I'm more tactical in my black Scyther ensemble, complete with metaflex jumpsuit, light combat armor, and an array of straps and harnesses to hold my weapons in place. You'd think I was here to break into the site, which is the point. The word Scyther is closely associated with intimidation and sudden violence.
Zen pulls her hood over her head to keep the light rain off. "The zombie fortresses. God, I hate it here."
I can't argue with her. The Deep Sleep compound does look like a fortress, constructed to provide security for the residents inside. The solid fencing, sentry guns, roving android guards, and endless cameras only reinforce the reality of the prison aspects of the place. Dabria always said that just because the prisoners volunteered to be there doesn't excuse the obscenity of the building's purpose.
"Remind me why we're doing this in person instead of making a call from the Haven? Hell, creepy ol' Kage can do this in his sleep with his cyber-mind. Hack their system, get whatever info he needs. So why send us, unless he likes to see us do his dirty work? Yeah, I bet that's what it is."
I don't bother responding. Zen is just ranting, and I don't want Kage to hear what I think anyway. Because I believe that he's still limited in spite of his enhancements. Being able to access information instantaneously is helpful, but there's always something to be said for human instinct, something machines still can't match. We're not here to process information. We're here because a human touch is still necessary if you want to get the job done right.
When we approach the main entrance, a spherical robot thrusts itself in our faces like a dislodged eyeball, scanning for identification and perceived threats.
"You are not Residents. Please state your business."
I point at the crossed scythe emblem on my chest. "I'm a Scyther for the Allied Security Bureau. This is my partner. We're requesting detailed information on one of your residents for a highly classified case. Refusal isn't an option for you."
The orb whirred. "Will this investigation reflect unfavorably on this facility or any of its employees?"
"No. I'm just here to ask some questions for now."
The orb clicks a few times before returning to its housing. The doors open, and we enter the compound.
"Damn, girl. You pulled the ASB card on them," Zen says.
"Works every time."
"Yeah, only because no one knows what the heck the ASB is. A security detail that operates across Territory boundaries when the Territories act in their own self-interest? How's that supposed to work?"
"The Territories are allied. One big happy family."
"If by happy, you mean fully dysfunctional."
"Exactly."
The lobby is a grand setup, massive and equipped with floor-to-ceiling holographic displays of the footage from the thousands of worlds inside Elysia. Crowds of tourists mill about, taking in the sights and talking excitedly. For them, Deep Sleep is a diversion. A vacation. A way to completely escape the world and its worries for a few days or weeks. From here, you can travel safely around the world, engage in endless adventures across complex worlds and environments, even soar into the stars on an intergalactic cruise. There's no end to what you can experience, and all of it without even leaving your city.
I pause as one of the wall-sized advertisements shows footage of a bedridden young girl, born with a rare form of severe combined immunodeficiency. Reduced to a life of mandatory isolation in a sterile environment, she found a new life inside Elysia, where she went to school, made close friends, enjoyed every type of social interaction without focusing on her crippling illness. Her bright eyes and smiling face fill the massive screen.
"Because of Elysia, kids like me can live a normal life. I got a second chance, and so can you. Reality is what you make it."
I shake my head. "Wow. Going hard for the feels, aren’t they?"
Zen smirks. "I wonder why where the ads for the mature-rated sectors are."
"Those ads pop up when you're inside. Besides, everyone knows about the sleazy sex and ultraviolence. There's no real need to promote what nearly everyone comes here for anyway."
People automatically step out the way as we make our way across the lobby. I get no end of curious and cautious stares with my height and Scyther uniform. I stare straight ahead, not bothering to make eye contact. These people are nearly alien to me. Romantic couples, husbands and wives, families with children. It's a life I never experienced, a world of which I've never been part of. I've trained and fought and killed nearly all my life. If I wasn't forced into being a Scyther, then I'd still be in Dabria's Underground movement, fighting in her war. I wonder what I would be doing if my life had any normalcy. If I'd grown up in a regular home, had a typical childhood like the boys and girls that run around, laughing and staring in wonder at the attractions around them.
I push the thought aside as we pass the lines of tourists and head for the residencies. An android in a suit and a glossy, featureless head greets us at the door.
"Hello. My name is Gary. As per law, any investigative inquiries must be witnessed by a duly appointed escort."
"Let me guess. That's you, Gary."
"Yes. How do I address you?"
"My name is Enigma. My partner's name is Zen. That should be good enough."
He bobs his gleaming head in acknowledgment. "Very well, Enigma. You may follow me."
He leads us into the residency sector. We pass a massive counseling ward, nicknamed Purgatory by the residents. From what I hear, most of them are filled to max capacity with people dealing with reality confusion, a common malady afflicting millions who Immerse for lengthy periods. Unable to separate the virtual world from the real one, they lapse into fits of severe misperception, paranoia, rage, and even violence if untreated.
Though robots and androids freely roam the roomy halls, the sector is eerily quiet when coming from the tourist area. Only a few residents are visible, almost all aided by an android assistant. Some stagger on walkers; limbs shrunken, hollow-eyed, barely able to support their own weight. They look like patients battling debilitating diseases instead of people who volunteered to live in a virtual wonderland.
Zen shakes her head in disgust. "Look at these idiots. They're killing themselves and don't even care."
"Not true," Gary says. "Residents in danger of malnutrition, organ failure, or any other concerning issues are removed from their apartments and administered treatment to get them back to health. The Deep Sleep corporation has an excellent preservation rating, one of the best in the Territories. We pride ourselves on our ability to preserve the minds and bodies of our happy residents."
Zen sneers. "Yeah. Look at the joy on their faces."
I glance at Gary. "How many Deep Sleep customers have residencies?"
"At this moment, around one hundred twenty-nine thousand."
"And what's the rate you're so proud of?"
"We retain an excellent preservation ratio of ninety-eight-point-seven percent."
"So, you're telling me that you expect over a thousand of your customers to die under your care."
"Like I said — an excellent ratio. Ah, and here we are."
We go into the Reentry office and visit the small cubicle where a cheerful woman greets us with a dazzling smile. Her glossy black hair is pulled into a neat bun, and her gleaming lips practically bleed red.
"Welcome to Deep Sleep, where reality is what you make it. My name is Cindy. How can I help you today?"