Hector motioned for Rick to hold tight as he pushed an intercom button. “Hey, Jerry. I need you in the office.

Hector kept up the pretense of friendliness. Hell, for all Rick knew, it wasn’t pretense. His boss had gotten him out of a jam a time or two, and he’d gone to bat for Rick once or twice when Rick really needed that one last courier run of the week to make ends meet.

What’s he gonna think when I fail? I can barely keep the lights on. I’m not the kind of guy who can make shit happen—not anymore.

The air-conditioning blower turned off as an older Latino man Rick knew named Manuel arrived at the door. “Jerry’s not here today, but I gotcha boss.”

Hector nodded. “Show Rick here to the basement. Get him into the training room and let’s see what he’s got.”

Manuel nodded and smiled. “Oh, a new fighter? What happened to—”

“Can’t make it. Another procedure.” Hector batted the air with his hand, deflecting the errant question.

Manuel nodded and glanced at Rick. “Oh, hey. I know you.”

“Hey Manny,” Rick said.

“Thought you were a runner,” Manuel said. “Didn’t know you were a fighter.”

Rick raised his hands in protest and shook his head. “I’m not, but”—he glanced at Hector—“he insists I am.”

Manuel beckoned Rick forward and Rick stood and approached.

“Hey,” Hector said before they could leave.

Rick and Manuel stopped in the doorway and faced their boss.

“Just make a legit effort, okay? This could be a big break for you.”

He doesn’t know. In many ways, that was good. The street scuttlebutt had moved on, had forgotten about him. All the old guys were dead or had moved up, and the new guys didn’t know him. Still, the specter of his boss’s impending disappointment hung heavily about his shoulders.

Manuel led him along the metal-grid pathway around the office. Rick’s heavy footfalls rang out along the steel steps to the shop below where the laundry robots sorted linen, most of which likely came from one of L.A.’s many hospitals or nursing homes. The weirdly clean smell of chemicals in the air was stronger down on the warehouse floor.

Little more than large arms on sliding rails, the robots had been a huge advancement, but they’d displaced a lot of laundry workers. Rick examined one of the many tiny scars that testified to the puncture wounds he’d gotten when he worked the laundry. More than once, a stick from a syringe carelessly mixed in with the linens had sent him to the clinic, but the test results had always been benign. Not everyone he worked with back then had been so lucky. I’d rather the robots do this job, all things considered.

As they threaded their way to the back stairs, Manuel stopped at a machine where a robot had gone off track and gotten stuck. “You ever see them do this?”

This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

“Yeah.” Rick nodded and stepped forward. He tugged the angle of the robot’s metal elbow to get the automaton back on track. Though it was successful at first, the robot veered back off the path. “Huh.” Rick pulled it again more forcefully, but again it corrected. He grunted and began to make another attempt.

Manuel placed his hand on Rick’s arm. “These things are pretty persistent.” He stepped forward and gently pushed the ‘elbow’ of the arm first forward, then back. “Sometimes you can’t force it. These things are difficult to break, but”—he wiggled the arm—“usually more force just gets them even more off-track.” Manuel grasped the robot and guided the machine arm through a full cycle of its action, then reset it to what Rick figured must be its starting state.

Manuel stepped back and tugged on Rick’s shoulder to urge him to step away from the robot arm’s path. The robot dipped into a large bin and pulled up a bundle of dirty hospital linen, then guided it to the open door of the enormous washer and dropped the bundle into it.

Manuel smiled and gestured for Rick to follow him past the lengthy line of churning washers and dryers to the back of the warehouse, then down the concrete steps.

They proceeded through a claustrophobic room with a low ceiling, then down another half-stairway to a door. Manuel pressed his thumb against a small plate to the side of the doorjamb. A green light flashed within the black plate and the device emitted a soft beep before the sound of a latch disengaging sounded from somewhere within the door. Manuel tilted his head, pushed the door open, and gestured Rick inside.

Rick blinked at the onslaught of gently flashing lights as he strode into the room behind Manuel. He glanced at the luxurious leather chair in the middle of the room and whistled. “Fancy.”

Manuel stepped over a thick cable which lay draped across the floor. “Sure, but it’s sorta bleeding edge, if you know what I mean.” He grunted. “It creates a more vivid simulation, but sometimes it’s wonky as hell.”

Rick’s eyes widened. “You been linked up to this?”

The other man smiled. “Someone’s gotta test each upgrade before the boss hooks up, so yeah. Sometimes it’s me. Sometimes it’s Jerry.” His smile grew. “Sometimes it’s both.”

“You mean I’ve been working with you for, what? A year now? And not one word this was down here. Manny, I thought we were friends.”

The older Latino man gave Rick a playful punch on the shoulder. “I don’t know what made you think we’re friends, hombre.”

Rick feigned a wounded look. “That hurts, Manny. That really hurts.”

Manuel shrugged. “How do you think I feel? You never once told me you could fight.”

Rick’s face fell, and he looked at the floor. “You’re about to find out I wasn’t holding out on you at all.” He looked up and tried to keep the fear off his face.

Manuel put a hand on his shoulder. “You know you’re not gonna get hit for real, right? It’s just a game, a simulation.”

“I know.” Rick tried to smile, but his attempt only solicited an even more concerned look from Manuel.

“You got a home unit, right?”

Rick nodded. “Yeah. Government issue. AR-only. News, TV, stuff like that. Nothing immersive.”

Manuel pointed to the base of Rick’s neck. “You mind?”

Rick pulled his hair aside and Manuel placed his hands on either side of his implant port, inspecting it. “Government issue, all right.” He took a deep breath in and stepped back. “Should still work, though. The simulation tech is different, but it’s all on this end. Everything’s made to work through the standard implants. How many people are gonna buy new tech if it requires another surgery every time?”

Rick shook his head. When would he have ever been wealthy enough to afford the simulation tech? It was so far down his list of needs and wants as to barely warrant mention. Yes, he’d fail at this. Badly. Yes, Hector would never understand why. Rick’s impending panic attack would make no sense to an outside observer, but this might be the only time in the foreseeable future when he’d be able to sample deep simu-sleep tech. His fear competed with his excitement, creating an intoxicating melánge of sensations along his skin and deep in his abdomen.

Manuel motioned for him to sit in the chair. The foam felt hard at first, but then it sank in luxuriously, cradling him so perfectly, there were no points where he felt gravity’s pull more than any other. Wow.

There was a jolt as Manuel plugged him in.

The older man circled around to face him. “You with me?”

“Yeah.” Rick nodded.

“In a few seconds, the machine will pull you down into an organized lucid dream. Don’t fight it.”

“O—” Rick began before he sank into a dark hole and everything went black.