The shimmering boundary wall behind me, I took my first steps in the The Collective proper. Well, The Collective as experienced by Citizens, and not the subterranean recesses beneath their feet. I had never interacted with a Citizen to my knowledge and I was curious to see how the other side lived. All one million of them, just a fraction of the total number intended to fill this massive virtual world.

My feet hit the pavement and I started up a slight incline in the direction of the shining highrise buildings as far as the eye could see.

A strange thing happened.

The further away from The Commons I got, the atmosphere seemed to change. The thick, persistent darkness of the Volunteers’ territory gave way to something brighter and brighter.

Sunlight? Impossible.

But there it was. Unmistakable. Rays of warm light caressed the exposed skin of my hands, face, and neck. I was so surprised I stopped walking, soaking in the luxurious warmth. The light was almost intoxicating.

Looking up, I saw no sun, but the sky was bright and clear. Not a cloud in sight. Light from some unknown source filled the entire region. I hadn’t even known there was such a thing as ‘daytime’ in The Collective. It was so beautiful, so startling that tears formed in my eyes.

I gathered myself, wiped my face on the back of my rough sleeve, and pressed on, now noticing planter boxes interspersed on the walkways lining the main street. Greenery, and even slender trees sprung from the concrete rectangles. A luminous elevated monorail passed between buildings somewhere in the distance. What a contrast.

Soon I approached a sort of intersection, and saw large, bright, rotating letters floating in the air. Royal Heights. Beneath the sign, a modern, polished, open-air Information Kiosk stood. What had appeared dingy and suspect in The Commons was nothing but inviting here.

I stepped across the street and approached the kiosk.

A light scanned my retinas. An animated emote swirled to life on the small screen and a soothing, digitized voice addressed me.

Citizenship record not detected.

I… I am not a Citizen. I am a Volunteer.

Please scan your identifier.

I looked around for the familiar red light. Eventually I found it beneath the screen, out of sight.

Welcome to Royal Heights… Volunteer. What information would you like to access?

I’m here on a job. A task. I need to find 1 Paradise Way.

Do you have a smart device or other accessory to download map data onto?

Uhh… no.

Please view the screen and directions to the specified address will appear.

The friendly emote swirled away, replaced with an elegant, color-coded map of Royal Heights. A blinking red triangle indicated my position at the kiosk, and another indicator showed 1 Paradise Way, with a navigable line connecting the two. It seemed to be about a two mile walk to the purple, three dimensional block representing my destination among a row of similar shaped buildings.

Thanks.

My pleasure. I hope you enjoy your BRIEF visit to Royal Heights, a premier neighborhood in The Collective’s southeast quadrant.

If you have enjoyed your experience, please rate your interaction with this Information Kiosk on your next QOL survey. And remember - Live your best second life! (™)

Ignoring the virtual assistant, I made my way down the route I had been shown, counting the number of blocks in my head so that I knew where to turn.

After quite some time, I arrived on a street of tall, luxury row houses at the edge of the urban buildup. They stood, reflecting the sunlight, white and minimalist with large windows looking out from their multiple floors.

There it was. 1 Paradise Way.

A polished white stone walkway led between perfect green postage stamp lawns to the narrow yet imposing residence. Uncertain, I approached the large, wooden, asymmetrical double entry doors atop a small flight of white steps. A golden sunburst pattern was etched into the wood.

I looked for a knocker or doorbell, but to my surprise the door swung open.

A Polizei bot stared back at me.

Woah!

Wait, that wasn’t quite right. It had the appearance of a Polizei bot, but was dressed in a tailored suit, the black tactical helmeted head incongruously on top. The bot said nothing.

I’m here for a Bounty. I mean a Task. I’m a Volunteer.

The thing stared at me for several silent seconds, then stepped to one side, giving me room to cross the threshold. When I stepped in I saw another similarly dressed bot inside. The first bot raised a white gloved hand and indicated that I should walk further into the domicile.

There was a huge crystalline chandelier hanging above my head, and a balcony with a wooden railing overlooking the foyer from an upper level. Past the foyer, I saw a falling sheet of water, like a waterfall, blocking my forward progress. It seemed to pour from the ceiling and down through tiny holes built into the floor of the hallway.

I looked to the bots for help but they simply raised their open hands again, indicating for me to continue.

Okay…

I took a careful step toward the falling water and was amazed to see it part instantly. With immediate responsiveness, the waterfall contoured to my shape, allowing me to walk through dry, a wall of water falling on either side like drapes. Not so much as a single drop of moisture touched me the entire time.

On the other side I found myself in a common area branching into different rooms on this main level. A large kitchen was to my right with sleek obsidian countertops and well-appointed appliances. To my left was a comfortable living space with a large viewscreen, sleek divans, and a white fur rug in the center. Tribal artwork I could not place hung on the walls. Large windows at the rear of the home looked out over a sloping green hillside, dotted with other residences amidst thick foliage.

Some sort of film was playing on the viewscreen in the living area and I turned to observe. It was colorless. Monochromatic, yet rich in detail.

A closeup on a woman’s face. Beatific. A tear rolls down her smooth cheek. Jeering men in bowl haircuts and robes affix a crown of rope, or maybe twisted thorns, on her head. They jostle her face, slap her. More tears roll down. All of it silent but for distant singing in a language I don’t understand and some sparse stringed instruments. One man places an arrow in her hands.

Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website.

I watched, mesmerized by the moving images. The pained close-up on the woman’s face as she is mistreated. The pleading look in her heavenward searching eyes.

Then a light splashing sound roused me. I turned my head and noticed another room just ahead, smaller and enclosed by wide windows. In this room, a woman emerged from a narrow infinity pool, stepping onto smooth aquamarine tiles.

She was tall, voluptuous, and wore a form fitting white one-piece swimsuit. Her skin bore the color of a perfectly calculated suntan. Her eyes shone bright green beneath thick eyelashes. Her lips were full and plump.

Her appearance was without blemish. Almost artificially so. If she were human, which I assumed she must be, and whatever she looked like outside of The Collective, she obviously had no expense spared for her choice of cosmetics and body modifications in this world.

The woman quickly toweled her thick mane of brunette hair and slipped into a white cotton robe, so soft it looked like she was draped in a cloud. She approached me, padding barefoot from the tiled room onto the sleek wooden floors where I stood awkwardly waiting.

“You must be the Volunteer,” she said in a buttery smooth voice with a hint of an accent.

I cleared my throat and nodded. She eyed me up and down carefully.

“You’re not what I expected…”

I didn’t know how to react. Should I apologize? Shrug? I ended up giving a half-hearted bow with my head.

“And you certainly don’t say much. The silent type?”

She stalked in a slow circle around me, appraising me like an item in a store. Like some vehicle or piece of furniture she was contemplating buying.

Yes, I am the Volunteer. I’m here about the… problem.

“No need to be so formal. Do you have a name?”

My official designation is…

I glanced down at my barcode. Looking at her arm, I saw she had none. I knew my Volunteer ID number wasn’t what she was wanting, but what else could I say?

A name. I… I don’t… some people call me Mag–

My weak starter voice caught in my throat. I didn’t want to say Magpie. What sort of name was that in a place like this? Besides, it wasn’t even a name of my choosing.

“Mag? Is that short for Maggie? Magnus? Magdalena?”

Something like that.

The woman looked confused. She pursed her full lips and made a low humming sound in the back of her throat.

“How do I say this? What are your… preferred pronouns?”

My pronouns?

“Should I refer to you as a he? A she? A they?”

I was at a loss.

I… I wish I knew that.

Suddenly, I realized the two suit-wearing bots were standing in the room. How long had they been there? I hadn’t heard them approach at all. One of the bots chastised the lady.

“Ma’am, you shouldn’t speak with the Volunteer.”

“I’ll speak with whomever I please! My husband is a shareholder, you know. Go stand in the corner like you’re meant to,” she snapped back.

I watched with curiosity as the two bots reluctantly but obediently did as she asked, walking over and turning to stand with their backs against the wall on one side of the room.

“Nevermind them. Security Bots. I hired them after what happened to my husband. Did they brief you? I don’t know how this all works.”

I shook my head.

“My poor hubby was assaulted by these… these horrid devil dogs… while he was uptown. They had to take him offline because of arrhythmia. Can you believe it? It’s been quite lonely… but I digress. I hired these SecuBots for protection and they can’t do diddly squat about my problem downstairs.”

Devil dogs? I’ve had a run-in with Hellhounds too. My condolences.

“Oh my, you have? You poor, brave thing. You must have come out the other side alright if you're still standing here.”

Um. Yes… ma’am.

Was she impressed? Some emotion flashed there on her expensive face, but I was not sure what.

My eyes flicked back to the moving images on the viewscreen. She followed my gaze.

“The Passion of Joan of Arc. Have you seen it? I’m a bit of a preservationist. Like to rescue old films like this. Practically archeological now. But we mustn’t lose who we were, don’t you concur?”

I can’t really say.

“Ah yes, the silent type. All about business. Well no rush. The thing you’re here to get rid of doesn’t come out till nightfall.”

I looked out the windows again. The sky remained clear and bright. The invisible sun shone on. Whatever the deal was, there seemed to be a day / night cycle in The Collective, or at least this section of it.

“We’ll get you set up in the wine cellar. Wait for night and then bag the little nuisance when it appears.”

The Clurichaun…

“Whatever it is. It’s been stealing my wine, night after night. Slips away into some hole I can’t seem to find. I’ve tried everything!”

She strode into her spacious kitchen, her elegant bare legs gliding across the floor as her pillowy cotton robe floated behind her. Reaching somewhere out of sight, she produced a dark bottle of wine with a detailed tan label.

“1982 Chateau Lafite Rothschild. A personal favorite. One of the greatest wines ever produced. It is a blend, but alas–one of the varietals is now extinct, of course. Can’t ever be made again in the real world. The only place it can be enjoyed is in this land of make believe.”

She smiled, flashing two rows of flawless white teeth as she pulled the cork and poured the wine into two waiting glasses.

“Care for a taste? Well that impish brute has been stealing my supply. And that won’t stand. No, no, no. We paid far too much for the privilege of living here to put up with that nonsense.”

I slowly walked into the kitchen. I felt like I was walking on eggshells, as if I would somehow sully this slice of paradise with my very presence. I was painfully conscious of my meager attire and generic features. The robotic visage of the Security Bots stared disapprovingly at my every move.

I reached out and graciously accepted the glass, taking a sip. It tasted like… wine. I can’t say I had the most refined pallet. Maybe I needed a body-mod tastebud upgrade. Who knows.

This is… magnificent. Thank you.

“Isn’t it though?”

The woman sipped her wine, sighing appreciatively and lapsing into a wistful silence.

“Oh, where are my manners? My name is Monique. Monique Rossignol, lady of the house as it were. I guess in my extended isolation, I’ve forgotten how to behave properly around other people.”

She extended her smooth hand, each long finger ending with a perfectly manicured and painted nail. I shook it.

About your problem…

“Oh. Yes?”

She seemed disappointed that I was turning the conversation to business once more. But I did have a job to do, and a potential bonus to earn. I was still anxious about this rare creature and wanted to learn whatever else I could.

Why haven’t the Security Bots been able to help with the… intruder?

She waved a hand dismissively at the two bots dressed like bouncers in a fancy nightclub or personal bodyguards for a celebrity.

“The SecuBots are fine with protecting me, but they are utterly useless when it comes to going on the offense against these… these viruses. Their programming just can’t compete! I sent a SecuBot down to guard the wine cellar days ago and the next morning I found its head had been removed and placed back on backwards. Useless.”

You said viruses. So you believe these creatures, like hellhounds and clurichauns, are some sort of computer virus?

“Well what else could they be? Probably put here by some military-sponsored hacker group from East Asia. It’s a zero sum game to some of these people, no matter that survival of the species is at stake.”

The SecuBots fidgeted. One gave a fake digital cough.

“Ma’am, we really must insist that protocols be followed. Citizens should not distract Volunteers in the course of their duties.”

Mrs. Rossignol threw her free hand up in exasperation and rolled her eyes.

“Whatever. Let me show you to the wine cellar.”

I quickly finished my wine and set the empty glass down, following after her. On the flickering viewscreen, the black and white heroine of the silent film was about to be burned at the stake.