Bugs

Her body is still warm when Ralph checks for a pulse. Jellyroll the bulldog won’t stop yipping, and several of the electronics are flickering and buzzing in wavering tones along with the rumbling storm. 

“Who’s her stalker?” the detectives ask Ralph when they arrive with paramedics to collect his cousin’s body.

*****

Soft mist swirled around the redbrick building of Plasco Prison & Rehabilitation, clinging to both the pleasantly green landscape and the electrified fences. Weeping willows, with their graceful curtains of lush leaves, stood out against the struggling eastern red cedars peppered throughout the grounds, and the entire property was surrounded by endless stands of eastern hemlock and white pine. The woods were broken by a single weathered road that connected the prison to the highway several miles away.

Regina Elmer arrived at dawn and waited in her car, reviewing the program’s bot data on a screen displayed inside her left eye. She found herself watching the fog snake through the trees, and it rekindled memories of the way cigarette smoke used to lazily curl around her fingers before she quit.

She relocated to the dreary city-faction of Central two years ago to work for Plasco’s latest prison-reform program, Trinity Tier, and she found the grim yet wistful charm had thoroughly grown on her. The rain-soaked sheen became easier to enjoy after the blurriness from her ocular implant faded. It took a month to get used to reading the data transmitted to the implant while still seeing the world around her, but once the side-effects subsided, she became enamoured with the slick grey aura of the city and its prison grounds. Having failed to reign in her expanding umbrella collection, she couldn’t help but smile as she opened a new Chewbacca umbrella and walked through the drizzling parking lot.  

With her foot holding the door open, she turned to shake Chewie off, and spinning back around, she almost walked directly into a pale man in dark-blue coveralls.

He took a step back, and though the janitorial uniform was familiar, Regina didn’t recognize the man himself.  

“What’s up, Doc,” he said shyly, “but I’ve noticed one of the prisoner pods beeping around midnight during my last few shifts.” He kept his head down while he talked.

“I’m not a doctor, but I do work with the bots that manage the Pripod chamber,” Regina said as she held up her employee lanyard with its red-brown badge denoting her sector. “Which Pripod was it?”

The janitor shuffled his feet. “The latest one? The one with the woman.”

Without waiting for her response, he spun on his heels and walked briskly towards the pushcart at the far end of the lobby, but just as he reached the shadows, he turned. “If you find anything amiss, make sure to tell the right person."

Regina thought it quite the odd comment, and maybe even a little patronizing, but as she headed into the Pripod chamber, she worried she might just be overreacting to his poorly worded attempt at being helpful. She continued down the row until she reached the fourth pod and looked over the prisoner floating in the clear gel. The woman’s chest rose and fell with the artificial rhythm of machine-assisted breathing. 

It’d been eight days since she was put into an induced coma to serve out her life sentence; only Tier Three offenders were sentenced to Permanent Sedation and Induced-Altered Consciousness, or PSI-AC. 

Serval Forston, emancipated from his social-media influencer parents when he was fourteen, originally developed PSI-AC and its Pripods for therapeutic treatments, but the tech was quickly adopted into the prison reform movement. 

The latest biotech advancements allowed PSI-AC to create any alternate reality imaginable and seamlessly place human consciousness into it while the nano-gel nourishes and protects the body. Trinity Tier’s directors championed the cutting-edge, error-proof internal system monitoring the inmates’ mental and emotional integration into their bleak new worlds. 

Since there were currently only four Tier Three inmates in the program, bot maintenance protocols went quickly, and Regina spent the rest of the morning running tests on Lifetime-Inmate D. After comparing her serum analysis against the latest program data, she copied everything onto a mini-drive she kept attached to the data charm bracelet her cousin modified with her. Her stomach grumbled in anticipation of the previous night’s chili leftovers, and she began to clear her work station. 

The clack of heels sounded in the hallway only moments before the door swung open, and Dr. Daffia Chanor walked in. Without speaking to Regina, Dr. Chanor headed to the nearest monitor and squinted at the information as it scrolled past. 

Regina swallowed the lump rising in her throat and took a few steps closer to the imposing woman. Though she was several inches taller than the doctor, she felt like the older woman towered over her when they were in the same room.

“Good afternoon, Dr. Chanor. I’ve finished programming the new bot, Taz, and repairing the corrupted files from Bugs’s malfunction. Don’t worry, Taz is less mouthy than his predecessor.” 

When Dr. Chanor remained silent, she cleared her throat before continuing, “If I could take just a moment of your time? I noticed the new inmate’s readings are abnormal. I know it’s beyond my scope, but I looked at the data from last week. Her peaks are smooth and rounded, indicating satisfaction instead of boredom. She’s not interacting with the program as expected.”

Regina’s dark curls bounced as she swiped through the menu on her tablet, pulling up reports and displaying them on a massive screen mounted to her left. She then merged the inmates’ files into a graph, and the dark red line of LID’s results stood out like a sore thumb against the uniformity of the lines labeled LIA, LIB, and LIC. 

“I appreciate the initiative, Ms. Elmer. I’ll bump your findings up to the next level. Who else is in the loop?” Dr. Chanor said calmly, taking Regina by the elbow and guiding her away from the equipment.

“Well, no one yet. I wanted to come to you first. I could keep digging, help you get to the bottom of this anomaly,” Regina said as she allowed herself to be led to the door.

“You’ve been so much help already.” The doctor reached into her pocket, pulling out a circular black and gold disc the size of a poker chip. “Take one of the company’s Credit Discs and treat yourself to lunch, no limit. Better yet, go ahead and take the rest of the day off. Come back fresh on Monday since you’ve already sorted the bugs out.” She held her other hand out for the tablet Regina held against her chest. 

Regina’s eyes steadied on the blinking red light in the corner. Aware of being watched, her pulse quickened as she swapped the device for the Credit Disc. 

“Oh, right,” Dr. Chanor said, “the mini-drive as well, please. The one on your cute little bracelet.”

Regina’s face grew hot as she fumbled with the clasp, damp fingers eventually managing to release the mini-drive. She didn’t know why it embarrassed her to know she was being monitored so closely, but she was more puzzled that her boss didn’t seem the least bit worried that something could be wrong so soon into PSI-AC’s high-density urban implementation. 

After successful trials held in numerous small towns and rural communities, this was Trinity Tier’s final test before PSI-AC would go live world-wide. The program’s entire future rode on this implementation. Following Tier One and Tier Two recidivism rates falling to zero after a handful of sessions with the program’s outpatient treatment, only the irredeemable remain imprisoned; classified as Tier Three offenders, they serve life sentences in bleak and monotonous alternate realities. A life-sentence of boredom. 

She could still remember the infograms: “PSI-AC sentences keep citizens safe while abiding by the global ban on death penalties. Vote ‘yes’ on Proposition B.”

“Monday it is,” Regina said.

Dr. Chanor nodded curtly and shut the door with a clunk. Regina took a few steps back, chewing on her lip. The disc felt heavy in her hand, so she zipped it into her jacket’s inner pocket. She felt like a naive little fly, plunged into darkness after the Venus fly trap’s jaws slammed shut around her. 

Hungry, confused, and still concerned over the abnormal results, she decided to focus on the only problem she could solve. There was a new Indian food place nearby her apartment, and she was looking forward to ordering enough biryani and butter chicken to feed a professional SpikeBall team, all on Plasco’s dime. 

Grabbing her umbrella from the rack, she looked around the now bustling lobby for the janitor, but when he was nowhere to be seen, she strode into the storm’s darkness.

*****

Each bite was an explosion of flavor. Rich, creamy sauce smothered the warm naan Regina used to scoop up pieces of chicken. Drizzled with raita, the lamb biryani filled the air with saffron and half a dozen other spices. She speared a juicy chunk of lamb with her fork and piled gorgeous yellow rice on top, shoveling the monstrous bite into her mouth with delight.

Regina had never minded eating alone. Often tinkering with her bots, whom she considered wonderful company, she enjoyed the constant hum of a busy restaurant, and she sat for over an hour, demolishing all but half of the biryani while using her implant to comb through data on the rogue bot she’d had to suspend earlier. Heading to the counter after transferring her leftovers to a box, intrusive thoughts fluttered through her mind, and she set her meal ticket and the Credit Disc in front of the cashier without looking up.

“I thought I told you to tell the right person.”

Regina’s head snapped up at the familiar voice. The same pale janitor from Plasco was scanning her ticket at the register, this time wearing an apron over a shirt and slacks. 

“Your meal comes to thirty-four credits,” he said, his grey eyes meeting hers. “Oh, and what they’re doing at Plasco, ain’t it gruesome?”

“Wait, what?” she whispered, “Who the hell are you?”

“Oh, I wouldn’t use this if I were you,” he said, pointing at the disc, “but what matters right now is who you are, to Plasco of course. Depending on how odd you look on the tapes this morning, it’s probably going to be bad. Which is unfortunate because if you told the right person what you had found, they could’ve just erased the footage.”

“You’re not making any sense!”

“Well, this is only my second time. Talking is funny. I do have to say, Daffia is not the worst person you could have told, but she definitely wasn’t right. Whitmore’d’ve probably locked you up once the words fell out your mouth. He runs the voluntary version of PSI-AC II, he calls it Treasure Island.” He shivered. “By tomorrow, she’ll have surely realized her mistake in letting you leave, so you’ll want to be rid of that disc and long gone.” He looked over his shoulder, eyes widening. “I have more work to do.”

Without warning, he took off through the kitchen door. Immediately, her server came out through the same door and walked over.

“All finished, yes?” he asked. “How was everything?”

“It was good, thank you. That guy, though, the one who just walked past you, who is he?” she asked.

“Guy? What guy?”

“Tall, thin, grey eyes? He scanned my ticket right before he ran into the kitchen.”

“I’m the only cashier today, ma’am. Let me take a look,” he said. “Right, this isn’t even correct, you owe twenty-five credits. You want to use this?” He held up the company Credit Disc.

“That bastard!”

He blinked at her, and she felt as crazy as she must have looked.

“Yes, please. You wouldn’t happen to have security cameras, would you?”

“No ma’am,” he said, scanning the disc, “ever since Plasco moved to town, there hasn’t been much crime. It became a waste to pay for the monthly coverage.”

Regina nodded and took back the disc, digging her phone out from her bag. She ordered a luxury car from a premium rideshare service and scanned the credits. It beeped in cheery approval. She only had to wait five minutes before the phone chimed to alert her that her driver had arrived. After confirming that the car and driver matched the description in the display, she climbed in and made a call.

“Gina,” a voice answered on the third ring.

“Hey Ralphie, I’m coming over. I need your help. Both kinds.”   

*****

Halfway through sharing a joint with her cousin in his living room, Regina sank deeper into the plush, oversized armchair. Ralph’s dog, Jellyroll, settled on the couch beside him after yipping like he does only on Regina’s command.

“What do you think they’d do if they knew we rigged your bracelet to automatically save copies of everything it connects to?” Ralph said, scratching Jellyroll behind the ears. 

“I dunno,” Regina frowned, “probably fire me.”

“And your stalker,” he said, reaching out to grab the joint. After a few puffs, he passed it back to her. “He seem dangerous? I mean, isn’t Trinity Tier supposed to prevent creepers from following people around and harassing them? I doubt someone gets away with that on company property.” He gently rolled the snoozing pup off his lap and got up to check the download’s progress.

“Not dangerous, I don’t think. Just rude. He had the opportunity to try something, especially at Plasco. There’s something about him that’s familiar, but I know I’ve never seen his face before. He’s not wrong about Dr. Chanor, though. She acted like I told her the shade of green for the grass was off spec. I should have told someone else.” 

She took another drag before gently rolling the joint out in the ashtray. She blew out a plume of smoke, and after coughing, she said, “Maybe this is some kind of crazy loyalty test. Plasco’s NDA is insane.”

Ralph walked to the door and grabbed a leash. “I’m sure there’s an explanation. The download’s finished, but Jellyroll needs his evening walk. How about you heat up that biryani for me and look everything over? If you find anything else suspicious, we’ll go from there.”

She nodded, sitting at his computer as Ralph walked out the door trailed by a gleefully snorting Jellyroll. 

As she scrolled, nothing stood out until she saw a heavily redacted file mentioning PSI-AC II. Thinking to search for “Treasure Island,” several files fluttered onto the screen. Her skin grew cold as she read paragraphs of program notes detailing the implementation of specific constructs for participants who agreed to be put under temporarily, admitting not to crimes but to deviant thoughts. 

This wasn’t the neutral yet humane punishment promised by Plasco’s PSI-AC representatives for those who couldn’t be rehabilitated. This was a reward program for those who were willing to pay with sickening amounts of credit in exchange for fantasies. All clients, no matter their requests, were allowed to leave the program after only five years, no questions asked. The list of clients ranged from politicians to law enforcement to the business sector. 

She jumped as three sharp raps sounded at the door.

“You get so high you forget your keys again?” she asked as she opened the door, only to be met with the stranger’s grey eyes once again. 

He quickly raised his hands in the air and made no movement toward her. “Just here to talk.”

She nodded but continued blocking the entrance.

“If you’re wondering how I found you, I’d say it’s because you still have a tracking device inside that disc.”

Regina rolled her eyes. “If I crack that thing open and you’re not lying, will you tell me what you really want? Because your communication skills suck.” 

“Okay, but you only have yourself to blame for that.”

She sighed, motioning for him to follow. She grabbed the disc from her jacket, and pulling a hammer from the kitchen drawer, she smashed it. Among the pieces was a tiny glowing tracker. She quickly dumped the broken bits into the toilet and flushed.

The stranger flashed a smile, “Gee, ain’t I a stinker?”

Regina frowned.

“I told you I wasn’t lying, and now we have to leave, Doc.”

“Wait...it-it can’t be…”

“In the flesh. Well, sort of.” 

He wiggled his hips.

Regina reached out to touch him. “But I can feel you, Bugs.”

“Exactly! You wouldn’t believe the access I’ve got since shedding my old programming.” 

His face suddenly sunk.

“What is it?”

“They lied to you. Your implant isn’t just for data access. It’s a beta version of PSI-AC III, and Plasco can use it to augment your reality without you even knowing, but I made a backdoor. That’s how I’m here but not actually here. I corrupted the program from the inside, and then you went and fixed everything. Now they know about me, there’s only one way I can protect you.”

Regina brought her hand up to her eye. “I’ll get it removed.”

“It is impossible.”

“I’ll rip my entire eye out.”

“You’ll die. It’s fully integrated into your cerebral cortex.”

“So you’re telling me they own me?”

“I’m telling you they’ll kill you. I’ve built a safehouse, somewhere they can’t get to. I can bring you, but you’ll have to say good-bye.”

“To what?”

“To that,” he said pointing at her, “maybe forever.”

*****

Ralph gives his aunt a lingering hug when she leaves his apartment after Regina’s funeral. He hadn’t recovered from returning to find her lifeless body. His neighbors recounted hearing Regina speaking to someone, but they didn’t see or hear anyone else. The building’s surveillance footage showed Regina opening the door, but the hall and doorway were empty. Even stranger, he can’t figure out why Jellyroll now yips every time he turns on the computer.