A new flash fiction, inspired by the words Hotel, Pogo, and Glistening. The rain fell heavily, making a noise of exactly 62 decibels, according to the head’s up display that the computer that she was attached to provided. She looked around, already feeling the rain even though her true body was perfectly dry back in her office. She raised a hand to her ear (in reality, her headset) and spoke: “Control – this is Damson. I’m in and looking around.”
Damson dropped her hand back and glanced up and down the street. Cars moved, but distantly, and the Hotel Flamingo stood before her. It made sense that everybody would be inside – even if their true bodies were home and dry, the sensation of the cold and wet was still unpleasant. She raised her collar and crossed the glistening street to the hotel’s main entrance. She moved carefully – too many Virtual Agents made the mistake of thinking that this world was a game. Invariably, they either died or learned that they were mistaken. Damson had seen enough of both to take it more seriously. Whilst some worlds might just be games, or places where people could meet up, some servers were far more. This one was as dangerous as they came. The technology needed to enter the VirtualScape varied depending on the server requirements. This one required full immersion, which meant that the headset that she was wearing could cause psychosomatic responses in her body. Standing out in this virtual rain for too long would mean she caught a cold, even though her true body would remain dry. And getting shot could stop her heart. A part of her struggled to believe that these things had ever been invented. Surely, the real world was dangerous enough that coming into the VirtualScape should be a safe haven. However, somebody did develop it and then the controlled risks were considered exciting by a certain subset of society. Then the criminal gangs and other organisations got hold of it and started working here. And where the criminals worked, the police had to follow. Damson could hear music from within the hotel – not surprising. Not everybody who frequented a server like this would be a criminal – they would be here for the buzz of going somewhere they shouldn’t, somewhere dangerous, and they would enjoy a good party. Here, everything was cheap because there was no material cost, but the body could still become drunk. They could hook up with others with no risk of pregnancy – nobody had developed technology that could do that yet! According to their investigation to date, however, there was more going on inside the Flamingo. Whilst the bottom floors would be dedicated to parties and hook ups, the upper floors were occupied by a criminal organisation, the Thorn, that specialised in extorting people for information after abducting them in places like this – if they couldn’t move their hands, they couldn’t leave the VirtualScape. And once the server reset, there would be almost no evidence to be found. “Control – I’m about to enter the Flamingo,” she said again, holding her hand to her head. “Prepare to start the attack on my mark. Five. Four. Three. Two. One. Mark.” As she finished her count and lowered her hand, there was a flicker across the sky – barely visible through the rain, but she had known to look out for it. It was a calculated risk, but a cyber-attack on one of these servers could cause glitches which could prove helpful. Or disastrous. However, given that only she would know to look out for it, she should maintain the advantage. She moved in, dress flowing as she did, looking for all the world like just another person here for the party and the drinks. She smiled at people as she walked past, looking for signs of the glitches. People were dancing – or what they called dancing these days. Her display told her the names of them as she walked – flossing, pogoing, and various others that even her computer aided vision struggled to identify. Many people drinking at the bar. Unusual outfits – though not particularly unusual for the VirtualScape, given people could appear as anything they wanted here. She continued moving through, noting tv screens showing different things along one wall. One was a football match, one an old romantic comedy, one a reality tv-show, various other things. She stopped and looked at the last one – according to her display, it appeared to be a national pogo-stick championship. That was almost certainly part of the glitch – she couldn’t imagine anybody wanting to actually watch it. She kept going, seeing pictures on walls. Most of them were very artistic – it appeared the virtual architect had worked to make this place fairly similar to the real Hotel Flamingo. Some of them were very out of place – perhaps here due to partygoers adding them. An elephant balancing on a beach ball. A chimpanzee in a suit which her display identified as being a character from a comic book called the Umbrella Academy. Children flying kites. If the attack had worked, the glitch would be making things from people’s subconsciouses appear. Sometimes that was helpful, but only if you could identify the patterns and work out what they were. She kept moving through the foyer, avoiding dancers as best she could, looking like she belonged here. In fact, looking like she belonged upstairs. She reached an elevator and pushed a button. The doors slid open, revealing a man in a suit. He looked very out of place amongst the fancy dresses and other outfits of the partiers, not just for his attire, but for his expression. This was a face, Damson reckoned, that rarely smiled. He looked her up and down and then said one simple word. “Password?” She thought back to what she had seen, allowing her display to review some parts of it, seeking a pattern. If there was a password, it would be on a great many people’s minds, and the glitch should have shown it up. She stepped into the elevator, making a guess. “Pogo.” The man pressed a button – up to the penthouse. It seemed she had gotten it right. “Any trouble?” she tried, whilst waiting for the elevator to reach the top. The man shook his head. “Nothing. We’ve got the kid upstairs, but he’s not started talking yet.” Damson nodded, hiding any expression of sympathy for the young man. Her people had already found his true body which was how they had been able to track his virtual self to the Flamingo. However, they couldn’t just remove the headset – otherwise the synaptic shock might kill him anyway, or at the least do considerable damage to his brain. Probably repairable damage. Probably. This was the kind of thing she specialised in – getting in, using the VirtualScape to her advantage, and getting people to the point where they could trigger the exit procedure themselves. “Damson,” came a voice in her eat. Control. They were actually communicating with her true body, so there was no danger of the man in the elevator with her hearing it. The same couldn’t be said of any replies though. “Our people on the ground confirm that Mr Salatio has been tortured – his true body has responded to their actions in the VirtualScape. Medics are working on him, but he can’t take much more punishment.” “Understood,” she replied. The man with her nodded, assuming the response was to him. As the elevator climbed the last few floors she crouched, as if to tie a bootlace. The man looked down at her to see what she was doing but was still surprised when she surged to her feet, a fist pointed upwards, taking him directly in the chin. His head snapped back and he fell, unconscious, to the elevator floor. The elevator made a soft sound as it reached the top floor, and then the door started to slide open. She was moving as soon as she could slip through the cracks. No time now for pretence – she had to move and move quickly. Her virtual self was far stronger and quicker than her true body, but the same would be true of the criminals in the room. She moved her head quickly as she moved, taking in the surroundings. The young man – Mr Salatio – was tied to a chair, looking very much the worse for wear. He was surrounded by four men, all wearing suits that matched the one that the man in the elevator had been wearing. An additional man was falling back from the chair, having been the one facing the elevator. He had already pulled some kind of gun, and was shooting, but the bullets only left trails in the wall that showed where she had been. His suit was different – pinstripe, where the others were plainer. He was probably in charge. She ran up the wall, his bullets trailing her still and dropped down behind him, pulling a knife as she moved and putting it to his neck. “Time to call it a day, sugar,” she said, her words dripping with honey. “You’ve clearly had some fun, but I’m here for the boy. I’ll kill you if I have to, but if you drop your weapon and you and your thugs leave the ‘Scape, I’ll just take him and go.” She’d like to be able to take them all in, and her headset was already reaching out those that the criminals were wearing, trying to analyse their signals and work out where their true bodies were. Maybe they would get people to them in time. “You know it makes sense.” He nodded carefully, dropping his gun. The men around her all lifted their hands to their heads, pressing the buttons in the real world that would disconnect them from this virtual world. It was only a few moments before she was along with Salatio. “Control – we’re alone. Lock down the server.” To her vision a red glow started to permeate everything, showing that nobody could enter the server. The lockdown wouldn’t last long, but it should be long enough. She moved to the man – boy really – and untied his ropes. “My name is Damson, and I’m with the Virtual Agents. Nod if you can understand me.” He nodded. “I need you to disconnect from the ‘Scape. There are medics and more of my people waiting for you to wake up.” He nodded again and tried to lift his arms. She saw that they had been badly damaged by the escaping members of the Thorn. She took his hands in her own and lifted them to his head. He gave one final nod of gratitude and disappeared as he was able to disconnect. Job done, and hopefully the analysis that her computer had been able to do would lead Control to capture the criminals as well. Either way, the important part was done. She started to look around, taking advantage of the lockdown – when the server reset, any evidence here would be gone.
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Flash FictionSome shorter fiction, usually based on some kind of challenge. Archives
October 2021
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