----------------------------------------
Tyrel woke amidst the rumpled tangle of sheets, covered in sweat and gasping as if he had run a marathon before his augmentations. He crashed to the floor, his legs tangled in the sheets, and activated his dual HEKIAs (High Energy Kinetic Implant Augmentation) searching for a target until he saw his laser reticle target his own reflection in the mirror and realized where he was.
“[Venezuela again, Tyrel?]” A gentle voice whispered in his head.
“Yeah. Sorry, Solace. I can’t seem to get over it. So many people died. There must have been another way. Something I could have done differently.” Tyrel spoke aloud to the room, deactivating his implants, his targeting guide overlays faded from his enhanced vision.
“[These things take time, Tyrel. You no longer need to use your gland augmentation to sleep through the night. You are making progress.]” Solace responded. Tyrel stood up from his crouch and took a deep shuddering breath as the adrenaline faded. He looked down in disgust, he had shattered the bed frame again. He’d activated augmentations in his sleep. He clenched his fists in frustration.
“I wish you’d take my augmentation Override codes. What if I had brought a lady home last night!?! I can’t live like this.” Tyrel yelled into the air.
“[You know I can’t do that, Tyrel. Your DAIE protocols prohibit commercial daemons from having or using overrides on you or your augmentation. Were you thinking of beginning to date again, Tyrel?]” Solace's quietly soothing voice probed.
Tyrel shook his head and opened the curtains, ignoring the question. He knew he didn’t deserve to be happy, after the things he had done. He pulled his smart suit from the cleaner closet and shucked it on angrily. He accessed it and set the design of the suit to his standard business casual outfit and walked with a purpose to the kitchen nook.
He slammed open the coffee maker and put a filter in. He opened the coffee canister but found it empty. Cursing he opened cabinet after cabinet looking for an extra coffee pack.
“Damn it! I forgot to get my special blend again.” Tyrel moaned.
“[You could always gland some caffeine, Tyrel. Or perhaps it’s time to reconnect the matter compiler?]” Solace offered.
“No, Solace. It’s not about the caffeine, it’s about the taste. As far as the compiler goes, I think that’s a big no.” Tyrel growled.
Tyrel eyed the heap of distorted smart matter in the corner. He’d torn it out of the wall weeks ago with his augs. He knew the protections in place on the compiler were extreme, but that was another case he couldn’t shake and trust that had broken in him.
The Robsom family would be alive today if they’d been less trusting. His analysis of the disassembled house and the remains of the family was only possible via their electronic records. They showed that the father had disabled their compiler’s protections to download some questionable smart matter designs that were supposed to be high-end Virtual augmentation upgrades. The device’s payload had filled the house with activated nanotech disassemblers with all the UN-mandated safeties disabled.
It was a horrific way to go. Tyrel hoped that the rest of the family was asleep when it happened and that it was fast, but deep down he knew it wasn’t true on either count. Despite the willful disregard for the device's safety, Tyrel couldn’t abide by the potential for active nano being in his house while he slept.
“I’ll grab a cup on the way into the station, stay alert for me, ok? If I start to zone out again on the job, snap me out of it. Give me a low-level grounded shock aug burst if you need to, ok?” Tyrel said as he exited his apartment and made for the stairs to the rooftop garage.
“[You know I can’t access your arsenal, Agent, even the non-lethal options.]” Solace reminded him as he exited the stairs and accessed his streamlined Black Corvis M3 Aircar. The vehicle was a beast of a car with two massive turbo jets dominating its frame.
“Rules, rules, and more rules. If you could do more than talk me down, maybe I’d be straight by now.” Tyrel gave his familiar and often used complaint.
“[There are no easy roads in therapy, Tyrel. I can guide you, but you do the work. You are making progress.]” Solace said with her endless patience that was programmed into the therapy daemon.
For the first time that day, Tyrel grinned as he fired up the turbojets of the aircar and flipped up the vertical take-off vents from diffuse to focused. The aircar leaped into the sky and was soon tearing across the top reaches of the New York sky lanes.
I’ll be taking me a big helping of driving therapy right now. Thank you very much. One of the best perks of this crappy job is access to high-quality transport designs, he thought as he plotted a least time vector to get to his favorite cafe downtown. Sumatra blend was a priority beyond any other right now for DAIE Agent Tyrel Reeves.
----------------------------------------
Agent Reeves sat at his desk in the large, conjoined Faraday cage that was NYC DAIE HQ. His large travel cup of Sumatra blend tickled his nose as he savored it slowly. No active augmentations or devices were allowed on the HQ. Tyrel pulled out his old fashion notebook to get his daily worksheet tags. Information flowed in and nothing left the HQ other than DAIE agents with a purpose.
The walls were covered with active displays of the Northeastern seaboard with special displays dedicated to the largest cities. All known AI were represented with Icons. Data regarding all the AI and their activities were gathered and reviewed by the DAIE’s legion of expert analytics daemons. The tip line boards cycled rapidly as each item was reviewed and prioritized for credibility and relevance.
“Hey Reeves, I got a hot tip from IP 195.123.0.51! It’s upstate though, in a little town called Utopia. Do you think you can take it? My little girl is doing a full-dress recital tonight and I can’t miss it.” Agent Donahue said.
Tyrel eyed him. Donahue had a habit of shedding the difficult cases and taking all the easy work, but his reasoning rang true. His little girl was his world, and his job came second.
“IP 51 offering up another nugget? That anonymous tipper was rated 65% in relevance to a breach of the AI codex. How long has it been since the last tip? 3 months?” Tyrel asked.
“Yeah, it’s true. But the daemon farm corroborated it with a suspicious data to power usage pattern at the address and two more anon tippers of lower relevance were on record. The chief says this one needs eyes on it today.” Donahue responded.
“Aight, you can owe me one. I got a MIV case I've got to handle this morning, but after that, I’ll take the ticket.” Tyrel promised.
The more time on the clock away from the office and driving my Corvis the better. It’ll be good to get out of the city. He added to himself.
----------------------------------------
Agent Tyrel arrived at a cheap apartment located on the lower east side, the poor district. The Skyy Towers reached high above the little rent-controlled tenements, blocking out the sun. The case ID’s building was old and decrepit and didn’t have an aircar platform. Resisting a groan, he dropped the car into the street-level parking, tucking the Corvis amongst the burnt-out husks of ancient gas burners that hadn’t moved in years. He got out but maintained his access to the car.
[C.M3. Admin, activate lockdown and theft countermeasures.] Tyrel sent.
The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.
[Lockdown and theft countermeasures active.] C.M3Admin responded.
Tyrel eyed a cluster of four teens on the corner giving him and his ride the stink eye. He cycled his HEKIAs, his smart suit opening for the augmentation ports to pop up from his forearms and painted the teens with a LiDAR targeting pulse. Two of the four, had augmentation countermeasures throw up jamming signals to try and avoid his targeting lock.
Tyrel pointed both arms and made the oldest of street signs, dual trigger fingers, at them. He pulled out his badge, hanging on a lanyard, from inside his vest so it was visible. He spun away, his point made, and entered the building. Mr. Vance, the "Missing in Virtual" or MIV case, was in apartment 2-C.
Agent Reeves knocked repeatedly but knew he wouldn’t get an answer. After a nominal wait, he used his agency override to access the door and opened it. He strode into the room with his sensorium fully active. Moldy wallpaper, rat droppings, old food containers, and trash on the floor were the only decorations. Only one occupant besides the roaches, completely encased in a full-body virtual SafetyCreche™.
Tyrel shook his head. Everyone had a full basic income stipend and a no-restrictions employment guarantee with the ThousandWorlds NPC-Jobs Act. Despite every opportunity to live a decent life, someone always ended up on the bottom of the barrel. He gagged as he fully entered the room, it stank.
He looked around and came back to the crèche. The crèche’s wastewater plumbing was leaking, and an access panel was off.
Tyrel gingerly stepped around the puddle of sewage and looked inside the access hatch. The bastard had pulled the safety circuit board responsible for timer limits on the pod. He shook his head and extended an interface probe from his palm augment patch and rounded the crèche to face the rider interface port.
“Observer1, Observer2; engage in assistance mode with full AV recording. Confirm.” Agent Reeves said.
[All physical sensorium active and virtual tooltips ready.] OBS-1 responded.
[VR wellness check script ready as needed.] OBS-2 added.
“Excellent. Stay silent unless I ask or unless a threat announcement is required.” Agent Reeves commanded.
[Command under-,] OBS-1 began only to be immediately interrupted by Tyrel.
“I SAID STAY SILENT unless I ask, or a threat announcement is required!” Tyrel commanded with insistence. He waited and nodded at the lack of verbal feedback. With a grim smile, he plugged his comm extension into the crèche’s rider port.
He entered Mr. Vance’s virtual world, following the signal path via the crèche’s rider port. His normal vision dimmed and the imagery in his mind bloomed brightly. He could feel his observer daemons lurking just beyond his awareness.
Mr. Vance must have had some fond memories of Las Vegas. Agent Reeves didn’t know which strip club was represented, but the virtual world was a dark room with a brightly lit stage that was filled with dancers in various states of undress. They danced to the music in slow hypnotic moves, synced unnaturally well with the rhythms thumping into his virtual head.
Vance was busy fondling a dancer who was grinding against him as he downed a shot of liquor. Every manner of drugs was arrayed on a side table out beside his chair. All the items on the table showed evidence of already being heavily sampled. With a frown, Agent Reeves activated his DAIE override and halted the simulation. All the dancers including Vance’s lap dancers froze in place as the music stopped, even the disco lighting ceased playing across the stage as silence reigned. Vance was stunned and confused by the sudden change.
“My apologies Mr. Vance. My name is Agent Tyrel Reeves with the Department of AI Enforcement and I require a moment of your time.” Agent Reeves said.
“Wa’ tha FUCK. I dint ask for a goddamn PoPo beat down interlude. Shut thiss down rih now!” Vance screamed, clearly having trouble focusing on the agent.
“Observer 1, assume control of the virt. Disappear the dancers, bring up the lights, and erase the drug effects from Mr. Vance’s virtual avatar. Observer 2, summon this world’s AI moderator.” Agent Reeves commanded.
Vance’s expression changed abruptly from enraged to pure confusion as his virtual system was immediately devoid of drugs and alcohol. A large man entered through the main doors of the dance club, robed in a white jumpsuit festooned with gemstones. His jet-black hair was slicked back and perfectly coiffed.
“Special Agent Reeves, welcome to the Sundown Club’s virtual mirror of my establishment in Las Vegas. My name is Phoenix, Citizen AI (T 1.04). You’ve interrupted my client's private recreational session. Is there a problem?” The AI said cautiously, clearly trying to access the situation.
“What’s going on? I’m just trying to have a good time here.” Vance said, anger returning with an equal measure of fear.
“I have been asked by your daughter to perform a wellness check, Mr. Vance. You’ve been out of contact with the real world for 2 months and 4 days, despite state-mandated health check interval requirements. Are you okay? Are you being held here against your will? I can bring you out and protect you if you require it.” The agent said, reciting the script.
“Fuck no. I want to be here. My daughter is an ungrateful brat. At least here, I’m important and appreciated. Now why don’t you fuck off and leave me alone! Goddamn police, I ain’t doing nuthin' wrong. I got rights!” Mr. Vance’s anger overcame any residual fear when his daughter was mentioned.
[Observer 1 and 2: any indications of electronic subversion or virtual triggering of the addiction centers of Mr. Vance?] Agent Reeves asked internally to his daemons.
[All indications show that Mr. Vance is not being coerced. The SafetyCreche’s scans of his brain show no indications of stress, fear, or addiction center activation,] one of the agent’s daemons asserted.
“Very well, Mr. Vance. I will leave a contact point in your augs for a social worker if you change your mind at any time. I apologize for the interruption. Observer, resume simulation and reactivate save state for Mr. Vance's biological simulation. Citizen Phoenix, can we talk in the lobby?” Agent Reeves said, as he turned and walked towards the virtual door from the club.
Vance fell back into his lounger with a euphoric sigh as the drugs hit his system again. The music, lights, and dancers resumed as if no interruption had occurred. Phoenix assessed the room quickly and nodded. He spun and followed Agent Reeves and carefully closed the door behind him. Mr. Vance didn’t even notice as the doors clicked shut and locked as the pair left him.
The club's lobby was a crude virtual waiting area with bright white walls and evenly lit without any light source apparent. No other exits or details were evident. Agent Reeves turned and regarded Phoenix.
“Your client is a resident of New York State, Citizen Phoenix, and his state mandates a minimum of 1 day a month of health breaks from VR immersion. I understand your business is incorporated in…..,” Agent Reeves let his sentence hang.
“Arizona, officer.” Phoenix provided.
“This does not ameliorate your business from these safety rules. All states of the Reformed USA have reciprocity for health regulation regarding VR sessions crossing state lines. Do you monitor your clients' log-in time, Citizen Phoenix?” Agent Reeves asked in a very quiet voice.
“Ah, I believed there may have been an oversight in this regard, Agent. The software has been remediated as we talk. The Sundown Club always seeks to accommodate the wishes of its customers, but we also endeavor to stay within the bounds of the law. Our VR experience has been accredited by multiple safety services; I assure you. We care very much for our clients.” Phoenix said.
The AI’s avatar was sweating. Tyrel frowned at the transparent attempt to emulate a human. Some AI couldn’t help but try and pull all the levers they had to manipulate humans. He ground his teeth in that it did indeed work far too often. Unfortunately, a first offense like this carried no weight or penalty and they both knew it.
“You say that you care about your clients. Do you though, Phoenix? Mr. Vance’s activities here appear to me to be self-destructive. You cater to that?” Tyrel asked with a slight tinge of anger buried deeply.
“The Sundown experience has no physical addictions or side effects, Agent Reeves. I assure you. I can only empathize with the human condition as I am an AI. The virtual environs of the Thousand Worlds is my home and I always desire to share it with those … of less fortunate circumstances. If they don’t come to me for their escape from the real, they only find another establishment. I pity them, Agent.” Phoenix said with ease belying his bedraggled avatar’s appearance.
“I’ll be logging this incident. Don’t let it happen again.” Tyrel stated and pulled his avatar abruptly out of the VR Lobby.
Finding himself back in the rank apartment, the stench of reality and the sewage, in particular, hit his nose again. Eyeing the loose access panel, he addressed his daemons.
“Observers, log the life tape and append with keywords Kyle Vance, Sundown Club, Phoenix, and Agent Tyrel Reeves. End recording and shut down. Confirm!” Tyrel barked.
“[Confirmed, shutting down now.]” The response echoed from both daemons in unison.
Tyrel pulled the multi-tool from his belt. He reseated the safety board inside the crèche’s open panel and then secured the panel back in place. With an augmented final twist for each screw, he stripped the heads of each screw and pulsed the tool to tack weld the screws in place.
No sense in making it easy for Mr. Vance to hurt himself anymore. the boss will be unhappy, as Mr. Vance's daughter would likely complain about the department’s lack of results, he thought with a sigh. With a final look about the spartan room, Agent Reeves pocketed his tool, and let himself out, relocking the door behind him.
Tyrel was soon back in his Corvis revving the turbojets. The street kids were long gone and there were no attempts on the car’s security in the C3MAdmin’s logs. He opened his next case in his OverLayer.
Casa de Mitchell, a SubAI, no intelligence governor modules installed, three independent reports of high AI functionality, and some high-end data bandwidth at her location. Hmm, that name sounds familiar. Well, Casa, sounds like you will be getting a surprise Turing test this afternoon. Tyrel thought to himself, as he programmed the destination and boosted the mean-looking aircar into a powered ascent steering towards the I-95 Air-Lane.
----------------------------------------