Her metal-shot fingers drum impatiently against the wall. "Yes, I'm sure it's exciting. And nothing like the truth."
I sigh. "Right. You're not a fan of Immersion."
"No. I'm not. I'm against everything it stands for. Corporate enslavement of the weak-minded, taking advantage of their vulnerability and low self-esteem, goading them into mental enslavement and draining them of every financial resource they own before cutting them loose. Do you know what happens to Immersers that can't afford to get back into hibernation?"
I shake my head, frowning. I never thought about what I'd do if I couldn't raise money. What my options would be. I recall the screams of people turned away from Deep Sleep, dragged away by unfeeling android security bots. And I remember the woman at the shuttle station — the brief reflective moment staring in her crazed eyes like a vision of my future.
Dabria continues, voice slicing like a knife. "Seventy-eight percent of them die within two years. Some die in the act of committing crimes. Others starve to death, unable to function enough to take care of themselves. A large number end up homeless, easy prey for predators to pick off. But most die by suicide. The inability to cope with reality, heartbroken over their exile from what they consider the real world."
I shift uncomfortably on the toilet seat. "Look, that's messed up and all. But no one's forcing anyone to Immerse. It's a choice. You can come and go as you please. It's not a prison, for God's sake."
She smiles bitterly. "You keep telling yourself that, Dean. Add that to the lies you've told to justify your addiction. Like you can quit anytime you want to."
"I can."
"You betray yourself with every word. It's that lack of self-resolve that makes you the perfect candidate for the corporations that control your existence. Let me ask you something, Dean. When you wake from Immersion and have to face reality, what do you feel?"
I drop my gaze, cheeks burning.
Her armor creaks when she squats down to my level, eyes boring into my face. "Is it shame? Self-humiliation when you realize how much time you consume engaging in a pursuit that ultimately means nothing? How it must hurt to know that you wasted so much of your life away and yet still can't seem to bring yourself to stop. Like a man who stabs himself repeatedly because he loves the way blood slides down the blade. Tell me, Dean: when did you first start to hate yourself?"
I shiver, practically wilting from the intensity of her stare. "I don't… hate myself. I…"
My voice trails off as the memories resurface. Conversations I haven't thought of in ages. I think of my mom's face. The crushing disappointment when she showed me proof of my crimes. The worst part is that it wasn't just simple theft. I was stealing from her. My own flesh and blood…
I was seventeen, staring in a barely-conscious stupor as tears streamed down her face. Her beauty had faded somewhat, ravaged by long hours spent painting murals in and outside of buildings. It was the only work she could find. Art was still one market not dominated by machines, something they could duplicate but not genuinely conceive.
My father died a year prior, another fatality in the tangled routes of interstellar travel. The report came back as suicide. They said he donned his suit, opened a hatch, and leaped out before anyone could stop him. There was no way to rescue him by the time his crew realized what happened. He simply floated away, lost like a dandelion floret in the mighty ocean.
His behavior had grown increasingly erratic, and he shouldn't have been on active duty in the first place. That's what the lawyers tried to argue, but in the end the lack of psychiatric evaluation left my mom with a Haven residency she couldn't afford and no pension from the shuttle company because of how my father chose to end his reality.
We had to leave Los Nuevos, exiled to a life on the Outside where our stark comfort quickly faded like a pleasant dream. It was replaced by a much harsher existence in the crumbling towns surrounding the Haven. There were only a few neighborhoods considered somewhat safe, and mom did her best to make sure we stayed in one. Gone were her artsy friends and cocktail parties, exchanged for grueling work painting and resurfacing buildings, allied with a group of like-minded aspirants trying to beautify the area and attract more affluent residents.
While the drastic change of circumstances took a toll on my mom, I was mostly unaffected. I had my Sensync headgear, so I had a world of pleasure and adventure that I took advantage of at every opportunity. While mom coped with her problems by an ever-increasing amount of alcohol, I continued my investment in a digital lifestyle, where Hel and I engineered a lifestyle of dreams. We stayed in the finest residencies, ate the finest foods, and made love with abandon, two young lovers in a world of our creation, where the only limits were our imaginations.
Or so I thought. In reality, the only limit was money.
My father's income and the habit of both parents' guilt spoiling created a stream of income that I fed directly into Elysia. Hel was my lover and best friend, but she came with a monthly charge. It was called a treatment for her 'condition.' Falling behind on payments meant watching her weaken, get sick, and eventually die. The Elysian system had backup files if that should occur, but they penalized severely with hefty charges to reboot. Otherwise, I would have to start from scratch with a brand-new version.
Of course, I would never let that happen.
Without my father's income, the funds in my account drained quickly. When I was unable to afford a treatment for Hel, I had to watch in panic as she took sick. Lethargic behavior followed by a collapse. I sat at her bedside, holding her hand while she convulsed beneath the sheets, burning with fever. It was a cruel thing to witness, a devious ploy by the programmers, but I was too caught up in the reality we created to care about the manipulation. I racked my brain for ways to make money, but time was short and, in the end, the quickest way was the action taken by the majority of addicts who needed their fix.
Steal from your loved ones.
Finding a hacker was easy in Elysia, where they freely advertised their services. I paid to break into my mom's account and funneled money to save Hel's life. Then stole more to cover the yearly access fee. Then stole some more to cover future treatments. Then stole some more for upgrades and bonus gear.
Then stole some more because I couldn't stop.
And then the day of reckoning came when I stared in a barely-conscious stupor as tears streamed down my mom's face. Her holoband projected the truth, the results of the investigation she paid for to track the thief stealing her hard-earned money. She had been hiding the case from me not out of suspicion, but because she wanted to shield me from the truth. The truth that we would be evicted from our home because she didn’t have the funds to pay the rent. That food would be near-impossible to purchase because of the theft.
And to her shock and anguish, the trace led back to her own house.
I usually don't remember much about that day. I think I blocked most of it out. But now I recall the first time I saw rage on mom's face, the terrible words that shrieked from her mouth.
"You sicken me…"
"How could you…"
"You weak, pathetic excuse for a…"
"Your father would be so ashamed…"
I remember shouting back and crying, not because of my betrayal, but because she hurled my Sensync headgear to the floor, breaking it to pieces. I dropped to my knees and wailed, holding the shattered pieces like they were shards of my soul. All I could think about was how I was supposed to get back into Elysia now. If I would ever see Hel again. The room span in dizzy circles around me; my vision blurred, and my chest burned as if my heart was about to explode.