Garth was weeping, trembling on his knees in his 3D visor and virtual suite. The tension was palpable around him in the force field crowded with holographic figures. Garth bent over, ready to go; and yet in his heart there was another voice, one of fire-full defiance. He felt like a whip, buckled ready to unleash and gave into this tidal urge. He got up. He threw all his magic around, the figures paled and froze, the huts burst into flame. Then, his final parting shot as he ripped his gear off, he snapped the execute function on a Trojan virus he had secreted into the system. The poison spread and he could see the code disintegrate. This was destruction. He looked on in awe. The game system was un-spooling, rending apart at its core, dismantling in fractal splendour.
He watched the colours and forms collapse into codes and then into sparks then go out. Long after the silence entered his room he stood there. He stood there, because a silence had now entered his mind.
He couldn’t tell how long he had sat there staring. Staring at the dark outline of his systems glowing. The edge of darkness. He was wearied and then there was, behind it all, a whisper of hope, a new beginning. Wasn’t it the Buddha who rose on a lily from the cesspool of existence, its roots deep in the mud, grasping, holding, embracing?
Garth’s phone alarm went. He check it. Shit. He had to get to the waterfront. Candy. He left the room, took the bike and headed out into the night.
Someone was there, standing in the shadows near a lone lamp, Manhattan glittering, grey across the misty river.
Hi.
Hello. Trojan?
A voice like silk in the mist.
Yeah. That’s me.
I have a proposal for you.
Garth squinted, unable to make out her face. He was trying to connect her to the chat room voice. But she was no longer text, code and images. This was a person, stripped away from the clothing of technology. Yet he was the one feeling oddly naked in the dark, as if she could see right through into him.
Huh. Yeah.
Before that, you remember our agreed password.
For a moment Garth’s mind went blank. Then he smiled.
White Russian.
Don’t try to cross over the line.
Garth smiled. He felt safer.
I know about today. Your destruction of Asphodel is hot news and you aren’t safe. Maybe our meeting now was meant to be this way. Because I can offer you something more. There are other like you. Others who want to break out of the fascist hold the corporations and megalomaniacs have over the super information highways. And now you are wanted, wanted by bad men. They want you for their ends or maybe for punishment. You are a terrorist and a genius. To them you are wanted; and for us …
Garth saw movement to the side, figures in the dark.
…desired.
I like the details in your writing. Manhattan glittering across the gray river. The word “swirling” after “dark river” instead of sandwiched in between it. Her eyes gray and large as a river of dreams (without the words gray and large, river of dreams would have sounded corny, but with it, it works. I read it and I think, “Yes, that’s exactly what a river of dreams looks like…”).