Fantasia: A Futuristic Tale of Vampires and Werewolves

[Oshousama_Raistlin]

Summary: A work in progress, this is an entirely original story from me. It's about a world set in the distant future where everything needs a license, people can become vampires and werewolves using gene therapy, and the EVCU - Elite Vampire Control Unit - are in charge of bringing illegal vampires into custody.

Genres: Sci-fi/Fantasy, humour, crime.  

[Oshousama_Raistlin]

Chapter 1: RPGs and Nanites

When I wander the night, the other creatures of the Darkness slink away to avoid me. Even trees and plants turn away, their leaves curling at my approach. If they weren't rooted to the ground, these trees would surely back away from me.

Creatures of the Sun are less acutely tuned to their instincts, trusting their sight more than their primal senses of touch and smell. Especially touch, for touch is the most basic sense. When I walk the day, the occassional animal will hiss and fret. Babies will become inconsolable at my approach. Except this one.

I come closer, perplexed. This babe is looking at me from its basket with unusually clear grey eyes, and can't be older than 8 months. Around us, the usual sounds and smells of a busy marketplace fill the air. Smiling winsomely at the child's mother, I nod in the babe's direction.

"A fine child. I guess he has his father's eyes," Holding out one of my fingers to the baby, he grasps it immediately, burbling happily. An unusual child indeed. Turning my attention back to the mother - a green-eyed peasant - I wink at her. She smiles tiredly, sitting down slowly on a bench that is beside the baby's basket. She's already pregnant again, the beginnings of a bump visible underneath her worn clothes.

"Ain't that the truth. But she's a girl child, not a boy." I look up at this, surprised. I guess I had been expecting the child to be a boy because of his - her - alertness.

"A shame about the eyes, but not the gender. I've always been partial to green eyes," A lie, but I've built a persona that is charming and trustworthy. Such small compliments cost nothing and buy you everything. Sitting beside the basket, she considers me in silence as the child continues to play with my tapered fingers.

"Are you looking for a child, Stranger?" Am I looking for a child? I never desired children before this, but this one child intrigues me. If I grow tired of her, I can easily dispose of her.

"You would give your child to me? But you've only met me once," I know how people think, and this is a quirk of human psychology: suggest one thing, and a person will tend to think the other way. By asking her to reassess and question her own good impression of me, I make myself seem more concerned for her side of the deal and therefore a more trustworthy person. She smiles.

"I trust my mother's teaching, and my babe's instincts. Children are supposed to be able to sense the good and bad in people, or so my mother told me." Her mother was a wise one, then, for I would have agreed with this woman had I not met this babe. "And you look to be pretty well off. I'm sure that you could give her a better life than I."

I am about to reply when three very out of place characters enter the scenery, all wearing the same uniform: blue jumpsuits with the EVCU -Elite Vampire Control Unit- logo embossed on their clothing.

Switching to Reality speech, I groan.

"What're you doing here? This is my day off, you guys!" The peasant woman I had been speaking to before looks from me to the three newcomers with confusion. She's one of the intelligent software NPCs in Fantasia, so she's not supposed to know about the Real World. Ignoring the NPC, Gareth rolls his eyes.

"I could ask you the same thing, 'Valerinn'; this game is for kids and geeks, not pros like us!" I glower, folding my arms.

"I have my hobbies. You have yours. And you still haven't told me why you're here."

"We have ourselves a serial killer. Vampire, of course." I make a long-suffering sigh, waving my weekend living off an intravenous drip and roleplaying in Fantasia goodbye.

"Send me the report. Valerinn logging out now," Making the hand signals to save my experience points, I log off, my tall and dark drow character simply vanishing into thin air.

Coming to in my own apartment, I grimace at the tubes in my nose and mouth. Pulling them out gingerly, I turn my head to better reach the now-turned-off cerebral plug that's still inside my head. Coughing, I wipe my mouth, looking down my naked body at the last two tubes that had to be removed.

"And they'd only just gotten comfortable, too," I sigh, tugging on the waste removal tubes. The electrodes attached to my body I leave in place, letting them continue their work of randomly stimulating muscles in order to prevent muscle atrophy. Stumbling out of the jack-in chair, I squint around the apartment, stretching my arms. My eyesight is still a little blurry from disuse, but that will quickly pass.

"Computer, open mailbox for Nathket, Lars Waynom." Bumping into a pile of discarded clothing, I swear. The smell of stale sweat - my stale sweat - is nauseating, especially to my vampire's keen senses. Where are those damn nanites?

"Increase air rotation," The quiet whirr of the air ducts as they increase their power soon clears the stale air. Checking the readout on my holographic screen, I groan. The nanites have died, thus explaining why they hadn't yet cleaned up this mess.

"Password for Miss Nathket?" I purse my lips, my ire towards technology finding another reason to strengthen itself. Stupid computer thinks I'm still a woman. Changing the pitch of my voice, I intone in my old feminine voice the words "I amar prestar aen," while discreetly making a series of hand signals.

"Password confirmed. You have one new message. Message received today at 4:15am from Schye, Gareth Hanchou. Open?"

"Yeah," The computer transmits the message directly to my retinal implants, allowing me to read the report as a glowing projection onto my normal field of vision as I go about cleaning myself up the old-fashioned way: with sound-waves. Peeling off the electrodes attached to my skin, I make sure to put them in the recycle myself, rather than relying on my dead nanites.

It's a shame that nanites aren't programmed to reproduce themselves, but if they were then there would be issues with unwanted mutations occurring in the self-replication process. Unsupervised evolution. I shudder, thoughts of malfunctioning nanites and unwanted, random mutations making goosebumps form on my skin. It's true that such random mutation used to be the natural, normal way of things, and was in fact responsible for the evolution of humans. But at what a cost! Both strong and weak characteristics are passed on randomly, the weak ones only being weeded out through competition for survival. So cruel.

Fortunately, it's not like that anymore. Genetic selection ensures that only the good genes are passed on. All those who are born now have the best genes that their parents possessed; such genetic conditions as Down Syndrome, leukemia, a predisposition to schizophrenia are either not passed on at all, or if the child has already been born, suppressed using gene therapy.

Whole animals are also no longer farmed for meat or other products: whatever by-product is desired is produced using nanites in a soup of primary components. Milk, muscle, leather: all made without having to raise and then kill living creatures.

The 'hum' of sound waves as they cleanse my body of impurities is soothing, calming me as I continue to read the report.

Apparently, the rogue vampire managed to pass the psychological tests by hiding his or her true personality and mindset. An impressive task in and of itself, for the psychological test is conducted by monitoring the person's daily activities 24-7 for a period of a year. Follow up tests to renew the vampire licence are less vigorous, requiring only a few sessions with a psychologist.

Then, two years after gaining the licence, Harlem Guy Mantague came under scrutiny for a series of suspicious disappearances and an upcropping of unlicenced vampires. Their link to Harlem? All the unlicenced vampires and missing persons frequented the same cafes and clubs Harlem frequented. Not much of a sign of guilt if it weren't for the fact that when investigators attempted to contact Mr Mantague, all lines had been cut and all transactions made by him since the disappearances began were through annoying mirrors that led nowhere.

How smart is this guy? I frown, the beams of sound making their final sweep of my body. Opening the file in my mind's eye for Harlem's background, the only time that he ever truly shone academically was in the first few years of primary school. Then, a gradual but inexorable slide to average marks. I read his teachers' personality reports, and again, it doesn't seem like he was anything out of the ordinary intellectually as he seemed to have to work hard to get those average marks, rather than being your usual bored teenage genius who neglects his or her schoolwork for smart comments and pranks.

Surely he hadn't been planning to hide his true self and commit these crimes from the beginning of adolescence? That's more than 62 years of laying groundwork and being patient!

I've gone undercover once or twice, and never have I been undercover more than three years at a time. I was ready to snap and arrest all the stupid vampire delinquents I'd made contacts with over that relatively small amount of time. Trying to imagine doing that for 62 years...

So, that narrows our options: either Harlem is the perfect actor, with seemingly infinite patience, with an IQ way above the normal, or he is being used as a red herring by the true culprit - or culprits - behind these crimes. Recording these thoughts in my work log, I step out of the sonic shower and quickly dress myself in my formal work uniform. I place an order online for a new batch of nanites to be delivered to my apartment and make my way to EVCU headquarters.

As usual, civilian traffic lanes are filled to capacity. Also, as usual, military and police traffic lanes are near deserted, the only sign of their existence being the red and yellow lanterns delineating their path through the skyscrapers.

Drumming my manicured fingers against my armrest, I wait impatiently as my Pod slowly inches its way towards our destination. Oh no, I can't use police lanes for transport between work and home. That's still considered to be /civilian/ transport, I think to myself, somewhat childishly.

"Mirror," The window in front of me shimmers, becoming a flat reflective panel that reveals to me just how disheveled -albeit clean- my brown hair is.

Matching brown eyes consider me from the panel, and I comb my fingers through my hair, removing the worst of the tangles. The image in front of me of a young man with mixed ethnicity tilts his head down, revealing a latent double chin. Average, very average. I looked average as a girl, too.

Brown hair, brown eyes, only slightly above average height. Lips that aren't thin, but not full either. Same for my cup size, butt size, waist size, everything size. I can thank my parental units for that: they figured that the definition of physical beauty was fluid, and so making me drop dead gorgeous by one standard may leave me being considered ugly when the tides changed. So what do they do? They make me have an average everything externally, but maximise the efficiency of my internal organs, soup up my immune system, and raise me on classical music to stimulate my mental development.

I chuckle, revealing sharp fangs, thinking of something my Alpha-mother said to me when I first went to school.
"Lars, you're not beautiful. But you're not ugly either, so don't let anyone tell you otherwise!"  

[Oshousama_Raistlin]

Chapter 2: The Conference

"Yo, y'all!" The only one who raises an eyebrow at my unorthodox greeting is a newbie, fresh from the Academy by the looks of her. Grinning, I quickly wink at her before turning my attention to Larry, the secretary. "Where am I supposed to go, Larry?"

"Third conference room on level six." A wolfish grin spreads on the middle-aged werewolf's features. "And could you take Miss Hunt with you? She will be observing."

My jaw drops, and I look from the greying man-wolf in front of me to the Academy student I am supposed to escort. Neither of us is pleased with the arrangement.

"No one told me about a student!" Panting happily, Larry's tongue lols out in a decidedly doglike expression of happiness. Temporarily unable to speak, Larry brings up the relevent memo on screen and shows it to me. "Damn you," I curse, which only increases Larry's good mood.

"Alright. Miss Hunt, was it? Follow me." Hurriedly picking up her briefcase and jacket, the young lady has trouble keeping up with my usual fast pace in her restricting Academy skirt. With a sigh, I shorten my strides. Catching up, it annoys me slightly to note that the girl is taller than me, and would still be taller than me even if she took off her high heels. Entering the elevator, I say nothing.

"So...you've worked at EVCU for a while, I take it?" The girl asks, fiddling with a ring on her left middle finger absently.

"Yeah," This is the first time an Academy student has sat in on one of my meetings since moving to the EVCU from the general police department. What the heck is Gareth thinking, giving this the ok?

"Um, I hear that the people in EVCU are really amazing." She pauses, I suppose because she sees that I'm not really interested in making polite conversation. "Well, anyway, I'm supposed to be mentored by a guy called Lars Nathket-" I choke, head snapping around to face the tall waif.

"Lars Nathket? Are you sure?" I cough, disbelief apparent in my voice and expression. Looking annoyed, the red head nods primly.

"Quite. I hear that he's one of the top agents in EVCU, a true professional." Unlike you, are the unspoken words at the end of her comment. The elevator doors open again to level six and I smirk, letting Miss Hunt step out first. So that's why Larry was having such a good time, hearing all this crap about how exemplary an agent I am from some Academy student. This could actually be fun.

"You could say that about him. You could also say that Lars is a little unorthodox in his methods," I comment lightly, grinning and biting my lower lip, giving her a small hint as to who I am.

"But he's never broken any laws, and he gets the job done." When she turns her head to look down her petite nose at me, I chuckle to myself. Yup, getting all this praise about me from an arrogant Academy student isn't bad. Not bad at all. "Isn't that what matters, Mr..?"

"Nathket. Lars Nathket," Bursting out laughing at the expression of horror and disbelief on the Academy girl's elfen face, I wipe an invisible tear from the corner of my eye.

"Nathket! You're late!" Sighing in satisfaction, I open the door for Miss Hunt before entering the conference room myself.

"No, Gareth; your watch is fast." I respond casually, dropping myself into a seat. "Anyway, these are my initial thoughts after reading the report." I download my work log onto the main screen. "Surely Harlem isn't the only suspect we have?"

Eyes still scanning the work log, Kathy shrugs. "One or two of us have had that same thought, if you read our work logs. But no other leads have turned up as of yet, and even if it turns out that Harlem is just a decoy, we may be able to find out who the real culprits are by their link to Harlem." Four tabs appear in my vision, and I open them to read as I listen to the others.

"I've just recieved intelligence from interstellar surveillance that a person matching Harlem's preferred appearance has boarded a ship headed to the 20th century Amish planet." Blinking, the other vampire in our team focuses red eyes on us. Unlike me, Sharla looks like a vampire even when you don't see her teeth. Porcelain skin, black hair, the looks of a woman who'll take you, use you, and discard you as fantastical vampires are wont to do.

"Permission to speak?" Miss Hunt turns to look at Gareth for permission. Gareth grunts, amused. Academy student.

"Granted,"

"Wouldn't a criminal change his or her appearance if they were on the run? It's easy enough to do." Turning her red eyes towards the emerald green of the Academy student, Sharla purrs dangerously.

"Changing one's appearance is easy, if one has nanites. Pre-22nd century Amish planets have outlawed nanites, and so all visitors must remove all of their nanites prior to gaining entry to said Amish planet. Furthermore, it is far more difficult to trace the movements of individuals in such backwaters since they lack the technology that we possess. A purrrfect hiding place." Typing and sending a private message to my ward, I give her a few hints on surviving in our team.

Miss Hunt, a few tips for you:
1. DON'T QUESTION SHARLA!!! If you want to know how she, or anyone else, reached their conclusions, read their work log.
2. Don't question anyone else until you've been around for more than a month.
3. Offering to do any menial tasks will earn you brownie points.

From the corner of my eye, I see the red head reading my message.

"Have we been given clearance to stop commercial transports for this job yet?" Gareth shakes his head at Leung's question, making the computer and technology expert roll his very oriental eyes upwards for patience. "What's their excuse this time?"

"Our target isn't a confirmed criminal yet. He has to be either caught in the act, or we have to prove he did those previous crimes without a shadow of a doubt." I can see where this conversation - and where this meeting - is headed, and slouch down lower in my seat to the amused glances of Kathy and Sharla. "Hey, ol' buddy Lars-," Gareth turns to me with a grin. "Sounds like a job for the famed undercover agent,"

"I hate the 20th Century,"  

[Oshousama_Raistlin]

Chapter 3: About the 20th Century

"Ok, Lana! Tell me what you know about the grand and wonderful age we like to call the 20th Century!" My personal human pet, fresh from the Academy, sighs. Obviously wondering if all the amazing stories she'd heard about how great an agent I am were really true.

"It was the century when fast verbal telecommunication was first widely implemented. Two-dimensional television was invented, and went from being just black and white to full colour. The human genome was first mapped-" I hold up a finger to pause the slim red-head's recital.

"Wrong: that was the first half of the 21st Century. People back then weren't really interested in new breaks in science and technology, so stop with the history-of-breakthroughs lesson. What about the popular culture of the time? They're currently re-living 1998." She shrugs, considering me with a mixture of annoyance and hesitant interest.

"Alright. The country we'll be based on initially will be a recreation of Australia, so the popular music culture is primarily english-language. So-called "boy bands" composed of five young men are rife, and they can normally be decomposed into one break dancer, one bad boy, one nice boy, one pretty boy, and one that can actually sing well." From our earplugs, we can hear Gareth and Sharla struggling to stifle their laughter. In front of me, the descendent of Nicole Kidman is also giggling, holding a slender hand over her mouth.

"'and one that can actually sing well'? That's a bit rich, considering they're supposed to be a music band." I shrug, massaging my sore legs. Another mission, another look. Artificially stimulating a growth spurt without nanites involves growing pains. By the time I land on the recreation of Australia, I will be precisely 33cms taller, have 25% more testosterone running through my veins, and a decidedly cleft chin. Miss Lana Hunt will be my 'girlfriend', have golden-tanned skin, and her cup size will be approximately double what it usually is. Apparently, these particular physical traits are in style, and, of course, being considered physically attractive tends to make other people more considerate and helpful towards you, which in turn aids in information gathering.

"There's plenty of stuff about the 20th Century that I find a bit rich. Take, for example, people paying money to get Botoxine injections, and then these same people worrying about botoxine being used in terrorist attacks." Lana's jaw drops, and she turns to look at me in disbelief.

"Botoxine injections?" the Academy student repeats with emphasis on the last word. I nod, and from the earplugs Kathy affirms what I said.

*Bzzt*"They used it to paralyse certain facial muscles, thus reducing the appearance of wrinkles. Western culture at this point in time finds youth to be attractive, particularly in women."*Bzzt* Green eyes narrowing at this, my trainee glowers.

"That's sexist." I chuckle, folding my arms. Pre-22nd Century Amish colonies tend to have more of these forms of discrimination. Ageism, sexism, racism, anythingism. It's almost impossible to be pleasing to everyone: even our so-called attractive figures will be bound to offend someone.

"Welcome to the 20th Century, Darling." I deadpan, wincing slightly when a robotic arm pierces my arm with a long needle. "Leung! Painkillers, please!"

*Bzzt*"Get used to it. 20th Century people don't get painkillers with their needles. They only prescribe strong painkillers for surgery."*Bzzt* I lean my head back with a pout. Atleast I don't have to wipe my memory clean of the present like most other visitors and inhabitants of Amish colonies.

In order to make the recreation of the past as realistic as possible, all inhabitants - bar the interstellar immigration staff and members of the secret service - willingly have their memories of the present erased, and replacement memories of the 20th century overwritten into their brains. Or, if they wish to experience for themselves life in the 20th Century, they can undergo age reversal therapy and be adopted by an Amish family (Yep, all memories are wiped when immigrants or visitors choose this option). For visitors, this means having to 'die' at a certain age - i.e. when their visa expires - and then a brain-dead clone is used for the funeral. Once their personality on the Amish planet is dead, then they have their original memories of the present returned to them along with a quick summary of "What's happened since you've been gone".

*Bzzt*"Gareth, could I go to one of their Chinese restaurants when we get there? It's near impossible to get genuine, unadulterated ethnic dishes on non-Amish planets,"*Bzzt* Gareth doesn't say anything, or atleast nothing on the public band. Leung sighs audibly over the earplugs. *Bzzt*"Dang."*Bzzt*

*Bzzt*"Fine. You can all do your sightseeing, but always remain contactable via the usual bands, and make your workstations mobile so you can be on the job while playing tourist."*Bzzt* A chorus of cheers follow Gareth's words, and the robotic arms being controlled by Leung do a little jig. Who would've thought that robotic arms could look so happy?

Turning off her mouthpiece temporarily, Miss Hunt whispers.
"Is it always like this on a mission?" I smile, eyes twinkling.

"If we didn't lighten the mood like this, we'd all suffer from burnout. It's a stressful job, otherwise."

"Ah," Petite hands folded in her lap, Lana considers this. "We were never taught this method of stress relief at the Academy,"

"Well, you can't teach everything at a school, no matter how hard you try."

********************************

I turn my unbelievably large "mobile" phone over, an eyebrow raised. "Are you sure they have these commercially down there?" I ask incredulously, staring at the unusual formation of buttons on the mobile phone.

*Bzzt*"Sure I'm sure! I researched it thoroughly, and Nokia was a very popular brand of handphone back then. Don't question the Techie!"*Bzzt* Walking absently, I continue talking over the private communication band.

"I'm getting this checked with immigration first. I could almost swear that 20th Century advances didn't include camera phones." Handing over my other luggage for checking by immigration staff, I bring the questionable handphone to their attention. Jenny, as her nametag identified her, shakes her head with an apologetic smile.

"This is 2003 tech; Nokia 3650 limited edition round dial keypad. Quite a prestige item, but I'm afraid you can't take it outside." Over the earplugs, I can hear Leung snorting in disbelief.

*Bzzt*"Tell her they've already developed it in Japan!"*Bzzt* I repeat Leung's words to the immigration official.

"In Japan, maybe. This is the Australian spaceport."

*Bzzt*"Meanie."*Bzzt* Ignoring Leung, and my 'girlfriend's, reactions of surlish annoyance and amusement respectively, I hand over the offending handphone.

"Can I get a replacement handphone, then?"

Finally emerging from the spaceport and entering the airport of the Australian Capital Territory, Kathy guffaws when she sees my replacement phone via the security cameras of the airport. Sending a private message to me on my retinal implants, I read the message as a hologram visible only to me.

Nice brick! I recommend reading the online paper on your obvious obsession with size, Lars.

Holding up my middle finger at the security cameras, I loop my other arm around 'Helen''s trim waist. One good thing about coming to this Amish planet; I am now taller than Miss Academy Student.

"Let's get to work, shall we?"  

[Oshousama_Raistlin]

Chapter 4: Undercover

"This, my dear, is a themed fetish club. Ever been in one?" I ask with a quick visual scan of the club. Also looking around, albeit more slowly, Helen gives each corner and patron a cursory glance before moving to the next subject. All of our sensory data is being recorded and transmitted via infra-red and FM radio to Leung and Sharla for analysis, so Helen's making their job much easier by looking around more carefully. But, she's also making her own act as a normal patron of the club slightly less believable by looking around like she's memorising the place. I'll have to talk to Lana about that later, but I can't right now.

"No. It doesn't seem too different than a normal club, except for the vampire dress-ups." We ourselves are dressed up as vampires, in order to blend in with the majority of the club's patrons. Talk about irony: A vampire pretending to be a human pretending to be a vampire.

"Aww, don't say that, my love. You are breaking this ages old heart of mine," I gush, revealing a flash of my very real fangs as I hold my hand over my heart.

*Bzzt*"Draculette, check out three o'clock for me."*Bzzt* Turning her head slightly, Helen lets her eyes rest in the direction Sharla had requested as she casually continues the conversation. Lowering her lashes and keeping her eyes averted, it seems as if her intention is to keep her eyes from meeting mine, rather than to look to the far corner of the club.

"Your heart stopped beating many centuries ago, you beast." Feeling her fingering the buttons to my waistcoat, I smile. Nice seductress act, Lana.

*Bzzt*"Thanks, Draculette. That's enough."*Bzzt* Shifting her gaze, Helen finally meets my eyes and lets a reluctant smile find its way to her lips. I know she's only doing this as part of our mission, but I can't help being turned on by her wandering fingers and far too revealing clothing. Finding my eyes focused on Lana's exposed cleavage, I tear my eyes away to search for the bar. Why oh why are stereotypical female vampires always dressed in black fishnets and corsets? Just as I'm thinking this, however, a slim twenty-something male catches my attention.

I had thought he was a 'she' because of the undulating and unreliable lighting in the club, but as he walks past I can see that it's really a guy wearing the corset, high heel boots, and make up. I really hadn't been expecting that from an Amish planet, but hey. Go fetish clubs. Having gotten my eyeful of the long legs and firm rear, I am about to turn away when Leung speaks up.

*Bzzt*"Dracula, follow that crossdresser! His identifying forehead markers match those of our target!"*Bzzt* Well, that suits me fine. Leaving Helen behind to cover the rest of the club, I make my way to the bar. Easily spotting the long legs and knee-high boots of my target, I sit down next to him.

"Hey there," Leaning my arm against the bar, I tilt my head to get a better view of his face. "Looking for company?"

He raises a perfectly plucked eyebrow, turning his face slightly to face me. "Perhaps," he finally answers, giving my body an appreciative look.

Shrugging my cape closed so that my shoulders are covered again, I run my tongue over my teeth and, in particular, over my fangs.

"Hey, Barman! Serve us some drinks, will you?" Dressed in torn and dusty clothes, the barman makes an incoherent moan as he shuffles over to take our order, keeping his eyes looking dazed in their darkened sockets. Zombie dress up. "My shout,"

"Bloody Mary," Crossing his legs as he says this, I feel the toe of his boot stroking my calf underneath the bar. Inhaling quickly, I hold up two fingers to order a second one for myself. As the zombie barman shuffles off with a swaying gait to make our drinks, I turn my attention back to my target.

"Let me introduce myself: my name is Raphael," Laughing quietly at this, my quarry lowers his glittered lashes. Underneath the bench, his foot stops stroking my leg. Underneath our arms, optic fibres in the toughened plastic bar light up and change colour in shimmering patterns.

"What a fitting name for a vampire! I have to admit that mine isn't as traditional as yours. Aden is my bland name," Our eyes meet, and I notice that Aden's pupils are unusually dilated, almost drowning the iris in black. Finally, our drinks arrive, and I chuckle at the red colour of the alcoholic drink. I doubt that our target would be taking drugs while on the run, especially considering how much of a genius he is supposed to be. So Aden is just a lookalike. Relaxing, I raise my drink to Aden in a toast.
Well, I can't exactly tell them what I think right now and until they tell me to stop trailing Aden, it's my job to get close to this guy.

*Bzzt*"Fortunately, Aden Menger uses his credit card when he pays for his drinks. He only arrived on the Amish planet two weeks ago, according to our records, and has a holiday visa for the next three months. I don't care if you have to give him a**l, stick to him!"*Bzzt* Frowning slightly at this revelation, I sip my tomato flavoured drink, fangs clicking against the thin glass as I drink.

Making a face at the drink, I pretend that it is the Bloody Mary that is making me frown. Wrinkling my nose, I set the red drink back down on the plastic bench.
"I know that drinking this looks like drinking blood, but I can never get a taste for this particular beverage," Not replying for a moment, Aden gazes at me in amusement, a smile playing over his painted black lips.

"How about if I gave it to you mouth-to-mouth?" As a rule, non-humans aren't allowed on Amish planets. Any non-human wishing to go on holiday to an Amish planet has to go through reversal therapy to temporarily return to being human while living on said Amish planet. Our quarry would not have gone through such treatment, and a kiss is a perfect way to determine if Aden is a real vampire or just a human dressing up as one. But, if Aden is a vampire, he will also know that I am a vampire when we kiss. Our lips meet, and I nibble his lower lip with my relatively blunt incisors. And blink rapidly in shock; Aden is a vampire. I can taste it in his skin, that /beyond/ human spice. Far removed from the canine smell of a werewolf, this is human, but not. At the same time, Aden must have realised the same thing since I feel the rhythm of his kissing and licking change subtly.

Getting the chemical readout from my sense of taste, Sharla purrs over the private comms.

*Bzzt*"Got you,"*Bzzt* Pulling away from my mouth, Aden exhales slowly, moving his mouth closer to my ear.

"So are you an illegal, or police?" he whispers into my ear, and I reach up to tangle my fingers in his long blue hair. Looking past Aden's shoulder, I see Helen approaching us. So even if Aden runs, we have him IDed and cornered.

"Police. You?" Sighing, and chuckling at the same time, Aden relaxes, holding a hand over mine.

"Same, unfortunately," Leaning back from me, Aden surreptitiously holds his wrist upwards so that I can check his ID. Holding out my own wrist in a similar position, we check eachother's ID, brushing our fingertips against eachother's wrists. In my field of vision, a profile comes up, along with a 3D hologram of Aden's head.

Name: Torrence Knowles
DOB: 12 December 2506
Department: EVCU, Planet 329 branch
ID String: A240008956782#098

More details appear in my vision, but the only thing I am really checking is the ID String. It appears in our database, and the note in our database for current mission says "Classified". I thought it was too good to be true: usually, the ones I have to track and seduce are ugly or have personal hygiene issues.

"Well, it seems that my girlfriend has found me," I sigh, rolling my eyes, keeping up the pretense of my cover for the benefit of anyone watching.

*Bzzt*"We've done a full sweep of the club. No other potentials,"*Bzzt* That's my cue to leave. Tilting his head slightly, Agent Knowles goes back to his drink as I slip an arm around Lana's shoulders and exit the club.

It's only when we're outside the club and on the way back to our temporary place of residence that Leung swears over the comm ********! The ID's a fake! I repeat, a fake!"*Bzzt* A flurry of activity, strained and raised voices whine and crackle over the private comm line. On the outside, I only glance at Helen as she sits beside me. Helen looks ready to jump out of the taxi then and there, but I hold her hand down, stopping her call to the driver to turn around by roughly kissing her. It's too late: by now, our quarry would have made his escape. Turning back and running back into the club would not only completely ruin our cover, but let the pretender know we had found out his ruse. It's better to lull him into a false sense of security while the rest of our team sniff around.

*Bzzt*"Don't turn the taxi around, you two. Just return to the hotel. This is a job for the support crew to follow."*Bzzt* Gareth, as I had known he would, had reached the same conclusion I had. Feeling Lana finally relax in my grip, I let go. This is definitely not a job for an Academy student.  

[Oshousama_Raistlin]

Chapter 5: Talking Hands

Sitting at the small kitchen table, Lana folds her arms, left over right, while drumming her right ring finger on the table.
"And what were you doing with that crossdresser, Raphael! Are you gay or what?" Scratching the left side of my nose with my right thumb, I tap the floor once with my left heel.

"I already told you, woman: I'm bi." I grumble. Our other conversation, spoken with gestures, is entirely different.

-Did you suspect Aden from the start? I saw you looking at him even before you were told to tail him.-

Briefly, I consider lying and saying 'yes' to stroke my ego, but then she might overestimate my abilities and take my word for things even when it's an obvious mistake. Not good for the success of the mission.

-Not really. I just thought it unusual for a crossdresser to be in a club not specifically catering to homosexuals. This is an Amish planet, after all.-

-Any feedback on my first time undercover?-

-Good control of body language while we were in the club. Don't be too obvious about looking around the club; just a quick glance is enough for Leung and Sharla to ID people. Don't anticipate orders. Continue acting on current orders unless new orders are actually given.-

Lana is silent in that conversation for a while, though our verbal sparring continues.

"-thought you loved me!" Wailing and letting tears stream down her face, I stand and watch the outburst silently, playing the insensitive boyfriend.

-I was taught all of that at the Academy, but it's different in the field. I was caught up in the moment and forgot. It won't happen again.-

-Work on it, but don't kick yourself if you stuff up again. Even the best agents stuff up now and then.-

Holding my left hand in my pocket to indicate that I'm not talking using body language with the next few actions, I smile and ruffle Lana's hair.

"I do, babe. Now go to bed; you'll feel better in the morning." Nodding, Lana sniffs and smiles back with eyes that are red from crying.

"b*****d,"  

[Oshousama_Raistlin]

Chapter 6: Secret Agent

Brushing my wrist against the eftpos machine of Club Blue as I swipe my 'bank card', I make a series of surreptitious hand signals as I type in my pin number to let the cashier know I wished to use one of their jack-in rooms, not a private booth for a peep show. Eyes distant, the brunette checks my ID and unique hand signals against the records kept on the worldwide database.

Satisfied with the ID, Lisa escorts me to my private booth with a smile.
"Would you like assistance using our equipment?" I shake my head, thanking the young woman. Closing the door with a soft 'click', I sit down on the red faux-leather sofa and lean back, waiting for the light in the security camera to turn off.

In these kinds of Amish planets, they do have their own electronic surveillance systems, and these security systems need to be bypassed in order to maintain the illusion of continuity and constancy for the outside Amish world. What is normally done for this kind of security camera is that a loop of film is copied and pasted one after the other to make it seem that I am just sitting in the booth for the entire duration of my stay in the strip club.

Then, once I am inside the actual jack-in room, a hologram is projected into the booth for the benefit of the Amish women that work at the club as innocent strippers: After all, it would be pretty strange if a patron just sits in a private booth by himself doing nothing for an hour or two.

Seeing the green LED at the bottom of the security camera switch to red, I tap the corner of the sofa with my fingers. Sliding backwards, the sofa - and me with it - are transported to one of the private jack-in rooms. It's nothing flashy; just the minimum required for functionality. An almost empty room, no, box, that has whitewashed walls and ceiling, with a shiny metal jack-in plug attached to a thick optic fibre cable. I once accidentally tapped the corner of the sofa before the security camera had been turned off, but as a safety precaution the pressure sensor in the sofa is deactivated until the security system is turned off. Basically, either the security system is running, or the sofa is.

Once the room is sealed, a mist of sanitising mist fills the room, ensuring that the metal plug and the room around me is germ-free. It's not really necessary, since every single person living in the 26th century is fully immunised and possess highly tuned immune systems. But, on the off chance that a person gets a brain infection, such sanitary measures ensure that the establishment is freed from any guilt. That is the 26th century in a nutshell; Everything has to be legalised, insured, made to be beyond a possibility of indictment.

Pre-twentieth century: If you get hurt, it's your own affair. Post-twentieth century: It's someone else's fault unless proven without a doubt to be yours. Get cut while using scissors: Why did the manufacturer of those scissors make them so sharp? Choke on a dim sim that you bought from a restaurant: The dim sims are a health hazard. That's why pretty much every aspect of life for a citizen of the twenty-sixth century is dictated by what licences he or she possesses. Don't have a licence to drink cordial? You'll have to just drink water. Don't have a licence to have sex? Well, it's the celibate life for you. It's all to prevent modern society and life being one big court case.

Logging into one of the most secure networks in the galaxy, I send a call to the rest of my team letting them know I'm online.

In my online room, a parcel wrapped in blue metallic paper appears in front of me. My scanning software has cleared the virtual package and so I peel off the EVCU sticker that holds the parcel closed, activating the executable file and transporting me to where my teammates are gathered.

Our online avatars were created using scans of our real bodies, and so it's almost as if we are talking face to face in real life. Inclining my head to acknowledge the others, I turn to Leung's avatar.

"How did Harlem make that fake ID?" The oriental man shrugs, fingers still tapping over a luminescent laptop that floats in mid-air in front of him.

"Still trying to figure that part out. Only managed to figure out it was a fake because the real Torrence Knowles happened to show his ID a little while later in Japan." As the techie says this, a flickering link appears in front of me for my personal reading on the incident. Opening the file, I read as I listen to the rest of my team.

"I've alerted the main HQ, and they also have their techies working on it. But we can't really protect the database from future corruptions if we can't figure out how the false information was made." It's only when I see Sharla's avatar yawning that I realise my teammates must have all stayed up last night trying to figure this out: Online avatars don't get black rings under their eyes.

"This could be an inside job; someone working in the EVCU or police units could alter information in the database, as long as they have the right clearance. It wouldn't be the first time an otherwise secure system has been breached." Only listening to the meeting our leader, Gareth Schye, paces back and forth. A few of us, back when Gareth was first introduced as the leader of the team, had found this habit of his irritating. But as time went on we learnt to ignore the incessant pacing, knowing that the action of walking back and forth was just the ex-military man's habit while thinking and mulling things over. I nod, agreeing with Kathy's assessment.

Glancing past the transparent computer screen in front of him, Leung focuses sharp eyes on us.
"That's the most likely scenario, but until we can prove that this was how the entry was altered I have to do my job and try to figure out how Harlem broke into the system."

"I know. I've just sent a report to the powers that be, suggesting the possibility I just mentioned. They have yet to begin an investigation." Sharla sneers at this, sniffing in disgust.

"So the bureucrats are probably sitting right on top of the rat to be weeded out, while expecting us to search for a loophole in the system that probably doesn't exist? I am really getting to despise this job." The other possibility, that the bureucrats are themselves harboring a mole, remains unvoiced, but is understood by the looks we give to eachother. Before the virtual silence can stretch any further, I change the topic.

"What are my orders now, Garry?" Looking up from his pacing, the man's mouth is a thin line.

"Continue your reconnaisance." Seeing the expression on my captain's face, I don't log out quite yet.

"Is that all?" Even Leung and Sharla look up from their workstations, pausing their work to listen to Gareth's response.

"Don't tell the Academy student about this meeting."  

[Oshousama_Raistlin]

Chapter 7: Secrets

Getting back to our hotel room, I'm not surprised to see Helen already waiting for me, arms folded across recently 'enhanced' breasts. Closing the door behind me with a soft 'click', I glance sheepishly at my undercover girlfriend and partner for this mission.

"...I'm back?" She thumbs her nose at me, tucking a stray lock of bleached blonde hair behind her left ear.

-Where were you?- Reaching to open one of the cupboards, I open a small box of "Coco Pops" cereal and pour it into a bowl.

-In a jack-in room.- Rolling her eyes at me, Helen opens the fridge and hands me a carton of cow's milk for the cereal.

-Meeting?-

-Not exactly...- Pausing, I make it look like I am embarassed to say what I was doing on the virtual network, concentrating on an embarassing memory to make my face blush realistically. Pissing your pants when you're an adult is embarassing, whether you're scared shitless or not. Having not only your entire team witness the event, but the criminal you are supposed to apprehend as well? Let's just say that I don't like to mention that particular mission. -I was in an RPG...-

I clear my throat, trying to change the topic. -Anyway, did you get any more reconnaisance done while I was gone?-

-You...were in an RPG...- I can almost see Lana's estimation of me drop a few stories by the way she incredulously repeats my hand signals. Darn. I'd only just started to impress her with my skill as an agent, too. Well, it's not a complete lie: I did spend half an hour or so playing as my favourite Drow character. I glance at the wall clock: It's nearly noon. Ok, more than an hour. But I found a whole colony of Ruby Golems! I mean, easy gold! Way easy gold! It's not like I run into Ruby Golems, or even Amber Golems, every log-in, let alone a whole colony of the things!

-Yeah, Stressful job and all. An agent's gotta relax somehow... ANYWAY, reconnaisance?- Hehe. I'm a rich Drow now, baby.

-None. I was waiting for you.- Helen raises a perfectly plucked eyebrow at me while holding her left hand in her pocket to indicate that she isn't speaking using hand signals with the following motions. She gracefully pours herself a glass of milk to drink while I am eating my cereal.

"What are you so smug about, Raphael?" I blink a few times, surprised. I'd been showing my feelings on my face? Ah well, might as well tell the whole truth about my RPing: it's not like any unwanted listeners will gain any insight into our mission from my online antics.

"My Drow Assassin is now richer than most of the minor Lords of Lendall," I explain quite seriously, munching on a mouthful of chocolate-and-sugar covered rice puff and milk. I grin. Now it's Lana's turn to blink in disbelief.

Swallowing a mouthful of milk. "You play Fantasia?!" Still grinning, I nod happily as I continue munching audibly on sugary cereal.

-Is Fantasia a code-word for something?- Seeing Lana's hand signals, I laugh.

-Nope.-

"Doesn't everyone?"

"When I was a kid, I did." Placing emphasis on the word 'kid', Lana stands up again to head towards the sink. I just munch on my Coco Pops, probably getting an added high from the sugar and who knows what additives.

"See?" I ask, acting as if her admission had proven my point. "The only difference between us is that I am still in touch with my inner child," Taking my empty bowl from me, Helen plays the dutifull housewife and washes all the dishes.

"Perhaps you should be more in touch with your inner adult instead," Ouch.

Reconnaisance that night goes smoothly. Helen plays her part perfectly. I approach any possible leads. We go back to the hotel. We sleep. We wake up again. I go to have my secret meetings with the team, and let Lana continue to assume that I'm just RPGing. Cycle begins anew. Again. And again. And again. And yet again. The days turn into weeks. Weeks turn into more weeks. Garry! Please! Save me from the monotony!

*Bzzt*"Ditch the cover. Target has been caught reentering the Australian Spaceport."*Bzzt* Oh my God, Garry! I love you! Suddenly on a high from the sound of my captain's gravelly voice over the private intercom, I rush out of the Hotel room and hail a taxi. No more clubs full of wannabe vampires. No more sleeping with unhygienic possible-leads. No more late nights, and having to wake up early in the morning to have secret meetings with the rest of the team. But mainly no more sex with grotty leads. One of them had turned out to be an actual vampire, and was summarily arrested. The others? They just got free sex with a living Ken doll. Behind me, Lana hurries to catch up, tripping over her high heels.

A black-and-yellow taxi answers my energetic hail, and I skip inside. A few moments later, Miss Academy Student bursts into the small vehicle with a flushed face from running.
"What about the Hotel fees?" I quickly tell the taxi driver where to go before replying.

"Leung'll take care of it." We pass over a bridge and the air blowing in through the open window is fresh, the scent of the ocean filling the old-style taxi. I take a deep breath, savouring it. Even the hint of car fumes is sweet because we are chasing our main target now, and he has been spotted entering the Spaceport.

"And our luggage?" And if Harlem is entering the Spaceport, chances are that he'll be trying to get off-planet.

"Leung." Getting off-planet means getting on a spacecraft. Getting on a spacecraft means a smaller area to hide in, which is always good news for us police types. As long as we know which ship he boards, that is.

"Well, we should just get Leung to do everything for us," Lana grumbles sarcastically, folding her arms and stubbornly staring out the side window.

"Cap'n's orders, Ma'am," I quip, attempting an olden-day sailor's accent and probably failing miserably. In front of us, the taxi driver can't help but laugh. If we don't know which ship Harlem boards, however, it will be like trying to find a needle in a haystack the size of the galaxy.  

[Oshousama_Raistlin]

Chapter 8: Chase

*Bzzt*"Get your godforsaken asses over here right NOW! What's taking so long?!"*Bzzt* Speaking out loud, I tap my left earlobe twice to activate the mouthpiece that is implanted in one of my molars as I run out of the taxi, leaving Lana to pay for the fare.

"Traffic, Captain!" Dodging an elderly pedestrian at the last moment, I keep my speed to human limits. I may have been given the clear to dump my cover, but I still have to maintain the act of atleast being human. A crazy human who talks out loud to himself, but a human. "I'm out of the taxi. I'll be there asap."

*Bzzt*"Where's Lana? We're not getting a signal from her,"*Bzzt* Hearing Leung's words I grit my teeth; Of all the times for our gear to malfunction, it had to be now.

*Bzzt*"Don't worry, Leung. I have a visual of Lana from the airport security cameras. She's on her way."*Bzzt* So we still don't have a direct feed from Lana. Turning my attention to more important matters, I quickly flash my fake plastic police ID at airport security as I run past. Fumbling with my black plastic mouthpiece, I push the earbud into my ear, cupping the black mini-microphone to my mouth. Don't want the security thinking that I'm nuts as well.

"Where's our target?" Finally I enter the Australian Spaceport, running full pelt. To the spaceport staff, I hold up my wrist for them to ID me. "Do we have permission to halt all outgoing spacecraft?!"

*Bzzt*"Target last seen entering Bay 9 three minutes ago. Spaceport security has since been corrupted: Target has blocked all sensors of his presence."*Bzzt*

"Shoot!" I shake my head in frustration. Three minutes ago?! The guy could be anywhere in the spaceport by now, since he's a vampire. In the back of my mind, an alarm bell rings at the timing of the spaceport security breach. That can wait. The immediate problem is cornering Harlem. "I repeat: Do we have permission to halt all outgoing spacecraft?"

"That's a negative, Lars!" Coming towards me from a side passageway, Garry is easily able to keep up with my vampiric speed: I can thank a mostly cybernetic body for that. In my mind's eye, a work log entry from Sharla opens itself for me to read.

Spaceport security breach is not confirmed by staff due to continued feed from sensors.
If sensors were simply cut out, breach would be confirmed.
Passing this over to Leung to find the software bug-

The rest I ignore as not being important. All I care about is that we have only five minutes before the next spacecraft leaves. Five minutes to either catch Harlem or remove his bug.

"Captain! I think we should deactivate all of our sensory implants: If Harlem can hack into Spaceport security to make only himself invisible, it's likely that he can also similarly hack our visual and-"

"Do it!" Obeying my captain's order, I switch off my sensory implants. Now I really do have to rely on the archaic plastic earbud and speaker. Leung drops out completely for a few seconds: he's notorious for his dependence on sensory implants to interface with technology.

"Pshh. I've switched off all sensory implants. Will be another ten seconds before I can continue interfacing again. Pshh." Well, now we're all not giving a direct feed, not just Lana. Garry holds up a hand for me to stop.

We've reached a branch that splits into another three corridors. I slide to a stop, leaving black rubber skid marks on the polished faux steel. The ex-military man only spares me a glance from his not quite brown eyes. I nod. We need atleast one more person to cover the third corridor, and that person can't be Lana.

"Pshh. I'm guarding the exit to the spaceport. Lana has entered spaceport. She should catch up to you in a few moments, Pshh." So now if Harlem wants to run back out of the spaceport he'll have to deal with Kathy.

"Sharla can take the middle corridor. Do you remember the blueprints for this Spaceport?" Briefly, I close my eyes, frowning slightly. This time, it is truly my mind's eye that brings up the memory of the Spaceport's layout.

"Yes." I open my brown eyes again, gaze going to the corridor on the right. There is another branch down this one, so I will probably have to take this route with Miss Academy Student. "Should I wait for further backup when I reach the branch?"

"No." I see my captain turn off his mouthpiece, and I do the same. "If Lana is our mole, we'll catch her with this. Leung will cover this junction himself once we've gone," So even if Lana lets Harlem escape her, he won't be able to escape Leung. Not for the first time, I feel my respect for my captain deepening.

Almost in unison, Sharla and Lana catch up to us: Sharla dressed in a black monochrome version of the Amish army uniform, Lana still wearing her high heels and tight denim mini-skirt. Without a word, I motion for Lana to follow me while Garry and Sharla take the other two corridors. We run down the corridor side by side, my 'Nike' sports shoes making an irritating squeaking sound as I run. Ever wondered why your pet dog acts strangely when you wear 'those' sneakers? This squeaking noise is above the limit of human hearing, so Lana wouldn't be bothered by it. I am. And our target is a vampire, so he'd hear me coming long before I arrived. Kicking off my loud shoes to jog in my socks, I sigh in relief. We've reached the corridor.

"I'll take the main corridor. You take the branch." Lana nods, and I hear the sound of her high heels clicking on the hard plastic floor fading into nothing as she moves further away. Turning my attention to the corridor in front of me, I now lope silently over the polished metallic plastic floor.

This isn't a corridor towards a passenger craft: the complete lack of advertising on the walls testifies to this. This corridor heads to one of the cargo ships. What cargo I have no idea. Could be raw materials, could be hazardous waste to be removed (and recycled off-world, since Amish planets lack the facilities) from the Amish planet.

"Can someone tell me what kind of cargo ship I'm headed towards?" I ask, eyes taking in every detail in sharp clarity as I run past. The holographic pattern that has been etched into the silver-grey plastic floor. The child-sized airducts that are spaced evenly and discreetly along the top edge of the sterile-looking white walls on either side of me. The scratch and slight gap between one of those grated airducts and the wall. I stop, keeping an eye on the rest of the corridor.

Stepping closer to the airduct, I catch a whiff of blood-tainted air. Fresh. Forcing my fingertips into the small gap between airduct cover and wall I tear the cover off, screws and all. It takes only a moment for my eyes to adjust to the reduced light that is inside the small airduct, and I feel a mixture of disgust and horror at the sight inside the blood-stained airduct. A child's body, relieved of most of her blood, has been stuffed into the small space. Where an elbow or knee had jutted at an awkward angle for hiding in the airduct, the killer had ripped off the offending limb to toss it in on top of the girl's face.

Leaving the opened airduct and grisly find behind me, I press the mouthpiece to my lips as I whisper softly.
"Inform Spaceport staff of murder in my corridor. Girl's body is stuffed into an airduct. That should get them to ******** recognise a breach in their godforsaken security." I snap, baring my fangs in a quiet snarl. "And can someone PLEASE tell me what kind of cargo ship I'm friggin' headed towards?!"

"Pshh. Sperm bank. Passing on your discovery to Spacesport security staff. Pshh." Leung is always calm during a chase. Sometimes I wonder how the oriental man can do it so well: I had seen the man's act during his first ever mission, and he'd kept his cool even when a psychotic vampire had him by his fragile human neck. It's not that he's always so emotionless. It's that Mr Chang can seemingly turn off his emotions at will.

Hearing the techie's calm response, I slowly take a deep breath. "Understood."  

[Oshousama_Raistlin]

Chapter 9: Sperm Bank

"Freeze!" I aim my right hand at the man I now recognise to be Harlem, our target. "You are under arrest for the murder of six civilians, the creation of twelve unlicensed vampires and the evasion of police." I step closer, keeping a sharp eye on my surroundings to detect any possible traps. The feminine-looking man in front of me smiles winsomely, slowly raising his arms over his head in submission.

"I found it quite amusing, watching you have sex with all of those ugly and smelly sods-" He was watching me? My eyes narrow slightly, but I make sure I keep my concentration on the job at hand. The place where Harlem is standing is right in between two clear plasti-glass vats. Of sperm. Through the creamy murk, I can see a mesh inside the vats: presumably to keep the individual sperm packets separate from eachother.

"You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and/or will be used against you in the Court of Law-" These cylindrical vats tower above us, and their size reminds me of the olden-day weapon silos. In the back of my head, I hear the less serious side of me gaping at the huge amount of sperm around us. Whoa...so much sperm... And the logo that is embossed on these giant vats is that of 'Mr Real', a well-known sperm provider who's main advertising slogan is "Real men. Real sperm. Direct from p***s to YOU." ...and so much wanking.

"Good good." The other vampire's flippant response gives me pause, and I focus a bit more attention to my surroundings. A trap? Surely a genius killer like Harlem wouldn't let himself get caught so easily? There is a track in the floor where I am standing for automated mini-karts. I realise what Harlem has planned just as I jump to avoid colliding with the mini-kart that hurtles towards me from behind. Jumping at the same time, the long-lashed vampire blows me a kiss as he leaps onto the side of one vat and launches himself from there to land on top of one of the other plasti-glass vats. I growl, leaping into the air myself.

I land softly on top of the same vat that my cross-dressing target had landed on. I don't have to leapfrog to jump this high: unlike Harlem, I am a level 12 vampire who's been souped up to the max. The added testosterone and height I currently possess also help. Below us, I see from the corner of my vision that Lana has arrived. Not good. Keeping the position of my Academy student in the back of my mind, I lope after Harlem as he randomly zig-zags from one vat to another. My lips thin as I give chase.

If Harlem were human, this tactic wouldn't work on me. If I were allowed to shoot to kill, this tactic also wouldn't work on me. Unfortunately, Harlem is definitely not human and I definitely do not have a licence to kill. Gareth, on the other hand, does. Hurry up and get here, Gareth! I have an open licence to cause medium-term injury, and even a probationary licence to cause permanent injury. But I can't shoot this guy because there's a chance that I could kill him!

Above our heads, I see the intestine-like cooling system that maintains the temperature of these vats at an optimal range for the sperm. This cooling system, by necessity, has to extend over all of the sperm vats. A plan forms in my mind, and I aim my right hand at the dull chrome pipes that are just ahead of Harlem. I am about to fire when a similar shot happens above my own head, dousing me in burning cold.

"Ah!" I yelp, stumbling backwards. One step. Two. And I teeter on the edge of one of the vats, struggling not to fall in. My entire torso is covered in ice crystals and my fingers are completely frozen, to my great annoyance. Does this mean that Lana is the mole? I glance at where Lana is and to my surprise she is twitching on the ground below us, head thrashing on the ground. What the heck is going on? I turn my attention back to Harlem, and he is laughing.

"Do unto others as they would do unto you, my dear Police friend." He rushes me, and I try to dodge the attack but my reflexes are dulled due to the excessive cold. He gives me a full blow on the chest that sends me tumbling backwards into the vat, and makes his escape. For a suspended moment, it seems that the membrane covering the semen below me will hold, stretching and bouncing me gently as if I were on a water bed. But when I try to get up to track Harlem, the membrane splits around my feet. I manage a pained grimace and flinch just before I am completely submerged in...well, I don't want to think about it too much right now.

Keeping my mouth firmly shut, I attempt to wade towards the side of the vat. The great thing about being a real vampire is the increased strength, speed, and heightened senses. The bad thing about being a vampire? Increased weight, increased sensitivity to light. A human my size would weigh only 90 or so kilograms: I weigh a good deal more than that, and that means I am probably going to sink to the bottom of this vat. Underneath me, I feel the mesh of membranes separating sperm samples from eachother stretching and summarily breaking. Just as I feel my head go completely under, I feel a strong arm grab mine, pulling me back up.

Spitting and coughing, I shake my head.
"I don't get paid enough for this!" I wail as I am dragged out of the vat covered in sperm. The concerned frown on my captain's face turns into amusement.

"Atleast the warmth from the dunking defrosted your extremities," Gareth notes, chuckling at my irate look. A look that doesn't have much strength because white fluid is dripping into my eyes and from the tip of my nose. "We caught Harlem."

Clenching and unclenching my fingers, I wince as feeling returns to my fingertips. Another good thing about being a vampire: I don't need nanites to recover from frost bite. Wiping semen from my face, I look down at where I last saw Lana. She's being tended to by Sharla and Leung.

"Why don't you say it like it's the end of the mission?" I sigh, sitting on the hard plasti-glass edge of the vat.

"Leung hit Harlem with a neural suppresant." Gareth pauses, looking at Lana with a serious expression on his face. "It had no effect. I had to shoot him in the spine to down him," My eyes widen, and I look at my tall captain in shock. The neural suppresant had no effect on Harlem? That means that the entire time we were chasing him, Harlem was already brain-dead. No higher lever thinking: just a living piece of flesh. Brainless flesh that was being controlled somehow, by someone. The most likely possibility is that intelligent software was downloaded into his neural implants: much like the NPC in my online game of fantasia, except this is a 'Non Person Controlled Person' - NPCP. I guess that explains the dilated irises Harlem had when I first met him.

"What happened to Lana?" I ask, watching as Leung inserts a portable Jack-in plug into Lana's head. The first of the Spacesport security enter the scene, and Kathy is the one leading them and filling them in. Gareth folds his muscular arms and jumps down from the top of the vat to land beside the incapacitated Lana.

"I shot her with a neural suppresant. Leung is now checking her neural implants for tampering." Again I frown, spitting one last time when another trickle of white semen makes its way from my short hair to the corner of my mouth. A neural suppresant should down the target completely: Lana should have just looked like she was unconscious, rather than having a seizure. Slicking my hair back, the sticky semen keeps my hair in place like gel even when my hands are back at my sides. First, I am going to have a shower. Then, a sauna bath. And a cold shower with some nice floral-scented shampoo for my hair. And a full body exfoliating session at a beauticion. With a facial mask. Gotta have that facial mask.

Mind going back to more serious matters, I remember the bell that had rung about the timing of Lana's dropping out on the communication band, and the timing of Harlem's disappearance from Spaceport security sensors. Also jumping down from the side of the vat, I approach my teammates, my wet socks leaving footprints made of semen on the otherwise clean floor.

"Have you already cross-referenced the time of Lana's dropping out from the communication band to the time of the Spaceport sensor security breach?" Leung's eyes narrow, and he does what I suggest.

"Not yet." Using his laptop, the oriental techie types in a few commands. "Statistical software says that, with the added data point Lars just mentioned, there is a 63% chance of a link between Lana and Harlem existing even before he hacked her neural implants to make her shoot the cooling pipes above your head." So there's a slightly less than fifty-fifty chance of a prior link existing between Lana and Harlem. Not much of a sign of guilt, by any standards.

"So you found evidence of hacking?" Gareth asks, leaning over us to better see the small laptop screen. Leung nods, and is about to reactivate his sensory implants to more easily interface with his technology when our captain shakes his head. "I don't want any of us reactivating our sensory implants until the real culprits are found and behind bars."

"Understood. There is evidence of tampering in the software of Lana's neural implants that wasn't present when we last received a direct feed from her sensory implants. However, there are other -currently unreadable- files embedded in the Academy student's implants. And not just the neural ones: sensory, motor function. I'm willing to bet that there are more, and because of this I would like to also do similar scans of the rest of the team."

Leung pauses. "Lars will have to do the scan of my implants."

I nod, expecting the last statement from our techie. I'm a jack of all trades: I'm not as good as Leung at using technology, but I'm far better at it than the rest of the team. Same goes for criminal psychology, gathering intelligence and the ability to lead a team. One of the reasons why I'm considered to be one of the best agents in EVCU.

"Can I get cleaned up first? I don't know about you people, but I think being covered in live sperm is kinda disgusting." Snorting, Sharla finally looks up from her own analysis of Lana's body. On top of being our main Intelligence officer, the female vampire is also the team's chemical analyst.

"Obviously, you don't have a fetish to be covered in cream. I'd love to be in your shoes - or socks, as the case might be - right now." Even Gareth chokes at Sharla's words, coughing.

"You gotta be kidding me, woman!" Flashing a brilliant, fanged smile at our leader, the porcelain-skinned vampire turns back to her work.

"What can I say, Captain? Your underlings are all oddballs."  

[Oshousama_Raistlin]

Chapter 10: Hacker

The ride home is pretty uneventful by EVCU standards: Kathy found out that her 16th husband had cheated on her and wanted a divorce, Sharla almost got her license to handle dangerous chemicals suspended due to the antics of her pet robo-monkey (it somehow manages to turn itself on right when the female vampire is handling the most hazardous substances), Leung shuts out the world to work on his "Ultimate AI", I go off on some virtual Drow adventures, and Gareth hounds us into doing some actual work. Lana we keep sedated until Leung can find out what happened on the cargo ship.

Harlem, on the other hand, is perpetually jacked-in to a virtual cell that is isolated from the ship and interstellar network. A flat panel above his head shows his vital signs and his actions inside the virtual cell. When I say virtual cell, I don't mean that the virtual environment looks like a gaol room. Rather, the name simply means that the person logged into it cannot access any other virtual environments, and cannot log out. Currently, the man is talking with an NPC inside a fetish club environment. Most of the time, people locked into such virtual cells don't even know that the world they are interacting in is a fake one. Even if they made the hand signals to log themselves off a virtual network, the hand signals have been deactivated so it would be like making meaningless signals in the real world.

Seeing their charges locked away like this, some agents in the past have become paranoid about this possibility happening to themselves, continually expecting the world they are in to suddenly disappear, to be replaced by one in which they had been found guilty of some great crime. Some agents still do become paranoid, and have breakdowns: it's the most common reason for agent burnout and depression. It doesn't help that some agents who commit a misdeed really are locked in such virtual cells. My old mentor, a werepig, suffered from a mental breakdown because of this very reason. Last time I met him, he'd been crying and rocking back and forth in a padded room, apologising to the empty air for a misdeed that he thinks he may have perpetrated.

I may have perpetrated several misdemeanours: hacking into a bureucrat's personal computer while my right to audit was still being processed, causing collateral damage to commercial cargo and property, exploitation of ambiguities in verbal and written commands, the list goes on. In fact, I probably am being locked up in a virtual cell right this moment. How do I cope? I spend as much of my time goofing off as I can. If I'm going to be locked up in a virtual cell, I may as well enjoy it.

That, and I also know that if I haven't been locked up in a virtual cell before my third disgretion with the EVCU, I am safe from any forced jack-in.

Why? Because after that I programmed some nanites to permanently alter my head plug in such a way that I could always physically disengade my senses from the plug's contact points, that's why. EVCU doesn't have a record of this, of course.

"Hey!" I squint, shielding my eyes from the cool white light of the ship's main deck. "I was in the middle of something!"

"Leung has finished his scans of the rest of the team. Now it's your turn to scan Leung." Business as always, Gareth firmly pushes the jack-in plug that was in my head up to a few moments ago into it's storage hole to be disinfected and maintained by the onboard nanites. I make a long-suffering sigh and look to the heavens for deliverance from my captain's ever serious attitude towards life. Actually, since we're currently travelling through space, the heavens are all around us. Well, I looked to the ceiling of the main deck, anyway. Glancing at the part of Leung's report that is still on-screen, I see the results from Gareth and Kathy: they both had a few software bugs hiding in their implants. Inwardly I frown at this: Gareth has never been infected with software bugs before because he is the most fanatical out of all of us about keeping his firewalls and antivirus software up to date, and that's saying something because the rest of us always update our packages within an hour of the new upgrade being made available.

"Ready?" I ask with a toothy grin, holding up the scanning device as if it were a sword. Leaning back on the sofa-like examination table, Leung exhales slowly.

"Yeah," Turning on the baby-blue baton, the scanner makes a soft humming noise that is completely unnecessary for its proper function: the engineers who designed the scanner just figured that some detectable sign from the machine that it was 'on' would reaffirm to our still-primitive minds that it was working. I fiddle with a few of the pressure-activated buttons and dials, changing the setting to get a byte-by-byte scan of the software matrices within each of Leung's implants. I am familiar with the scanning methods available to the EVCU, and I know that any obvious alteration to my head plug would raise questions. I sweep the baton over Leung's still body, slowing down at the parts of his body that are higher in density.

As it is, the alteration I made simply looks like an echo in the raw reading: a common phenomenon with such scanning devices. The baby-blue baton emits a high-pitched squeak, indicating that I need to make another sweep to fill in the gaps in the device's reading. As such, echo cancelling software that is pretty much standard with these devices erases the 'echo', and my alteration remains undiscovered to this day. I finish the second sweep and the baton sings a cheerful-sounding melody before making a noise that is reminiscent of a person blowing raspberries. Raising a brown eyebrow at this, I hear Leung stifle a laugh.

"My bad: I did that in my spare time. You wouldn't believe how irritating that cheery beeping gets after your umpteenth scan," I blink a few times, trying to imagine Leung doing something as silly and childish as this in his spare time. It sounds like something I'd do, rather than something the genuine-ethnic-food-obsessed techie would do. I guess I'm rubbing off on my teammates.

"...I'll take your word for it..." I try to say it with a straight face, but the corners of my mouth refuse to stay down. Oh no, they don't want to obey my orders. Seeing my facial expression, Leung grins and winks back. Propping himself up on his elbows, the oriental techie is all business again.

"You still have to analyse the byte-by-byte reading, Lars. You know where to get my blueprint, right?" I nod. The blueprint that Leung is referring to is the thing that I have to compare the current reading to. Ideally, the blueprint and the current reading should match exactly. In real life wear and tear, environmental factors, usage: all of these cause some bytes in the software contained in an implant to drift. These drifting bytes aren't really a problem, as it takes extended use or extreme conditions to cause any drift at all, let alone a significant drift that affects the function of the implant. Significant changes to the software matrix within an implant can mean only one thing: a bug.

The thing about bugs found in implants is that they have to be coded in assembly language: One's and zero's, moving and handling data bit-by-bit. I'm fine writing my own assembly-level code, and can even develop a pretty sophisticated program using only assembly-level code. I have a hard time reading and understanding assembly code that has already been written, however: sort of like the difference between getting a big picture and turning it into a jigsaw puzzle, and getting a jigsaw puzzle and trying to put it back together.

Opening the file on a flat panel, I start the program that will automatically compare the reading just taken to the file in memory. A mere eyeblink later, the panel beeps once to indicate that the comparison is done. Ah, the joys of parallel processing. Opening the report, I raise an eyebrow. Leung's implants are bugged. To saturation. The entire holographic prjection representing a much-magnified version of the techie's three-dimensional implant is glowing red, indicating that all of the implant's software matrix is corrupted. With software corruption of this level, it shouldn't be possible for Leung to even move and respirate properly, let alone allow him to function without noticing anything odd going on.

Highlighting a small section of the implant, I take a closer look, comparing the original lines of compiler code with the current lines of compiler. Mostly, the added and altered lines just copy and send information to send to another location in the implant, as well as sending the data to the original intended recipient.

"Leung, did you do any alterations on your own implants that you haven't yet reported to EVCU?" Leung purses his lips, eyes still closed.

"No. I take it that there are bugs?" I am quiet, still looking through the changes. Here and there, a few of the lines have been condensed into one command that does the same task: this is, obviously, a good thing since it saves space and speeds up the overall running of the program. Nothing obviously bad yet, which is why it makes me think that maybe Leung made these changes himself.

"I know that you aren't supposed to interfere in my analysis, so I won't ask for your opinion on this, but this is what I am currently seeing." I pause, and quickly type in a command to the scanner to trace where a certain piece of data has been copied and sent to. "I am seeing several lines of code that has been replaced with one line: this makes the software more efficient, which is why I thought that maybe you were the one to make these changes. Also, extra lines of code have been added. The number of lines of code added seems to equal the number of lines saved, thus making the overall size of the program in memory remain the same. So far, these added lines of code only send an extra copy of data to another location. One of which I am currently going to to check out."

This particular receiver of information is a subroutine that has been highlighted green: Code that is supposed to be there. This green code takes the data string, checks certain bits, and if these bits are 'true', sets a flag in another data string to 'false', and returns to sender. I frown, following this particular data string on its travels through Leung's implant's software matrix. Here. There. The data string travels from green code to red, changing bits and starting a domino effect of new strings with slightly altered identities on their own little travels. One data string is copied and turns into two. Two strings turn into four. Four into eight, and the cycle continues. From what I've read so far, it shouldn't be possible for Leung to even walk without losing balance and crashing into a wall, the original strings of data are so mutated from what they once were. Failing that option, there's also the issue of having an ever-increasing demand on the processing power of his implants with the continually growing number of data strings to process. There's gotta be a trick somewhere.

I send a test packet of information into both the current and saved versions of the implant software matrix to see what comes out. My theory is that, after all the processing in the implant is said and done, both of them will have the same output: As I've probably already said before, otherwise Leung would be a quivering wreck. Again, I am proven wrong: The outputs from the virtual recreations of Leung's implants are completely different. What the Hell is going on??

"Leung, could you, uh, catch this?" I ask, turning to look at the techie as I toss him the blue baton. His response is swift, and the oriental man snatches the scanner out of the air with little trouble. Hand-eye coordination is good. Reflexes are good. His implants, on the other hand, are not.

Muttering to myself, I turn back to the virtual recreations of the implants. After a few minutes of being ignored, Leung shrugs and goes back to his quarters to continue working on his Ultimate AI.

"Captain?" I call, waving the burly ex-army man over. His left cybernetic leg still undergoing scheduled maintenance, the nanite filled gel-packs attached to Gareth's calf and thigh quiver and ripple as he steps towards me.

"Yes? What is it?" Stepping aside slightly to give the tall man a better view of the flat panel, I explain.

"-Leung should be a twitching paraplegic!" Eyes narrowing, Gareth listens to my words without a word. Finally.

"And yet, he is not." I nod once, glancing at the results from my test packet of information. Gareth walks away and I let the big man go, knowing that he is still mulling over what I just told him. Gareth begins to pace, making the pinkish gel-pack on his leg tremble and distend with every stride. Turning back to the flat panel in front of me, I try to think of the software matrices within the implant in a different light, from a different angle. It's pretty difficult, since all of the engineers, programmers, and even biologists I have ever learnt from taught that an overall system is the result of it's parts. You can't end up with a four-course meal if you glue grains of sand together, no matter how hard you try. It's sort of like saying that you can end up with the same result whether you add or subtract ten from three. The thud-thud-thud of Gareth's pacing stops, and I look up. "You only did the test with one matrix within the implant, right?"

I nod.

"Software in one matrix interacts with other matrices, right?" Again, I nod.

"And implants interact with one another, correct?" I make a doubtful expression.

"Indirectly." Gareth sighs, folding his muscular arms across his broad chest.

"How indirectly? I'm not as savvy with technology and biology as you two are." I sit down in front of the flat panel, indicating for my captain to sit beside me.

"Ok. Implants are everywhere in our bodies: in our brains, our internal organs, our muscles." Gareth nods, studying the hologram I brought up of the generic humanoid anatomy which had implant locations indicated by lavender dots.

"Some implants record information for sending, as you know. For some of these implants, the information they receive comes from our own nervous system. For this example, let's just say that an implant in another part of the body tells the adrenal gland to produce more adrenalin." The lavender dot above the adrenal gland flashes, and the adrenalin that I have for this demonstration coloured orange is released into the virtual body's blood vessels and thus carried all around the beige holographic body.

"Producing more adrenalin heightens alertness, speeds up the heartbeat. The implant that receives information from our nervous system would not detect the adrenalin directly, but it would detect an accelerated heart beat." Nerve endings in the chest of the holographic humanoid flash, sending a rippling light signal to the brain. The purple dots inside the hologram's beige skull flash in response when the white signals from the nerve endings reach the neural implants.

"In response, this implant might tell another implant - directly - to increase antioxident production to cancel out the negative effects of increased oxygen flow and consumption." Another white ripple of light runs down from the neural implants, taking a different path towards the humanoid's digestive system, where the organ in charge of producing antioxidents resides.

"Thus, the implant controlling the adrenal gland interacts with the implant controlling antioxident production. This is a multi-linked chain of events, and at each junction the response could be altered by other inputs that one or another implant receives. So the effect one implant has on another is unreliable: the implant controlling the adrenal gland MAY NOT have an effect on the one controlling antioxident production, depending on the situation." The beige holo-biped shrinks back to its original size, we no longer needing to have a close-up view of certain parts of its body.

"Ever heard of steganography?" The name sounds familiar and I blink a few times, trying to remember where I remembered it from.

"The name rings a bell. Something about coding a hidden file into the least significant digits of a video-type file. Why?" Gareth scratches his chin with a wry smile.

"It's old school, so I'm not surprised that you don't know much about it. Basically, the reasoning behind steganography is that pure black looks pretty much the same as really dark gray. That sound at 15 KHz sounds pretty much the same as 15.001 KHz. If two people had a copy of the same video, one could add the bits that make up the second file to the bytes of the colour pixels and sounds. The video, when watched, would look pretty much the same, despite the individual pixels and sounds all being different to what they originally were. Perhaps the output for Leung's matrix looks different, byte by byte, but when put together with all of the other matrices and implants seems to have the same output?" Resting my head in my hand, I consider the idea. It's a nice, neat theory. Simple. But there is a flaw.

"But that means that the hidden message can only be decoded if you possess both the original and the altered copy, right?" Testing Gareth's suggestion, I expand the scope of my test to include Leung's entire system of implants.

"Yes." As Gareth had described, the overall output from the entire system of implants remained relatively unchanged.

"Then why would our hackers want to send us a message that we can decode?"  

[Oshousama_Raistlin]

Chapter 11: Punishment

"You have one new message. Message received ten days ago at 11:34am: This is the admin of Fantasia. We have recently discovered a sudden jump in the amount of wealth possessed by the avatar "Valerinn Draynor", caused by an illegal hacking of the online RPG. Please be informed that, for these reasons, your account has been banned until further notice." Hearing the message, I raise an eyebrow. A prank message? I get those, sometimes, though usually they are along the lines of 'tell us your password so that we can verify that you are not a hacker.' Shrugging in my VR suit, I make the hand signals to log into Fantasia.

Unlike a jack-in plug the VR suit gives my body the actual sensations that I am supposed to feel when logged on, rather than sending tiny electrical impulses through my nerves: if I touch a rough surface with my virtual hand, the part of the suit over my hand changes shape to become rough. To stop me from walking into a wall the VR suit has to be used while inside a "my-bubble", a sphere with a diameter of three metres that rolls and rotates in place as I move around inside. Since I can't touch both sides of the sphere at the same time and can't see the sides of the sphere due to the tiny plasma screens in front of my eyes, as far as I can tell I am in a huge, unlimited space. Obviously this is far less space and resource efficient than just having a finger-sized popsicle stuck into your head, but it gives the option of logging on virtually - with all the funtionality of a jack-in - without the associated risk of brain or implant hacking.

As usual, the welcome screen greets me when I go to the website, asking me for my name and password. I give it.

Not as per usual, the virtual environment that greets me after logging in is a virtual recreation of a conference room, with whitewashed walls and several comfortable chairs and a throne spaced at regular intervals around the central frosted-glass table. The emblem embossed on the frosted glass is that of Fantasia, with a stylised representation of a knight versing an evil-looking dragon curling around the calligraphy 'F'. Seated around the glass table are the famous and unique avatars of the moderators of Fantasia.

In the gold and ivory throne, the current on-duty manager of Fantasia sits, her avatar that of a sleek, ruby scaled draconian wearing a rich gown of golden silk. Directly to Unos' right sits the second in charge, a male human avatar wearing the unadorned black velvet robes of a high-level necromancer. !Xant is the only moderator to have forsaken the title of a Deity on Fantasia, preferring to level up and play his necromancer the usual way. To Unos' left is Daishounal, dressed in the grey cotton robes of a cleric. She is the Goddess of Alternate Paths, a Goddess who is known for her healing powers and the ability to see a path where others can only see a barrier. The others that are seated around the frosted glass table are a mixture of races and classes, from legendary blacksmiths to blind mystics and other minor deities of good and evil.

"Valerinn, you come before the council today on two charges of unlawful conduct within Fantasia. Are you aware of these charges?" Unos asks, her scaled and clawed fingers drumming the arm of her ivory throne once. I note, with an ironic and cynical amusement, that the God of Thieves and Murderers is present as a moderator.

"Could you remind me?" I ask with a charming and slightly cynical smirk: one of my Drow character's most practiced facial expressions. Her full lips compress, and Unos gestures for !Xant to summon the writ. A few finger flicks later, a scroll of yellow parchment floats in the air in between us, called in front of me by the necromancer.

Basically, it read that I was charged on two counts of hacking/altering Fantasia. The first time was by creating an extra copy of the limited-edition Demonchild, and the second was for creating and then killing a colony of Ruby Golems. My eyes narrow. What Demonchild? I never got a demonchild.

"But I never got a Demonchild!" I protest, turning to look at the moderators arrayed in front of me.

"You created a Demonchild by hacking Fantasia. You were about to adopt said Demonchild from its peasant mother when EVCU avatars interrupted." Folding my lean arms in front of my chest, I also summon my own file of the event.

"I encountered an infant NPC that interested me. I did not create it, and I certainly didn't know it was a Demonchild!" In the back of my head, I bemoan the loss of the demonchild, hacked or not. There are supposed to only be twelve Demonchildren in the entirety of Fantasia, all born to poor widows in need of money. To raise and have a demonchild as your companion is like owning a Dragonball: it protects itself, learns whatever you teach it, has an intelligence of 18+d6, wisdom of 22+d2, Health...well, I'll just leave it at that. I almost wished that I had adopted the demonchild, now that I know what it was. Almost.

A few of the more minor moderators talk quietly among themselves as they analyse my records of the encounter, and finally the cleric of Daishounal nods. "Four votes have been placed for Valerinn's innocence with regards to the Demonchild, versus one vote for his guilt. Two are undecided."

Unos nods her scaled head, and the first charge against me is crossed out with magical flames that burns a hole into the parchment. I sigh in relief. Only one more to go before my ban is lifted. Again, Unos speaks.

"The second charge is one that you cannot claim innocence on the grounds of failure to benefit: your IP address was logged and your virtual identifiers found as being the one to make and give illegal approval for the creation of a Ruby Golem colony. You are not a moderator of Fantasia, and even if you were you would need the approval of a second moderator to create and establish a colony of creatures in the world of Fantasia. Furthermore you were also the only one to benefit from the existence of this Ruby Golem colony, as you were the only one to slay and then bank the gold that each Ruby Golem was worth." I frown at this: I myself, in the position of the moderators, would see this as a pretty clear sign of guilt. After all, why would a hacker create a colony of Ruby Golems for some stranger to find and slay? How does the hacker benefit, if the hacker is not the one to gain the gold?

"You won't believe me even if I tell you that I only happened to stumble upon this colony of Ruby Golems, so I won't bother. Can't you just remove the gold and experience points I got from the Ruby Golems?" I ask, hoping for the lightest punishment possible. Worst case scenario: my Drow character, who I have spent 20 good years customising and levelling up, is returned to beginner level and a peasant's inventory. Unos' ruby red lips thin, and the expressions on many of the faces of the other moderators is stern. My heart sinks.

"If all we did was that, it wouldn't discourage you from trying again. Instead, it would only encourage you to further hide your tracks when you try again: after all, all us moderators would do is remove those extra experience points and gold. You would simply be in the same position as you were before hacking Fantasia." !Xant's icy blue eyes flash dramatically as he says this, the glow from his avatar's blue eyes further emphasized by the dark shadows from his drawn-up necromancer's hood. 'Eyes of the Demon', it's called: a level 52 Black Magic spell whose main advantage is the ability to shock NPCs into fearful submission. For other players of Fantasia, Eyes of the Demon just looks cool to have. "This is the first time you have been found exploiting and breaking the rules of Fantasia, so I will not recommend the harshest punishment available to us."

I sigh in relief: I won't be turned into a level one player again. !Xant is almost always the strictest of the moderators, known for recommending and handing down the harshest penalties. To the other side of Unos, Daishounal traces the symbol of a branching road that is embossed on the gold medallion around her neck, expression neutral.

"At the same time, however, we have to use this case to set an example for any other players of Fantasia who also possess high-level technology licences. I am going to recommend a return to level 1 for the character Valerinn Draynor." I choke, coughing.

"What?!" I yelp before I can stop myself. Clamping my mouth shut, I bow in apology. "I am sorry for the outburst. It's just that even !Xant did not recommend a return to level 1, and as he said, this is the first time I have ever been found transgressing the rules of Fantasia." I did not add, for fear of getting on Daishounal's bad side, that normally she is the one to try and cajole for a lighter punishment on behalf of the player.

"You are thinking that I have no right to recommend a harsher punishment than !Xant, correct?" The expression on my face is answer enough, and the Goddess Daishounal exhales slowly. "It is true: as an individual player, this is the first time that you have ever broken the rules of Fantasia. However, as time goes on the number of players bending and even blatantly breaking Fantasia rules is increasing exponentially. As a moderator of Fantasia, I have the responsibility to act in such a way that will most benefit the future of Fantasia. I want to be proactive in my discouragement of anyone breaking the rules of Fantasia, and since few have been discouraged by the posts and warnings on the Fantasia website, I will have to discourage future hackers with an example. A precedent, if you will."

!Xant's necromancer avatar folds his arms, slipping his hands underneath the plain but high quality cotton sleeves of his black robes. Unos slowly closes her sparkling red eyes, not deigning to disagree with her underling. All around the conference table, deities of all shapes and sizes also become sombre. Dwarves, Minotaurs, humans, elves and even a lone goblin.

Something brushes the back of my neck, and I turn my head around with a frown. What is it? But nothing is there. I could almost swear that I really felt something touch my neck, and I continue to look behind me. All there is is the virtual door to exit Fantasia.

"Valerinn? Is there something wrong?" With a start, I turn back around. Daishounal is looking at me with a mixture of annoyance and concern.

"No, it's nothing." Leung's implants were corrupted to saturation, while the rest of the team had only a few alien software packets living within their software matrices. A temporary hack can be done via the transmissions we had from one implant to another, but to download permanent software into an implant the receiver must be jacked in. Leung jacks in the most out of all of us, and so his implants were the most altered. All the other reports that I had seen seemed to follow this trend: Gareth had the next highest number of bugs, followed by Kathy. If this trend applies to me as well, I should be bugged close to saturation as well, as would Sharla: something to check when I log out. The only person I currently know of who breaks this trend is Lana: during the entire length of the mission, I have never seen her - and nor has she confessed of doing so - jack in.

Bowing to the gathered Moderators, my mouth is a thin line.
"Please send me your decision via email. I'm leaving." Making the hand signals to log me off the virtual network, the tiny screens in front of my eyes go blank, and the full-body VR suit relaxes against my skin. Feeling for the release clasp on the back of the helmet, I hear a soft 'click' as dim light creeps into the helmet. Tucking the sleek black-and-silver VR helmet underneath my arm, I exit the my-bubble and knock on Leung's door.  

[Oshousama_Raistlin]

Chapter 12: Virtual Prison
The techie reluctantly opens his sliding door, eyes bleary.

"This had better be import-"

"When did Lana jack in?" I ask before the techie can finish, not really caring that the wall panel shows the time to be 2:15am Standard Time.

"Once. When we had our first virtual meeting. Other than that, she's been staying away from any jack-in points." I frown: Lana had told me that she didn't get any reconnaisance done while I was gone, and she doesn't seem like the type to fool around while on a mission. Unlike me. Seeing my frown, Leung rubs his eyes clear of sleep and steps aside to let me into his room.

Like the rest of our rooms on this spacecraft, space is at a premium and so everything is compact and multifunctional: the bed folds into a comfortable chair and can double as a personal masseuse. All of the walls are flat panels, able to display moving images and data, and the pillow can deflate and harden into a keyboard or miniature desk.
"She lied to me: She said that she hadn't done any reconnaisance while I was at that meeting."

"The Academy student might have been answering emails or relaxing online, you realise." I roll my eyes.

"She's not that kind of girl, Leung. If she was online, she'd be doing some research. But then, why would she lie?" I ask no one in particular, staring at the currently blank panel that is the back wall of Leung's room. Turning to look at Leung again, I ask another question. "How did you find out that she was jacked in? Was it from her internal memory?"

"No. Her internal memory is unreadable at the moment." Before I can comment, Leung quickly continues. "I'm working on it, ok? I found out that she was jacked in from the records held by a jack-in station." I nod.

"Ok. I have a theory. This theory is that the amount of corruption each of our implants contains is proportional to the amount of time we spend jacked in. Because of this theory, I believe that Lana was jacked in almost as long as you were. Therefore, she had to have been jacked in for more than one session. Can you or Sharla check the logs of all the jack-in stations in our area on the Amish planet? Lana would have been logged on around the same length of time I was logged on."

"Sure." Typing a short note into his pillow-turned-keyboard, Leung looks up at me again. "Only one problem with your theory, Lars: Not all of us follow that proportional relationship between time jacked-in and amount of implant corruption. There is one of us who doesn't have any corruption of their implants at all."

"Who?"

"I've been instructed by Gareth to keep this information to myself, but we are keeping an eye on that agent." So either Sharla or myself had no bugs in our implants.

"Sure thing." I finally reply, not bothering to needle for more information on the matter: I wouldn't get any unless Gareth gives the ok. "But I think the internal memory from Lana might contain some important information, about the content of her jack-ins at the very least."

"I'll work on it at a decent hour of the day, Lars. Goodnight." and shoos me out of his room, quickly telling the door to slide shut again.

"It's morning, Leung!" I call out to the closed door in front of me. I know I should be sleeping like the others, but this and the shock of being found guilty of hacking Fantasia has chased sleep far away from me. I stalk to the public dining hall, the dimmed luminescence of the flat panel walls and ceiling temporarily flaring back into life when they detect my passing. As expected, the hall is deserted except for me. Turning around I stalk back out towards my own room. Again, the panels temporarily brighten to aid my vision as I walk. Standing in front of my room, I drum my fingers against the beige doorframe. In the week that we have been on this spacecraft, I still haven't bothered with changing the decor and colours of my room from their standard settings.

Beige doorframe. Beige bed. Beige pillow. Beige floor. All beige. Boring beige.

Before this, my room's decor had been the last of my priorities. Work and RPGing on Fantasia had always taken up my time and mind so that I never really noticed how dull and unexciting my real life quarters on board the ship were. Now? I can't play on Fantasia because my character has been suspended while the moderators of Fantasia make a decision as to my punishment. I can't work because I don't have the right-of-information clearance that Leung and Sharla possess. I've already answered the emails I received from friends. I've already read the news that I wanted to read. I've already filled my brain with the reports of recent advances in science and technology; I don't think that any more information will actually stay in my brain, so reading more would be a waste of time and effort.

So here I am, full of energy - or, atleast, far from being sleepy - and considering the decor of my room on board the ship. Leung's room reflects his interests, with an ancient animated graphic of green code on a black background running down his walls and everything inside his room. I think it was taken from one of the two-dimensional movies of the 21st century. The Matrix, I believe. Kathy's room is a boy's nightmare: pinks and yellows and pastel shades of peach colour the four walls, with petite fairies flitting about from twinkling flowers to purple unicorns on her ceiling. I won't mention her bed. Gareth's room has been set to one of the pre-made options on board the ship's computer: that of a traditional pre-meiji era Japanese bedroom, complete with rice paper sliding door. Sharla's room I genuinely like, and I would have copied her decor had I not had this thing about being a copycat. Sharla's room has three walls that look like polished wood, and the wall that is against the foot of her bed is an immitation of a bottom-lit floor-to-ceiling fish tank. And here I am, with an all-beige room. No wonder Kathy, when she fled into my room looking for comfort after finding out about her husband's infidelity, stopped crying the moment she saw the wonder that is my room.

"And I thought I had problems..." she had said, turning around and walking back out of my room with a wide-eyed look, tears gone completely. At the time, I'd just shrugged it off and gone back to reading the item descriptions for objects being sold in Fantasia. Good for her: she doesn't feel so bad anymore. Good for me: I can keep reading the items brochures uninterrupted.

Well then. Decor, this is me, Lars Nathket. Nice to meet you. I've been neglecting you, I know. But I'm going to fix that.
"Open MyScenery folder." The beige wall in front of me switches into a computer screen, showing thumbnails of the various subfolders I have within my MyScenery folder. Very revealing of my personality and interests, there are three Fantasia-based folders: one for landscapes in Fantasia that I have been to, one for rooms and buildings that I have been in, and another for collages that I have made myself using images saved from my time in Fantasia. Other folders in the MyScenery index include space, planets, wildlife, science, techno and anime.

I feel like some anime, and so open the 'anime' folder. Out of all the sceneries, the one that stands out to me is a two-dimensional recreation of a place from the anime 'Hellsing': that of Alucard's abode, to be precise. Like Seras' room, this one also features natural lighting and a moving coffin for a bed. Nah: too stereotypical. Closing that folder, I turn to the 'space' folder.

Various starscapes temporarily adorn the four walls of my room. The spiralling arms of a galaxy much like our own. Black holes caught in the act of consuming solar systems. Pulsars. Red dwarves. Accretion disks and wormholes. But they are all limited in their movements: The black hole, in particular, once it has finished consuming the planets, rewinds back to the beginning of the flashy process. Pretty, but it would quickly become boring after a few iterations. I want something that I can enjoy for a long time without getting bored.

"Show surroundings of spacecraft." the panels go blank for a moment as the computer checks that I have the clearance to access actual data from the ship's sensors. A second later, a moving starscape surrounds me and the beige bed. Better than before, but still a little bland. Perhaps I should add something to the current scenery.

"Overlay fishies.scn over current scenery." I only have one scenery file that contains moving fish, and that is this one. I'd written it for my virtual room, rather than real one, but the file type is recognised by many platforms. A moment later, tropical-looking fish swim through the starscape, following the movement of the ship: and unlike the starscape, are quite happy to swim through the pixels of my beige bed and pillow.

I look at the time: 3am. Well, that certainly wasted a lot of time. Not. With a sigh I save the changes and walk back out of my room, heading back towards the mess hall. Strangely, I haven't eaten anything in almost half a day now, and yet I still don't feel hungry. As a vampire, I can go without blood or any other kind of sustenance for up to three months and still be ok. Extremely hungry, but ok. Unlike the traditional vampires one can read about from the popular culture of centuries past, a modern vampire can eat and drink human foods without incurring the wrath of indigestion. However at the same time, human foods are not as nutritious and beneficial to a vampire's body as they are to a human's.

Stopping in front of the self-service drink dispenser, I type in my selection.
Thus, I was able to eat those Coco Pops on the amish planet without too much trouble. I even got a sugar high, because vampires also respond to sugar in the same way that humans do. But it's like eating a snack rather than a proper meal when a vampire eats human food; you still feel hungry.

My order of diabetic AB+ blood is served, poured into a large plastic cup, covered with a similar plastic lid, and a straw popped into the beverage. Removing the drink from the small alcove in the wall, I take a sip. I have a sweet tooth, and so tend to order diabetic blood: contains more sugar. Swirling the coppery sweet blood in my mouth, I savour the flavour. From the taste, I can tell that the machine has fabricated a woman's blood. A woman with heterozygously brown hair, blue eyes and the genes to store almost all excess energy as fat. Keeping this in mind, I peel off the opaque sticker covering the full list of the blood's qualities. All correct. Yes, the vampire sense of taste- expecially for human blood - is acute.

Swallowing, I slowly drink down the rest of the 750mL cup as I brood. Still wearing the full-body VR suit, I probably look like one of those latex-wearing space cadets from a b-grade sci-fi movie. I wonder what my theme music would be? Suddenly, from the medical examination room, a familiar cheery-sounding series of beeps followed by a blown raspberry plays in the otherwise complete silence. Snorting, I laugh. Great theme music. Just great. Standing up, I head towards the medical room to see who or what had activated the handheld scanner.

The baby blue baton is rolling slowly on the hard plasti-steel floor, but no one is in sight. Frowning as I pick up the baton and replace it into it's holder: a 4cm wide hole in the wall, I quickly scan with my eyes the rest of the room. Nothing else seems to be out of place.

"Computer, replay security recordings from five minutes ago to present." A section of blank wall shimmers, turning into a flat screen. The baton is just lying on the bench, not in the holder, until a gust of air from the air ducts started the round baton rolling slowly towards the edge of the bench. The fall activated the scanner, and a minute later the cheery beeps play out to me from the security recording. I fold my arms, lips pursed.

"Rewind. 3x." The recording plays back again, this time in rewind. The baton jumps up from the ground onto the bench. The baton becomes still. Nothing.
"5x." The playback speeds up, and for a while the blue baton just remains on top of the bench.

"10x." Still nothing.

"20x" More nothing, and then it disappears and reappears inside its holder.

"Pause." The picture freezes.

"Play." Leung enters the room, looking tired but serious. He fiddles with the dials of the scanner before doing a self scan of his head and neck. A little odd, but nothing to be overly suspicious of: as long as Leung doesn't use his results and report on his own implants for the official report to the EVCU database, he is free to do his own personal scan and analysis. The time at the bottom of the display shows 2:12am this morning. 2:12am?

"Show location of Leung Tai Chang and Lars Waynom Nathket from time 2:10am through to 2:20am." Brushing my wrist against the panel as I say this, the computer briefly checks my clearance and accepts the instructions, showing Leung as a bright red dot and myself as a bright blue one on the 3D isometric map of the ship. The red dot goes from the medical room directly to his room, just missing being in view of my blue dot by being just around a corner to my blue dot the entire trip from medical room to bedroom. Well, that explains why I didn't see Leung on the way to his room.

Relaxing, I end the replay and exit the medical room. I guess I was being paranoid.

Heading back towards the mess hall, I smile to see that the nanites have already done their work; the empty cup I had simply left behind on one of the tables is gone. I am about to turn away to go back to bed when I notice that I don't feel particularly full. Sure, I hadn't eaten in a while before having that blood. But I hadn't been particularly hungry even before drinking the cup of blood, and now that I have drunk almost a litre of blood I should feel a certain fullness in my stomach. But I don't: I feel as full as I did before drinking the large cup of blood.

Ordering another cup of blood, this time I go for a normal O+ person's blood. It tastes the way it should, feels the same in my mouth as O+ blood usually does. If I can finish this second cup and still not feel bloated, I am definitely in a virtual environment: ever since making that alteration to my head plug, some bodily feedback messages had become less sensitive. Just minor details, like the urge to go to the toilet, had become less pointed. Present, but not as clear as they usually would be. The feeling of fullness after eating a meal is one of those dulled sensations. I have almost finished the bloody drink and I stop there, not wanting to create a red signal on my virtual vital signs.

Virtual vital signs are almost as important as the actual vital signs of a person due to the effect known as psychosomosis: mind over body. If the mind believes itself to be hurt, that hurt can translate itself into actual injuries in the real body of that person. It's not too much of a problem if the person knows that they are logged into a virtual environment, but with the case of a forced jack-in, the person believes that they are reacting to the real world: risk of psychosomaticism increases dramatically.

Fortunately, the flow of time in a forced jack-in is kept the same as that in the real world, so I know what time it is in the real world. At not quite 4am in the morning, it is unlikely that anyone would be keeping a physical sentinel over my real body. Should I log off?

Considering that option, I drum my fingers against the cool tabletop. But how long was I under? Does that mean that my banning from Fantasia was just a part of this virtual setup? My hopes rise at the prospect of not being banned in the 'real' Fantasia. I giggle at my reaction, stifling a snort with my hand. I am being forcefully locked into a virtual cell, and I am relieved that I might not have really been banned from Fantasia. For a supposedly elite EVCU agent, I really have my priorities straight. But then again, if they had wanted to make the virtual cell as realistic as possible, they would not have made such an unusual event occur. No, they would encourage me to keep playing on Fantasia. Just as soon as my hopes had lifted, they deflate again.

So I've been in this cell less than three hours. Suddenly, my eyes flare and I realise why I've been put in this cell: I am the unnamed agent Leung was referring to who was- is- being watched. But the fact that Leung had told me this means that the real him had been interacting with me while I was in my virtual cell. Stalking back to the techie's room, I press the button to alert Leung of my desire to enter.

The techie doesn't respond, and I speak into the microphone.
"Leung, I know that I'm in a virtual cell right now." Briefly, I wonder if maybe I've cracked. I am one of the longest serving agents in the EVCU: at eight years of service, this is a record holder for an agent to not have either a mental breakdown or suffering burnout. Too late now. The techie still doesn't respond.

"And I know that, atleast an hour ago, I spoke to the real you. So open up, or I log out forcefully." That gets the techie's attention, and he immediately opens the sliding door with a soft 'hiss'. Even if one hasn't altered one's head plug, there is a way to log out: commit virtual suicide, and those holding you will have to separate your mind from the virtual world to stop the effects of psychosomatics. It's a risky way of forcefully logging off, especially if you're not even entirely sure that you really are in a virtual environment: there's a one in three chance of actually dying.

"You've cracked." Is all that the techie says, and an image of my werepig mentor flashes in front of my mind's eye. Kevin, is this how you felt when you became convinced you were locked up in a virtual cell?

"That agent you were watching. The one who has no bugs in their implants. It's me, isn't it? I might have an explanation for it, if that is the case."

"It might be you," the techie hedges, neither confirming nor disproving my words. "It might also be someone else in the team,"

"Alright. See you in the real world," And I close my eyes, ignoring Leung's protest.

"Hey! What are you-" as expected, the words cut off as I open my eyes to a new reality. In front of me, the real Leung purses his lips, tapping the tip of his shoe against the polished plasti-steel floor. The door to the medical room is sealed and opaque.

"I was wondering how long it would take before you figured it out and logged yourself off." Now it's my turn to be surprised.

"How did you know?" I ask, frowning and somewhat mortified. I'd thought that the alteration would be undetectable. The asian man raises an eyebrow at this.

"I have a level 10 surgery licence and, last I checked, a technology licence that is one level higher than yours. I know about that particular loophole, and know how to circumvent it while only creating what looks like an echo in a scan. If you look at the raw reading the alteration becomes obvious, if you know what to look for." So only a person with the particular pairing of licences of technology and surgery would be able to think of and implement this alteration.

"Is that why you never made the alteration to your own headplug?" Leung gives me one of his half-smiles, and I exhale a shuddering sigh.

"How long have you known?"

"The first time I ever scanned you," Four years. The man has known for four years, and never said a word to anyone.

"Why didn't you report me?"

"You'd been an agent for longer than I had, and the alteration only allows you to log off from a forced jack-in. I figured that it was probably one of the few things keeping you sane and let it be. If you had a nest of self-replicating nanites swimming around your body, however, that I would have had to report because that would be a genuine danger to the rest of society." My vision blurs and I wipe away a hot tear, embarassed. I hadn't particularly gotten along with the ever-serious man, and we'd only started becoming friends in the past few months. I never knew or even suspected that he'd stuck up for me like that. Looking away, I mumble as I reach around to remove the still-inserted head plug from my head.

"Well, I guess you'll have to report that the reason I was free from bugs is because of this alteration. Then we can get the rest of the team modified-"

"That's not the reason why you're not bugged. I am still able to modify your software matrices via the jack-in, despite the modification." Then why wasn't I bugged? I am about to speak again when Gareth walks in and, seeing me awake, turns to look at Leung with a raised eyebrow.

"I logged myself out, Captain." Turning to face me again, Gareth frowns.

"You commited virtual suicide?" At this point, Leung steps in for me.

"No. Lars has an alteration in his head plug that allows him to log himself out of a forced jack-in. I knew about it, and that was why I wanted to keep a physical eye on Lars." At that point in time, Lana also walks past the open doorway and sees us gathered in the medical room. Seeing my look, Gareth nods for Leung to explain and fill me in.

"I managed to restore everyone's software matrices to their original conditions, and so there was no longer a need to keep Lana in a virtual cell. Kathy has found you not guilty of conspiring with the criminals responsible for these crimes." So while I was jacked in, Leung and Kathy had been analysing my memories. They were about to log me off anyway, before I logged myself off. "But the reason why your software matrices remained unaltered is still unknown. Of course, all reports and copies of both the altered and unaltered versions of the software matrices have been sent to the EVCU database for future records."  

[Oshousama_Raistlin]

Chapter 13: Food.

"It's possible that our quarry wanted to paint Lars as another red herring or a scapegoat, diverting our attention. But, since the job wasn't done completely, it is unlikely that they expected the diversion to last for long." Kathy, chewing on her medium-rare 1812 style steak, pauses there. We are all in the mess hall, and an opaque curtain of sound proof nanites surrounds us, cutting off our conversation from the rest of the ship's passengers. To my left, Lana takes notes on the meeting and what is said. To my right, Sharla sits with her legs crossed and arms folded.

"Any ideas on what they wanted the diversion for, Kathy?" Finally, our orders of fresh blood arrive in twin cups. They are delivered to us by a waist-high robot with a flat circular shelf on it's head for carrying meals and drinks to customers.

"One order of Diabetic early-fifties A+ blood. One order of mid-twenties Aryan Male O- blood." Not really paying attention to the robot, Sharla and I both reach for the cup of blood that is closest to us. Simultaneously sipping from our respective cups, we both grimace and cough.

"Yours." We say to eachother in unison, swapping drinks. Seeing this interaction between the two vampires in the team, Kathy laughs. Gareth just rolls his eyes at us and answers a question that Lana posed to him.

"Your teeth will rot in your head from all that sugar, Lars." I flutter my lashes innocently, drinking happily from my cup of diabetic's blood as I listen in on the quiet conversation between Lana and Gareth. Just a question about the rarity of an agent in the investigation team being used as a red herring by the real targets.

"Oh? I thought that that's what nanites were for, Sharla." We lock gazes, and Sharla's murky red eyes narrow. She leans forward, and I quickly land a peck on her full red lips before going back to drinking my meal with an innocent and wide-eyed expression on my face. "But the main question should be as Sharla herself asked: What did they want the diversion for?"

"Well," Coughing once to clear her throat, our criminal psychologist continues. "There are many possibilities, but the most probable scenarios are to buy some extra time to cover their tracks, since they thought we were getting too close, to set up a new 'game', or just for the amusement of seeing us getting all worked up over it. In order of likelihood, of course."

Playfully punching me in the arm, Sharla nods at Kathy's words.

"I'll work on intel into possible new actions by our pet baddies, then." Lana watches as the female vampire stands up and walks through the opaque curtain of flying nanites and becomes invisible to those of us still inside the permeable shield.

"I trust that you and Kathy will work on the other two points?" Leung and Kathy nod, leaving only Gareth, Lana and myself without any assigned tasks. "I'll be doing some HQR, and I believe that you were in the middle of your scheduled leave before we interrupted." I would normally be happy to hear this news, but since the possible banning and definite reduction in level of my character for a crime that I hadn't commited, that appeal had lost some of its lustre.

"Just a moment. Leung, did you know that my character on Fantasia has been found guilty of hacking? I didn't do it, of course." Leung frowns.

"I don't see the relevence of what you're telling me, Lars." The raised eyebrows from Gareth and Lana also express the same thoughts, but I continue anyway.

"Well, I wouldn't have stayed jacked in so long if it weren't for those Ruby Golems I was ranting on to you about, and that's when Lana jacked in and - we presume - when the first of the bugs was downloaded into Lana's implants. Now, it turns out that the colony of Ruby Golems was hacked into existence. I doubt that it's a coincidence, so it might be something to look into." Finishing my explanation, I feel a slight smugness cross my features: Now they're looking at me with more respect.

"And if you do find that it was actually our quarry who did the hacking, do you think you could..." I drift off, not finishing the sentence. In front of me, both agents and one Academy student groaned.

"No! We will NOT be sending a copy of our hacking report to the administrators of Fantasia, Agent Nathket! You know as well as we do that our reports are -" I wave my hands in the air, asking for quiet from my half-yelling captain.

"Hey! I just wanted my character to be returned to his original level. I'm sure that a little tweaking on Leung's part could easily erase the downgrading-"

"No."

"Or I could-"

"No." Sighing, I finish the last of my bloody beverage in silence. It was worth a try, anyway.

"And what about me, Captain?" Lana asks, finishing her own liquid meal.

"You are free to do as you wish."  

[Oshousama_Raistlin]

Chapter 14: Ack! Quit Following me!

"Tell me again why you're following me?" I whine, banging my head against the tabletop in a show of self-pity. In front of me the primly-dressed Lana smiles winsomely, revealing sweet-looking dimples in her rosy cheeks.

"Kathy recommended a training excercise in tracking the movements of your target, naming you as a good subject," Around us people of all sizes and descriptions, from elephant-sized pseudo-insects to simple chrome brain containers on jet packs, make their way past to their various destinations. From the edge of my vision, I see a giant orang-utan playing tour guide for a school excursion of brain containers. From the school logo embossed on the brain canisters, these kids go to the elite boarding school called "Rasten Primary Neural Education": a school for rich kids in brain canisters with rich parents who want only the most controlled and tailored experiences for their child's developmental years. I wouldn't have minded being in a brain canister as a child: it would have meant that I could swap mecha-bodies at a whim, if I ever got bored of the standard "two arms, two legs".

But, then again, if I were only a brain in a canister when I finished school, I would have had to pay a huge sum of money to have a body cloned for me from my brain cells so that I could work as a field agent in the EVCU. For despite the advantages of being a mobile brain, there are also certain minor disadvantages to being a canned brain that, in the field, can mean the difference between life and death. The reflexes of a brain canister type person are usually 20-30% slower than those of a similar embodied person simply due to the time it takes for information to be coded and translated to and from the mechanical body's sensors and actuators. Add to that the fact that most can-brains are used to having to deal with different bodies and so automatically have to quickly remind themselves which type of body they are currently using before they respond and the result is a markedly slower average response time of 0.3 seconds versus the average embodied person's response time of 0.19 seconds. To work as a field agent in the EVCU the minimum response time required is 0.08 seconds in order to have a response time comparable to those of our targets: vampires.

"Garry's a better subject." I grouse, pulling out my silver handheld PC to send an irate email to my captain and my dear work colleage Kathy. "AND he's not on annual leave!" Still smiling, the Academy student rests her head on her hands, watching me as I compose and send the email.

"Kathy also said that it would be good for you, to have a pretty young lass following you around and keeping you from getting depressed about Fantasia." I send another email message, this time it is a distress beacon to everyone on my 'friends' list who is in a 1km radius from my current location.

Help! I'm being stalked by a fangirl! Can someone take my place while I make a getaway from the lady??

Attached to the short message is a GPS coordinate detailing my location, and a 2-D image of said 'fangirl'.

"I could have plenty of pretty young lasses following me around, if I wanted." I respond coolly with a wronged sniff. Trust Kathy to assume that just because I play online MMORPG's that I would therefore be a loner. "And as for keeping me from getting depressed about Fantasia, you're doing a GREAT job! I'm getting depressed about not being left alone instead," The handheld buzzes a few times in the subsonic range below normal human hearing. Surreptitiously, I glance at the message I just received. It's one of my chatroom buddies.

Yo, Lars! Cute fangirl! I'll be there in less than a minute, so hold tight...and would you mind if I flirted with fangirl? BTW: what's her name?

Sighing in relief, I wait for the sight of a brain-canister-sized flying cheeseburger. Sritesh can take his work anywhere, as long as he has an internet connection: being a network administrator has its perks.
"Lars? Aren't you supposed to be trying to escape me to sharpen my skills?" I roll my eyes to the heavens, and catch a glimpse of a familiar flying cheeseburger skimming down the skywalk to my location. Turning my eyes back to look at Lana, I sigh.

"As an agent, my dear, you don't tell your quarry to run away from you. They do it themselves, at a time of their own choosing. It's your job as the one tailing them to always be ready for that moment," Sending Sritesh a hologram file that details my personal appearance and movement parameters, I add the name of 'fangirl' and my common nicknames for her. Folding my handheld back into an 8 by 8 by 3cm rectangular prism, I slip it back into a small pocket on my chest. Miss Academy Student is still oblivious of my most recent plan: so far she's kept up, quickly discovering and overcoming any ploys I have so far pulled on her in an effort to escape. Pretty good for someone still in the Academy, I have to admit.

"Sorry," the girl apologises, relaxing in her seat across from me. "Atleast now you're giving me feedback on my training, rather than just trying to run away," I nod impatiently, leaning back in my seat. In my pocket the folded handheld vibrates against my chest, indicating that Sritesh is in range to take over with the hologram of me.

-On the count of three- I sign with my hands underneath the tabletop in normal hand signals, a different sign language to that used by the EVCU and Police. My left heel goes up. Down. One. With my hands still underneath the tabletop, I hold my finger above the button on my belt to activate my own hologram projection to make my own movements invisible.

"Lars? What are you doing?" Holding up my finger for silence, I stay still. Frowning slightly, the slim young woman acqueisces. My left heel goes up and down a second time: two. Three. Pressing the button on my belt, I become invisible and agilely step out of the chair, the image of myself still holding up a finger for silence staying in the chair and being maintained by Sritesh who, also in invisible mode, settles himself on top of the chair that I had vacated. I've done this trick more than a few times with my friends, and it shows. Seamlessly, my hologram lowers his finger and begins to talk.

"Nothing, my dear." The hologram of me grins, revealing sharp canines. "Tell me more about you,"

Hearing my double saying that as I make my escape, I roll my unseen eyes. Sritesh, you are such a womaniser. Undoubtedly perplexed, Lana's response is swallowed by the hubbub of the crowd, and I don't bother trying to listen in any longer, focusing on making my escape and avoiding bumping into anyone. You see, everyone with the licence has the right to be invisible if they wish, but when invisible we must follow certain rules. Not getting in the way of visible people is one of those, and following "Right of Priority" rules if we encounter other invisibles. When in invisible mode, other people who are invisible appear to be black silhuettes in the crowd, while normal people appear as they usually do: that's how two invisible people can tell whether they've just gone in the way of another 'invisible' person before the two people actually collide with eachother.

Once I turn the street corner, I hail a cab and get inside.
"Cosplay Cafe on Cubic Avenue, please," I say, swiping my still-invisible wrist against the scanner to give the AI driver access to my bank account. Another thing about being invisible is that the widely-available invisibility cloak that is available for public use doesn't block other sensors and scanners: if Academy student tries to touch my holographic double, or check the weight that is resting on the chair in front of her from the publicly available information network, she would quickly be able to tell that the person in front of her was not me. Until then, I plan on hiding out in the Cosplay Cafe.