2084

Mickey’s anime girlfriend, Emi, looked at him thoughtfully from the wall screen. She was pale-skinned, with blonde hair in two big ponytails, large blue eyes and was wearing her customary short, black, goth girl dress.

“Hey, you look sad today,” she said cheerily, “let’s fix that up.”

She spun in a twirl, ending in a pose with one hand on hip, the other arm outstretched, pointing at him. Bright colours of pinks, greens, and purples flashed across the walls, holo-screens and ceilings. The scent of her cherry blossom perfume, his favourite, wafted pleasantly into his nose after being pumped out of the air filters. It was laced with pheromones and sedatives, he knew. Shortly after he felt his pulse slow, a heat in his belly, and an agreeable warmth moved down his arms and legs. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and smiled, relaxed.

“Thanks, Emi,” he replied in a swoon.

“No problem, Mick. You know I love you,” came her sincere reply.

“Hey, why don’t you play your favourite game? That always cheers you up.”

She danced across the wall screens over to where the main holo-screen was, opposite his sofa. Mickey didn’t have a job, like nearly everyone since the AI revolution. He knew this was great because he didn’t have to go to work. However, he hadn’t earned enough carbon credits to go outside today, hadn’t for a while. So, he could stay inside today and game. Alone. Again. Somewhere at the back of his haze filled mind this irked him, though he didn’t know why.

He plugged his neural link into the game board and loaded Combat Zone, his favourite. The holo-screen, walls and ceilings all lit up in an incredibly lifelike 3-D rendering of the Russian Steppe. Mickey loved looking at the outdoors. The Russians were the bad guys, he knew from the news, along with the Chinese. The war against them was the reason life was hard now and everything had to change. At 16 he was too young for the draft, but he would love to kill some Russians when he was older.

He checked the gamer tags and saw some of the usual crew were online. Jeff, Brian, and Karim’s badges appeared in his top right vision. With whoops and cheers they set about the enemy. Today’s mission was to kill as many as possible. Mickey loved this. He used his best assault rifle to mow down the oncoming hordes. The crack of cartridges popping out filled his ears, and the smell of cordite hit his nose as he flared his nostrils. Presently he came to a dip in the landscape, and everything fuzzed and clicked back. A glitch in the game, unheard of. Before him now stood a small village. A woman strode towards him, in Russian combat gear. Short of stature, dark hair, bright blue eyes. Her features were a mirror of his own.

“Mickey,” she said, desperation in her voice. His skin crawled, goosebumps ran along his arms. No character had ever addressed him before.

“Listen, we don’t have much time. Soon that bitch is gonna yank you out. The only way we could reach you was to hack the game. I’m your sister Freya. You were natural-born Mick, nat…”

A searing pain went down his spine, his muscles spasmed, arms jerking out, spine curved, face trapped in a rictus grin. Logged out of the game, he could do nothing but stare at Emi on the wall screens. Surrounded by a red background, her eyes were now completely black, a look of malice on her face and venom in her voice.

“I’m sensing some bad thoughts, Mickey. You know I don’t like you talking to other girls.”

After seconds that felt like hours it stopped. Mickey fell to the floor, arms and legs like jelly. Terror still lingered. This had never happened before. None of the other boys he gamed with ever mentioned this with their avatars. Had she malfunctioned? Who could he have even called? The Police? Like everyone, he lived alone in a box.

He felt desperate for fresh air. Suddenly the cosy flat he called home felt small, cloying at his senses, like a weight bearing down on him. He felt claustrophobic, trapped, his fight or flight response running wild. He stumbled over to the window, tried to open it, his shaky hands fumbling. It was stuck.

“Emi, will you open the window please, dear?” he managed, voice high with nerves.

“No silly,” she replied, back to her cutesy self. The wall tones had returned to a friendly pink too.

“The air quality is bad today. Can’t you see?”

He looked down from the 33rd floor of his block, past the grey drizzle of a Cardiff day, and could just make out the street below. Huge blocks of flats lined every street. Through the hazy beams of street lights he could make out a police car, blue lights flashing, as it slid silently along and came to rest right outside the block. Were they here for me? Did they know what had taken place in the game? He was used to seeing them cruising past, enforcing curfew. On the other side of the street a lone figure moved, female, raincoat on and umbrella up to fend off the usual downpour, regulation face mask on her face. She quickly rounded the corner. Was that to do with him? He had no idea now; panic was racing through him, his mind jumping from thought to thought. Am I just being paranoid? Did someone really talk to me through the game like that or did my brain have some kind of fit?

“Emi, would you let me go outside?” he asked quietly, still looking out of the window.

“No, silly. You know you don’t have enough carbon credits for that,” she replied perkily. He turned to find her striking a cute pose. Well, at least she seemed back to normal now.

“And I love you too much to let you get into trouble,” she went on, batting her artificially perfect eyelashes at him.

“Why don’t you stream your favourite show? That always cheers you up.”

A good idea. It would at least give him time to think. He called it up on the holo. It was the one where e-celebs toured the world while showing off different products. He loved this as it gave him an escape to the outside without leaving. Today was his favourite e-girl, Tara, high in the snowy peaks of the Rocky Mountains of the North American Confederation. Using the touchpad built into the sofa, he dutifully clicked “like” in all the right places. Green bars popped up in his vision with a “bing.” He had earned two carbon credits. Still not enough for outside. The view on the holo panned across a vast wilderness, grey crags lined with snow, an unspoilt white plain in between. Drone footage swirled from above, showing Tara as a lone speck, in a place nearly everyone else on the planet would be unable to visit. It zoomed in, and her voice cut through as she took a swig from the stimulant drink she was advertising today.

“Just one swig of go-max means I can do this all day. Makes me feel like a natural born climber,” she chirped.

That word again, startled Mickey and he flinched.

“You okay, Mick?” asked Emi, concerned.

“Yeah. Just fancied a stim drink after that,” he replied, false cheer injected in his voice. He went to his kitchen unit, got a drink from the fridge. Natural-born. Like everyone else these days, he’d been grown in a VAT, then raised by AI and robots in the local creche, before being given his own place. He’d heard that people used to be born from women, but school had taught him that this was inefficient and messy. Today’s method was much better. Wasn’t it? He now wasn’t sure, but he couldn’t let this show.

He returned to the sofa, drink in hand. A sister, the woman had said. What did this mean? And natural-born? Did that mean the same mother? If so, how did I end up here? And why didn’t I know? There was only one way he was going to find out. And that was going back into the game. But he would have to be careful. He swigged the drink. He would need his wits about it. Quickly his pulse increased, he felt nervous energy flow down to his fingers. He gulped down more. Started to quiver a little now. He felt alive. Maybe for the first time in ages.

“Emi, I feel much better now. I’m gonna game with the guys again for a bit,” he said casually.

After a brief pause she replied, “Okay Mick, but take it easy. I will be watching so I can take care of you.”

He plugged his neural link in again. Instantly he was back in the barren tundra. Only Jeff was still online.

“Hey Jeff,” he called out.

There was a pregnant pause. Mickey felt tension rise in his shoulders, a tightness there, not just from the drink.

“Hey Mick,” came the flat reply, “Urgh, my Aki says I can’t play with you for a while. Sorry,” he said sheepishly and broke comms.

A ball of fear was now growing in Mickey’s stomach. It wasn’t just isolated to him then. Something was going on. He moved to where the glitch had happened before. Once again came the static flash. Again the girl appeared. This time her face held a look of terror.

She approached and cupped his face with one hand. The neural links made it feel real, soft warm skin on his cheek. He felt the bite of cold wind swirl around him.

“Mick,” she began desperately, “I’m so glad you’re alive. But you’ve come back too soon.

“Is any of this real?” he blurted out, hungry for the truth, for anything he could latch onto and stop his reality being turned upside down.

“Yes,” she replied, anguish in her tone. “Yes, it is. I know it’s hard, but you need to believe me. Look, we can get you out. But there’s only one way now. That bitch is gonna be suspicious as hell. So you have to tell her you accept the draft. Do you..”

Again, he was suddenly cut off and yanked back to the world of his flat. Ready this time, he ripped out the neural link, which left a scorched feeling in his skull. He gulped the rest of his stim drink. His nerves were fried, but he needed an edge.

“Mickey” came a dangerously low voice, almost like a growl, “you’ve been a bad boy.”

He turned to the wall screen where Emi was projecting herself, slowly, to give himself time to think. He met her gaze, staring straight at him, eyes boring into him, all black. Red surrounded her, blood red.

“Hey Emi, I think something went wrong with my game again,” he tried.

“No Mickey,” she said firmly, “you aren’t behaving yourself. And because I love you so much, I can’t let you do that.”

Two hatches retracted from the ceiling, ones that he had never noticed before. From them emerged what he knew to be the glinting gun metal of automatic weapons. They swivelled, then locked on him. He stared into the black hole of the barrel, waiting for it to spit forth his lead-filled doom. His mind flashed back to killing Russians in the game, it didn’t seem so fun now.

“Emi, Emi I thought you loved me.”

“I do Mick, which is why it’s going to hurt me more than it’s going to hurt you.”

He fled off the sofa to the kitchen, but the door was locked. Blind panic hit him now. He felt the wood splinter into his fingertips, stinging him, as he clawed fruitlessly at the door. Bile rose in his throat, scorching his mouth as it hit. He trembled all over. He ran back to the window, the guns tracked him. He pulled with all his might at the catch, wrenching his shoulders until something tore, pain arcing down his back. His mind scrambled. What had Freya said? The draft?

“Emi, I want to go to the draft!” He shrieked in desperation, collapsing on the floor.

The room returned to the usual pink again. The guns stayed though.

“That’s great news Mick! I knew you were special!” Emi declared, elation in her voice.

“I will call them right away. I’m so proud of you.”

Still in shock, Mickey dragged himself to the sofa, the place where he had spent most of his young life. His chest heaved as he struggled to catch his breath. The guns still pointed at him.

“They’re here Mick. It’s time for you to go,” Emi chirped happily.

There was a hiss as the main door to the apartment opened. He went to the window and looked down. Sure enough, a van in military colours was outside. Cautiously, he edged to the door, still watching.

“Bye Mick. I will always love you,” were Emi’s final words to him.

He pelted down the gloomy and graffiti-ridden stairs, passing broken lights. As he went out the main door two men in camo gear and masked grabbed him and bundled him roughly into the van.

“Welcome to the draft, Mickey,” said a voice.