I followed Monique Rossignol through the doors and up the steps to the squalid lot outside of the Rathskeller. She drew a pair of shades from somewhere beneath her furs, hesitated, then put them back.

“Say, does it get dark early here?”

Her question was disinterested. Oblivious to our everlasting darkness. She beckoned that I follow her to a waiting vehicle–a boxy black executive limousine with windows tinted even darker than the night sky. Not only was there a Citizen, but a Citizen’s private vehicle in The Commons.

I did a quick perceptual zoom. Her apparent chauffeur, one of the security bots I previously encountered at her place, opened the rear door. Same incongruous crisp suit and robot head combo as before. I ducked inside after the lady and took a seat on the cool leather backseat.

She doesn’t look upset. So what is this?

“Mind if we go to your place?”

Another oblivious question, but it caught me off guard. The thought of this refined woman even seeing the drab highrise that I called ‘domy,’ let alone crawling on her hands and knees into my barebones fluorescent coffin was mortifying. The unbridgeable gap between my residence and 1 Paradise Way…

▶ It’s under renovation right now. Sorry.

She bought the lie. Phew. But she looked disappointed.

What does she want? This can’t be about the wine cellar damage or a missing bottle…

“Well, we certainly can’t go to my place. How about my summer home in the Lake District?”

This woman has not one, but two bourgeois houses in the Metaverse? At least?

But something about the word ‘lake’ sent a streak of panic through me. A trigger word. It made my knuckles ache and toes curl. Suddenly, I wanted to go anywhere but there.

Huh. I wonder what that’s about. Any pro bono psychoanalysts in The Collective? Or should I just go plug my brain into some mind-hacking shrink machine?

Mrs. Rossignol must have read the discomfort on my face, because she quickly walked the suggestion back.

“Oh, it would be too long a drive and I’ve got an appointment at the spa later. Some other time, perhaps. Jeeves? Just drive us around Royal Heights. That’s what I call him–Jeeves. He doesn’t really have a name. He is not even a he, just an it. Such a stupid robot, I call him Jeeves just to get under his stupid metal skin. Drive, Jeeves!”

The SecuBot gave a flat reply with a hint of malicious compliance.

“As you wish … … … ma’am.”

I wondered if, under different circumstances, the esteemed lady might consider me an ‘it’ as well.

The engine rumbled to life and we swerved out onto city streets under bright neon lights, moving at speed. A few Volunteer pedestrians lept out of the way. Neither the driver nor Monique seemed to notice.

▶ How did you get in here? To The Commons, I mean. We don’t see many Citizens in these parts.

Or any. Ever.

“I just came through Checkpoint C. They tried to dissuade me, of course, but my husband is a shareholder. I told you that before, didn’t I? You can’t let these bots push you around. You need to remind them who writes the checks. Isn’t that right, Jeeves?”

There was a noncommittal murmur from the front seat.

Checkpoint C? That must be the same crossing point between The Commons and Royal Heights I used. Right past the Red Light District.

Soon enough we approached that checkpoint. A shimmering wall of energy segregating us from The Collective proper. Two armed Polizei bots in full tactical gear standing guard. The limousine rolled to a stop and the SecuBot mumbled something to one of the sentries. They waved us on and we were moving again through an opening in the shining barrier.

As the newer, sleeker cityscape of Royal Heights began to pass by, the artificial daylight of a simulated late afternoon reflected off the tinted glass. I was about to ask exactly what Mrs. Rossignol needed my help with when she reached over and placed her hand possessively on my thigh.

I stiffened at the touch.

Uh….

Her perfectly manicured red nails crept closer and closer up my thigh.

▶ Wait. What are you doing?

She paused her advance and gave me an affronted look, her full lips pouting, a playful glimmer in her green eyes.

“What’s wrong? Don’t you find me… attractive?”

▶ Oh, I think you are objectively attractive. By design. That isn’t in question…

She slid across the seat until we were hip to hip, pressing me against the wall of the passenger compartment. I glanced up to see the SecuBot’s unreadable visor in the rearview mirror. Was it staring at us? Impossible to tell.

“So what’s the problem?”

So many problems.

▶ I don’t know if I can… uh… not sure if you realize… What about your husband?

Monique straightened up, thankfully removing her hand from the vicinity of my featureless groin. At least for the time being. She leaned forward to address her chauffeur.

“Jeeves, play that song I like. Will you?”

The SecuBot nodded and reached into the glove compartment. It pulled out a cassette and inserted it into the deck. Soon, throbbing and rhythmic music filled the limo. A singer crooned in a deep, rich vibrato.

Sweet dreams are made of this.

Who am I to disagree?

I travel the world and the seven seas

Everybody’s looking for something

Monique drummed her fingers on her knees and swayed to the music.

The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

“I simply adore this song, don’t you? I can’t get enough of it. Turn up the volume and just keep driving, Jeeves.”

She reached forward and pressed a switch, raising a tinted partition that separated the driver from the passengers. Now I was really trapped. Then she leaned in, bringing her lips close to my ear. She spoke low, just loud enough to cut through the music but seeming as if she didn’t want to be overheard. Or perhaps recorded.

“Listen, Mag. I didn’t know where else to turn. I don’t know who I can trust. But you helped me before. I know it sounds crazy, but you’re the only one I can rely on for this.”

So the whole seduction thing was just a ruse. Right?

“I needed to talk in private. With our alibi in place, we shouldn’t be bothered now.”

A nod of her head indicated the chauffeur bot through the glass darkly.

▶ So you don’t care if the SecuBot… suspects you of adultery? What if it tells your husband?

“Oh, please. If the security apparatus concerned itself with the extramarital dalliances of Citizens, they’d never have time to do anything else. But speaking of my husband… that is exactly what I need your help with.”

I had never met the man. Knew nothing about him. Except that he was a Citizen, and apparently a shareholder of Reality Inc.

▶ I don’t understand. What about your husband?

“He’s dead.”

▶ What!?

“At least I believe he’s dead. I think… they’ve replaced him.”

Processing error. I waited for her to explain. To start saying anything that made sense.

“A while ago my husband was attacked by some of those monsters. It caused complications–real world medical complications. They had to pull him out of The Collective to stabilize him. He recently returned but… he’s different. I can’t explain exactly how, but he’s different. It’s the little things. Subtleties. And I suspect that my real husband never came back at all.”

This was a lot to untangle.

▶ What do you mean? If your husband isn’t your husband, who do you think it is?

“I think it is a bot. Like that… that thing in the front seat! A program wearing my husband’s face, using my husband’s voice, living my husband’s life! Do you know what it’s like to make love to an AI?”

Oh boy.

I looked out the window at the skyscrapers sailing by. Floor after floor. Window after widow. How many Citizens were going about their strange lives, alien even to me? I was at a loss.

▶ I don’t understand. Who… what… why…?

“It’s the Corporation! My husband is a very important man. A shareholder, yes. But a titan of industry in his own right. Ivan D. Rossignol, CEO of MedeScape? They invented the algorithm that predicts future recurrence for cancer patients with 95% accuracy, allowing for the automatic denial of expensive and unnecessary treatment?”

She looked at me as if I should absolutely know who this famous person was. I didn’t have a clue.

“Not as much practical use in the real world these days, for obvious reasons. But they own the patents. Anyway, it would be too much of a scandal if Reality Inc.’s little experiment killed him. The bad press, the litigation, the tanking stock price… I think they are faking that he is still alive. But they can’t fool me. A wife knows.”

I bet.

▶ This is a lot to take in. And I’m sorry for whatever happened. But, what do you expect me to do about it? I’m a Volunteer. I’m pretty sure my jurisdiction doesn’t extend to the private lives of Citizens.

“You killed that creature in my cellar, when none of our overpriced security bots could do a thing. You’re resourceful, at the very least. And you’re a third party. I need help getting proof. Proof that my husband isn’t real.”

I was racking my brain, but this seemed like a problem way above my nonexistent paygrade. But then again… hold on. I recalled the first time I encountered Antisoc, when they allegedly suspected me of being a ColSec plant. They had administered a battery of logic tests to determine whether or not I was truly a Volunteer. I’m certain there was more to it than that, but if I could find a way…

▶ You know what? I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I just might be able to help…

Then I remembered that I left the Serpents’ wooden chest sitting on the bar at the Rathskeller! Dram!

I smacked my forehead in disbelief, and this outburst took Monique back.

“What was that? Are you okay?”

▶ Sorry. It’s nothing. There might be a test I can run on your husband, to see whether or not he is, as you suspect, a bot. But I’ll have to check into some things first.

The loss of the chest, thankfully empty though it was, could have at least been dumped down a memory hole for a few extra Crypt. This thought process brought my current financial situation rushing back to mind.

Maybe I can work this situation to my advantage.

▶ A couple questions, one of which may come off as rude. First, when I helped you before with your subterranean pest, I got paid for the job. Not by you, of course, but by the System. If I help you with this, which is a pretty complicated and off-the-books task, can you offer me some kind of compensation? Preferably in advance?

“Of course! I’m sorry. This means a lot to me, and I would be happy to pay you. What’s your asking price?”

I saw my opportunity and I went for it.

▶ How about 2,000 Crypt, upfront?

Monique raised her perfectly shaped eyebrows, and for a moment I thought I had pushed too aggressively.

“Oh. Is that it? Just 2,000? Well that’s no problem at all. I’ll make a fortune off his life insurance once you prove he really is dead.”

▶ Oh! Well in that case–

She whipped out a personal smart device and keyed up some kind of program on the display.

“Give me your account number and I’ll transfer the funds right now.”

Oh no. Not this again.

My heart sank. I resisted the urge to hit myself again.

▶ Unfortunately… I still don’t have an account.

That would entail ‘returning to the scene of the crime.’

“I don’t understand. How do you expect me to pay you then?”

▶ We… we can work it out later…

Frag my Second Life(™).

▶ My other question was… once I get the test ready, if I can get the test ready, don’t you think your husband is going to find it very strange that some random Volunteer wants to scan him?

“I’ve already thought of that. If I invite you over to the house, or introduce you one-on-one, he’ll suspect something. And if the Corporation is in on it, that’s too risky. The SecuBots are always watching. They might already suspect that I suspect. But before the end of the quarter there is a masquerade ball for all the top shareholders at Zenith Towers. If I can get you into that party, we can find a way to get my husband alone and–then you do whatever it is you need to do.”

I glanced down at my ballistic vest, my tactical pants, my tattooed wrists.

▶ I’m not sure I’d exactly fit in at an elite corporate party.

She reached across the passenger compartment and dug around in an exquisite handbag resting next to a bottle of champagne on ice. She pulled out two long rectangles of glossy paper. I zoomed in with my vision and saw that they were some sort of gift certificates.

“I have these certificates. 5,000 Crypt worth of cosmetic work at my favorite plastic surgeon. And another 5,000 clothing allowance at a highly recommended tailor. Both are in The Palisades commercial sector. Upgrade your appearance a little, or a lot, to blend in. Besides, it's a masquerade ball. We can always slip on a disguise.”

I took the certificates in hand, studying them carefully.

▶ Are these transferable for any other kinds of expenses or vendors?

“Not at all.”

Of course not.

I fiddled with the thick card stock. Black Narcissus Body Sculpting - ‘Constantly Improving Perfection.’ W&G: Corporate High Fashion Boutique.

“When we’re done talking, I’ll have Jeeves take me home and then you can go shopping. He can drop you anywhere you like when you’re finished. How’s that? And when the time comes for the masquerade, I’ll contact you.”

▶ How?

She reached again, this time into a side compartment beneath the bar, and pulled out an analog telephone, sleek and black.

“I’ll call you.”

I took the unwieldy phone, cradling it in my hands along with the certificates. Monique rolled down the partition and barked an order to the driver, then rolled it back up. We were heading toward her posh slice of heaven. My window for asking questions was closing. I decided to take a chance.

▶ Mrs. Rossignol, ma’am. How much do you know about the Volunteer Program?

She looked at me quizzically.

“Not much. A lot of it is confidential. Very hush hush. But I know that you are all very brave souls for doing this. Whatever inspired you to Volunteer?”

▶ I wish I knew. The truth is… I can’t remember anything about my life before coming here. It’s a total blank.

“Wow. Nothing at all?”

▶ Not one thing.

She seemed to consider this. Before I knew it, her hand was resting on my leg again.

“You know, in a way that’s kind of sexy. A tabula rasa. That means you can be whoever, or whatever, you want.”

Yeah. But the problem is I don’t know who, or what, I want to be. Except for free from this place.

I subtly opened my menu and jotted an update under my shielded Subroutines section.

>SUBROUTINES

* Capture an invasive entity alive and bring it to Antisoc (Pending)

* Join the Round Table (Pending)

* Retrieve Camel’s map for the Serpents (Pending)

* Help Monique Rossignol (Pending)

As we turned onto Paradise Way, the music played on.

Some of them want to use you

Some of them want to get used by you

Some of them want to abuse you

Some of them want to be abused