Reemerging into the reality of Alex’s spare SR array room disoriented Rick. Slowly, the sensations of the meat-world became familiar again. A wave of nausea washed through him, but he didn’t vomit.

He bolted upright from where he’d awakened in the reclining chair, then pulled the cable from his implant, wincing as pain throbbed at the site.

He felt rubbery, exhausted from the quick switches, first from the temple to the garden, then from the steps of the dais to Alex’s SR room. Fighting the disoriented overwhelm of waking in a relatively unfamiliar place yet again, the implications of his arrival in the real world sunk in.

“Why am I here? I didn’t get eliminated.” He rubbed the base of his skull where the implant hurt. “And why here and not the lobby?”

Alex’s voice came from the speakers in the ceiling. “Dokutan has a hard line against cheating. They found two players in your match using stamina and timing auto-routines.”

He nodded. “Okay. So…”

“They abruptly shut down the tournament. They’d have just booted the one if there were only one, but with two, it screws up the entire match too much. The two cheating players had eliminated opponents who probably wouldn’t have been defeated otherwise.”

He raised a hand in a ‘hold up’ gesture. “If the tournament’s cancelled, then what about—”

“Tomorrow. The two cheaters have been banned, but everyone else gets a fresh start. Same time tomorrow.”

Rick’s stomach felt empty, and he held his breath a moment. “The bets?”

“They won’t recalculate based on performance in the game if that’s you worry. Any odds-making based on that match got totally fucked by the cheaters. Look, there’s a good reason I don’t even try the low-level game enhancements like communication and whatnot—the organizers hate it, Dokutan hates it, and the other players hate it, which is why I didn’t enter the tournament. Without an elaborate strategy or communication assistance in-game, I can’t really help you.”

He let out a relieved laugh. “So…”

“So we get another shot at this.” Her voice was chipper, but it soured. “What the absolute fuck were you doing in that temple?”

He shrugged. “Thought it was a shortcut, and I found a Halo Boost cache on the path down there. I just thought—”

“Are you magnetically drawn to the hardest shit in the game? That’s elite-level, top-rank content.”

“Then why is it in the game at low rank?” He shook his head.

“And you didn’t notice they were outlined in red when you first saw them? What did you think that was supposed to indicate?”

“I…” He had noticed the outlines. “I figured it was just part of the bot characters’ design.”

“Jesus Christ, Rick, didn’t you ever play an MMO, like in high school or whatever? Those are elites. It’s not that you couldn’t have beaten them, but you’d need to fight, like, flawlessly. I thought for certain they’d got you at the end of the hallway, because you disappeared.”

He shook his head. “I never played those kinds of games. We didn’t…” He sighed. “I wasn’t born in California. We immigrated from the Western Republic when I was thirteen, and we were migrant workers for almost a decade before they accepted us and we got the implants. My old man pushed me into fighting when I got tall enough to be imposing, and… I didn’t have much time for…” He struggled for the words. He hadn’t thought of his parents or childhood in nearly a decade.

There was the total silence that indicated Alex had used her mute button, then, “That… explains some things.”

“I used to play bootleg flatscreen stuff—broke-as-fuck fighting games with controllers and arcade sticks, and three-dimensional shooters with game pads, because the Western Republic bans—”

“AR and VR tech, yeah,” Alex finished.

When the former United States split into four separate nations, Rick’s family had been unlucky enough to live within the religious dictatorship of the Western Republic. It had been an entirely different life, and one he rarely thought about anymore.

“So yeah. I don’t know as much as a kid who grew up here.” He winced. Admitting he’d been an immigrant always made him feel like a second-class citizen in the Nation of California, and it had been a big part of why Kristina’s family hadn’t liked him.

Alex said, “Okay then. In the future, if it looks like you’re biting off more than you can chew, assume you are. I can’t help you if you stick your cock in every bee’s nest that comes along.”

He nodded. “Tomorrow, then?”

“Yeah. Get some sleep. Try not to get on the bad side of that tyrant you live with, eh?”

Rick sighed. There was no way for Alex to understand his relationship with his wife. Each marriage he’d seen had been a thing unto itself, with its own logic and its own compromises. “I assume you’ve never been married.”

Alex’s laughter followed him to the door, after which she said, “Take care of yourself. We have one more shot at this. Don’t ever make the same mistake twice, and we might have a chance at this.”

He turned. “Why are you helping me, Alex?”

“I told you, I need to prove—”

“The real reason.”

She sighed. “I don’t like bullies, Rick. Never have.”

He nodded, then opened the door to leave.

********************************************

Kristina-Anne was waiting for him when he got home, but her face expressed happiness to see him.

If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

She gave him a concerned look that made him wonder how exhausted he looked.

“Did you win?”

“Tourney got called. Cheaters.” He hung his hoodie on a hook by the door. “Get another shot tomorrow, though.” He tried to keep the anxiety out of his voice and expression.

She smiled. “Hungry?”

He put his hand on his stomach and nodded. “Like I’ve never tasted food.”

She took his hand and led him to the kitchen. “I made egg salad. Want a sandwich?”

He sat heavily on a stool at the kitchen table. “I’d love that.”

As she got the food from the refrigerator, the asked, “This girl, Alex? She’s really helping you—helping us? She doesn’t want anything in return?”

He shrugged. “She probably wants her seed money for the wager back, but I think she’s just pissed at Hector.”

Kristina laughed. “Can’t imagine why.” She’d never met the man, but Rick had shared his assessment of his boss with his wife, and because he’d told the truth, the impression he’d given her was likely not a good one.

She passed him the sandwich on a plate. “If she doesn’t like Hector, I guess that’s a point in her favor.”

He gazed at her. “Didn’t know you had a problem with Hector.” He frowned. “Not that you got it wrong.”

“I only know what you tell me, but you’re not a complainer, honey. If you’ve got a problem with him bad enough to mention it, there’s probably a lot not to like.” She frowned. “And he did fire you.”

Rick nodded and bit into his sandwich. Hunger hit him like a punch in the gut. He hadn’t realized how famished he’d been until he’d tasted the food. “Hmmm…”

Kristina put her hand on his shoulder. “It’s nice seeing you happy.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. Since you’ve been doing this video game shit, you’re… different.”

“Different good?”

She smiled. “I have a favor to ask.”

He was glad the sandwich hid his smile. With a mouth half full of food, he asked, “That right?”

She sighed and sat next to him. “The therapy’s helping.”

He nodded.

“And they think maybe if they could work with us together…”

He grimaced. “Oh God, honey”—he pointed to his head—“they start poking around up here, they’re gonna throw me in the bin.”

She smirked. “Might do ya good if they did.”

He rolled his eyes. “When?”

“The bin? I don’t think they let you choose, they just…” She shrugged.

He laughed. “I mean when do you need me to show up?”

She grasped his hand. “It’s more than showing up, Rick. You’re gonna have to talk about stuff. Difficult stuff.”

“In prison—”

“It’s not like that, baby. Not at all.”

He frowned and ate another bite, then said, “Okay.”

She gripped his hands in hers and the look on her face was one of gratitude. “Thank you, honey. I know you don’t feel comfortable around shrinks—”

He motioned like he was about to interrupt, but she didn’t let him.

“I know, honey, I know.” She kissed his hand. “Want another sandwich?”

Rick looked at his plate and his eyes were wide. He’d eaten the whole thing already. “Uh, yeah. I can’t believe how hungry I am.” He rubbed the back of his head. His implant ached again.

She practically jumped from her seat. He marveled at her enthusiasm. Maybe the doctor was right. He hadn’t seen her so hopeful in… he didn’t remember how long. He squinted. “Is it just talk therapy?”

“For me?”

He nodded. “Yeah.”

“No, there’s a machine.” She tapped the implant port at the back of her head. “They hook me up and run diagnostics, but also some light and sound programs. It’s kind of trippy. I leave the office feeling sort of high.”

Wow. Was it working already? “And it’s really free?”

She nodded.

Something useful for free in the Nation of California? Where you have to pay just to use a toilet? He grunted, but forgot his doubt when she placed another sandwich in front of him. His stomach rumbled.

He wolfed down half the sandwich in one extended bite. When she left for the living room and came back with an open sketchbook, he almost choked on his food. He hurriedly gulped the rest down.. “You’re drawing again?”

She nodded. “I’m out of practice—”

He reached for her hand. “Nonsense.” His breath caught when he examined the drawing.

If it wasn’t a portrait of Ditto, it was close enough. Cautiously, he asked, “Is that someone you know?”

She shook her head. “No, but you know how I just get”—she winced as if struggling to find the words—“these images? This guy’s come up in a lot of my work with the therapist. Why, do you know him?”

He slowly shook his head. “No.”

She flipped a page and showed him another drawing, this one a stylized depiction of a flower with fangs devouring a cloud.

He stared at her blankly, his mind still on the previous sketch.

“You don’t like it?”

He snapped back to attention and smiled. “I love it.” He put his sandwich back on the plate. “It’s just the other drawing… something about it.”

“Yeah, he’s got compelling features, that’s for sure.”

Rick opened his mouth, but stopped himself before he could remark about Ditto’s voice and uncanny laugh. “Yeah, he sure does. That face stays with you, y’know?” An AI bot invading my wife’s dreams is totally normal. He swallowed.

She smiled. “Therapy’s unlocking all this stuff. I have no idea what most of it means.”

Her smile melted his anxiety. “Whatever makes you this excited, I’m in favor of that.” He frowned. “There’s really no charge?”

“No, and they paid the hospital bills, too.”

Rick winced, like someone had cut him. “That’s… that’s great.”

“Don’t be like that,” she said. “It’ll go a long way toward clearing up our credit, and we need that if we ever want to get out of”—she waved her arm to indicate the apartment, and maybe the neighborhood—“this place.”

“Working on it.”

She sighed and squeezed his hand. “Everyone needs help now and again, Rick.”

“Yeah,” he said. “I just don’t believe anyone does that sort of shit for free, honey.”

The picture of Ditto’s face entered his mind again. At least with Hector, Rick knew the cost of his help from the start.

Rick took a contemplative bite of his sandwich to stop himself saying anything about his fears. Even if Kristina was improving, and one good day was hardly conclusive proof of that, he’d need to carry these burdens alone a while longer.

He finished the sandwich. “You mind if I take a shower and have a nap? The game takes a lot out of me.”

She nodded. “Yeah. I’m gonna draw awhile.” She leaned in and kissed him.

Rick’s eyes went wide at how passionate it was. Restraint. She’s still not okay. He stood and headed for the shower before he could act on what he felt.

Twenty minutes later, after taking care of the urgency Kristina’s kiss had inspired, he was shaving when he nearly dropped his razor.

In the mirror, he could have sworn he saw his avatar’s face looking back at him for a brief moment. He gasped and it was gone, the idealized version of himself disappearing and displaying his honest visage, the one with the crooked nose and tired eyes.

What the hell? He stared, waiting to see if it would happen again.

“Honey?” Kristina called from outside the door. “You gonna be much longer? I need to pee.”

He shook himself from his fascination and hastily finished shaving. He couldn’t pull his gaze from the mirror. Am I nuts?

His ribs, still sore from the robbery two weeks prior, ached when he lay down. The time he’d spent in simulation had been a welcome respite from the pain, and the ache had become less and less sharp with every passing day.

His exhaustion, however, had gotten worse, as had the ache at the base of his skull near the implant. The tiredness was enough to conquer the pain, however, and within minutes, he drifted into a midday nap after setting an alarm on his phone so he wouldn’t sleep through the tournament.

When he woke, it was dark, and his phone read 4:22 a.m. Kristina-Anne lay next to him, still but for her breathing. Quietly, he rose and dressed, closing the door gently behind him before trekking to the kitchen.

Though his brain was still booting up, an anxious feeling gripped him. Kristina’s warmth earlier had only made his need to preserve their future more important.

On bare feet in the kitchen, he felt like a man at a great height. He’d dreamt all night that someone unseen had thrown him out of airplanes and off cliffs, and the image had stayed with him.

He reached for a beer and sat at the AR array, but when he tried to hook up, the pain was more than he was willing to face. Instead, he took the beer to the sofa and searched his phone for more info about the re-scheduled tournament.

That took less than five minutes, after which he placed his phone face-down on the couch cushion. His hand brushed against something in the dark—Kristina’s sketchbook. He reached over and tapped the base of the lamp to turn it on, then thumbed through the pages of drawings.

He stopped again on the portrait she’d drawn of Ditto, then sighed. In a low whisper, he said, “Ditto? You there?”

There was no reply. He frowned and drank his beer, letting his thoughts drift as his wife’s drawings pulled his mind to and fro. By the time the sun had risen, he was on his fourth beer and the pain of the implant wasn’t so bad.