AlterWorld

The manager moved the keyboard closer and tapped away. Every now and then he’d stop and move his lips, peering at the text on the screen. Then he frowned and leaned closer to the monitor. I tensed, sensing things weren’t going as pla

"Tsk, tsk, tsk. I have to admit I thought better of you, young man. I’m sorry about your situation, I really am. So here you are asking me for help and I’m quite prepared to give you some money like you were my own son. And all you’re doing you’re setting Jacob Finkelstein up for an unrecoverable loan? Feh! Didn’t you know that your ID card had access to your medical records? In case of interest, all one needs to do is apply for them. And our interest in you is quite understandable, don’t you think?"

The man looked quite upset. I wished the earth could swallow me whole, like when I’d wetted my pants back at the nursery school. Being caught in flagrante, red-handed… As far as crooks went, I was pretty lousy - I lacked the nerve. My cheeks burned as I rose from the creaking chair.

"I just meant to leave some money to my mother. She’s sick, you know… I’m sorry," I mumbled, avoiding his stare.

I stepped toward the exit when the manager barked, "I’m not finished with you yet!"

He waited for me to turn back to him and went on, "I can’t say I don’t sympathize with your situation. But it doesn’t mean I can allow you to defraud me. You’re blushing - that’s a good sign. So allow me to give you some advice. Every bank has access to your data and that includes gray-market dealers too. So I suggest you give them a miss. All they’ll do they’ll make sure you don’t live as long as you had hoped. Even a retailer won’t offer you a consumer credit over ten thousand rubles without checking his computer first. You know what I mean? Under ten thousand, in major retail stores. You understand?"

He looked me straight in the eye as he enunciated the last words.

Had I understood him? You bet.

"Yes," I said softly. "Under ten thousand, in major retail stores."

The man lowered his eyelids, pushed the forgotten paperwork pile across the desk toward me and nodded at the door. "You can go now. God help you, young man."

* * *

Strictly Confidential

To Security Service Curator General Alesiev V.A.

The experiment results report No 118/2

Location of the experiment: The detention room of the Federal Security Agency

Subjects: 20 detainees of various age, ethnicity and gender

Exposure world: Virtual Eden 6.51

The experiment results showed that the first incident of 'getting perma-stuck' took place after five hours of uninterrupted exposure. The last one occurred on the seventh day. The following eighteen days of virtual exposure did not bring about any further results. Seventeen of the subjects proved susceptible to the perma mode effect. Their bodies sank into a coma-like state. All attempts to resuscitate them by use of pain shocking, drugs and CPR procedures didn’t render any result.

At this stage we can conclude that the perma mode is irreversible. The FIVR-located personalities of affected individuals—the so-called 'perma players'—did not show any reactions to the termination of their respective host bodies.

Upon completion of the experiment, all bodies were buried at the FSA disposal site (lots 411-431). The FIVR server infocrystals were recycled in accordance with Procedure 719.

Chapter Two

For the next five days I was really busy. The feeling of time slipping through my fingers pushed me harder than any number of motivational coaches. Had I lived my whole life as if every day was the last, I’d have been driving a Bentley before I turned thirty.

For a start, I raked together whatever cash I had. That included collecting a couple of pretty well written-off debts. One of the debtors was reduced to hiccupping, amazed at my aggressive stance. It didn’t amount to much—about three grand give or take, of which four hundred and a whole precious day were wasted on repeat exams in a private clinic. All they did was confirm the initial diagnosis. The only difference was that their doctor insisted that I be admitted straight away for some proper care and a possible few extra weeks—or months—to live. I told him very nicely that I’d think about it, then legged it. Vultures.

I splurged five hundred more on a casino. Actually, I was on the point of wi

For three more days I was doing the rounds of the retail stores buying on credit cell phones, game consoles and other such electronic junk. In the evenings, I’d drive to the market and flog it for a third of the real price.

Now I sat in a burger joint, my aching legs stretched out under the table, my stomach reluctantly digesting whatever artery-cloggers they had on the menu. Pointless trying to lead a healthy lifestyle. I was entitled to whatever I fancied, be it food or activity. Should I smoke a cigarette? Shame really, considering how much effort I’d put into doing cold turkey only a year ago. Right. What was on my agenda for tomorrow? First thing I needed to pop by the lawyer’s and get a letter about parents not assuming responsibility for their children’s consumer credits. Just in case a bailiff paid Mom a visit after my death.

I didn’t like the way it sounded. After my death, bah. From the lawyer I had to go back home and sort through my digs. I had to decide what to give away and what to take to a boot sale. The rest was going straight to the dump. I didn’t want strangers - or Mom even, for that matter - to rummage through my underpants and dusty mementos. I also needed to go through my photos and paperwork and trash the more personal items. Then, back to my retailers to ruin their insurance statements by a few more cents.

My iPhone vibrated over the slippery table top, gradually sliding to the edge. I didn’t recognize the number so I kept watching the gadget’s suicide attempt. On the ninth beep it plunged and leapt down onto the tiles.

I caught it halfway to the floor giving a wink to the picture of a pretty young mother complete with kid who observed my actions from the phone screen. "Yes."

‘Max? Hi. This is Olga from Chronos."

I glanced at the clock. It was well past eight. "You seem to be working long hours. Be careful they don’t run you into the ground."

I heard a short polite laugh. "Not at all. I’m already finishing. You’re the last on my call list," her voice grew serious. "So, have you decided anything?"

"I’m afraid I haven’t," I shook my head as if she could see it. "It’s too expensive. No way I can afford it. Some other time, maybe? Some other life?"

"I see."

Was it my imagination or was the sympathy in her voice genuine? Or was it still her sales pitch?

"Max, I… I'm not sure you know but our company has access to our potential clients’ medical records. In case something needs checking, you understand…"