43

Alex sprung out of bed, threw the casque off his head, and rushed to the toilet. After who-knows-how-many hours of lying still, his limbs were barely responsive. What time was it? When had he last had a bite, or a glass of water, or a trip to the bathroom? He had no idea. He made it just in time to the can to throw up what little there was in his stomach, then he crumbled down on the cold tiles of the bathroom floor and tried to regain some manner of composure.

That was quite the emotional rollercoaster, he thought despite himself. One moment he was feeling like the king of the world, flipping the bird at some eldritch abomination, and the next he was resting his head on a toilet seat, trying not to get a stroke or something.

As far as deaths went, his second one was slightly less traumatic – not that that said much. He still wanted to run away and not stop until his legs gave away, then crawl until his arms did. His heart hammered at his chest like a jackhammer, his mind was a hot jumble of neurons going haywire, and he had the nagging suspicion he’d peed his pants a little. As if that wasn’t enough, there was someone banging at the door–someone loud and impatient.

“Rulin?” shouted Officer Carpenter. “Open up, I know you’re up!”

“Go away” said Alex, or at least he tried to. He was still panting to hard to shout anything halfway intelligible.

“I’m coming in” she shouted again, and Alex heard the door open. “Don’t do anything stupid or I’ll fry your ‘nads like IKEA meatballs!”

Alex tried to come up with some witty response, but all he could manage was another wave of gagging and spitting.

“Where – oh, for fuck’s sake, Rulin. You okay?”

He gave her the thumbs up and wiped his mouth with toilet paper.

“You kicked the bucket again?”

He nodded.

“Dumbass.”

She helped him up with one hand – the other was too busy holding a taser uncomfortably close to his soft parts. He washed up, rinsed his mouth, and dried his face with a towel, slowly and deliberately going through the motions in an attempt to ground himself back to reality. Carpenter stood by the door and watched him, her expression a mix of concern and mild annoyance.

“Feeling better, Rulin?”

“I’m fine” he said, not fooling anyone. “Just a bit shaken.”

“Good, good. Listen, regarding those complaints you had. Mr. Grimm got back to me and said he’s available for a chat, so this is your chance to talk to him.”

About time, Alex thought. The timing couldn’t be better. He’d hoped for a face-to-face, but a phonecall would have to do.

“Do I wait for the phone to ring or what?”

“No, no, just put the casque on and log in. He’ll contact you there. Don’t keep him waiting, okay?”

***

Just like the other time he’d bitten the virtual dust, Hunter found himself back to the Prohibition era speakeasy that was his private Shard. Mortimer the bartender was there, wiping glasses behind the bar and looking as immaculate as ever, and so was Grimm. Or was it Faux-Grimm? His iron-gray hair, thousand-dollar suit, and self-satisfied smugness looked authentic enough, but beyond that, there was no way for Hunter to tell.

“There he is. Long time no see, son.”

“Grimm” Hunter nodded and climbed on a barstool next to the man. “I trust you are the genuine article this time?”

That made Grimm crack up.

“If you can’t tell, does it even matter?” he said, and flashed his trademark smug half-smile.

Hunter didn’t find it as funny.

“Whatever. As long as the real you gets the message.”

“Fair enough. Pint of lager, like last time?”

“I’ll have what he’s having” Hunter told the barman, eyeing the brownish liquid that was Grimm’s drink of choice. Mortimer grabbed an old-fashioned whiskey glass and a crystal carafe and poured him a drink, and Hunter took a sip. It was smoky and rich and smooth, by far the finest drink Hunter had ever had–not that he was about to let Grimm see that. He’d more or less forgotten about Grimm, but now that the man was here and Hunter was still reeling from another virtual death experience, his anger was back with a vengeance. He slammed the rest down in one gulp for emphasis and asked Mortimer for another.

“Woah, slow down there champ”, Grimm chuckled. “This isn’t your average Red Label, it’s to be enjoyed. Cherished.”

“What do you want, Grimm?”

“What do I want? It was you who put in for some face time, as I recall.”

“I want you to be honest with me. This Elderpyre thing? It ain’t just a game, is it?”

“Just a game?” Grimm said. “Well of course it’s not just a game. You’ve seen how realistic it is.”

“Yeah I’ve seen it. I’ve felt it too” said Hunter with a hint of the accent he’d tried so hard to get rid of. The more his temper flared, the more he sounded like the angry inner-city teen he’d once been. “It ain’t just a game. Some kind of psychological experiment is what it is.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, son.”

“Don’t fuck with me.”

Grimm’s face was slowly drained by all signs of good humor, and his half-smile turned into a scowl. Hunter saw a hardness that wasn’t there before, a warning, threat, and promise of unspoken but dire consequences. He didn’t care. He was too angry to slow down now.

“What is it, then?” he went on. “Is it a psychology thing like those you read bout online? The Milgram experiment? The Stanford prison experiment? The fucking Russian sleep experiment? Is it some fucked up PTSD thing? I fucking died, man. Twice! This shit’s fucking traumatic!”

“Hunter – ”

“No, wait. What was the name of that other thing? That cold war shit. Is this like Project MKUltra? Are you some kind of fed?”

“Fed up with this line of questioning!” Grimm shouted at Hunter’s face, finally dropping the pretense of urbane politeness. It was for only a moment, but it was enough to give Hunter pause. He closed his eyes and massaged his grey-haired temples as if trying to calm himself, then continued in a tired, level voice. “Look, son. If you don’t want to do this, be my guest. I can get you moved back to county jail, and you can spend the rest of your sentence playing checkers and watching daytime television with the rest of the deadbeats in there. Is that what you want?”

Hunter said nothing. He was full of hot air just a moment before, but now he felt as if he was deflating.

“Hunter. Is that what you want?”

“No”, he admitted. “It isn’t. But you owe me an explanation.”

“I owe you nothing of the sort.”

“How about you give me one anyway?”

“God, I hate this part” said Grimm. He finished his drink and rubbed his temples again. He still sounded tired when he spoke, but any all signs of his short outburst had faded. “Officer Carpenter relayed your concerns to me, Hunter. I went through a log of your experience in Elderpyre, too–well the tl;dr version of it, anyway. You went in over your head a couple of times and paid for it, yes, but you must understand that those were the consequences of your choices. Be honest with yourself; nobody forced you to do any of the things that got you into trouble. Am I wrong?”

“You threw me in a wild place full of monsters”, Hunter tried to argue, but he knew Grimm was more or less right. “What was I supposed to do?”

“Whatever you want. That’s the whole point. You can’t expect your choices not to have any consequences, though, can you?”

“No. I suppose not.”

“If you want to stay out of trouble, then you can stay out of trouble. If you want to simply kick back and have a good old vacation, you can do just that. Nobody’s stopping you.”

“I tried to do just that”, Hunter complained. “Fawkes showed up and dragged me away from the scruff of my neck.”

“I suppose you are right. Still, she didn’t really make you follow her, did she?”

“Well…”

“Did she?”

“No.”

“There you go. And let me take this a step further. Do you want to stay away from Elderpyre altogether? You’re free to do that too. You can spend your days sleeping or exercising or playing cards with Bob at the cafeteria–yes, I was briefed about that, too–until you’ve served your sentence. The way I see it, you choosing not to engage with Elderpyre at all would still give the eggheads back in R&D a ton of valuable data to sort through, and that’s what this whole program is supposed to be about. In short; do what you fucking want, Hunter. Alex. Nobody’s stopping you. Not one person in the whole wide world.”