“As your lawyer, I’m supposed to say you have two choices,” said John, placing his elbows on the desk between us. “Do your twenty-five at the state penitentiary in a conventional capacity or have your brain uploaded onto a deep virtual platform for the duration.”

“Didn’t know I had options,” I said. “That’s fun.”

“You don’t, really, but we’re supposed to pretend you do.”

“Ah, gotcha. What does deep virtual mean? Like VR?”

“It’s kind of new,” said John, lighting a digi-cigarette. "Been around for about a decade now, but not for consumer use." He took a drag and the veins in his neck illuminated. Smoke seeped from his nostrils. The dim lighting in the small, sterile room tinted everything pink-red. “People don’t know this but the US prison system is run by a handful of private corporations called The Prison Conglomerate, not the government. And thanks to legislation passed a few years ago—probably written entirely by their lobbyists—they can publicly explore more ‘efficient’ ways of rehabilitation.” He made air quotes for the word 'efficient'. “I’m sure you’ve used an immersive VR unit before for entertainment and such?”

“Yeah, but I’ve never been imprisoned in one. That sounds terrifying. Are they going to let me out once in a while to piss?”

“Nope. Hence the ‘deep’ part. Immersion is one thing. This is next level. You’ll be put on ice, attached to a smart catheter and a nutrient drip. All your vitals will be maintained by an A.I.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Smart catheter, huh? Sounds kinky. So no conjugal visits then either I’m guessing?”

“That’s a hard no, Jack. Especially after the stunt you pulled.”

I shrugged and looked down at my orange jumpsuit. I rubbed my wrists where the handcuffs used to be. “Yeah, apparently stealing from a bunch of rich, sick bastards and donating it to charity is still frowned upon in this world. Who'd thought?”

“I don’t want to hear about your Robin Hood-self-righteous-computer-hacker-bullshit, Jack. No one cares. Look where it’s gotten you. You want to cry about morals, the priest comes in after me.”

“I can see why you were always mom’s favorite.”

“I can see why Dad sent you off to boot camp,” said John.

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“I wonder what they’d think if they could see us now.”

“I don’t know,” said John. “Good thing they’re both dead.”

I shook my head. “You always were a cold-hearted douchebag. You know that, right?”

John snorted a laugh and took another drag. The tip of the cigarette emitted a holographic flame with the brand’s logo inside of it.

“That may be, but I’m also the only cold-hearted douchebag who stuck his neck out for you. Thanks to me, you’re only getting twenty-five instead of—“

“Yeah, yeah, yeah," I said. "You’re my hero. Blah, blah, blah. No one cares about your saving-your-computer-hacking-loser-brother from life in prison bullshit, John. You want a medal, there's a trophy shop down the street.”

John pinched the bridge of his nose and took another drag.

I sucked in a deep breath and leaned back in my chair. I looked down at myself and blew a raspberry into my chest.

At that moment, I couldn't tell which was thicker in the room: John's smoke or the awkward, broken family vibe.

“So tell me," I said. "What do you know about this virtual prison? You think it'll be like an eternal, virtual rerun of a Rick Astley concert?”

John sighed. “I don’t know all the details, Jack. But I do know that Lynn Ella Integrated Entertainment built the virtual infrastructure for it ten years ago. It was originally designed for consumers, but the Conglomerate wanted it. They got Lynn Ella to cancel public distribution and adapt it for incarceration. The Conglomerate is apparently pushing for a more humane approach to rehabilitation, at least that’s how their PR team spells it out."

“Wait, what?" I said, leaning forward. "I know LEIE. They build fantasy world MPORGs. Are you telling me I’m being injected into a virtual fantasy game world? That doesn’t sound terrifying at all.”

“No, you want to know what’s terrifying though? Going ‘deep’ also means your decisions inside can have real life consequences.”

I scrunched up my eyebrows. “What does that mean?”

John looked around, then whispered, “I’m not really supposed to tell you this, but if you die inside, you die for real. Cuts and breaks are nothing. They’ll register as pain but it won't injure your actual body. But if you receive something fatal in there, the system shuts you down. Boom, straight up—you’re gone.”

I raised an eyebrow, not sure how to respond. “Why?” I said, with a hint of incredulousness behind the word. “Don’t their subsidies increase with the number of prisoners? How does that make sense?”

John shrugged. “I don’t know. I don’t know, Jack. Feels like there’s a lot more to the story, but unfortunately, we don’t have—”

A door opened and a man in a black suit walked in. “Times up, gentlemen,” he said.

John let out a sigh, turned off his digi-cigarette, and stood up. “See you in twenty-five years, brother.” He pointed at me. “Don’t be stupid in there, Jack. Be smart.”

“Screw you, John.” It was the nicest thing I could think to say at the moment. I instantly regretted it when he threw up his hands and walked out the door.

I bowed my head and hissed the word, “shit,” into my chest.