sure she didn’t get overwhelmed with the attention like I would have.

“My husband just left to use the restroom,” Sara told the reporter, who then slid his eyes toward the restroom hallway suspiciously. “I don’t know what’s keeping him, but we have fully reconciled. Previous reports of his infidelity or controlling nature have been terribly exaggerated. I hope you don’t work for one of those horrible gossip rags. He likes to protect me from that sort of thing, and it can lead to sour grapes.”

“Not at all, ma’am,” the charming reporter with the small nose flushed under her attention. “I’m usually a culinary critic and heard that the famous Tam Remmington was cooking this evening. I had to come see if she was worth all the hype.”

“It seems we’re here under similar circumstances,” she smiled at him, signing another piece of paper for a patron from a nearby table. “My husband thought she was probably overrated, but I have to say I haven’t found that to be the case. Did you try the cheesecake?”

“I had the chef’s sampler, so I got a bite and I’m entranced,” he admitted. “Mine had the brûlée topping instead of the chocolate drizzle. I do find myself wondering if yours is better than mine was.”

“Do you have a fork?” Sara Brightwood turned sparkling eyes to me. Would the VR cameras pick up the deep spark of haunted eyes as she looked at me or was I imagining it?

Viewers – 1193

“Of course,” I said, trying for a reassuring smile. Of course, I’d taken to keeping a few clean forks and spoons in my pockets so that I could taste bits of everything the wizard of the kitchen was producing. I handed one to her and she traded it for the pen I’d given her. I handed the pen to the reporter, who tucked it in his pocket quickly so that he could take the forkful of chocolate smeared cheesecake from her hand. He waited for her to get her own bite and they tasted together, eyes mirrors of each other as they rolled to the ceiling with disturbingly sexual moans.

I backed away again as the conversation turned to how the chai made the chocolate feel even more deeply chocolate. I was headed to the kitchen to try some of that for myself when we heard a sound like a dumpster being emptied, only it had come from the front of the hotel instead of the back. I didn’t think much of it until it was followed by a blood curdling scream worthy of Sheryl Lee or Janet Leigh.

Exp +350 (Autograph Hound. Quest Complete!)

The crowd rushed toward the front of the hotel, and I followed. What else was I going to do? The lobby was lush with gold and velvet with those automatically opening front doors that let out right at the curve of valet parking. Sara edged past me with the restaurant critic hot on her heels, making her way to the doors that were stuck in the open position by a bellhop and a parking valet who were valiantly trying to hold back the people who’d rushed to see what had happened. The crowd made way for Sara.

Exp +100 (Quest: More Viewers!! Quest Complete!)

The black limousine that was centered right outside the doors was as luxurious as you could get. The woman who lay unconscious in the arms of another valet looked like she’d belonged in that limousine and was lucky she wasn’t still in there. The top of the limo had been dented in such that the windows had shattered on all sides, the glass strewn across the concrete like chandelier crystals. On the roof, with the pool of red still slowly spreading, was the guy I’d been too chicken to smack with a dirty towel, sprawled out with one shoe dangling precariously from a toe.

Exp +400 (20-to-Life Quest Complete!)

The shoe teetered in slowmo and, on cue, as this other shoe fell to rest on the red carpet he’d walked an hour or so before, Sara stepped forward, perfectly framed by the doors. I had the presence of mind to cover my ears. I’d heard her perform, or at least recordings of it. Her chest inflated. The critic’s hand gently touched her arm as his other hand covered the startled oh of his mouth. Then she screamed. If I wasn’t just a bit too jaded, I might not have noted that it was a perfect E5, give or take a half note. The broken pieces of glass shimmered at her feet as if her voice had shattered them anew.