As Worlds Drifted Page 5

  "It's OK, worlds are intersecting," Nick tried as he gathered Dorito bags and Bawls in the kitchen. "It's a good thing."

  "It is not OK… it is horrible and unforgivable."

  “What the f, Lil! You were supposed to cover me. What's going on?" Nick said next to me, while George and Jamaal sat directly opposite, facing us behind their monitors. We had lost the first two rounds—badly—and it was my fault.

  That introduction earlier had jarred me, I couldn't shake my sense of guilt. I was stuck in the real world and couldn't let myself immerse into Alphacore's soothing digital embrace. I shut my eyes and tried to go back to a different time, on the water, skimming across the waves with my dad laughing and shouting by my side. The boat's hull smattering against the chop as we flew together across the bay. The smell of salt and musty seaweed singed my nostrils and made my synapsis sparkle. They took this from him. They took this from me.

  "Lil," I opened my eyes to see a worried Nick glancing over at me. "It's time for the next round, do you need a minute?"

  "No, I'm good,” I said, gritting my teeth. “Sorry about earlier.” I let my anger transform me into what I needed to be—a vehicle of destruction. “Let's own these mothers."

  We started killing it. Nick and I worked in harmony as Nuffian, in fatigues, combat boots, and a red bandana, and Luna, in her matching red sneakers, pigtails, and leather football helmet, danced through the crumbling cityscape that was our battlefield, making mince-meat of Girth and Jarno, one head-shot, one critical hit at a time. Girth looked a lot like a darker version of Chewbacca, with black fur and a bullet strap. Jarno was a battle-ready Samurai, with a helmet, mask, ornate chest armor, and skirt.

  “Two for two," George grunted as he took off his headset and wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. "I don't know what just happened, but it must be my keyboard, the keys are sticky, I must have spilled some Jolt on them or something."

  "Nick, man, your shitty connection is just lagging up my play," Jamaal tried. "Honestly, I don't know how you live with yourself. You need a serious upgrade"

  Nick grinned, shaking his head, "Last round. You acorn heads ready?"

  My brain crackled and a sense of euphoria radiated out from the pit of my stomach all the way to my fingertips. As these fingertips delivered unholy vengeance on Girth and Jarno, I felt something I hadn't felt in a long time. It wasn't happiness, no, but a reminder of its possibility.

  It was all over now. "Well, well, well, just looking at your pathetic sweaty selves, it seems pretty clear that we have a verdict," Nick said, pushing back his headset and turning to me. "Welcome to the team!"

  I grabbed his stretched-out hand and we had a celebratory shake. In my state of euphoria, I thought for a second that a hug would be appropriate.

  George and Jamaal were in shock, hardly expecting to be crushed by a girl, let alone a totally stuck-up newbie like me. They tried to suck it up. "Yeah, welcome to the team," George said, sending me a nod.

  "Glad to have you," Jamaal tried.

  The Good Raid

  Tristan glanced over at Maria seated on the sideboard opposite him as she fastened a badge to her jacket and adjusted her baseball cap, both with the letters F-B-I on them. Maria was one of the few people he actually liked at his new gig—that baseball cap didn't make him like her any less.

  Over the com radio, they heard, "Two minutes and counting."

  "Copy that," Frank replied. Frank was no more than 25 years old, yet he had a full grizzly bear of a beard. The bureau had been forced to relax facial hair rules in order to recruit the younger set—a nice Magnum PI duster, maybe, but this was ridiculous. "This better not be a PTA bake sale we're busting up, Casco," the bearded one continued.

  "Speak for yourself, I wouldn't mind some homemade rice crispy treats just about now," Maria retorted.

  They fell silent. Tristan held his Glock with both hands pointed down between his legs and pulled the slide to chamber a round. He leaned his head back and closed his eyes and breathed. Then, from the radio, "It's a go, go, go!" The van lurched and he grabbed onto the strap as the van screeched around a corner and slid to a halt. The door pushed open and the team spilled out onto the Chinatown sidewalk just outside Kung Paos Chicken Delight. With them were a couple of ICE agents, but they held back.

  Guns drawn, Tristan, Maria, and Frank rushed past the relatively unperturbed restaurant customers seated in their booths, wolfing down the all-you-can-eat buffet. They headed straight for the backdoor and out into an alleyway. Tristan could see rows of caged chickens lining one wall—hardly up to code.

  They stopped at a nondescript door on the other side of the alleyway. It was locked. Tristan placed a couple of charges on the hinges and another one by the lock.

  "Couldn't we just knock?" Frank asked, the geek inside him talking.

  “This is a no-knock warrant. Take cover," Tristan said as he pushed the firing pin, and the door blew off its hinges, hit the wall behind them, and clattered to the ground. He rushed through the door, Glock in hand, and yelled, "FBI, everybody down, everybody down!"

  "Nobody move, you are safe now!" Maria yelled as she ran in after Tristan.

  "Jesus," Frank said as they took in the scene before them. Some bare lightbulbs dotted the ceiling, not providing much light or comfort. The main floor was packed with what must be at least 50 computer stations in several rows, all up and running.

  "Police! Down on the floor! On the floor! Now!" Maria ordered as dozens of emaciated hollow-eyed faces turned from their screens. Some continued to work away at their computers as if in a trance.

  In the far corner, Tristan spotted an elevated glass-enclosed control booth. Inside the booth stood an Asian guy with a tattoo on his neck, a cigarette in his mouth, and a smirk on his face.

  Tristan pointed his Glock towards the booth and yelled, "Hands in the air!" The guy ignored him and reached for something on his desk. Tristan fired three shots into the booth, sending glass flying as the walls collapsed. Now the guy raised his hands with the smirk conveniently wiped off his face.

  Maria lunged up the stairs to the booth, pushed the guy face-down on the desk, and cuffed him, "You have the right to remain silent."

  Tristan holstered his Glock and scanned the room. Over in the far corner, steel-framed bunk beds lined one of the walls. As he approached, he saw some movement in one of the beds. Oh shit. "We need medics here!" he barked as he knelt down next to the bed. A young girl, who couldn't be much older than his own daughter, lay emaciated and barely responsive. He felt the girl’s neck. "She's got a pulse, barely," he shouted. He took her hand, "It's all gonna be alright," he said softly, “it’s gonna be alright.”

  This was the fourth Alphacore sweatshop they had busted this year. Indentured illegal immigrants, mostly from East and South-East Asia, were forced into slave-like conditions to play endless hours of Alphacore. The smugglers could then monetize the gains in Alphacore into real-life currency. But this was the first time they had come across misery on this scale, with an immigrant on the brink of death. Tristan could feel his jaw tighten. He thought of his daughter, Charlie.

  As Maria came to the girl's side, Tristan stood up and saw how some cops led the tattooed guy out of the room and into the alley. Tristan ran, as best he could with his damned leg, after them. He caught up with them in the alleyway. "Wait up!" he shouted. "I can take him from here." The cops stopped, and with knowing glances, handed the guy to Tristan. Tristan grabbed the guy by the arm, the guy’s hands still cuffed behind his back, and proceeded to lead him towards the restaurant’s backdoor.

  "So, you employ kids now?" Tristan growled.

  "Hah, that one was too ugly to sell to the johns," the guy said with that damn smirk returning to his face.

  Tristan grabbed the restaurant door as if to open it, but he didn't. He just kept walking the guy right towards the brick wall next to the door. A loud smack as the guy's face collided with the bricks. He groaned as the cracked nose released a tidal wave of bloo
d.

  "Christ, be careful," Tristan said calmly. He leaned in close, and in a near whisper, said, "Look who's too ugly for the johns now."

  Broccoli

  Moonlight tapped on my curtains. I thought of my dad, who used to tuck me in as a kid, and as we lay in my bed, we could often see the moon through my window. If the moon was out, I insisted on having the window open no matter what the outside temperature was. Dad took to calling me Luna, a roman moon goddess. "My Luna," he used to say.

  My mom's door at the end of the hallway was closed as it was most of the time these days. I had a feeling that maybe I should go and knock on the door, see if she was alright, maybe step up and be the grown-up in the family. Instead, I chose the path of least resistance.

  Sleep felt far away, with the adrenalin from the battles still coursing through me. I booted up the game, put on the headset, and flipped down the visor. My senses were immediately flooded by a digital tidal wave as the real world, with my mom in it, ebbed, and I entered Alphacore.

  Now that I had my own rig, I saw less of Nick in real life, but more of him in Alphacore. Nick assured me that I had a standing dinner invitation, and I took him for his word, joining his family for dinner every so often.

  Just Regular Noobs met up in Alphacore for nightly training sessions ahead of the biggest, I was assured, Alphacore tournament in the world. It was sweet, in a way, how seriously the guys took their training, I could not help but be drawn in. Next Saturday, the four of us would be heading to San Francisco with all our gear in tow—it was a Bring-Your-Own-Computer event. We needed to practice, no time for distractions.

  Nuffian and I were the first to spawn in.

  "How are you?" he asked.

  "Fine. Why?"

  "Just checking."

  Girth and Jarno spawned in and we stopped talking.

  Without even bothering to say hello, Girth walked up to me and said, "Hit me."

  "What?”

  "Hit me!"

  "Whatever," I said as I pulled out my 44 Magnum, pointed it at Girth's face, and pulled the trigger.

  "Ahh!!" Girth yelled as his face contorted, "That was gnarly! I said hit me, not shoot me!"

  "You didn't specify what you wanted me to hit you with," I said matter-of-factly. "So, I hit you with a bullet."

  "What the hell is going on here!" our glorious team leader, Nuffian, interjected. "We need to stay mission-focused. We are supposed to be shooting at other people."

  "I just unboxed and installed my new visor, the Shock Feedback 2.6," Girth explained, unable to conceal his excitement. "This means, ladies and gentlemen, that whenever I get hit here in Alphacore, I get juice zapped to my temples out there, in real life."

  "Your parents are right," Jarno sighed. "You need to start thinking seriously about detox, after the tournament that is."

  "I like to make things real, and it's adaptive, which means the more damage, the higher the voltage," Girth continued. "Don't you get it? It will make me a better player."

  We were entering the battle zone and set to engage our next opponent, the team Demagogue42, in less than a minute.

  "Knowing you, your strategy will backfire as you become addicted to yet another vice, pain, and go out of your way to get your fix," Jarno chuckled.

  "What happens if you die?" I asked.

  "Alright, enough doping around. Tournament is next weekend. We have some tactics to work out." Nuffian took his role as de facto team leader seriously.

  "Beyond fear!" Nuffian shouted as he rushed to engage the enemy.

  "Beyond fear!" the rest of us shouted as we followed him with our battle cry.

  I had found a new home in Alphacore, as crazy as it sounds. A home where I was in control and where guilt ebbed. I could spend all my nights fighting in the battle zones. The adrenalin, the constant focus on the now, the rush of battle, the near-instant feedback and gratification, it was like the best drug ever invented. But I started to notice that my brain had trouble coping with the constant input of the battles. I started to forget things in the real world and sometimes felt like I was on a large rudderless ship at sea, powerless against the rolling ocean swells.

  Rather than cut back on Alphacore altogether, which would have meant spending more time in the real world than I wanted, and would have rendered my nights dreamless, I made sure to manage the time I spent battling. I was usually the first of the team to cut out for the night. At first, there was some grumbling, but as it became clear to all that the girl newbie had become the master, the most lethal killer on the team—not that the guys would ever admit it, their nerd pride being prohibitively strong—the complaining stopped. They could continue with their practice into the night without me.

  I spent the hours before going to bed, or falling asleep with my face on the keyboard, exploring Alphacore. The world outside the battle zones and cities was so vast that much of it had to be built using algorithms. Not half the programmers in China could build it manually. I had found a place where the algorithms seemed to have stretched their own limits, the colors, sounds, shapes, and pixels began to take on life itself, and a godlike presence made itself known. It was in the corner of this virtual world that I first met Broccoli. Turns out we both shared lost souls.

  That particular night, I left the guys to their battles and had just jumped off my vehicle, which happened to be a majestic white deer, Prancer, on the banks of a stream. Nick had, naturally, focused on battles and lethality when teaching me the Alphacore ropes. He had left out what must be the totally coolest thing about the whole damn game—you can ride the wildlife. I had discovered it purely by chance on one of my first outings with Luna.

  Water in these parts behaved differently. I could sit for what felt like hours by a stream and watch the waters break apart to reveal hints of their mathematical origins. That day, I was lost in my own thoughts when I heard a rustling in the undergrowth not 30 feet from me. It was at times like these that I wish the game designers had allowed killing everywhere in Alphacore. As it was, weapons were only activated in battle zones. My trigger-finger was itching to light up the bushes, but there wasn't much I could do other than flee or wait for whatever was coming my way. I opted for the latter. I had nowhere else to be and nothing to lose. I didn't have to wait long.

  "Seen any fish around here?" The voice came from behind me. I turned back around and on the other side of the stream, not more than 10 feet from me, stood a character right out of a Japanese cartoon. The pixels seemed to belong to another platform altogether. His colors were clearer, smoother, his eyes huge, his hair boyband fashionable, but fixed like a Donald.

  "Fish?"

  "Yeah, you know, if you put your hand in the water, you can sometimes catch one."

  "Who the hell are you, and why are you following me?"

  "Just a lost soul like you."

  "That answers my first question, what about the second one? Are you a pervert or stalker or something?"

  "I wouldn't call myself a pervert. I would chalk it up to happenstance."

  "Happenstance? No one has used that word, and I mean literally no one, since, like, before Jesus was born," I said, then stood up to leave. I hadn't traveled this far to talk to some damn stranger. If I wanted to do that, I would go to a real-life Starbucks or the bus stop near my house. "It's been a long day."

  "I understand," he said, suddenly looking pathetic and forlorn where he stood on the other side of the stream. "You know, sometimes... sometimes I wonder..."

  I whistled and my transportation came running, ready to whisk me away. I leaped onto Prancer and started off back towards the portal from where I came, about to leave the boy forever, but something made me stop. I turned the animal around to face him, "What?" I sighed.

  "Which is the real life? The one here, or the one outside?”

  "Uhh..."

  "Sometimes I'm not so sure anymore, they blur, I hardly know..."

  If there was one person in the whole world, both worlds, who should refrain from giving any
sort of advice to anyone, it would be me. "Seriously, I really am messed-up tired. I need to go rest in the other world," I said, more softly now, "whether it is the real one or not." Hardly believing what was coming out of my own mouth, I continued, "I'll be back here same time tomorrow, other world time."

  "Oh," he lifted his head and a faint smile appeared on his cartooned face.

  "What's your name?" I asked as my deer carried me off.

  “Broccoli... don’t ask.”

  "I'm Luna.”

  From Beyond the Grave

  From the comfort of my own bedroom, and with the computer Nick had made for me, I'd spent the past nights fighting battles alongside my new teammates. In many ways, it was just like any other sport—the more you practiced with the team, the more effective the team became. The team members find their place and build off each other's different strengths to form a cohesive deadly fighting machine. I still didn't have the manual dexterity and speed at the keyboard that the others had. What I did have, my singular strength, was my anger.

  It was morning, not sure of which day. My mother's door was closed as usual. I lay on my bed not sure whether to start up my computer or not. Alphacore scared me. Alphacore was seeping into my brain. I dreamt Alphacore, and even when awake, flashes of Alphacore could overwhelm my synapses. Nick, George, and Jamaal were at school, of course, but I could join other teams for practice skirmishes.

  I picked up the snow globe that I had thrown out the window just a few weeks ago. To think that I nearly destroyed the last thing my father ever gave me. I lay in bed holding it, feeling its heft. It would have killed Nick if I had hit him.

  I looked at it again. Something caught my eye. In the middle of the globe, the full moon seemed to hover in its own inertia. As I shook the globe, and the stars swirled, a shadow I'd never seen before appeared to float inside the moon. The shadow was rectangular, as though a piece of Lego or something was floating in the semi-translucent fluorescent liquid inside the moon itself. I thought back to when dad had given me the globe, a few hours before he died. Maybe he wasn't giving me the globe, maybe he was giving me what was inside the globe. I stood up, too jittery to lie down. I didn't know what to do. I needed to talk to someone. Funnily enough, I didn't even think of knocking on my mom's door. The first person I thought of was Nick.