Milky Way Boulevard (standard:science fiction, 54052 words)
Author: Thomas Thompson	Added: Mar 03 2009	Views/Reads: 3214/2732	Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
A free science fiction / cyberpunk novel in the tradition of William Gibson and Philip K Dick and a more serious philosophical piece discussing the nature of faith, reality, dreams and fiction in our lives, with comparisons to Jorge Luis Borges.

Click here to read the first 75 lines of the story

no need when every passenger could simply jack straight into their 
skull. What the fuck was going on? Kane stared down at the dashboard 
and punched the radio's face. The song only seemed to get louder. It 
brushed the back of his neck and made the hairs stand on end. The blood 
in his face drained away and he began to feel ill. It was as if the 
music itself was sucking it out of him, pumping it back up into his 
brain, overloading it. He felt something tickle his ankle and looked 
down at the car floor. Bugs. It was crawling with bugs. Cockroaches, 
caterpillars, spiders, swarming all over the floor, all over his feet, 
crawling up his legs. Kane yanked his feet up to the seat with a yelp 
but the moving blanket seemed to rise with them. They slithered over 
his lap, over his hands and chest. He shook uncontrollably and tried to 
pull himself up out of the safety belt. He could feel tiny legs 
tickling his throat. He lost control and kicked and writhed in utter 
panic. The car dipped dramatically as he knocked the autopilot off and 
the car began a lazy dive into the closest building. By the time the 
bugs were inside him the car had hit. An explosion cracked across the 
area as the car disintegrated in a pyre of flame. It drowned out every 
other sound, even the song which slowly faded out and wandered away. 

* 

Cass hunched down behind the broken chimney and waited for the familiar
hum of the car to come into range. She didn't hear it, she didn't hear 
anything anymore, but she could feel it, track its vibration in her 
stomach. This was the first they'd seen off Grid in months. They 
couldn't afford to let it get away. She closed her eyes and focused her 
mind. The outside world shut down to a sheet of black, a tiny pin prick 
of white light in the centre. Just worry about the shot. Make it 
straight, make it true, make it clean. Across the alley on the opposite 
rooftop the rest of the gang waited for her signal. They knew from 
experience to trust her tuned instincts, follow her lead. How much 
things had changed from that moment, months ago now, when they'd first 
found her wandering alone through the dark laneways. When he'd first 
saved her. Cass smiled to herself and felt the rain drip down off her 
curved lips. Quarters had grabbed her from behind and held her quiet 
and close to save her life. She'd like to see him try that now. The hum 
was closer now. She fingered her crossbow and arranged the plan in her 
mind. As the car passed over the top of them, flying too low of course, 
not expecting anything this far off Grid, they would each stand, take 
aim and fire. They'd fix their ends to the chimneys and solid walls 
around them as the hooks looped over the top of the craft, then stand 
back and wait for the slack to be taken up. Then, with a high pitched 
twang Cass could only feel, the cables would pull taught, knocking the 
car off its plane and dragging it down into their web. Once it was on 
the ground there was no escape. Quarters and the others weren't the 
only ones to wander this far off Grid. They had to be fast to make sure 
they got what they needed before the competition came. Some they could 
discourage. Others though, especially the hunter gangs, were far too 
dangerous to argue with. It was best for everyone if they avoided any 
confrontations. Focus. It comes. She opened her eyes and stared at the 
chimney in front of her. It would do. There were deep cable gouges in 
its cement already, but it could take a few more. Just get the shot 
right. Cass slowly stood up and peered over the lip. There it was. 
Headlights weaving back and forth in the murk, obviously lost. Flying 
lower than usual in order to find some sort of landmark to navigate by. 
All the better. Out here all it would find were dark concrete lanes 
curving away from the Boulevard. She whistled and the others stood as 
one. Everything was ready. They wouldn't miss. Just then Cass felt a 
strange twinge in the back of her neck. Something about the car was 
wrong. Its movement, its feel, its sound, perhaps. She glanced across 
the rooftops and saw Quarters aiming his bow. He obviously didn't hear 
anything. She put her bow to her shoulder and forced the growing 
tightness back down into her belly. Ignore all distractions. Don't fuck 
this up. The car was over them then, the fuzziness emanating from 
inside it washing over her. She felt rather than saw the hooks release 
and fly over the car. Five cables, all on target, their glowing lines 
shining like thin fingers pulling into a fist around their prey. Just 
as they began to squeeze however, the car jerked abruptly to the right 
and dipped away, down into the buildings. Cass sucked in her breath. No 
way the driver could have seen them and reacted like that. And no 
autopilot program took that kind of risk. She watched the car try to 
right itself again and slide sideways, clipping its tail on the roof of 
another broken down, deserted house. The fucker's going to crash 
anyway. Still, they could have done without the extra noise. She looked 
across at Quarters, who shrugged his shoulders elaborately and flashed 
a grin at her. The next moment he was sliding down the gutter to the 
street below. Why question good fortune? Just react. Even if it crashed 
they'd manage to salvage something. Cass dropped the bow and slid down 
the tiled rooftop on her back. As her heels clipped the gutter she 
twisted and flipped in midair, turning her body to the wall and 
grabbing the pipe with one hand. Then it was just a straight slide down 
the three storeys to the street below. Already she was faster than the 
others. She crouched down and waited for them to move in front as she'd 
been instructed. Her reflexes were sharper than theirs now. She was 
quicker, more agile, but she was still a newbie. She had to wait her 
turn. As she waited for the signal she tried to grasp what it was she'd 
felt as the car had approached. Something had been off, yet familiar. 
Something that didn't belong here. The puddles of water at her feet 
flashed back her reflection and she almost glimpsed it, another face 
through the water, reaching out to her. She felt the pull in her gut 
and started to run. Forget it. It was time to feed. 

* 

Quarters opened his eyes, at least, he thought he had. There was
nothing. No light, no shadow, no hint of shapes around him. Nothing at 
all. He felt himself blink to be sure. As he reached up to his face his 
hand brushed against wet, rough rock. His eyes were open, there was 
just absolutely no light. He felt around himself, trailed his hands 
along the rock above and to the side of him. He sensed the other wall 
rather than felt it. He couldn't bring himself to step out further into 
the blackness. He was in a tunnel of some kind, a cave. A tomb. The 
thought entered his head and stayed there. The moisture on the rock 
wasn't simply water. It was greasy on his fingertips, slimy. He brought 
his hand up to his face and knocked his head on the roof as he shied 
away from the stench. It smelt like death. Where was he? One moment 
he'd been running along the street, leading the gang back to the crash 
site, then he'd heard something, just as the flames from the burning 
wreck were warming his face, some sort of music. He'd turned around 
and... He spun now on instinct but there was nothing, just more 
blackness. The familiar tune he'd heard began to creep around in his 
head, a worm burrowing through his mind. The blackness shifted 
slightly. Quarters began to step backwards, away from whatever it was. 
A presence, a feeling. The music in his mind was twisting together now, 
wrapping him up and forcing any rational thought out. He turned and 
began to run. The slime on the wall coated his hand as he guided 
himself through the ink. The walls were smoother now, as if worn down 
by something. Something large. With that thought the music in his head 
let in another sound, a scraping and sliding, behind him, getting 
louder. Getting closer. Panic took him. He let his mind go and just 
ran. The walls around him were closer now, he could feel his arm being 
pushed in towards him as he ran. Then his head brushed the ceiling and 
he had to stoop. Then his left shoulder touched the opposite wall. He 
had to keep moving, though he was slower now. The noise behind him had 
changed but was still there. Louder now, angrier. He knew that if he 
looked back he would see something slithering in the darkness. He was 
forced into a crouch as the rock tapered down further, then onto his 
knees. Whatever was after him couldn't possibly fit through here, not 
if it had been scraping the walls before. It would have to at least 
halve its size, stretch itself out. He felt something brush his ankle. 
On his stomach now, pulling himself along with his arms. Face and body 
completely coated in slime and the stench of rotting flesh, squeezing 
himself tighter and tighter into the tunnel. The music in his head was 
all there was now. No thought at all, no panic, just the knowledge of 
what he had to do. The only thing he could do. Keep going, keep sliding 
until you can no longer move at all and the blackness is completely 
wrapped around you on all sides, like a warm, waiting mouth, swallowing 
you up and keeping you still as you slither down its throat. And all 
there is left as the jaws close is a simple tune, fading away now into 
the darkness. 

* 

Her heels rang down the alley, bouncing off the sheer walls surrounding
her. Cass could feel the hum, feel the disturbance in the air. She 
couldn't hear it as such, but it was there to be felt and recognised. 
There to be read all the same. She reached her senses out to the 
surrounding area. There was nothing yet, but it was only a matter of 
time. This far off Grid stayed pretty empty most of the time, but those 
who wandered these lanes were best avoided altogether. They needed to 
get in and out of the crash site quickly, strip the car of what they 
needed and go before there were any ugly confrontations. Cass could 
handle herself, they all could. As long as they didn't run into any 
professionals. The others had already reached the car, she could feel 
their eagerness, almost smell it. She rounded the corner and stopped as 
the flames from the crash lit the corner of the wall in front of her. 
Deep breath. Cass closed her eyes and forced her breathing back down. 
She sent her senses shooting out around them, searching for trouble. 
The night was stretched out around her like a calm pool of water, no 
disturbances, no ripples in the skin. Just the crash site itself and... 
Cass focused harder as the wave washed across her. There was something. 
She tried to pin it down and found herself turning on the spot to face 
the wave. Towards the flames, towards the heat and steam. She opened 
her eyes and stared straight down the lane towards the burning wreck. 
That was it. Something off, the same familiar dread she'd felt when the 
car had approached them. Part fear, part something else. Danger. She 
trotted down the middle of the road towards the site, more carefully 
now, following the path the others had taken. The feeling was 
definitely getting stronger. Part of her wanted to sprint after them, 
after him, make sure he was ok, but the wiser, animal side of her 
protested. Go slow. Know the enemy. Her belly tightened as she got 
closer to the corner. She gritted her teeth and forced her feet, which 
no longer wanted to move, further forwards. Five more steps and she was 
around the corner. The road opened into a large square, in the middle 
of which was the wreckage of the car. Orange flames were still licking 
across it, but most of the fuel seemed to have burnt off already. It 
didn't look dangerous. Pieces of metal from the car and rubble from the 
buildings were strewn behind it where it had skidded down on its belly. 
Where was Quarters? He was there somewhere, she could feel him, though 
only faintly. A dark shadow flitted across the wreckage and Cass 
automatically crouched down. What was that? She crept forwards on her 
haunches, keeping an eye on the burning light of the wreck. There it 
was again. Hunched over, rocking back and forth across the front of the 
wreckage, as if searching for something. Then it stopped and raised its 
head. It was Quarters. Cass began to stand but suddenly froze in place. 
Her legs wouldn't let her be seen. There was something very wrong here. 
It was Quarters, but there was something strange about him. His eyes 
were blank, completely empty and lifeless. Glazed over and alien. She 
sank back down into the shadows and watched. Where could the others be? 
There was no sign of them at all, just Quarters and emptiness and... 
Cass sank even lower as the light from the flames threw up another 
shadow, off to the side of the wreck. A single figure, standing tall 
and very still. A woman. She was watching Quarters too. He was on all 
fours now, crawling back and forth in place, faster than before, almost 
panicked. Finally he turned towards the other figure and crawled 
directly towards her. Cass wanted to cry out, to reach out and stop 
him, but couldn't. The feeling in the pit of her stomach was all 
consuming now, rushing up her spine and over her mind, stopping all 
action. All she could do was watch as the figure opened its arms and 
Quarters disappeared into them. Then it was gone, all of it. Like 
somebody had flipped a switch, the feeling emptied out of her and she 
found herself on her feet, facing the empty, burning wreckage. Quarters 
was gone. The figure was gone. Everyone was gone. 

* 

Detective Babbage stood off to one side of the smouldering crash site
and silently doodled in his notepad. The other detectives were scanning 
the area, tablets in their hands plugged into the ports behind their 
ears, soaking up sense data from their assigned six by six squares of 
the crash grid. Babbage preferred his notepad. It helped him think, and 
it annoyed the other detectives, which was always a bonus. "We've had 
frequent complaints about you from both your fellow officers and the 
clients we serve, Babbage, as I'm sure you know. Subtlety is not your 
strong point." He was back in the captain's office, receiving his new 
assignment. "I merely endeavour to uncover the simple-" "Yes, yes 
Babbage. Uncover the simple truths behind the act to better illuminate 
the crime. That's the point man, not all truths are simple, in fact 
most aren't. They're always wrapped up in consequence. I'm more 
concerned, however, with the complaints from within the force." "They 
disapprove of my methods." "You're damn right they do. Disapprove of 
being constantly made fun of as well. Why do you feel the need to 
intimidate them with your little notepad? Surely the standard recorders 
are just as effective. More so." "Captain, as I've mentioned to you in 
the past the very act of forming my observations into words allows me 
to clarify and arrange my ideas. I find things easier to compute." "And 
that's exactly what you are Babbage, a computer, a fact you should 
never allow to stray too far from your mind. Computers process data and 
come back with the answer expected of them. They do not have sudden 
flashes of intuition. This is what makes the other detectives nervous. 
There should not be a ghost in the machine." Babbage grinned to himself 
now at the memory. Ghost in the machine. He liked it. "Enough nonsense. 
How you do it is beyond me, and frankly I don't care. Just know that 
there will come a time when others do care. People do not trust what 
they do not understand. They may suffer it while it serves their 
purpose, but once it ceases to do so they will turn on it with 
something very close to glee." Well now, we should make the most of 
things while we can then shouldn't we? He flipped his notepad closed 
and strode over to the flaming wreck. Steam from the constant rain was 
curling around the feet of the nearest other detective. Gantry was his 
name. Useless fellow. "Hullo there Gantry! Any luck?" Gantry's eyes 
flicked up from where they had been scouring the ground and formed 
themselves into a set of displeasure. "Babbage." He acknowledge him 
with a nod and tried to get back to his work. "Any discoveries?" The 
fact was that apart from his notepad the one thing that helped Babbage 
get his thoughts in order was bothering other people. Especially other 
detectives. They were easy targets. Gantry raised his head again. 
"Nothing to report so far. Why don't you access the Grid and download 
the full report yourself. You'll sense everything I am." "Including 
me?" Babbage grinned indolently into his face. "It is doubtful your 
presence is an important factor for this crime scene Babbage, so no. 
Now if you will excuse me I-" "Ah, but how do we know that Gantry? Who 
makes this decision as to what is and is not important information? For 
all we know I'm the most important part of this crime scene, we just 
don't see it yet." Gantry didn't bother with a reply, just wandered off 
to another section of ground and started scanning. "What did I tell you 
Adlai? Useless to a man. May as well be working with a bunch of 
robots." 

* 

Adlai had always considered himself too lucky to be religious. His
parents had tried, Catholic schools from ages five to eighteen, church 
on Sundays from birth. But when there's nothing to ask God for but a 
new bike, what is the point? His father had noticed Adlai's fading 
interest and tried to revive it by taking him along to a different 
church. Charismatics. Lots of people dancing around singing in tongues, 
having visions, being touched by the Spirit. All mighty exciting for an 
impressionable twelve year old, you would have thought. Unfortunately 
all Adlai saw were ugly, handicapped and poor people. It made him 
realise consciously what had been running around in the back of his 
mind for some time now. Religion was for those less fortunate than him. 
Like government care. It would be greedy of him to try and take a share 
when he so clearly didn't need it. Yes, government care was a good 
comparison. He could do without it, so he should. In fact, to stretch 
the point a little further, he should start investing in his own 
religion. Sort of a private health cover. So he started skipping Sunday 
mass, disappearing instead to the park with a good book. Happily 
shivering away in the cold, squinting in the fading light of the 
afternoon, immersed in other worlds. He made the decision to give up on 
organised religion altogether. Of course, he didn't tell his parents 
that. His mother had started out with such high hopes for her son. Born 
near the start of a new millennium, the whole world open to him. 
Religion was a duty, it was part of life. You just did it, no questions 
asked. The household itself wasn't particularly devout. They were as 
secular as the next modern family when it came to entertainment, no 
censorship came into play. Adlai was free to read, watch and do what he 
wanted, within reason, and like all teenagers he soon discovered that 
what his parents didn't know couldn't hurt them. And when it came to 
the modern plaything of choice, the computer, his parents didn't know 
very much at all. Books were all well and good, but when it came to 
religious experiences something that engaged all of your senses, not 
just your imagination, had a distinct advantage. Hand held consoles 
replaced his book in the park each Sunday. By the time he hit sixteen 
and virtual reality finally became a real possibility, there was no 
going back. Back then you couldn't just jack in to the nearest port and 
go. You needed a powerful computer to run the latest software, nothing 
portable, and ports were right at the bleeding edge. Adlai finally had 
to bite the bullet and face up to his parents about his Sunday 
activities. He was sixteen and could make his own decisions, there 
would be no more sneaking off to the park. They'd tried their best, 
raised him well, but a large part of good parenting is knowing when to 
let your children go, and it was time to let go of the reins and give 
him his head. They didn't buy a word of it, but Adlai didn't care, so 
long as they bought the computer. Every Sunday when his mother went to 
church to pray for his ungrateful soul, Adlai wandered up to his room 
and plugged himself in to a different kind of religion. After all, who 
needed God when you had VR? 

* 

Cass was huddled down in the cold of an abandoned third-storey
storeroom, watching the last embers of the fire blink out. She'd 
skipped out of the crash site as soon as Quarters had disappeared. That 
strange feeling had left, only to be replaced by another, more familiar 
one. Cops were on their way. The car must have had an important 
passenger for the cops to bother coming this far off Grid at all, let 
alone so quickly. Maybe there was something valuable in the mess of the 
wreckage, maybe she should have had a better look. She hadn't been 
thinking particularly clearly at the time. She remembered Quarters' 
face in the flickering firelight and shivered. No, she'd left at just 
the right time. Cass shivered and hunched her shoulders together, 
squeezing her eyes shut to block out the memories. When she'd first 
wandered off Grid, who knows how long ago it was now, it had been a 
night just like this. It was always wet and cold, but this emptiness, 
this loneliness was exactly how she remembered. She'd been thrilled at 
first to have made it at all. There was no point where she'd reached a 
boundary and crossed it, she'd just followed the directions, kept 
walking down the middle of the Boulevard and eventually noticed the 
constant neon glow had faded, the clatter and noise from the corporate 
attractions and their patrons sunk away. She looked around and saw dark 
streets leading away in every direction. It began to rain. The Grid was 
miles behind her, impossibly distant and out of reach. Even if she'd 
wanted to she couldn't re-enter it. Now it was a mere glow on the 
horizon, getting further away with every step you took towards it. 
There was no way back. There had to have been a transition point, a 
border between life on and off Grid, but if so she'd missed it. Like 
every other major decision in life, she'd taken it without realising 
it. It was the best way to be. This way she only had to worry about the 
consequences. The rain felt good. Cool on her shoulders, real. She 
could feel herself becoming more alert, more awake, more alive. There 
was something coming. Instinct made her step into a darkened doorway. 
It was probably nothing, but she knew she had to trust her first 
choice. She'd heard the stories of what could happen to you out here. 
Best to watch and wait for now. Her spine tensed as the figure came 
closer. She suddenly felt very exposed in the doorway, and squeezed 
further back into the shadows. It was only when she began to feel dizzy 
that she realised she was holding her breath. As the figure walked past 
the doorway she let it out and smiled. It was only a kid. Barely ten 
years old, scruffily dressed but smiling. Shaggy blonde hair and a 
mischievous grin fixed to his face. Cass felt an immediate fellowship 
as his eyes passed over her hiding place. This was lucky. Her first 
contact might explain some things. She leant forward to step out into 
the street. A thin, strong arm wrapped around her torso, holding her in 
place, its hand clamped down over her mouth. She tensed to fight as a 
hot breath whispered into her ear. "Be silent. Quiet as a mouse." A 
male voice. Cass could feel the words, feel them through the tips of 
his fingers, through the pressure of his chest on her back. She didn't 
need to hear them. His arms were warm around her. She waited. The 
figure in the street turned towards their doorway and raised its head, 
sniffing the wind. It peered directly at them, and for the first time 
Cass noticed the strange glint in its eyes. It was unnatural, steely, 
hungry. She held her breath and felt the hand around her mouth drop 
away. The boy in the street sniffed again, sensing something. His lips 
curled back to reveal sharpened teeth. Then another noise, off to the 
side caused him to spin away. A muffled oath and the slap of footsteps 
running away. The figure in the street - more animal than boy now - 
crouched down and sprang into the alley, scuttling after the retreating 
footsteps. Cass noticed her tension dripping away as it left. The arm 
was still wrapped around her, no longer holding her in place but 
lingering nonetheless. "A feeder, hunting for new blood. Almost got 
some too. Don't worry, Simps'll get rid of it." Cass stepped forward 
slowly and turned, letting the arm drop away. It followed her out of 
the shadows, leading its owner, a thin, dark-haired man. Man or boy? 
She couldn't tell. He grinned back at her and raised his hand again, 
this time to clasp hers in a handshake. "Hi. I'm Quarters. I just saved 
your life." Cass felt the grin on her face and snapped her eyes open. 
Her arms were wrapped around her legs, remembering the warmth that had 
seeped away now. Taken away just like Quarters had been. It wasn't just 
that he'd disappeared either, she could sense his absence completely. 
He was gone, wiped out of existence. He hadn't just been taken 
somewhere, he'd been entirely removed. Like the body of whoever had 
been driving that car. 

* 

The air was wet and dirty as Babbage strode down the lane. He liked the
feel of the rain on his face. It woke him up. It felt real. "All of 
this, Adlai, all these ruins, this poverty and emptiness, its all real. 
It's exciting, don't you think? I haven't felt this way since I was 
your age, just a young graduate. Since the last time I was out here, 
actually." "Have you been assigned out here before, sir?" "Oh yes, 
every now and then there's real work to be done, real investigations to 
be had. Real problems to solve. It all happens off Grid. Those robots 
we left earlier are no good out here. Can't think for themselves you 
see. No natural ability." Babbage tried to soak all the sensations in. 
He had to begin to understand the area again. "This is what real 
detective work is, my young man. Get into the role. Understand the 
environment to the point that you notice the small imperfections, the 
differences that point you in the right direction. Then you pick up the 
clues." He placed his hands behind his back and strolled casually down 
the centre of the road. No danger of cars out here. The victim's must 
have been the first in years. The victim. Kane Sanderson. Musician. 
Well off, single, no known complications in his life. What the hell was 
he doing off Grid? If he had certain tastes which couldn't be serviced 
privately at home - though those were getting few and far between these 
days - he could still have found something closer in. Money wasn't a 
problem. Besides, that wouldn't explain the crash. No, that wasn't the 
way to be thinking. The question is not why, it is where. Where was he 
going? Babbage stopped in the middle of the street. "You know, son, I 
think we need to spend some real time out here. If I can trust my 
instincts, and I think that I can, then this is one of those cases 
where we need to let the clues come to us. We need to throw caution to 
the wind as it were, jump in the deep end, all that stuff." "Get into 
some trouble, sir?" "Quite right, Adlai! Quite right. But first I 
suppose I should follow the correct procedures. You don't mind of 
course, it's just that the captain frowns on me bringing others in with 
me when I make my reports." Babbage reached into his coat and brought 
out a small plug which he inserted into the port just behind his ear. 
Immediately he found himself in a small waiting room outside a large 
oak door. It was bare except for a lone, uncomfortable-looking chair 
and a small desk complete with secretary. She was a bit too attractive 
to be real. "The captain will see you in just a moment." She spoke the 
words without looking up from the ancient typewriter she was clattering 
away on. Why the captain felt the need to indulge in such a dated 
answering machine was beyond him. Just then the large doors swung open 
and the secretary spoke again. "The captain will see you now." He 
almost said thanks, but remembered he was talking to a machine. A 
machine with great calves, but a machine nonetheless. He enjoyed the 
view as he wandered past her into the dark of the captain's office. 
Maybe he did have a point. "That's enough of that, Babbage." The gruff 
voice reached out and pulled him into the room. Babbage found himself 
standing straighter, a reaction which always annoyed him but one he 
could do little about. The captain was, as always, sitting behind an 
enormous slab of oak, completely bare except for a single electric lamp 
with a dark green shade. It gave off almost no light, but then it 
probably wasn't meant to. It was there to create menacing shadows. "You 
need to learn to watch those thoughts of yours, son, especially when 
you've invited someone in to share them with you." The captain motioned 
to the lone chair opposite but Babbage shook his head and continued to 
stand. It always made him uncomfortable to be sitting in VR while his 
body was standing out there. Made him feel slightly queasy. "Anything 
to report?" "Nothing so far, Captain, that's why I'm here. I'd like to 
request some extended time off Grid." That brought a reaction, if only 
a slight shift of weight as the captain leant forward. "Any particular 
reason?" "I think it would help with the case, sir. Basically I think 
we're looking at this the wrong way. We need to find the wheres and 
whys, the motive behind the events. Besides, there are enough other 
detectives around to do the drudge work." The captain rewarded this 
with a long stare. "You know something, Babbage? You think entirely too 
much to still be a detective. I'm sure I've mentioned this before." 
Babbage kept his mind blank and waited. No use getting into trouble. 
"Approved. But I want full and regular reports, from you alone, you 
understand? The less I know about your peculiar habits the better. 
Dismissed." The captain dropped his head back down and Babbage turned 
to leave. "And Babbage? Leave my secretary alone on the way out will 
you?" Babbage pulled himself back into reality and pocketed the plug. 
He took a deep breath and looked around. He was at an intersection, all 
four streets looked exactly the same. One was as good as any other. 
"Come along, Adlai, let's see what kind of trouble we can get into." 

* 

Adlai was in trouble. He ducked back down behind the thick concrete
pylon as the bullets zipped by overhead. They were still coming. He'd 
been stuck here for hours now, trying to fight his way back to the 
lines, back to his group, but he wasn't making any headway. He poked 
his eyes back around the corner and waited for the dust to settle. 
There. A slight movement, not thirty metres from where he lay. A black 
metal helmet bobbing in the dirt. He slid his rifle out from underneath 
his body and took aim. There was no use waiting anymore, his team had 
obviously given him up for dead. May as well cause some trouble while 
he still could. He took aim and concentrated on the sights. The 
crosshairs slid across the target as his muscles tensed. Concentrate on 
your breathing. Let your finger squeeze the trigger. The helmet 
disintegrated in a shower of red and black pieces as the bullet ripped 
through it. Adlai smiled to himself, then sprang to his feet and ran, 
leaving the rifle where it lay. It couldn't help him now. Angry cries 
flew out from the trenches behind him as he ran. They must be able to 
see him by now, he wasn't that quick, not yet. Moments later the first 
shots thudded into the dirt around him as he skipped through the 
rubble. Not that fast, but fast enough. He was due East of the 
Boulevard. His gang had driven into the territory in a rough wedge, 
then fallen apart as they became surrounded and scattered. They'd 
become overconfident again, pushed too far, always trying to dance 
along that edge, where the real thrills lay. They were all still too 
young to know better. Another bullet cracked into the concrete beside 
his head as he zipped past another broken building. They were getting 
closer, probably trying to drive him into some sort of trap. He had to 
be smarter than they were. Smarter and faster. He concentrated his will 
and focused. There was a six foot high wall ahead of him, coming closer 
every step. He could do this. More cries sounded behind him. This was 
the one chance left. Time seemed to slow as he approached the wall, his 
senses taking everything in. Three more steps, then a leap, simple as 
that. He could picture what was going to happen. He was there. The 
bullet blew through his knee and crippled him in an instant, his 
forward momentum bringing him sliding through the dirt to tumble to 
rest against the base of the wall. It would have been funny if it 
wasn't so painful. He raised his head up and could just make out the 
figures striding towards him through the dust. A gun pointing towards 
him, then the fire of the port burning him back into reality. Adlai 
reached behind his ear and scratched the scar where his data port used 
to be. It often tingled when he thought about it. They'd been a big 
step at the time, at least for some. The kids had embraced it, the 
removal of another obstacle between themselves and the ultimate VR 
experience. Soon it became unusual not to have one. The older 
generation, like his parents, had declined. He suspected they still saw 
VR as a circus, an amusing sideshow, definitely not worth cracking your 
head open for. He'd tried convincing them that age was no longer an 
excuse, that they could be whatever age they wanted in the expanding 
universes inside the ports, but they no longer wanted to change. They'd 
stepped out of time. They died together and he imagined they were 
happier for it. He spent his mourning period lost in other people's 
multiplying realities. Multiply they did. He wasn't the only misfit to 
find the possibilities of VR intriguing. As it grew, as more designers 
and tinkers came on board, each pulling in a different direction, the 
outside world began to take control. It had happened with every other 
medium in human history, VR was no different. Endless possibilities 
were far too dangerous to be left in the hands of just anyone. Better 
they were centrally controlled. That was where the Grid began. The 
Boulevard relied on hardware, so those who owned the hardware banded 
together to take control. The Grid became the main gathering place, 
more and more power sucking into it, dimming other areas in comparison. 
The casual user never stepped outside of its boundaries. Pretty soon 
for most people it was VR. Every port led into it. He who controlled 
the Grid controlled the universe. For Adlai and the other hardcore 
users it was anathema, the exact opposite of what VR was supposed to be 
all about. They found themselves pushed out into the dark corners, 
scrambling for power and space, fighting among themselves, games 
turning into real battles for supremacy. The golden age was over. Adlai 
took a drink and stared at the line of bottles behind the bar. They're 
a corporation too. You don't seem to mind being under their control. He 
gripped his glass tighter but took another drink just the same. So he 
wasn't as principled as he once was, so what? It's called growing up. 
You get more jaded and accepting until one day you look around and 
realise you're an adult and it's too late to pull yourself out. He 
couldn't be bothered getting angry anymore. What was the problem 
anyway? So the powers are distant and faceless - remind you of anyone? 
Who was it that said you could never take a picture of God? The 
worshippers didn't seem to mind. The Grid grew and grew until you had 
... until you had this. Adlai looked out the window at the darkness and 
the greasy rain. A pale glow hovered on the horizon. The Grid. Sucking 
energy into it, leaving the rest of the world in cold darkness. It was 
self perpetuating. The uglier the real world got, the more time you 
spent online escaping it, which led to the real world just getting 
uglier. He rubbed his scar again. He'd cut that umbilical cord. 
Spirituality, escape wasn't controlled by anyone else but him, not 
anymore. God was no longer in a cage. Now he was in a bottle. 

* 

Dark shadows lurked on both sides of the street as Babbage wandered
further off Grid. He walked down the centre of the lane, head down, 
hands thrust into pockets, eyes narrowed into slits, lost in his own 
world. After a while he began to whistle. Nothing conscious, just a 
simple tune that was stuck in his head. A few notes, round and round, 
never reaching an obvious end. Stretching themselves one into the 
other. A loud clatter to his left stopped him, and he turned in time to 
see an old metal garbage can roll across the gutter. "Looks like we may 
have some company. Don't let it bother you now, Adlai. Whoever it is, 
if they particularly want to see me they'll get out here eventually. 
Just keep the old eyes open." Babbage liked to encourage a passive 
outlook on life, particularly when it came to his own safety. It made 
things more interesting. Fifty metres further on he heard a light foot 
skip across the road behind him, but fought the urge to turn around. 
Not long now. "Have I told you before about the natives out here, 
Adlai? Unpleasant folk, most of them. Dangerous. Have to keep your eyes 
open and your hand close to your wallet. Not to mention your gun. 
Still, let's see if we can't tempt this one out with a little bait." He 
swung his coat out and over his hip, revealing a heavy looking pouch 
hanging from his belt. "This one's no real threat, otherwise we would 
have been hit by now. My guess is a pickpocket, a street urchin. Gets 
by on what he can steal. Don't let appearances fool you though my boy, 
some of them can be particularly nasty." There was a whisper of 
movement and Babbage spun sharply to his left and grabbed a young wrist 
just before it cut the belt on his hip. At the same time he stepped out 
and away from the other arm and caught it as it swung in a wide, lazy 
hook. Sure enough, a kid. "Well hello there, my boy. Looking for 
something?" Babbage squeezed the thin wrist and a clatter told him the 
blade in the boy's hand was no longer a danger. He pulled the would-be 
pickpocket closer to get a good look at his face. He was young, 
probably only ten or so, underneath what looked like fifteen years of 
dirt. The boy struggled but got nowhere. Babbage held on patiently and 
waited for him to tire. If there was one thing he'd learnt in his years 
on the force, it was that nothing occurred by accident. Everything led 
to an answer, you just had to be open enough to see it. "Lemme go!" 
"Ah, he speaks!" He looked down at the road and saw the curved blade 
the boy had swung gleaming back at him. Nasty things. He'd seen their 
type before. A quick kick and the evil looking weapon bounced off into 
the darkness of the nearest alleyway. "Now what would a young man like 
yourself be doing with a thing like that? Trying to cut my belt, 
obviously. Hopefully not trying to cut anything else." The boy had been 
straining for the blade, but now that it was gone the madness seemed to 
leave him and he stopped struggling. The blade hadn't had a hold of him 
completely. He must have only found it recently for its effect to pass 
so quickly. "Please, sir, I just need money for my father. He's sick, 
sir. I'm sorry, sir." "Enough with the 'sir's. Sick you say? What's the 
matter with him?" "We don't know, sir, I mean, he just lies there, like 
he's asleep." Babbage let his wrists go and the boy sprang back and 
away. Three steps further and he was pulled off his feet, ending up on 
the ground, staring up at the sky, wondering what had just happened. 
The thin wire lasso wrapped around one wrist glinted in the 
streetlights. "Incredibly useful things those cuffs. Police issue, 
don't you know. You won't be able to get too far, unless I run out the 
line a little." He pulled back his coat to reveal the source of the 
line in a small spool on his hip. "Besides, I thought you wanted me to 
help someone?" Seeing he was stuck, the young pickpocket relaxed again. 
"Yes sir, my uncle." "Your uncle now is it? Regular epidemic running 
through your family isn't there?" It was obvious the kid was lying, but 
there was something behind it. Probably just wanted to lure him off 
into the dark somewhere, into some sort of trap, somewhere him and his 
friends could clean him out and disappear. No, certainly wouldn't be a 
good idea to go with him. "Still, when did good ideas get you anywhere, 
hmm?" "Sir?" "Come on, son, get up. I need you to lead the way." The 
boy's eyes positively lit up and he sprang to his feet. Probably 
couldn't believe his luck. He'd have to work on his poker face if he 
was going to last long out here. Not all his victims would be so 
cavalier. 

* 

She'd watched the cops scan the area, pacing back and forth, sucking up
every last bit of sense data. Cops never did get it. You couldn't trust 
facts out here. This was the jungle, you had to rely on instinct. It 
told her the body of the driver was gone, long before they cleaned up 
the wreck and discovered it for themselves. Cass turned away and stared 
off into the distance at the dull glow that was the Grid, reaching out 
to her through the rain, promising warmth and safety and a sterile 
life. There was no way back there now. Maybe that's where both the 
driver and Quarters had ended up. Returned to the first level, having 
to fight their way up and out. She knew that wasn't true. They were 
gone. There was nothing for it but to head deeper off Grid. She had 
some skills, she could survive on her own, at least for a while. The 
drumming hum of the rain lulled her senses as she wandered. It felt 
right to lose herself, feel her consciousness spread out like the 
surface of a lake. Tense, clean, waiting for the first ripple. And 
there it was. She could feel it at the base of her spine. Not hear it, 
but feel the sound, the presence. The threat. That didn't take long. 
The hunters were out. They must have noticed the commotion, maybe even 
contacted the cops themselves, they were known to have links where they 
shouldn't. Someone had noticed her and they'd been sent out to get rid 
of any witnesses. She was prey now, fresh meat. Meat. That was how she 
felt, her body strange and unfamiliar, like something had been released 
when Quarters had disappeared into that figure's arms. There was an 
electricity running through her veins. She looked the same, dressed the 
same, but she was alive. More alive than ever. Cass felt a clattering 
reach across the air towards her as one of the hunters stumbled in an 
alley next to hers. She would have to move quickly if she was to 
escape. Above her was a dark opening where a window used to be, only 
six feet in the air. She sprang up into it, not bothering to use her 
hands, and paused in the shadows. From her vantage point she could see 
a lone hunter wander around the corner and start down the alley. There 
was a dangerous edge around him, an absolute hunger. His fangs flashed. 
Cass shrank back further into the shadows, though she knew he couldn't 
see her. Wait for him to walk through then skip out behind him and 
away. There was no reasoning with this animal. She closed her eyes and 
concentrated on her breathing. Slow it down. Calm. Quiet as a mouse. 
Her foot nudged something, and her eyes snapped open to search the 
shadows at her feet. There it was. The curved blade at her feet seemed 
to reach out to her hand as she bent down to wrap her fingers around 
it. As she brought it up to her face the dim light from the street 
flitted across its edge and stopped the breath in her lungs. It was 
beautiful. It gleamed with power and threat and something more. Cool 
efficiency. The hunter himself faded into the background behind its 
glow. And suddenly she knew there would be no running away. The hunter 
paused halfway down the alley. She could sense his indecisiveness, his 
frustration. He was about to turn and leave. Cass looked down at her 
feet again, she somehow knew to, and saw a glass shard lying near her 
boot. She slid it off the edge of the sill with her toe. The shatter 
made the hunter tense immediately and stride towards the sound. The 
desperation, the hunger had overcome his doubt and fear. Cass found 
herself smiling as he approached. When he was standing directly beneath 
her she felt a moment of hesitation, no more. Baulking at what she was 
about to do. She knew it was the last time she'd ever feel guilt or 
doubt again. Cass sprang down onto his shoulders, feet first, crumpling 
him to the ground. She curved backwards towards his prone legs and 
sliced the blade as deep as she could, quickly, across the tendons on 
the back of his knees. She felt a shudder pass through his body, but no 
sound. The pain hadn't had a chance to register, and it wouldn't. In 
one movement she kicked down the arm that was reaching up at her, 
pinning it to the street, and sliced the blade up his side, across the 
shoulders and deep into the side of his neck. It only took a moment for 
his body to relax into death. And then it was done. She stood and leapt 
back into the darkness of her hiding spot, out through the dark, ruined 
building, across the rooftops and away. It wasn't until she was streets 
away that she realised she was smiling. 

* 

Adlai had never understood faith. His parents had it, the priest he used
to spend Sundays ignoring had it, the other parishioners seemed to have 
it, even his friends, who acted just as bored and put upon as he did, 
even they seemed to have it. They all believed without question. He 
used to put it down to the fact that he was much smarter than everyone 
else. He was right, they were wrong, simple as that. Age had erased 
that foothold. There's only so long you can go on ignoring the 
achievements of others without facing the facts. He wasn't special, or 
different, or better. He was average, just like everyone else. So why 
couldn't he believe? He was sure if he concentrated hard enough he 
could pull it off. Convince himself. Trouble was he couldn't even bring 
himself to pretend. What was the point? What comfort did these people 
get from believing in something so far from being proven, so unworldly? 
Where was their curiosity? It didn't matter which religion you were 
talking about, whether you spent time in synagogues, mosques or 
churches, the central idea of faith seemed to be the same. Belief 
without the possibility of proof. What was he missing that everyone 
else had, this need to have something to believe in? As he got older 
and circumstances changed, it never made any more sense. As the VR 
universes squirmed into people's daily routines he watched just another 
example of it. People spent hours, days at a time in worlds not of 
their creation, convincing themselves of its reality. Sure the 
hardware, the improved graphics and speed made it an easier pill to 
swallow, but when you got down to it people believed because they 
wanted to. They needed to. VR worked because everyone wanted to 
believe. It was easier to believe. They used to tell stories of the 
suffering of the saints, gruesome, bloody tales of death and torture 
suffered as a consequence of not renouncing faith. They were just the 
thing to keep eleven-year-old boys interested in church. But to Adlai, 
faith was the easy part. Once you had an answer, it was much harder to 
question it and leave yourself staring at the abyss than simply 
believing and having your hand held. The viral growth of VR wasn't 
surprising for exactly this reason. Convincing yourself there's a 
higher power judging, watching and looking after you was no different 
from believing in the realities you slotted yourself into day after 
day. They used to call it a revolution, but not Adlai. Forsaking one 
reality, one set of fictions for another was no surprise. It was 
entrenched in human nature. Adlai needed more than just the opportunity 
to believe. He needed help silencing that annoying little voice that 
kept popping up and asking questions, the one that kept snapping him 
back from happiness. There had been different incarnations over the 
years, but he'd found one now that looked like it could be with him for 
the long haul. He took another drink. 

* 

Babbage let the boy lead and slipped his hand inside his coat to rest on
the hilt of his gun. He didn't want to have to use it, but then he 
didn't want to end up dead in a gutter either. There were worse things 
out here than pickpockets .	The first thing Babbage noticed was the 
smell. It lay heavy over the entire building, soaking into the wood, 
curling through the shattered windows and crawling into every crack in 
the walls. Something was definitely not right about this place. As for 
the sort of person who chose to live in it... He let the young 
pickpocket lead him further inside the dark doorway but then halted to 
allow time for his eyes to adjust to the gloom. It was far darker than 
out on the street, as if whatever was causing that stench had decided 
to alter the natural light for added effect. Babbage was getting more 
and more interested with every step. It had been his experience that 
most crimes of the modern age were best solved by diving in head first 
and waiting to see where the current dragged you. If not solved, the 
crimes would perhaps at least be understood. Crime wasn't simple these 
days, or rather, it had become so simple as to dumbfound all but the 
most brilliant or naïve. Babbage was proud to consider himself both. In 
a world where most people spent increasing amounts of time plugged in 
to another reality, material goods and therefore material wants faded. 
So too did material crime. What was the point of stealing anything when 
you could just plug yourself in and find the right corner of the Grid? 
As a result criminals tended to be far less simple and predictable. 
Where once you were almost guaranteed to get your man simply by 
following procedure, a more creative approach had become necessary. 
Over the years Babbage had come to trust his instincts, especially the 
more eccentric ones. He was proud of his achievement. Eccentricity was 
underrated. Babbage reached out through the ink and touched the boy's 
shoulder. Onward. The building itself was a complete mess. Even in the 
darkness he could make out the partial walls, sagging frames and 
streams of rainwater washing down from higher floors. There had to be 
better options around. It's not like there was a shortage of abandoned 
buildings out here to choose from. And the smell. It was getting 
stronger as they wandered further in. A rotting sweetness, it gave 
Babbage a disturbingly familiar twinge. He knew what that smell 
signified. Death. The pickpocket had evidently come to the same 
conclusion, as round the next corner Babbage felt the cuff wire tighten 
momentarily before snapping back at him. He heard the young boy scuttle 
away and let him go. Must have had another blade on him, or hidden one 
here. Still he'd led him this far. There was an orange glow further up 
the corridor, and Babbage continued on towards it. He was only mildly 
surprised when he noticed his gun was in his hand. "Breathe in softly 
son, it's only a smell. No need to imagine what could be the cause. No 
need for gag reflexes. Just air, just molecules sucking down your 
throat, into your lungs and out again." Finally he rounded a corner 
that opened up into what used to be a kitchen of some sort. The room 
was lit by a fire in an old oil drum, surrounded by piles of trash. 
Scraps of food and wrappers were littered everywhere, and in the far 
corner was the reason everything smelt so bad. A drawn figure of a man, 
completely emaciated, slumped across an old army surplus cot. He looked 
like he'd been dead for weeks. Babbage wondered when the kid had been 
here last, and whether he'd ever come back. He hoped the dead man 
wasn't actually his father. The smell was lessened by the fire - who'd 
been feeding it? - and the earlier sense of dread was gone now that the 
cause was here in front of him. He walked forward to get a closer look, 
but a yard from the body suddenly stopped. "Now what do you make of 
that, young Adlai?" He leant forwards to get a closer look at the man's 
face without blocking out the light of the fire. Something was off. 
"There." A flicker of movement, underneath the eyelids. He stared 
again, trying to soak in as much information as he could before his 
brain attacked it. There it was again, his eyes were definitely moving 
underneath their lids, snapping back and forth. "This man, my young 
friend, is asleep." 

* 

Cass woke to the sound of applause and rolled over. It was just the rain
hammering down outside her window, so hard you could feel it in your 
fingertips. Her brain was still foggy from sleep, lost in forgotten 
universes and selves. She lay still in bed and stared at the rain as 
her mind sorted itself out. She felt wretched, guilty almost. She 
wasn't hungover, there was no one else in the room, so it wasn't the 
obvious. What is it then? This dread that seeped through her, making 
her toss and turn in the dark and wake up feeling strained and more 
tired than when she went to bed. It was Monday, that had to be it. 
Monday meant work, meant a whole week of work in fact, drudgery 
stretching out in front of you. Every Monday was the same. Tuesdays 
weren't much better, in fact it wasn't really until Thursday that she 
slept the whole night through, untroubled by dark dreams. They'd been 
getting darker too, at least, so she thought. She could no longer 
remember them. That hadn't always been the way. She'd had very vivid 
dreams when younger, she used to wake up and roll over to the side of 
the bed, reach under it to the pad of paper stored for just such an 
occasion and scribble down every last detail. Often it flowed over more 
than one page. These days she neither wrote nor remembered. Nothing 
more than images and flashes, fleeting and dark. Rain. Monsters. Blood. 
It had been that way ever since the accident. Dreams were no longer a 
place to escape to. She didn't want to see what they brought up from 
the depths. Maybe it was just that she hated her job. Everyone hated 
their jobs though, at least, everyone she knew. Jobs were dull. They 
seemed to have gotten duller over the years, or maybe she just knew 
more now. Someone at work had told her they thought it was all part of 
the scam to make you spend more time plugged in. They made the real 
world so unattractive that you just had to tune in and drop out. Cass 
wasn't that paranoid. But the dreams, the way they flashed in and out 
now, that had something to do with VR. It was too vivid and strong now, 
too bright and shiny, pushing everything else back out of your brain, 
leaving it a polished surface with nowhere for dreams to cling on to. 
That was why she tried to leave it alone. Turned off the field before 
crawling into bed and lay staring in the dark, wishing real dreams back 
into her, no matter how dark. It didn't work. Maybe it was part of 
'their' plan, whoever they were. Make you miss the dreams, the time 
spent plugged in. Bring you to a point where you couldn't stand to 
spend a day without at least a short visit. She looked around the 
office each day at the glazed eyes and knew that for most people it 
worked. They couldn't resist it. It wasn't good for you, Cass was 
convinced of that. She'd enjoyed it, had her fun, but knew when 
something wasn't right. VR felt wrong. Your dreams multiplied on top of 
each other, and the sick separation, the tear when it all ended. It was 
too much. Cass turned her head and watched the raindrops slide down the 
window. Life should be lived on this side, in reality, no matter how 
dull and grey it made itself out to be. The drops streaked together and 
pooled at the base of the glass, warping the image outside. No matter 
how lonely. 

* 

Adlai sat very still, watching the prone body in front of him. They'd
captured him days earlier, another spy for the Grid. They were coming 
in regularly now, small time users who wanted a shortcut to the top, 
coders who came in too late, young hot shots who wanted the power to 
twist the world around them to their liking, but found all the tools 
locked away, the usual tricks already sealed off. There were two 
choices, either start at the bottom with everyone else, or slink over 
to the Grid and offer your services. They always accepted. Adlai could 
understand, he knew the frustration of being just like everyone else. 
At least, he used to know. Now he was one of the few they sent saps 
like this after. They'd caught him far too easily really. Another raid 
on one of their war scenes, trying to hit them while they were 
distracted with their games. It never worked. The powers behind the 
Grid didn't care, there were plenty more where he came from. He 
wondered if this one at least had a chance to experience something of 
what he was helping to destroy. The freedom, the possibilities, the 
pure pleasure of losing yourself in someone else's fantasy. More than 
pleasure, illusion was a necessity, you had to escape reality in order 
to survive this life. VR was a place to do that, a place to chase God 
across the heavens of consciousness. It was the only place left. Back 
on the other side, God was long gone. Euthanised by technology. You 
know what you're going to do, you may as well get on with it. They'd 
decided together, but he knew he'd pushed them along. The code was 
simple really, a simple feedback loop. If he hadn't discovered it, 
someone else would have. Better to do it this way, as a warning. Adlai 
activated the code and watched as the world around him changed. It was 
an ancient idea. Since the time of the shamans, before religion itself 
- to understand life you first have to die. Death is a part of life, a 
necessary part. The threat had to be there. With this code it was now 
possible to feedback up the ports, back into the dreaming body on the 
other side. Death was now more than just a continue point. It was 
final. The body in front of him didn't move, but he knew he'd doomed 
it. He stood up and left the room, headed for his own region, far away 
from this front line. Someone else could take care of the final rites 
for this one. There were plenty here who would be happy to deal with it 
after he'd gone. "'Every human being is equally unfree, that is, we 
create out of freedom, a prison.' You know who wrote that?" His voice 
was clear and strong again, but his eyes were still vacant and lost in 
the past. "You really do give me nothing, you know that? How does it 
feel to be God's bartender anyway?" The bartender just stood and stared 
and kept his mouth shut. He was good at his job. Another reason to stay 
here. Alcohol was an answer because it meant you no longer had to pull 
the strings. Your consciousness is no longer your responsibility. 
You're no longer responsible at all. For anything. He raised his hand 
for another drink and noticed a fresh one sitting on the bar, smiling 
up at him. He really was good at his job. 

* 

He couldn't wake up. He wasn't sure exactly how long he'd been like
this. Days? Weeks? Too long. Lying in the old army cot, staring up at 
the backs of his eyelids, not seeing anything. Lost in other worlds, 
dream worlds. He knew he was asleep, knew he was dreaming, knew the 
field was active around him. He knew none of it was real, but that 
knowledge didn't make it any easier. The earliest nightmare, back when 
he was still learning to speak in full sentences, was in black and 
white. It was grainy, too, like the old televisions. Unreal. That only 
seemed to make it more terrifying. It was so simple too. Two large 
blobs jumped up and down on each other, sucking each other in and 
expanding, growing bigger every leap, until they towered above him, 
threatened to crush him with their sheer size. The scale of them, that 
was the thing. He was so small, and the world around him so huge. 
Later, his fears became more focused, more real. A pale skinned killer 
with long claws hid under a sheet in a room with all of its furniture 
covered. He had to walk through the room to get to the bathroom at 
night. One of the pieces of furniture hid the killer. Maybe the killer 
would wait until he walked past, then sneak up behind him. Maybe while 
he was looking back the killer would slip out and be standing right 
there, claws glistening, waiting for him. He never saw the killer, but 
that only made it worse. A child's lullaby floating through his head 
brought these visions, dragged out each nightmare, reminding him of 
every fear he'd ever had. Darkness. Lost in a dark wood, only a weak 
flashlight to light the way. Strange cracks and snaps leaping out to 
him from all sides, secret movement everywhere, and somehow the beam of 
the flashlight, the way it frames everything it does not see in even 
deeper blackness makes it all much worse. But you can't switch it off. 
You can't switch any of this off. You're lost here forever. Why 
couldn't he unplug? Had he lost himself in some depraved corner of the 
Boulevard, lost himself somewhere off Grid? Why couldn't he wake? Fear 
of animals that slither and slide. Sitting on an old toilet, in an 
outhouse somewhere. Something primitive and old moving up the pipes 
towards you. Forcing its way up and consuming you from the inside. He 
could feel the sweat building up on his forehead, trickling down into 
his eyes, falling down his cheeks like tears. He couldn't wipe them 
away, couldn't move at all. La la, la la-la la. That lullaby, taking 
him by the hand again and leading him somewhere else. Into other fears. 
He was a camera, following a little girl dressed in white, skipping 
through a forest. Every now and then she turns around and smiles, but 
her smile has an edge, like she knows more than she's letting on. She's 
leading you somewhere, you want to call out to make her stop, you want 
to protect her, but you cannot make a sound. A wooden cabin appears, on 
the edge of a lake. The girl giggles and leads you on, turns a corner 
around the cabin and you follow, but when you get there she's 
disappeared. Then you feel the dread begin to rise up, and you look 
across the clearing and see the woman staring at you, pure hatred in 
her eyes, freezing you to the spot. She walks towards you. Run. Turn 
away and run from all of this, through the trees, away from the 
spectres and sounds, away from the nightmares. Wake up. He could feel 
his eyes twitching back and forth in REM sleep, but couldn't control 
them. They kept seeing things. His body hung across the cot, drenched 
in sweat, tensing and shifting with each dream. His hand trailed almost 
to the floor, dangling above the darkness under the bed, the unknown 
spaces where all the childhood demons hid. They'd come out now and 
captured him, pinned him down in a paralysis of sleep and dreams. If 
they could do that, could they come out further, fed by his fears? Were 
they simply strengthening themselves, was he losing strength as they 
gained it? Did they become more corporeal as he melted away? One of the 
oldest fears, that of fear itself. Its power to control you, take you 
over. Once the idea springs in your brain you're powerless to stop it. 
A virus of fear, taking over your body and striking you down, leaving 
your brain in a constant adrenaline rush and your hand twitching in the 
breeze. And then something grabs it. 

* 

The emaciated figure lay soaked into his bed, grey, slimy skin pulled
back from the bones and gleaming in the flickering orange light of the 
fire. He looked dead, but this wasted figure, this rotting corpse, was 
merely asleep. Babbage reached out and poked the man's face, shifting 
his head from side to side, but there was nothing, just a wet ripping 
sound. His head rocked sideways easily and his mouth slowly pulled 
itself open. He didn't look too closely, but could tell from the new 
sweetness in the air that the inside of the man's mouth had completely 
rotted away. "This is unpleasant." "What's the matter with him? Is he 
drugged?" "Drugged, left in a dream state, left to die. Maybe this was 
one of our little pickpocket friend's first victims, maybe they've 
become that sick. Sickness tends to breed out here." A clattering 
scurry above them snapped Babbage's eyes away from the figure. The kid 
could still be around, out there in the shadows somewhere, planning an 
ambush. "Stay on your toes Adlai. I need to see what I can do for our 
unfortunate friend here." If he could wake the man up, plug him 
straight into a data port, maybe he could save something. Help the man 
recover in a friendlier atmosphere, slowly bring him back into reality 
as he recovered. If he could recover. Babbage had no doubt simply 
dragging him back to consciousness would be the final end of him. Just 
breathing deeply enough to remain conscious seemed beyond him, and 
there would be quite a deal of pain to be dealt with, if even sensing 
that wasn't already beyond him. Babbage reached into his coat and 
pulled out a small memory stick. Nothing too fancy, just a simple flash 
storage port, a one-hitter, designed to hold the user over when the 
nearest data ports were either out or untrustworthy. This one was a 
simple beach setting. Warm sun, relaxation. Completely alone and 
content. It was the best he could do for him here. Then they just had 
to worry about getting out themselves. The man's head twitched suddenly 
to the side and his mouth snapped closed. His eyelids continued to 
shudder with movement, violent, extreme. Whatever nightmare he was 
stuck in didn't seem too pleasant. The sooner he could give him some 
relief the better. Babbage reached forward and turned the man's head to 
the side. There was the port. Now to just slot this in. As he leant 
forward and slotted the memory plug in, he reached out and took the 
man's hand. That was a mistake. Babbage was thrown to the floor as the 
man's eyes snapped open and his body jerked into a sitting position. 
There was a loud tearing as the skin on his back ripped away from his 
body, remaining stuck to the bed where it had become fused to the frame 
over the weeks and months he'd been trapped there. His eyes stared, 
wide open but not seeing anything. Glazed and horrified, shocked by the 
pain of consciousness and something else, something worse. Babbage fell 
to his knees as the man wrapped his hand in a vice grip, then forgot 
all about the crushing pain as the man opened his mouth and started to 
scream. It was unlike anything Babbage had ever encountered, and he'd 
seen more than his fair share. Even in those darker areas in and off 
Grid, those hidden trapdoors where the really disturbed fantasies were 
played out, even they had nothing on this. It was a primal howl, 
wounded and enraged. It reached down into your spine and scraped its 
nails across your nerves like a blackboard. And wrapped through it was 
something else, something musical, something familiar. Babbage felt his 
instincts take over. In a rush of adrenaline he tore his hand away from 
the dying man's grip and wrapped his arms around his head. He had to 
block out the sound. This was more than unpleasant, there was something 
dangerous in even hearing this. He felt Adlai fall down with him and 
wrapped them both into a ball, arms over ears, screaming to block the 
sound from slicing into them. How much breath could a body like that 
contain? It was as though the sound itself was forcing its way out, a 
genie in a bottle surging out of its vessel, its prison. Suddenly 
Babbage could hear his own screams and nothing else. He shut his mouth 
and waited. Sure enough, the sound had gone. Died, as had that 
unfortunate man, no doubt. He opened his eyes and looked up at the bed, 
but all that was left was a bad smell and the small memory card lying 
alone on the bloody pillow. The man's body had completely disappeared. 

* 

She opened her eyes and waited for the guilt to wash over her, but it
never came. Just a cold wind sliding over, ripping through the top 
floor of the abandoned warehouse she'd finally collapsed in, no longer 
able to run. She'd killed a man. Not a man, a hunter. Less man than 
animal. Vampire. Anonymously evil. He would have taken her in a second 
if he had the chance. But she hadn't given him the chance. She'd seen 
him coming and sprung, taken him out like a professional, no second 
thoughts. It was instinct alone, no need to try and intellectualise it. 
She no longer needed to think. Cass looked down at the curved blade, 
warm in her hands. Moonlight glinted across its surface, reflecting up 
into her eyes, keeping her company. Don't they say it's the first step 
that's always the hardest? Once you've taken it, the rest just comes 
naturally. The floor felt like it was tilting her towards the horizon, 
angling her to face downhill. There was no way back now, she'd taken 
out one of the Brotherhood. They didn't just let that go. She closed 
her eyes and ran over everything she knew about them, what she could 
expect and when. It was difficult to separate myth from reality, which 
was just the way they liked it. It was also the way of most things off 
Grid. Information didn't have to be true to be useful. Feeders, like 
the first boy she'd almost been captured by long ago, when Quarters had 
first saved her. All she knew about them was through him. Feeders, but 
organised. Older, too, more powerful, more twisted. And connected. Cass 
opened her eyes and sat up. The wind had completely died. Unnatural 
silence sank around the building. There was something coming. She 
jumped to her feet, took two steps and leapt against the wall, then 
sprang again, higher, to grab the roof beam and flip up on top of it. 
Then grab the edge of the hole above her, and curl up into the gap, 
legs first, to leave her lying on her stomach facing back down the hole 
at where she'd lain moments before. Not even out of breath, no strain 
at all. In fact, she was enjoying it. An electricity surged through her 
spine and out to the muscles. Her body knew exactly what to do, she 
didn't need to be conscious of it. Just enjoy the ride. Back down the 
hole something moved. The floor seemed to shiver, the dust on it 
vibrate up on itself before laying still. Cass could feel it, knew 
before her eyes did what was about to occur. The floor where she'd lain 
suddenly gave way completely, a whole section collapsed downwards, then 
crashed again through the floor of the room below, then again, on down 
through the storeys, lost under a cloud of dust before it hit bottom. 
As it fell through, Cass caught a glimpse of an enormous arm, biceps 
the size of her waist, grasping and wrenching out a support beam. 
Something, someone, had simply ripped the floor out from beneath her. 
Cass had no doubt it was after her. She felt the whole building shudder 
again and pushed herself up into a run. That way, across the gap to the 
next building. She hit top speed and leapt the twenty feet just as the 
roof below her gave way. The next roof was too far, but a single beam 
stuck out the bricks of an adjacent building, beckoning to her. She 
flipped midair and wrapped her arms around it, pulling her legs in and 
flinging her body around full circle, gaining speed before opening up 
again and letting go, sling-shotting her body towards and through an 
upper window. She rolled as she hit the floor, then straight back up 
into a run. Keep moving. Cass could feel the assassin behind her, on 
her trail. That's what it was, of course. A specialist, hired and sent 
out to eradicate her. The brotherhood had powerful contacts. Contacts 
with a lot of money. Such beings didn't come cheap. She flipped over 
the railing of a staircase and landed on the floor below. Another 
crashing sound to her left told her the assassin had entered the 
building as well, not bothering with the door. Enormous strength, but 
what other traits? What else was she fighting against? You needed more 
than just that to live the life he did. You needed other specialities 
to be worth hiring. To survive. Cass didn't want to have to find out. 
The crashing sound had come from the floor below her. She'd have to 
jump again. To the right was a large window, and across the street its 
twin in another building. Perfect. She accelerated and flung herself 
through the glass, twisting in midair to scatter the shards away from 
her. At least the window opposite was already blown out. Cass felt the 
vibration in the air, an alarm ringing through her spine. There was 
nothing she could do. Why was this window blown out? Because someone 
had taken it out for her. She slammed into the thin, sticky web, which 
sunk in with her momentum and wrapped itself around her, pinning her 
legs together. It hummed with energy. She'd twisted as she hit, ending 
up on her side with only her right arm free, the rest of her bound 
tight. Trapped. A laugh ripped up at her from the street below as the 
assassin saw his success. He'd run her directly into his trap. Now he 
could do as he wished, no need for a quick ending. Now he could take 
his time. 

* 

When he was much younger Adlai hadn't minded having to go to church. It
was boring, but it was an adult kind of boring, above him, something he 
had yet to grow into. No-one expected him to pay attention, which left 
him free to discover the hymns. Hymns were fun. You could sing as loud 
as you wanted and people would just smile and nod at you. Of course, 
you had to be careful to get the words right, know when the verse 
segued into the chorus, know when the whole thing ended. You didn't 
want to be the guy left screaming out a note when everyone else is 
already on their way back down to their seats, having to watch it echo 
around in the silence, looking for a way out. Adlai always kept his 
eyes planted firmly in the hymn book. Soft leather cover, pages so thin 
they felt like layers of skin between your fingers, metallic red paint 
on each page's edge so that when you finally closed it all you could 
see was a blood red band between the covers. And when things were 
boring, when the priest was droning on and the choir had sat down, you 
could flip through and play the songs in your head. Read along and 
escape from reality. As he got older he learnt of religions where music 
was banned altogether. That made no sense at all. Music was one of the 
few truly spiritual acts mainstream society encouraged. Certainly the 
corporate world seized on the idea early. TV, radio, advertisements, 
they were all awash with music, grabbing the listeners attention, 
forcing their thoughts down particular channels, twisting their 
emotions to suit whatever mood was required. Worming their way into 
your head and staying there, till you found yourself humming 
advertising jingles while you washed the dishes. Music was powerful. 
Every second person you passed on the street had phones slotted into 
their head, playing their own personal soundtrack, changing the way 
everything was viewed and experienced, no longer even pretending to 
share the experience of life. It was only natural for VR to use the 
same techniques. Soundtracks were loaded through the data ports 
themselves. There was no need for headphones, the entire world was 
encased in whatever music you, and increasingly others, had chosen. 
Each user experienced the world with their own spin, seeing the same 
thing differently. It went altogether too far for Adlai. This great 
chance they had, this opportunity to reflect on the spiritual side of 
life, of getting back to what it meant to be alive, the ability to 
become heroic, it was all washing away down the drain accompanied by a 
happy tune. There had to be a way to fight back. The answer came to him 
while lazing on a beach, watching the crystal clear waves break at his 
feet. He was listening to his music, getting a sun tan. It was time to 
leave, to get back to creating other such places for users to reflect 
in, just as soon as this song was finished. And that was it. The idea 
sprouted and grew into every other part of his brain. Music heads to an 
end, a closing. It's like a story, like sex, you need to reach an end 
in order to feel satisfied. Like life itself. Use the music as it could 
be used, as a virus creeping into the user's mind, hitching a ride in, 
worming its way from link to link into the Grid itself. Get it stuck in 
their head like a primal fear, use it to open the gate to the citadel 
and then bring all the walls crashing down around them. Music was the 
key to open every door. 

* 

Out here everyone was for hire, and everything. It was the nature of
life off Grid, it was why they came out here in the first place. 
Freedom from constraint. Life without a safety net. And there was 
always a score to settle somewhere, if you knew where to look. Design 
yourself the tools and put yourself in the marketplace. You could make 
a lot of money, but that didn't mean you couldn't also have fun. The 
assassin strode into the room and stood smiling, watching his prey. 
Cass was bound tight in the web, her head turned away from the room. He 
was just a dark smudge in the corner of her vision, but she could feel 
the confidence and power emanating out of him. Her right arm dropped to 
her waist and grasped the handle of the blade. It was still free. She 
swung the blade up to her shoulder, protected from his sight by the 
rest of her body. She was about to slice the web when something stopped 
her. That's not the way. Footsteps thudded slowly towards her. The 
broken edge of the wall was closest to her right side, just at arms 
length. She could see the sticky ends of the web suckered to it. She 
could use this. Cass reached out her arm to the wall, resting the blade 
just behind its edge, and snuggled back and forth in the web, 
tightening it around her, increasing its tension. "The little fly is 
trying to get away." The voice surrounded her senses, reaching out 
across the room to her. There was no need to hear them to feel the 
twisted menace in the words. "I like little flies that struggle. I pin 
them down and clip their wings." Cass could sense the voice, feel its 
alieness to the body that surrounded it. It was a teenager's voice. A 
cruel, lonely teenager. Someone who had the time and will to construct 
this thing out of himself. "Yes, I think I can have some fun with you." 
She waited until she could feel the heat of his breath against her 
cheek. Now. Her right arm swung into action, slicing the blade down the 
outside of the wall, aiming for the ends of the web. For a moment the 
blade seemed to take control, moving slightly in her hands, pushing 
itself outwards, sinking into the solid concrete of the wall itself. It 
cut deep and pulled down quickly, slicing through the wall with ease. 
Cass had no time to be surprised. The web snapped as the tension built 
up in the strands suddenly released. It wrapped back against itself, 
bending around the assassin as it went, twisting them both until Cass 
was left staring back out into the street, body inside the building 
now, staring straight into the face of the assassin trapped in his own 
web. His eyes were full of surprise and panic, and something more. 
Something cold and dead mirrored back at her. She wondered if he was 
strong enough to break his own cage. Cass brought the blade up and 
sliced into his throat. Now she'd never know. The web itself dissolved 
around her as the cold light in his eyes faded out. He didn't even 
whimper. Cass landed on her feet inside the building and turned away. 
She didn't need to watch. The fire in her veins was slowly draining 
out, allowing her brain back in to deal with the consequences. She 
didn't mind, it would be back. 

* 

Babbage leant his head back and let the rain splash down onto his
tongue. He needed to wash himself out, get rid of the oily, rotten air 
that was clinging to him. The rain would be dirty, everything out here 
was, but it had to be a hell of a lot cleaner than where he'd just 
been. "Well Adlai, now we have some questions to answer." "Such as?" 
"Such as what was wrong with that unfortunate man? Was he drugged and 
left for dead, or something else entirely? Why had he woken so suddenly 
when I touched his hand? And most importantly of all, what was that 
indescribable noise?" An animal noise, it had poured out of the man, 
leapt out of his mouth as he died, like some possessing ghost jumping 
away, looking for a new host to feed off. "We are on our way my son, we 
are on our way." Babbage looked down at the memory card gripped in his 
fist. Here was the key. Perhaps something of the horror experienced was 
captured there, left behind in the data, waiting to be slotted into 
someone else. He wasn't going to be the first to try it out. It had 
something to do with a song, the first hints of which he could still 
remember sliding through the howl. He'd heard it somewhere before, like 
a child's lullaby. If he thought harder he might recognise it. A bottle 
clattered across the street behind him and snapped Babbage out of his 
thoughts. There was nothing there, just shadows. It was a very simple 
tune, three notes, four at most, repeated over and over, like a chant. 
Footsteps slapped across the street, this time to the side, then a 
small child's giggle. Not a happy one. "Adlai, I believe our young 
friend has returned. If I can be blunt, and I think that I can, I 
suggest we vacate the area. It looks like he may have brought along 
some friends." He felt a definite chill tingle up his spine as he 
looked around. Damp walls, blind alleys that led to dead ends in more 
ways than one. Garbage. He'd been here before, there was no need to 
panic. Just think it out, and when the time comes, act. He let his 
right hand drift under his coat and grasp the handle of his gun. The 
tune in his head was almost together, the four notes running around 
each other, trying to make themselves fit. The air seemed to become 
heavier. Another clattering, this time to the front. There were 
definitely more of them, and not just here to scare him. He heard the 
distinct sound of a blade being scraped along a wall. Sound. The notes. 
Of course. Babbage let go of the gun and stood up straight. He'd caught 
himself just in time, just as the notes were beginning to slot into 
place, just as the hair on the back of his neck began to tingle in 
anticipation, just as the air around him seemed ready to form itself 
into a shape he definitely didn't want to see. Another man may have let 
it all happen, may have let himself simply react. Babbage, however, 
never felt any compunction to be normal. He stood in the middle of the 
road, placed his hands over his ears, and began to hum. Nonsense tunes, 
drinking songs, notes dragged up from the past or invented on the spot. 
Scales, lullabies, anything to distract from the notes that had almost 
overwhelmed him. Immediately the air began to lift and clear. The 
growing sense of dread and fear that had crept over him pulled back and 
away. After thirty seconds the memory of the notes had sunk back down 
into the depths. He let his hands fall from his ears and looked around. 
Nothing. Whoever had been moving in was obviously unable to deal with 
his unusual behaviour. Not many people could. They'd either backed off 
to regroup or were waiting for him to make the first move. Mob rule, an 
easy thing to take advantage of. "Come Adlai, let me show you how it's 
done." Babbage cocked his head back and began striding confidently down 
the middle of the street. One of the hunters would have to react first, 
and he didn't want the decision to be an easy one. Make the possibility 
look like the furthest thing from your mind. Walk too close to one side 
or the other and whoever lurked there would feel it was their duty to 
react first. This way, the decision was unclear. Hopefully by the time 
they realised they'd have to make a choice it would be too late. He 
reached the end of the street and turned left. Still nothing. Perhaps 
they really had gone, warned off by his bizarre behaviour. He thought 
about the sounds he'd heard creeping up on him as the notes had formed 
in his mind. Perhaps they'd never been there in the first place. One 
set of sounds leading to another, generating fear, opening the links in 
your brain between a growing feeling and a specific cause, creating new 
links, forming the sounds in your own head. A noise behind him stopped 
all thought and Babbage ducked, swivelled and drew his gun in one 
movement. A heartbeat later he fired, dropping the hunter where he 
stood in the middle of the street, only paces away. The figure twitched 
slowly on the ground, staring open eyed into the rain. Babbage 
holstered his gun and turned back down the street as if nothing had 
happened. "It's too early to be debating cause and effect, my young 
friend. Things are definitely kicking on though, wouldn't you say?" 
"But what about the car crash? The investigation?" "This is the 
investigation, Adlai. There is no time to stop now, we have to keep on 
down the rabbit hole. Besides," he looked down at the memory card still 
wrapped in his fist, "There's a particular man we need to see." 

* 

He could hear the footsteps clearly, hear the bedroom door creak open
and the steps walk around the side of his bed. She was here. The dark 
corners of his room bent and shied away from the presence approaching 
him. He could feel the air thicken, the dread slow every molecule down. 
It was all he could do to pull the sheet over his head. The shadows 
moved across the material, reaching out to them, reaching out to rip 
them back. He closed his eyes and began to pray. The ice hit his lips 
and brought him back to the bar. The prayers, he remembered the 
prayers. Never any specific request to rid the world, and his bedroom 
in particular, of ghosts and demons, just rote, standard prayers that 
ran off his tongue. A rhythm of words, almost meaningless. The sound 
itself, exhaled out in a whisper, was strengthening. There was no 
concentration required, it was like reciting the alphabet, one sound 
just followed another. You didn't need to understand every word. It was 
like a magic spell, an incantation to summon up a great force to 
protect you, to cover over your bed and deflect any evil away. It was a 
lullaby, a strong brick wall around his mind, keeping out the darkness 
and watching over him. He could actually feel the light in his head get 
brighter the further he went, as if God had cracked open a trapdoor and 
was slowly raising it up the more he heard. When the opposite happened, 
when he woke up out of a dream he didn't want to leave, when he kept 
his eyes closed and tried to rip the dream world back open, dive back 
under to where he had been happy, then too prayers were useful tools. 
They calmed his mind, allowing him to sink back down, back to the place 
he left off. Their rhythm, the fact that your brain was hardly 
involved, seemed to stimulate that part of his mind connected to 
dreaming. He could drift away, safe in the knowledge he was being 
watched over. "Here's to them, Jack." Adlai raised his glass to the 
bartender, who of course ignored him. Perhaps his name isn't Jack. Who 
cares? His name is whatever I tell him it is. "To prayers and dreams, 
dreams and prayers. May they live together happily ever after." You 
didn't have experiences like that without making some strong 
connections in your mind. He doubted he was the only one. Perhaps just 
the first with the knowledge and will to do anything about it. The 
others had shied away whenever the subject came up. No-one liked 
talking about religion. He'd mention something and they'd roll their 
eyes, then he'd go away and create them anyway, just use different 
names. Safer names. It was everywhere. Don't mention heaven, call it 
VR. Souls? Call them proxies. God? Call yourself a programmer. Besides, 
he knew he didn't need to listen to them. They needed him, not the 
other way around. He'd create entire worlds, populate them with physics 
and possibility, they came along and filled in the details. It was 
important, but not necessary. Not like him. Maybe they became a little 
jealous. Adlai rolled the edge of his glass on the bar and watched the 
brown liquid circle around the inside, desperately clinging to the 
glass. Maybe that was a good thing. Led to them striking out on their 
own, creating things they never would have thought possible without 
that push. Never would have dreamed of. He grinned at that. It all came 
back to dreams. 

* 

The night was still as she lay silently on the rooftop, staring down at
the empty street below. She'd come down from the high of the kill, had 
relaxed her senses out to feel for the next attack. To be prepared, to 
be ready. She was looking forward to it. There would be more. There 
were always more assassins to be found and sent out, it was only a 
matter of time. Cass wondered who she'd offended badly enough to send 
out a killer on her trail. He hadn't looked cheap. Enhanced strength 
and speed, and a dark streak, a sickness in him, an eagerness to get 
his hands dirty. He'd been around for a while. She didn't feel the 
least shred of guilt about removing him. That was life off Grid. You 
were the hunter or the hunted, and sooner or later everyone lost. The 
game didn't stop until you did. It was Quarters who'd first opened her 
eyes to the nature of life off Grid. There was nothing wrong with 
feeding off the scraps to survive. But there was no need to anymore. 
Cass looked down at the lines she'd cut in the solid concrete of the 
roof, slicing the curved blade in lazy, curved designs. She cut again 
now, just to enjoy the feeling. There was no tug of friction, the blade 
slipped into the concrete like it wasn't there. She pulled it around in 
a rough circle and watched the hole drop down to the floors below. What 
was this thing? Enhancements were nothing new off Grid, merely 
expensive, but to people, never to objects. Users made quicker, 
stronger, more agile. She'd tweaked herself as much as was possible. 
But this was something else. She could feel the possibility, the menace 
emanating out of its curved blade. A part of her grinned. Who cares? 
It's yours now. Yours to use, to wield. Use it as it should be used. 
Her eyes scanned the streets below again, but there was nothing. 
Everyone knew better. The hunger that was growing inside would have to 
wait. Cass rolled onto her back and stared at the black sky, letting 
the constant rain clean the sweat and dust off her face. The image of 
the blade stayed in her mind's eye, turning in front of her. Taking 
over her thoughts. She sat up and held the handle of the blade up to 
the moonlight. There was something there, something she'd missed. She'd 
glimpsed it as the blade turned in her mind. There. The thin moonlight 
gleamed on the blade, glinting down onto the handle, on to the base 
where the letters MWB flashed in and out. Cass stared at the insignia 
etched into the base. MWB. Why hadn't she noticed it earlier? She 
turned the blade in the light and watched the letters flicker in and 
out of sight, as if the moonlight itself was writing and erasing them 
in turn. MWB. She'd seen those letters before. 

* 

The streets became more familiar as he got closer to his goal. They
seemed much smaller than he remembered, as though his memory had 
stretched them out to fit the size of their significance. "There's a 
history here Adlai, almost makes one sentimental. Emotional ties 
wrapped into the memories. Why is that do you think, son?" "It's a 
longing to be back there sir, because deep down we know we're running 
out of time." "Nonsense. Utter nonsense my boy." Babbage lengthened his 
stride. The past is what makes you, what leads you here. That and the 
memory card in your pocket. "We found this place years ago, part of an 
investigation into the assassin gangs that seem to infect these areas 
off Grid. One such had become a little too confident, started raids 
close to the border of the Grid itself, which of course, would never 
do. That got the authorities' attention, and they sent us out to deal 
with things. It was my first time off Grid." "How old were you sir?" 
"Old? I never remember ages Adlai, it's positively boorish. Stick to 
the point. I know what you're thinking, why bother with us? Why not 
simply hire another gang and let them wipe each other out peacefully, 
as it were. Well, we did. Trouble was, this original gang never seemed 
to weaken in numbers, they always had a constant supply of willing 
recruits. Then we began to hear the rumours." "Rumours, sir?" "Cloning. 
Virtual copies being made of hunters and sent out to fight for them, 
beside them. The process wasn't perfect, but it was effective. When all 
you want from a being is the ability to hunt and kill, to not question 
their drives or existence, then you don't need perfection. You just 
need them to be functional." "And the clones came from here, sir?" "We 
were given leads to a certain place off Grid, a man suspected of 
supplying the replicants. How he kept hold of that kind of hardware out 
in this jungle was a mystery, but then he could always make his own 
private army of security personnel. That and the protection of the 
gangs using your services, you were probably the safest man out here." 
They'd turned a final corner and were facing another dark alley, this 
time lit by something more than the dull reflection of the streetlight 
on the constant rain. There was a single neon sign high up on a blank 
wall, flickering on and off. MWB. "Don't let appearances fool you 
Adlai, especially out here. That's what they rely on. Take the man 
we're here to see. Madigan is his name. Harmless looking fellow, and he 
is harmless, really, it's just his knowledge which is dangerous." 
Babbage walked towards the wall and a large grey door appeared out of 
the shadows. "Sir? How did you stop them?" "The clones? To tell the 
truth Adlai I was never too sure of that myself." Further questions 
were cut short by Babbage's fist thumping on the door. The sound echoed 
around the streets, announcing their presence for anyone within a mile 
radius. In moments a thin eye slit slid back and a pair of suspicious 
eyes stared out. Babbage didn't waste a moment. "Greetings! Babbage is 
my name. Madigan in?" There must have been cameras positioned all along 
the alley, probably everywhere for streets around. They must have seen 
him coming from miles off, but one had to play the game. "Babbage? You 
alone?" That one was best not answered at all. 

* 

Who needs God when you have bourbon? Adlai swirled the dark liquid
around his glass, staring at his reflection as it washed in and out of 
focus. He took another sip and felt the heat slide down the back of his 
throat. It was more than comforting. Bourbon had always been his 
favourite. Sam Spade, Philip Marlowe, all those hard boiled detectives, 
it was their favourite too. The drink of the driven, lonely man. 
Sitting next to a chess board in your lonely flat, mulling things over. 
Gin was the thinking man's drink. Gin or scotch. Sherlock Holmes would 
have drunk gin. Gin for thinking, bourbon for fighting, that was what 
they said. Bourbon angried up the blood, made you feel pissed off at 
the world and man enough to do something about it. Adlai never got that 
way. He was angry at the world by default. Who wasn't these days? He 
stared at the rain ceaselessly streaking down the window. Out here, off 
Grid, that was all you could afford to be, and that was all you got. 
Rain and more rain. And darkness. All the power diverted to the Grid, 
keeping their skies bright and clear, their streets safe and free of 
vermin. He looked around the bar. It was still quiet, just a couple of 
regular drunks over in one booth, having the same conversation they had 
every night. Like they were rehearsing a play, stuck in the same crease 
in time, the same scratch on the record, each and every night. Their 
brains had been short circuited somehow. Perhaps it was a good thing. 
Ignorance is bliss. No, not much vermin here tonight, but it was early. 
Later more would come, the scavengers, the feeders, the hookers and 
assassins. Anyone who made their living out here, fucking someone else 
over. Anyone who'd decided they preferred the darkness and rain to the 
bright lights of the Grid. There were a lot of them. Not everyone 
appreciated what they saw in the mirror. It was always safe here 
though, this was neutral territory. No-one ever bothered you here. 
"Ever looked in the mirror and been surprised?" The barman - what was 
his name? Jack? - glanced over but saw the half full glass in front of 
him and went back to rubbing the same patch of bar. He didn't want any 
conversation. No-one did anymore. You want conversation, go plug 
yourself in. Go talk to the drunks in their booth. Enter stage left. 
Ah, you should stop thinking so much. Let the bourbon do its work, let 
it wash back the years and take them away on the tide, leaving an 
empty, pristine beach of pure white. Clean, ready for any old story you 
want to scratch into the sand. 

* 

She wakes again and rolls off her sweat stained pillow to stare out at
the world. It's a dull, grey day again, light drizzle sneaking about 
the edges, picking off the unsuspecting, unsure whether to properly 
start up or not. Almost like the Boulevard. Almost, but not. Just 
similar enough to remind her of what she's missing. Time to get up. 
There's no-one to argue with about it. She pushes her body up out of 
bed, leaving everything else behind there in the warmth to stay and 
dream and escape. Stands in the shower and waves back and forth with 
her eyes closed, trying to remember the feel of the rain on her 
shoulders, numb to the warmth. Got to go to work. Stands and stares out 
the window of the train, leans out of the way when others try to push 
past her, but doesn't make eye contact or acknowledge their presence. 
Zoned out. No-one cares. Ex-users are everywhere on the trains now, 
eyes glazed over and out of it, lost somewhere in the past, in their 
heads, in a VR world, acting on autopilot. Some consider nudging past 
her again, just for the sensation, but something in the way she holds 
her body warns them off. A remembered strength. At work her boss steps 
out of her way in the corridor, mentions the morning meeting but 
doesn't wait for a reply. The work gets done, attitude isn't that 
important. Besides, he has his own problems, his own dreams and fears. 
She sits at her desk and spends seven and a half hours pretending to 
flick through code. What work she does is a relief. Logical, sharp and 
well defined, everything life isn't. Too easy though, like a child's 
jigsaw puzzle. Only the briefest flash of satisfaction flickers up once 
it's all in place. Only an hour each day spent working. The rest, 
surfing through the various news channels and chat rooms, trying to 
soak up the world. But no matter how hard she tries to immerse herself 
this world simply doesn't have the answers for her anymore. Her head 
never goes all the way under. After work, sitting in a cinema again 
trying to escape, but spending most of the time staring at the back of 
the heads of the couples in front of her as they move together, lean 
into each other and touch. The screen is flat and two dimensional and 
the stories sprayed across it little better. No originality. No danger 
or thrill. Then home again. Eat. Back to bed. Lying still and staring 
at the ceiling, waiting for this world to fade out and another take its 
place. She no longer needs to plug herself in at night. Dreams and VR 
are merged so completely they can no longer be separated. Which one is 
which and why does it matter? Cass can't be sure when it was that she 
lost it. The accident would be the obvious answer, but she's not so 
sure. It doesn't rear up in her dreams anymore, VR anaesthetised that 
pain so completely, swamped it with images and plans and adventure and 
pushed it deep down into her. Buried everything. And now it was gone. 
There was no longer anywhere else to go. What was the point of life 
without something to look forward to? 

* 

A moment after the eye slit snapped closed there was a series of loud
clicks as the locks released and the door slowly swung open. Babbage 
had to step back as the door swung out at him. If he hadn't moved it 
would have moved him itself. The thing was at least six inches thick 
solid steel. The room that opened up for him was unlike any the 
uninitiated would have expected from the outside. Bright, clean steel 
floors, gleaming surfaces, high tech gadgetry lining every wall. The 
only thing in the room that wasn't gleaming was the man himself. 
Madigan. Barely five foot tall and weighing less than Babbage's coat, 
greasy strands of hair pulling down from his head, stretching the 
wrinkles of his skin out in a vain attempt to escape. Covered in dark 
overalls and grime. But then you looked into his eyes and saw that the 
sparkle reflected from all the surfaces of the room began there. 
"Babbage is it? Seems to me I know that name." Madigan stroked his chin 
and gave the appearance of trying to remember. Babbage wasn't fooled. 
"Yes, we've met before. You've improved things around here." "Well one 
can't be too careful around these parts. Never know who might be 
banging on your door." "Your door looks like it could take some 
banging." The gleam in Madigan's eye only seemed to get brighter. "Yes, 
Babbage. Seems to me I remember now. Always wore that ridiculous coat. 
And the pipe - still have the pipe?" Babbage was impressed despite 
himself. He reached into his coat and slowly drew out a well-loved 
tobacco pipe. "Naturally. Don't use it much these days though, more for 
old times sake." "Yes, moved on, haven't you. More of a Dupin now than 
a Holmes. Where is Watson, by the way?" "I beg your pardon?" Babbage 
had the uncomfortable feeling they were talking about something else 
entirely. He wasn't used to being at a disadvantage. You're just not 
used to someone acting stranger than you. Madigan just stared and let 
his eyes grin back. "Tell me, Babbage, how can I help you?" Babbage 
slid the pipe back into his pocket and withdrew the memory plug. He'd 
been thrown and was running on autopilot. "This, I was wondering if you 
could help me with this." Madigan's eyes slid down to the plug for a 
moment before returning to Babbage's face. He was much more interested 
in the detective. "And what is it you have there?" "A memory plug, a 
simple one really, but I think it may contain some useful information." 
"And?" "And I'd like to access its contents without worrying about any 
unexpected consequences." "Ah. So you expect consequences. Unexpected 
ones, as you say." Madigan stood still and waited, but Babbage could do 
the same. There was no use saying anything more. "I may be able to 
help." He spun on his heel and walked further into the recesses of the 
room. "Follow me, I think I have just the thing you're looking for." 
Babbage followed him back through the workshop, through a door and into 
another glowing room, this one with seemingly even more gadgets and 
equipment strewn around it. In the middle of the room stood Madigan, 
and next to him, Madigan again. The one on the left spoke. "Apologies 
detective, I find it a necessary security measure to never open the 
door myself." Babbage stared at him. The gleam in the eye was still 
there, but then, it was there for both of them. "That wasn't you?" "Oh 
no, that was Alan here, one of my regulars. He's quite effective, don't 
you think? Don't feel too bad, it's what he was designed for, even 
named for. Ever heard of the Turing test detective? You should study 
your history, it will help explain some things." There was nothing to 
say to this man, you just had to let him have his fun. Ride it out. 
Madigan watched his face but didn't find what he was looking for. The 
glint in his eye dimmed slightly and he held out his hand. "The memory 
card, please." Babbage handed it over and Madigan gave it in turn to 
his clone. "Of course, there's always the possibility that it was me 
all along and I've simply been lying to you. Occam's razor you know." 
He stepped back and gave the clone a once over before turning back to 
Babbage. "And now detective, I suggest we retire to a safer viewing 
area." Madigan led them back out through the door and into an adjoining 
room that Babbage hadn't noticed on the way through. A large window 
covered one wall, allowing them to see back into the room they'd just 
left. Alan stood there, perfectly still. Babbage finally found his 
voice. "So was it you, or Alan who answered the door?" Madigan turned 
to him and the gleam was back. "My dear detective, that would be 
telling." He leant over the console in front of him and flicked a 
switch. "Alan, please insert the memory plug now." Babbage turned his 
attention to the next room and watched the clone place the plug in the 
slot behind his ear. He was surprised to find his fist clenched inside 
his coat. Something bad was about to happen. As soon as the plug was 
inserted the clone's head shot back, his mouth open, throat tensed and 
straining. The booth was soundproof, but Babbage could imagine the 
noise. He'd heard it before, that animal roar, laced with a tune, 
repeating over and over. He pushed his nails into his palm to force the 
memory back out of his mind. A moment later it was over. The clone had 
collapsed into a heap, smoke curling slowly away from his prone figure. 
Madigan turned to Babbage and fixed him with a look. "Oh dear. That's 
the third time Alan's died this week." 

* 

Adlai was awash with alcohol and memories. He looked up at the bartender
and finally managed to force some words through his lips. "Do you 
remember how you got here?" The world altered, and he was in another 
room, another time. He was in a seat, in a theatre, whispering across 
the aisle to the only other normal looking guy in there. Perhaps that 
was being generous. The man was extremely short, greasy and shifty, 
with fast, intelligent eyes. Adlai liked him immediately. "Isn't this 
location supposed to remain a secret?" "Yes. No, that's not what I mean 
though, I mean do you remember how we all ended up like this? Stuck in 
a room, whispering plans to each other?" The man looked him over and 
smiled slightly. "We're here to stop the rot. Even you can't do it on 
your own." Adlai leant back then and frowned. So they knew him here as 
well. He used to think fame was a good thing, now he knew better. He 
was right though, he couldn't do it on his own. He needed these freaks. 
He looked around the room and his frown only got deeper. Alien shapes 
surrounded him, multi-limbed beasts and horrors, designed for maximum 
impact, each one of them posturing and straining to impress, to 
guarantee themselves a place of power. Kids. The older ones were no 
better. Hunched shapes, whispering to each other, bent over like drunks 
in a bar. Gloomy, secretive and suspicious. They'd all changed, and 
they all knew why. The growth of the Grid had altered them all. The 
physical connection to the landscape. Why blame the Grid though? 
Perhaps it was just a marker, a symptom, a tumour growing as the cancer 
inside took hold, a sign post, a depth marker on the highway showing 
how far under we'd gone. A warning. A tombstone. He looked out the 
window at the darkness and the pouring rain. How had they come to this? 
Conspiring in the corner. Perhaps it would be better to forget it all 
and start over. Then she walked in the room and everyone else faded. * 

Cass lay still on the rooftop, invisible in the shadows, peering down at
the street below. It was busier here, users walking in and out of the 
door across the street from her, a few bright streetlights chasing them 
on their way back towards the Boulevard. On the building across from 
her, carved into the concrete facade, were the letters MWB. It was a 
bar, a centre of activity, a small hub of light and action, of power, 
attracting those who for one reason or another needed company. That 
didn't make it any less dangerous. She'd gotten used to travelling by 
rooftop. There was a bounty on her head, so the less she was seen the 
better. Besides, it gave her an interesting perspective on the action 
below. Allowed her to pick her moment to pounce. It was no trouble to 
leap from roof to roof, across lanes and gaps no ordinary user would 
consider possible. She wasn't even out of breath. Cass let the rain 
beat down on her head, streaking her hair across her face. It was 
comforting somehow, almost warm. She felt a small smile creep over her 
numb lips as she watched the action below. There were two security men 
standing outside the door. They didn't seem to be doing anything other 
than that, letting users walk in and out without harassing them. Two 
clones, standing there flexing. Cass felt an itch in her right hand and 
knew what it was she would do. The street was clear now, the last 
figure had wandered into the bar and everything was still. The glow of 
the Grid was brighter here, but there was still shadow to work with. As 
the thought entered her mind the blade leapt up into her waiting hand. 
It was thirsty. Cass sprang to her feet and leapt up to the wires 
criss-crossed across the street. Old power lines, long dead. She 
grabbed one and flipped upside down, looping her feet around it as she 
began to slide. The wire was angled down towards the bar, and she 
gained speed as she slid. Halfway across she let go with her hands and 
hung upside down, body curved back so she could watch her progress. The 
water on the line and falling from the sky cracked and sprayed down 
onto her. Almost there. With two metres to go she pulled her feet loose 
and flipped in the air, letting her momentum turn her, landing on her 
feet on the ledge just above the two security clones. On the wall 
behind her were the letters MWB. There was an undeniable sense of power 
emanating out from behind them. She ran her hands slowly over the 
letters, but they were just stone. The blade was pulling her down, 
towards the waiting men. For an instant she hesitated, then let herself 
fall. She dropped directly onto them, one foot on each man's shoulder, 
just for a moment. As they turned and bent she leant down and let the 
blade dig into the man on her right's throat. He collapsed immediately 
and she rolled with him, pushing him down with her feet and 
somersaulting over his body to face the next target. The clone stood 
facing her, his hands in the air, an empty expression on his face. 
"We've been looking for you" Cass hesitated, holding the blade and her 
animal side back. His mouth hadn't even moved. "That blade has a 
purpose. You have a purpose. Come to Madigan's, we can help you." She 
felt an image feed into her mind, pulled along by the words, a dark 
building on the Boulevard itself, three letters lit up on its side. 
MWB. She forced the words out through her animal tongue. "Who are you?" 
The clone let his hands drop and smiled. "My name is Alan." With that 
Cass felt her hold on the reins relax. The blade leapt out and ripped 
into his throat. 

* 

Madigan pulled a small screwdriver out of his overalls and inserted it
into Alan's ear. At least, what used to be Alan. "Is it alright?" "He, 
please detective. One mustn't dehumanise those with the power of 
consciousness." Madigan cranked the screwdriver to the left and a small 
panel at the back of Alan's head slowly pushed open. A cloud of black 
smoke rushed out, filling the room with the smell of torched wiring. 
"It seems not." In truth Babbage could have guessed that much just by 
looking at it. At him. The entire body was slumped into a ball on the 
floor, but more than that, it seemed to have smudged itself downwards, 
melted together and moulded into the floor itself. Bits were thickened 
and stretched, as if his entire insides had turned liquid. "Well, Alan, 
it was fun while it lasted." Madigan stood up and looked at the 
detective. "This something along the lines of what you were expecting?" 
Babbage almost felt like apologising, but stopped himself. It was 
completely illegal for such a clone to exist in the first place. "I 
knew something would happen. I got the plug from a victim I found out 
there. Nothing remained of him though." "Well I'm not surprised. Alan 
was created here. He was, as you put it, not real. His consciousness 
was taken away, just the parts left behind." "So why would the body of 
the other man simply vanish?" Madigan looked at Babbage and seemed to 
be weighing up a decision. "How long have you been out here detective? 
Off Grid I mean?" What a strange question. "I don't know exactly. A day 
perhaps. There was an accident we were sent out to investigate and I've 
been poking around ever since." "Really." Madigan looked unconvinced. 
He moved to the wall and flicked a switch. "Alan, be a dear and come 
down here would you, there's a mess to clear up." He flicked the switch 
back and turned to the detective. "Well now, let's see if we found 
anything." He led the way back into the viewing booth. "Tell me 
detective, would you consider yourself knowledgeable about the area off 
Grid? Had much experience of it?" "Not particularly. Not much crime 
occurs out here. Most of my work is on the other side." "Not much 
crime? Not much worth your investigation perhaps. I can assure you 
there is quite a demand for the sort of security I can provide those 
with the means to pay." As if to illustrate his point, another 
identical clone wandered into the room they'd just left and picked up 
the steaming frame of the Alan they'd just fried. "Another Alan?" "Oh 
yes. They're all Alan to me." They watched the clone exit the room and 
the hatch close behind him. It. Identical machines were difficult to 
think of in any other way, at least for Babbage. Madigan could have his 
own views. "Now tell me, what brought the good people of law 
enforcement away from their shiny home?" "Just an accident. A car was 
brought down not far from here." "Was it now. People disappear every 
day out here, why should this car be any different?" "I suppose they 
had connections." "Connections." Madigan stared at Babbage, as if that 
was all that was needed to refute his argument. Babbage didn't care. He 
felt no need to justify himself to an arms smuggler. Madigan seemed to 
read Babbage's eyes and simply turned back to the console. He flicked 
another switch and a recording slid out through the speakers. "Alan, 
please insert the memory plug now." The voice was muffled by the 
speaker this time, filtered from the other room. A moment later a howl 
erupted, tinged at its edges with melody, shifting in and out, joining 
together and moving, rising up and forming into a figure. It was gone. 
Babbage looked up from where he found himself, huddled on the floor, 
his hands over his ears. Madigan was leaning over the console, his hand 
stiff on the switch that had ended the noise. His face was drained of 
blood. "I think," he whispered down to the detective. "We need to 
talk." 

* 

"There are rules to this you know, rules to all of it. Rules for
everything." Adlai gestured around the bar expansively, taking the 
world in. He was resolutely ignored. "You start off trying to figure 
them out, identify them, track them, map them. Then when you lock it 
all down you realise it's better not to know at all. Always better to 
have faith than knowledge." He knocked back the last of the drink in 
his hand and let his head loll forwards. No one cared. Why should they? 
Everyone had their own world of problems. Rules for everything. 
Guidelines. Code. When you're programming you're aware of the 
consequences of every step you take. You plan for them, anticipate 
them. Eventually this knowledge gets in the way of action, drags you 
down. You second guess every step, get mired down under the weight of 
inertia. Find yourself sitting in a bar. That's one reason. Alcohol 
made consequences fade away, leaving you light hearted and free. 
Unfettered. Life goes from drink to drink and consequences no longer 
exist. You drink your drink and smoke your cigarettes and try to talk 
to this moron of a bartender and let life pass you by. Spend a few 
moments, hours, days perhaps, away, outside of life. Stare out the 
window at the rain, at the world and all its noise waiting there for 
you, ready to wrap you back in its arms and squeeze. Adlai looked up 
and waited for his eyes to clear. He ordered another drink just to make 
the bartender come closer. "I was talking about rules. You know some of 
the rules that reign out there?" The bartender slipped his drink across 
to him and just stared. May as well be deaf. "Everything has rules." It 
was important he made this clear. "Take books. You read much?" Nothing. 
Of course he didn't. No-one did anymore, what was the point? Adlai let 
his body go limp and leant over the bar. It didn't matter, he just 
wanted to talk to somebody. He closed his eyes and carried on. 
"Detective fiction was always my bag. Mysteries too. Guessing games. 
What did Poe call it - he invented it you know, the detective story. 'A 
fantastic game of the intellect'. You like that? I like that." The 
bartender was backing away again, so Adlai raised his voice to keep him 
in the net. "He created rules, then others came along and added to them 
and soon enough they'd all created a world, a genre, a blueprint. Just 
like this. You don't believe me?" Adlai frowned to himself. Why 
wouldn't he believe him? He held up his hand in front of his face and 
counted off on his fingers. "Six characters, maximum. Make all the 
evidence clear, nothing hidden. Make it simple. Concentrate on how, not 
who. Make the solution necessary, and marvellous." A smile lit his 
face. "That's my favourite one. Marvellous." The bartender wasn't even 
pretending to listen now, so Adlai rocked back on his seat and 
continued on in a low mutter. He stared out the window at the rain. An 
audience was necessary. "And guidelines. Make the detective unmarried. 
Give him an irregular source on income. Give him an assistant, an 
audience substitute, someone not as smart as he is. Give him an unusual 
car." Adlai caught his reflection and stopped. He sat up straighter and 
stared at it. An image overlayed on the world outside, floating, 
translucent. Like a ghost, haunting it. You followed the rules and 
created worlds and let others run through them. Tweaked them here and 
there, gave them a slant, but let them do their own thing. Played God. 
He downed his drink but couldn't make his reflection go away. 

* 

She had sensed the Hunters approaching. Three of them, spread out across
the block, taking up position to wait for their prey. In the past she'd 
have simply run at the first scent of them, disappeared over the 
rooftops, down the lanes to an empty area, left trouble behind for 
someone else to stumble into. Now however, she could feel power growing 
in her. It brought confidence, and hunger. She was becoming just like 
them. She lay still in the shadows, watching and waiting for her 
moment. Two of the three were newbies, but the leader radiated threat. 
They would flush out the prey and he would finish it off, throwing them 
the scraps. The handle of her blade was warm with the thought of it. 
Cass wasn't their target this time, however. It was a lone man, walking 
purposefully down the centre of the street below. He was heading in the 
same direction as her.  She tried to get a read on him but came up 
blank. He was a void. Just a hat and an overcoat and an air of 
confidence. He looked familiar, somehow. Her instinct told her he was 
to be avoided. She would simply watch and wait. He was not what he 
seemed. The hunters had fanned out, aiming to surround the man and 
close all at once. The two younger ones on the flanks, the leader back 
a little, just out of her field of vision. She could sense him though. 
He was patient, confident, alien. Below her now, a young hunter crept 
along the wall of the alley. She could feel his excitement, his breath, 
the blood pulsing through him. Without thinking she leant over the edge 
and found the blade in her hand. Twisting onto her back she lowered 
herself slowly down to hang from her ankles, feet wrapped around the 
thin metal gutter of the rooftop. Another stretch and she was right 
behind him, watching his hungry breath steam the thin night air. 
Calling to her. The blade lashed out, cleanly severing the head. She 
caught the body as it slumped and rested it against the wall to prevent 
any further sound. The head itself had made no more than a dull wet 
thump on the puddle strewn concrete. It peered up at her now, fangs 
grinning out from beneath its top lip. Next moment she was back up in 
the shadows of the rooftop, peering out through the rain. They hadn't 
seen her. The thrill in her stomach slowly sank back down to a dull 
ache. Vampires. Pack Hunters close in to the Grid, feeding off each 
other when no other meat was available. They were one of the reasons 
Quarters and her had been forced so far off Grid in the first place. 
Her stomach twisted again at the thought, then subsided as she stared 
down at the blade still in her hand. It was quivering slightly. The 
blood previously coating it was spreading in the rain, shrinking down 
into a thin red line on the curve of the blade. As she watched it too 
disappeared, absorbing into the metal. "Blood drinkers." Cass sprung to 
her feet and turned to see the leader standing on the rooftop across 
from her, arms crossed, a thin smile on his lips. She hadn't felt him 
at all, hadn't noticed him until he wished to show himself, had 
projected his voice into her. "These blades were made for us long ago. 
Very powerful things. Very hungry. You must be both powerful and hungry 
to wield one. If not now, soon. The blade will turn you to the path." 
She could feel the words slithering into her brain, wrapping themselves 
around her. She wondered why he was bothering to talk at all, and then 
she realised he was buying time. "We know all about you. You've become 
quite famous you know. I wonder what that will make me once I've drunk 
from your pretty white throat?" Cass sent her senses arching out around 
her. Where was the other one? A sudden cry leapt across the night from 
the main street below to answer her question. It seems the prey wasn't 
quite as helpless as it looked. The leader's smile sank back into his 
face and Cass felt a confidence warm her. He'd needed help. She was 
stronger than him. She began to walk towards him. He took only a second 
longer to reach the same conclusion. With a suddenness that surprised 
her he sprang away, landing on the street below and sprinting off 
through the rain. Cass stood still on the rooftop and watched him. She 
could probably catch him. His vampire tuned abilities made him fast and 
agile, but not like her. He could wait, however, she had other things 
to do. Besides, she'd already fed today. She looked down at the blade 
in her hands. It had already fed. It glistened in the rain, drops 
dancing off its edge. It felt warm and strong. He'd called it a Blood 
drinker, said it would turn her. She looked over the streets below, 
across to her goal, closer to the dull glow of the Grid. In this place, 
what did it matter who led who? 

* 

"When you found this, detective, when you first heard it, did much get
in?" Madigan was leaning forwards, elbows pressed against his knees, 
staring down at Babbage intently. "What do you mean?" "That music you 
just heard. The music that forced you down onto the floor into that 
huddle. How much did you hear?" Babbage slowly got up from the floor 
and dusted himself off. The music. The few notes repeated over and 
over, even now he could feel the hairs on the back of his neck begin to 
tingle. Don't let it back in. "Just moments. I tried to block it out." 
Madigan leaned back and gave Babbage an appraising look. "You're either 
very lucky or very clever detective. Your instinct kept you alive, as 
it tends to do out here." The flash card bounced up and down in his 
hand as it jiggled nervously on his knee. "Not everyone has been so 
lucky. I was, when I first heard it, which is why I'm still here. But 
then, I do have some advantages. Others, well, let's just say that most 
who have encountered this before are no longer around." "So you've seen 
this before?" Madigan ignored the question and continued with his own. 
"When you first heard it, did you see her?" See her? What was the man 
on about now? "No, you haven't seen her. Not yet. You know what I mean 
though don't you, you felt her just now. The fear, the fear that twists 
into you and forms itself into a figure. Yes, we both felt it. That's 
what it's all about, all of this." He seemed to be talking to himself 
now, muttering the words as they poured out. "Fear is the child's 
bedfellow. Yes, I remember. This isn't the first time I've seen her 
handiwork, only last time it wasn't a clone who suffered, it was a 
friend of mine. A very old friend. She'd helped me build this island 
out here, we'd worked together helping to break back into the Grid, 
free the dreamers, open up the world for those of us stuck out here. 
Revolution." He ran his hand over his head. "But I'm getting carried 
away. I'll try to keep this simple detective, but it won't be easy. 
Simple is one thing this is not." If there was one thing Babbage knew 
it was when to keep his mouth shut. "Tell me, detective, what are you 
afraid of?" Nothing. That was the first thing to pop into his head. 
Nothing scares you. There is no fear, only curiosity, a drive to find 
things out, explain them, conquer them. Something in Madigan's face 
made him wait. Look a little deeper. What is fear anyway? Is it just 
the adrenaline rush, the prickling at the base of your spine, the 
trembling when faced with - what? The fight or flight response. Fear of 
death. Running away from predators, those fears carried over on a 
genetic level. Fear of non-existence. Madigan was fiddling with his 
desk again, and Babbage could hear a slight sound piping out through 
the speakers. Softer now, yet familiar. He watched Madigan place his 
hands over his ears. There was something - a memory - standing on a 
beach as a child. A woman, his mother perhaps, leads him into a small 
wooden maze. He has to chase her, find her. He runs from door to 
coloured door, pushing them open and standing back, waiting for her to 
loom up into view, but it doesn't happen. Door after door reveals empty 
space and more doors to try. The game goes on longer than it should. He 
can hear her voice teasing him on, leading him deeper inside. A doubt 
begins to form in his mind, will he be able to find his way back out? 
But the voice is closer now, he is closer. He keeps on. Tears of 
frustration begin to form in his eyes, and he swallows the lump 
building in his throat. You will not cry. You will not give up. You 
will find her. He speeds up, crashing through doors now, one after 
another, no longer listening to her voice. Working against her now, one 
door after another, all empty. Finally he crashes through the final 
door and lands face first on the sand, outside the labyrinth. He passed 
through it all without finding her. He failed. He's alone on the beach, 
only her voice drifting across to him, urging him back inside to find 
her. And he knows he has to. He pushes back the door to wander into the 
trap and sees her figure loom up deep inside the maze. She stands there 
waiting for him, dressed all in black, a light song on her lips. 
"Babbage!" He opened his eyes to find Madigan standing over him, 
shaking him by the shoulders. "Snap out of it man. We were beginning to 
lose you." Babbage straightened up in his chair. What just happened? On 
moment he's thinking about Madigan's words, the next he's floating 
away, back into the past. "I remembered something. Being young. 
Something very strange." Madigan released him and sat back down 
opposite. "If there's one thing I've learnt from studying the mind over 
the years, detective, it's that memory should never be trusted.  Take 
Alan there," In the next room, another clone was cleaning up the last 
of the mess. "No memory at all to speak of. No childhood. Far more 
trustworthy, really." Babbage wasn't paying any attention. Something 
important had just happened. Something he'd just seen. And then it 
clicked. A door opened. "Madigan. I saw her." 

* 

Gretchen. Not the most attractive name, even Adlai could admit that to
himself, but it was her name, and that was all that mattered. She 
strode into the room and took charge immediately, weeding out the weak, 
organising those with skills she could use, bringing them close around 
her, becoming a leader by default. Adlai just sat back and watched her. 
She was dangerous, he knew that immediately. Driven. She broke the 
rules whenever she could, bent the world around her to suit her needs 
and damned the consequences. She was also beautiful. There she was now, 
smiling as the chair in front of her raised itself into the air and 
began to spin, holding her arms out like a stage magician, green eyes 
glowing with power. The chair began to twist in on itself, lose shape. 
In moments it was just a mass of metal and wood, a ball of junk that 
thudded to the floor. The room sunk into silence, broken only when 
Adlai began a slow, lazy clap. "Bravo." Her eyes flashed onto him then, 
freezing his hands. "You mock me?" "No, no. I don't 'mock' you. I mock 
this." He gestured around the room, aware now that every eye was on 
him. "This conspiracy of ours. Of yours." "You wish to leave? Leave 
then, we can do without the likes of you." "And what is it you plan to 
do? Break down the walls with a barrage of broken chairs?" "We will do 
whatever is necessary to regain the power we deserve." Adlai let that 
statement hang in the air and looked around him. Driven indeed. 'Nuts' 
might be another word for it. What was the point of VR if you lost all 
touch with reality itself? As the silence stretched heads turned back 
to their work, their games. Gretchen went back to her demonstration. 
Others did likewise, with various levels of success. Across the aisle 
the short, greasy man chuckled to himself and stood up. "You've made 
yourself an enemy there I think. A powerful one. Not as powerful as 
some, perhaps, but powerful nonetheless. This could be fun." He 
shuffled away then, still chuckling into his chest. Adlai watched him 
go and then turned his head back to the various demonstrations. He 
wondered how many of them had real power. Users were always trying to 
side-step the rules, but that was to be expected. It was half the fun, 
foiling their attempts. You were dealing with a part of the general 
population who were somewhat predisposed to cheating, to writing 
themselves shortcuts, to seeing themselves as outside the rules. You 
just had to be better than they were. It occurred to him then that 
perhaps some of the mistakes around him were simple misdirection. To be 
truly effective, you honed your weapons in secret, you maintained the 
element of surprise. There were more dangerous weapons out there than 
these games. Weapons to alter the shape of reality itself, tools to 
take control of the environment, even other users. Adlai went back to 
watching her. His eyes enjoyed trailing along her figure, memorising 
every line. He waited until the bartender turned away before lifting 
his hand and watching the brown liquid in his glass rise up and wrap 
itself around it. A moment later he twitched his fingers and the liquid 
slowly poured itself back into his glass. He took another sip. Always 
be sure not to affect the taste. The miraculous was only interesting if 
it was hard to do. He didn't need to impress anyone. It was the same 
reason God had never turned up in church when he was younger. You 
shouldn't expect him to. He's not there to entertain you. Which led to 
the question that always popped up after ten or so bourbons. What was 
he there for? To bear witness perhaps. To look out the window and dream 
a new reality. To sit here on the fence, the border between two worlds. 
To watch what he'd done and suffer the consequences. And every now and 
then something came up that deserved his attention. His intervention. 
One was on its way now, he could feel the pull. That was ok. He'd been 
waiting long enough. 

* 

She'd heard stories about it around the office. Fellow workers had
ventured out, explored the darker corners, went wandering away on the 
Boulevard into the areas off Grid. Made excuses to do it on company 
time or simply headed out and damned the consequences, safe in the 
knowledge their bosses knew less than was good for them. They had the 
top hardware, that meant they should be able to handle whatever the 
outside world threw up at them, right? Cass smiled to herself at the 
thought. It was the usual company blind spot. Hardware is just a 
vehicle, an environment, what's important is what is running on it, the 
software, and how much it is able to bend the rules. There had been a 
few casualties. Eyes staring out of windows in meetings, staring off 
into other universes where something important was left behind. 
Haunted, drawn faces who answered distractedly and stared down at their 
feet. She knew. She'd been living that life since the accident, since 
the nightmares. She figured nothing the Boulevard threw up could out-do 
reality. The Boulevard for Cass had begun as a place to hide from 
reality, to forget, to dream in peace. She spent her time on Grid, 
wandering the same brightly lit streets, lazing on impossibly beautiful 
beaches, indulging in unlikely fantasy. It was safe and warm and never 
quite enough. It gave her happiness, at least the semblance of it, from 
the moment she lay down her head till the time her alarm screamed her 
awake, but did nothing for the hours spent stuck in reality. The 
nightmares came back then, scratching at the backs of her eyes, waiting 
for a distracted moment to tear back into her. The ones who ventured 
off Grid, something stayed with them. You could see it. If something 
out there screwed with them that much it had to be worth trying. Making 
her mind up was easy, the hard part was actually doing it. It wasn't 
just a matter of deciding to go off Grid. The corporations didn't let 
you out that easily. They knew what was most likely to happen out 
there. It wasn't safe. They wanted their users to return, again and 
again. The only solution was to keep them locked in, for their own 
protection. The walls around the Grid weren't just there to keep the 
monsters out. There were some subversives. Scrawled graffiti on walls 
if you knew where to look. 'Free the dreamers. Free the dreams.' It 
never lasted long. Cass had some advantages. She knew a few things, 
could try some tricks. None of it worked. Eventually she even resorted 
to asking other users for help. Most just smiled and walked away. The 
few who understood what it was she was asking for, they didn't bother 
with the smile. Of course when the answer came it was all too simple. 
Cass saw a user, older, slower, or perhaps he just chose to take his 
time, wandering down the centre of the Boulevard, staring at his feet. 
Head down, not bothering with the bright lights around him, a slight 
grin on his face. When she approached he simply raised his hand and 
pointed down the centre of the road. Cass's shoulders slumped and she 
was about to turn away when an amazing thing happened. She heard him 
speak. "Always remember that the Boulevard is not on the Grid, it is 
the Grid which lies on the Boulevard." She'd stared at him in numb 
shock. There was no way she should hear him, not here. He'd simply 
smiled and walked into her, through her, somehow disappearing before he 
got to the other side. Cass was used to amazement, this place was awash 
with it. But this was the first time she'd actually been surprised. 

* 

He was definitely onto something. Babbage reached into his coat, brought
out his notepad and started jotting down ideas as they came. The woman. 
The fear. The song. They were all linked somehow, and they all had 
something to do with the crash that had brought him out here in the 
first place. "That's rather old fashioned, isn't it detective?" Madigan 
was peering at him with a curious smile on his face. "It helps me keep 
my thoughts in order." "Oh, I understand. I'm constantly forgetting 
things myself. I find it much easier that way." Babbage glanced up at 
him, but didn't pocket the notebook. It was coming. Perhaps Madigan 
himself was the one to bring it on. "Memory should never be trusted. We 
all effect our own interpretation of things - 'Wipe your glasses with 
what you know'. Alan and his brothers - clones I suppose you'd call 
them - they don't need to worry about memory and its tricks. There are 
times I've thought about doing away with it completely. "That song, for 
instance. I'd like to forget that. I know I won't. It was designed that 
way, designed to creep into your head and burrow around. The best you 
can do is bury it under other thoughts, try not to let it take hold and 
sprout. I've seen similar things before. Viruses. Designed to spread 
from mind to mind, take hold and grow, worm their way in and overload 
the system. I helped build the first." Madigan let his head drop down 
and rubbed the lids of his eyes. He suddenly looked much older. "I'm 
constantly confused by my past actions, detective. Perhaps that's just 
what age does. Someone once stated that the function of the mind is 
eliminative, not productive, that we have minds in order to help shut 
out the noise of the world, all the universes of information that we do 
not need. The overproduction of truth that cannot be consumed. Alan 
there, he doesn't need to worry about any of it. His mind functions 
clearly and sharply, no emotion allowed to get in the way. No memory to 
smudge. I think he could teach us a lot about what it means to think." 
Babbage flipped his notebook closed and pocketed it. This was what he 
came for. "You said you've seen this before. Where?" Madigan raised his 
head, and something like a smile came back to his lips. "Where? Why, 
right here of course. The great wonder that is the world off Grid. 
You've seen it too, you know, at least a part of you has. That feeling 
you get when you hear it play, detective, that instinct that makes you 
cover your ears and huddle up like a child, that terror, that dread. 
The inevitability of fate, detective, we all recognise it. Some more 
that others, perhaps." Babbage waited. It would come. "I think you 
should see a friend of mine, detective. A very old friend. Expert in 
the music field. She'll be able to tell you much more about this... 
problem." Madigan held out a card to him, but flipped it back into his 
palm as Babbage reached for it. "Of course, I would expect my little 
operation here to remain off any official reports you feel you need to 
make." Babbage looked back into those calculating eyes that seemed to 
see so much and merely nodded. "Very well then." The card flicked back 
out into Babbage's hand and Madigan spun away. "I'd come with you, but 
you know how it is. So much to do, so little time." A chuckle rose up 
from Madigan's back. Babbage reached out and took the memory stick from 
the top of the console. "Besides, the streets are far too dangerous for 
a man of my age. Watch out for yourself detective, there are those who 
won't be subdued by that gun you carry." Madigan flicked a switch and a 
door appeared in the wall and swung open to reveal a dark, wet alley. 
Babbage walked out and turned around to face him. "Thank you." 
"Godspeed, detective." Madigan flashed another grin and swung the door 
closed on the world. 

* 

Whenever he began to feel like this, this dread rising up in him, the
knowledge of what it was he knew he was going to have to do, the guilt, 
Adlai found it best to head off on his own and take a long walk. The 
Boulevard was perfect for it. One long strip, you could keep your head 
down and stare at your feet as the thoughts raced through you, and when 
they became too much you could look up at any time, at any one of the 
endless fascinations lining the street, ready to distract you. And the 
users themselves, wandering around with their heads in the air, new 
ones every day, lost among the endless possibility, they could help 
cheer him up. He knew why he was going to do it, he knew who for. And 
besides, company always helped. He used to scrawl graffiti on the 
walls, simple messages to guide those with the curiosity to make the 
most of this world by themselves. This though, this would be much more 
direct. The first step is always the most difficult. For Adlai this had 
been especially true. In order to build a universe you need to make 
basic decisions. All of them. Not making a decision is itself a 
decision, and affects all the others just as strongly. Everything 
needed to be defined, understood, and only then coded in. He wasn't 
sure how he'd ended up in charge. He wasn't the brightest or best of 
them, perhaps just the most driven. He enjoyed exploring the 
consequences. Take the speed of light - was this still the upper limit 
here? The universe's traffic cop? If not, what other rules of physics 
would need to be tweaked? It wasn't easy. In the end he made the only 
decision he could have - he kept things as close to reality as 
possible. Break too many laws, make your playground too different from 
the reality it's supposed to replace and you lose the entire point of 
VR. And then when other users come on board, make sure they follow the 
same rules, no matter what they want to try. But what about later, when 
the tools themselves become the problem? When the power and skills of 
the users become too great to limit, what then? Is there a limit to 
computational power, or will they just get faster and faster? Can you 
have processors running faster than the human brain, faster than the 
user will ever be able to appreciate? Computers that evolve beyond the 
understanding of humans, let alone the control? The Grid made the 
answer to that question pretty clear. So what were the consequences? 
The ultimate in VR was always directly inside the users head, whether 
they were ported in or sleeping in a field. It altered their thoughts 
directly, creating in essence a different person altogether. So when 
the power became too great, could it run completely out of control? 
Descartes had put that idea forward centuries before. There was a demon 
in our heads, manipulating our senses to trick us into believing the 
reality that surrounds us. It was too easy to paint the Grid with that 
brush. Everyone needs a bad guy. Maybe that was its entire reason for 
being. A faceless evil, something to struggle against. Even God needs 
the Devil. Adlai raised his head and looked up towards the towers, only 
to stop when he saw a lone female standing directly in front of him, 
the hunger of curiosity positively burning out of her. This was why he 
had to do it. This existence, this possibility could only take off when 
they stopped meddling in its universe, when all of them were free. He 
knew exactly what she was looking for, it was the same thing he'd felt 
tugging at him from the beginning of all of this. He pointed down the 
centre of the Boulevard and whispered in her ear. Adlai no longer 
remembered what it was he'd said, but he remembered the surprise on her 
face. He still saw them sometimes, those beautiful eyes glinting back 
at him from the bottom of his glass. 

* 

He seemed harmless enough. A lone man wandering down the centre of the
street, rain bouncing off the brim of his hat. She sent out her senses 
but they came back blank, just as they had before. He was a shell, 
nothing burning inside of him. No ghost in the machine. He had 
something though. It wasn't easy to stop a hunter like he had, leave it 
stunned in the street, flat on its back staring open eyed at the rain. 
Cass had found it hours later, still twitching, and allowed her blade 
to finish the job. Not everyone could stop a hunter, especially a 
vampire. They were quick and hungry, not to be taken lightly. So 
neither was he. Let the man pass, watch and wait. She watched him 
stride past, head down, mouth moving as he chattered away to himself. 
She tried to sense what it was he said but it was hopeless. He wasn't 
projecting it out there for anyone to hear. One stride later he stopped 
and peered into the darkness of her alley, directly at her. Cass 
tensed, ready to spring up the walls and away. The next moment, 
however, he turned away again and resumed his walk. He had the sense, 
maybe not as tuned as Cass, but it was there. Instinct. Keep your 
distance. The laneway was barely three feet wide, and as the lone man 
wandered on Cass began to climb, pushing her arms out against each wall 
to brace herself, scampering up the stories till she reached the 
rooftop, then curling her body over its edge to lie still on the 
rooftop, waiting for him. She couldn't place him with her senses. He 
was smudged out, coloured over with the usual hum from the outside 
world. There he was, still wandering down the centre of the street. No 
traffic to worry about out here. He had to be a cop. Someone from 
inside the Grid, sent out to investigate the crash. She'd heard rumours 
of them. Quarters had told her about them in hushed tones, silent, 
dangerous enemies. No signature, no readable identity, no purpose. 
Tools of the Grid. They were used to mop up problems before they 
reached the Grid itself. Take someone out, put something down. Even the 
Hunters avoided them. But they usually came in packs, at least, so 
she'd been told. Always with a partner, never alone. Cass sprung to her 
feet and padded silently across the rooftop, hardly making contact with 
the tiled surface as she sprinted across it. A leap and she was on the 
next rooftop, leaning back against the chimney stack, waiting for the 
man to wander back across her field of vision. So why was he alone? Was 
that why the hunters hadn't recognised him, hadn't given him the wide 
berth they normally would have? Or were they not after him at all? Who 
was using who as the bait? Cass looked down and found the blade in her 
hand again. It was hungry, it was always hungry now. She could feel it 
in her guts. What did it matter who the prey was? A turn of the wrist 
and she gazed at the letters stencilled into the base of its handle. 
That was why she was here, that was what she had to find. Madigan's. 
The clone had said they were expecting her. She wrenched herself away 
from the figure and padded silently back in the direction he'd come 
from. She could feel her destination, she didn't need him to lead her 
there. Her heart was pumping, not from exertion, but from something 
more. Excitement, but not from a kill. There was no aluminium tinge of 
blood and guilt, no feeling of loss of control. This was something 
more. This was why she was here, this was her goal. She had found her 
purpose. 

* 

Her. That figure in his nightmare, the woman in the maze, he'd
encountered her before. Not exactly seen her, but felt her presence. In 
that broken room with the first suffering victim he'd been led to. She 
had been there, a part of her at least. She was there in the memory 
card too, there in his pocket, there in the song that ripped out of it 
destroying all who heard it. Even that clone had suffered. Anything 
with a thought in its head was a potential victim of the woman and the 
song. "We're getting closer, Adlai. Connections are being made." 
Babbage walked slowly down the middle of the street, resolutely 
ignoring the ever present rain that drummed on his hat. His hands were 
clasped behind his back, pushing him onwards, urging his brain deeper. 
The answer was somewhere up ahead. Another clatter in an alley off to 
the side. Babbage paused and turned to face the darkness of the alley 
curving away. There was something there, something best left alone. He 
turned away again and continued on. "I'm too curious to be frightened, 
and too occupied to be curious. The dark corners have no power over us, 
son." "Where are we going, exactly?" Babbage reached into his coat and 
read from the card Madigan had handed him. "'Wired for sound. When you 
require harmonisation.' It's not far from here. Nothing's ever far out 
here. Everything huddles together for warmth." There were footsteps on 
the rooftop above and behind them. "Don't look around my boy, just keep 
walking. What was it Madigan said about the streets?" "That they're 
dangerous." "Yes yes, but we already knew that. No, something else he 
said. Not about the streets, about the mind, the streets of the mind, 
all curving in to each other, leading where?" "The function of the mind 
is eliminative." "Yes, that's it. Eliminative. We need them to filter 
out the noise. Noise like those footsteps perhaps. You can become 
distracted, start imagining things, creating images in your mind about 
possibilities, dark ones. Then you begin to tighten up, get the 
emotions involved, the adrenaline starts to flow, the muscles tense and 
you find yourself waiting for the sound of the next footstep. And 
somewhere deep inside, perhaps, a lullaby starts creeping around." "So 
we should ignore it?" "Completely my boy. Whoever or whatever it is 
will make itself known when it wants too. In the meantime we have 
better things to think about." "Such as?" "Such as harmonisation. A 
fine word. A very musical word, really. Suggestions of tension, like a 
guitar string, or the dying breath of a flute. Focus, control. Like the 
mind, coiling into a tune. Interesting." "I'm afraid you've lost me 
sir." "I'm afraid I've lost myself lad, which when you think about it, 
is one and the same thing. No matter. These connections will become 
clear in time. Look. It seems we're here already. The power of the mind 
again you see." They were on another anonymous dark lane, just like all 
the others. Dark, wet and unwelcoming. It never took long to find your 
goal out here, so long as it wanted to be found. The Boulevard always 
had a way of taking you right there. Babbage wasn't expecting another 
neon sign, and didn't get it. Instead there was a rain streaked painted 
wall next to a small wooden door, a single button placed in it. Wired 
for sound. Above the door was a small concrete insignia indented into 
the wall. MWB. He pressed the buzzer. Nothing. The only sound was the 
constant percussion of the rain in the gutters. "What now, sir?" 
"Patience my boy. Good things come etc. There now, listen." Above the 
rain another sound had been introduced, a series of small clicks, 
dancing along on top of the beat. Then, to round it all off, a creak as 
the door swung slowly open. Babbage waited, but nothing else happened 
and no-one appeared. The room behind the door was a think fog of 
darkness. "Well now. After me." He hunched his shoulders and walked 
inside. 

* 

It didn't take long to narrow the group down to five, just those skilful
enough to make a difference and desperate enough to try. They all had 
their own reasons for wanting to pull down the walls of the Grid. For 
Adlai it was about freedom, forcing the casual user back into being 
conscious of the possibilities of VR, back to taking responsibility for 
themselves. He didn't care what reasons the others claimed, they had a 
common enemy. Gretchen was the firebrand of the group, driven and 
passionate, she tried to take control at every opportunity. She was 
dangerous, which was exactly what was required. Adlai just had to stand 
back and watch her work, pushing the others onwards, squeezing every 
last drop of effort out of them. And when threats and curses didn't 
work, she could turn on the charm to get her way. Adlai knew that first 
hand. He wasn't immune, but he was wary. Ever since that first meeting 
when he'd challenged her, he'd seen the spark in the back of her eyes. 
She'd use whatever she could to take control of him. The others weren't 
quite so dangerous, but they were just as useful. Madigan, the small 
greasy man he'd amused so much in the beginning, was a master with 
machines and materials, shaping and altering the world around him. He 
was producing their weapons, amazing things really. Adlai had watched 
them grow from simple blades to the reality altering wonders they were 
now. Hound and Strafe, two expert hunters, masters of the war games so 
many of them still played to amuse themselves. Their job would be to 
run point, take care of any trouble they'd face forcing their way in. 
Each of the group had been their victim more than once out on the 
field. They were the best chance they had. As for Adlai, he wasn't sure 
what he would do once he was in. There had to be a way to take down the 
Grid from the inside. If anyone could manage it, he supposed it had 
better be the one programmer responsible for the Boulevard in the first 
place. That was as far as his plan went. They really had no idea what 
they were doing. He could look back at that time now and almost smile. 
He was used to the guilt. What was that line about wearing it like an 
old suit? To Adlai it was more like a warm blanket he wrapped around 
himself, lifted over his head and burrowed into to keep the world out. 
Fuck it. Have another drink. It was hard keeping his mind in order. 
Alcohol helped cut down the options, helped stop his thoughts 
spiralling out of control. Like at night, when you close your eyes and 
relax and try to drift away and the whirlwind of past experience and 
future worry lifts you out of sleep and tosses you back and forth in 
your bed. VR was part of the cure. It helped you switch off, both 
working on it and being in it. Like sitting in a church. Peaceful. That 
great emptiness surrounding you, the knowledge that you are a small 
part of a large whole. The stale air, the wooden pews and green leather 
kneeling pads. Maybe that's what he was trying to get back to. And 
something more. Something hidden inside the chalice, behind the alter, 
in a shiny jewelled box that only the priest could open. Something 
awesome and out of this world. Something to be feared. Fear lived back 
there. Fear and faith slept in the same place, wrapped in each other. 
Maybe to find one you first had to understand the other. 

* 

She was no longer completely sure that it had happened at all. Her
dreams had moved in and altered the details, added touches and 
glimpses, shaded her memories a darker hue. It made no practical 
difference. All memories were altered with time, not just the ones you 
never managed to leave behind. Thankfully they never seeped through 
into her waking hours. Still, she could always tell when she'd had the 
nightmare. She'd wake with her head buried in the pillow, struggling to 
breathe, wet from sweat or tears or the river itself, a strange ringing 
in her ears as if they too remembered. She was driving, someone else's 
car. Her sister's? Driving down a highway. Every few seconds her eyes 
would flick up and to the side, scanning the area for danger, glancing 
up at the two children in the back seat. Her nieces. They sat there 
turning pages in their books, idly singing a lullaby. It was coming 
through the radio too, a simple tune. Familiar. In the dream she 
doesn't find it strange that such music pipes out. It's the second last 
thing her dreams ever allow her to hear. The last sound was only a 
second later. Looking back up from the radio to see a lone, pale figure 
standing in the middle of the road. Staring right through her. She 
wrenches the wheel to the side and the tires scream in protest and whip 
the car sideways. That was the last sound she recognised, though she 
could never fully separate the scream of the eviscerating rubber from 
that of the girls in the back seat. The next moment a shockwave of 
water crashes over them, shattering the passenger side window, tearing 
red burns in the side of her face. She had no scars, no physical scars, 
but they could heal couldn't they? Not like the other ones, the ones 
that stayed within you. Was it her dazed brain which slowed everything 
down, or her heightened reactions, the adrenaline pumping into her 
heart that made the next few moments shift past frame by frame? Unlock 
the belt, push open the door. Water rushing over her. Turning around to 
see the girls wrapped in each other, eyes staring in panic. A trickle 
of red running from her niece's ear. Water washing it away as it surged 
up and over their heads. An arm grabbing her, demanding she pull out of 
the wreck, not listening to her pull back, not allowing her to 
disentangle the children. The sunlight warm through the water, then 
gone again the next instant as she pulled away and dove back down, only 
to be caught again and dragged out. Numbness. The world around her 
spinning, trying to catch back up to normal speed. Sitting on the bank, 
staring at the calm surface of the river. Hands over her ears, not 
allowing any further sound in. No-one else around her was wet - who had 
pulled her out? Maybe there had never been anyone else. Maybe it had 
just been her, deciding to save herself and let the others drown. She 
could see the same thoughts reflected back at her from everyone's eyes. 
Then much later, lying in bed. Her sister next to her, shaking her, 
screaming at her. Not being able to hear a thing. Some things are taken 
away from us for a reason. 

* 

He'd been somehow expecting it, but it made him jump nonetheless when
the door he'd just walked through slammed closed behind him and a 
series of locks clicked back into place. Around him were matt grey 
walls, shadows moping in the corners, then wandering away as his eyes 
adjusted to the darkness. He took a step, then stopped as he noticed 
something missing. There was no sound. Absolute silence. No rain 
drumming on the roof, no wind. He stamped his boot on the ground, but 
still could hear nothing. He clapped his hands. Nothing. His brain 
jumped and started rushing down into panic but he reined it back. Let 
curiosity take over. He could feel Adlai's words in his head, if no 
longer hear them. Babbage clapped again, this time letting his eyes 
soak in the details. The wall closest to him seemed to spark for a 
moment. He walker closer and ran his hand across it. It was spongy, 
almost wet, not natural. It felt like the inside of someone's throat. 
"Hey!" The shout brought a brief wash of colour to the wall before it 
faded. His ears had again heard nothing. It was as if the sound itself 
had leapt out of his mouth and become stuck inside the walls, caught 
like a fly and then spirited off, away from his ears. Detoured. 
"Hello?" It was a very strange feeling to talk and not hear oneself. 
Not even the usual muffled buzz from the inside, when the sound can't 
reach you through your ears and seems to slice through the throat 
straight to the brain. Just utter silence roaring back. "Hello? My name 
is Babbage. Detective Babbage." He hoped what he was saying made sense. 
He couldn't tell if he was pronouncing his syllables correctly, 
couldn't judge himself and alter his tongue. "Madigan sent me." At that 
a light appeared at the far end of the room. He immediately walked 
towards it and realised with a jerk that he could hear again as his 
boots clomped on the floor. "Hello?" A foolish sense of relief rose up 
as he heard the word. The light ahead became the frame of a door, and 
he slowly pushed it open to reveal the exact opposite of the room he'd 
just left. Mess. Complete and utter visual pandemonium. Wires, cords, 
cables, speakers, microphones, metal stands, all seemingly thrown 
together in a heap and somehow landing right side up. Everything seemed 
to sweep up into a platform at the far end of the room, and behind that 
was the top of someone's head, bouncing back and forth. The walls were 
covered in speakers, some vibrating but no sound coming out. At least, 
nothing he could hear. He could feel it though, feel the thickness in 
the air, the tingling of sound rushing across him, pushing him back up 
towards the raised platform, herding him in the right direction. As he 
approached the figure became clearer. At first he thought it was a 
child, but then realised he was staring at an extremely old woman. All 
four foot of her. Almost a foot of that seemed to be hair. She had a 
high bun piled on the top of her head, and it was this that was moving 
to the sound he couldn't hear. Closer still and he could see she was 
sitting down, a long dress covering the chair underneath her, hands 
clasped to the chair's arms as she swept back and forth. There was 
something wrong with the proportions though. Her head was too big for 
her body, and no feet peeked out from the base of her dress, just empty 
air. Babbage tried not to stare, but then came to her eyes and couldn't 
help himself. They shone straight through him, as if a bright fire 
danced behind them, giggling at you, lighting you up and reading you at 
the same time. He recognised their similarity to Madigan's straight 
away, but there was something more. A dangerous glint. He looked away 
as they held him and felt the sound waves around him die off. When it 
finally came, her voice was brittle and old, fitting everything but 
those dangerous eyes. "Been to see Madigan have we? Waste your time did 
he? Always does, always does." Babbage just stood and waited. "Told him 
a million times. Stop messing about with those gadgets, those clones. 
Don't draw attention to yourself. People like us, knowing what we know, 
should keep our heads down. Never listens though, that man. Never did." 
Her chair moved across the platform and came to rest in front of him. 
"Take me for example. Look at me." Babbage felt his head snap up and 
stared at her. "Been in this chair more years than anyone can remember. 
And for what? For not keeping my head down, that's what. Madigan knows. 
He got it too, took part of him away. Maybe it was the part that 
listens. Hmph." The chair turned away again and a thin arm reached out 
from the folds of her dress to touch a button on the console in front 
of her. A light music swelled up from the floor and wrapped itself 
around them. Babbage let out his breath. "Have a seat, boy." A chair 
rose up from the cable strewn floor and took his weight. "Now, let's 
get down to it." Babbage felt his body relax and sank down into 
helplessness as her eyes turned on him. 

* 

"Let me quote you something here..." what the fuck was his name again?
Jack? "Barkeep." His words we beginning to slur. That was ok, it kept 
them in line with his thoughts. "'The man of knowledge in our time is 
bowed down under a burden he never imagined he would ever have: the 
overproduction of truth that cannot be consumed.' What do you think of 
that? Know who wrote it? Ernest ... Ernest somebody, long time ago. 
When he says 'our time' he's talking about something a lot different 
from ours. Mine." Why didn't this bar ever change? Maybe he should look 
at altering something. Always the same amount of people, always the 
same light. "It's bullshit too of course. I mean, I understand what 
he's trying to say. Back in the distant past, man's search was for 
truth. For meaning. Then we started to find answers and it all went to 
shit." The window was always the same. Same shape, same size, same 
darkness and rain. When he was younger he used to make pictures in the 
clouds but all he saw were other people's faces. "Too many answers 
then. So what do we do? We start making shit up. Fooling each other. 
Maybe we were trying to lighten that burden he was talking about. Stop 
worrying so much about truth, about meaning." That wasn't true, Adlai 
had never given up that search. At least, not until he found himself 
here. "I mean, when you think about it, what is there to really believe 
in anyway? Everything can be faked, and most of it is. The news is 
skewed, sliced and diced into comfortable sound bites; photographs, 
those little snapshots of the world people used to trust so much, 
remember them? All airbrushed, tweaked and clipped. Nothing sadder than 
an edited photo. I mean, what's the fucking point? The overproduction 
of truth. Bah." His cigarette packet was empty but another, full one 
appeared a moment later by his right hand. He grabbed it and ripped it 
open. "That's what people never understood. What's the difference 
between VR and reality now? You can do what you want, be what you want, 
and when you screw up you face the consequences. No different at all. 
VR is just more honest." Someone had asked him once, why he thought it 
had to exist at all. What could it offer that the real world couldn't? 
He couldn't remember what his answer had been, or even if he'd had one. 
He had one now. VR was a playground where you learned how to live. Like 
the old view of life as a training ground for death, for the afterlife 
and the judgement yet to come. "We managed to fuck it up though didn't 
we. Always do. Can't trust kids not to break their toys. Lead a horse 
to water and all that. Speaking of." He took another drink and resumed 
staring out at the rain, forming the shapes into fantasy. His hands 
were clutched together and he began rubbing his left ring finger, 
worrying something which had never been there. 

* 

Since the split her life was a daze. You just drift along and wait for
the next event to occur. Wake up in the morning and stare at the 
ceiling, trying to dredge up the memories of the night before, the 
dreams that are no longer there. Get dressed in the same clothes you 
wear every Tuesday. Stand on the train surrounded by people dressed 
exactly the same, feeling the same way, doing the same thing. But still 
strangers. She was jealous of the readers, those with heads stuck in 
books, no longer there, somewhere else, lost among the worlds. She 
couldn't lose herself like that anymore. It had all been taken away. 
Get to work, spend an hour churning through emails, an hour plugging 
code into the system, an hour reading the newspapers. Then lunch. Eat 
and lie in the park, in the foreign sun, and try to dream. Afternoon 
meetings surrounded by people talking earnestly about the new hardware, 
about how many more users they could get online. People she would never 
understand. Did they actually care about this job? Didn't they just 
join up for the hardware, for the knowledge, for the possibilities? She 
nodded her head and stared out the window, placing an expression of 
thought upon her face. Smiled when expected to. Leave the office early, 
sneak out while no-one's looking, catch the early train home, picking 
up food on the way. The same thing you eat every Tuesday. Eat early and 
quickly till a wave of tiredness washes over you. Retreat back to bed 
and start looking again, hunting for the life you lost, the dreams you 
lost. Cass knew she had to stop drifting like this, but what were the 
options? Find a new job? What possible difference would that make? They 
were all the same, the Corporations. As similar as their blocks on the 
Grid. You could change addresses but you were always on the same 
street. The Boulevard didn't change. Besides, at least she had access 
to the latest gear. If anyone was going to find what she was looking 
for, it was her. The entire back wall of her bedroom was a VR unit, 
state of the art, she no longer even needed to jack, simply lay back 
and let the field surround her, let the dreams take her away until she 
found herself back on the wet streets. That was how it should be. Now 
she was simply wiped out by a dark fog, not remembering anything, no 
connection found. A black, dreamless sleep. An unsuccessful hunt. She 
could go out after work and watch other people get along. Sit at the 
bar and wait for lonely men to approach, but it was unsatisfying, 
lightweight. They tried to sell her an image she distained, of herself 
as well as them. And when something did happen, when you drank yourself 
into enough of a stupor for your heart to allow a connection, even then 
it ended quickly. Lie there in the dark and stare at the ceiling, 
waiting for him to finish, wait for sleep to take him away from you so 
you can stare at his face and wonder what the world looked like through 
that. Introversion was overrated. You weren't supposed to find the 
answers on your own, you were supposed to socialise, mingle with each 
other, live through the reflections others glance back off of you. 
That's what VR was for, that's what the Boulevard had been all about. 
All she could do was keep looking. She knew this, so she tried to toe 
the line, waiting for her dreams to come back into focus and take her 
away. 

* 

Adlai let the glass slip back from his lips and rest on the bar. A few
drops had spilt onto its dull wooden surface. He traced circles idly 
through them. He missed her, he could admit that now. At least, he 
missed his memory of her back in the beginning. Maybe he was wrong, 
maybe he just missed company. An audience. Sometimes he wondered to 
himself, had she really happened? Could he be sure she wasn't another 
in a long line of fantasies dreamt up and then created to immerse 
himself in? How many of his dreams were out there running around now? 
Such thoughts used to trouble him. No, she was real enough. He may have 
turned her into what she was now, but she was real nevertheless. He 
remembered the exact point when it started to go sour. They'd been in 
another meeting, arguing amongst themselves, taking two steps back for 
every three forward. They were all reaching breaking point. Gretchen 
had finally leant over and whispered to him that she wanted to show him 
something, something the others weren't yet ready to see, and he knew 
straight away she was trying to trap him. He couldn't really blame her, 
much as you couldn't blame a wild animal from striking out at you. It 
was her nature, he'd seen it from the beginning. He nodded his head and 
got back to what the group was talking about, but that was the moment. 
He remembered the stillness of it, the feeling of the world shifting 
around him. It wasn't shock, or sadness, but something else. A 
revelation. Like a curtain falling. "Nothing wrong with it is there?" 
He fished a cigarette out and tried to ignore his shaking hands as he 
tried to light it. "That's why we have this place. William James." 
Finally it caught and he sucked back smoke. "William James said that 
mankind held the world to be essentially a theatre for heroism. Nice 
idea. Not sure about the heroism part, but theatre? Bang on the money. 
Make believe. We all fool ourselves, and we all want an audience." 
Maybe that's why he'd let himself be drawn in. Certainly, it was why he 
kept on going, well past the point where he should have turned his back 
and walked away. He was drowning in loneliness. He was willing to cling 
on to whoever drifted past. "Not anymore though." Adlai downed the last 
of the drink and let out a long, tired breath. "Not anymore." He sat 
and stared and only let go of the glass when a full one stood next to 
it. 

* 

"Name?" "Charles Babbage." He didn't even think, couldn't think. The
words simply blurted out of him. "You don't say. Someone has a sense of 
humour. Business?" "Detective. Investigating a death off Grid." "Murder 
most foul and all that, hmmm? And what has led you here detective?" 
"This." He looked down and the memory stick was in his outstretched 
palm. Her eyes seemed to spark a little brighter as she looked down on 
it, and she reached out and touched a button on the arm of her chair. 
The music released its grip and Babbage felt his mind clear. "I would 
apologise detective, but I find it unnecessary. This saves a lot of 
time, though some find it unpleasant. Saving time becomes important 
when you get to my age." The voice which just a moment ago had been so 
eager to leap out of him seemed to have disappeared back down inside. 
He sat and stared. "Here." She whirred her way across the room to him 
holding out a glass of water. "Drink, it will help." Her eyes seemed 
kinder somehow, dimmer. Younger. Babbage drank and felt his throat 
loosen. "What was that?" "The music? It is my gift, detective, my 
power. My weapon." Babbage continued to drink. He hadn't realised how 
thirsty he was. "It can leave you dry and weak afterwards. Poor 
detective." There was a glint to her smile now as she waited. 
Eventually Babbage downed the glass and took control. "What is your 
name?" "Of course, how rude of me. Madigan wouldn't have wanted to 
spoil the surprise, not him." She turned her chair and slid away again, 
moving back and forth to some hidden beat. "My name. I've gone by many 
over the years. Which one would you recognise? Gretchen perhaps." 
"Gretchen?" "Or perhaps not. Seems I've been keeping my head down more 
that I thought, hmm? No matter." Her movements were jerkier, quicker 
now. Angry, perhaps? Babbage wondered if she was as easy to read as 
that. "What can you tell me about the music on this memory card? 
Madigan sent me to you because he thought you'd know more." "No 
doubting that, child. It's whether what I know is worth telling you. 
Whether you can make it worth my while." There was another buzz in the 
air, and Babbage felt the constriction around his throat. "What is that 
noise?" "Noise detective? I hear nothing." She was grinning at him 
again, relishing her display of power. "Stop it!" Babbage felt himself 
stand and the air around him cleared. Gretchen ceased her swaying and 
stared at him. "I see you do have some talent, detective. Not many men 
could shrug even such a simple shackle alone." She continued to stare, 
and Babbage had the uncomfortable feeling she could see more than he 
intended. Alone? A moment later she turned again and the tension 
dropped. "Here detective, as a gesture of truce, I'll show you." She 
motioned him over to the control panel in front of her and pointed to a 
small dial. "A simple emotional control. This dial primes the speakers 
that surround you, causing the air particles to vibrate. This vibration 
ends up in your inner ear, which is why you hear that buzz. It 
electrifies the air around you, putting your emotions on edge, ready to 
be guided one way or the other. Very effective on those with less self 
control. Not so on you, hmm?" The dial had numbers all around it. 
Babbage doubted he'd felt more than a shade of its possibilities. "Oh 
yes, detective. It can do much more than make you tell the truth. But 
that's not what I want from you." Now they were getting to it. "There 
are times even old travellers like myself need a little help from those 
like you detective, those who walk the Boulevard, keeping it straight, 
or at least, clean." Babbage opened his mouth to speak but Gretchen 
waved him away. "You, detective, are here to find out about whatever is 
inside that memory stick of yours which seems to do so much damage when 
let out. I am here to learn a little about you along the way. We can 
help each other, hmm? Sit." A chair had risen up underneath him again. 
Whatever this room was, underneath its veined, cabled skin was 
something almost living. The thought flashed across him - how did she 
know about what was on the card? "Perhaps we should start with 
something simple." Gretchen reached out and took the memory card from 
his hand and placed it delicately on the control panel. "Tell me 
detective, what do you know about sound?" 

* 

Cass couldn't be sure how much time had passed when she found herself
staring at the letters MWB on a flickering neon sign outside a dirty, 
blank wall. Time had a way of warping, wrapping and twisting its way 
around the Boulevard. Some moments seemed to last forever, others 
flashed past like a knife to the throat. The building looked old and 
run down, but Cass knew better than to trust first impressions. You 
didn't survive out here without secrets. She flipped down onto the 
street floor and crept up to the wall. It tingled under her fingers as 
she leant against it, brushing her hands across its surface. There was 
power here. As her hand passed over it a small panel slid open in the 
blank expanse and a monitor appeared, showing an old man's face smiling 
out at her. Cass stepped back and to the side quickly, but then paused. 
There was no danger yet. The eyes on the screen followed her. "Hello 
there! A visitor, and a distinguished one at that, Alan. Your namesake 
has produced as always!" The voice poured out of the speaker with 
complete clarity, aiming itself straight for her, entering her mind and 
speaking louder than any ear could hear. "Cass, is it not? Your 
reputation preceeds you. You'll excuse me if I don't meet you in person 
of course, it's just that I don't want to add to it." The voice was 
old, sing-song. It belied the power Cass could see burning out from 
behind his eyes. "It's been quite the day for visitors. Someone's been 
stirring the pot, bringing everything back up to the surface, hmmm? No, 
I think we'll stay tucked away in here for the time being, Alan. Far 
safer than what roams those streets." The eyes grinned at her, waiting 
for some kind of response. Wait. Wait and watch and be ready to spring. 
"Oh my apologies, this voice and, in particular, the fact that you can 
hear it may come as some surprise. Please, do not be alarmed. I've 
learnt a few tricks in my time out here. Believe me, it is by no means 
the limit of my talents." As he spoke the walls around the monitor 
began to warp and sink backwards, stretching themselves out and then 
reaching back and around her. As Cass tensed to spring they pulled away 
again, bending out from her and opening to reveal a simple white room 
containing a single figure. It was another clone, she recognised it 
immediately. The clone approached her, holding out its hand. "Excuse 
me, one cannot resist a little showmanship now and then. You need to 
flex the muscles to keep them in shape, though I'm sure I don't need to 
tell you that. Pleased to meet you, my name is Madigan." Cass stared 
down at the proffered hand until it slunk back behind his back. Then 
she let her eyes scan back up to his face. There was something missing 
there. A glance down at her side revealed that the blade was already in 
her hand. The clone backed away, holding up its hands now, a blank 
smile on its face. "Now now young lady, there's no need for any further 
display of you prowess. I'm quite aware of what you can do. There's no 
threat here, simply an old man and his games. Madigan, of course, isn't 
here right now, but please be assured that I speak directly for him. My 
name is Alan. I believe we've met." Cass felt the tightening at the 
base of her spine relax and come back under control, the blood lust 
sink back down into her gut. She flipped the blade around and held it 
up to the clone's face, handle first. She watched his eyes take in the 
small MWB insignia marked on its base. "Ah yes, I was wondering when 
I'd see one of those again." 

* 

A work of art never turns out quite as you expect, but you can usually
guarantee you'll be disappointed. That's not to say it wasn't worth 
creating in the first place, just that your goal wasn't fully realised. 
It's not quite the way you wanted it to be. This, the Boulevard, was 
like that. Where some saw a fascinatingly deep universe filled with 
dark corners to disappear into, bright lights to dazzle and distract, 
Adlai saw a lost opportunity. It was very far from what he'd intended. 
"Do you think God's ever disappointed with himself?" The bartender 
continued to ignore him. That was ok, he wasn't expecting an answer. 
The frustrating thing was he no longer even remembered what it was he 
had been trying to do, what he'd aimed for. He just knew he'd missed. 
There were glimpses. A place where users would plug in and confront 
their dreams, confront possibility and begin to understand the nature 
of their own lives. A place to explore what it was to be human A church 
in which to confront God. Now? Now it was a playground. He knew it 
while he was sitting in their little meetings, being drawn along by 
their enthusiasm, knew it while he was letting his eyes wander over 
Gretchen, letting her dig her claws into him. He knew it especially 
when he wandered down the Boulevard alone, watching the users fumble 
about in their new world. It had to end. The question was what was 
worth saving. A large part of being human, of consciousness, is not 
understanding what drives you. You float along on top of a tide of 
unconsciousness, hidden agendas and desires that push and pull you in 
different directions, directions you never had any intention of heading 
in, directions you never even knew existed. Possibility. Trying to 
whittle it all down to the essence of what life was all about was 
destined to be unsuccessful, disappointing. Not what you intended. 
Still, that didn't mean it wasn't worth doing. After all, maybe someone 
else, some stranger you wandered into on the Boulevard one night, maybe 
they could stumble into their own answers. Your job was to allow them 
that chance. Adlai motioned to the bartender and flicked through some 
code. "Let's hear it one more time." The bartender stood directly in 
front of him. His eyes lost focus as the old program was run through 
him once again. "Art exists that one may recover the sensation of life; 
it exists to make one feel things, to make the stone stony. The purpose 
of art is to impart the sensation of things as they are perceived and 
not as they are known." Two steps to the left and he was back in his 
usual place, unaware of what had just passed through him. Was that what 
had become of this place for Adlai, was it just another reflection of 
what his work might have been? Another failure? Adlai took up his glass 
again and let his mind drift away. 

* 

Babbage sat still in his chair and waited for her. Sometimes the best
form of questioning is to simply allow them to say what they want. 
"Sound, detective, the vibration of air particles in the ear, a direct 
connection to the emotional centres in the brain, altering the way you 
experience the world. Your inner ear detects the sound and you respond 
psychologically, hmm? That is music's goal, to play off this power, to 
rouse the emotions, to release or relieve them, to stimulate the 
listener. Music is not just sound mathematics, it is the most powerful 
of all art forms because it speaks to a part of your being you can 
never directly access yourself - your emotions." Babbage could feel the 
questions inside him, but let them pass. Wait and the answers will 
come. "Too often these emotions are wrapped up in thought, feeding back 
into each other, muddying up the waters of your mind. Music skips along 
the surface like a stone, creating ripples, and then sinking down into 
the intellect. It is the reverse of poetry, it begins by activating 
feelings, then moves onto thought. That is its point, its power and its 
weakness, hmm? It relies on the listener's own imagination." The 
familiar tune, the childhood nightmare. They were all part of him. Just 
like Adlai. "Because of this it can be immensely powerful. It can 
hypnotise, soothe the savage beast, control and contort the listener. 
Let me ask you, detective, when you hear a tune in the minor key, a 
mournful tune, do you feel sad? Is this emotion wrapped up in the music 
itself, or does it only reside in you? Is it possible for you to 
recognise a song as sad without feeling sad yourself? What about angry, 
hmm? What if a song can access other emotions? Larger, more dangerous 
ones, ones that consume you, like fear. What if it can then hitch a 
ride in and break your mind down completely?" She knows all about the 
card already. The song, the victims, the creeping fear that still tried 
to poke its head up from the surface. That he had to still concentrate 
to keep submerged lest the tune swirl about him again, become a 
whirlpool that sucked him down and away. "It's a virus. A weapon." He 
could feel himself sweating, but clenched his fist and forced himself 
to calm. Gretchen smiled. "You catch on quickly detective." "But why 
would someone create something like this, something so dangerous?" 
"Powerful is the word we used." He could feel the truth in the words as 
soon as they were uttered. "You did this." "Let's just say it was my 
idea. Others had a hand in its design, and I imagine it has altered 
itself considerably since then. One must adapt to survive." Gretchen 
swivelled in her chair and touched the control panel in front of her. 
The memory card still sat alone on the desk. Neither of them wanted to 
touch it. "You must understand detective, we were idealists. We had an 
honourable goal in mind. One makes a lot of mistakes when young, hmm? 
Not all of them come back to haunt you." Light music began to fill the 
room again, and Babbage knew he was helpless. He had been since he 
walked in the door. "We were angry. Angry and clever and young, and 
that is a dangerous cocktail." She glanced back at him and saw the 
tension in his face. "Relax, detective, not all weapons are evil. 
Sometimes it is easier to show than tell." He relaxed, he was powerless 
not to. Babbage felt himself sink down into his chair as the room 
around him seemed to fill with light. Soon it was too bright for his 
eyes. He closed them and another world appeared. Daylight. The word ran 
into his head from the past, from somewhere he'd forgotten. The sun. 
Clear blue skies. Altogether alien to him, yet suddenly familiar. He 
looked down at the sun warming the bare skin of his arm. How could he 
have forgotten this? What was this place? "This, detective, is the 
world as it was." 

* 

A door appeared in the far wall and the same old man walked into the
room. The same, but different. Whole. "You may leave us now Alan, 
thankyou." The clone smiled and nodded to Cass before turning and 
leaving through the door, which then vanished leaving blank white wall 
"You will excuse us of course. As I mentioned, one cannot be too 
careful in these parts, especially these days. Madigan is my name." 
Cass studied the old man and immediately felt the life and power 
radiating out of him. This was no clone. There was a depth, a mass she 
could feel slightly warping the world around him, bending it with his 
presence. "Oh yes, I am the real thing. I should have known you'd pick 
up on Alan immediately, but one does enjoy one's little tests. You did 
much better than my earlier visitor, though you do have quite distinct 
talents." His bright eyes drifted down to the blade still clasped in 
her hand. "May I see it?" The only thing to trust was instinct, and it 
told Cass to trust this man. She handed the blade over. As it left her 
hand she felt a deep pull in her gut, a tearing, a yearning for it 
back. Her shoulders tensed but she controlled the urge to spring. "It's 
been quite some time since I held one of these. There are others, of 
course, not all the same shape or size or power, but all capable of 
some surprising results. I assume you know?" Madigan stepped over to 
the wall and dug the blade into it. He sliced it down effortlessly. 
"Yes. Perhaps a little too powerful, if I do say so myself." He tossed 
the blade back to Cass quickly, and she caught it by the hilt and slung 
it back on her waist. It was still warm from his hand. "I call them 
Rippers. Designed to alter the fabric of reality, at least, what we on 
this side consider reality to be. They were made for a specific 
purpose, long ago. Made by me. One of my most successful creations. 
Successful and dangerous. Now they've gone the way of all forgotten 
things and become altered. Scattered. Yet the power still remains, and 
with that the danger." He wiped his hand down his gown, as if eager to 
lose the sense of the blade against his skin. "They have other names. 
Blood drinkers. Warpers. Twisters. One of their unfortunate side 
effects, I'm afraid. They tend to alter the wielder slightly with each 
use, warp them as they warp reality. Create hunger and chaos. You 
should be careful, it's already quite advanced with you." Cass felt a 
sudden urge to grab the blade again, but she suppressed it. Wait. He is 
leading you somewhere. "They have a way of finding those who were meant 
to wield them. It seems to have found you well enough. Perhaps it knows 
its purpose better than I. My creations often surprise me. Take Alan 
here for instance." Immediately the door reappeared and another clone 
walked in. "Alan, what was that song I heard you all singing the other 
day?" The clone smiled shyly and lifted his head. "Row, row, row your 
boat Gently down the stream. Merrily, merrily, merrily, merrily Life is 
but a dream." Madigan clapped his hands together. "Bravo!" He looked at 
Cass. "I never taught them that, lord knows who did." He grinned to 
himself and shook his head. "Quite apt really. As I said, constantly 
surprising. Thank you again Alan, that will be all." The clone smiled 
happily and turned to leave. "Oh, just one more thing." Madigan stepped 
quickly in front of the clone and out the door before him. A moment 
later the door was gone, leaving Cass and the clone staring at the 
wall. Cass felt her hand tighten. "Sorry about this old boy, it's just 
that I've learnt to read certain people, especially those addicted to 
something I've created." The voice was echoing down from the roof now. 
Cass looked down and found the blade ready in her hand. "Our friend 
here should prove quite useful, but unfortunately she's also a little 
hard to control at the moment. Best to keep at arms length." Alan 
turned towards her and smiled hopefully. She saw a dark figure 
reflected in his empty eyes. Cass sprung back against the wall then up 
and over the unmoving figure. She flipped and landed lightly behind 
him, reached around his head, and in one movement twisted his neck and 
let the blade bite hungrily into his throat. There was no blood, just a 
slumped figure on the floor. Cass felt herself relax, and was surprised 
when she found herself breathing again. The voice echoed down from the 
roof. "Such a pity." 

* 

Standing next to him was Gretchen, but not Gretchen. She was young, mid
twenties, a vibrant energy coursing through her. Curly copper hair 
stringing down over her shoulders, set off against the bright green 
eyes that sniped out at you from under her fringe. "Time never means 
much on this side, but even so, this was long ago. Look." Babbage 
reluctantly let his eyes slip from her face and follow her hand out to 
a point on the horizon. He stared a moment uncomprehending before he 
realised what was wrong. Something was missing. The Grid. Where there 
should be towers of bright steel, glowing with power and energy, 
shining out against the darkness, there was simply empty space. He 
looked harder and the area morphed into a white sandy beach, then a 
moment later into a verdant forest. It kept on shifting, turning and 
glinting in the sun. "This is how we began. Creators in our very own 
playground, providing visions and experiences for all. What is for you 
a forest is for someone else a mountain, for others still a desert. 
There is no definitive. As time passes, our areas grow." Babbage stared 
as the world seemed to explode outwards in all directions at once, 
making connections, feeding itself, growing like a fungus. Definitively 
alive. "There are those, however, who are never comfortable with 
freedom without control. These people took a foothold in the universe 
and built what is now known as the Grid." The view seemed to shoot back 
in again, zoom to a level where details were clear. A pair of golden 
towers were beginning to rise, and a straight strip of darkness edged 
its way across the horizon. "At first we ignored it. Sniggered. This 
was merely a corporate block in the playground for those not strong 
enough, or brave enough, to weather life outside without a parent. It 
was unsurprising. Let them have their slice of the Boulevard. Let them 
have their Grid." More towers sprouted, glowing with energy now. The 
areas around them seemed to fade by comparison. "It wasn't long before 
we became aware of the true effects. Power is not infinite. For someone 
to become stronger, another must weaken. As the Grid began to glow, 
other nodes became dark. By the time those of us who had any real power 
noticed it was too late to easily stop." The sky around them darkened, 
and a steady rain began to pour. From far above they looked down, and 
all Babbage could make out were various angry bright flashes on the 
edge of the Grid. Red splotches of light flaring up and quickly 
darkening as they were overwhelmed. "Many tried of course, but one of 
the main weaknesses of ultimate freedom is the lack of organization, 
lack of unity. Even then, if we had found a leader willing to stand up, 
willing to work with us, focus our efforts, the Grid would never have 
withstood us. Unfortunately, that was not to be." The Grid had grown a 
hundred fold, swelled  both in size and brightness, until it took on 
the shape Babbage recognised. The off Grid areas were dark now, the 
shady, wet streets that he knew snaking off the Boulevard. Dark corners 
filled with danger. "Then came our final mistake. Not content with mere 
fumblings, we planned a final assault. In it, we introduced a virus 
code, designed to break the fabric of the system down from the inside. 
We cannot see this from here. Come." Immediately they zoomed into a 
point just off Grid, a lonely twisting street, just another extension 
of the Boulevard. "Watch." A lone man walked along the centre of the 
laneway, head down as the rain dripped off the brim of his hat. Babbage 
felt a shock of recognition and energy. It was him. And there was 
something else, a buzz in the air. The man raised his head and stared 
off into a dark alley. Babbage knew what he saw. There she stood. A 
dark clad figure, hands clasped in front of her, standing erect and 
still. Eyes flashing back from under her fringe. Babbage tried to keep 
his eyes on her but couldn't, he dropped his head and held his ears, 
blocking out the song which was not there, but which played itself in 
his memory. He watched the figure close in and engulf the man, absorb 
him. Then she paused and turned towards him. "Enough." He opened his 
eyes and stared at the cables on the floor. They were back in 
Gretchen's control room. They were safe. "Her power is too great." She 
pushed her chair back and fiddled idly with some more controls lining 
the wall. "We didn't understand what we were doing. It was all his 
fault, he drove us to it, just because he'd started it all in the first 
place. Now it's out of control. Only a matter of time, hmm? Time and 
melody." Babbage let his eyes scan across the room again, at the 
speakers lining the walls, the microphones hanging from every fixture. 
That's what this place was, a bunker. A hideaway. He looked up at 
Gretchen with fresh eyes. She was just a scared old woman. She couldn't 
help him anymore. Unless. His intellect made the leap as the words left 
his mouth. "Who's 'he'?" Gretchen stared back at him and a smile crept 
around the edges of her mouth. "Of course, you wouldn't know any 
longer, would you detective. You were severed at the time, you all 
were. A catastrophe of epic proportions, now completely forgotten, at 
least on this side. Now the dreams are free, hmm? 'He' is the one who 
designed this universe. 'He' was the leader of our little group. 'He' 
is the one now missing, hiding away somewhere, watching his creation 
fade into darkness. 'He' is the one who stranded me here, forced me 
into hiding. 'He' is your father, detective, your dreamer, your 
connection to the other side. And you're going to help me find him." 

* 

Adlai walked slowly down the centre of the lane, staring at his shoes,
letting the rain drip down from the brim of his hat. He enjoyed the 
rain. It had been someone else's idea to darken the areas off Grid, 
make them less accessible to the casual user, less attractive. Perhaps 
it had come from the Grid itself, Adlai had never bothered himself to 
check. He found it comforting, almost romantic. It left him alone with 
his thoughts. It would only be a matter of time before Gretchen or one 
of the others took their weapons and turned them on him. He knew that, 
expected it. He would have to be ready to act first. Besides, his work 
was greater than all of theirs combined. He knew what he planned would 
be seen as a betrayal. Perhaps in time it would be recognised for what 
it really was. His thoughts turned back to the world around him, to the 
sound of his feet on the road, the rain on the rooftops. There was 
something else there, something new. He let his feet continue on and 
switched his awareness to searching it out. There. Very slight, almost 
not there at all. A humming. A female voice, lilting across a simple 
tune, repeating them over and over. Adlai felt the air around him 
charge with danger. He stopped his walk and looked into the shadows, 
knowing that he would find it there. A single figure, a woman, dressed 
all in black, grim, pale face drawn tight around the lips. Adlai felt 
fear and panic course through him, up and down his spine, grabbing him 
by the back of the head and holding him still. She began to drift 
towards him. Her body never moved, but she came closer. Watching him, a 
promise of misery in her eyes. Her green eyes. Adlai snapped his eyes 
away from the figure and called out. "Gretchen!" The fear and 
electricity around him melted away instantly. The figure vanished, as 
did the subtle tune that started it all. A moment later Gretchen 
finally made herself known, stepping out from the shadows of the lane, 
a small smile on her lips. "I thought you'd like it." Looking back, she 
hadn't had to stop. Perhaps she was nervous, unsure whether it was 
quite ready to take him out. He wasn't sure either. It would have been 
a close run thing. Or perhaps it was all just a display, a flexing of 
her muscles, a reminder of what she could offer. You could never tell 
with Gretchen. Adlai doubted she even knew herself. Her creation was a 
stroke of genius, you had to give her that. She was one of the 
cleverest of the programmers, one of the most promising. Was it wrong 
to think of them as disciples? Adlai took another sip and let the 
liquid wash around between his teeth. He swallowed with a grimace and 
set the glass down. One benefit of being alone is that there's no-one 
around to argue with you. She'd designed the virus to enter the user's 
consciousness through music. Drift in and get stuck inside, through the 
ears, into the brain, a constant tune repeating on itself, growing like 
a culture in a petri dish. Crawling up into the amygdala and squeezing. 
Linking into the user's fear centre, rendering them helpless. 
Hallucination feeding on hallucination until there was nothing left, 
until the users themselves were eaten away by fear and panic. It 
attacked the consciousness behind each dream, the hardware. Take that 
away and the dream itself dies, as sudden and sure as waking the 
dreamer. The intention was to attack the Grid, attack the consciousness 
behind it. Get in underneath the radar and infest the great quantum 
computers that ran the constructs. If it knocked out a few genuine 
users on the way, well, think of them as acceptable losses. That's what 
Gretchen had claimed, anyway. Adlai had reservations about her motives, 
and besides, he saw much greater potential in it. He was beginning to 
realise the limits he had imposed on the Boulevard. They had been 
necessary to begin with, but were they still? Was it time to begin 
practising what he preached? A cell needs to split to grow, only then 
can it go on to become what it needs to. An organism, a virus. 
Consciousness is not alive, it is a collection of life, an environment 
for it. A world of possibility. Time would prove him right. Break the 
connection between the two worlds, force the dreams to realise 
themselves, force the users to face reality. They'd come to call it the 
Separation. He preferred the term emancipation, but perhaps that was 
asking too much. Just get it done and sit back and watch the show. Have 
a drink. What needed to go around would come around again. Sooner or 
later everyone's dream would walk into the bar. Even your own. 

* 

"Feeling better now are we?" Cass let her breath rush in and out of her,
cooling her lungs. The blade was somehow back on her hip, pretending it 
had never left. She raised her head and saw Madigan standing in front 
of her again. "That should hold you over for a while." The door 
revealed itself and Alan walked in to clear up the remains of his 
earlier manifestation. "Don't worry about Alan here, we'll bring him 
back good as new. I, however, would be a different story. Luckily I 
programmed in some visual assists back in the early days. Very useful. 
Of course at the time I just thought they looked cool." From behind his 
back Madigan produced a small rectangular mirror. "You haven't seen 
yourself in quite some time have you?" He angled the mirror and Cass 
saw her face slant down into view. At least, it was almost her face. 
The shape was recognisable, the set of the eyes and hair, but the rest 
was off. The skin was pale and drawn, similar to the vampires she no 
longer needed to avoid. Her cheekbones pushed out, tight and shiny over 
her small tense mouth, pointing the way to the real change. The eyes. 
They were covered in a milky coating, a pale cloud swirling back and 
forth across the pupil, windows to a stormy atmosphere within. "It's a 
measure of the addiction, of how far gone you are. And when the hunger 
comes over you they change again, flooding with black ink, dark as 
blood in the moonlight." Her image flashed away again as Madigan slid 
the mirror back behind himself. "You don't have much time." His arms 
came back in front, empty now. Sleight of hand. How could she trust 
anything in this place? "You can't. You can only trust your instincts, 
which have led you here before it was too late. They have been honed 
out there in the dark. Did you never wonder what the purpose was? The 
goal at the end of the road you walk?" He motioned to the wall where a 
monitor now sat. On its screen a dark figure stood in the centre of the 
lane, shrouded in black. Cass felt an instant shock of recognition. 
Quarters. The figure she saw with him. The woman that turned towards 
her. "You're becoming more like her with every kill. Less like a user, 
more like a virus. That is the purpose. You contain some of her 
already, and thanks to your peculiar talents, you have the power to 
stop her before she ends it all. Perhaps you alone." The screen changed 
now to a long shot of the Grid, glowing in the distance. "We brought 
these powers to bear on ourselves, perhaps we deserve what is coming. 
The Boulevard will still be here long after we have gone." The monitor 
began to change, to grow. Cass was transfixed as Madigan's voice faded 
into the background. "It's not so bad being stranded here, really. I 
know I can never go back. This is my universe now. Sometimes I wonder 
if the Boulevard has always been there. Other times I question if it 
has ever been there at all." The wall itself was the picture now, then 
the room around her, then it was gone. She was standing in the street, 
staring off at the Grid in the distance. Madigan's voice was a whisper 
in her useless ears. "What is life without goals, after all?" 

* 

Babbage didn't try to argue, just pushed his hands down on the arms of
his chair to get up and froze. Nothing happened. He looked down at his 
legs and all he could see was a writhing mass of cables covering his 
lap, throbbing with power, snaking in and around his legs, slowly 
tightening their grip. Gretchen was smiling down at him now, and he 
noticed the soft piping music surrounding them. "It's not time to 
leave, detective. I told you, you have to help me find him. It's time 
we took a proper look inside to see what you really remember." The 
music was growing in volume as the cables slid further up his body, 
paralysing him with their touch. "Memories are difficult things to 
trust, especially when caged in words. I find it best to go directly to 
the source, hmm? You can struggle if you like, but it won't help you in 
the slightest." His arms now refused to move as the cables reached his 
hip. They had formed themselves into the one organ, a giant mouth 
slowly swallowing him whole. Gretchen's words continued to drone on in 
the distance as his brain drowned in panic. "The man we're looking for 
used to like talking about memory. He considered himself a collection 
of memories surrounding a body, not a whole being. Constantly confused 
by his actions of the past. That was the line. Madigan liked that one, 
we all did." Babbage's brain was paralysed with fear. It couldn't react 
at all, just sit and listen and watch with horror as the great mouth 
crept up his chest, up towards his face. "The connection between body 
and brain is a complicated one. Where, for instance, do you draw the 
line between thought and emotion? Which is a by-product of which? 
Changes to the body affect both, and what is memory but a collection of 
thoughts and emotions stored away in a part of the body, hmm? All very 
interesting questions." The music had to be doing it, had to be 
altering his brain, giving him visions. It had to be a hallucination, 
but all he could think about was the panic rushing through him. "Music 
is a powerful retriever of memories. So is taste, and smell. All the 
senses. Fear is another one often overlooked. We remember moments of 
panic very clearly. Time slows down as our senses expand to soak every 
detail in. Likewise, fear can help us sink back into the past to find 
what we have lost. Adrenaline, norepinephrine, serotonin, dopamine. The 
neurotransmitters, the chemicals which make up thought, all the same 
chemicals the amygdala releases in the moment of panic, in the fight or 
flight response. All very closely linked to the major hallucinogens 
too. Mescalin and adrenaline are almost chemically identical." The 
mouth was at his neck now. Babbage couldn't even move his head to 
strain his face away from it. "Madigan knew, we all knew what we were 
capable of. He was always too soft to use what knowledge he had. I know 
better, hmm? These weapons are necessary on our little quest. Don't 
worry, it won't take long." Babbage's eyes rolled up in his head as 
darkness slid over him. 

* 

Body of Christ. That phrase had always had a special resonation for
Adlai. This is my body, this is my blood. You went up to the priest, 
hands clasped in front of you, trying not to look foolish, feeling all 
eyes on you. You said the magic word and then you ate it. You ate 
Christ's body. What kind of fucked up thing was that to teach an eight 
year old? Adlai felt separated enough from his body as it was. It was a 
vehicle, this collection of cells and organs which made up 
consciousness. Nothing more. When he was young he was constantly 
running into things, cutting himself, watching his blood flow out onto 
the schoolyard. Never anything serious, he never lost a limb, but he 
didn't think that would have made a difference. Adlai was his mind, not 
his body. The body was unimportant. Wasn't that the whole point of 
religion, when you got right down to it? You attempt to transcend the 
physical, rise up into the spiritual. Deny yourself physical pleasures, 
or sins if you prefer, to allow your consciousness to rise above it. 
What Adlai built in VR made this possible without sacrifice. You could 
step out of your body without suffering. Stop being the animal you 
didn't wish to be. Of course, by the time most users came upon VR they 
were adults, had spent their entire lives wrapped up in themselves, 
didn't want to leave their bodies behind. They took them with them, or 
at least the idea of them, the form. Looked the same on one side of the 
port as the other, with perhaps a few minor adjustments here and there. 
Bigger shoulders, better skin, slimmer waist. All cosmetic. The same 
form generally remained. It was unusual for a user to change sex online 
for any length of time, let alone species. But then why should we 
expect any different? How often do you dream you are someone else, 
something else? Hardly ever. Never, for most people. Their being, their 
mind is so caught up in their body shape, so affected by the way they 
look and feel that they simply cannot accurately imagine what being 
truly different would feel like. More to the point, they simply don't 
want to. Users went so far as to bring their ports over, all the better 
to mimic reality. Adlai had seen them on the Boulevard, users jacking 
in as if they were on the other side of the divide, using their ports 
to jump deeper into the looking glass of VR. A virtual experience of 
virtual reality. It wasn't until later, when the fields were introduced 
and the ports really opened up for everyone, when the kids got inside, 
that the real freaks arrived. Children who were uncomfortable with 
themselves, especially teenagers, transformed themselves completely 
when handed the freedom to do so. The VR worlds took on a new slant. 
They became fascinating, messy, dangerous places. Jungles. We all 
brought our selves along for the ride, our issues and worries, our 
prejudices and obsessions. VR magnified them all. It was a way to exert 
some sort of control over life and its multitudinous confusion. You 
were no better. Gave yourself a hat and a pipe and a superior attitude. 
Adlai stared out the window at the rain sheeting down. Long ago now. 
Much in the way the physical and mental sides never fit together, so 
the past never seemed to belong either. It was a source of confusion. 
He couldn't make sense of it, couldn't identify with the person he used 
to be, remember what he thought or did. Why he acted. There was no 
whole self link between then and now. Life was a whirl of confusion. 
Cigarettes though, cigarettes ground you. Much like alcohol. He pulled 
a single cigarette from behind his ear and put it in his mouth. A 
moment later the bartender reached across and lit it for him. They drag 
you back into your body. Remind you where you are. That's why so many 
drunks smoke. Stops them wandering off from themselves, getting lost in 
the jumble of their ideas. God was a smoker, Adlai had understood that 
a long time ago. "The questions is," the bartender had moved away 
again, but Adlai continued on despite him. "What type of cigarettes 
does he prefer?" 

* 

Cass was standing in the street, Madigan's warehouse at her back, the
glow of the Grid the only highlight on the horizon that stretched out 
in front of her. Raindrops streaked down her face and body, tingling as 
they leapt off her fingertips. He'd shown her the target. Her target. 
The figure who appeared at the crash site, the one who took Quarters 
away from her, who turned her into this. What was 'this' anyway? What 
was she? A machine, a hunter. A tool. She looked down at the curved 
blade dangling from her hip, glistening in the rain. It had turned her, 
twisted her, used her. The hunger was all she had left. But it wasn't 
just hunger, it was power. Power to alter the world around her, power 
to take down those that threatened her. She was capable of feats she'd 
never even imagined, things that shouldn't be possible out here. Did it 
matter where the power came from? Cass smiled as she felt the now 
familiar surge of adrenaline pump into her shoulders and spine. It was 
hers now. Cass turned and sprinted for the closest wall. Solid brick, 
it stretched three storeys high without a break. She wasn't sure what 
she would do, but knew that was no longer important. She was a creature 
of instinct. Even its creator, even Madigan had feared her. She had 
seen it in his eyes. She was more than just a tool. She was her own 
weapon. This was her playground. As her feet left the ground and hit 
the wall she kept moving, pumping her legs, running vertically up the 
wall, splashing the water than ran down the outside of the building 
back up into her grim face. Just keep up the speed until the ledge 
appears. The overflowing gutter swam into reach and she grabbed it with 
both hands, pushing her legs with a final surge out from the wall, 
allowing her momentum to flip herself over and around. As she passed 
vertical she let go, pulling into a crouch and bringing her feet back 
in underneath her. Her soles slapped down on the slate tiles of the 
roof and she crouched there perfectly still, scanning the land around 
her. Now she just had to find her prey. Find the one who took 
everything away. Nothing. Anyone who'd just seen her run up a three 
storey building would know better than to make themselves visible, but 
it was more than that. There was no- one here, she could feel it. Even 
that sense, the one she'd always had, the ability to sense life and 
meaning, it too was heightened now. She could feel the scan as a 
physical reach out around her, searching out all the dark corners for 
life. Nothing escaped it. Cass slowly stood up and began to walk. There 
was only one place to go. The bar, where she'd run into the clone, 
where she'd felt that strange presence of power. It was east from here, 
directly towards the Grid. And after that? She could keep on going, up 
to the walls of the Grid itself. Use her new powers to tear them down, 
let the users inside taste what it meant to be free. Madigan had told 
her that was her goal. That was what her blade was for. She'd seen it 
behind his eyes, if not in his words. The blade was made for the Grid. 
It was only for her to wield it. She was a weapon, a virus that needed 
to feed. And when another predator wanders into your grounds you have 
to take it out. It and anything else that gets in your way. 

* 

Babbage opened his eyes. At least, he thought he did. There was no sign
the signal had been received in his brain, everything was liquid 
darkness. He tried to move and again couldn't tell if he was successful 
or not. His hands touched nothing as they moved, not even each other. 
He was floating in black ink, everything around him muted and 
intangible. Was this death? She'd drugged him of course, or piped in 
music to do the equivalent, altering his brain to her wishes. The 
cables, the mouth, none of that had been real, it couldn't have been. 
Hallucinations, brought on by panic and loss of control. He wasn't in 
some being's stomach, he was inside himself. "Adlai?" There was no 
reply, just more searching darkness. For the first time he felt truly 
alone. He blinked and found himself sitting in the captain's waiting 
room. The secretary was there, typing away. "The captain will see you 
in just a moment." Same voice, same outstanding legs. Was this memory? 
"The captain will see you now." Babbage stood automatically and walked 
into the office. There was the green lamp, the menacing shadows, the 
hunched figure you couldn't quite make out. "Anything to report?" As if 
by instinct his brain relaxed and it was all sucked out of him, poured 
out and sifted through. Pickpockets, shadows, hunters, dreamers, 
clones, Madigan, visions, songs, conversations. He felt a sense of 
dissatisfaction and a tightening on his brain as though a fist clenched 
around it. The fingers dug deeper, churning up what was hidden and 
forcing it to the surface. He caught fleeting glimpses before they sunk 
back down. A crash site, a figure watching him from a rooftop, a bar. 
Babbage no longer recognised the flashes, yet they were somehow 
familiar. A figure in a seat, staring out the window, drink in hand. 
"Thank you Babbage, that will be all." The voice was different now, 
more feminine. He was dismissed. He turned to walk out and darkness 
engulfed him. He spun around but there was nothing of the office, 
nothing of the captain. There was only blackness, and emptiness, as if 
what had held him in its hand had left him alone to die. And something 
else. Something growing. He could feel and hear it at the same time. A 
short tune he'd heard before. Where was that coming from? Babbage 
couldn't identify the notes, but he could almost see them. They were 
growing, leaping on top of each other in turn, becoming larger and 
larger to take over his entire field of vision. Opening something up he 
didn't want let in. He needed to wake up. Had to wake up. He didn't 
want to be there when she came. As soon as the thought formed in his 
head it leapt out of his mind and burned a hole in the darkness. A 
door. She was coming. Babbage tried to close his eyes and force the 
song out of his head, but it danced out of his reach. It was no use. He 
opened his eyes and stared straight into her face. 

* 

He still remembered her face. It was burned into his memory, her eyes,
the slanted, mischievous grin. He sometimes wondered if had all just 
been down to bad timing. He was lonely, wasn't thinking straight. If 
he'd met her at any other time he would have walked away immediately. 
But he hadn't. He'd strung along, planning, conspiring, wrapping 
himself tighter and tighter in her net, until when it came time to 
break free, to finally sever the bonds holding them all back, he'd 
hesitated. Out of fear. "Fear is the child's bedfellow." Who had said 
that anyway? He couldn't remember. Just another quote drifting around 
in his head, popping up from the soup now and then. What had he been 
afraid of? Losing it all? Death? Awareness of death is what 
differentiated man from the animals, right back to biblical times. Adam 
and Eve eating from the tree of knowledge. What did it teach them other 
than the fact of their own mortality? And then Freud, that other great 
religious figure, what did he say? That man defeats his own death 
instinct by killing others. No wonder so much out there had become what 
it had. Glorified arenas, dark, twisting streets curving away from the 
Boulevard, all the better to hunt in. Even the Boulevard itself, even 
it had become part of the great game they all seemed to want to play. 
Fuck it, good luck to them. The bourbon still burned, it never stopped 
burning. He could adjust it, but would that ruin the whole effect? You 
had to be careful in this place, perched between the two worlds. Once 
done things weren't so easily fixed. "Luck is when the guy next to you 
gets hit by the arrow." He knew that one. That was Aristotle. Man's 
basic narcissism, complete absorption with self. Games with death are 
ok because it will never happen to me, not in any conscious part of my 
brain. The unconscious can feed off the fear and breed excitement. So 
we had this. A dark, wet playground. Not even that. A classroom 
perhaps. They had even introduced a teacher. It wasn't worth feeling 
guilty about. No, only the Separation was worth that. The ripping away 
of users from their dreams, the amputation of fantasy, leaving both 
sides floating free like a kite snapped and ripping in the wind. 
Knowing it was necessary didn't make it any easier to deal with. He'd 
done it to himself too of course. He could have exempted himself, it 
would have been easy, but he knew he had to follow through. Had to live 
with the consequences of his actions. No good holding others up to high 
ideals and then failing to do so yourself. And now he found himself 
here on the edge, surrounded on both sides by empty shells. You could 
see it in every eye you bothered to look into. Is death really the 
main, overriding fear in life? Perhaps it's loneliness. Every now and 
then he could drop in for a visit couldn't he? See how things were. He 
wouldn't intervene, just watch. Maybe his presence itself would be 
enough. Just for a moment, a second, just to feel it again, just to see 
through those eyes. Adlai stared up at the window and felt his eyes 
glaze over as the code ran through his head. He wasn't far away, which 
was surprising. Off Grid, away from the bright lights. Somewhere 
familiar, from the past. Very familiar. Somewhere dangerous. Adlai 
opened his eyes. 

* 

Babbage's eyes opened. A wave of nausea rolled up and down his body, and
he coughed and tried to sit up. His head hit a wooden lid and he lay 
back down quickly and concentrated on not throwing up. He was back, 
dragged back from somewhere. He blinked his eyes to make sure they were 
still working. Eyes, that's what he'd last seen. Her eyes. She'd taken 
him, pulled him down into the blackness but he'd been brought back. 
"Feeling better sir?" Warmth flooded him as he realised he was no 
longer alone. "Adlai? Where have you been? You had me worried for a 
while there." "I'm not quite sure myself sir - I could see, but I was 
trapped, locked in somehow." "Yes. Well, I know how you feel." Babbage 
lifted his legs and met the same wooden board. He was boxed in. What 
had she done to him? The visit to the captain, it had all been part of 
an elaborate fantasy constructed around him, a music fuelled vision to 
drop his guard and let her in to the deepest parts of his brain. Then 
she'd found what she wanted and left him for dead. Buried him here, to 
be forgotten. But he'd woken up. One minute there had been nothing, the 
next he was back. It was as though something had sparked into his 
brain, powering it up again, getting the cylinders flying. Something 
familiar. He had another flash of memory, something Gretchen had 
dragged up. A lone figure at a bar, someone she was looking for. There 
was more though. She'd said it was his connection to the other side, 
his dreamer. "Dreamer, sir?" "I'm not too sure about that one myself 
Adlai. It's something important though. Something we have to find." 
She'd found what she wanted and left him to the virus. Left him to be 
obliterated by that song, by that woman. He'd looked into her eyes yet 
somehow he was still here. Trapped, but not for long. Babbage reared 
his legs back and kicked out. Light streamed in as the wood shattered 
and broke away. He sat up and looked around at the microphones and 
speakers lining the walls. Gretchen was gone. The bunker was just that 
now, a collection of lifeless cables and stands, the spark had left it. 
"The ghost in the machine." "Sir?" "Just something someone once told 
me. Come, help me make sure this place never hurts anyone again." 
Babbage ducked under the control table and started yanking out cables. 
He was angry. Angry at himself for falling into her trap, but also 
angry that he didn't know what he needed to. Investigation is the 
uncovering of the past, revealing facts obscured by time and 
circumstance. It was in his nature. His purpose was to look backwards, 
recall what had become lost. So why couldn't he remember anything about 
himself? A thick black power cable came free on the fourth attempt and 
he pulled it out and across the room. Madigan had hinted something, 
about his pipe, said he had moved on from that character, more of a 
Holmes now than a Dupin. Were they talking about the same thing? He 
looked across the room and memorised the path to the exit. Not too far, 
twenty paces at most. Easy. The visions Gretchen had shown him, what 
she'd claimed was the past, it had been familiar too. He'd seen it 
before. Why couldn't he remember? Babbage grabbed a microphone stand 
and curled the power cable around it. A large speaker lined the wall 
just within reach. It would do nicely. He had to find that figure in 
the bar. His 'connection'. There was one place that could give him the 
answer. Besides, his report was overdue. He reached back and drove the 
stand and cable deep into the heart of the speaker, which let out a 
metallic yelp before popping and sparking as all life in the compound 
shorted out. 

* 

You forget how real life is, how cold and lonely and cruel when your
eyes are open. You wake up one morning and realise that after last 
night you're alone. What you thought could last forever has ended 
already. You can tell yourself about opportunity, about fish in the 
sea, about making the right decision and not settling for less. It 
doesn't seem to help though. What you're missing most is part of 
yourself, the piece you gave to them, invested in them and hoped to see 
grow. The view of you through their eyes, that aspect of yourself you 
were slowly beginning to appreciate, to love. Some people called that 
happiness. That's what hurts the most. You're left numb, disinterested. 
Back to the same old grind. An empty shell, slowly refilling over time, 
only to pour it all out again. Like a toilet cistern. Cass smiled to 
herself. Listen to you. You'd think the world had ended. She was on 
another train, standing over some old man who kept trying to rub his 
knees up against her, head lost in thoughts of the past, of what might 
have been. She'd thought this one could last, at least for a year or 
two. Stop the longing for other worlds, bring her back into reality and 
the possibilities of life on this side. Stop her lying down every night 
desperately trying to find her dreams. That was all she needed, just a 
little time. Of course, when that year was up the story would change 
again. Still, it wasn't too much to ask, was it? Since the Separation 
she'd been drifting along lost, and had finally stumbled into someone 
who looked like they might be able to understand. Looked like they'd 
had their heart broken, their dreams taken away. Looked like they 
needed her too. It had only lasted a couple of months. She wasn't even 
sure why it had ended. She wasn't one of those girls constantly digging 
away, undermining him until he had no choice but to come crashing down 
into her arms. Asking him what he was thinking. Maybe that would have 
worked. Cass simply got the email at work. Sitting, staring out the 
window at the grey sky again, waiting for a reply to keep her 
entertained and Bang! All over in a rush of words, like he couldn't 
wait to get them out, like he'd found the turn of phrase he needed, 
clutched at it and pulled it down over the cliff with him. Fuck him. 
You still say things like that to yourself, as though you're still 
tough, as though that side of you hadn't died long before this. Died 
when you woke up with that sound in your ears, the pillow wet from the 
river of your dream, or was it simply your tears? There was a tap on 
her shoulder and she turned around to see an old woman talking to her. 
Speaking at her. She smiled apologetically and motioned to her ears. 
I'm deaf you see. That's why I'm standing here alone. That's why this 
life seems to keep failing. That's why I can't seem to be happy 
anymore. The woman muttered to the man sitting down about the youth of 
today and Cass stepped aside to let her pass. People would believe 
anything. There was no guilt, no twinge of conscience. It was useful to 
pretend, to yourself and others. Most of the noise of this world was 
better left unheard. 

* 

The most important lesson Babbage had been taught as a detective was
that of Occam's razor. Do not overcomplicate things. When faced with 
numerous possibilities, the simplest is usually correct. Babbage 
preferred to reject this unconditionally. Leave such thinking to the 
other detectives, the by-the-book boys. After all, where was the fun in 
it? If he was a believer in simplicity he certainly never would have 
found himself here. A musician crashes off Grid. The simplest solution? 
Hookers or drugs. But scratch the surface a little more and what do you 
find? Clones, memory cards, musical viruses, just to name a few. 
Babbage pulled out his notepad and skimmed over things again. It was 
best to be prepared. Besides, it hadn't all fallen into place yet. The 
more things soaked in, the quicker they would make sense. He was 
sitting in the captain's waiting room, doing what it was designed for. 
The secretary was there again, same girl, same dress, same legs. 
Babbage ignored her. No point being rude. She didn't seem to feel the 
same way however, and hadn't taken her eyes off him since he'd 
appeared. Well, isn't that always the way? Show some interest and you 
get nowhere, but start ignoring a girl and you become fascinating. The 
same rules applied in here as out there, with real girls and answering 
machines. He waited for Adlai's reply but got nothing. Adlai wasn't 
here. He always seemed to disappear when it was time to meet the boss. 
Perhaps it was for the best. Babbage was alone with his thoughts and 
the small puddle forming at his feet. That stopped him. Why was a small 
puddle forming at his feet? It wasn't wet here, this was just a 
projection of the captain's office, a construct to allow easy data 
transfer. He could be up to his neck in water off Grid, none of it 
should appear here. He tapped his foot in the puddle and splashed water 
up onto his pants. "The captain will see you now." Babbage ignored her. 
Where had this water come from? Why had they bothered recreating this 
virtually? "Detective Babbage?" His clothes, his belongings, they 
stayed with him to ease the experience, to make the process of 
reporting in seem more natural. There was no need for this. "Detective 
Babbage please!" He looked up and stared at the secretary. She was 
almost on her feet, pushed up from her desk on thin, quivering arms. As 
he looked she relaxed back down into the chair. "The captain will see 
you now." Babbage stood and walked over to the door, not taking his 
eyes off her. She'd reacted to him. Looked almost human. He noticed a 
single hair had escaped her clasp and was drifting down over her eyes. 
As he stepped past he reached down and brushed it back off her face. 
Then he stopped. There was sweat beaded on her forehead. "Babbage!" 
This time it was the captain himself, you couldn't keep him waiting. 
Babbage swung away and continued into the office. "Sir?" "Babbage, take 
a seat." This wasn't making any sense. Why would a virtual answering 
machine react like that? What was the point? So like a human. The 
captain's words registered and Babbage stared at him. "Excuse me, sir?" 
"You heard me, sit down. It's high time we explained some things, and I 
always find bad news much easier to take sitting down." 

* 

"The time has come. Time to rise up against the corporate gatekeepers
who hide behind their walls and segregate those who threaten their true 
power to the darkness outside the Grid. Time to seize control of the 
hardware, let it be shared among the many, rather than the few. Time to 
fight back." Gretchen was standing before them, her voice ringing out 
as she paced back and forth, on her own stage. Adlai didn't mind. It 
made what he had to do easier when she was like this. The others turned 
around and waited for his decision. Hound and Strafe standing together 
as always, fingering the thin blades Madigan had forged for them. 
Madigan himself standing further back, small grin fixed in place, hands 
rubbing each other for comfort. They were a sorry lot. "Very well. We 
begin tonight. You all know the plan." He turned and walked out and 
hoped it looked dramatic. The plan was a simple one. Meet at a point 
right on the border of the Grid, send Hound and Strafe in to open 
things up and divert most of the heavy attention. Then he, Madigan and 
Gretchen would burrow in and head straight for the heart of it. Hack 
the system and bring it all down. That was the plan. At least, that was 
what he'd told them. Adlai wanted one last walk before it was all taken 
away. He knew no matter what happened tonight things would be very 
different from now on. The streets bending off the Boulevard were 
empty, and he was left undisturbed as he wandered through the darkness 
and the rain. What would become of them all after tonight? Would they 
even remember? He walked and let his thoughts follow his feet along the 
road. His eyes were heavy, as they always seemed to be now. He missed 
sleep. Hours spent floating in multiplying realities until you can no 
longer distinguish between work and dreams, or if there had ever been a 
difference between the two. Technology had merged them together and 
confused them. He was tired. Tired of watching it all go wrong, tired 
of planning and scheming and all of it. He just wanted to sit and think 
for a while now. Have a drink. Let the world pass him by while he sat 
and watched. These snippets of memory, the flashes of dialogue, the 
glimpses into his past self, they were why he was here now, sitting at 
the bar. He no longer doubted they had been real, perhaps warped by 
time and memory, but real nonetheless. He was here now. They were... 
somewhere else. "Another one for you, Jack. 'The world of human 
aspiration is largely fictitious, and if we do not understand that, we 
understand nothing about man.'" So perhaps his memories weren't one 
hundred percent accurate. What of it? "Know who said that? No, me 
neither." There was too much emotion tied up in his thoughts, he could 
no longer untangle the two. It was better just to forget. Forget 
yourself. Forget the past. Forget everything. Leave the memories to 
those who can to enjoy them. Look out the window and watch your dreams 
pass by. 

* 

Cass froze as she stared across the bar. That's him isn't it. No need to
even ask the question - that's him. Light a cigarette and think about 
it but the answer won't change. He's been here a while. Maybe you 
didn't recognise him at first, so maybe he decided to do the same. Is 
doing the same. Will do the same from now on. Besides, he's with 
friends. You don't know them and never will. This was where you first 
met him. Kane. Drunk in a bar, surrounded by those too set in their 
ways or simply too downright poor to visit the Boulevard. Here to drink 
their dreams out and away. It served the same purpose. As for you, you 
couldn't go back there, not since the Seperation. There was no catching 
your dreams. It certainly wasn't cheap. There were still those who only 
ever experienced glimpses, perhaps a few minutes on a hired port, 
subsidised, wandering around the Grid heads in the air, dazzled by the 
few freaks who still bothered to hang around general stations. Cheap 
show offs, too scared to wander outside the safety net of the Grid 
where they would be such easy pickings. They were a joke. No, better to 
hang out somewhere like this. Surround yourself with others, all 
fooling yourselves that you're not missing out on anything. He was just 
another one, at the time. You talked about bullshit, fed each other the 
lines about work, life, dreams. He was a musician. Neither of you took 
it too seriously. Then later, the next morning, you were glad to be rid 
of him. He was more evidence of your fall, stains that needed washing 
off. You forgot him. Then again, not much later. It was convenient. 
Just as good, just as forgettable. Then again. He became something of a 
habit. Almost something more, but it had ended in the fumbled, confused 
way these things always seemed to end. She still wasn't sure why. So 
what's the problem now? Now, when you see him here again, looking good, 
looking really good - maybe that's just the drink, 'cause really, he's 
always been just what he's been. A distraction. An interlude. Is it 
just that you haven't figured out what the next act is yet? The sex was 
good though. Primal, like you both needed to step sideways out of the 
drag of life. You both said what you wanted and got it, which is how it 
should be. But then once it happens that way you're both left 
wondering. If him, why not that next guy as well? Why not the one 
after? It's only later - too late - that you realise how rare those 
moments are. Maybe he just hasn't seen you yet. You look different, 
more together. More confident, more refined. Fuck, you just look older. 
Cass took a long drink and stared at the mark the glass left on the 
treated wood of the bar. It's not fair to feel rejection when you're 
still alone. This feeling should be left to others, the ones for whom 
it's supposed to mean something, the ones who have something to lose. 
This program is no longer meant to be running in my system. Moments 
like these are character forming, that's what they used to say. The 
saying was out of date, characters were now formed in other ways, other 
worlds and possibilities. On the way home it started raining, and for a 
moment it was perfect, just like the Boulevard. But then a stray cat 
wandered up close to her leg, something that would never happen so 
innocently out there. She bent down to stroke it but it scampered away. 


* 

Babbage sat and kept very still. He had that feeling again, when you
know something big is about to hit you and all you can do is wait and 
try to ride it out. "We've been monitoring your progress, Charles, and 
I must admit I've been rather impressed." Charles? That was a first. 
And compliments. This was going to be bad, just get it over with. "The 
answers will come, just be patient. Allow me to explain." Babbage sat 
in his seat and quietly dripped. "You know in the past we've made an 
effort to keep things very ... regimented here, when you visit us. Give 
off the impression of a controlled environment. Professional. Virtual. 
Take Wendy for example." The captain gestured to the door. "Always the 
same dress, always the same lines. Just like a machine. Of course, we 
rely somewhat on prior expectations. You provide them, we try and live 
up to them." The water pooling at his feet seemed to drop sharply in 
temperature. Here it comes. "The end result is that you believe this to 
be a virtual environment. The flipside being that outside of here is 
reality. The interesting question is that for someone of your... 
upbringing, shall we say? For someone like you, what constitutes 
reality anyway?" Babbage tapped his foot in the puddle and finally 
looked up. "This is real, all of this." It wasn't a question. "Correct. 
These little side trips of yours, ports out of the city into my office. 
They've been seen as small slices of the virtual in a complicated 
reality, when the truth is exactly the reverse." It was true, he felt 
that uncomfortable surge up his spine that always appeared when the 
veil had been ripped back. "You can accept this because you already 
knew it to be true. You've glimpsed the history of your virtual 
universe, you've seen what some users are capable of within its limits. 
Were capable of, I should say. We'd like to think we snuffed out such 
threats a long time ago. Obviously such troublemakers still appear once 
in a while, which is where you come in handy." "To hunt them for you." 
"Precisely Charles. You have a knack for finding the truth, no matter 
how hidden or twisted it may be. It's increasingly difficult to find 
men like you these days. We simply don't design them anymore." Design. 
He was code, a program used to chase down rogue users in a virtual 
universe for his masters out here in reality. He was nothing more than 
software. "Come come, Babbage, don't be so hard on yourself. Many would 
disagree with your basic assumptions, perhaps most of all the man who 
designed you in the first place. The Boulevard is a far more 
interesting place these days than anywhere off it. Everyone spends at 
least a few hours each day under its spell. Only the old guard like 
myself still cling to the clear separation between it and the world 
outside anymore. To be honest I can see their point, I just have a hard 
time changing definitions at this age. Call me stubborn." The man who 
designed me? Babbage caught a glimpse again, a flash of a hunched 
figure in a bar. "Why?" "Why are we telling you all this now? As I 
said, you knew all of this already, really, you just couldn't bring 
yourself to face the facts. We're all stubborn in our own little ways. 
This is the push off the cliff needed before the final meeting. You're 
getting close to our goal. Understanding could make the difference 
between success and failure." Babbage dropped his head and stared at 
his feet. What was he seeing, really? Could any sense be trusted 
anymore? A flash of intuition ran through him. "The Grid. This is about 
the Grid. You're worried about it." The captain leant forward and 
rested his hands very precisely on the desk in front of him. "You see 
this, this is what concerns me. I find these moments very disturbing 
Babbage. Independent thought. Connections made, links felt. Such 
talents are the domain of conscious beings, Babbage. Of course such 
moments are precisely why you are so useful to us. You survive because 
of this usefulness Babbage, never forget that." For a cold moment the 
captain stared at Babbage, stared into him, at all the future 
possibilities. "Yes, this is about the Grid. We all have bosses, 
Babbage, those who have power over us. These bosses of mine become 
concerned when something they can't control threatens their existence. 
That's where you come in." 

* 

Cass crouched on the rooftop and stared coldly at the door to the bar.
She'd been there for minutes, hours, days. She was waiting for 
something. Figures had wandered in and out of the bar, but it wasn't 
yet time. She could wait as long as it took. Finally someone came out 
and she felt her body wake up. A single male, youngish, hunched 
shoulders against the rain. Stumbling a little, maybe exaggerating it. 
Doesn't look around, just heads straight east, towards the Grid, 
oblivious to all around him. Cass waited and watched. This bait would 
be taken, she could feel it. The air vibrated around her as if someone 
had grabbed the world and pulled it taut, flicked it with their 
fingernail to make it hum. The figure in the street slowed and then 
stopped, staring off to his left at the dark alley leading away from 
the Boulevard. He began to back away. This was it. Cass leapt across to 
the next building, then up to the nearest power line and slid across 
the street on it. She hit the next roof running and leaned over to look 
down into the alley. There was nothing. The man had backed right up 
against the far side of the street, a featureless brick building 
holding him up. His face was twisted into a mask of terror and panic. 
He crept slowly across the wall until his fingers found the edge of a 
windowsill, then turned and pulled himself up quickly. There were no 
stumbles now. He was pushed back against the wall, hands splayed 
backwards, trying to disappear into the brick itself, eyes staring down 
at the street below him. Cass scanned again but there was nothing. Just 
that familiar vibration in the air. Same as earlier, same as with 
Quarters. She was here, she was close, but Cass couldn't sense her. 
There was a way inside it, there had to be. As soon as Cass had the 
thought she knew what the answer was. The blade leapt up into her hand. 
She didn't bother with the power lines this time, just jumped the two 
storeys down to the street below, flew out from the rooftop to land 
lightly on her feet just in front of the terrified man. Then two more 
steps and she was beside him, blade against his throat. The man's eyes 
didn't move from the street below. She let the blade dig in. The world 
around her warped, shifted two feet to the left. She looked down at her 
hands and they were someone else's, a man's - the man's - and beyond 
them, underneath them, the street was moving. She looked closer and 
shrank back against the wall as it became clear. The street was covered 
in rats, swarms of them, crawling on top of one another, burying each 
other in their eagerness to reach him. To reach you. They were hungry. 
Their black fur was wet from the rain and sticky with blood, teeth and 
claws dripping with it, fighting each other, pilling on top of each 
other and getting ever higher on the wall. Just another foot now. The 
first one made it to the narrow ledge and he kicked out at it. They 
were enormous, at least a foot and a half long, heavy bodied. Moments 
later another came, then another. He couldn't knock them all back down 
and felt the first diseased fangs sink into his ankle. The pain pushed 
him further back against the wall, then the second and third bites 
dropped him, face first, into the slathering pile. He felt hungry 
mouths chew into his cheeks. The blade clattered down onto the street 
and suddenly the world around her was clear. Cass was on her knees, 
sucking in air, hands covering her face. She looked up at the street 
around her but it was empty. Everything had gone. The man had gone. 
Taken. Taken by her, by the vision that she was there to face, that 
she'd been able to do nothing about. Cass felt out to the blade and 
wrapped her fingers around its hilt. There was no blood on the blade, 
and it hummed with hunger. It wanted to feed. Well, there was only one 
thing for it now. They would feed again soon. She strode up to the bar 
door and pushed it open. 

* 

"We're not unaccustomed to dealing with threats from the outside. From
the day the first tower of the Grid rose up there have been those who 
would bring it down. Some see the organization of power as inherently 
evil, despite the good it does. Fortunately there have always been 
those who would fight on our side, if only for personal gain. "Virus 
attacks have occurred in the past too. Yes, Babbage that's what this 
is, make no mistake. The victims you've stumbled across are casualties 
in a war waged against the Grid. It's only a matter of time before the 
focus turns and sharpens. The reason none of these attacks have been 
successful in the past is that we have always been willing to fight 
back, to raise the stakes. We stay one step ahead. "Of course, lately 
things have become more difficult. The talents we employed have left, 
the machines have slowed. We are vulnerable Babbage. We need your 
help." Babbage stared at the man in front of him, leaning forwards, 
suddenly speaking of the Grid as a part of him. For a moment he 
wondered when that line had been crossed, when the man outside had 
become another part of the great machine. He was no longer an 
individual. Perhaps he would be better off on the other side of the 
world, the side of dreams and possibility. At least he could still 
dream himself. "I have my own reasons for doing this. Let's just say 
our goals share a common path." "Of course, of course. You've seen 
glimpses already, you need to know more. That drive is your strength, 
Babbage, we rely on such characteristics. Such predictability. It is 
rare these days." He hadn't said a thing but they knew it all. Knew of 
the visions he'd seen, knew of the bar and the man slumped against it 
who somehow sat at the centre of this all. Of course they knew it all. 
He wondered if they were capable of understanding. "Think of yourself 
as bait Babbage, nothing more. We need to draw this virus out to 
cleanse it completely. Then we can cauterise and move on. Perform your 
duty and leave the answers to us." Babbage found himself on his feet 
and realised he'd been dismissed. He turned and walked out of the 
office, knowing he'd never see it again. "The search for understanding 
doesn't always lead where you might expect, Babbage. Never forget what 
you are." Was that a friendly piece of advice or a warning? He decided 
he no longer cared. The office door swung slowly shut behind him and he 
was left staring at the stark waiting room. The secretary sat primly, 
clattering away on the ancient typewriter. He felt he should say 
something, make a final statement to sum up the years he'd spent here. 
Had it been years, or only moments? It didn't matter, nothing here did. 
Briefly he wondered if they'd even remember him. He leant down, grabbed 
her chin and kissed her roughly on the lips. A moment later he was on 
his way out. His lips were warm, and the office behind him had fallen 
silent. 

* 

When it had first started happening regularly, when the nightmares first
began to take hold, his parents had been worried. They couldn't help 
but notice it. He'd wake up silently screaming, soaked in sweat, then 
pad into their room and crawl into the warmth between them. The safety. 
Who could protect you from the horrors of the night better than the two 
who brought you into this world? Because his parents were who they were 
it wasn't long before doctors were involved, then psychiatrists. He 
remembered some of the tests. They were fun. You could see where they 
were trying to go and you tried to give the right answers. Make the 
decisions easier for everyone. He knew even then they couldn't help. 
One of the doctors had left the door slightly open when addressing his 
mother. Adlai had memorised the words. He had, "a psychological 
predisposition to thin boundaries, arising from feelings of lack of 
control, common in children of his age. A tendency towards 
schizophrenia." His mother had leant back on the desk, her hand to her 
mouth. The nightmares didn't go away, he just stopped fighting them. 
Started looking into them, investigating them. They were powerful 
things, expanding your imagination and sensitivity, opening up other 
worlds and ideas. In only a few more years he could open up those 
worlds for real. No schizophrenia had ever developed, at least, none 
that he was aware of. His marks were good, he had no social problems, 
no social life at all really, so his parents saw nothing obvious to 
worry about and pushed it back into the attic of their minds. He was 
less sure, but let it ride. Considering his later work it was probably 
something he should have thought more about. It could be said, looking 
back, that instead of confronting his own problems he'd forced every 
other user into a world of multiple personalities. Broke down the 
boundaries between fantasy and reality, waking and dreaming, sexuality 
and aggression. It was what people wanted. Besides, by that time the 
world had completely lost its marbles. "Do it." Hound cut the blade 
directly into the wall of the building, pulled it around in a rough 
circle and kicked the hole clear. They crowded their heads in and 
stared into the darkness. "Ok, onwards." Gretchen was driving them on 
as always. Adlai paced behind them, keeping up but always a few steps 
back. Let them think of it as cowardice. Pretty soon it wouldn't matter 
what they thought. They climbed through and headed for the next wall, 
where Strafe this time began cutting, Hound standing watch on his 
shoulder. There was a way to go yet before they were inside the walls, 
but this was the only option they had. Approaching the Grid from any of 
the alleys, even from the Boulevard itself, would be fruitless. The 
lights would just get further away as they approached. No, the only way 
back in was through the walls. There had been no alarm triggered, at 
least no sign of one yet. Madigan still flinched with each cut, and 
examined the blades carefully after each successful breach, looking for 
some sign of damage or corruption. He seemed more surprised than anyone 
that they were holding up so well. They were spotless. Gretchen was 
impatient, pushing them to hurry. It was more than mere nerves for her 
though, it was an addict's hunger, driving her on towards what she saw 
as the ultimate power. Three walls later and they were right on the 
edge of it. Adlai could feel them closing in, but the others showed no 
sign of awareness. One more wall was all it would take. Hound cut 
through and dove forwards, almost in one move. The beam meant for his 
chest burnt harmlessly past them and melted the far wall. Adlai looked 
up from where he found himself on the floor and saw Strafe and Hound 
force their way through into the darkness, firing as they went. They 
disappeared then, driving the security forces back and leading them 
away. It was the last Adlai saw of them. He never did find out what had 
happened to them. They must have been caught. Had to have been. 
Whatever became of them, the ploy had worked. Madigan, Gretchen and 
himself had been left unmolested, able to walk straight in under the 
walls, straight to the heart of the Grid, where everything was 
possible. This drink in front of him, he could take it up again, drink 
it, put it down and wait for it to be refilled. Or light a cigarette 
and throw it against the wall. Or push himself up and leave the bar, go 
out into the rain and darkness and find something real to occupy his 
time. Something more than mere memories and regrets. These were all 
possibilities. Some were just more likely than others. 

* 

The door swung slowly open and Cass was left staring at an empty hotel
room. Single bed, grey TV facing it. All the usual misery and 
loneliness seeping in through the walls. There was a hint of muzak in 
the air, as if an elevator was left stuck on her floor. The tune was 
familiar, tickling the back of her ears, almost a lullaby. There was 
someone on the bed now. Her niece, Sally. Sitting there happily, 
swinging her legs in the air. Looking up at her now. She knew she was 
dreaming. Sally was dead, drowned in the accident. Her screams had 
haunted Cass' sleep for years. Why was she here? Cass tried to step 
into the room but something held her back, stopped her legs from 
following orders. Sally could see the problem. She hopped down from the 
bed and walked over, clasped Cass' hand in hers and smiled as she 
dragged her inside. Now she was in bed. The music was louder, or was it 
just the darkness of the room that gave this illusion, this power to 
the sound? Cass opened her eyes. She was naked, curled on her side. 
She'd woken from a dream, a dream where her niece had come back from 
the dead to show her something, to reassure her perhaps. There hadn't 
been any malice. There was someone's hand in hers, someone's arm over 
her shoulder. It felt warm and right. It felt like the last few minutes 
of sleep before a working day. The dread was already building. If she 
stayed here, not thinking, just lying in the warmth, she could be 
happy. The music had gained in volume again. It was loud enough to wake 
you, though the figure next to her didn't stir. Maybe it was just in 
her head, just her own soundtrack. She couldn't remember if she was 
supposed to be able to hear or not. She had to look, had to see who it 
was. It felt like him, though that was impossible. Cass lifted her head 
but couldn't turn. The music was rising again, becoming painful now, 
throbbing in her ears. It had to be leaking out of her head, pouring 
back out of her ears and down on to the pillow. It had to wake whoever 
it was. Her neck was frozen in place. The dream didn't want her to see, 
didn't want it to end. She knew as soon as she looked it would be over, 
but still she had to. She closed her eyes and concentrated. There was 
an audible crack as she finally snapped her head around. The music 
vanished and she was left alone in bed, properly awake now, staring 
down at an empty pillow. Maybe he was scared too. Maybe it had been his 
dream she'd lain with, been with. Maybe they could still hold something 
like that together in the dark, his dream and her. Maybe that could be 
enough. Cass lay her head back down on the pillow and closed her eyes, 
waiting to be taken away. 

* 

This was a one way trip, the captain had as good as admitted it. He was
sending him out to lure out the virus, and once that was done... well, 
after that the plans all became a little hazy. Nevertheless Babbage 
walked along the middle of the street with a spring in his step. "It's 
not so bad is it, Adlai? We have to embrace our curiosity, our 
inquisitiveness, forget about the fears and doubts that hold us back. 
Some will try and tell you they are there as warning signs, there to 
keep you from danger. It's literally the oldest story in the book. It 
takes the serpent in the garden of Eden to encourage Eve's curiosity, 
to convince her to eat from the tree of knowledge." "That didn't end 
particularly well for Eve though did it sir?" "Exactly my point Adlai, 
exactly my point. The writers use the story of Eve to warn you against 
following your curiosity, against breaking rules. Do not ask difficult 
questions, they say, for they will only lead to trouble. And troubling 
answers. Those in power have always acted this way. Which begs the 
question..." "Why are we being encouraged now?" "Right! Why now? And 
the answer?" Babbage stared down at the ripples in the road his feet 
made as they trudged through the rain. Everything around him seemed 
sharper, more detailed, more real. "Because we are expendable?" 
"Perhaps, perhaps. I get the feeling most people are expendable in 
their eyes, no matter what side of this divide they talk about they're 
on. This reality divide." "Because we are useful then?" "Part of it. 
Not the answer as such, but a facet of it. We have our talents." "What 
then?" "Perhaps they are not so afraid of what we might find. They seem 
to already know all about it, or at least think they do. What was it 
the captain told us?" "Uh, something about understanding not always 
leading somewhere." "The search for understanding does not always lead 
where you might expect. Particularly poetic for a man of his leanings, 
if we can describe him that way, and I think that we can." Babbage had 
his pipe out now and began puffing on it contentedly, a slight smile on 
his face. There was something very comforting in things from the past. 
"And where does that leave us? An old piece of software and his 
somewhat invisible intellectual companion?" The realisation, the words, 
didn't drag at him. He was happy with what he was. "It's times like 
these I take comfort in Madigan's words. 'One mustn't dehumanise those 
with the power of consciousness.'" They walked along, lost in their own 
thoughts. The neon sign for the bar reached out to them through the 
rain. "Besides, Adlai, the more I learn about the world, the less I 
think such questions matter. We all find out in the end." He tucked his 
pipe back into his coat and jerked his collar up around his neck. It 
was time. "Now let's have a drink." 

* 

He missed sleep. Crawling into a cold bed, slowly feeling the heat
radiate out from your foetal ball, then edging out into other, 
unexplored areas and repeating the trick. Changing the world around 
you, making it warm and comfortable, a suitable theatre for the dreams 
to come. None of it was necessary now. The technology was there to 
simply lie back and let the field grab your consciousness by the hand 
and lead it away. Adlai preferred tradition, believed that every step 
taken was a necessary one. You don't skip ahead to the good stuff 
without sacrificing something. People, users, were often left wondering 
why their dreams had become so predictable. The fact was you had to 
force feed most of them. Very few ever came up with something original, 
ever showed the wherewithal to break out on their own. And then there 
were those you just had to point in the right direction. People weren't 
put together like they used to be. Take himself. In the past a great 
war or pestilence would have culled a weak man like him from existence. 
Instead he had thrived. Become powerful. Become a God in VR, a leader 
in a universal session of psychoanalysis. He had changed people. He had 
done some good. When he first started he'd write everything down, 
capture it in his notebook so that no angle, no shimmer was lost. He 
knew he could be vague, that his memory was a sieve. A misleading 
analogy, really. His memory was an ocean, when new drops were added 
they simply dissolved away, lost in its sheer size. So he wrote things 
down, constructed little paper boats for them to float on the surface. 
In time this led to more confusion. You weren't meant to remember all 
the details, there was a good reason you used to forget. Leave them 
there on the surface and they begin to bump into each other, to bustle 
and fight, force each other under. Better to let them sink on their 
own. If they become important later you dredge them up, like a dream. 
Leave the surface clear, clean and sharp. Glassy. Like this window. He 
had hesitated for a moment, they all had, when faced with the darkness. 
Gretchen had been the first in, and they'd had to hurry to keep up once 
she'd stepped through. They didn't really know where they were going, 
but none of them could afford to get left behind. The sounds of 
fighting had faded off into the distance. Strafe and Hound would buy 
them a few minutes at least, but still they had to hurry. There had to 
be a logical way in towards the centre, probably more than one, they 
just had to keep going until they stumbled onto it. Madigan found the 
door. He cracked it open and let the light from the other side leap 
through. Through it was a waiting room of some sort, a large, well 
furnished one with comfortable chairs and couches arranged around its 
walls. Adlai broke the silence. "Well, at least they have taste." 
Gretchen pushed past him then and strode into the room, looking around 
and daring anyone to come out to challenge her. Adlai was just about to 
follow when he felt a tug on his arm. "You don't really need me 
anymore, do you?" Madigan's face was still in shadow, but Adlai could 
imagine the expression. A small, sheepish smile, with a glint in the 
eye that was bit too knowing. "No, I suppose not." "I doubt we'll meet 
again." Adlai gently pulled his arm free and walked forwards into the 
room. It was for the best. Perhaps he could make something of himself 
in the twisting streets off-Grid. "One never knows out here. Take care 
of yourself." "Oh, I always do." With that he was gone, back into the 
shadows, back through the walls to the relative safety of the wet, dark 
streets that he knew. Rainwater washed over the outside of the window 
and Adlai allowed himself to think of Madigan again for the first time 
in he didn't know how long. He must still be out there, stranded, 
scratching an existence out with his knowledge and his tools. He hoped 
he didn't regret turning back. Perhaps he was lucky and simply didn't 
remember. Adlai gulped the last of his drink down and waited for the 
next. Memory is the most dangerous thing of all. 

* 

She tried not to be bothered by thoughts of what he was doing now, who
he was doing now, but they kept scratching at her. She'd lie in bed, 
hot despite the cold night air, unable to sleep, unable to dream, the 
field at her bedhead alive but not taking her anywhere. Not even 
keeping these unwelcome thoughts out. He would be out at a gig, 
watching the giant screen, the lights burning back and forth across the 
audience. He'd see faces he liked the look of, eyes that shone with 
availability. They'd all find their way over to him. He wasn't even 
that good looking. She could find someone much better. There was just 
that something in him, something that others saw, that you couldn't 
help but see, that attracted you and dragged you in. He took advantage 
of it. None of this should bother you. Things ended for a reason. There 
is still a world of possibility out there for you to dive into 
tomorrow. Now go to sleep. It was no good. There was a vast emptiness 
in her stomach, her chest, her mind. She didn't even want to find her 
dreams anymore, just forget reality. He'd be fucking someone else now. 
Jesus, so what? There was a light, constant rain playing across the 
roof and a chill in the air. It almost felt familiar. She had to go. 
Cass slipped into jeans and a loose sweater, didn't bother looking at 
herself in the mirror, slammed the door behind her on the way out. 
Maybe just a walk. Wallow in self-pity for a while, enjoy it. At least 
you feel something. His friends were arseholes, that was one thing. 
Spent their time trying to one- up each other, attacking each other 
behind a thin veil of humour. Drinking too much, all of them unhappy. 
He was unhappy too. Lost. Perhaps that was what first attracted her to 
him. He looked wounded, vulnerable. The split had effected them all, 
even those who only visited the Boulevard intermittently. She realised 
later it was all part of the game. He wasn't vulnerable at all. Behind 
those eyes was a solid brick wall, an impenetrable fortress. She wasn't 
invited in. She'd peek at him when they were kissing, or when his body 
tensed just before release, hoping to see something light up in there. 
But he was always looking away, eyes unfocused, and what she could see 
told her nothing. His eyes were dead. She hoped her eyes didn't look 
the same way. Back when the field would lead her away, when she spent 
her nights roaming the streets of the Boulevard, when she still 
remembered glimpses of the dreams which filled her nights, she hadn't 
needed anyone else. Her life was complete on the other side of night, 
she needn't worry about this one. Since the Separation, since her 
nights had been thrown back into reality, since her dreams had escaped 
her, love was the only thing she'd found worth pursuing. That was 
another reason to end it. He was never going to be in the same place. 
The rain felt good. She'd been walking with her head down, staring at 
her feet and letting her thoughts guide them along. She wasn't sure how 
long for. Where was she anyway? The dark streets around her were 
unfamiliar. There was something about them though - maybe she'd only 
ever seen this part during the day. There was one building lit up on 
the corner. A bar. Well, that would do. Have a drink before wandering 
home. If nothing else it will settle you down. Cass walked up to the 
door and tried to peer in through the windows. Covered in grime. Funny, 
she hadn't noticed this place before. One more of those secret little 
bars that seemed to pop up when no-one was looking. She shrugged and 
shouldered the door open. 

* 

If Gretchen had noticed that Madigan was no longer with them, she gave
no sign. She was busy trying doors, peering down corridors, hoping to 
stumble onto the core. Adlai watched for a few moments, then walked 
past her straight down the middle of the room. He could feel the power 
emanating out from the end of the room. It was almost a heat, the air 
itself seemed thicker, denser. She should have been able to sense it 
herself, but she was too far gone by now. He pulled open the door and 
immediately took a step back. It was beautiful. The room was enormous, 
server after server lined up, all linked into the one display that took 
up the entire far wall, little lights blinking on and off as traffic 
moved in and out through its memory banks. Gretchen pushed past him and 
hurried to the machines themselves, feeling their heat and power, a 
wrapt expression on her face. Adlai just stood there and watched the 
millions of dreams flicker in and out of life. He had to do it for 
them. He had to act to ensure this place became more than just a 
playground. You can't have reality without dreams, and you can't have 
dreams if you live in a reality where every wish comes true. Life needs 
to be dark in order to be realistic. Dreams have a right to their own 
lives, their own tests, their own goals and fears and nightmares. He 
had thought it was going to be hard, but when Gretchen yanked out a 
cable and the first bank of lights went out, all those dreams and lives 
ended, it was the easiest thing in the world. He reached into his coat, 
pulled out the gun he had hidden there and shot her in the spine. Adlai 
dropped the gun and slumped down onto the floor. Gretchen had collapsed 
in a heap and lay twitching on the ground, her eyes staring straight at 
him. Eventually he pulled his eyes from her body, back up to the wall 
of lights still flickering on and off. There was still work to do. You 
can't have heroes without villains, and they're not easy to find. 
Sometimes they have to be made. In Gretchen's words you have to break a 
few eggs. Break people down. Take their dreams and squeeze them, crush 
them together and rip them apart in front of their eyes. Give them a 
reason to fight back. That's what God did with Lucifer. Created the 
nemesis he needed then stepped back to watch the show. Let others 
perform the heroics. Sat in a bar and smoked cigarettes. "Got a light 
there, buddy?" The bartender held one out immediately, but Adlai wasn't 
looking at him. He was watching his reflection in the window, and the 
figure standing directly behind him. It was about time. Fear worked 
because it made us confront our own non-being. It gave us a happy 
thrill when the story ended and we were still there, outside its power. 
Our emotions triggered and then tamed by our reason. He'd designed this 
entire universe to confront death. He was no longer even curious about 
it, let alone scared. He knew the answers already, or rather, the lack 
of them. The fact is, no matter what you try to confront it flits away 
from you. Dances away to remain outside your field of reason. Fear is 
the ultimate religious experience. To know it is to confront everything 
that makes life what it is. To know God. The problem is that 
understanding this makes it all fade back away. When he felt the hand 
on his shoulder he knew there was no point even turning around. 

* 

Babbage pushed open the door and glanced around. It seemed harmless
enough, if a little dark. There were a few figures scattered around the 
dark corners, but they seemed to fade into the background when you 
tried to pick anyone out. The only one with any presence was the 
hunched figure at the bar, staring out the window. Babbage walked 
slowly towards him. The door slammed closed behind him with a dull boom 
but there was no reaction, not even a raising of eyes. Usually he made 
something of an impression, but not in this place. This was old, you 
could feel it in the air, old beyond years. Everything here had been 
seen before. "Perhaps I'm fading out of sight like yourself, Adlai." 
There was no answer and Babbage's feet slowed. He was alone here, like 
he had been in the captain's office. What did that mean? Was this place 
no longer part of the virtual world he lived in? Had he stepped through 
the divide? He felt a tingle at the base of his spine as something 
inside slowly awakened. The bar. The figure at the bar still had his 
back to him but there was something in the set of the shoulders now, an 
awareness. Babbage walked closer, somehow finding each step harder than 
the last, his feet heavier with each slow stride. The bartender stood 
off to one side, in a seeming daze, eyes glazed over and staring out 
over Babbage's shoulder, out to nothing. Lost in his own world. The 
tingle in his spine moved north. Just a few more steps. He was 
struggling to breathe now as every muscle in his body tensed. His head 
roared with a sudden rush of blood. He was directly behind the figure. 
Over one shoulder was the window, a small dark square pin-pricked with 
rain. The light from the bar seemed to avoid its surface altogether, 
only certain images reflected back crystal clear. He saw himself 
standing directly behind a familiar face. It was  older, more drawn, 
less innocent perhaps, but the same face nonetheless. Babbage lifted 
his hand and placed it on Adlai's shoulder. The world disappeared and 
all was black. The next thing he was aware of was music. The same 
music, note after note running up through his blood, forcing itself 
around and out of his body, taking over every cell. He felt his eyes 
open. He was in a forest, morning sunlight trickling down through a 
cascade of leaves, ending up as a vague golden glow in the air. There 
was a smooth lake to his left, glinting in the sun. It was familiar. 
He'd seen this place before, in a nightmare, when the music had taken 
control of him last time. When he'd looked around and- Babbage spun to 
his left and saw the young girl staring at him. She smiled once, almost 
naturally, and ran off giggling. He knew he had to follow her. "You 
know what this is, you know this is all brought on by the virus. It 
doesn't make it easier, but remember it nonetheless. Control your 
fear." Babbage opened his mouth but couldn't reply. It was Adlai's 
voice. He wasn't alone. He was off after the girl, chasing her small 
white dress through the trees. His brain wouldn't allow room for 
anything but the chase and the music, the music that gained in volume 
every step. "Almost. What you dream of as Adlai is a reflection of me 
as I once was, as I could have been. A dream of a dream. Some would 
call the ability to dream the first sign of intelligence. Perhaps this 
universe will be worth saving after all." The voice and the music 
fought each other in his head, battling for room. He stumbled on after 
the girl but was losing ground. It didn't matter, she only had to lead 
him. Lead him to her. "You remember. She underestimated you, 
underestimated both of us, that's always been her weakness. You were 
just a vessel, a delivery boy for her. Always far too simple minded, 
that girl." Somehow he had caught up with the girl, perhaps she had 
waited for him. She smiled again, not so friendly this time, and 
disappeared around another corner. He knew what would be there. He 
fought to keep the voice in his head, keep his thoughts in motion. He 
turned the corner and saw the woman standing there, waiting for him. 
Every cell froze, The music got louder still, blasting all 
consciousness away as the grey skinned woman moved towards him, smiling 
grimly, holding him in her eyes. A final whisper of the voice drifted 
though him. "Hang on." 

* 

Cass stood in the darkness of the bar and waited for it to happen.
Nothing. No attack, no danger, no instinctive reaction. Just a dingy 
old room, not a single threat here. It was just a bar. Empty, except 
for the bartender - a clone, even from this distance - and a lone man 
leaning forward on his stool, head down, staring at his glass. Neither 
of them had noticed her enter. No, there was another there as well. 
Another man behind the one at the bar. The same figure she'd tracked 
here, standing with his hand on the man's shoulder. Take them. Take 
them and drain them and find the answers later. She took a step towards 
them and stopped. Her senses held her back. There was something in the 
air, and energy radiating out from them, a power. Not a threat, more of 
a warning. Cass could feel her heart beating faster, the adrenaline 
from the kill and the possibility of more surging up her spine. The 
blade leap out into her hand, pulling her towards them, but she held 
back. There was movement behind her as the door swung open. Cass jumped 
and spun in the air, flipping herself to land on a thick roof beam 
above the door. Strike when they walk underneath you. The curved blade 
waited just above the sill of the door, but froze as the figure beneath 
walked through and into the dim light. Something in the shape of the 
body made her pause. The hair, the slope of the shoulders. It's... A 
crash of glass at the bar snapped her attention away and back to the 
bar. There was something wrong. She dropped to the floor and strode 
towards the bar, forgetting entirely the new entry. It was obviously no 
threat. The air had changed. It was warmer, heavier, more active. It 
wasn't music or sound this time, it was something else. The air felt 
alive. She could feel the edge of the blade slice through it as she 
moved across the darkness. There were just the two figures, nothing had 
changed, but the air around them positively hummed with energy. Cass 
was almost level with them now. Instinct told her to close her eyes and 
suddenly she saw it. Her. The woman who took Quarters, the one she's 
seen on the street, the mother of all those nightmares. The virus. She 
was standing between the two figures, eyes locked on the man at the 
bar, glimmering in the air like an aura, like a ghost. Cass didn't need 
to think. In three strides she was there, blade humming as it swept 
through the air. None of them reacted, not even when it brushed over 
the seated man, cut straight through the woman's shroud and bit deep 
into the lone figure's neck. A shift and the woman was standing 
directly in front of her, eyes locked into hers, slowly advancing over 
the cold grass. There was no expression on her face, just a pure hate 
filling her eyes. She loomed closer, determined to feed until any last 
spark of life or consciousness was gone and forgotten. At the last 
moment Cass forced her legs - or were they his legs - to buckle and 
rolled onto the ground. The woman passed over the sprawled figure and 
continued past. She was lying on the grass. They were lying on the 
grass. The woman halted her charge and turned slowly, eyes taking on 
another glint of fury. "How did you do that?" Cass could feel the voice 
pierce her brain like a shard of ice. The air itself was thick with 
noise, music rushing over her shoulders as she slowly got to her feet. 
"Answer me!" It was as if the voice itself was cloaked in other sounds, 
other layers. Cass could only just pick it out from the wash. She knew 
she didn't want to pick up any of the other voices. She took a breath 
and stared at the virus. There wasn't that much to her, really. More an 
aura than a physical presence. Well, we can fix that. The blade leapt 
into her hand and she waited silently to feel her next move. The 
woman's eyes travelled down to her hands and the glint in her eyes 
flickered, weakened. The air around her pulsed in exhalation. "Madigan. 
I should have known he'd side with you." Her shoulders sagged. Suddenly 
she was just an old woman. A moment later there was another alteration, 
in the air around them, another note joining the cacophony. Cass felt 
the hackles on her neck rise. Something was wrong. "Always 
underestimating others, Adlai, that's your problem. Always have been, 
hmm? Too damned arrogant. You think you're the only one capable of 
turning traitor?" The air around Cass' head suddenly ripped open and a 
wall of sound rammed into her ears. She fell to her knees from the 
shock of it. Her inner ear was humming, vibrating with wave after wave 
of noise which she couldn't keep out. Her entire consciousness was 
forced out of her head, washed away as the music came in and filled her 
brain to the brim. "You're not the only one with powerful friends, and 
you're not the only one with the power to tap into the Grid's hardware. 
Not anymore." Cass saw the blade drop from her hands and bounce away, 
but couldn't hear it. She couldn't hear anything but the music and the 
lone voice winding in and out of it. "Very clever of you, really, to 
find this assassin to take your place. Very like you. You're used to 
others taking the fall." Cass felt a hand on her shoulder, then a 
wrenching separation as the world moved three feet to the left. She was 
still there in the forest, still drowning in the whirlpool of music, 
but she was no longer alone. Beside her crouched the lone figure from 
the alley. He stared at her with eyes brimming, tears forced out by the 
noise filling his head. She turned back to face the woman, to face the 
end, and felt a hand close around hers. 

* 

Like all life changing moments the rest was easy. He diverted all the
traffic in on itself, quarantined the servers and created the great 
chasm between this world and the so-called real one outside. Suddenly 
users everywhere found themselves split, one part of them continuing on 
down the Boulevard, one side lost and drifting back in reality. 
Permanently separated. Those like Madigan and Gretchen who had spent 
too much time here, who knew no other reality, were stranded forever. 
He told himself they wanted it to be this way. As he walked back out of 
the room, sealing it forever, he noticed Gretchen's body had gone. She 
must have dragged herself clear. You had to give it to her, she was 
driven. He knew he'd see her again. She'd make sure of that. Only he 
knew the one place both worlds could still meet. He figured he was due 
a rest, some time to sit and think and watch his work develop. Besides, 
he could do with a drink. If emotion is a by-product of thought, if 
they walk hand in hand through your mind, in turns leading each other 
down new paths, opening up new possibilities, then it should come as no 
surprise that machines can feel. Adlai had always accepted this as a 
given. You can't have one without the other. Even in the very early 
days, when there was no direct link between him and his computer, when 
it was manual rather than virtual, when they sat opposite each other 
desperately trying to communicate effectively, you could feel the 
humanity of them. Just think of how many times you slammed your fist 
against the screen, throttled the monitor and cursed the latest 
frustrating hiccup. We all blame others for our mistakes. Adlai had 
been shocked to realise very few people shared, or even understood his 
belief. His faith. Why was it natural for his parents to humanise God, 
to have this unspoken connection with the definitively foreign being, 
yet class his belief as strange? What about animals, pets? Adlai grew 
up with kids whose best friends weren't human. The only time he 
remembered seeing his father cry was while he buried the family dog in 
the back yard. No-one understood the next natural step, so he kept his 
mouth shut. Kept it shut and continued to learn, to program and grow. 
To become so intertwined with his companion that they could create 
universes together. Give them feelings and dreams are not far behind. 
Desires, fears. It was this understanding that gave Adlai the edge over 
all the others. The ability to open up possibilities for everyone, not 
just the human users but the machines themselves. Let the dreams come 
and dream themselves. Of course not all feelings are good, or useful. 
Take jealousy. The feeling when you lie alone at night picturing 
possibility, scratching at the scab until it bleeds again, placing 
those you think you love in situations you dread. Rolling across the 
bed and transferring one more weakness of your own onto them, blaming 
them for the feeling of pity that you soak in. Eventually this gives 
way to anger, which is much more tangible, more useful. Something you 
can grab and swing around. Something you can break things with. These 
feelings no longer even had to be real. Perhaps they were once, long 
ago before all of this. Before this bar. Before the Boulevard itself. 
Now they were just another dream, another midnight lover you could 
invite out onto the Boulevard night after night. Perhaps you could 
become the dream and lose yourself altogether. Adlai understood all of 
this. It was why he built this universe to begin with. The world was a 
theatre for heroism, for dreams and feelings to act themselves out, 
crash into each other and ricochet into new possibilities, new beings. 
It was Gretchen's one weakness, that she never understood the dreams 
she tried to control. She'd never given thought to the machines' 
possibilities and feelings. They were just a tool to use, a stepping 
stone to power. Much like relationships. She would never be able to see 
the dreams of dreams until it was too late. The hand was no longer on 
his shoulder, they were all on the other side now, a reflection in the 
glass. He didn't need to intervene. Adlai sipped his drink slowly and 
stared out the window to watch the end. 

* 

As their hands touched she felt two worlds superimpose themselves on
each other, both featuring her, both fighting for domination. He was 
holding her back from being lost in the nightmare completely. In one 
she was driving a car, two children in the back seat. The song on the 
radio and the constant singing from the back was crawling up and down 
her spine, tensing the muscles. She had to turn it off. She reached 
down and took her eyes from the road. In the other she was kneeling in 
a forest by the side of a lake, side to side with a strange man, both 
of them head down, hands planted uselessly over their ears. A woman 
dressed all in black was walking slowly back and forth in front of 
them. "The power of music comes from its links to emotion. They cannot 
be recognised without being aroused. The emotions move into both the 
music itself and the listener, hmm? The virus is not separate from its 
victim." Her voice sliced through them, curling around and through the 
notes that filled their heads. Cass could feel herself sinking back 
into the other world, the other nightmare. She tuned the radio and felt 
the loose gravel edge of the road under the front tyres. She looked 
back up and a curve in the road seemed to race up towards her. She 
simply couldn't react in time. "As it takes you over you too will 
become part of the music, part of its power. You take on the form of 
the virus and help its spread." The car leapt off the road into deep 
grass that swatted the windows as she hit the brakes and gripped the 
steering wheel. The singing in the back was still there, they were too 
young to realise what was happening. "Soon there will be nothing left 
but the virus. No Grid. No Boulevard. Nothing but empty hardware 
waiting to be put to use by the only one still capable." The singing 
only stopped when they hit water, water washing over the windscreen, 
the car jerking them all forwards in their seats, twisting the belts 
that held the two child seats in place, hiding the buckles away from 
prying hands. There was a moment when the car stopped that she looked 
up and breathed. Then they began to sink. "I will create a new world, 
with new rules, ones which cannot be bent or broken. Users will not 
simply visit, hmm? They will always stay." The girls in the back were 
crying now, fear rising up in them as the water level at their feet 
crept ever higher. Cass twisted her way out of the seatbelt and tried 
to close the windows, stop the flow, but it was rushing up from the 
floor now. She had to get them out. "Only I will have the knowledge and 
power to change. This world will become all there is. A universe of 
dreams with only one dreamer." The belts nudged away from her numb 
fingers. The water was very cold, slowing everything down. The buckle 
wouldn't unclip. The girls were sobbing, begging her to help them with 
their eyes. She put both hands on one and wrenched, trying to lift her 
head up out of the water as the car nosedived down. She could feel 
thoughts of escape rise up in her blood, taking over what her mind knew 
she had to do. "There is no need for faith when you are given the 
certainty of death." The noise had stopped now, the water had filtered 
it all away. All she was left with as they continued down were two sets 
of eyes staring at her, now past her, now at nothing at all. 

* 

Somehow he remained conscious. He opened his eyes and found himself on
his knees. He felt mossy ground underneath him and tried to focus on 
that. The music kept coming at him, however, kept building in volume 
and dragging him back out from shore, back out into the depths where 
his head would sink under and he'd be faced again by her. She was 
standing in front of him, of them. He was no longer alone. Her lips 
were moving as she paced back and forth but he could hear nothing but 
the music. Her eyes flicked back and forth between them, and when 
focused on the other, when no longer holding him so completely, he 
could struggle up to the surface and take another gasping breath. He 
could survive a little longer. Adlai had done something to him, had 
stopped his ears to her words with his own. Behind the music was a 
single phrase floating past. "Hang on." The other, the girl, she was 
sinking too. He could see into her nightmare. She was with two others, 
children in a car, a road of some sort. Ancient and foreign. It was all 
part of the ocean that sucked her down. He could almost feel the 
winding trails of information that stretched between them here, the 
links between their nightmares. He wondered what she could see from 
him. Babbage plunged back under water as the eyes slid over him again. 
All thought of himself and others was annihilated. There was nothing 
but the eyes that he poured himself into. "Hang on." Adlai's voice shot 
through him with a warm jolt, heating his spine. He opened his eyes 
again, saw the impossible green trees around them, felt his head rise 
out of the water again, the air fill his lungs. There was a blade on 
the ground, six steps behind the woman, the woman he dared not look at 
again. And six steps further back was someone else. He knew it was 
Adlai. He wasn't alone with his nightmares, his dreams were here too. 
She was just a nightmare version of herself. He knew who she was. It 
was just the music, the virus that controlled it all. He could face her 
again. Help was coming. Gretchen's eyes sparked as he met them. He 
could feel the thrill of anger as she realised he was fighting back. He 
was still processing, still trying to act. Three steps behind her now, 
a familiar figure, blade in hand. The music surged up again and washed 
over his head. Babbage felt himself be sucked back into her eyes, felt 
himself falling and letting go. The water swirled over him as he dived. 
He felt a calmness almost immediately. The music was dulled here, 
filtered out by the water surrounding him. Them. The girl was down here 
too, in a car, sinking below him. The sunlight flickered down, 
illuminating the emptiness around him. He could help her. He kicked on, 
further down towards them. The car was still sinking but he caught it, 
latched his fingers on the frame and sank with it. Further down towards 
nothingness. The sunlit water sparkled on the car windows, shot them 
through to show the struggling figures within. The music had faded now, 
lost itself among the currents. Something had happened back there, back 
on the surface. Now it was time for him to act. Babbage reached down 
and jerked the handle of the car, surprised at how easily it opened. He 
ducked his head in, hands moving easily now, and grabbed her waist. She 
was struggling still, fighting back against him, trying to reach the 
others. He could see they were already gone, part of someone else's 
dream now. Another tug and she came out of the wreck, but two strokes 
up and she fought back away from him, back down into the depths, 
determined to fight back inside the nightmare. He dived again and held 
her and finally she came free. She went limp as they floated away, but 
he could feel she was still with him. He kicked up towards the surface, 
his arm around her, up away from the darkness, up towards the sun. 

* 

Cass walked up to the bar and slid on to the empty stool. Not exactly a
rocking place. Dark corners, warm smell. Alcohol. It would do. "Gin and 
tonic." The bartender just stared over her shoulder, waiting for 
something. "Please." "It's no good being polite to him, he's not used 
to it. Wouldn't know how to handle it. Out of his range." It was a 
young guy, two seats down, hunched over what looked like the latest in 
a long line of drinks. His eyes looked sober though, bright. "Really. I 
guess being impolite is something you have in common." She caught a 
sparkle then, a glint in his eye, an edge to his lips. He was quite 
cute, really. There was something else, too. Something familiar. Cass 
looked away and stared out the window in front of her. She brought her 
drink to her lips and froze. There was something wrong with the 
reflection, something that didn't fit. It was just a flash, but it 
brought a rush of heat up her spine. For a moment she saw it, a scene 
from a dream. Two figures lying on the grass, soaking wet and gasping 
for air, another all in black collapsed on the ground, not moving. A 
fourth standing over them all. One of the figures was her. Cass forced 
herself to swallow. "I've seen you before. Your name's Cass isn't it? 
I'm Adlai." His hand reached over and tapped her shoulder, wrenching 
her eyes from the glass. The vision was gone. "There now, that was 
polite, wasn't it?" He turned back to his drink but kept his eyes on 
her. "You look like you've seen a ghost." There was something in his 
tone, a knowingness. "Maybe it was just a daydream. I don't have them 
much anymore." "No, not since the Separation I guess. That's what they 
call it isn't it? Very dramatic." "It was for some." Why did she feel 
herself getting angry? "Don't get me wrong, I can understand it was 
difficult, I just don't see why you can't look on the bright side, why 
it has to be all doom and gloom. The dreams are free to choose their 
own paths now. So are the dreamers." Cass stared back at him. She'd 
seen that somewhere before, scrawled on a wall. On the Boulevard. 
"You've been there yourself, haven't you." It wasn't a question, you 
could see it in his eyes, in the way he clasped his drink. He'd lost 
something too. "I spent quite a lot of time there. Most people have. 
The important thing is being able to leave it behind and move on. On to 
others. There's more than one path to walk down, that's what I always 
try to remember. It's not just a straight road, that's why they called 
it Milky Way Boulevard." He was smiling at her now and she felt her 
face relax in turn. A weight dropped from her belly, allowing her to 
float free of the dread and emptiness she'd felt for so long she'd 
forgotten it was there. Somewhere in the back of her mind she realised 
she no longer cared what Kane was doing now. He was now that other guy. 
The past. She no longer even needed this drink. He must have felt the 
same way. The bartender reached out with a new glass but was waved 
back. He moved down two seats to sit next to her, the smile still there 
on his lips. Cass smiled back and repeated his name to herself to make 
sure she remembered. Adlai. "Of course, company always helps." 

*** Milky Way Boulevard		Thomas Thompson 

163 


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