Shot placement is king

His reception after the job, initially, was less than congratulatory.

“Where the fuck are you?” Car-Crash said on the comm line as Luke floated down toward the Allworld Superhighway, like a great band around the equator where massive rolling crafts meshed and broke apart in impromptu parties, tournaments, and orgies.

“Above the big highway. Why’d yall cut me lose?” He noticed that this was the only time he had dropped out of a job into anywhere else but the office.

“No one cut you lose. The screamers lost track of you. Looks like you skipped the box, somehow.”

“I what?”

“Hold up. I see you.”

On the car ride over, Car-Crash took the scenic route, explaining to Luke that he had, somehow, probably by holding so tightly to his previous Hardworld mem before stepping into the box, partially primed a Self, and after explaining to Luke what that meant, explained why it was a problem.

“The box drops you into a premade Self that the Spiritualists prepare for you and the Speakers have a line on. When you fuck with the Self by making edits the way you did, sometimes they lose track of it. Which is embarrassing for them. They ain’t exactly the Sect.”

Car-Crash’s voice had a smile in it by the end, and it was at that point that Luke realized that Car-Crash hadn’t found out how the job had ended yet, probably because the scribes were still inside trying to confirm one of the bodies being carted off that highway ramp was the target. He relished dropping the bomb.

“Wait till they find out who killed the target.”

Car-Crash wheeled on him, and for an instant two human eyes broke the surface of the murky blood-glass mask and stared at Luke with ecstatic surprise.

“You are full of fucking shit!”

But soon Luke was in front of Drudge again, this time with Car-crash standing by, having pushed him to the front of the line, and his Hardworlding star began its meteoric rise, though down there Luke didn’t know it.

Drudge handed Luke a card, an Ace of spades of course, with the spade in the center made of half a centimeter thick dull metal.

“Take this down the hall to Bleedsire.”

Car-Crash cackled and the other guys in the line whistled and clapped and offered congratulations as Luke walked out of the office.

“Hasn’t been a kill card handed out in that office in years,” Car-Crash said. “Do you mind?” He reached out a gloved hand, the leather sliced and bleeding and glittering with tempered glass, and Luke handed him the card.

Car-Crash pressed his thumb to the spade, which fluoresced like molten lead caught in sunlight, or motor oil in a puddle, and a few seconds later he handed it back to Luke.

“Jesus. With a pistol. Ran empty too. It’s a good omen, you know. Especially for your first kill.”

Car-Crash leaned in when he said it and put a hand on his back, as if reminding him of a religious mystery they had both been initiated into. It was Luke’s first brush with the unexpectedly superstitious mythology of Hardworlders. Once again, he sensed something massive underneath it all, and the fear mixed with awe and surprise left him silent.

Luke handed the Card to Bleedsire, who barely brushed his finger over the ace, then nodded and touched it to the desktop, on which a light blinked from red to green.

“You may keep that.” He handed Luke back the card and waved his hand over his desk. A large book, like the kind used to sign into a hotel in an old noir movie or keep track of decades worth of horse bets appeared, open, on the desktop.

“Are you ready to choose a name?”

Luke was stunned. Why hadn’t he thought of this?

“Uh,”

Bleedsire waved again and the book vanished.

“No rush. Come see me when you’ve made up your mind. Keep in mind the boards don’t allow duplicates unless a name has been retired. Nowadays it's common to use a number, or combine two—”

“Wait.” Luke held his hand in the air, still high off the rush of victory. Drudge had grumbled and complained about Luke’s “running off” before the mem could be scraped, and the already deteriorated quality of the mem, but for Luke, the mem of that job was fresher than any he had stored in his realm, which now seemed like cobbled together story-in-pictures slideshows compared to the vivid living dream of the kill.

He felt he could do anything, and if the job had proved one thing to him, it was that sometimes it’s better to just go for something than walking around it trying to plan it out.

The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

He started speaking before he had the name in mind, but he knew it would come to him.

“Mr.,”

A pause. Car-Crash snorted. Bleedsire stared like Luke was some vagrant he was paid too little to deal with. Then it hit him.

“M.O.A.”

Car-Crash stopped chuckling. Another pause, and then he jerked his head towards Bleedsire and put both hands on the desk.

“No way that’s not fucking taken.”

Bleedsire had already brought back the book and fanned his hand over the pages, which shifted in the light without the pages turning.

“No. It’s not.”

Car-Crash cackled. “Another good Omen! First fucking try. You got no idea how lucky you are. Took me ages to get Car-Crash, and I only got it cause the last guy got retired by force in the big one.”

The extractor went back over it, replacing the name with five different alternates, then let the mem roll.

Car-Crash had taken Luke out for a celebratory drink, and it was the first time Luke had seen him without his mask. The face was so ill-suited to the personality he had suspected it was another mask itself. The bar was all marble and mother of pearl and shaped like a big Oyster mushroom jutting off the side of a water and coral tower facing the permanent sunset to the west. Every bit of dishware and chrome-rimmed decoration reflected the orange, and Luke felt like he was in some nineties perfume ad that had gone heavy on the CG and avant-garde-ness.

It was about the last place he expected Car-Crash to take him, but the drinks and food were beyond reproach. Luke had never experienced this kind of subtle hunger before. Not the pseudo stomach rumbling brought on by the floating clouds of burger smoke that wafted off Rays or something, but like a flower that opened up just for a moment, just long enough for each bite and sip to register with something physical, then closed again, allowing him to savor the sunset on a spiritual level.

Somewhere, beyond the sun, hidden under the cocktail glasses, humming under Car-Crash’s words and ringing in Luke’s ears when he tried to follow the conversation, was Bliss. This is my world, it told him, all of these things you see are crafted from my essence, like wooden houses and paper doors and crisp checks all spawn from the pure seed. Arent you tired of reflections? Don’t you want to touch something pure?

But there was a greater magnet now, a stronger pull, another way to wake up. He had no desire to wake into the “real him”, whatever that was, some predestined version of himself, sliding into it like a marble into a groove, he wanted to fly, he wanted to drop into the Hardworlds in a Luke with no past and no future, and the possibilities drug his mind down into distracted fantasy.

In short, he was beginning to forget about bliss, which would have been astonishing to Otherworld Luke, if he had ever taken any time to really think about it.

Car-Crash pulled him aside as they left, waving him into his craft, which this time was a matte orange craft like a stretched-out Rolls Royce Phantom, as opposed to the crumpled collage of wrecked cars he flew around in while in his Hardworlder mask.

“I can see you’re distracted, but let me give you the run down before you fuck off back to that light,” he said, sadly.

The run down was that Luke was now a fully vested employee of Ace Tactical, and as such some policy changes were in order. From now on, he would have to wear a mask when going to and from the HQ. He would need to buy or make his own craft and fly into work himself, and as of the next job, he would be placed in charge of his own street cleaner squad, attached to another bled Operator who would act as his driver and contact. In short, he would be the Backdraft/Viper of his own team.

“And here. Got you a gift.”

It was a CD, marked in black marker “Mr. MOA’s first kill”.

“That’s the unedited full mem, not the sparkled up highlight they give in those cards.”

“Thanks. Guess I owe you some overtime.”

“You don’t owe me shit. I’m the auxiliary Supervisor. Means I handle the new hires and the floaters. Your new supervisor is probably gonna be either Tenpound or Diesel Drip. Which reminds me. Just so you know, you’re not supposed to prime a Self without the O.K. from your Sup, and they usually don’t like letting the peons fuck with the mechanics like that, but try and press them to let you do it. Just don’t go overboard with it, and let me know so I can put in a good word.”

“I honestly have no idea how I did it. I was just thinking about the other jobs when I got in the box, and—”

“That’s the gist of it yeah. You remember things about your Self and the Hardworlds make the memories real. The real trick is picturing things that never happened to any of your Selfs and getting the Hardworlds to turn those memories into reality.”

Luke stared at the side of Car-Crashes head while his mind went wild. Create a custom me. Like making a new character in an RPG. Is that how the pros did it?

“But anyway, if they say no, I say fuck them and do it anyway. Just use the box and be subtle about it, and make sure you drop out into the office when you’re done so they don’t catch on. Might want to practice using the Dreamworlds to come back, instead of dropping out with a bullet every time.”

“The what?”

Car-Crash chuckled.

“There’s a lot Ace Tactical won't tell you till you’ve kissed enough ass to rise in the ranks. Dreamworlds are like the Realm of the Self. Any state of unconsciousness, the Spirit defaults to like a Lucid dream. Like a slice of the Other in the Hardworlds. You can use it to train, run through scenarios, and most importantly, leave the Hardworlds. Just make sure you prime your Self as an experienced Lucid dreamer. You can drop out in the dreamworlds if you’re not careful.”

Luke became immediately obsessed. A new facet of the Hardworld/Otherworld dynamic he had thought he had a handle on. It itched in his mind, deeply.

“So, it’s just like dreaming? How do I use a dream to get back?”

“You go in by waking up right? Just leave by going out. You walk through the dreamworlds till you forget all about your Self, then just walk out into the Other.”

“That works?”

“Yeah, it’s how most real operators do it. But don’t imagine it’s as easy to do as it is to describe. But practice enough, and you’ll get it. The real trick is walking into the Hardworlds the other way.”

“What?”

“One thing at a time. Just look into it.”

They had reached the edge of the black without Luke noticing.

“Where—”

“You’re going into your fucking Realm immediately. Got it?”

Luke nodded. A warm sensation lay over his chest, while a cold one fluttered under his brain. On the one hand, Car-Crash cared enough to try and help him, but on the other, he was terrified he wasn’t worth the trouble.

“Thanks. I’ll,”

He got quiet. Words dissolved in his head before they had a chance to form sentences. He felt the two sensations merge and bubble like rolling warm water behind his throat, and just below his tear ducts.

“Don’t mention it. I’ve seen too many good Hardworlders get fucked by the Other. If you ever think about running at that Bliss light again, give me a ring.”

Luke nodded, and tried to work up the courage to face Car-Crash, who saved him the hassle by doing the second nicest thing anyone had ever done for him.

“All right, fuck off.”

He kicked Luke in the back and sent him flying into the void. In a few heartbeats, Luke felt alone again.

A breath later, he was back in his Realm, his new CD clutched like the keys to the kingdom.