Loaded, Virtual Insanity - Projects To Print · Loaded, Virtual Insanity D M Clucas Esprit n. wit; vivacity; quick intelligence. Blurb… Teen geniuses, Esprit and Spencer, have become

Loaded, Virtual Insanity

D M Clucas

Esprit

n. wit; vivacity; quick intelligence.

Blurb…

Teen geniuses, Esprit and Spencer, have become gazillionaires after uploading their virtual

reality game. Its artificial intelligence is out of control and doctors are sending thousands of

gamers to asylums. While they deal with that disaster, bullies, thieves, and conniving leaches

are salivating like hounds on a hunt as they anticipate cashing in on the pair’s success. But

they will soon experience the sting of Esprit’s wicked sense of humour.

Copyright © 2019 by Donald M. Clucas

All rights reserved

This is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or

locales is purely coincidental. The author does not aim to teach the reader business methods.

The characters are productions of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously.

1.

[What the?]

Zerox’s day hadn’t improved since seven of her customers had been slaughtered. ‘This is

ridiculous,’ she yelled while dragging a scientist over jungle roots. The other surviving

customer dripped with sweat. ‘It’s cunning. It’s herding us toward that valley. We need a

vine, or something, to climb the cliffs.’ She gave her assistant, Ibemme, a drilling stare, he

whimpered then jumped as the creature smashed a tree to a thousand splinters. A roar from

another beast caused the lush leaf canopy to shiver; frightening flocks of genetically

engineered birds to the safety of the still evening air.

Park Ranger Zerox stopped to assess their options. Hoping for ideas from the others, she

thought aloud, ‘There’s two travadors, the valley walls are too steep to climb, and we can’t

go back-.’

‘I’m going to die.’ Ibemme grizzled. Zerox couldn’t deny the likelihood after the day’s

carnage.

[How was I assigned such a wimp?]

‘Try behaving as a man and protect us!’ Zerox ordered.

She saw their opportunity when they broke out of the bush. Punching the air she shouted,

‘We will survive and I will win.’ The thick jungle behind them transitioned to a field of waist

high grass and a hundred metres across the grassland stood a pillar of stone. With a flat top

several metres across and twenty metres high, it had craggy rock faces with tortured trees

gripping into its cracks. ‘It’ll be a difficult climb for us but impossible for the fat travapods.’

‘When did that happen?’ Zerox asked. The female customer looked at her blood soaked khaki

pants. She shrugged and her face turned ashen. A red river flowed over her tramping boots

and she left a trail of small red pools as she walked.

[Now that’s weird.]

A sonic boom ripped trees from the ground and knocked her customers off their feet. Seconds

later a white cloud mushroomed from a nearby mountain and rivers of red hot lava flowed

down the snow-covered peak. Earthquakes caused the earth to roll and trees to quiver.

‘Flat pack!’ Zerox yelled and they all flattened themselves on the ground. Fireballs of molten

rock rained around them, spraying white hot skin rupturing blobs of lava from the impacts.

[A volcano too?]

A rhythmic throb became mingled with the crashes, roars, and explosions. ‘That can only

come from a machine. Zerox to Rescue Two.’

‘Heliojet Two Responding.’

‘Your time to my location? We need extraction now.’

‘Roger that, we’re going supersonic. Be there in, argh, two minutes twenty-five.’

‘Make that one minute twenty-five or you’ll be picking up flesh stripped carcasses. Go

hypersonic.’

‘But the jet engines are rated for only fifty seconds at hypersonic speed.’

‘Do it!’ Within a millisecond Zerox had processed her new options. ‘Lift three survivors from

the rock plateau one-hundred metres north-east of my location.’

‘Roger that. Rock sighted.’ The high pitch roar of the aircraft’s over-speeding engines

accompanied the beat of its copter blades.

‘We can’t escape by land,’ Zerox told the party, ‘you can survive by using air extraction from

this hell.’ She ordered to her two customers and Ibemme, ‘Evac, one-minute-thirty from that

rock.’ She watched them stand still for several seconds. Don’t stand there. Go!’ She gave a

demanding arm gesture and otherwise didn’t move. Her customers returned a questioning

look. ‘I’ll stay to cover your escape.’

On tarmac the dash to the rock would take a fit human, maybe, twenty-five seconds. But the

grass was thick and tall. Like wading through waist deep water, it would soak their energy,

increasing the time by a minute or more. But for their house tall hunters, with a pair of

kangaroo like legs, they’d take only a few seconds.

They stood fast, reluctant to leave the protection offered by their ranger. Zerox explained, ‘If

I distract the travapods you might have a chance. But pray there are no other carnivores or

venomous snakes lurking in the grass.’

She pulled a pathetic little dart gun from her hip holster. Her nine customers laughed with

disbelief when they first saw it. They had hoped for an elephant gun or RPG, at least. Having

been outsmarted, paralysing them with tranquillisers was her only option. She refused lethal

weapons on the genetically engineered animal park because a beast’s egg cost several million

dollars and they took ten years to hatch and grow. From the day’s carnage of seven customers

the lawsuits will cost her more than a hundred million. If well aimed, the paralysing liquid

was potent enough to bring down the park’s biggest beast within seconds; it was a genetic

feature she built into their DNA. But poorly aimed shots wasted six of her eight darts. Now

she wished she had added a bomb in their brain to explode their head by a remote command.

Zerox looked for her three survivors in the field but saw they still hadn’t moved from the

jungle’s edge. To them it was suicide to leave the trees where at least they could hide. She

yelled, ‘Haven’t you learnt anything today? I have two darts; they may be enough to bring

down one, but two? I don’t know. Don’t think, run!’

[Why are they becoming so stupid?]

Using most of her remaining energy, Zerox grabbed the one with the gash and pushed her

toward the field. Droplets of blood stuck to the grass. The other customer dived back into the

bush.

Adrenalin shakes hijacked Zerox’s control of her gloved hands. The dart slipped through her

trembling fingers. As she fumbled the first beast closed in, snapping torso sized tree trunks as

if they were twigs. The other caused tree tops less than fifty metres away to shake. She

searched. Faster, Stupid. Where is it? She popped up her head and scanned her surroundings

to check her customers, Ibemme didn’t matter, he was expendable. One was limping across

the field and the other was out of sight.

A spark of light reflected off the metallic tip of the dart. Stiff grass leaves held it off the

ground. Intensely concentrating on the job, she controlled her fingers and slipped the dart into

the weapon. About twenty steps toward the rock she turned then knelt. With both hands

steadying the weapon, she aimed into the trees where she thought the first beast would exit.

‘If I shoot the first,’ Zerox whispered to herself, ‘there might be time to reload. Risky, but

what choice do I have? No choice.’ Hearing her voice gave little comfort this time.

She looked for evidence of other creatures approaching, moving tree tops, escaping birds or

smaller terrified creatures leaving the jungle. There was none. ‘Argghh.’ She leapt away from

a falling tree, just avoiding a lashing branch. A female travapod broke out. It stood as tall as a

two-storey house. Globules of blood red saliva dripped from its mouth and thick oily slime

kept its mane in place. It gnarled spear sharp teeth at her and wrung pathetic silver arms. On a

second set of arms, razor sharp talons sliced through the air.

From the corner of her eye she caught sight of a three metre wide bird of prey soaring

overhead. ‘Great.’ Almost flipping over, it made a twisting turn to begin its snatch and kill

dive toward her. But it miscalculated the speed of the female travapod who wouldn’t share

juicy Zerox. It snapped and caught the tip of the wing. The bird let out a screeching death cry

as the travapod thrashed the predator against a tree. Twitching as it fell, it landed lifeless. The

beast didn’t stop to eat the feather coated skeleton, it’d wait; the blood filled mammal was far

more appetising.

‘Damn. That was expensive.’ Her view blurred. She took her hand from the gun and swept it

across her brow to divert a stream of sweat away from her eyes.

The male customer was still hiding in the trees. He saw Zerox had no chance unless he

distracted the slimy beast. All she needed was several seconds. He jumped out of his hiding

place and threw a large stick at the monster. ‘AAARRRRHHHHHH.’ It missed by a few

metres but the movement and noise did the job.

‘Don’t be a fool. Run!’ Zerox yelled.

The travapod turned its attention to him. Realising his mistake he ran back to the trees and

made a pathetic attempt to hide. The travapod with its size, power, and speed closed the gap

with only a few ground shaking hops. Using its jaws it plucked away the man’s protective

tree as effortlessly as pulling a loose weed.

Zerox’s customer was exposed and the monster was too far away for her dart. She waved her

hands in the air. ‘Over here. Over here.’ There was nothing else she could do.

Like a water balloon delivering its load, blood exploded from the man’s torso between the

massive jaws. She watched a lump travel down the neck of the beast as the man’s limp body

slid head first.

The beast returned its attention to Zerox who was wading through the grass. There was

another splintering of trees and a male travapod broke out. The female gave a throaty roar.

Both moved toward Zerox. The female let out another defiant roar but the male ignored her

and kept coming. Stunned by the spectacle, Zerox froze. The female snapped at the male but

he moved away just in time to escape the powerful jaws. The heavy head overshot her target.

She attempted to bring the mass back but was too slow. The male saw his opportunity and

didn’t hesitate. Its teeth tore off one of the female’s deadly arms then he took her by the

throat and twisted. Slicing small trees off at their base, her tail acted as a scythe cutting

wheat. The male repositioned his bite, bones crunched as teeth caught her spine. He snapped

the neck with another violent twist. The female flopped limp, slumped, and fell in a heap.

‘Damn. That’s fifteen million dollars. This can’t happen. Impossible! I’m bankrupt.’

He returned to stalking Zerox. She steadied herself. It roared at her and the tall grass vibrated

to the low pitch thunder. With her dart pistol raised, ‘Closer, Daddy. Closer.’ The monster

looked at its prey using fist size brown eyes. His head cocked to the side as if examining a

prey too stupid to escape. Its movement offered her a perfect target on its neck. Zerox’s laser

sight lit up a red spot just below its jaw. An accurate shot to a main artery, so close to the

brain, would paralyse it in several seconds. At least that was what she told her assistant

during training. Anywhere else on its body it could take up to a minute on such a huge

animal. She’d be stewing in the beast’s stomach acids within that time. She squeezed the

trigger, the gas-propelled dart released. ‘Gotcha,’ Zerox yelled. The titanium tipped vial had

pierced the slime-coated skin and exploded its contents into an artery. The great hulk

stammered, gave Zerox a bewildered look, then fell in an uncontrolled heap. Its massive head

landed just a few metres from her. As it panted, puffs of its humid breath fogged in the cool

air.

While turning to make her own way to the rock, she ejected the spent cartridge from her gun

and loaded the last dart. Another eruption of rock and ash vented from the volcano. ‘Nooo.’

A white hot rock slammed into the approaching heliojet. Its fuel tanks exploded and rotor

blades boomeranged in all directions. Another shock wave and an accompanying earthquake

toppled over the stone pillar.

Never ready to give up, Zerox checked her surroundings for another opportunity. The leg

wounded woman was being torn apart by three baby travapods. Ibemme was wading toward

her pointing his arms in two directions, one to the bush from where a blonde furred bobacide

was waddling toward her. His other hand pointed to the sky. The terror-stricken face and

upward gesture could mean only one thing. Another bird of prey! Turning, she and saw a

massive set of black talons preparing to take her skull in their clutch. The bobacide was

further away. With no way to escape and no place to hide she hoped to stop the flying

creature with a precision shot. She released the dart but had misjudged the predator’s agility

and speed. It swooped and her last dart sailed through the air on a failed mission. No time, no

weapons and nothing else to do, she flat packed and prepared herself for the inevitable grip of

its talons. But, its swift manoeuvre to avoid the dart had put it off course and it missed her.

Zerox lifted herself and re-evaluated her status. She tried to move but a river of ants had

glued her foot to the ground with sticky clay. Others tore at her flesh and scurried it away to

their nest.

[That’s enough.]

‘Abort mission,’ Zerox yelled as a nuclear bomb exploded far away, the flash of light

temporarily blinded her. ‘Abort mission!’ Nothing changed, the horrors continued. ‘Abort

routine 563.’ No change. ‘Terminate Loaded rev.10.3 User authorisation 35-D87.’

The ants continued devouring her and more mutant animals of various shapes and sizes were

approaching from the woods. The bomb’s massive mushroom cloud was rising in the distance

and its two-hundred kilometre per hour dust storm was heading her way. Squawking buzzard

like birds circled overhead.

Before the ants reached her hands Zerox lifted them toward her eyes to resort to her ultimate

escape from the hell.

[‘Oh damn, we’re going down.’]

Whack.

2.

Esprit let out a shriek as the elbow of her half-brother, Travis, smacked the side of her head.

Her virtual reality contact lenses released from her eye-balls and flew across the room. The

sudden light change made her squint; she didn’t need to look to know who had caused the

well-timed end to her game. Adrenaline from the action scene was still coursing through her

veins as real sweat ran down her cheeks. She imagined how the next few seconds would play

out in a low budget action movie. Punch him in the gut to buckle him over and then knee him

in the face, sending him to the ground writhing with pain. It was fortunate that Esprit didn’t

need to resort to violence. She could do much better.

‘You wait; you’ll regret everything you’ve done,’ Esprit said then made a quick mental

calculation, adding one to a secret score.

‘Yeah, like a snotty-nosed mutant freak like you could scare me,’ Travis replied with a face

of pride, not fear.

Esprit smoothed back her shoulder length auburn hair, lodging it each side behind her ears.

‘You WILL regret the times you’ve been evil.’ She finished with an “oh, yes you will” smile.

Travis looked away, ‘Dinna’s on the table freak.’ Her bedroom door slammed.

‘Buzzzz.’ Esprit said before slipping off gloves and socks used to control the VR kit. She

looked toward a tattered unframed picture of her father on the wall. Sunlight, filtering

through dust coated windows, had faded it and released sticky putty holding a corner. She

made the same promise to him she had a hundred times. You gave in to their conniving

cruelty. I won’t! Travis and your ex will pay and they will pay with interest. ‘Next instalment

is almost due, Blow Fly.’ The thought brought a wicked grin. ‘You WILL regret.’ Her tablet

beeped, and the screen displayed “You are a pathetic loser, ha ha ha,” overtop a picture of

Zerox’s flesh bare skeleton standing in a field of burnt grass. The game has never done that.

We are so ruined.

She slipped a thin white glove onto her left hand. When on it shrunk to make a perfect fit to

her skin. She fumbled and found a different pair of contact lenses and stuck them to her eyes.

In an instant an augmented text notification was hovering in her left palm. It read, “No New

Messages.” She turned the hand over and admired a large stylised G on her latest device.

‘Skin,’ she commanded. The glove material turned transparent, leaving just the large

blue/green G visible on the back of her hand. ‘Aargh, technology,’ she said with satisfaction

and stroked her new aptly named Glove. Turning to her mirror, she slid her finger over the

invisible material and her contact lenses changed from calming hazel to blood red. Maybe

not.’ With another stroke her iris colour slid to light blue.

As she headed toward the kitchen, Esprit sniffed. ‘Great! Lamb roast left overs - again.’ The

store bought pre-made meal from a cardboard box was tasteless and after several reheats the

meat was rubbery. Travis was hoeing into his meal. With his plate full to the brim he thought

the pre-packaged slop standard food and enjoyed it. Esprit picked through the morsel he had

left her. It was a quarter of his, but she didn’t mind; a three course gourmet meal was being

prepared for her. She was only there to avoid suspicion.

Esprit flicked through her memories of the game. Why couldn’t I outsmart the travapod? And

why couldn’t I abort? The chaos engine must be out of control? She liked a mystery, a

challenge, but this had dire consequences. Lost in concentration, her face expression turned

blank.

Travis flicked a pea, it landed perfectly in Esprit’s ear. It was an easy target in her case. The

distraction snapped her from the daydream. She flicked the pea out, wriggled her finger in her

ear to wipe out the gravy smudge and added one again to the secret score. Immediate

retaliation, she had learnt, only enraged and encouraged Travis, but there was a limit. Her

Glove detected her fury and turned her contact lenses blood red while she glared at him. He

experienced a chill, a feeling that was becoming more frequent in recent weeks. His neck

hairs prickled. Esprit’s fiery eyes caused a shiver.

With a lunge across the table, Esprit had a handful of dried potato mash coated with a layer of

thick brown gloop. She massaged it into Travis’ coal black slimy hair then started on his pale

face, smearing the brown and white muck over him. She squeezed it into his ears and pushed

peas up his nose to look like green booger. Another pea hit the middle of Esprit’s forehead,

jumping her from another daydream. Argh the pleasure I’d feel. But more satisfying revenge

will wait. She made another mental calculation, again adding to the record of the times that

Travis had been cruel to her. It wouldn’t be long before the tally reached the ultimate score,

two thousand. Then the next period of punishment will begin. She was excited; this time it

had taken Travis just two months, a record. But she was baiting him now. Executing the next

period of punishment encouraged her to give Travis easy opportunities for his senseless and

spiteful behaviour.

Esprit felt a vibration on her left hand and her index finger flashed red. She cupped the hand

and a holographic image of her friend, Spencer, floated in her palm. A text balloon attached

to his mouth read, “Meet me @ the Cache @ 7. Urgent!” She hoped Travis would notice her

eye gaze dancing around her palm as she blinked out a reply on an augmented floating

keyboard. She looked toward the upper left and blinked twice. Her Glove sent the message.

Now more relaxed, her eyes returned to light blue. As wished, Travis took the bait.

‘One of your nerdy friends, huh? I keep telling ya, if ya keep hang’n round with dose pathetic

geeks you’ll never hook up with studs like me, especially with your freakish looks.’ Travis

pulled each of his ears with his thumbs and forefingers and gave them a wiggle.

What a relief, Esprit thought. She looked away and added two to her mental sum for the

insult made to her friend and reference to her ample perpendicular ears.

‘You’re so unlucky, Geek,’ Travis continued, ‘it amazes me how unlucky you are. But I

s’pose with a father like yours it’s not s’prising. Mine’s an international sport superstar. Not a

loser like yours.’ Esprit’s sun deprived face reddened and her eye colour changed to red. ‘If

you were as lucky as me, I mean look; I’m smart and built like a Roman god.’

A plump cherub.

He smoothed back his unwashed black hair and put his acne puckered nose in the air, ‘You

would’n “ave to settle wiff dem.’ He looked satisfied and ended with, ‘At least you have a tat

on your hand, that’s a start. But you must be able to come up with something more creative? I

mean "G," come on. See this.’ Travis stood and pulled down one side of his black jeans to

show a tattoo covering most of his bulging buttock. ‘See, the tattooist said it’s a Chinese

letter that means dragon. A symbol of strength. He’s the cheapest guy in town and he’s a

mate, he’ll fix that for nothing.’

Esprit held herself; she could translate the symbol from several metres away and knew it

didn’t mean that. Without doubt, he was not his friend, nor did he have a steady hand. To

avoid bursting she took a breath and then with calm precision returned, ‘I don’t need or want

your pity.’ The hilarity was becoming too much. She paused and took another breath. ‘You

should be careful how you treat people like Spencer. One day someone like him will be the

plastic surgeon you’ll use to adjust your pitiful wife’s petty imperfections.’ She imagined this

concept flow around Travis’ head like air around a speeding car with the windows closed;

nothing filtered in. She knew explanation was useless so continued to vent. ‘You say I’m

unlucky? I’ll give you an example of how lucky I am. If my great, great, great grandfather

and every one following him had made a butt flapping fart when he met my great, great, great

grandmother or any after, I wouldn’t even exist! Also, I wouldn’t exist if there was not an

imbalance of matter and antimatter after the big bang.’

‘Doesn’t matter to me. Heh, heh, heh. Get it? Matter, antimatter. Oh, I split myself up.’

‘Crack.’ Esprit thought of the lone neuron in Travis’ brain firing as slow as the beat of a

metronome. She knew this cosmology theory was also well beyond his grasp. ‘So I’m lucky.

And when we’re both old and wrinkled and that one elusive muscle of yours has turned to

flab, I’ll still be intelligent! Lucky? Huh? Oh, and two minutes on the field of his only

international game, in his home town, and a lucky pass doesn’t make your father a sport

superstar! And it’s a “Glove” I’m wearing, not a tattoo, you walking vat of green seething

pimple puss.’

Travis had tuned out and was fiddling with his wireless earbuds. He adjusted the volume so

loud Esprit could hear the music across the room. He stood and turned his back to Esprit

without making eye contact. But Esprit didn’t tolerate being ignored; she took a handful of

the muck on her plate and threw it in a vertical spread. The splatter of brown and white,

sprinkled with green dots, began at Travis’ head and ran down his back. He yelled, but by the

time he turned Esprit was sprinting.

3.

Everlasting smog blanketed the industrial city; it was no better and no worse, just your

average dreary day. But it wasn’t an average day for a gathering of executives seated around

a large oval table on the fifty-first floor of Psylon Corp’s headquarters. The company’s

President looked below at the brown haze; it was the only thing that stopped him from

terminating the lot. Smog meant production; smog meant the people below were turning raw

materials into the latest unessential, but popular, electronic gadgets.

The blue glass monolith was the tallest building in the city, by at least twenty-five floors.

From the ground, though, it was impossible to admire the grandeur; the air rarely cleared in

the valley. On the ground tacky soot and mould covered apartment blocks left no room for

greenery or a park for the children; that would not be an efficient use of the company’s land.

The President contemplated his next move then swung around on his high back director’s

chair to face the gathering of suits. At the other end of the table an executive stood with a red

laser pointer. He awaited the President’s reaction to a graph projected onto the wall. The title

was “PROFIT”. A thick red line cut across the graph like a downward staircase that passed

through the ground floor and went deep into the basement. The company was going broke;

the once great boat was sinking.

He looked around the room, trying to decide who he disliked the most. ‘You,’ he pointed a

chubby finger at a man who, like an introvert spectator at a buskers show, didn’t dare look.

‘You,’ he demanded. The man gazed at his tablet propped up on the cool glass table. His

knees trembled while he rubbed his sweaty hands down his trousers. ‘You, head of Sales and

Marketing, why are we losing money?’

‘Sir.’ His mouth was as dry as flour; he paused for a sip of water. ‘Sir, I believe its Research

and Development’s fault. They have not given us any new products. It’s not my fault. It is his

leadership incompetency,’ he pointed across the table at a stunned executive, ‘we have

nothing new to sell!’

With a soft voice the President said, ‘Wrong,’ and pressed a button on his intercom. ‘Miss

Hancock,’ his voice was evil while calm, ‘send in Vivaldi and Mozart.’

The head of Sales and Marketing looked at the President with terror in his eyes. He then

looked to his colleagues, his expression pleaded for help. They avoided eye contact. He tried

to back track. ‘No. I didn’t mean that, what I meant was.’ But it was too late; the thugs, both

with tattooed faces and dressed in bulging suits, had him by his arm pits and were dragging

him toward the door. He kicked and yelled then made one last try to save himself, ‘No. I have

children.’

‘Stop,’ the President ordered. Vivaldi and Mozart let the executive stand and regain his

composure as best he could. His boss paused and savoured the relief on the man’s face and

the rest surrounding the table. He said, ‘Well, on your excessive salary they should get a good

inheritance. Get the snivelling leech out of here, you know what to do.’ With his finger on the

intercom button, ‘Miss Hancock, evict his family from their apartment.’ He looked at the

shivering bunch; his strategy gave the desired effect. ‘Is there anyone here who thinks it’s

someone else’s fault?’ Nobody dared raise their head. He stood and using a clenched fist he

bashed the table as hard as he could. The suits flinched. He turned around and kicked over his

large chair. ‘We are losing money; it is all your fault and your problem. We are in this

together. Are we together?’ Stunned silence. ‘ARE WE TOGETHER?’

Their reply was uniform and dry, ‘Yes sir.’

The President pointed his finger at the head of Research and Development. ‘What new

products do you have?’

He explained a few unexciting products almost ready for release. The company President

looked uninterested, strumming his fingers on the table. The research leader could feel the

piercing looks of everyone around the table, urging him to tell the master plan to get them off

the hook.

‘Is that it? Is that it? Most companies have versions of those on the store shelves. We need

something new and exciting. Something we can own and nobody can copy.’ While staring

eye to eye he moved his finger toward the button.

The head of Research and Development played his last card, it was a wild. ‘Wait. People at a

university have invented a revolutionary virtual reality system; we have people inside who

confirm it works. It will change everything.’

‘Virtual reality? Yes. Yes. I love it. That’s what we need! Virtual reality is a booming

revolution. Get it! Do whatever you need. You know what I mean.’ He gave the research

executive a wink; it was not secretive at all. The other executives, who had been turning blue,

breathed a sigh of relief. He pointed to another, ‘Head of Manufacturing, our product failures

are up thirty-nine percent since last year, explain.’ His finger hovered over the button.

4.

Esprit reduced her speed to a brisk walk. Travis had given up his chase several blocks back.

He had strength but no stamina.

While walking to her rendezvous, she cherished the memory of the last time Travis’ secret

tally reached the ultimate score. Many years earlier she had learnt physical retaliation gave

little lasting pleasure. And, at seventeen, Travis was solid and at least a head taller than

fifteen year old Esprit. He could inflict unintelligent brute force that none at their school

could compete against. But an expertly designed and delivered punishment period gave Esprit

painless pleasure. The last won her supreme award for satisfaction.

Starting with a search on the web, she found a heinous powder concoction that met her needs.

It claimed a quick recovery and that it has no lasting side effects; an important feature for the

latter part of her plan. Over the next few weeks Esprit dealt the wicked punishment with her

usual dedication and precision.

Monday began with a liberal dosing of the powder, known as “Instant Pox,” to Travis’ boxer

shorts. That evening Travis was in agony. He avoided publicly scratching that part of his

body so made frequent trips to the toilets. From a distance Esprit and friends were in

hysterics. Her mother was not concerned as she was far too pre-occupied doing her day job;

capturing a wealthy and unsuspecting future husband number three. His shirt armpits were

next and on Wednesday his shirt body and neck. Scratching gave the only relief from the

agony. The rough crowd saw this and didn’t miss the opportunity to tease him. On Thursday

the humiliation was too much to bear so he bunked school. By this stage his mother started to

show concern for her precious who now had a growling rash. She had a bottle of organic oil

in her cluttered makeup cabinet, but despite the label’s claim of relief from almost all

ailments it gave no respite. To end the powder application, a liberal dose was shaken onto his

bed sheets. Travis suffered and sleep was impossible.

His doctor was puzzled on Friday by the mysterious, now bursting, rash from head to toe.

Travis’ black painted nails were clipped back to the skin to stop scab flaking scratching. A

thick brown paste was applied to his entire body. And, in case the disease was contagious, he

was made to stay in bed for the weekend. This was unfortunate for him as she timed the

punishment to coincide with the school leavers’ formal ball. Travis had his rented tux

hanging in his closet and the stupidest girl at school was to be his date. At the time Esprit had

difficulty thinking it could get better. But it did...

In fear of the “in” crowd learning of his pox, Travis refused visitors. But he needn’t have

bothered; digital photos of him languishing in bed were distributed on social media to the

senior school. It was unlikely anyone would visit him, anyway. Esprit felt sorry for him for a

moment, it was a very short moment.

To clinch it Esprit had paid, at great expense, for an advertisement. With a picture of a girl

scratching open sores on her reddened skin it read:

Stop ITch

A remarkable new formula

that soothes the most horrific rashes.

The advertisement gave details of how to make telephone orders. Saturday, while he was

suffering at home alone and with no relief from the creams and potions the doctor prescribed,

Travis took a chance. He walked like a stiff 1990s robot as he struggled to find his mother’s

credit card. Sparing no expense, he ordered twice the specified dose and a rapid courier

service. The special delivery was dropped at the front door the next day.

It was unfortunate again for Travis, he didn’t realise the treatment required taking pills.

Mummy’s boy struggled with even the smallest, and these were the fattest Esprit could find.

Travis gagged and coughed for an hour trying to swallow the first pill. Esprit recalled the gut

wrenching, eye tearing laughter she and a friend enjoyed in the next room. In desperation

Travis persevered, deciding swallowing the plump pills was still better than the excruciating

full body itch. The stated recommended dose was two pills three times per day, of course.

On Monday Esprit was kind and washed Travis’ bed sheets and clothes. She stopped

applying the Instant Pox powder. By Tuesday Travis had made a startling recovery. He

attributed this to his flash of brilliance in ordering the magic medicine. By Wednesday the

itching had almost stopped, but taking the pills had only become a little easier. Thinking he

was cured, he stopped taking them. Esprit dosed his undergarments once more. The pustules

returned and Travis was back on the pills by Friday and didn’t dare stop again.

The rough crowd at school kept their distance for a not-so-surprising long time. An article in

the school newsletter, that very week, on infectious skin diseases saw to that.

Of course, the pills were harmless and did nothing to help, just sugar placebos Esprit bought

via the internet. The next month Travis ordered enough of the pills for several months. The

money for the overpriced gems transferred straight from their mother’s credit card to Esprit’s

secret bank account. Considering how they bully me, it’s a small piece of justice.

She smiled and strode on with a sense of pride and anticipation. With just two more points to

go, Travis’ tally would soon reach the ultimate score and she was preparing another beauty.

5.

This must be a dream. Esprit still doubted she and Spencer owned The Cache, a trendy new

apartment block they bought last month for a bargain price of one-hundred million. As she

approached the entrance door her Glove wirelessly triggered the lock. A satisfying clunk of

metal on metal came from the door then an electric hinge gave a faint whir as it swung open.

Cool air, with a satisfying rose scent, wafted through the opening.

As she stepped inside an uncontrolled shiver ran down her back. Someone’s watching me?

She reversed and scanned the surroundings. She only saw an elderly couple out for an

evening walk with their yapping miniature poodle. Another shiver sped her through the door,

almost knocking the building’s security guard off his balance.

Dressed in a pressed grey uniform, he was a feature that gave the occupants and visitors a

sense of expense, quality and security.

‘Hey. Slow down Miss Esprit. Life goes too fast as it is without you speeding it up.’

‘Oops. Sorry Sir.’ She flicked off her concern and with a cheerful smile replied, ‘Life is too

much fun, too short and I have sooo much to do. Did you see anyone suspicious out there?’

‘No. Just a few wrinkles out walking their dog.’

‘Hmm.’ Esprit gave him a friendly hug.

The stark foyer had the barest essentials. The polished tile coated floor was refreshing on a

hot day and a collection of modern art hung on the walls. Apart from the guard, his desk and

the art, there was nothing else.

‘Hey, that’s spectacular,’ said Esprit while looking toward a new art piece. A single well

positioned lamp made contrasting light and shadow on the contoured work.

‘Your uncle bought it. They hung it today.’

‘Well I’d better congratulate him on his fine taste then.’ She smiled and ran to the opening lift

doors. ‘And do you have anything special to say to me today?’

With his finger on the lift button, the guard held the doors open and thought for a moment.

‘Don’t think so. Should there be?’ He gave a humorous salute as she disappeared. Chuckling,

he returned to his difficult business of staving off boredom. Esprit’s invigorating visits was

the highlight of his days.

The lift began its journey to the Penthouse suite on the top floor. Part way up it halted

between floors. She was trapped. A craggy old female voice filled the confined space. ‘Hey

you. Yes you. See anyone else in there, Stupid?’ The voice was hard and bitter, but not quite

human. ‘Put your face in front of the mirror or I’ll keep you there ‘till geeks rule the world.

Huh, as if that will ever happen.’ Esprit looked into a mirror on the wall. She contorted her

face as much as she could. “Click.” An image of the photo just taken appeared on half the

mirror alongside a recent photo of Esprit. ‘Pleased to see you woke up with your pretty face

today, Esprit. Yes I know it’s you. Did you think you could trick me? Do you think I have

time for your games? I s’pose I’d better say what I have to. Your essential face feature

security match is 99.99 percent blah, blah, blah. Lucky for you I have to let you go. But not

‘till you say sorry!’

Esprit gave a loud exhale, ‘Sorry I tried to trick you. Anything special you’d like to say?’

Esprit gave a teeth filled grin to the mirror.

‘Oh put those away, you’ll make me vomit. Bet your breath stinks too.’ The lift doors opened

when it reached the top floor. ‘Nothing more to say except. Get out!’ Esprit paused. ‘NOW

and I hope you have a worse day than me.’ The cranky voice tapered away as the lift doors

closed. ‘Does anyone care about me? No. Up and down. Up and down all day. Makes me

sick.’ Esprit felt relieved the Spencer had re-programmed the lift’s routine to the grumpy

option for the security check. After Travis, she couldn’t bear to have yesterday’s namby,

pamby, over cheery “Have a wonderful day,” make you puke identity check.

‘Floyd,’ yelled Esprit. A black retriever hit her hard on the chest and pushed her to the floor.

His heavy paws on her shoulders pinned her down. ‘Enough, enough,’ she pleaded as he

lapped at her face. She pushed its head away then gave the dog a hug. ‘Yes, I know you love

me.’ With considerable effort, she rolled Floyd over and gave him a firm rub on his chest.

With his long tongue dangling out the side of his mouth he waited for more. He was in

heaven.

As Esprit pushed herself up off the floor an aged gentleman greeted her. ‘Good evening Miss

Esprit.’ His tall and elegant posture hid his real age. ‘A bit chilly tonight, Miss?’

‘Hi Sylva, another perfect evening,’ said Esprit then she frowned. ‘Is that the new uniform? Is

he here yet?’

‘Yes, Miss,’ Sylva said as he brushed a speck of lint off the lapel of his jacket. He said it with

pretend snobbery of a stereotypical English butler. ‘Is it what you expected? And he’s

playing in the gaming room, Miss. He does look a little stressed. Mind what you say, he’s

cranky. May I have the pleasure of preparing you a meal? I have Thai curry or you can have

pan seared pheasant.’

Floyd sat at her feet, waiting for more attention. ‘Yep, thank you, Sylva. Just a light meal

tonight, I had to endure reheated plastic, again. Don’t want to raise suspicions at home, you

know. Thai thanks and make it hot.’

Sylva wiped his brow and pretended to flick sweat from his fingers. ‘I have fresh chillies in

the pantry.’

‘Can you do crème brûlée for dessert? I want something posh.’

‘I’m insulted that you need to ask.’ He winked at her.

‘And please get out of that penguin suit; I’m feeling like I should behave as a princess.’

‘Are you sure? You paid a lot for it.’

‘Yes.’

‘As you wish.’

‘And stop talking that way!’

With a devilish smile he replied, ‘As you wish.’

Esprit put her hands on her hips and gave him a glare.

She wandered through the luxury suite to the play room. Bonded to her heel, Floyd was

desperate for another tummy rub.

The play room was Spencer’s domain. Computers, screens and more tablets than the local

pharmacy were precisely positioned and all wires hidden or neatly routed. A new black box

with one flashing light on its face sat in the prime spot. Whatever makes him happy. She

watched Spencer’s long limbs thrashing around. Athletic, and with odd speech and

mannerisms made him a conundrum for the other boys. It wasn’t the way the world worked;

you’re a geek or an athlete, never both. For Esprit though, she was queen geek and proud of

it. School yard bullies tested their luck with Spencer. As a pacifist he didn’t retaliate. He

didn’t need to; he knew the perpetrators would pay without violence. Esprit promised, and

she never disappointed.

He was engrossed in a game while wearing his VR bubbles on his eyes and overalls. The

grunts, curses and swift movements told Esprit something was messed up with his game too.

To let him know she was there she waved Floyd over to him. Floyd stood on his hind legs

and with his big paw pushed Spencer on the shoulder. Esprit yelled, ‘Hey you, I lost millions

of dollars and had nine of my customers eaten or squashed. And now I’m mentally

disturbed.’

‘So what’s new? I’m busy here. Can’t you tell? I can’t abort the program and the chaos

engine is out of control.’ He thrashed arms ended with black tactile gloves around like he was

trying to escape killer bees. ‘Abort. Abort.’ His hands went for his VR bubbles, too late.

‘Arrgghh.’ He fell to the ground.

‘Okay. Okay. I know it’s difficult, but remember it’s not real,’ Esprit tried to calm him. Floyd

sensed Spencer’s stress and gave him a slobbering lick across his cheek, which didn’t help.

The automatic mood lighting softened from crimson to calming blue.

Spencer, exhausted from the experience, plucked his VR bubbles from his eye sockets and

threw them across the room. Sylva tossed him a towel to dry his face. ‘A swarm of fat killer

bees attacked me and a gunship blasted my butt off. I didn’t choose either of them for my

game. Something is wrong; we’ve messed up huge. We uploaded this latest game episode

three days ago.’ He sighed. ‘Tell me step by step what happened to you.’

‘Huge? Gigantically massively humongous screw up, I’d say. I had an expedition of nine

scientists. I was Zerox taking them on a wildlife safari. Ibemme was my assistant. If that’s

what you call him.’

Spencer interrupted. ‘Wow that was bad luck. In my game the chaos routine selected Mack,

the bushman.’

‘Lucky you, but you still got blasted,’ retorted Esprit. Spencer frowned. ‘I told the group the

safety instructions. Later we were all standing on a viewing platform overlooking a watering

hole and surrounding jungle. Then an excited fool took no notice of my warnings. To get a

better photo shot of a gastrodor, he sneaked down a cliff. It was straining its long neck to take

a drink of muddy water. The expedition kept getting worse from there on. After seeing the

fool down below the others said, "Me too" and like stupid sheep followed him. The first

casualty was pancaked into the mud by the huge flat foot of the spooked gastrodor.’ She took

a breath. ‘Seeing this terrified the rest of the group and they tried to scramble back up the

cliff. A female travapod, ugly as, had been watching from just inside the cover of the nearby

jungle. The first catch was too easy for her.’

‘Wow, you did have bad luck,’ interrupted Spencer, ‘the mammas are the worst. Were its

babies there?’

‘Yeah! Mamma picked one of my customers off the cliff face without even bending her neck.

The crunch of bones and last scream as he was almost severed in half was blood boiling.

Without another bite the scientist slid straight down the throat like a shag swallowing a

herring.’

‘Okay, okay, spare me the gory details. I’ve had enough blood and gore for one day.’

‘Get used to it, there’s a lot more. I heard Ibemme tell the others to take cover in the jungle,

but they ignored him.’

‘That’s weird.’ He scratched the side of his close cropped blonde head.

‘Then I dragged one over to the trees and the rest followed. I later realised that was my worst

move.’

Spencer interrupted, ‘You said you instructed them to stay on the viewing platform but they

didn’t. And you told them to escape to the jungle when they were in trouble, but they ignored

you and Ibemme. This is not good.’

‘Oh gee, are you sure? This is a Titanic magnitude disaster!’ Then Esprit noted something

nearly as troubling. His usual straight hair was a little rough and spiky. ‘You’ve had a

designer haircut and have gel in your hair.’

‘NO.’ Spencer’s pale skin turned a little pink; he had difficulty finding a comfortable position

for his long arms. Esprit let the moment sit. He dared not look at her so went across the room

and picked up his virtual reality eye pieces before Floyd had them for dinner. ‘See, no straps.’

‘Don’t change the subject.’

‘See, no straps or sticky tape.’ Esprit had to admit that was unusual. ‘They stick to your eye

socket. Feel the spongy edge.’

Esprit ran her finger around the rim as he showed. ‘Yeah, it’s sticky and gooey. I have them

too, last century. You’re changing the subject.’

‘The surface is coated with thousands of tiny hairs like lizards have on their feet. So the

bubbles stick to your eye sockets and they never lose their sticky. Cool, eh?’

‘Oi, back on subject.’ Esprit smiled. She knew he had gelled his hair, but they had a problem

to solve. ‘That’ll keep for later. Back to the blood and gore… We then had to escape the

travapod and find a safe place to land a rescue heliojet. Then I noticed that one scientist had a

large gash down her leg. No one knew how it got there, it just appeared. The blood scent

lured the travapod straight to us. Our rescue heliojet was then destroyed by an erupting

volcano that shouldn’t have been in the game. A nuclear bomb exploded and ants began to

eat my legs. If Blow Fly hadn’t clipped me I would have been stripped to the bone. I tried

several abort commands, but the game had locked me out.’ She huffed.

‘That’s terrible.’

‘I know. I don’t like being eaten by ants.’

‘No, that’s not what I meant; I had a similar experience. I couldn’t beat it or abort out of the

game. And I wrote the game! When did we upload the latest game episode to the net?’ He

knew the answer and was trying to fill a stressful space while he thought.

‘About a week ago, I figure at least 50,000 customers will be racked by now. How did we let

this out? Any ideas on what the fault is?’ asked Esprit. She was tired just thinking of the time

needed to find and repair the error in their virtual reality game.

‘The difficulty level of the game is increasing as we play it. And characters, scenes and

machines we didn’t select are appearing. Over time it becomes so hard that it’s impossible to

win.’ Spencer rubbed his chin like an ancient Greek statue. ‘And… And… And this is

cataclysmic. We can’t abort it. There’s not even a power switch to shut it down. Our

customers will be stuck in hell.’