 
# AFK

Huckleberry Hax

Smashwords Edition

Copyright © 2007 Huckleberry Hax

Huckleberry Hax is hereby identified as author of this work in accordance with Section 77 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988

Cover image by Huckleberry Hax; typography design by Canary Beck

The terms 'Second Life,' and 'Linden' are copyright © Linden Research Inc.

# Smashwords Edition, License Notes

Thank you for downloading this ebook. You are welcome to share it with your friends. This book may be reproduced, copied and distributed for non-commercial purposes, provided the book remains in its complete original form. If you enjoyed this book, please return to your favorite ebook retailer to discover other works by this author. Thank you for your support.

For Dad.

Ten years departed from RL.

# LOVE

# Chapter 1

This is how you make a listening device in Second Life®. It starts with a prim; you know how to create one of those, right? Right-click, select 'create' then left click anywhere on the ground. If building is allowed there, of course. So you have a cuboid prim. On the big grey window find the 'content' tab and click on 'new script.'

The air is thick with communication in SL, just as it is in Real Life. But it's not just the people doing the talking in SL. Plenty of the objects you walk past are all gassing away to each other in their own particular way. Otherwise the objects that do things, well, wouldn't. In Real Life objects communicate in digital codes. In SL, one object can send a message to another on any one of literally millions of channels. It could be a digital code. It could just as easily be a message like, 'you smell'.

And – of course – objects can listen as well as talk. Take a look at that tree you're standing next to; are you *sure* it's not leaning that way so it can tune into you that little bit better?

A tiny amount of script and your bog standard prim becomes a fully functioning listening device:

integer channel = 0;

integer listen_handle = 0;

default {

state_entry()

{listen_handle = llListen(channel,"",NULL_KEY, "");}

listen(integer channel, string name, key id, string message)

{llInstantMessage(llGetOwner(),name+": "+message);}}

Seriously. That's all it takes. Drop your innocent little box (no-one ever suspects the virgin prim) in your listening location, then take yourself to anywhere you like in SL. Anywhere. From this point on, anything spoken in public chat within a 20 metre range will be delivered straight to you via the magic of Instant Message. If you're outworld and you've configured SL to email you your IMs it'll even mail it to you. Not that that's an issue for me these days, now that I'm SLFT.

Oh yeah... Terms Of Service stuff, etc. Don't blame getting banned on me.

So that's the technical stuff. Next there's the issue of concealment. The brand new prim will only actually go unnoticed in a certain type of location. By that I don't mean it'll come under suspicion, just that someone will end up cleaning it up. You can go for a variety of disguises if you want – I used to do that quite a bit in the early days of the agency, thinking it was some sort of field craft. But really the simplest thing to do is just to sink it under the surface of the ground. No-one ever looks down there – they can't if they don't have their camera constraints disabled in any case. And if they did and saw a prim there who would really give a shit?

Ok. So what if the place you want to bug won't let you build stuff? Let's be honest – this is, after all, kind of likely. When was the last time you went to a shop and bought something you could actually rez there and then? Actually, you might be surprised when it comes to private parcels at just how few people *do* protect their land from other people building stuff there; bugging a private property can sometimes work out a lot easier than you were expecting. But that doesn't get around another key problem, which is that targets have this annoying habit of going to places. Philandering husbands in particular are prone to *not* bringing girlfriends back to places they are known to frequent, such as their houses (awkward bastards, I know); even if you've discovered the land is open to you for building, therefore, more often than not your carefully placed bug ends up listening to nothing more than an evening's worth of silence. Oh and don't forget, it's easy to look up the ownership of foreign objects on your land, giving targets a direct link back to you if it ever occurs to them to do this (again; you'd be surprised how rare this is). It's not an entirely insurmountable problem, that, but it can be a bloody nuisance for half an hour or so when it happens.

My name is Definitely Thursday, by the way. 'Def' to anyone who can't be bothered to type, though those who can seem to prefer 'Thursday'. On paper I'm 50 per cent of the Step Stransky Second Life Detective Agency. Well, technically I'm an employee, (although that's a fairly fluid situation at this particular moment in time). I have about 49 per cent of the say and at least 70 per cent of the case load. But I do *love* my job. The demand is simply astonishing. It's all about infidelity, of course. It's all about paranoid 'partners' keeping tabs on their newly acquired spouses. It's all about that week or so following the ceremony and the noticing that the partner isn't on quite as much as s/he used to be... and so on, and so on.

That is until the case of Arton Urriah.

Arton, I should point out, was the target. It was his wife who'd come into the office during an afternoon in October. Regarding infidelity. I think it was three weeks the couple had been married at that point (nothing odd in that), though they'd known each other longer. It was the usual kind of worry.

Starfish Picturebook: You are a detective?

Step Stransky: Yes indeed. Would you care to sit down?

Starfish Picturebook: Excuse me, do you follow husbands? I need to know what mine is doing.

Starfish Picturebook fiddles awkwardly and feels like she's going to cry.

Step Stransky: It's ok Starfish. People cry in here a lot.

Step Stransky offers Starfish some tissues.

Step Stransky: Yes we can look into your husband's activities if you'd like.

Step Stransky: I see from your profile you're recently married...

Starfish Picturebook: yes...

Step Stransky: My dear, can I ask how it is your suspicions have come to be aroused?

Step Stransky: Please take your time.

Step was so much better at the initial interviews than me. More tact, I guess.

Starfish Picturebook: Well... I noticed that he always waits now for me to log off first.

Starfish Picturebook: Since after the wedding.

A common sign. I reckon at least half our clients come in reporting that one at some point during their interview. It starts off a small annoyance to them, but within a couple of days they've started checking out the bit on the website that shows which of their friends are online, desperate to try and work out what the hell their other half is up to. The next thing they notice is that it's their partner each evening that brings up the subject of logging off first.

Starfish Picturebook: Why talk about going to bed and then not do it?

Starfish Picturebook: One evening, sure – things come up unexpectedly.

Starfish Picturebook: Two I can tolerate...

Starfish Picturebook: But *every* evening?

Step Stransky: I understand.

Which, incidentally, was one of Step's favourite phrases. It's unbelievable what he achieved with that line, in fact. And it always came just before the 'rephrase':

Step Stransky: So you think your husband wants you to log off so he can do things without you?

The 'rephrase' appearing to me to be nothing more than pretty much repeating back exactly what had been said with a few extra words in a few different places. Yet people seemed to love it when Step used it on them. I must admit I have tried it out myself a few times, occasionally with very satisfying results...

Starfish Picturebook: Yes, Mr Stransky. I do.

Starfish Picturebook: He was on once for three hours after I'd logged off.

Starfish Picturebook: In the end I logged back in again and asked him what the hell he was doing.

Step Stransky: You logged back into SL?

Starfish Picturebook: Yes.

Starfish Picturebook: He told me a friend needed some help.

Step Stransky: Did he mention who? Did he say with what?

Starfish Picturebook: I didn't ask and he didn't say.

Step Stransky: And the next evening...?

Starfish Picturebook: And the next evening.

I never actually got to meet Starfish. I very nearly IMed her, but more about that later. The 'rules', for want of a better way of putting it, were that when Step took down the details I took on the job. And vice versa.

Step Stransky: Is your husband a land owner?

Starfish Picturebook: Oh yes. A landlord, in fact.

Starfish Picturebook: A big one.

Step Stransky: But he has a house? Of his own?

Starfish Picturebook: *Our* house, you mean?

Step Stransky: Yes.

Starfish Picturebook: Well... neither of us are spending much time there at the moment.

Step Stransky: Where does he like to spend time then?

Starfish Picturebook: I met him in a jazz club; we still go there sometimes.

Starfish Picturebook: But I'm pretty sure he doesn't go there after I log.

Starfish Picturebook: Well I checked that evening, at least.

Step Stransky: We'll need your help if we're going to find out where he goes and what he does.

Starfish Picturebook: What do you need me to do?

Step Stransky: If you gave him something to wear do you think he'd put it on?

Which brings us back to listening devices, and the solution to the problems of building permissions and target movement: don't bug the land if it's at all possible to bug the person.

Starfish Picturebook: What kind of thing?

Step Stransky: Does he like watches?

Why a watch? It has to be an attachable item first of all, because shirts and trousers can't have scripts put in them. The other thing about shirts and trousers is that they tend to be removed when avatars get down to the business of virtual adultery – and that, at the end of the day, is the event we're trying to record. Unlike RL, there's no trail of underwear across a lover's bedroom floor that a listening device can snuggle in; clothes not worn get stuck in inventory, where they can't listen to a damned thing. So shoes are no good for the same reason.

But watches often get left on. At least, *nice* watches get left on. And I make very nice watches.

Starfish Picturebook: I suppose if I gave him a watch he probably would wear it, yes.

Starfish Picturebook: I mean, If I insisted.

I actually rent a little stand for my watches at a jeweller in Varano. Watches *without* a listening script installed, of course. Just for the sake of authenticity. It does very well. It pays for itself, in fact. 

# Chapter 2

It's cold in RL as I write this. My breath is wispy white in the glare of the monitor. Just like the steam that's rising from my coffee. I'm observing both and thinking 'particle effects.'

Inch is IMing me, all stressed again about Step's whereabouts. It must be five times I've told her already he's probably just AFK for a bit. Apparently they were due to meet up about now. Which is handy to know.

InWorld, I'm sitting on The Wall at Bear and there's absolutely nobody about. Five minutes from now it might be absolutely crawling with avatars old and new. Bear can be like that. It's where I was 'born'. It stopped being my Home location a long time ago, but I always find a little time each week to spend here. It's good to keep in touch with your roots. I suppose I could invite Inch over here if she's in need of company... It's just that that's not really part of the plan. Moments like this are important when it comes to plans. Deviating just that little bit when you think all the hard stuff is done and out of the way is exactly the way that cock-ups happen. See it through, all the way. See it through to the end.

I'm gazing at her name on my friends list and tracing absently with my finger where her name is scratched into my desk. It's a fine old desk that I own, but by old I don't mean 'antique.' This used to be a teacher's desk in a school; I reckon it was in use maybe twenty to thirty years ago. The surface is well worn, but most of the stuff that's scratched into that has been done by me since I got it. It has two drawers and they're each still lined with big squares of coloured card like you used to get out with scissors and glue during wet play. Lift the card up and the bottom of the drawers underneath is absolutely covered with scribblings and doodles. Sometimes I tip everything out of both drawers and try to work out what's been written there, but it isn't easy because at some point someone went over everything with first a red and then a green crayon. What fascinates me is that they didn't just scribble at random over the whole drawer bottom – they actually took the time to cross out every individual word. Twice.

There's so much stuff I can't work out in the world. Where hidden graffiti in the bottom of a teacher's desk comes from is one of those things.

Above the word 'Inch' I have our 'special code' scribed across the desk in blue, black, red and finally green ballpoint. We agreed it several months ago during a late night drinking session. It's amazing how an Internet connection and a couple of distant chums can transform the way you feel about sitting alone in front of the monitor with a bottle of economy red.

Step Stransky: We should have a code.

Inch Sideways: A code?

Step Stransky: A code.

Definitely Thursday: What sort of a code?

Step Stransky: An identifier code. Something we can use to identify ourselves by.

Inch Sideways: To each other?

Step Stransky: Exactly.

Definitely Thursday: Are we talking SL or RL here?

Step Stransky: Both.

Inch Sideways: Both?

Step Stransky: Why not?

Inch Sideways: Are there plans to meet up in real life that I don't know about here?

Definitely Thursday was about to ask the same thing.

Step Stransky: Why, you want to?

Inch Sideways: Do you?

Step Stransky: I asked first.

Definitely Thursday: Haven't we had this conversation before?

Definitely Thursday: Several times?

Step Stransky glares at Thursday and puts his finger across his lips.

Inch Sideways: Funny like being smashed in the face.

Step Stransky: What I was thinking is...

Step Stransky: We all use alts, right?

Definitely Thursday: No.

Inch Sideways: No.

Step Stransky: Exactly. Wouldn't it be cool if we had a code phrase we could use to each other when we thought we'd 'spotted' one.

Inch Sideways: Eh?

Definitely Thursday: Oh I see what you're on about.

Inch Sideways: You do?

Step Stransky: Well it works like this: say I'm out and about and I see this fabulous young blonde admonishing someone for the use of the acronym 'lol'...

Inch Sideways: Oh for crying out loud...

Inch Sideways: I can't believe I'm the only one with this issue

Definitely Thursday: It is so wrong...

Definitely Thursday: ...people laughing out loud like that.

Inch Sideways: That's just it, though – are they? Are they actually laughing out loud in front of their monitor? Are they actually filling their rooms with laughter?

Inch Sideways thinks not.

Step Stransky: May I continue?

Inch Sideways: Is this actually going to be interesting?

Step Stransky: Think of it as a game, if you will.

Step Stransky: You walk past the avatar you think is an alt...

Step Stransky: ...and as you pass you utter the code phrase in chat.

Step Stransky: If you're right you get a point!

Inch Sideways: That's the most ridiculous thing I ever heard.

Inch Sideways: For the principle reason...

Inch Sideways: ...that if I didn't want you know that such-and-such an avatar was me in the first place...

Inch Sideways: ...then code phrase or no code phrase I would still ignore you.

Definitely Thursday nods.

Step Stransky hadn't thought of that.

Inch Sideways: Wow. The great detective.

Step Stransky: Still think it would be good though...

Step Stransky: Then we could... use it to identify ourselves!

Definitely Thursday: Isn't that what you said in the first place?

Inch Sideways: So I'm in an alt – unrecognisable to you – and you, for some reason, come up to me and identify yourself using the code phrase?

Step Stransky: Exactly!

Inch Sideways: And I haven't recognised you already because...?

Step Stransky: Right, right. Yes, there is that too.

Step Stransky: Aha! But what if *I* was in alt form *too*?!

Step Stransky: Eh?

Step Stransky: Eh?

Inch Sideways: Do you think we should have a secret code, Thursday?

Definitely Thursday: Yes. Yes I do.

Inch Sideways: For what purpose?

Definitely Thursday: Because it would be well cool.

Scratched across my desk was the phrase, 'Thursday is Definitely a Sideways Step.'

The other great thing about my desk is that it's got this hole at the back where an ink well used to go. All my cables go through it now, and I've noticed that they're making office desks these days with ink well holes for exactly that purpose (ie, cables). I like it when design features survive because they evolve their function. So my desk in SL now has a hole in it too, because I think it should be acknowledged that desks have to have holes in them – that's just the way desks are.

I recently moved. I tipped all the stuff out of my drawers and took the card out and photographed all the crossed out graffiti. I uploaded it as a texture and applied it to the bottom of my desk drawers in SL. I did all of this solely for the highly remote possibility that one day the person that did all the crossing out might come across my desk in SL and look inside it and see his or her work again, after all these years. And maybe they might tell me why they did it.

It's cold in RL as I write this. Inch's name looks so lonely on the monitor. But I will see it through, all the way. I'll see it through to the end.

# Chapter 3

Oh, a quick word of warning... don't use that script code I gave you earlier in a listening device that you trick your target into wearing. Without modifying it, I mean. If they're *wearing* it then of course they *own* it and the script unaltered will spew forth its feed to whoever its owner is – ie, them. Which would rather signal the end of your cover if it happened. It's the 'llGetOwner()' bit that needs changing, and you can work out how to do that for yourself.

The first I knew about the Urriah case was when the familiar green text started rising up the screen. I looked for a name I recognised and couldn't see one, so I surmised Step had handed out a new watch to a new client.

Watch: Starfish Picturebook: Do you like it?

Watch: Arton Urriah: It's beautiful, baby.

Watch: Starfish Picturebook: I want you to keep it on always.

Watch: Arton Urriah: I promise you it's not ever leaving this wrist.

Watch: Arton Urriah wonders if it's waterproof.

Watch: Starfish Picturebook: LOL

As usual it was asking too much for Step to give me any sort of advance notice before I started getting the feed. The problem with this sort of device is that you can't turn it off (well you can, but it's complicated) and a particularly active feed can flood your screen in seconds. I'm pretty sure this is actually the reason why he never gives me any warning, incidentally. I think he thinks it's funny. In a buddy-buddy kind of way.

I IMed him.

Definitely Thursday: I see I have a new case.

Step Stransky: She got him to wear it already?

Step Stransky: Can't have left here more than 10 minutes ago.

Right. Sure.

Definitely Thursday: Any specifics I need to know?

Step Stransky: Nah

Step Stransky: So what you up to?

I was in my house at the time, looking at a picture of Inch.

Definitely Thursday: Checking out a new nudist beach.

Step Stransky: You dirty bastard!

Step Stransky: Ah, the single life!

Step Stranskey gets all nostalgic.

Step Stransky: Any luck?

Definitely Thursday: I'm looking at an amazing AV right now...

Definitely Thursday: The skin is just incredible...

Definitely Thursday: she's three days old, apparently...

Step Stransky: Ahhhhh. An alt, then.

I could almost hear him salivating. It was Step's contention that all gorgeous newbies were alts created just for sex. Coming across them in the 'mature' sims pretty much cinched it, according to his logic. My guess is that he was rationalising his own behaviour with a sweeping generalisation, but that's only a hunch.

I currently own seventeen different alts, four of which I will never be able to use again. I have no idea how many Step used. Of course he *told* me it was only seven. But then I told him I only had six.

Susan Sonnet is my favourite alt. Skin and shape by ND (Paris, naturally); hair by Abyss, outfits by Blaze. Classy, aloof, unobtainable and utterly drop dead gorgeous. It cost me a fortune in Lindens to put her together, but a stickier SL honey pot you could not imagine. I'm telling you, she's deadly.

And I put her on for the night that I met Arton Urriah.

You walk into a place wearing an AV like Susan and the first thing that happens is that IM windows appear to start breeding right in front of you. Poor old Def, in his denim jacket and Whitesnake T-shirt, can stand in the corner of a dance hall for an hour and watch sixty minutes' worth of other people dancing come and go, but not Susan. Sometimes the carpet hasn't even rezzed beneath her feet before the first of her offers start coming in.

Arnold Torchemyer: Free for some fun?

Happiest Redmond: nice lady you want 2 dance?

Bottle42 Guy: are u with so?

Bottle42 Guy: way too few good looking girls around lol

Bottle42 Guy: wanna move away?

And sometimes she replies.

Baz Winchester: hi

Susan Sonnet: hey

Baz Winchester: are you escort here?

Susan Sonnet: no

Baz Winchester: are you waiting for someone?

Susan Sonnet: no

Baz Winchester: do you want to dance?

Susan Sonnet: no

Baz Winchester: do you want to fuck?

Susan Sonnet: no

Baz Winchester: do you speak Italian?

Susan Sonnet: no

But most of the time Susan just finds a spot to stand in and wait, and tries to shut the IM windows down just as fast as they keep on popping up. And waits for the IM from the target. Which nearly always comes.

Did I mention my Animation Overrider? It's intense. It's custom-made. It has some *amazing* stands (I never sit Susan in public). Most importantly, the poses don't override gaze direction. Think about it. When you're a newbie and you've not yet got hold of your first AO your AV's head turns to look at whoever you're checking out with your camera. In other words, other people can see what you're looking at. Which can be kind of annoying. Load up an AO and often as not your AV's head stays rock steady wherever you point your cursor, so you can look wherever the hell you like and nobody is the wiser. Sort of the SL equivalent of sunglasses, and don't tell me you don't know what I mean there. Great if you want to *avoid* attracting attention, of course, but that's not what Susan's about at all. I guess I could have forgone the AO altogether – and in all likelihood it wouldn't have mattered much with an avatar as good as hers – but I'm just too much of a perfectionist for that. I got the poses made by a contact of one of my other alts - Burp Basingstoke (he does building and stuff, and attends all sorts of 3D modelling and scripting classes). The best one of the lot has her with arms folded and a stare on her face that you just can't work out. I hold down ALT, I left click on the target... and I wait for them to notice me.

Arton Urriah: Hello there Susan

Susan Sonnet: hey

Arton Urriah: All alone tonight?

Susan Sonnet: How do you know it's night time where I am?

Arton Urriah: lol

Arton Urriah: I had a feeling.

Susan Sonnet: What a clever boy you are.

Susan Sonnet notices from his profile that Arton has a partner.

Susan Sonnet sighs.

Arton Urriah is intrigued that Susan has noticed that so quickly.

Susan Sonnet: She looks nice.

Arton Urriah: That's because she *is*.

Susan Sonnet: Hmmmm.... nice wedding vows.

Arton Urriah: You're looking at Starfish's profile now?

Susan Sonnet: I can't help myself... I'm a profile junkie.

Which is actually true. I see an interesting avatar and I *have* to check out their details. Wherever I am. Whatever I'm doing. Ironically, my own is utter shit.

Arton Urriah laughs.

Arton Urriah: Yeah I do that sometimes lol.

Susan Sonnet: You know, I never got invited to an SL wedding before.

Which *isn't* true, even if I sometimes wish it was.

Arton Urriah: Really? I've been to several now.

Susan Sonnet: Do people bring gifts?

Susan Sonnet: Do you get to listen to speeches?

Susan Sonnet: Does the virtual bride throw her digital bouquet?

Arton Urriah: LOL

Susan Sonnet: :)

Susan Sonnet: I would be good at an SL wedding.

Susan Sonnet: People would remember me.

Susan Sonnet: It's an injustice that I've never been invited to one.

All this time I was standing in my spot midway between the bar and the dance floor, and Arton was sitting on a barstool between a newbie in a painted-on tuxedo and a guy in a Star Trek costume. There was a hesitancy to Arton's IMs at first – small pauses which could only mean he had other IM windows open. You learn to recognise such things. After a few minutes though the hesitancy was gone and I knew I had his complete attention. 'Arton, my boy,' he was probably thinking, 'play your cards right and this could be your lucky night.'

Arton Urriah: Care for a dance?

Susan Sonnet: I thought you'd never ask.

We strolled over to the dance balls. Arton's decisiveness was refreshing (Susan finds male umming and ahhing such a pain in the arse, although Def can twist himself into knots trying to 'gauge' things right). Without any messing about we were waltzing. The sync was terrible and the music was worse... in fact, I seem to recall it was a radio commercial for Viagra just at that moment. But we made an attractive couple, nonetheless. Decisive or not, I still had to endure the thirty seconds or so of silence you nearly always get at the start of a dance with someone new, whilst they try to come up with an appropriately modified banter that takes into account the fact that you're now touching each other (it can be up to a minute if you've gone straight for one of the slow dances). I spent the time looking up the creator of his hair and wondering what on earth had convinced him to go for that particular colour.

Arton Urriah is offering friendship.

By default, you will be able to see each other's online status.

Arton Urriah is online.

Arton Urriah: Thnx :))

Arton Urriah: I haven't seen you here before.

Susan Sonnet: I've been here once or twice I think.

Susan Sonnet: The music was better last time.

Arton Urriah: That wouldn't be difficult lol

I could see this was going to amble indefinitely without any assistance.

Susan Sonnet: So... if you don't mind me asking...

Susan Sonnet: Where is Starfish tonight?

Arton Urriah: She's offline at the moment.

Pause. I waited for the change of subject.

Arton Urriah: You have an amazing AV.

Bingo!

Susan Sonnet: Why thanks. You cut a pretty dashing profile yourself :)

Arton Urriah: hehe. Thanks :)

Arton Urriah: Where are you from?

Ah yes. Always the geography. I gave my standard reply:

Susan Sonnet: Oh... here and there.

Arton Urriah: lol

Arton Urriah: Fair enough.

The ballroom was pretty packed that evening, which made moving my camera around a little hard. Busy rooms make my PC most unhappy when my mouse gets its usual bouts of wanderlust. I suppose I should get a faster graphics card, or something. But that would require RL money, which was something of an issue at that time. I should have kept my camera in one place, but Arton was starting to bore me already, and meanwhile a rather stunning troupe of dancers had taken to the stage, all bling, feathers and thongs. A couple of guys in pinstripes (I recognised the suits instantly as MadeMen) were mixed amongst them with fedoras and canes and stuff. It was all very pleasing to the eyes. Especially the thongs. I decided a blue garter worn by one of the dancers was deserving of a much closer inspection and zoomed in on what I believed was some writing there. It was asking too much and my PC froze up for a full two minutes, an over-zoomed piece of floorboard filling my screen whilst the egg-timer rotated because the dancer had had the cheek to move her leg just a split second before I'd Alt-clicked on it.

When the action resumed it was still pretty jerky and I knew a relog wasn't far off. The screen got filled with two minutes' worth of chat spam (typically, I'd managed to miss a lucky chair again) and Arton's IMs took on a sense of growing concern.

Arton Urriah: I guess I should know better.

Arton Urriah: I like to keep my RL separate too.

Arton Urriah: I usually don't ask any more than country...

Arton Urriah: it's just cool to know how many hundreds (thousands?) of miles separate us!

Arton Urriah: Ok, so I might end up asking your age at some point.

Arton Urriah: lol

Arton Urriah: And it's conceivable that I might just check you really are female hahaha.

Arton Urriah: You still with me?

Arton Urriah: Oh.

Arton Urriah: Did I upset you?

Arton Urriah: It was only a question.

Arton Urriah feels foolish.

Arton Urriah: Ok fine.

Arton Urriah: See you around.

And therein lies the problem with SL communication. It's not what you say, it's the way that you say it. Kind of. Sure, we use smilies and stuff, but we're never *really* sure of the manner in which things have been said. Tuning into the non-verbals is impossible, because there *are* no non-verbals; although we look for them all the same. It's like anthropomorphism, where you attribute human qualities to inanimate objects or animals. At least I think that's what it's like. I guess it probably isn't. But you know what I mean.

Of course, there's always voice chat. But I have gender identification issues with that.

I reset my view, and he was still there, still spinning me around (it was a very poor waltz). My fingers flew to the keyboard to type reassuring comments and at that precise moment the phone started to ring. Shit! I'd been waiting on a call all morning. And the cordless was in the bog, where I'd taken it earlier so I wouldn't miss it, and... I cursed at the screen, kicked back my chair and legged it...

I got back just in time to see the fairy lights circling his empty spot.

Susan Sonnet: Aaaarrrrgggghhhh! My PC locked up!!!

Second Life: User not online - message will be stored and delivered later.

Bollocks. But it wasn't a total disaster. Things like that can be repaired in SL just as quickly as they can be broken. Provided he wasn't outworld for too long and provided he wasn't so popular his IMs got capped then my message would probably bring him straight back, cap in hand. To be on the safe side I added:

Susan Sonnet: Awww you left :(

Susan Sonnet: Damn my stupid PC.

Susan Sonnet: You poor thing, you must have thought me so rude!

The trick to repairing and rebuilding, you see, is always to try to see things from the other person's point of view; never, ever, under any circumstances question the way they see it. It's an easy strategy to follow when you don't actually give a shit.

Susan Sonnet hopes she hears from Arton soon.

Susan Sonnet might even tell him how many miles separate her and him!

If that didn't do it then nothing would. I waited a few minutes longer, just in case he was screening via email and came back online when he realised what a complete idiot he'd been. Then I relogged, returning to the grid as Def and throwing on a Blaze tuxedo before following the landmark I'd sent myself from Susan. Back to the club. There was the small matter of the dancer with the blue garter to attend to. I sent her a hundred Linden tip and an IM about removing the garter with my teeth.

Sunshine Laminate: lol

Sunshine Laminate: thanks for the tip honey.

Sunshine Laminate: but you see I'm not hetero...

Sunshine Laminate: I prefer the company of ladies to gentlemen.

A guy, then. Never mind. For a moment I didn't care; I actually contemplated bringing Susan back on and seeing if the same line might work coming from her. Girl or not, I could really see the two of us wrapping ourselves around each other somewhere. But that kind of evening can be such a work up. I decided I couldn't be bothered. I wondered, absently, if the dancer was Step in disguise. Nothing would surprise me of that guy.

# Chapter 4

Sometimes you get what you're after with your bug; sometimes you get what you're after with your alt. You try both each time because it doubles your chances. It's all about speed. When you're working on a fixed fee, fast is good.

Every now and then, neither works. One guy once refused to wear anything he hadn't made himself - he even had a home-made penis (scripted and everything). Those were the days before Susan, and I reckon I might have had a bit more luck with that case if she'd been around back then. I did have a female avatar and she wasn't at all unpleasant to look at, but I guess a one night stand with an AV called 'Bitchonheat Doggy' was never going to be everyone's cup of tea. You live and learn. She's not one of the four, by the way.

In the end I had to resort to a newbie disguise (the white T-shirt guy, the one that looks so innocent). I spent a whole week hanging out at this bloke's info hub, knowing he'd at least be there each day for the half hour start to his evening (I guess it was a comfort thing). It was a drip drip drip affair. The first day I just hung out on the periphery of the group - 'lurking' is the term, I believe. The next day I laughed at some of their jokes and one of them - not the target - asked me how I was enjoying SL. And so I used the killer line:

Bilkoben57 Hex: I like but no-one is to make friendship with me.

By the end of that hour my friends list was bulging, but the target had TPed off on other business before I'd had a chance to get to him. By the end of day three, however, not only had he been added, but he'd given me a load of freebie store landmarks and taken me shopping for prim hair. Day four was Saturday. I came on later than usual in the evening and IMed him, asking if he knew of a good place to take a woman. Within half an hour I had the photos in the bag and the Lindens in my account.

More often than not, people trust each other far too much in SL. That's why this job is so easy most of the time. Yes, I abuse people's friendship, there's no point in denying it. I do what I have to to get the job done. I do feel guilt, but ultimately all I'm delivering is a consequence to a behaviour that in the first instance was a choice. What it all boils down to is that people just don't realise what they're getting themselves into when they register for this whole experience. And when they first make friends. And when they first have simulated sex in Sinners' Paradise or Sumo's Playpen in the Sky. It's all too much freedom and fun to understand that real hearts are getting hooked, committed and broken. Once you do actually realise that you either quit – because it's just too exhausting – or you start trying to take care of people. Or you make a conscientious decision not to care a damn. And by 'taking care' I don't mean avoiding relationships, because – let's face it – they're what makes SL the best killer app there's ever been; by 'taking care' I mean making things clear and not pretending you're after long-term love and manogomistic happiness.

Fuck; I'm getting preachy. I was just about to get onto the whole children thing and all; I'll save my views on that freaky shit for later.

I still remember the poorly-concealed smirks that used to slide their way across people's faces in RL when I was still bothering to tell them about my new-found interest. Hell, I'd had one all of my own not so long before. I mean, it had been like hearing people tell you their best mate was Jet Set Willy.

The first time I saw SL was when some kid of a friend's friend was crashing on my floor overnight, down for the day for some sort of a job interview, I think. I saw him looking across at the PC in my flat and, half guessing his intentions, told him it'd be fine if he wanted to check his email. So he asked if it would be ok instead to install the Second Life viewer for a couple of hours and hang out with his buddies on the grid (he didn't put it quite like that). I admit it: I looked at him and thought to myself, 'you sad, sad little bastard.' And he knew I was thinking that when I looked at him, and I don't think he gave a shit. Likely as not he'd thought the same thing himself when he'd had his own first look at SL. He knew then as I know now that there's no point whatsoever in trying to force that which curiosity will manage all by itself in good time.

I watched him logging in, knowing that he resented my observation. The first thing he showed me was a sandbox and how to stretch and squeeze a prim. I got bored and left him to it after five minutes, and he was tapping away all evening after that. Of course I realise now his little guided tour was all about reducing my interest just as far as it would go in the hope that I'd fuck off and leave him to it. I just remember seeing wooden things being moved about and people walking stiffly, and wandering what on earth all the fuss was about. Of course I'd *heard* about SL before then. In passing. On the radio. On the telly. On the net. Next big thing, I'd heard them saying. Just like they'd said about the web all those years ago. And, just like I hadn't believed it about the web, I hadn't believed it about SL – not one bit. I actually went to bed that night wondering what all those geeks and nerdies were going to do once their 'second life' company went bankrupt and they had to return to the real world, where grit was grit. *Now* the mere *thought* of a situation like that occurring makes my heart beat quickly and my stomach feel sick. It reminds me how much our wellbeing is now in the hands of others – a frighteningly small group of others, at that – and the sheer magnitude of the power they theoretically have. What would we do if they decided tomorrow that SL would cost a pound a day to access? I'll tell you what we'd do: we'd pay. We'd turn to a life of crime to fund it, if necessary.

I remember Orientation island so clearly. I remember the excitement of new things and being thoroughly unable to assimilate even half of the information being pushed upon me. I remember Governor Linden giving me some clothes that included a flat, grey cap. I remember the sound of the wind rushing as I flew, and the bops and bumps of my clumsiness. I remember the sound of keyboards going tap tap tap tap tap tap, and of that guy laughing off in the distance somewhere. It was intoxicating. I must have spent a whole week on Help Island, at once impatient to make my way to the mainland and at the same time anxious as to how I'd manage when I got there. It was like an afterlife, hanging out there in the distance somewhere, that I wasn't sure I was ready to go to yet; I love thinking myself back into that memory and then reflecting on what went on to be from there.

You might imagine that the wait in the end was worth it, but after a couple of days mainland the novelty of SL had well and truly died and I was ready to pack the whole thing in. Second Life doesn't so much hit you between the eyes as reveal itself to you, piece by piece, worming its way into your life until the point where you realise you can no longer manage without it. And then some more. And then some more again.

# Chapter 5

I'm pretty much full-time on SL these days. Obviously there are times here and there when I have to turn the computer off, like when I leave the flat to go shopping. I don't turn it off at night any more, in fact I actually put my AV into a sleep pose and leave it like that until the morning. An IM will usually wake me up, so I'm easy to get hold of, even when asleep. I guess I get about four to five hours kip each night, in total. Also, I nap at my desk during the day.

It was the sound of the teleporter that awoke me that afternoon. It's a sound you only tend to hear when *you* use the device, so I was aware instantly that something odd was up. Looking at my screen I could see that Def had been moved without my permission to somewhere beige and brown. An office of some description. Well that was quite impossible. Immediately, I suspected Step.

But it wasn't Step; Step wasn't even online. I really had been moved. They really had used beige. And there was a guy behind a desk with his shirt sleeves rolled up and wearing a thin blue tie that had been loosened.

Fred: Mr Thursday. Welcome. This won't take long. Please take a seat.

I didn't know who this guy was and I wasn't about to play his game. I was curious, yes, but I'd ask my questions from a safe distance.

Definitely Thursday: Bye bye.

I hit Ctl-Shift-H and waited.

Could not teleport.

Rats. It always went down when you needed it the most.

Fred: Please take a seat, Mr Thursday.

Or it was some kind of exploit weapon, like the freeze thing on Force Prophecies. I'd seen people get caught by that before, suddenly completely unable to move for themselves (oh, the language you would hear). I bought it once, I think, for one of my alts, but it was expensive and non-transfer. And it just wasn't something I had a need for. To be honest, the only really indispensable element was the radar, and you can get radars in SL for free.

It didn't matter to me a jot - it was probably time for a re-log anyway. I Xed the window and shut Second Life down.

When I logged back in again, I was still in the beige and brown office, still looking at a guy with his shirt sleeves rolled up and wearing a thin blue tie.

Fred: Please take a seat, Mr Thursday.

Definitely Thursday: Who are you?

Fred: We need to have a short conversation, Mr Thursday.

Fred: When we're finished I'll release control of your avatar back to you.

*Release control*?

I shut down Second Life again, turned off the computer and left the flat completely.

I went to the local pound shop. It was just across the street from me. I could fill a carrier bag in there with biscuits and coffee and still have a handful of change left over from a tenner. Which was the only reason I set foot in the place. The aisles there were so narrow and the shoppers so fat you could't move past a metre's worth of merchandise without having to squeeze up against at least one sweat-soaked fleece or dandruff-flecked shoulder. I pushed past a guy with a greasy comb-over comparing quantities of gummi chews across barrels and resolved to add shampoo to my list (now there's something you don't see in Second Life). And vegetables. The electronics bits and pieces they had in the pound shop were occasionally interesting. Pen radios, but I hardly ever listen to FM any more. All manner of miniaturised LED torches. I looked at a rubberised case for the original Nintendo Gameboy that they had there, and that started me thinking about how things used to be in the days when things got built with pixels rather than prims. I wondered how long it would be before someone built a fully functional ZX Spectrum in Second Life. With a cassette recorder. That you loaded virtual tapes into. That got chewed up. That you could wind in with a virtual pencil. That had a rubber on the end of it...

When I logged back in again, I was still in the beige and brown office, still looking at a guy with his shirt sleeves rolled up and wearing a thin blue tie.

Fred: Please take a seat, Mr Thursday.

I took a seat.

Definitely Thursday: Who are you? How are you doing this?

Fred: My name is Fred. I work for an organisation.

It appeared that his name really was just Fred. No surname floated above. I was certain it was a trick.

Definitely Thursday: You can't be called just Fred. You have to have a surname.

Fred: My name really isn't all that important.

I right-clicked on him to look at his profile. But right-clicking on him didn't seem to do anything.

Definitely Thursday: Are you a Linden?

Fred smiles.

Fred: I'm not a Linden, Def.

Definitely Thursday: Where are we?

Fred: Why don't you look on the map and check?

Apparently, we were in the blue sea between land masses. About two regions to the north there was a private island in the shape of a star. There was nothing else for miles around.

Definitely Thursday: That's impossible.

Fred: Not impossible, Def.

I looked around the office we were in and saw nothing of any particular note. It had been furnished with a retro 1970s feel. I moved my camera outside. We were in a nondescript skybox, the exterior walls were vanilla pine. My co-ordinates indicated an altitude of 700 metres exactly.

Definitely Thursday: What kind of organisation?

Fred: An intelligence gathering organisation.

Definitely Thursday: I'm supposed to believe you're some sort of law enforcement?

Fred: Would that be hard for you to believe?

Definitely Thursday: You can't commit crime in Second Life.

Fred: What?! Are you serious?

Definitely Thursday: Let me rephrase that...

Fred: I can't believe you just said that.

Fred: You, a 'detective'.

Definitely Thursday: You know what I mean.

Definitely Thursday: You can't hurt people in here.

Definitely Thursday: You can't steal things from them.

Fred: So much of that is a matter of semantics.

Fred: But I really don't have the passion for a debate like that right now.

Definitely Thursday: You *know* what I mean.

Fred: Well...

Fred: Why *wouldn't* there be some sort of law enforcement agency interested in what goes on in here?

Fred: We listen to people's phone conversations.

Fred: We read people's email.

Fred: It's just another form of communication, at the end of the day.

Definitely Thursday: You're connected to Echelon?

Fred: Let's not dirty this hypothetical discussion with labels, ok?

The back of my neck went all prickly. Fred then proceeded to tell me my real life name, address, telephone number and the brand of biscuits I'd just bought in the pound shop across the road. Actually, he got the brand name completely wrong; it wasn't even close. In fairness, however, I doubt that many people are that familiar with the range of brands stocked in 'Yes! Everything A Pound!'. I didn't make anything out of the error. I guessed it was enough that he knew I'd bought biscuits.

Definitely Thursday: Ok. So what do you want with me?

Fred: You've become involved recently with someone we have a strong interest in.

Fred: His name is Arton Urriah.

Definitely Thursday: Arton?

Definitely Thursday: He's just a virtual adulterer.

Definitely Thursday: Allegedly.

Fred: In the context of Second Life that might well me the case.

Fred: But *outside* of SL we have reason to believe he is considerably more important than that.

It occurred to me that I'd want to come back to this location later; Step would never believe me about any of this if I couldn't bring him here personally. Whilst Fred typed I tried to create a landmark.

Region does not exist.

Damn.

Fred: No point in trying to create a LM here Def.

Fred: Just as soon as we're finished here it'll cease to exist.

Fred: In a very real sense, it doesn't actually exist in the first place.

Fred: ((Get your head round that sentence if you can!!))

I wondered if I was even in Second Life any more. I tried taking a snapshot. That *did* work. But then what did it show? A guy with his shirt sleeves rolled up and wearing a thin blue tie. In a beige and brown office.

Perhaps I could bring Step here? Right now? I checked my friends list, but he wasn't online. In fact, none of my friends were online. Well that couldn't be right. It was just being made to appear that way, surely? I fired off an IM to find out.

Definitely Thursday: Step! Are you there?

Second Life: User not online - message will be stored and delivered later.

Fred: Oh and you can't communicate out of here either.

Fred: Think of it as being a bit like a bubble.

Fred: or a satellite, if you will, connected for just a moment.

Fred: Sort of a mobile office.

Fred: We call it 'the van.'

Definitely Thursday: We?

Fred smiles.

Fred: You imagined I'm a one man outfit?

Definitely Thursday: So you're male?

Fred grins and wags his finger at Definitely.

Fred: You might find that some things are better not known.

My anxiety levels were dropping; I was becoming accustomed already to Fred and this highly intriguing set up. I wanted to know more. But I could tell that the cheerful banter was thin. I could almost hear the guy's fingers drumming softly on that desk. Fred was not for toying with. Not yet, at least.

Definitely Thursday: So what do you want from me?

Definitely Thursday: You do know I've only just met Arton?

Fred: Yes.

Fred: But I imagine you're after evidence of his extra 'marital' relations...

Fred: ...and that once you've got it you'll shut the case.

Definitely Thursday: Correct.

Fred: Well don't.

Fred: Keep it open.

Fred: We want you to become his girl.

Fred: We want you to become the best that he's ever had.

Fred: If you manage that...

Fred: it's just possible he might let something slip.

Definitely Thursday: You're kidding me, right?

Fred: Def... let me assure you... organisations like mine don't become involved in cases of unpaid parking tickets.

Fred: It is *very* important that we know what this guy's up to.

Fred: We have good reason to believe that he uses SL to liaise with various contacts he has.

Fred: We badly want to know who those people are.

Fred: So someone well-placed could learn us a lot.

Fred: It's not dangerous work for you, only time consuming.

Fred: And you will be paid generously for your time?

Money? Real money? The sort all the local shops kept referring to? Well why hadn't he said?!! I found myself looking at Fred in a whole new light.

And all of a sudden I had a light bulb moment. It was beautiful. It was momentous. It was a landmark moment, in more ways than one. I agreed to Fred's terms, with one extra condition. On top of the money, I asked him to get me some information of my own.

# Chapter 6

My newbie month had been December, full of white and crunchy locations (it's possible I imagined the crunchiness), full of ice rinks and pine trees and falling snow. Ok, so not for the first week – that was spent on Orientation/Help island, where the seasons don't encroach. And not so much for the second week, either – or, at least, the first part of it. *That* was spent pretty much wondering about on the mainland close to Bear – I hadn't really got my head around search back then. Or flying. Actually, I was a bit of a slow learner all round.

I got bored with it all so quickly. Nothing but empty shops, it seemed. Full of things I couldn't afford and couldn't see the point in buying in the first place, not that I could afford them anyway. I went through a phase that I think most residents can identify with... wandering around from sim to sim and coming steadily to the conclusion that the world had gone completely mad.

I came across an art exhibition after a couple of days of wandering. The building was three storeys high, each concrete textured wall full - but not too full - of RL paintings and sketches that someone was trying to sell. A single AV sat inside, a female newbie of the Girl Next Door mould sitting on an egg chair near the entrance. Text above her head announced she'd earned eight Lindens 'so far'. The seat beside her promised two Lindens per ten minutes perched. So I sat on it. And, with that, I'd discovered camping.

Stacey12 Hardcastle: Hey

Definitely Thursday: Hello

At my desk in the real world, my heart started thumping just that little bit faster at the onset of my first ever SL conversation. An anti-capitalist my whole thinking life, it had taken the promise of a payment rate a fraction above a penny an hour to entice me out of my anti-social state, and I didn't even have the plans for how to spend it. You thought the function of camping was making money? Think again. Even in my state of physiological apprehension, the irony wasn't lost on me.

Stacey12 Hardcastle: Are you new to second life?

It always fascinates me how newbies don't seem to realise just how easy they are to spot. The difference between newbs and non-newbs is so obvious once you've a month or so under your belt, it's like telling the difference between black and white. Newbies just don't see it. It's like you go through some sort of perceptual transformation at some point, a moment of revelation where you look suddenly upon the computer monitor and cry out, "What the FUCK is that on my head?"

My avatar was slim, muscular, and devoid of facial hair - entirely satisfactory in the aesthetics department, I felt. I reckoned Stacey12 looked like a bit of alright and all.

Definitely Thursday: Yes. And you?

Suffice to say that the conversation which followed was mind-numbing in its blandness. For half an hour we sat there throwing extremely dull pleasantries at each other. It was like the first night in the Big Brother household. It was sickening. Eventually we reached the point where twelve Lindens an hour no longer came even close to being worth the level of boredom we were each enduring. Claiming we had "real life stuff to attend to," we both logged off. I thanked Christ once the viewer was gone from my screen and I'm sure she did the same.

Ahh, Stacey12, whatever became of you? Is your second life happy? Do you ever think of me the way I think of you? Something happened to me sitting there with you; the two of us, there together - two green blips in a lonely exhibition. Something clicked. A penny dropped. It wasn't a very large penny, that I can tell you, but it was enough to stay what had been my imminent departure from this dull-as-shit 'virtual world' for an extra day or two at least. Nothing you had said was of the slightest interest to me, but there was something – just *something* – about our situation that gave me a strange feeling I couldn't quite make sense of. I went out for a walk to think it through that afternoon. I went as far as the garden centre on Allington Lane, in fact, and examined my reflection in at least a hundred different baubles. I kept looking at my watch, wondering how long it would take me to get back home, wondering when I would log on next, and wondering what I'd do in Second Life in the future and whether I would ever see Stacey12 again. I couldn't understand where my enthusiasm for this was coming from, given that the highlight of our conversation had been a mini history of the varieties of Christmas tree she'd bought over the last twenty years. And what games her son liked playing on the Play Station.

Finally, I grasped it. It came to me in the pub that evening with some of the guys from the Castle. Fat Charlie asked me what I'd been up to on my day off. Instead of telling him I'd been on Second Life, I mentioned I'd visited an art gallery.

# Chapter 7

The moment I got ejected from 'the van' it was like the whole of SL and its inhabitants came bursting onto the screen. Instantly a whole load of my friends appeared to come on line, but I barely noticed for all the IMs flying about. An IM from Step wanting to know how the evening had gone (ie, could he request payment yet?). An IM from Inch wondering when the two of us were going to get together for a proper chat (I lingered on that one for a while, gazing at the words until they'd faded from the screen). A whole load of stuff from the watch that I would need to sift through properly later that day. And forwarded to me from Susan's gmail account was a repentant IM from Arton Urriah. He was feeling little and foolish; quite right too.

I logged off straight away so that I could reply to this one first. I knew that the longer it took me to do this and the more time I had to dwell on what Fred had just told me, the harder it would be to get round to it.

I logged back on as Susan Sonnet. I then waited a full five minutes before I replied.

Susan Sonnet: Hmmmm..... Should I forgive you?

Arton Urriah: Susan!

Arton Urriah: You got my message then?

Susan Sonnet: Yes.

Arton Urriah wonders if Susan can ever forgive him.

Susan Sonnet: lol

Susan Sonnet: You silly boy :)

Arton Urriah: Is that a 'yes' then?

Susan Sonnet: Of course it's a yes :)

Arton Urriah: Cool!

Such social frippery. It struck me that Arton's words could have come from pretty much any of the men I knew in SL. It felt just that little bit sinister. And, at the same time, it felt so damned good. I wondered what it was this guy was up to that secret cyber intelligence agencies wanted him tagged. Fred hadn't told me, on the grounds that it might 'influence my behaviour towards him'.

Definitely Thursday: How am I going to know what's significant in what I've heard if I don't know what I'm looking out for?

Fred: Just send me the transcripts of all your conversations with him.

Fred: Leave the interpretation to us.

Fred: If we need you to ask him anything specific we'll let you know.

I had an email address to send the transcripts to. For a few minutes that had me thinking how awkward it would feel if I had to get 'involved' with Arton, knowing that Fred and his associates would be going over every last detail. It's funny how you can change you mind about things so completely. Seeing his name pop up on the screen, and seeing Susan standing there, awaiting my instructions and looking as jaw-droppingly fabulous as ever, I actually started looking forward to it.

Susan Sonnet: So...

Susan Sonnet: Are we going to try this again?

Arton Urriah: No question about it.

Susan Sonnet: In which case...

Susan Sonnet: When? And...

Susan Sonnet: Where?

Arton Urriah: Well are you fre tonight?

If he'd asked me, I'd have gone there and then, that moment. I was in the mood. As it was I now had to make it look like I hadn't only logged on to see his message, which meant at least another twenty minutes of him seeing that I was online and not talking to him (if you know what I mean). Which meant twenty minutes kicking my heels, trying to find something to do. Susan was only any fun to spend time with where sex or flirting was involved. So I played around with her profile for a bit. I went window shopping for Def (I looked at gloves). I thought about firing up OnRez so that I could bring him onto the grid in parallel, but I knew it would only cripple my PC; last night had been a good demonstration of the dangers to business of that happening at the wrong moment.

I was just about to log when...

Silent Window: Hey Susan Sonnet... long time no see

Uh-oh. Now there was a name I'd hoped never to see again. I zoomed my camera out from the fingerless marines I'd been looking at and there he was, all wings and jewellery; just as I remembered him.

Susan Sonnet: Well well well. Silent Window.

Susan Sonnet: What's it been, now? Seven? Eight months?

Silent Window: Depends on when you're counting from...

Silent Window: The day we fucked or the day my wife walked out on me?

Silent Window: Oh no wait...

Silent Window: That was the same day now, wasn't it?

He was doing this in public chat too. Shit.

Silent Window: Why *was* it I heard nothing back from you after that?

Silent Window: PC problems?

Silent Window: Dodgy Internet connection?

Silent Window: Now don't tell me you've gone and found someone to make an honest woman of you!

Susan Sonnet: A one night stand is a one night stand, Silent.

Susan Sonnet: You were expecting something more?

Silent Window: Oh please.

I supposed it wasn't like I had any right to expect him not to be angry. Well. I'd been about to log off anyway...

Silent Window: You know what I reckon, Susan?

Silent Window: I reckon you're a guy.

*Sigh*.

Silent Window: I reckon you're Step Stransky. I reckon you're the guy my wife paid to get those pictures.

Did I log off there and then and risk it looking like I was running from the truth? Or did I attempt to deny the allegation and risk appearing to protest too hard? Shit, did I really give a toss what this guy thought about me anyway? Did I?

Susan Sonnet: Reckon away, Silent.

Silent Window: Come on then. What's your bra size?

Susan Sonnet: Oh for goodness sake.

Silent Window: You don't have a clue, do you?

Susan Sonnet: Fine. I'm a 34B.

Silent Window: You just looked that up online, don't try to deny it.

Susan Sonnet: Goodbye Silent.

Silent Window: That's right – you run back to your hole.

Silent Window: Are you a faggot? Is that it?

Silent Window: Are you a boy that likes to fuck boys?

Susan Sonnet: I'm not a boy, Silent.

Silent Window: Prove it, faggotboy.

Silent Window: Turn on your microphone.

Silent Window: Let's hear you speak.

Susan Sonnet: I don't do voice chat, Silent. You know that.

I right-clicked on Silent and pulled up his profile. Well well well. This charming man had found love once again. And by the looks of things he'd used the same text in his profile entry for 'Twelfth Tulip' as had had his original 'wife'. Marvellous. You should never underestimate the usefulness of a man who knows how to recycle.

Babe, you're the greatest thing that ever happened to me.

It's so great to know we're gonna spend the rest of our Second Life together. *grins*.

Such romance. It brought a tear to my eye. I looked up Ms Tulip. Perhaps this time he'd found someone a little more robust than his last acquisition. But it didn't look hopeful.

12 September. The most wonderful day of my life, the day I met Silent, the most amazing man there is on SL.

26 September. The happiest day of my life. Silent proposes!

Silent Window: I love you babe. Will you marry me?

Twelfth Tulip: Oh Silent.

Twelfth Tulip: I love you too.

Twelfth Tulip: Of *course* I will marry you!

With every day that passes

My love for you grows

Our hearts are one together

Our love is like a golden rose

I LOVE YOU SILENT!!

´*•.¸(´*•.¸♥¸.•*´)¸.•*´

♥«´¨`•° SILENT °•´¨`»♥

.¸.•*(¸.•*´♥`*•.¸)`*•.¸

What a month that must have been. The happiest *and* the most wonderful days within just a couple of weeks of each other. It must have been all downhill from there.

I flicked back through my logs of eight months ago.

Silent Window: You are so beautiful Susan.

Silent Window: I want you so bad.

Susan Sonnet: What about your wife, Silent?

Silent Window: Oh she's cool, my love.

Silent Window: She takes lovers too.

Silent Window: We have an open relationship, you know.

Silent Window: I wouldn't have married her any other way.

Silent Window: Please...

Silent Window: Just a kiss...

Silent Window: Just a hug...

Silent Window: I want you so bad...

Silent Window: I want to be inside of you...

And so on. I wondered what Ms Tulip would make of my record of this little interlude. I copied the excerpt and pasted it into chat.

Susan Sonnet: Oops.

Susan Sonnet: Look what I just did there.

Susan Sonnet: So clumsy.

Susan Sonnet: Oh by the way...

Susan Sonnet: When are you going to introduce me to your new wife?

There were a couple of other avatars present. One of them wrote:

MasTiLLo Frip pisses himself laughing.

I could have kissed him.

Silent Window: Fuck you Susan.

And then he was gone. And I felt great. It was one of those moments where you just have to kick back your chair and do a little victory dance around your room. To hell with Def and his listening device feeds to look through; now was a time for celebrating. At that moment an amazing brunette TPed into the shop, shape and skin the spitting image of Inch. She wore thigh-length boots, a black flexi-mini and a green blouse undone to the third button (black lace peeked out from the opening). Thoughts that had been forming of visiting the club with the dancer with the garter instantly vanished and an IM box was duly opened. I wanted her. She would be my trophy for the day.

Susan Sonnet: You do realise that you and I are the most beautiful creatures within ten sims of here, don't you?

Sindy Witchell giggles.

Sindy Witchell: Only ten?

I decided that that would be the last I would see of Silent Window for a long, long time.

I was completely, *completely* wrong.

# Chapter 8

Every now and then you get to investigate an alt juggler – someone who has an affair, but does so with a different avatar. They're the hardest of all to investigate, and I'll admit I've had my fair share of failures. If catching a single AV out is relatively easy, Alt Hunting can be considered to be something of a black art.

MidnightMajor Mistletoe: All of a sudden there are evenings where she's not online.

MidnightMajor Mistletoe: Sometimes it's several days before I get to see her.

Is the most commonly reported sort of suspicion. Where are their beloveds? What on Earth are they up to? What on *Earth*, indeed. That's the thing, you see – explanations involving real world commitments simply don't seem to cut the mustard when it comes to explaining virtual world absences to members of our suspicious clientèle. Which can make the initial interview a bit of a tricky process, sometimes.

MidnightMajor Mistletoe: First its computer problems, she says.

Step Stransky: People do get computer problems.

Step Stransky: And, of course, these have serious consequences for SL!

MidnightMajor Mistletoe: That take three days to fix? Come on!

Step Stransky: Well, yes!

MidnightMajor Mistletoe: So then it's her phone line she says is down.

Step Stransky: But that *would* be a problem if it happened though, wouldn't it?

We have absolutely no interest in taking on phantom cases. It serves nobody's purposes. Coming back to a client after a couple of weeks' worth of work - after a couple of *months'* worth of work on more than one occasion - just to tell them that you think their fears are groundless rarely goes down well. Clients want results in return for their money (dammit). That's why we challenge in the first instance.

MidnightMajor Mistletoe: Then she tells me she has people staying.

Step Stransky: But these *are* things that *do* happen in real life.

The unspoken annex to that sentence being "even if they don't happen in *your* real life." As you know, (you do know this, don't you?) people make assumptions all the time in RL about what is and what isn't plausible about other people's RLs. In SL it's even worse. People just don't seem to realise the sheer diversity of persons and personalities they're brushing shoulders with in the virtual world. The absence of RL detail makes visualising these lives a nearly impossible task. But you have to do it - you just have to - if you want a relationship that will actually work. Think about it. It's *just* conceivable that you, the pauper, could have a relationship with him, the prince, via Second Life. What might start off as a beautiful friendship that transcends the social barriers, however, could quickly descend into a mess of suspicion and anger if you're unable to accept as fact his claim that he has a gala function to attend *at least once a month*.

MidnightMajor Mistletoe: In the space of two weeks she had *three* visits from family members!

Step Stransky: And you say this was over the Christmas period?

'Eclectic overlap,' is Inch's term for it. The phenomenon whereby one person's everyday behaviours are so far outside the realm of another person's everyday behaviours that they become a source of suspicion and distrust. SL brings us into contact with people we would simply never ordinarily socialise with.

MidnightMajor Mistletoe: And another thing: she called me Kevin last night.

Step Stransky: Really? *Kevin*?

MidnightMajor Mistletoe: See?! You think that's odd, don't you?!

Step Stransky: Absolutely!

Step Stransky: Why would anyone *choose* to call themselves Kevin?

If regular casework is relatively quick in time scale, Alt Hunting is the pig that can take forever and a day. Hence the difference in the price. There are few certainties in this type of work; there are no sure fire strategies whatsoever, only a small number of tactics which *might* work if you have the time and the instincts. And the luck.

Providing pictures and transcripts isn't the primary objective in an Alt Hunting case. First and foremost, clients generally just want a name. So you start by making a list with the client of the places the Primary AV hangs out in. It tends to be the case that targets don't relog into their alts from a location in which their partner is already hanging out – ie, they don't like to bring their alt online to a place where their partner actually is at that moment. I guess it's the guilt. I guess they reckon the partner will take one look at them and immediately see through the disguise. "Arthur! What on Earth are you doing in that get up?!"

So the usual ruse of getting the the client to TP you to his/her location is usually no good whatsoever – if the target is there and logs off he'll most likely relog into a different sim completely. So you take that list you created with the client and you fire up one of your nondescript alts (I usually use a Boy Next Door newbie alt), and you start moving from location to location until you have a spotting. This can take minutes; this can take days. When you've got him/her, you relog immediately into your appropriate honeypot, back into that same location. Of course I have a male as well as a female honeypot. His name is Clark, and if I was that way inclined I would want that avatar doing dreadful things to me in as many different places and poses as I could conjure.

Of course, we're not expecting an IM from the primary AV; this isn't that sort of case, this is Alt Hunting. If the bait works then what we're watching for is for the primary AV to disappear and for a younger AV to appear shortly thereafter. The IM that we're waiting for should come from the *new* AV. It's not conclusive – not even slightly, in fact – but it is a start. Now you have someone to target. Now you have someone to find out about.

But by bit, you build up a profile. The more detail you accumulate, the better the picture becomes. Even the most ultra guarded of SLers can let things slip sometimes if you go for what appear to be the most innocuous of details. Every piece helps.

Susan Sonnet: Mmm-mmmm... looking at this meal makes me feel so hungry!

Susan Sonnet wonders what Philip Uiop had for lunch today.

Which the client has already asked of the primary AV that evening. You compare the answers.

Susan Sonnet: You're in the US, right?

Susan Sonnet: Isn't today a holiday for you guys?

To which the target answers 'no' (because it isn't), and invariably then adds some sort of detail. It could be something dull, like:

Philip Uiop: No way! Work as usual!

Which is no good whatsoever. But it *could* be something useful, like:

Philip Uiop: No way! We've been doing a stock take all day long at work.

Which, again, you can check with the client.

Susan Sonnet: Honey, I can't stay on too long tonight...

Philip Uiop: Awwww :(

Susan Sonnet: I have to get up early in the morning...

Susan Sonnet: I have to take my car to the garage.

Susan Sonnet: The wretched thing keeps stalling on me.

Susan Sonnet: I *had* to choose a Beetle lol

Philip Uiop: HAHAHA

Susan Sonnet: Let me guess...

Susan Sonnet: You're a Ford man, right?

I have yet to know that particular tactic to come back with anything less than the make, model, year of registration and colour of at least their most recent motor – and sometimes all preceding cars back to the Austin Maestro they got for their eighteenth birthday. Guys just can't help themselves.

Susan Sonnet: Damn I need a holiday.

Susan Sonnet: Haven't been on vacation in three years.

Susan Sonnet: You been anywhere nice lately?

Think of it as hairdresser talk. You ask nothing that *sounds* like it's identifying. Of course you're not actually asking anything that *is* identifying, in the RL sense of the word. None of this would help you to find the real life person. But that's not the point.

The killer info is their occupation. If you can get *that* then you're on the home straight.

Susan Sonnet: You're in some sort of managerial role, aren't you?

Susan Sonnet: I can tell.

Philip Uiop: lol

Philip Uiop: No. Definitely not that.

Susan Sonnet: Really?

Susan Sonnet: You have that air of authority about you.

Philip Uiop: Do you think so?

Susan Sonnet: Definitely.

Philip Uiop: I'm kind of in the fast food industry.

Susan Sonnet: Assistant manager?

Philip Uiop: I flip burgers.

You need to be aware, however, that that sort of conversation can badly backfire on you.

Susan Sonnet: You're in some sort of managerial role, aren't you?

Philip Uiop: Yes!

If you have the right target, the little collection of coincidences inevitably grows. Until eventually you just can't put them down as coincidences any more.

But you do get false positives - AVs you've identified incorrectly as alts. And some poor innocent gets a ton of grief from a spouse they never knew.

At other times the alt is right there in front of you, in your face, practically jumping up and down and shouting "I'm an alt! I'm an alt!" And still you miss it.

Like I missed it that afternoon at the glove shop.

# Chapter 9

That first SL Christmas was a wet one in RL. In Pizza Castle, the works party season was in full swing; the flow of noise from the restaurant into the kitchen was non-stop. With that number of people, with the kitchen air-con on the blink, and with the garlic bread supreme on special offer for the festive season, the heat and the smell in there was something else. We kept the kitchen fire exit propped open with a couple of unopened salad cream buckets stacked on top of each other. It rained so hard the labels started to disintegrate; the noise the of the rain on the fire escape outside was deafening.

It used to annoy me how the smokers got to stand beneath the fire escape, all by themselves. Nobody ever batted an eyelid at this solitude, but if you were a *non* smoker it was apparently beyond comprehension that you might want to spend a little time in standby in this fashion. It ended up taking several weeks to establish it clearly amongst my fellow workers that if I was standing out there by myself for a few minutes it did not mean that I needed or wanted somebody to talk to. It usually meant that I didn't.

I remember standing out there towards the end of that second week in SL, in the darkness, listening to the hammering rain and, struggling to be distinguishable above it, Slade's Seasonal Classic seeping from the open doorway; I remember standing there and thinking about Second Life. It interested me the idea that, with a decent enough laptop and a wireless connection, I could have been accessing SL right there and then, in that very spot I was standing in, skating across a frozen pond whilst the rain tipped down and the British wind blew. I felt the virtual world around me, always there, ever present, hidden behind the atoms of reality. I found it comforting to think of it like that.

The rain poured down. On the uneven asphalt of the yard it accumulated here and there in dancing pools of sodium, and I wondered how long it would be before that sort of visual were possible in SL (this is before Windlight, you understand). Would anyone make virtual puddles when it was? My guess was yes. Someone would want to do it. I wondered how long it would be before you'd be able to jump in the puddles and make them splash, and whether anyone would want to make puddles that did *that*. My guess again was yes. Always there would be people with their own ideas. It had started to occur to me just how big this canvas was. It had started to occur to me the immensity of potentially what awaited me beyond that login screen.

It had started to occur to me that Second Life was playing with dolls in a dolls' house. Second Life was making model air planes. Second Life was playing doctors and nurses, or soldiers and spacemen. Second Life was painting. And writing. And music. And maths. Second Life was building little villages for toy trains to steam around. Second Life was slotting racing track together and making cars whiz around it. Second Life was joining a fan club or a local book discussion circle. Second life was being pen pals. Second life was writing love letters.

I was working lates and getting back at one, sometimes two in the morning, logging on just as soon as my keys were on the table and my boots were on the mat. By that hour the Europeans were tucked up in bed and snoring, and the Americans just coming out to play. I started to explore. I found the Aerodrome at Abbotts and went sky diving. I discovered freebie shops and 'purchased' from them denim outfits and sunglasses that looked like they belonged on a potato head. I learned how to alter my appearance and turned myself into a bald man in a black T-shirt with leather (ie, black) gloves. I thought I looked fantastic! I was wrong.

I paused outside of clothes shops and looked at the models wearing the seasonal specials (I especially liked the Santa's helper outfit). And wondered where you got to meet women like that.

I learned how to fly. I discovered floating houses, complete with lounges, kitchens and bedrooms. I discovered coloured balls on the beds that you could click on...

There was something magical about it all, the sumptuous and the seedy both. Perhaps it was the fact that there never seemed to be that many people about in any particular sim, making it feel a bit like you were visiting a theme park out of season. I don't know why that would make it magical. I guess magical stuff just doesn't happen very often in crowded places.

I hardly spoke to anyone.

Finally, I stumbled across my first sex den. A seedier place you cannot imagine, it was just one great big hall filled with sex animations. You had to walk over a great big bridge to get to it, and before you started there was a big sign warning you off if you were under-age or of a nervous disposition. I actually stood there in front of the sign four five minutes debating whether to go. As if there was any possibility that I wouldn't.

Slowly, my newbie self made its way nervously across the bridge. The whole place is gone now, which is a shame; I'd be back there like a shot with a big grin on my face if it was there now. I'd walk over that bridge once more, back on the approach to Aladdin's cave, wondering what the hell I was going to find over there and what it was going to cost me. Earlier that day I'd taken the plunge, broken my initial resolve that SL would be a zero cost initiative and obtained some Second Life cash. My account was now gorged with six thousand odd Lindens and I had pretty much no idea what to spend them on. I'd noticed by then that other avatars appeared to look more realistic than I did, and supposed that it took money to achieve this.

I came to the end of the bridge, passing pink and blue pose balls that were starting to sprout up around me like stray stalks at the edge of a field. 'Resolution' sounded intriguing, as did 'Tease'/'Be teased' and 'Fold'. 'Doggie' I decided I could pretty much work out. 'Cowgirl' I decided I just *had* to see in action. The outside of the building was empty, but as I approached I could soon make out the activity from within. On my mini-map I could see a great mass of green blips approaching. The closer I got, the slower and less controlled my movements appeared to be. This was my introduction to lag.

Verrrrrrry Sloooowwwwly, I entered. All of a sudden, my AV's arms and legs started to swing to and fro at a brisk march on the spot. Then I was back outside again, moving slowly. I persisted. I inched my way past groups of grey people in various poses; with their skins and clothes un-rezzed like this they looked like Greek statues brought eerily to sexual life. One by one they fleshed up and coloured in, and what had been eerie became faintly creepy. It was the silence, more than anything else. Silence, punctuated by the one person who hadn't yet worked out the difference between IM and public chat.

Yasmin Younge: Yes

Yasmin Younge: lol

Yasmin Younge: Me too, sweetie

Yasmin Younge: Let's try this one

Yasmin Younge: lol

Yasmin Younge: Feels so good

Yasmin Younge: Oh yeah.

Yasmin Younge: Fill me with that enormous cock of yours.

Yasmin Younge: Sort of.

Yasmin Younge: Preferably clockwise.

It was this, in fact, that alerted me to the fact that people were using IM to communicate with each other in the first place. Up until this point I hadn't really thought about this all that much. I knew about Instant Messaging *in theory* but I'd never had cause to use it before. It just hadn't occurred to me how thick the silent air could be with secret personal messages. I walked through the sex hall trying to imagine the sorts of words being whispered into the ears of the lovers there. I supposed it didn't require a great deal of imagination.

The hall was filled with couches and rugs, each with their packed display of erotic pose balls: 'Intimate Passion' I decided I rather liked the sound of; 'Lady on table' sounded straightforward and rudimentary; 'Double delight' made me think of twin cup ice cream cones; 'Stuff her pussy' just struck me as wrong in so many ways.

Lots of naked newbie guys standing about. Mostly of the Nightclub variety, closely followed by the Boy Next Door. There was one or two of the City Chic guys. About half of them had those enormous newbie cocks on them that you could hang half your wardrobe from. The girls were either City Chic or Girl Next Door. There were about five of them, and wherever one walked you could be certain a couple of the guys would follow, occasionally letting their inane comments spill into public chat.

Phillipe911 Sedgerton: U look nice

A few of the guys were actually getting lucky. Yasmin's chap, for example. He was banging away at that girl as though the fate of humankind rested on his ability to fuck her. Whether or not he was enjoying himself I guess we'll never know; all I can report with confidence is that Yasmin appeared at least mildly engaged by this activity. To begin with. About five minutes into their session her vague expressions of pleasure started to become interspersed with comments about Britney Spears and I realised after a fashion she was trying to respond to a completely different IM window. When she started talking about what she wanted to *do* to Britney Spears, I realised something else. Either her chap wasn't paying attention or he didn't understand or he just didn't care. I kind of hoped it was the latter. Good for him if it was.

Outside the building was a sandy beach with rolling waves. Twenty inflatable lilos floated off-shore with twenty naked newbies reclining at three Lindens per twenty minutes. On the sea bed below were at least a dozen more, standing around like cargo from a wrecked shipment of crash test dummies. For weeks I wondered what that was all about. Eventually I worked out that they too had been camping on the inflatables, their owners AFK; their maximum period reached, the system threw them back into a stand and straight away one of the waiting crowd jumped on, knocking the old AV into the water, where it drifted down to the bottom. There was something sad about the way they were all standing there, abandoned; but also something real. It made me think that that was how SL should be when you logged off – that your avatar remained in-world, parked like a car, and if you didn't leave it somewhere nice then lichen or something would start to grow on it, or virtual dogs would pee up against you.

For the life of me I couldn't see where the eroticism was. My first experience of a sex spot in SL, and it looked to me like a whole load of people just standing around and looking at each other. And those were the lucky ones.

# Chapter 10

I took Sindy to Rachael's and we pressed ourselves together in a slow dance that inched us round the floor. Blue Garter was nowhere to be seen; I'd hoped I might have been able to point her out to Sindy and suggest we swing by a lingerie shop later, but it was not to be. In fact, the club was more or less empty; it was just us, the music and the dance floor. And a guy mopping the floor in a corner for 6 Lindens an hour.

Susan Sonnet: You got a bf sweetie?

Sindy Witchell: No! I'm bi lol

Susan Sonnet: Bisexual ladies *can* have boyfriends, you know. It is allowed ;)

Sindy Witchell: lmao

Susan Sonnet pulls Sindy close.

Sindy Witchell: And you?

Susan Sonnet: Nothing regular at the moment.

Susan Sonnet: Actually there is this guy...

Susan Sonnet: Don't know where it'll go though.

Sindy Witchell: Ooh! Exciting!

Susan Sonnet: Well... We'll see.

Susan Sonnet nibbles at Sindy's ear a little.

Sindy Witchell giggles.

Sindy Witchell: That tickles!

Susan Sonnet whispers something appallingly naughty into Sindy's ear then gives it a soothing kiss when she notices how red it's getting.

Sindy Witchell: lmao

Sindy Witchell: Mmm nice idea.

Susan Sonnet: D'you think?

Sindy Witchell: Sure do!

Susan Sonnet nuzzles in close, feeling Sindy's hair brushing against her cheek.

Sindy Witchell: Mmm nice.

I hoped Sindy would start soon to come up with something a little more stimulating than 'mmm' and 'lol.'

Susan Sonnet lets her right hand wander down to grab itself a handful of Sindy's cute little ass.

Sindy Witchell: lol

Things weren't looking hopeful.

Sindy Witchell: Do you do Xcite?

Susan Sonnet: Not if I can possibly avoid it honey.

Sindy Witchell: You don't like it?

Susan Sonnet: Oh it's so boring.

Sindy Witchell: Yeah I know what you mean.

Of course she didn't.

Susan Sonnet: I like my lovers to invest some effort in me.

Susan Sonnet: I like to be surprised by what they say!

Sindy Witchell: lol

And then a long silence.

Sindy Witchell: Do you bring your bf here?

Susan Sonnet: Actually, I only really met him last night.

Susan Sonnet: But yeah, it was here.

Susan Sonnet glances left, glances right... satisfied that no-one is watching she slides her hand up beneath Sindy's blouse. Delicately, she allows her fingertips to brush lightly across Sindy's skin...

Susan Sonnet feels Sindy's skin go all goosebumpy.

Sindy Witchell: Ooooh. Feels so good.

Sindy Witchell: Do you want to move somewhere where they have some good poseballs?

It was enough to make you want to cry. But I was used to the disappointment. For all the talk you heard about cybersex in SL, the reality was that an appallingly large number of people were essentially hopeless at it. I was rather beginning to suspect that Sindy W was in fact a male. I supposed it didn't especially matter.

I TPed her over to a secluded spot I knew and planned the verbal assault I would make on her apparel.

Susan Sonnet looks Sindy slowly up and down, her gaze finally coming to rest on the top button of her-

But before I'd even had the chance to finish the sentence she was topless. And then the flexi-skirt was gone. And then the boots, one by one. I wanted to cry out to stop her, but where was the point? In a moment, the mood had left me completely. Sindy Witchell jumped onto a 69 pose ball outside the hut and cranked up her clit.

XCite! Clit SE "The Damsel" whispers: Sindy begins to stroke herself.

That was pretty much that then.

Susan Sonnet: Sorry to say I have to go.

Sindy Witchell: What?

Sindy Witchell: You're joking?!

Susan Sonnet: There's something I have to do in RL.

Sindy Witchell: Oh please don't go just yet. I was so close.

Susan Sonnet: So close?

Susan Sonnet: So close to *what* exactly?

Susan Sonnet: We hadn't even started!

Sindy Witchell: Please take off your clothes.

Sindy Witchell: Come sit here with me.

Sindy Witchell: Please.

Why was I always getting myself into situations like this? Why? I should have just logged out there and then, but some idiot part of me felt like I owed her something. I looked at the time. I sighed. I supposed ten more minutes wouldn't hurt. I supposed that was twice the amount of time Sindy would actually need, judging by her performance so far.

Susan Sonnet: Ten minutes then. Then I have to go.

Susan Sonnet: ok?

Sindy Witchell: Sure.

Sindy Witchell: Take off your clothes.

Sindy Witchell: Sweetie.

Right click > Take off > Clothes > More > All Clothes. Might as well get it over and done with as quickly as I could.

Sindy Witchell: Oh baby.

Sindy Witchell: Look at you.

Sindy Witchell: Come over here.

Sindy Witchell: Come sit with me.

My mind on other things already, I hopped onto the pose ball. Pixels started to move.

Sindy Witchell: Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm

Sindy Witchell: Soooooooooooo gooooooooooooooooood

Sindy Witchell: That's right... lick my pussy, baby......

Sindy Witchell: ooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Yeah yeah.

I thought about Inch.

I thought about *that* night.

# Chapter 11

Inch Sideways has been watching Definitely Thursday from across the dance floor for several minutes now. She's wondering if he's always so still and so silent. She's wondering if he's here to watch or to wish. She's wondering what it is that happens on a Thursday, and what it is that makes it so... definite.

Definitely Thursday: lol

Inch Sideways: lol is not allowed.

Definitely Thursday: hahaha

Inch Sideways: hahaha is not allowed.

Inch Sideways resolves to give Definitely one more chance to sing to her before she disappears from his life and from this bar, though not necessarily in that order.

Definitely Thursday: You want me to sing to you?

Inch Sideways: Take a deep breath... We're in IM... Nobody is going to laugh at you...

Inch Sideways takes a long hard look at Definitely and judges him a fascination. She waits for him to speak...

Definitely Thursday: Please - call me Def.

Inch Sideways: She still waits for him to speak...

Definitely Thursday: Ok lol

Definitely Thursday (Sorry about the lol)

Inch Sideways grows impatient.

Definitely Thursday: Right.

Definitely Thursday thinks about what he wants to say.

Inch Sideways observes, whilst 'Def' composes himself, that - strong and smouldering though he might be - he has yet to accumulate twenty days' experience within this realm. She reminds herself of the need for tolerance sometimes.

Definitely Thursday notes that it's not like Inch has *that* much more experience than he does.

Inch Sideways: There's a lot that you can achieve in 16 days, my lad. You mind that lip of yours.

Definitely Thursday: lol

Inch Sideways suspects that Thursday is deliberately trying her patience.

Definitely Thursday: sorry

Inch Sideways is definitely about to leave.

Definitely Thursday decides he would prefer it if she didn't.

Inch Sideways looks across the dance floor expectantly.

Definitely Thursday thinks Inch looks fabulous in her sequinned dress.

Inch Sideways: Boring. Try harder.

Definitely Thursday peers through the mass of pixel-flesh throwing itself around the floor in loose connection to the music...

Inch Sideways: Now you're trying too hard.

Inch Sideways: 'pixel-flesh'

Inch Sideways: akk

Inch sideways looks right through the dancers at the man on the far side called Definitely Thursday... Their eyes meet... Their eyes lock... It's as though it's just the two of them in the room. Alone. Together. As she examines his strong face she feels that he is trying to tell her something with his eyes... something important... something powerful...

Definitely Thursday sees her at the bar, a woman of fine form and fiery eyes. A woman with a gaze that cannot be broken once met. A woman called Inch Sideways.

Inch Sideways: Better.

Definitely Thursday starts to walk towards her, his strides slow and uncertain at first, but becoming more confident with each step. The dancers part around him as he moves, unconscious of his passage. They are of no consequence to him. They might as well not exist. His eyes look only at the face which he approaches and the desire its stillness tries to hide.

Inch Sideways: Much, much better. Try doing it in less than half an hour next.

Definitely Thursday feels himself being pulled towards her as though by magnetism. His walk becomes faster, more urgent. He sees a tiny smile at the corner of her lip. He sees her straighten out of her casual lean against the bar...

Inch Sideways: Steady on cowboy... let me decide what sweet little Inch does or doesn't do.

Inch Sideways watches Thursday move towards her and notes the purpose to his stride. She straightens out of her casual lean against the bar. She will be ready for him, as she is always ready for those who walk towards her in this way.

Definitely Thursday slows to a stop right in front of her. For a moment of infinite length he stands without movement, regarding her in minute detail.

Definitely Thursday regards Inch with the appreciation one might reserve for a fine painting.

Definitely Thursday regards Inch with the fascination one might reserve for a complex puzzle.

Definitely Thursday regards Inch with the hunger one might reserve for his last meal.

Inch Sideways can't imagine she'd be especially hungry if it was her last ever meal.

Inch Sideways is un-phased by Thursday's cursory inspection of her. She takes a good long look right back at him.

Definitely Thursday: Let's dance.

Inch Sideways: Yes.

Inch Sideways: Let's.

Inch Sideways allows Thursday to take her in his arms. Standing at the side of the dance floor, they start to move from foot to foot. She feels a sense of safety wash over her in this place next to him. She buries her head in his chest and finds it soft and warm, as though the good heart she senses beating within has melted away that strong muscle just enough for her to be comfortable there.

Definitely Thursday pulls Inch close to him and rests his head on top of hers. It is enough just to feel her soft hair on his cheek, he thinks; he could stay in this position for ever. But...

Inch Sideways: But?

Definitely Thursday raises his head to look closely at Inch. He crooks his forefinger beneath her chin and gently, but firmly pulls her gaze up towards his.

Inch Sideways allows her gaze to be walked up the face of Thursday, up over his chiselled features to the deep, deep chasms of his eyes.

Definitely Thursday moves his face that little bit closer to Inch's; a tiny movement, but one he's certain she won't have missed. He halts, lingers there for a second, their noses almost touching... a last moment for her to warn him off... a last moment for her to pull away entirely.

Inch Sideways does not warn Thursday off.

Inch Sideways does not pull away.

Inch Sideways continues Thursday's gaze, her lips parting slightly, her eyes saying, 'continue.'

Definitely Thursday brings his lips down upon Inch's – slowly, gently, like a feather coming in to land.

Inch Sideways brings her hand up to Thursday's cheek, sliding it over skin roughened ever so slightly by perhaps an hour's worth of stubble... over his ear... into his hair... her fingers arch within the thick curls and her eyes close slowly.

Definitely Thursday presses harder down into Inch's lips, exploring with more energy as his passion starts to build. One hand rests across the smooth line of her jaw, the other he brings up to gently hold the back of her head. He pulls her face to his and moves across her lips hungrily, taking her in in mouthfuls.

Inch Sideways: Wow.

Inch Sideways: You're a good kisser.

Definitely Thursday: Yes.

Definitely Thursday: I am.

Inch Sideways: And so modest.

Definitely Thursday has no use for modesty in a situation such as this.

Inch Sideways wonders what she has created.

Definitely Thursday thinks it's less a matter of being created, more a matter of being set free.

Inch Sideways wonders what this bird will do with his freedom, now that he has it.

Definitely Thursday wonders what he will be allowed to do with it.

Inch Sideways: Anything you want.

Inch Sideways: My gift to you.

Inch Sideways: Your gift to me.

Inch Sideways: but...

Inch Sideways: for one night only.

Inch Sideways: Ok?

Definitely Thursday: Absolutely ok.

Definitely Thursday: Very absolutely ok.

Definitely Thursday: lol

Inch Sideways: Don't make me regret this now.

Inch Sideways: Stop your wittering.

Inch Sideways: Make love to me.

Definitely Thursday: Here?

Inch Sideways: Don't tell me... you need the visual.

Inch Sideways: Guys *always* have to have the visual.

Definitely Thursday: No no, it's fine.

Definitely Thursday thinks he can manage without the visual.

Inch Sideways: Ok here's the deal...

Inch Sideways: We go somewhere else - somewhere secluded - and you get the visual.

Inch Sideways: Or we stay here and you don't get the visual...

Inch Sideways: but we write about it like we're doing it here in front of all these people.

Inch Sideways: I know which one turns *me* on the most.

Inch Sideways hopes Thursday doesn't disappoint her.

Definitely Thursday is feeling goosebumps all over.

Definitely Thursday: In public chat?

Inch Sideways: No not in public chat.

Inch Sideways: You're not ready for that yet.

Inch Sideways: You know it.

Inch Sideways: I know it.

Inch Sideways: Learn to walk first.

Definitely Thursday: lol ok

Inch Sideways: You're really pushing your luck with the lol thing there.

Definitely Thursday: I was just laughing.

Inch Sideways: Then say that.

Inch Sideways: Now come on.

Inch Sideways: Before the mood evaporates.

Definitely Thursday: I can't believe how turned on this is making me feel.

Inch Sideways: So show me.

Definitely Thursday pulls slowly away from the kiss, holding Inch's head in his hands as though it is an offering, waiting for her eyes to open so he can look into them and ask a silent question.

Inch Sideways feels the moment come that she's been waiting for. Will he want her? Is this that soundless second where the agreement is reached? She feels his gaze upon her. She feels him waiting. She holds her eyes shut just a second longer, luxuriating in the anticipation...

Inch Sideways lets a tiny smile flicker briefly at the corner of her mouth...

Inch Sideways opens her eyes... 'Proceed,' she says, without words, without movement.

Definitely Thursday swings Inch gently round so that her back is to the bar again.

Inch Sideways reclines, resting her elbows on the polished wood of the bar behind her.

Definitely Thursday moves into another kiss, his left arm curling round her back, his right hand starting in her blonde bob, pushing the hair back, away from her face...

Inch Sideways is not blonde.

Inch Sideways has *mousey* coloured hair.

Definitely Thursday: ...his right hand starting in her mouse coloured bob, pushing the hair back, away from her face...

Inch Sideways turns into the kiss, bringing her left arm up and around Thursday's neck, pulling him closer.

Definitely Thursday moves his hand to the back of Inch's head... lets it drop... lets it drop further... feels his way to her perfectly rounded arse...

Inch Sideways: Oh surely you can do better than 'arse'.

Inch Sideways: even the American spelling is better.

Definitely Thursday: Point taken.

Definitely Thursday: ...feels his way to her perfectly rounded derrier...

Inch Sideways: Ok better (but not much).

Definitely Thursday reaches suddenly down... reaches the hem... places his hand on the skin above Inch's knee and moves it upwards.

Inch Sideways feels her skirt being lifted. Goosebumps rise all over her body. A short gasp escapes her as a little shudder of delight passes through her; she can't resist taking a peek at the dance floor to see which guys are noticing and which are pretending not to...

Inch Sideways: ...and which *girls* are noticing and which are pretending not to...

Definitely Thursday moves his hand all the way up to the round of Inch's thigh, bringing the loose folds of her skirt up with it to expose her left leg completely.

Inch Sideways: By the way, please don't use words like 'throbbing' and 'manhood'.

Inch Sideways: And if at any point you should refer to my 'juices' I swear to God I'll be gone before the Return key's had time to rise.

Definitely Thursday: Duly noted.

Inch Sideways: You have been warned.

Inch Sideways: Now. Continue.

Definitely Thursday sees the excitement in Inch's eyes, sees how she looks past him every now and again to search for reactions amongst the dancers beyond. What a naughty, naughty girl.

Inch Sideways: Yes, I am naughty.

Inch Sideways: I should be punished.

Definitely Thursday unhooks his left arm from around her and reaches down... pulls up the other side of her skirt... holds her at both sides of her midriff... pushes the fabric above the bar. Now her legs are completely bare, save for the lace panties...

Inch Sideways shifts her legs apart slightly. She presses her hand into Thursday, feeling him through the denim. She looks past him momentarily at the dancers, seeing at least five pairs of eyes looking quickly away. She tries to giggle, but it becomes a faint gasp. She leans back a little, offering her neck to Thursday.

Definitely Thursday plants kisses all the way along Inch's neck, working his way downward. His hand slips up and under her panties at the point where they cross her hip.

Inch Sideways moves her mouth over Thursday's ear as he nuzzles at her throat. 'Pull them down,' she whispers. 'Pull them down right now.'

Definitely Thursday: Oh my God.

Definitely Thursday: This is amazing.

Definitely Thursday moves in front of Inch and slips both of his hands down and into the front of her panties, his palms brushing against her fluttering stomach as they travel. His fingertips touch briefly tiny hairs as he moves his hands outwards to her hips, hooking each thumb around the edge of her panties. Slowly, he pushes down...

Inch Sideways moans loudly as she feels the panties peeled from her. Her arms wrapped around Thursday's neck, she pushes him down as he removes them, knowing where that will leave him when they're round her ankles, ready to be kicked away.

Definitely Thursday drops kisses across Inch's skin on the approach to her navel. He lets go of the panties and they fall to the floor. His hands slide back up her thighs and round her hips. He kisses once below her belly button... Once more... Once more... Once more, and he can go downwards no further.

Inch Sideways pulls Thursday into her, bracing herself against the bar...

Definitely Thursday reaches deep inside of Inch, tasting...

Inch Sideways can't stop the gasp from escaping. A shudder passes through her. Her fingers curl in Thursday's hair. Her nails dig into Thursday's scalp. She parts her legs to let him in deeper, then brings them back together when she feels him hit the spot.

Definitely Thursday hooks his arms up behind her and pushes up a little, taking her weight on his biceps.

Inch Sideways rests her elbows back on the bar, letting Thursday push her up onto the wood. She sweeps the surface clean, sending a whiskey glass and an ashtray flying to the floor. The sound of glass shattering draws yet more attention from the dance floor. It gives them an excuse to look. She lies back slowly, enjoying their jealous, disapproving stares, pulling her dress up over her shoulders as she goes, flinging it to the ground just as her shoulders come to rest upon the cold smoothness.

Inch Sideways looks down past her hardened nipples at Thursday's eyes; they're peeking back at her from above the mound. Her body arches suddenly as an intense wave of pleasure impacts. With a sense of urgency she reaches down to pull his head up to her.

Definitely Thursday resists, enjoying the tightness of her muscles around him, loving the feeling he gets when her thighs go taught about his ears.

Inch Sideways: Please. Come up here. Now.

Definitely Thursday takes a long, last taste then pulls reluctantly away. He climbs up onto the bar, fiddling with his belt as he moves.

Inch Sideways pushes Thursday's clumsy paws away and pulls the buckle open. She practically rips his jeans open, leans forward, pushes everything that can be pushed as far back as it will go and lies back, waiting for him.

Definitely Thursday enters into Inch, the way in so smooth it's as though they were custom made to be together.

Inch Sideways: Ooooohhhhh. Oh God....

Inch Sideways pulls Thursday down to her so she can feel his breath on her neck.

Inch Sideways pulls Thursday's shirt up, wanting to feel his skin against hers.

Inch Sideways wraps her arms and her legs around him, using the contact to step up the rhythm a little. Things inside of her are building and she needs more speed.

Inch Sideways appears to be doing all the typing.

Definitely Thursday is finding typing increasingly difficult.

Definitely Thursday pushes Inch's arms up and back beyond her head so that she lies with her arms outstretched along the bar. He likes to look at her like that. He holds her just above the armpits as he moves in and out of her, exaggerating the movement as much as he is able to so that his whole body rises and falls with it.

Inch Sideways lies with her arms pinned under Thursday's weight. The sense of helplessness only adds to the feelings growing within her. Her gasps are regular now, and louder, and faster, and faster, and her awareness of the rest of the room and the many people there has slipped away completely. There is only her and Thursday, their movements increasing in speed and urgency, their bodies moving well beyond the point at which they could be brought back under control. There is only the destination now, and they are hurtling towards it.

Definitely Thursday feels the explosion coming, feels everything start to tighten inside him... tension building building to the final relea

Inch Sideways cries out as her bodyohfuckfuckfuckyes

This region is going to be restarted in 5 minutes. If you remain here you will be logged out.

This region is going to be restarted in 4 minutes. If you remain here you will be logged out.

Definitely Thursday: That was... amazing.

Definitely Thursday: I never realised...

Definitely Thursday: I never knew it could be like that.

Inch Sideways: Did you cum in RL? Tell me that you did.

Definitely Thursday: Yes. I did.

Inch Sideways: Good. I'm glad it was the best that it could be.

Definitely Thursday: Because it's for one night only?

Inch Sideways: Because it's for one night only.

Definitely Thursday: Such a shame.

Inch Sideways: Think of it this way: such a *memory*.

Inch Sideways: Merry Christmas, Thursday.

Definitely Thursday: Oh yes, so it is. Look what happens when your mind's on other stuff.

Definitely Thursday: Merry Christmas Inch.

Inch Sideways: Forget me and you go straight to hell, ok?

Definitely Thursday: lol

Inch Sideways: lol is not allowed.

# Chapter 12

The sound of a Polaroid camera taking pictures roused my from my reverie.

Susan Sonnet: Whose taking pictures?

Sindy Witchell: One for the album lol.

Sindy Witchell: You don't mind, do you sweetie?

Susan Sonnet: Knock yourself out, my dear.

Susan Sonnet: But really, I should be going now.

Sindy Witchell: Of course.

Sindy Witchell: Is everything ok?

Sindy Witchell: You were very quiet there.

Sindy Witchell: I mean, compared to earlier.

Susan Sonnet: Everything is as fine as can be expected.

Sindy Witchell: Ok.

Sindy Witchell: Well, see you again, maybe.

I knew what was coming.

Sindy Witchell: Accept my friendship?

Susan Sonnet: Sure, why not.

I just couldn't be bothered to go through the whole no routine. I'd delete her later.

Sindy Witchell is offering friendship.

By default, you will be able to see each other's online status.

Sindy Witchell is online.

Sindy Witchell: Ok honey.

Sindy Witchell: Bye.

Susan Sonnet: Bye.

The gorgeous Sindy Witchell – gorgeous, but about as enjoyable a fuck as I like pancakes – hopped off the pose ball and promptly vanished. She hadn't even bothered to put her clothes back on. I sat naked and bored for a few minutes, half hoping someone interesting might come along and attempt to ravish me, half knowing that I was a long way away from the mood I would need to be in to enjoy it if they did. I logged off, realising only after I was off that *I* had forgotten to put my clothes back on before logging also. Not to worry. I had a drag and drop folder containing all of Susan's basic stuff pre-prepared for exactly that sort of situation. I could have her dressed in under five seconds. Depending on lag, of course.

# FURY

# Chapter 13

I first met Step Stransky at a charity event. It was a well-meaning affair, but poorly attended. People never seem to allow for lag at these things, I think they just assume people will all turn up naked. Like the 'Second Fest' last year, with its enormous field at the corner of three separate sims that *physically* you could have squeezed a thousand AVs into easily, but *actually* got brought to its knees by just 150 Pet Shop Boys fans and their associated attachments (pointy hats, as I recall). Perhaps they've since realised that whole row of scripted Porta-Toilets might need to be sacrificed next year. They need to sort out large gatherings in SL. It would be so much better if we could mass.

The event raised a few thousand Linden for some library somewhere. Which probably paid for a couple of extra books and not a lot more besides. People kept turning up, finding out they could hardly move, and – understandably – departing promptly. I can't remember how it was I came to be there myself (I could find the exact conversation in my chat log if I could be bothered, but I can't), but Step as I recall was a friend of the DJ. We were the extra two guys over the equal boy-girl ratio. Such mirth and merriment it caused when we decided to take each other for a spin around the dance floor; his DJ buddy made a big point of providing an x-rated, running commentary for all, which is why I can remember he was a friend of Step's. We'd been bored that night, but it ended up being ok – dancing, music and lots of spontaneous wit, poking the finger of harmless fun at our good friends, the homosexuals. Naturally Step and I exchanged friendships; it would have been rude not to.

Step didn't go around telling everybody he was a private detective, by the way. There's nothing about it in his profile, you have to do a search on those terms in the classifieds if you want to find the agency. And I'm the same. It's the last thing you want complete strangers talking to you about. So the first time I met Step I had no idea he was a private eye, or the next time, or the next time after that.

The fourth time I met Step we were sitting at the bar in Sphinx, competing over a rather nice German girl who had assumed the role of bar girl. She was playing each of us off against the other, and loving every minute of it.

Definitely Thursday: Hmmm

Definitely Thursday: Certain though I am that you'll be leaving with me this evening Rita...

Definitely Thursday: I can see I'm gonna need to keep an eye of you.

Rita Hausenbeiger: lol

Step Stransky: Don't you listen to a word he's saying sweetheart.

Step Stransky: It'll be me that you'll be doing the leaving with...

Step Stransky: and me that'll have to do all the eye keeping too.

Rita Hausenbeiger: Hehe

Definitely Thursday: I've always wondered if you can get SL detectives for that sort of stuff.

Definitely Thursday reckons he'd make a great SL PI.

Step Stransky: Well did you ever do a search?

Definitely Thursday: Nah.

Definitely Thursday: Never needed one.

Definitely Thursday looks at Rita suspiciously...

Definitely Thursday: Yet.

Rita Hausenbeiger: lol

Step Stransky: What makes you think you'd be any good as a detective?

Definitely Thursday: My winning combination:

Definitely Thursday: Cynical humanism.

Definitely Thursday: Humanistic pessimism.

Definitely Thursday: My understanding of what it's like to want to be loved by just one.

Definitely Thursday: And my understanding of what it's like to want to love many.

Definitely Thursday: And that those two viewpoints frequently co-exist.

Step Stransky: I'm so glad you didn't say something like you were good at following people without them noticing you. hahaha

Step wasn't up for letting on just yet - although, in fairness, he had given me a hint I could have chosen to follow. I could have searched the classifieds. We kept it light for a little while longer and then Rita Hausenbeiger decided she wouldn't be leaving the club with either of us.

Definitely Thursday: Did you notice that she left at the same time as that blonde guy that was playing the piano?

Step Stransky: I did! Well spotted!

Definitely Thursday: Do you reckon they were IMing each other?

Definitely Thursday: She did seem a little hesitant occasionally. I had wondered.

Step Stransky: No totty for either of us tonight, then :(

As a matter of fact, I had at least six women I could call on at that time for whom sex would be a reasonable certainty - and I could see that they were all online at that moment. But Step didn't need to know that.

Definitely Thursday: So it would appear.

Step switched to IM. I'm pretty certain this was the first time we Instant Messaged. Well, it has to be - this conversation is where my log with him starts, and I'd been logging for ages at that point.

Step Stransky: Tell me Def, what do you make of the whole 'partnership' thing?

Definitely Thursday: There's an interesting question.

Definitely Thursday: To be honest, I struggle to get my head around it.

Step Stransky: How so?

Definitely Thursday: Well...

Definitely Thursday: At one level it's straightforward, I suppose.

Definitely Thursday: You like someone... You want to do something symbolic of your affection for them.

Definitely Thursday: Just like in RL.

Definitely Thursday: But...

Definitely Thursday: There must be so many complications.

Step Stransky: Such as?

Definitely Thursday: Well...

Definitely Thursday: I notice some people refer to their partners as 'wife'/'husband' and some as 'boyfriend'/'girlfriend.' And some as just 'partner'.

Step Stransky: Still no different from RL.

Definitely Thursday: Sure, but everything is entered into so lightly here.

Definitely Thursday: I mean, what about RL relationships?

Definitely Thursday: Never mind the 'level' of SL commitment...

Definitely Thursday: (If, indeed, it can be asserted that an SL 'marriage' represents a higher level of commitment than an SL boyfriend/girlfriend relationship - again, I guess that's not true of RL either)

Step Stransky: (Indeed, indeed).

Definitely Thursday: What does it mean if you enter into a partnership if you are also in a relationship in RL?

Step Stransky: Isn't that the whole point of SL?

Step Stransky: It allows you to explore things you can't in RL - whatever the reasons might be for that.

Definitely Thursday: Of course.

Definitely Thursday: I understand *that*.

Definitely Thursday: That's not what I mean at all.

Step Stransky: So?

Definitely Thursday: So...

Definitely Thursday: I understand *completely* that SL is a place in which you can explore relationships with others in a way you couldn't in RL...

Definitely Thursday: The most obvious example being you're married in RL and want to fool around...

Definitely Thursday: But take exactly that scenario:

Definitely Thursday: Why, if you find that your RL relationship is restrictive to you, would you create *another* monogamous relationship in SL?

Definitely Thursday: ie, fool around, yes, but why create a formal partnership?

Step Stransky: Ahhh.

Step Stransky: Understood.

Step Stransky: Why, in a world where you can eat anything you want, would you choose to stick to a diet of bran flakes?

Definitely Thursday: Exactly. Or any diet at all, for that matter!

Step Stransky: Ok. But what about the people who *don't* have RL relationships? Could partnering not represent an opportunity to gain experiences unavailable to them in RL?

Definitely Thursday: I understand all of the theoretical potential. But systems don't work like that. Human beings are far too messy and complex.

Definitely Thursday: Ok, take that example. What if two people do exactly that? How many times do we hear of SL couples who've agreed to meet up in RL and then can't stand the sight of each other?

Definitely Thursday: In SL they had a beautiful friendship, but they had to blow it. They got conned by the whole partnership thing into thinking it would all be ok. It's tragic.

Definitely Thursday: And what about SL marriages where one spouse is married in RL and the other is single? How many additional factors does *that* introduce?

Step Stransky: You're right. It is horrendously complicated.

Definitely Thursday: You know what would be interesting? Some statistics from Linden. How many partnerships last a month, six months, a year, etc. I bet the percentage that separate within six months is *massive*!

Definitely Thursday: Better still, someone should do some research on this area.

Step Stransky: Are you offering? Lol

Definitely Thursday: Now there's a thought!

I decided to share a theory I'd been mulling over for several weeks back then. It was something that had first occurred to me after a two week newly-wed I'd known briefly when she was single had IMed me for sex whilst her husband was offline one afternoon. As we fucked, the idea came to me that all that had happened was that the story of the romance and the wedding was now over, and the story of the adulterous wife was beginning.

Definitely Thursday: It has occurred to me that the whole SL partnership thing might be a sort of 'plot device' from Linden's point of view.

Step Stransky: A what?

Definitely Thursday: A plot device. Something that adds plot.

Step Stransky: Okaaaaay...

Definitely Thursday: The two main objectives of Linden from a business survival point of view must be 1) get people here, and 2) keep people here. Right?

Step Stransky: Ok. And?

Definitely Thursday: And. You come here in the first place out of curiosity, but you stay for the relationships you discover you can have.

Definitely Thursday: Without partnering there'd be no structure to that. No format. So it'd be less likely that you'd discover it.

Definitely Thursday: People would have had to think 'out of the box' with respect to relationships... But people are generally very bad at that.

Definitely Thursday: Why have bran flakes when you can eat anything? Because you understand bran flakes. Because they don't scare you.

Definitely Thursday: 'Partnering' is the imposition of an RL structure where it's not actually needed.

Definitely Thursday: It's only purpose can be to make the virtual world make better sense to the numbers of people Linden need to attract if SL is going to succeed financially.

Definitely Thursday: I mean you can't steal things here. You can't kill people. People can't get sick. Where's the drama? Where are the storylines?

Definitely Thursday: People need storylines.

Step Stransky: I see. Hence 'plot device.' Right.

Step Stransky: The soapification of Second Life, then?

Definitely Thursday: Right! Exactly!

Step Stransky: In fairness, if Linden hadn't included partnering in the first place I suspect the residents would probably have demanded it anyway.

Step Stransky: And either Linden would have given in or the residents would have found some unofficial way of doing it amongst themselves.

Step Stransky: One way or another we would still have had partnering.

Definitely Thursday: Yeah I guess you're probably right there.

Whatever. I reckoned my theory was right, all the same.

Step Stransky: So... what do you think about the whole infidelity question?

Definitely Thursday: Which one is that? Is an RL married person having sim sex with an avatar a case of infidelity? That question?

Step Stransky: That's the one!

Definitely Thursday: Well of course it is... with one proviso...

Definitely Thursday: Which is whether or not the RL partner *knows* what you're up to.

Step Stransky: Explain.

Definitely Thursday: Only this - if your RL spouse knows of your virtual liaisons and doesn't mind, then I personally would say that that is *not* infidelity.

Definitely Thursday: But if they do or if they don't know or approve then so what, anyway? Who gives a shit?

Definitely Thursday: All it is is words being typed on a keyboard.

Definitely Thursday: As long as RL and SL remain separate then what damage can actually be done?

Definitely Thursday: Isn't *that* the actual issue?

Definitely Thursday: Isn't having a spouse who is being unfaithful to you on the Internet better than having a spouse who is being unfaithful to you in RL?

Definitely Thursday: Just so long as the one doesn't lead to the other?

Step Stransky: Is that possible?

Definitely Thursday: That one doesn't lead to the other?

Step Stransky: Yes. Could it be guaranteed? To your spouse?

Definitely Thursday: Guaranteed? No. That sort of thing can never be guaranteed.

Definitely Thursday: Any more than you can guarantee you'll never have an affair at work.

Definitely Thursday: Of course, promises like that get made all the time.

Definitely Thursday: But as a *guarantee* they're not worth the air they're spoken into.

Definitely Thursday: I'm not trying to piss all over the notion of trust here; I'm just being dispassionate.

Definitely Thursday: I think the point I'm trying to make is that the question of infidelity makes itself out to be a question of both morality and practicality... that SL relationships are morally wrong *and* they undermine RL union...

Definitely Thursday: But they could *in theory* be the complete opposite... in practical terms, at least...

Definitely Thursday: SL relationships could actually make RL relationships *better*.

Definitely Thursday: But it's all a question of theory versus reality.

Definitely Thursday: To achieve those sorts of benefits it's going to take a special sort of person.

Step Stransky: The RL couples that you just hypothesized about...

Step Stransky: The ones who know and do not mind... even encourage...

Step Stransky: They do exist. But not in large numbers.

Step Stransky: The mistake to make is to imagine their love for each other to be any less deep than those who *do* mind.

Step Stransky: In fact, it is often deeper.

Step Stransky: I imagine such people understand human need at a level which many of us choose to deny.

Step Stransky: That sort of person is rarely a client.

Definitely Thursday: A client?

Step Stransky: Yes Def. You mentioned SL detectives earlier. Well, believe it or not, you're looking at one!

Definitely Thursday: You're joking!

Step Stransky: Nope. I run a detective agency. And, as it happens, I'm looking to take someone on to help me out.

Step Stransky: I need someone who, first and foremost, understands what an emotional minefield SL is.

Step Stransky: The field craft itself won't take you any time at all to pick up.

Step Stransky: You interested?

It was a case of perfect timing. In RL, I'd recently downsized my accommodation to a studio flat so I could go part-time at the Castle. And it turned out that the money Step was offering would pay both my SL subscription and my monthly land fees - with a little extra to spare on top.

I bit his hand off.

# Chapter 14

Sindy Witchell was a distant memory within two minutes of the relog. I had a great deal of watch feed to sift through. I work with that kind of thing better in hard copy; I dumped the whole thing into notepad and printed it out. I got a highlighter pen. I started reading.

Step saw that I was on and IMed me.

Step Stransky: Where have you been?

Step Stransky: I thought you were SLFT now?!

Definitely Thursday: I was IA.

Which was our short hand for 'In Alt.' Immediately I typed it I realised that making out I'd been offline would have been a whole lot more convenient. Too late.

Step Stransky: And?

I wondered about telling him about Fred. Actually, I didn't wonder for much more than about a second. Besides, Fred had forbidden it. And besides.

Definitely Thursday: And?

Step Stransky: And are you done?

Definitely Thursday: I am not.

Step Stransky: It's not like I'm standing here looking at my watch, you know. It's just a question.

He was right, I was being too tetchy.

Definitely Thursday: To you it's just an extra evening to wait for payment.

Definitely Thursday: To me it's an extra god-dammed evening.

Step Stransky: awwww... Did Mr Thursday have plans?

Definitely Thursday: My PC crashed and the client mis-interpreted it.

Definitely Thursday: It's all straightened out now though.

Step Stransky: You were pissing about with your camera again, weren't you?

Step Stransky: Don't you go expecting any sympathy from me.

Bastard!

Definitely Thursday: Anyway, I have the feed to go through... and it's still coming in.

Step Stransky: You've not even done the feed yet?

Definitely Thursday: You're trying my patience.

Step Stransky: hahaha

Step Stransky: Stop talking and get some fucking work done.

And just then an IM came through from Fred.

Fred: Information requested is compiled.

I tried IMing him back straight away, but the system only told me there was 'No such user'. There was nothing to say in any case. He'd give his when I gave mine; the conditions had already been agreed.

So. I turned to the feed transcript. I started working through, keeping an eye on the monitor also for any new stuff. At the moment the feed was quiet, which could have meant Arton was offline. I found him on search and clicked on IM/Call. It reported:

Arton Urriah is offline.

But then, when did you ever trust the system?

Chat spam chat spam chat spam. Arton had been somewhere with a lucky chair that just didn't shut up. Also he'd been close to the main rezzing point and its greet. Each time someone rezzed in there the greet was being triggered.

Watch: Greeter whispers: Welcome back to Sumos, Phillip13 Foxtrot.

A 'whisper' could only be heard from ten metres away (as opposed to normal chat, which was twenty). It looked like Arton had rezzed in and then stood without moving for an age. Either he'd been AFK or – and this was probably more likely – he'd been in IM with someone.

Of course, the one *enormous* drawback of listening devices is that they only record things said in public chat. IMs are private and there's nothing you can do about that. That's why the bug is only one of your strategies. Even so, it's often more successful than you might imagine. If you know what to look for.

Watch: Greeter whispers: Welcome to Sevron, Arton Urriah. Please remove any attachments you are wearing, then proceed down the corridor to room 12.

And that was that. The feed went dead for about an hour.

'Sevron'. I looked it up and found a private island. A complete, completely isolated sim. No green blips were present, so I decided to pop over right there and then to take a nosey. I logged out and straight back in again in one of my newbie alts; there was always a worry that they'd have one of those security systems that logged trespassers (and newbies, after all, are renowned for their seemingly random teleportation strategies). As it happened, I didn't get to encounter that issue.

Could not teleport.

Sorry, you do not have access to that teleport destination.

So it was locked. I looked at the place on the map and tried to come up with a strategy for sneaking in there. I could think of none. Private sims that are locked down are virtually impregnable. You can't just row your way across and pretend to be a delivery guy when you got there – that blue stuff between islands might have look like ordinary sea, but to all extents and purposes nothing can exist there (secret government intelligence agency offices excepted, it appeared).

I wondered if Arton might take me there as Susan. I doubted that he would.

I wondered if Fred's set of SL skeleton keys might be able to get me in there. Now that was worth a try. I sent a request via the email address I had been given. The answer came back almost immediately.

Your instructions were to send the transcripts of conversations and pick-ups, not to interpret. Do not approach this island. Please send pick-up transcripts now and await further instruction.

Fine. I emailed the transcript. That was one less thing for me to do then.

I checked my watch. I wondered when Arton would be back on. I took a quick shower and checked again. I saw that Inch had come online.

Inch. I hovered my mouse over the IM button.

Her message, when it came, made me jump.

Inch Sideways: Are you on?

I watched the words fade and tried to find a response. It was a simple question, for God's sake.

Definitely Thursday: Bit busy at the moment, my dear.

Inch Sideways: Ok Thursday. Is everything alright?

Definitely Thursday: Of course!

That sounded too forced.

Inch Sideways: Step and I are going to Sandy's tonight.

Inch Sideways: Wanna meet up?

'Step and I'. Even now it was hard to read it. It would never be easy.

Definitely Thursday: Sure.

Oh yes. Did I not mention? Inch Sideways is Step Stransky's 'wife'.

# Chapter 15

It should have been the case that I never saw Inch again. That had been our unspoken agreement. Much as I wanted to see her more – a *lot* more – it would probably have been better if it had remained that way. Not probably. Definitely.

Every now and then I'd look her up on the search option to see if her profile was any different, to see if there was anything there that might have told me something about who she was or what she was doing. But it never was.

Inch Sideways greets you, oh reader of profiles. Her philosophy, since you've enquired, is to embrace this SL experience and make it something she could never have done in RL. Know her, and she will take from you that which you might not be accustomed to giving. Know her, and she will give to you things you have never before dreamt of having.

No groups, no picks, and of course no RL picture or information. For all I knew she was hardly ever on these days. For all I knew she was no longer an SL resident.

I came close on many occasions to IMing her. Each time I did I stopped only because I couldn't see a direction to it. I couldn't see the point. I feared one of those conversations where you get taken through the facts of the situation. 'We did agree one night only. You did agree to that. I did remind you before we parted.' Blah blah blah, nag nag nag, guilt guilt guilt. And so on.

I would never have forgotten about Inch Sideways; our liaison on Christmas Eve was and will always remain one of the most intense and intimate experiences of my life. I would never have forgotten her, but I would have managed ok.

I'd been working for Step for about six months when it happened. Which made it almost a year since my encounter. Almost a year exactly, in fact; thinking about it now brings back the memory of something I'd quite forgotten about: my plans for the 'celebration' of a year since that day. For a week or so prior to the date I'd been running a little fantasy number through my mind whereby Inch and I both turned up on Christmas Eve at the same club we'd met in before – Angelina's – in the hope that we'd find each other for one more night of glorious passion.

Definitely Thursday: Why Inch; what a surprise...

Inch Sideways: I've been praying you'd be here, Thursday.

Definitely Thursday: I was passing by... thought I'd see if the place looked the same as it did last year...

That sort of thing. I had lines rehearsed. I had my outfit planned and everything. Of course I knew it was fantasy; of course I knew the likelihood was that the whole thing would turn out a crushing disappointment. But the fantasy was just too good an image to pass up on. And what was the worst thing that could happen? The worse that could happen, I reasoned, would be that I ended up sitting there by myself all evening. Actually, the worse that could happen would be that I ended up sitting there by myself all evening having to watch her dance with somebody else. Naked. Having sim sex in public chat with someone who was 'ready'. Someone who she'd been with before. Twice...

Actually, the worst thing that could happen, I realised, would be that she couldn't remember who I was.

I knew Angelina's by then like the back of my hand. Oh yes. The number of times I'd dropped by 'just in case' was... well... considerably large. On a near daily basis initially, I'm ashamed to say, but that only lasted a week or so. Of course I found other women. Once I got into the habit of finding other woman in general I then started to find other women in Angelina's. It was part wanting to reduce the association that place had with Inch, part wanting to find someone who was maybe better than her. I did this for a couple of months. Towards the end of that period I started to embarrass myself. I went through an SL arrogant phase. I started having sim sex with women in public chat, thinking maybe Inch might find out. Maybe she was nearby, listening. Maybe she was there as an alt, watching. Maybe – just maybe – she was actually the woman I was fucking. In the end I got a caution from the staff. I'm not one to make a fuss about such stuff, so I told them I'd behave. And I did. Because by then the 'one year anniversary' plan was hatched, and I didn't want to get myself banned before then.

Inch Sideways: Hello Thursday.

I was in a club with Step. Some place with an Egyptian sounding name. It was about a week before Christmas. We were sitting at the bar, talking some bollocks about the European Union, and my camera was focused on a girl in the far corner behind me. For no particular reason other than that I'd never seen her before.

For just an instant, it felt like my heart had forgotten how to beat.

Definitely Thursday: Inch? Where are you?

Inch Sideways sighs.

Inch Sideways: I'm right behind you Thursday.

Me and my fucking camera-wander. I reset the view straight away. She was standing right behind me, and exactly as I remembered her. Same dress, same hair; everything. I couldn't believe I hadn't seen her come into the room.

Step Stransky: lol

Step Stransky: Aren't you going to introduce us, Def?

That's when I realised Inch was talking to me in public chat.

Inch Sideways: lol is not allowed.

Step Stransky: eh?

Step Stransky: You have a good lol every now and again, my dear.

Inch Sideways sighs again.

Inch Sideways: Is this idiot with you, Thursday?

I actually laughed out loud, but I didn't type it in. It was Inch! Inch Sideways! It was really her, after all this time!

Definitely Thursday: How are you Inch?!

Definitely Thursday: How long's it been, now? Six months? Seven?

I knew to the nearest day, of course.

Inch Sideways: Don't lie to me Thursday.

Inch Sideways: You know exactly how long it's been.

Definitely Thursday: Are you good? Are you well?

Inch Sideways: I am both.

Definitely Thursday: And what brings you here tonight? Waiting for a hot date? Or looking for company?

I couldn't help myself... I opened up an IM box.

Definitely Thursday can't wipe the grin from his face.

Definitely Thursday: *So* good to see you again!!!

But she didn't answer me – not just then, at least. She continued the banter in chat instead, finding fault with just about everything to do with Step in as cheerful a manner as she could. Step reeled a little from her initial onslaught, but ended up finding his feet as he always did. Whilst the two of then sparred I sat back and enjoyed the sight with an enormous smile on my face.

I learned absolutely nothing about Inch's reasons for being there that night. I learned absolutely nothing about how she'd spent the time between our encounters. I didn't care a bit. She was there, and she stayed. That was all that mattered. If she'd had other plans for the evening then clearly they'd been cancelled; maybe – just maybe – it was her that had cancelled them and on account of seeing me.

There was no attempt to re-create the intimacy of our previous encounter. At first I resented Step's presence, thinking this was standing in the way of a 'proper' evening with her. I grew worried she would become bored and leave, and that that would be it then for at least another year. But far from appearing to become annoyed with the continuous stream of random bullshit that Step was so skilled at broadcasting, the speed and colour of her responses seemed to indicate that Inch was actually enjoying herself. And then it occurred to me that this was actually *better* than another sexual encounter, because if this was just friendly chatter with no restraints then maybe Inch might stick around. Hell, if the enjoyment of trading insults with Step was what it took for her to become a regular feature in my SL life then I could certainly live with that.

Finally, the magic blue words appeared in the IM box:

Inch Sideways is typing...

I waited, eagerly.

Inch Sideways: Yes I suppose I've felt your absence, Thursday.

Inch Sideways: You're not going to mind if I stick around for a bit?

Oh, the joy of that moment! And oh, the stupidity. If only I'd paused for a moment to ask myself why all of a sudden this announcement? If only I'd stopped and thought about what her needs might have been in that instant instead of rejoicing in the fulfilment of my own. If only I'd known what was coming.

Definitely Thursday reckons he can live with that.

In RL, the phone rang. It was the Castle. Did I fancy the opportunity to do a few more hours (it annoyed me how they always had to put it like that, like *they* were doing *me* a favour)? Someone was sick. Someone else was sick too. It would really be appreciated. And so on.

I looked at the screen; I looked at Inch. I wanted this to last forever, seeing her there like this; seeing the empty page we were at the top of together.

I looked at my Lindens balance, and saw that it could be a good deal healthier. I thought about doing stuff like taking Inch shopping and buying her things she wanted.

And the tips were always good at this time of year.

So I decided. Just as I put the phone down, Inch hoped onto a slow dance pose ball and stood there waiting.

Inch Sideways: Care to dance, Thursday?

And that sealed it. I knew then that things were going to be just glorious.

Definitely Thursday: Save me one for later?

Definitely Thursday: I have to go to work in RL.

Inch Sideways: Really? What a drag.

Definitely Thursday: Step will look after you.

Inch Sideways: He had better.

Definitely Thursday: I'd like to see you tomorrow, if you're around.

Inch Sideways: I'll be around.

Inch Sideways: IM me.

I went to work. I was in such a good mood I managed to double my salary in tips that evening. I was the life and soul of the restaurant. I was like machinery in my efficiency. I was the very spirit of Christmas; God bless us, every one!

The next day, I woke early. I looked at the PC. I jumped out of bed. I looked at the PC. I sang in the shower. I looked at the PC. I took the time to prepare a proper breakfast. I looked at the PC. Every time I looked at it I grinned, and I did everything I could to put off that wonderful moment when it would be time to log back in. I did everything I could to lengthen the moment of anticipation; I revelled in its luxury.

Annoyingly, Step was already on when I finally made it onto the grid.

Step Stransky: Guess what?

Definitely Thursday: I don't know.

Definitely Thursday: You're really a woman?

Step Stransky: lol

Step Stransky: Nope.

Definitely Thursday: Well that's me fresh out of ideas!

Step Stransky: You know that girl last night – Inch?

Definitely Thursday: Yes?

Definitely Thursday: After you left, I proposed to her!

What?

Definitely Thursday: You did what?

Step Stransky: I proposed to Inch last night! Isn't that crazy??!!

It was like I'd been shot. It was like someone had shot me, fatally, through the heart. It was like I'd put my hand over the hole in my chest and was now inspecting the blood on my fingers, incomprehension etched across my face as I staggered back a step.

Wait wait wait. Just wait. This was ridiculous. This was *Inch*, for Christ's sake. Obviously there was no way she'd have said yes.

Definitely Thursday: And?

Step Stransky: And she agreed!

No. No.

I clicked on his profile. There it was.

Partner: Inch Sideways

I kicked back my chair and ran. I only just made it to the sink, where I threw up, violently.

Step Stransky: Def?

Step Stransky: You still there?

Step Stransky: Did you crash?

Definitely Thursday: Back.

Definitely Thursday: Someone at the door.

Step Stransky: Is everything ok?

Definitely Thursday: Let me get this straight...

Definitely Thursday: You asked Inch Sideways to become your SL partner...

Definitely Thursday: ...and she accepted?

Step Stransky: Yes! Am I crazy or what??!!

I didn't believe him. I wanted the transcript.

Definitely Thursday: You're lying.

Step Stransky: lol

Step Stransky: Stupendous, isn't it?!

Definitely Thursday: But you don't agree with partnership.

Definitely Thursday: An unessential RL system imposed on SL, remember?

Step Stransky: Well...

Step Stransky: Strictly speaking...

Step Stransky: That was your theory, not mine :))

I grabbed the mug next to the monitor and threw it against the opposite wall. Hot coffee splattered everywhere. I thrust my hands into my hair and stared at the monitor in shock.

Definitely Thursday: You *said* you didn't understand why people partner.

Step Stransky: Come on Def...

Step Stransky: You saw what she was like...

Step Stransky: She's *amazing*!

Step Stransky: People like that in SL are never!

Step Stransky: You don't let someone like her slip through your fingers.

I couldn't believe what I was hearing. I couldn't believe what this man had just done to me. I couldn't believe that he really was as blissfully unaware as he was making himself out to be of the state of utter emotional agony that he'd just plunged me into.

Definitely Thursday: You fucking shit. You fucking fucking ignorant insensitive treacherous piece of bastard shit. Just when I find her again you take her from me? The woman I fucking love? The woman I'm *in* love with? Do you have *any* idea what this is doing to me? You fucking typical fucking

I punched the words out, letter by letter, the tears starting to stream, the sobs starting to wrack through me. Before I'd got to the end I stood up, picked up the keyboard and threw it out of the window. The system unit followed a minute later, smashing to pieces on the frozen concrete below, and Step Stransky never got to hear what I really thought of him that moment.

That's the thing with SL: you can always change your mind about what you want to say before you hit return; you can always write something else, or delete the lot... or throw the keyboard out the window. And you can always explain a sudden absence with the cover story of a bad computer crash, when in actual fact you're sitting on the side of your bed with your head in your hands, sobbing so hard you're gasping for breath.

# Chapter 16

On the way to Sandy's I paid a visit to Jonnie Harlequin in Plush Zeta. Jonnie was the guy to speak to for all your SL information needs - any new exploits, any new bugs that created tiny new vulnerabilities, any news, any gossip, any scandal; Jonnie was your man. But his information came at a price.

Definitely Thursday: Hey Jonnie.

Jonnie Harlequin: Thursday. Did you get anywhere with those stepping stones?

It was a case I'd been working on three weeks previously; a very paranoid target indeed, he only took his mistress where there were *no* avatars. He'd totally failed to fall for the honeypot (he wasn't just fooling around, it turned out: he was having a full blown love affair) and, although he did wear the watch, absolutely *all* of his conversation was in IM. All we could do was see what sim he was in: if I tried to enter it his radar would register that someone had entered and he'd be off like a shot, taking his mistress with him.

In and of itself that wouldn't have been insurmountable. If you disable your camera constraints and set draw distance as high as it will go you can see things going on - including avatar activity - a *very* long way away. Standing at the edge of a sim and photographing the goings on in the middle (or even at the far edge) of the next one is easily doable, so long as you have no major objections to your PC crashing spectacularly after about four minutes.

But the problem in this case was that the guy didn't just hide in empty sims, he hid in empty sims at seriously high altitudes – sometimes as high as 700 metres and never less than 500. The difficulty that this caused was that there would be nothing physically between you and him, and since he would be well out of 'sight' you had nothing to focus your camera on. Even with camera constraints disabled you still need something visible to zoom on within range.

Jonnie's idea had been 'stepping stones,' a series of vanilla one-by-one-by-one blocks shunted in from the neighbouring sim. You focused your camera on the first, zoomed in until you could spot the next block, zoomed in on that until you could see the one after, and so on. I didn't think it would work initially, because I doubted the land concerned would give me permission to build the blocks. But, as Jonnie pointed out, the target would only be choosing sims in which visitors could rez, since he was rezzing a whole sky platform (and a very large four poster bed, it turned out) himself.

It worked, and I was so chuffed at having cracked the guy's system I sent him the photos direct, within seconds of taking them. The string of abuse I received was a masterpiece of expletives in combination. And that, by the way, is one of the avatars I can no longer use.

Definitely Thursday: The stones worked great Jonnie.

Jonnie Harlequin: Didn't I tell you they'd do the trick?

Jonnie Harlequin: So what can I do you for today?

Definitely Thursday: I need to know how to break into a restricted sim. You got any ideas?

Jonnie Harlequin whistles.

Jonnie Harlequin: You can't break into restricted sims.

Jonnie Harlequin: It's just not doable.

Definitely Thursday: Come on Jonnie. I can pay you well for this.

Jonnie Harlequin: You know how much I enjoy parting you from your money, Thursday.

Jonnie Harlequin: But it ain't a question of money.

Jonnie Harlequin: You can't break into restricted sims.

Jonnie Harlequin: Just out of interest, which sim?

I guessed it couldn't hurt.

Definitely Thursday: A place called Sevron.

Jonnie Harlequin: Never heard of it.

Jonnie Harlequin: It's an island, I assume?

Definitely Thursday: Yes.

Jonnie Harlequin: Do you know anyone who does have access?

This one I *would* be cautious with.

Definitely Thursday: Not yet.

Definitely Thursday: Then there's nothing you can do.

So much for that idea.

I went straight from there to Sandy's. Inch and Step were locked into a step-to-step when I got there. I immediately felt conspicuous.

Step Stransky: Hey buddy!

Inch Sideways: Good evening, Thursday.

Definitely Thursday: Step. Inch.

Step Stransky: Any progress?

Definitely Thursday: He's still offline.

I had no idea if that was true or not. So I checked. He was.

I opened a conference IM with the both of them together. I told them about Arton disappearing at Sevron and asked them if they knew any tricks for locked down regions.

Step Stransky: Waste of time mate.

Step Stransky: Even if you did manage to get in there, he's not going to want to do anything to you there now is he?

Definitely Thursday: How do you know that?

Definitely Thursday: For all we know it could be some sort of brothel there. Maybe that's why it's restricted.

Inch Sideways: Oh you guys just lead the *best* social lives.

Step Stransky: lol

Definitely Thursday: Anyway, I'm curious now.

Step Stransky: I *knew* it!

Step Stransky: You just want to know what's going on in there for the sake of your own nosiness hahaha

Definitely Thursday: No crime in that.

Step Stransky: Get him to rescue you.

Definitely Thursday: I had thought of that. That was kind of going to be a last resort though.

The 'rescue' tactic to which Step was referring was when you bombarded a target that was interested in you with IMs to teleport you out of a sticky situation. As a strategy, its benefits were that it could be used as a tool for flattering your target (because you chose them), exciting your target, and overwhelming your target so that s/he couldn't think clearly.

Susan Sonnet: EMERGENCY TP!!!!!!

Susan Sonnet: QUICK!!!

Susan Sonnet: I've got a guy hitting on me here lol. Don't leave me!!!

Susan Sonnet: pleasepleasepleasepleaseplease

Susan Sonnet: Oh hurry!!!

And so on.

Inch Sideways: You should try to get his password out of him, Thursday.

Inch Sideways: I understand virtual world identity theft is all the rage these days.

Step Stransky: Who is going to give out their password to *anyone* in SL?

Step Stransky: Who is effectively going to hand over control of their avatar in that way?

Step Stransky: Surely people aren't *that* stupid?!

Inch Sideways: You're kidding, right?

Step Stransky: Really?

Step Stransky: Seriously?

Inch Sideways: Honey, you're so naïve.

Step Stransky shakes his head in disbelief.

Definitely Thursday: I have a feeling this target might not be so obliging.

Inch Sideways: Get to know him.

Inch Sideways: Find out what he likes.

Inch Sideways: See if he has any kids.

Inch Sideways: Or a wife.

Inch Sideways: Or a mistress.

Inch Sideways: In RL, that is.

Step Stransky: We don't do RL investigations, Inch.

Inch Sideways: Oh spare me the pep talk please.

Step Stransky: Anyway...

Step Stransky: People are more careful these days with their passwords.

Step Stransky: Did I tell you my system?

Definitely Thursday and Inch Sideways both nod.

Definitely Thursday recites, 'Third book from the right on your fourth shelf down, first word of the chapter corresponding to the number of the month.'

Inch Sideways laughs at what Thursday just did there.

Inch Sideways: But let me do my own nodding in future.

Inch Sideways: We are so sick of hearing about your system, Stransky.

Inch Sideways: You only go on about it to try to impress us with your four shelves of books.

Definitely Thursday has to admit he never realised 'The Further Adventures of Noddy' had that many chapters.

Step Stransky: ha

Step Stransky: ha

Step Stransky: ha

Inch Sideways laughs at Thursday's accurate portrayal of Stransky's overall level of intelligence.

Step Stransky 's side splits.

Inch Sideways: Don't look at me.

Inch Sideways: I'm not sewing you back up together.

Watch: Arton Urriah: There. It's back on again, see?

Watch: Starfish Picturebook: Good.

The watch. It was back on. Arton had returned to the grid. Time to start thinking about our 'appointment'.

Watch: Arton Urriah: I was in a high lag sim. I had to take it off - it became attached to my groin.

Watch: Starfish Picturebook: lol

Watch: Arton Urriah: Just forgot to put it on again, is all.

Watch: Starfish Picturebook: Where were you earlier today?

I stopped. I was halfway through a typing lengthy, yet masterful put-down for Step, but I wanted to be able to pay attention to this.

Watch: Arton Urriah: Hmmm honey?

Watch: Starfish Picturebook: Earlier today. I IMed you and you didn't reply.

Watch: Arton Urriah: Must have been offline.

Watch: Starfish Picturebook: It said you were offline, yes. Well... by that I mean it didn't say you were *online*.

Watch: Arton Urriah: There you go then.

Watch: Starfish Picturebook: I was leaving you a message... but I didn't get the usual 'message will be delivered later' thing.

Watch: Arton Urriah: Really? Perhaps I was AFK.

Watch: Starfish Picturebook: But you changed your settings so I couldn't see you were online? You were hiding?

Watch: Arton Urriah: What?

Watch: Arton Urriah: No, of course not!

Watch: Starfish Picturebook: So how come I couldn't see you were online?

Watch: Arton Urriah: Well *obviously* there's something wrong with the system.

Watch: Arton Urriah: Good grief, the thing's always braking down.

Watch: Arton Urriah: It's not like you've never complained about it yourself.

Watch: Starfish Picturebook: Right. Ok. Fine.

At this rate our client wasn't going to have a husband for us to investigate for much longer.

Watch: Starfish Picturebook: If you're busy when I IM you then just say so, ok? I'll leave you be. You don't have to ignore me!

Watch: Arton Urriah: I was not ignoring you. I was offline.

Watch: Starfish Picturebook: You just said you were AFK!

Watch: Arton Urriah: Offline isn't AFK?

This was getting heated. An ideal moment for Susan to move in and hold a lover's gentle touch to the adulterer's fevered brow. But I wanted to hear the rest of this in real time and the watch wasn't configured to send its feed to her. I decided to risk firing up OnRez whilst still in the standard viewer. As long as I didn't move around too much it would probably be ok.

Watch: Starfish Picturebook: It doesn't matter. It's no big deal. Just don't ignore me Arton.

Watch: Arton Urriah: You can't make it come true if you just keep repeating it like that.

Poor Arton. It suddenly occurred to me that it was quite possible he'd had no actual extra-marital affairs whatsoever, only a few too many summons to the secret Isle of Sevron to go unnoticed by the wife. Perhaps I would be his very first act of infidelity that evening.

This next bit is a composite from Susan's IM box on OnRez and Def's IMs feed from the watch.

Susan Sonnet: Hey Arton.

Arton Urriah: Hey Susan!

Watch: Starfish Picturebook: Since we're talking about repetition, I might as well mention this isn't the first time this has happened.

Susan Sonnet: What you up to?

Susan Sonnet: Are we still going out?

Arton Urriah: Sure!

Arton Urriah: Give me 5 mins, ok?

Watch: Starfish Picturebook: Did you get what I just wrote?

Susan Sonnet: No worries my dear.

Susan Sonnet: I can come back later if you'd prefer?

Arton Urriah: Now is good need 5

Watch: Starfish Picturebook: Are you IMing someone?

Susan Sonnet: Ok. See you in 5.

Watch: Arton Urriah: I can't control who IMs me.

Watch: Arton Urriah: I was just telling them I was busy.

Watch: Starfish Picturebook: *Or* you could have just ignored the IM.

Watch: Starfish Picturebook: You *do* know how to ignore IMs don't you Arton?

Ooooh. She was good.

Watch: Arton Urriah: Starfish, I just don't know what to say to you.

Watch: Starfish Picturebook: Fine. Don't say anything.

Watch: Starfish Picturebook is offline.

Watch: Arton Urriah: FFS

And...

Arton Urriah: All done!

Slick. Very slick.

Arton Urriah: Any place in particular?

Susan Sonnet: As a matter of fact, yes.

Susan Sonnet: But I think I'm gonna need to relog first.

Susan Sonnet: PC's kinda chewy.

Arton Urriah: Okies

Arton Urriah: IM me when you're back on.

Susan Sonnet: kk

I shut down OnRez.

Inch Sideways: Thursday!! For the love of God, man; are you deaf?

Definitely Thursday: Sorry honey, I've been on target.

Definitely Thursday: Have you been saying stuff to me?

Inch Sideways: Come back to the conversation, for goodness sake.

Inch Sideways: I can't deconstruct Stransky by myself.

Definitely Thursday: You're going to have to I'm afraid.

Definitely Thursday: I need to go IA.

A pause. I knew what was coming.

Inch Sideways: Thursday, are you running away from me?

There it was.

Definitely Thursday: No.

Definitely Thursday: I just have work to do.

There was no point in being the gracious loser any more. In any case, pretty soon Inch could think whatever the hell she wanted to about Definitely Thursday.

I logged off.

# Chapter 17

It's cold in RL as I write this. My goosebumps are raised. I look at my skin in the glare of the monitor and think, 'cool texture effect'.

There are newbies all around me at Bear now. I say 'newbies'; actually I think they all have pretty much a month or so under their belts now. Not quite newbies, then. They've got to that stage where they're starting to experiment with different looks. Gone are the newbie clothes and hair, thank God; the guys are exploring either urban bling, novelty avatars or sci-fi/fantasy uniform and the girls have discovered boots, flexi skirts and navel piercings. Neko is a way off yet. It's not that the results are unappealing; it's just that it comes across as a little... forced. As avatars evolve a more 'natural' look seems to form, by which I mean the hair and the shoes and the outfits and the bling all just seem to go together better.

Of course the term 'newbie' is completely subjective anyway. You can be a year old and still be a newbie. You can be a day old and somehow appear to know everything. Or you can be an alt ;) Sometimes it astonishes me the speed with which some people pick up SL and all its trimmings. I guess there are a few out there for whom SL is everything they've been waiting for, and they realise it the instant they're in. I think it fits that description for me in many ways, it's just that it took me a while to realise it.

Look at them. They've started to identify with each other as a group. Bless. They're growing this whole group celebration routine – a whole bank of loud, noisy gestures that they cycle through together. Good job this sim isn't residential. None of them are land owners yet, of course; they're still rezzing in here as the starting point for their online sessions each day. They've gone from finding all of SL confusing to feeling that this little bit here, at least – with these few familiar faces – is a place where they feel safe. A place where they belong. Perhaps that's why arguments, when they happen here, are so desperately vitriolic: it's like they're having their safety net pulled away from beneath them; it's like someone's trying to kick them out of their home.

I imagine this sort of thing goes on at all the other welcome points, right? Well, how can it not? We define ourselves by the groups we belong to, don't we? If I remember my university psychology correctly, it was Tajfel who said that. Or was it Turner? The fewer groups we belong to, the more each individual group means to us. As we grow in SL we take on more groups... make new friends... start starting things up all by ourselves... join even more groups... We spread out from our little happy cosy friendly nest. Our little trips back 'home' grow less and less frequent. Eventually we get to the point where we can't work out how long it is since we were there last. And then comes that sad, sad day when you find yourself at a loose end and you decide to pop back to the old hangout and see what the gang are up to these days. And none of them are there any more. And the people who *are* there are a new generation group, growing their own routines and rituals, and sitting in the same spot on the wall that you used to occupy.

Like these guys here around me now.

They're starting to explore SL relationships too, by the looks of things. Oh I have no doubt that each and every one of them has had a sneaky pose ball exploration session in some dungeon somewhere by now, but a few of the girls have managed to take it to the next phase and found 'boyfriends'. No mention amongst the chaps about any girlfriends, incidentally; perhaps it's the case that newbie girls tend to go for older men, or perhaps it just takes men until they're a little old before they have the courage to approach the whole boyfriend/girlfriend thing (and even then they're still only confident enough to prey on innocent newbie girls hahaha).

And I see one of them has just had her first breakup.

The lack of actual physical contact in SL is both a blessing and a curse. There's a very great deal that you can do with words and gesture to communicate emotion. Far more than people realise. But sometimes you just wish you could put your arms around someone and let them cry into your shoulder. They're doing their best for her. His parentage is being duly questioned by the girls and the guys are coming up with all sorts of aggressive expletives to describe him with. All very supportive, I suppose. And good for group unity.

I doubt there's much chance of it – certainly not by the time I'm done, that's for sure – but, whatever you do, don't think me an angel. I'm no innocent. I've done my fair share of heart breaking.

I took the heart of Dropleto Darkness, for example, and I ripped it into tiny pieces. If there's a God I'll go to hell for what I did to her, not for what I've done since.

I'm looking at her profile right now, in fact, feeling once more that familiar sick, stabbing sensation I get whenever I pull it up.

Goodbye SL

Goodbye friends. Angel, Starch, Beenie, Whitescyth, Northerly and Redswipe I will miss you most of all. Thank you all for your messages, but I have to go. I just can't bear it in here any more. It's just too hard.

I'll be ok in RL. Please don't worry about me. Maybe we'll meet again some day.

Drop.

In her picks there's an entry for every one of those friends (except Angel, who was someone I never met and she would never tell me about). There's also an entry for me – or rather for Theodore Brightwhite. A long one. I can't bring myself to print it here. I don't like to read it. So that's another one of my unusable alts now. In fact I think I deleted Theo's account altogether; I was so ashamed of his actions I decided I could never look at him on the screen again and feel ok about it.

Dropleto was great in the virtual sack. Not in *quite* the same league as Inch, but not far from it. Her avatar was one of the most attractive, most well-presented AVs I have ever seen in SL. I think she changed her outfits on an almost daily basis, and every single one of them was just outstanding. I met her in Wales Harbour on the abandoned pirate ship you used to be able to find in the hidden cove. She was sitting by herself at the end of the plank, and that's where I should have left her.

In a nutshell, what I'd decided was that all I had to do in order to wean myself off of Inch was to spend a sufficiently large enough a quantity of time – of high quality time – with someone else. Someone else that was all those things that Inch was – attractive, intelligent, literate, imaginative, adventurous, exciting and daring. And funny. Dropleto was all these things and more: loving, honest, sincere, dedicated, devoted... It took me a week to seduce her, and during this time she was all I could think about. For a while I actually thought that I'd done it. Alas, it was not to last.

I could live with myself if it was just Theo the mischievous old rogue and his sleazy, smutty ways that Drop had finally given in to. If it was just that she'd decided a little bit of how's-your-father with this essentially cheeky bastard might be a decent enough way of passing an otherwise uneventful evening then that would be ok. Ish. But Dropleto wasn't worn down with a ready supply of witty one-liners or other such fancy keyboard footwork, Dropleto didn't jump into bed with me for reasons of entertainment or as an aide to self-stimulation; Dropleto came to bed with me because I'd managed to convince her that we were falling in love with each other. Because I'd thought at the time that that just might come true if I kept at it for long enough. Eventually.

And, of course, it didn't.

I think the most shocking thing about the break up was the sheer speed with which Drop disintegrated emotionally in front of me (I really don't know *why* I found that shocking, given my own reaction to Step and Inch's 'engagement'). She'd had no idea it was coming. I pretty much just landed it on her - albeit as softly as I could (I'd even had the arrogance to judge my wording 'skilled' during my preparation). It was like throwing someone a piano - they don't struggle first to try and hold it for a bit, they just collapse straight away under its weight. Drop collapsed straight away under the weight. I hung around for a bit, trying to sooth and smooth things as best I could, but in the end it felt like I was violating her dignity even further by doing so. I logged off, there and then, with tears in my eyes. I didn't take Theo back on for a week after that, and when I did there were so many IMs waiting for me that Linden had capped the lot. A few of Drop's friends had taken the trouble to put their thoughts about me down in note cards, it turned out, but from Drop herself I never heard another word. And neither, I gather, did they.

# Chapter 18

I took Arton to Sandy's. I shouldn't have done it, but there you go. I wanted to look at Inch and Step from across the dance floor. I wanted to dance with him under their ignorant gaze and for them to wonder if it was me. Neither of them had ever seen Susan before (well... other than in a certain category of photographs). Things like that were strictly need-to-know. But, of course, Step knew the name of the client.

They sat at a table beside the bar: Inch locked into her slow animation cycle of nail examination, yawning and checking a non-existent watch; Step in his static leg cross sit. Without the IM commentary they looked like an angry couple who were refusing to talk to each other. I wondered why they didn't dance.

Arton was quiet. We jumped onto a set of slow dance balls and moved around for a bit. He made lots of small talk that went absolutely nowhere. I started to wonder if he actually wanted to be there with me at all.

Susan Sonnet: Is everything ok Arton?

Susan Sonnet: You seem a little... distant.

Arton Urriah: I do?

Susan Sonnet: You do.

Susan Sonnet: Is Starfish offline again?

Arton Urriah: Yeah.

Susan Sonnet: Oh dear.

Susan Sonnet: Now that sounded resigned.

Arton Urriah: lol

Arton Urriah: It kind of was.

Susan Sonnet: You two having problems?

Arton Urriah: Sort of.

Arton Urriah: We kind of had an argument this evening.

Arton Urriah: Something she's entirely misinterpreted.

Arton Urriah: Actually, that's not fair. It's my fault completely.

Arton Urriah: I don't know what to do.

Susan Sonnet: Why don't you tell me a little bit about it?

Arton Urriah: There are bits I kind of can't.

Susan Sonnet: Bits you kind of can't do?

Susan Sonnet: Or bits you kind of can't talk about?

Arton Urriah: lol

Arton Urriah: Number 2

Susan Sonnet: Oh really?

Susan Sonnet: *Really*?

Susan Sonnet is intrigued!

Susan Sonnet: lol

Susan Sonnet: Just tell me to back off :))

Arton Urriah: lol It's ok :)

Arton Urriah: The simple way of putting it...

Arton Urriah: ...is that there's this kind of group that I belong to...

Arton Urriah: ...and she doesn't know about it.

Damn, sometimes these little interactions just scripted themselves.

Susan Sonnet: Aaaahhhhhhhh

Susan Sonnet: Understood. No worries.

Susan Sonnet: We all need our pressure valves, Arton.

Arton Urriah: Oh no wait... that didn't sound at all as I meant it.

Susan Sonnet: Relax Arton, I understand completely.

Arton Urriah: No no no no no. It's not that sort of gathering at all.

Susan Sonnet: None of my business; really!

Arton Urriah: lmao

Good. That had broken the ice a little.

Susan Sonnet grins at Arton and gives him a little squeeze.

Susan Sonnet: That's better :)

Arton Urriah: lol

Arton Urriah: Susan...

Arton Urriah: I promised her she'd never be unhappy with me.

Arton Urriah: And I'm not keeping my promise.

Susan Sonnet: Arton, do you have a partner in RL?

Susan Sonnet: And tell me to mind my own business if that's too personal a question.

Arton Urriah: No. No RL partner/wife/gf.

Arton Urriah: I only have Starfish.

Increasingly, I was finding it difficult to view this guy as an adulterer.

Susan Sonnet: How long were you in SL before you met her?

Arton Urriah: Does it really matter?

Susan Sonnet: I guess not. But maybe it does.

Susan Sonnet: I mean...

Susan Sonnet: There's an awful lot of women in here.

Arton Urriah: I know you mean well...

Arton Urriah: But that doesn't console me.

Susan Sonnet: Are you *sure* you can't just tell her about this group of yours?

Susan Sonnet: I mean, you can't give her just the general gist of it?

Susan Sonnet: Without going into the details?

Arton Urriah: No.

Arton Urriah: If I told her a little then she would want to know all of it.

Susan Sonnet: Really?

Susan Sonnet: You want to try that one out on me?

Susan Sonnet: You might be surprised at how often women aren't especially interested in the things men tell them ;)

Arton Urriah: lol

Arton Urriah: You are a naughty girl Susan :)

Susan Sonnet: You'd better believe it baby!!!

Arton Urriah: But if I was to tell you about a small part of it then you would have to be my lover in order for it to be a fair test, no?

And there was the sign that we were back on track. Arton Urriah was human after all. I was a little disappointed, if I'm honest, though I had no right to be.

Susan Sonnet: mmmmmmmmm

Susan Sonnet: A scientist, eh?

Susan Sonnet has a bit of a thing for scientists.

Arton Urriah has a white coat he can wear if Susan would like him to.

Susan Sonnet: hahaha

Susan Sonnet: Does it have a pocket with pens in it?

Arton Urriah: Of course.

Arton Urriah: If you're a good girl, I'll even get my clipboard out for you.

Susan Sonnet: OOOOOOoooooooo

Susan Sonnet moans softly.

I was wearing a new evening dress, a long black number with a low cut back and a flexi skirt that guaranteed you a flash of stockings and suspenders if you looked at it for a solid minute (provided I was moving). I guessed the outfit was doing its work.

Arton Urriah: Is it wrong that this feels so good?

Susan Sonnet: I have my judge and you have yours Arton...

Susan Sonnet: You must consult whatever you feel you need to.

Arton Urriah: I'm not religious.

Arton Urriah: My conscience is my only guide.

Susan Sonnet: Then consult your conscience.

Step chose that exact moment to IM me.

Step Stransky: Ummmm....

Step Stransky: Thursday is a sideways step?

Susan Sonnet: Fuck off Step.

Susan Sonnet: And, in any case, it's Thursday is *definitely* a sideways step.

Susan Sonnet: Trust you to forget the bit that has *my* name in it.

Step Stransky: Oops.

Susan Sonnet: Anyway... I'm just starting to get somewhere...

Susan Sonnet: So leave me alone.

Step Stransky: Well that's just the thing my dear, erm, Susan...

Step Stransky: I've just received an email from Starfish Picturebook.

Step Stransky: She doesn't want us on the case any more.

Step Stransky: She wants us to close right now.

Step Stransky: She's just paid me in full too.

Step Stransky: So leave the nice adulterer be and come home now.

Bollocks.

Susan Sonnet: Really? That's great!

Bollocks.

Step Stransky: Now you get your evening back!

Bollocks.

Susan Sonnet: Yay!

I switched back to Arton's IM window and skimmed through the backlog.

Arton Urriah: My conscience says to go home right now lol

Arton Urriah: And yet here I am, hoping you're going make that moaning sound again.

Arton Urriah wonders how Susan might respond to his tape measure.

Arton Urriah is certain he has a voltmeter around here somewhere.

I jumped swiftly back into the conversation, hoping I hadn't been missed.

Susan Sonnet: hahaha

Susan Sonnet: Hey - wanna go some place else?

Arton Urriah: Didn't we only just get here?

Susan Sonnet: Nope.

Susan Sonnet: We've been here a whole half an hour.

Susan Sonnet: Nothing remotely recent about that.

Arton Urriah: lol

Arton Urriah: So where do you want to go?

Susan Sonnet: Not bothered one way or another, my dear.

Susan Sonnet: Why don't you choose some place nice?

If I could just get some sort of hint as to what this 'group' was about...

Susan Sonnet: Your 'group' doesn't have access to some sort of mountain cabin hideout, I suppose?

Arton Urriah: lol

Arton Urriah: I'm afraid not.

Susan Sonnet: Secluded beach hut?

Susan Sonnet: A tent somewhere?

Susan Sonnet: An empty office with a photocopier we could do it on?

Susan Sonnet isn't picky.

Arton Urriah: hahaha

Arton Urriah: You're going to get me into so much trouble.

Susan Sonnet: Of course I am!!

Susan Sonnet: Isn't that what SL is all about?

Susan Sonnet: If you can't have naughty fun in here, what *can* you have?

Arton Urriah: You can have meaningful relationships...

Susan Sonnet: Well, ok, there is that I suppose...

Susan Sonnet thinks a little...

Susan Sonnet: But *other* than meaningful relationships, learning new skills, expressing your creativity and being free to move about and interact free from prejudice and discrimination... if you can't have naughty fun in here, what *can* you have?

Arton Urriah: lol

Arton Urriah: Now I *know* you're British :)

Susan Sonnet grins.

Susan Sonnet: Seriously, Arton. Let's go find some place quiet.

Susan Sonnet: I'm not going to go blabbing to Starfish.

Susan Sonnet: She'll never know.

How good it was to actually be able to promise that. Now that the job was over, my only agreement remaining was with Fred, and I doubted he had any particular interest in the actual extra-marital activity of this guy.

Susan Sonnet: You look like you could do with an evening off from yourself.

Arton took a while to respond to that. I felt the eyes of Step Stransky and Inch Sideways upon me. I wondered if Inch had worked out who Susan Sonnet was also, or if Step had told her if she hadn't. Or just if Step had told her. I wondered if they were talking about me right now. I wondered if either of them actually cared. Most of all, I wondered if Inch cared. Any sort of caring would have been fine. Being worried about me would have been fine. Being angry at me would have been fine. Secretly approving of the sexual experimentation she perceived would be especially fine.

Step Stransky: You still here?

Susan Sonnet: I'm working on it, ok?

Step Stransky: What's to work on?

Susan Sonnet: I can't just dump the guy.

Step Stransky: Why, exactly?

Susan Sonnet: I just can't, ok?

Step was typing the next bit for ages. I was pretty certain I knew what was coming. In the meantime, Arton was still silent. In IM? About to crash? Or just plain mulling things over? I decided to give him another minute.

Step Stransky: So handing over for money pictures of your female alt having sim sex with the husband of our client is acceptable behaviour, whereas saying something unexpected has come up in RL and you have to log off is not.

Susan Sonnet: Am I spoiling your view or something?

Step Stransky: Just leave the guy alone and relog, will you?

Step Stransky: I don't understand why you had to bring him here in the first place.

Susan Sonnet: Oh for fuck's sake, Step.

Susan Sonnet: Climb out of your own self-righteous arse for just a minute, will you?

Susan Sonnet: I'll go when I'm good and ready.

I flicked over to Arton's IM window.

Susan Sonnet: Is everything ok Arton?

Arton Urriah: lol yes

Arton Urriah: I was just writing an IM for Starfish.

Arton Urriah: I thought if I did the apology now, somehow that would be better.

Susan Sonnet: Apology?

Susan Sonnet: For what we're about to do to each other?

Arton Urriah: No!

Arton Urriah: For not being honest with her earlier.

Arton Urriah: I wanted to apologise now...

Arton Urriah: not later, because I'm feeling guilty.

I stopped myself from pointing out to him that it was possible to feel guilty about doing something *before* you did it.

Step's IM tab was flashing.

Step Stransky: Def you're really starting to piss me off.

Step Stransky: Just why is it you're so god-damned snappy with me these days?

Step Stransky: And, for the record, this is upsetting Inch too.

Step Stransky: Will you *please* just log off and leave this guy alone?

So here we were, approaching that line from which there would probably be no return. He wouldn't back down now, not unless I went. And I wasn't going. There was no guarantee whatsoever that Arton was going to give me what I needed; if I stuck with him now I could lose everything and win nothing. But this felt like a threshold moment, it felt like a corner we were just about to turn. So I couldn't rush him now, I just couldn't.

And in any case, hadn't I taken things as far as I realistically could with Step Stransky's Second Life Detective Agency?

Susan Sonnet: Had it ever occurred to you that I might just want to fuck him anyway?

Step Stransky: You're sick in the head, Def.

Susan Sonnet: So it's ok to do it for money and sick if it's for pleasure?

Step Stransky: Fuck you.

Susan Sonnet: Right back at ya buddy.

My cheeks were flushed red, but I felt fantastic. I flicked back to Arton.

Arton Urriah: Does that make sense?

Susan Sonnet: I had to think about that a moment...

Susan Sonnet: But yes it does.

Susan Sonnet: Complete sense.

Susan Sonnet: Does this mean you're going to tell her about your group?

Arton Urriah: Not in this IM.

Arton Urriah: But I suppose it's either tell her *something* or it's lose her.

Arton Urriah: Perhaps I *will* use you as a sounding board.

Susan Sonnet: Oooh nice :)

Arton Urriah: You still want to move from here?

Susan Sonnet: Yes.

Arton Urriah: Ok.

Arton Urriah: Let's go back to Rachael's.

Arton Urriah: I'll see how I feel about it there.

Susan Sonnet: Sure thing, Arton.

Susan Sonnet: Whatever you feel comfortable with.

I was close to the breakthrough. I just *knew* I was.

Arton TPed out and I waited for the invitation.

Step Stransky: You're fired, Thursday.

Susan Sonnet: No worries, Stransky.

Susan Sonnet: You can take your piece-of-shit job and shove it up your arse.

The invitation came. I got the hell out of there.

# Chapter 19

About a month earlier, Step and I had had our first major argument. We'd been building towards it for a while. I think that was also the first inkling he'd had that he didn't know me anything like as well as he thought he did.

Step liked to present himself as open-minded. I guess he was, to a degree, but nothing like as much as he made himself out to be. Only now, as I write this, do I understand the reason for that.

Essentially all I had done was to complete on a case; Step's problem was the degree to which I had embraced the experience. I knew he was having issues when it took him so long to read the transcript.

Step Stransky: So...

Which was his way of saying 'your turn to speak since I have no idea what to say.'

Definitely Thursday: Anything new?

Step Stransky: Not so far.

Step Stransky: The day is yet young.

Step Stransky: Ummm...

Definitely Thursday: ?

Step Stransky: Do you think I should send the transcript exactly as it is?

Definitely Thursday: You can do whatever you like with it.

Definitely Thursday: But why edit it?

Step Stransky: No reason.

Step Stransky: But...

Step Stransky: Def... don't take this the wrong way...

Here it came. The way he used to leave that particular sentence hanging in the air like that used to infuriate me. I was convinced he deliberately took as much time as he could in writing the next bit. That was Step's way: very very very cleverly disguised put-downs.

Step Stransky: ...but do you ever think you lose yourself just a little... *too much* in the part?

I decided to be completely naïve.

Definitely Thursday: Awwwww.... come on, Step!

Definitely Thursday: It was my first gay case...

Definitely Thursday: ...opportunities like that don't come about often, you know!

Definitely Thursday: A change is as good as a break!

Step Stransky: But you do realise that the client ends up reading this?

Definitely Thursday: I have to be convincing, you know.

Step Stransky: Yes...

Step Stransky: But by the looks of things you were convincing for well over an hour...

Step Stransky: ...when you had gathered more than enough information after 15 minutes.

Definitely Thursday goes all misty-eyed.

Definitely Thursday: Yeah...

Definitely Thursday: But why quit when you're having fun?

Step Stransky: It's not really meant to be about having fun though, is it?

Definitely Thursday: The way I see it is...

Definitely Thursday: ...the next case like this might be much harder...

Definitely Thursday: ...the experience in this case can only help prepare me better for future cases...

Definitely Thursday: ...so, if you think about it, staying on like that...

Definitely Thursday: ...was really only seizing a professional development opportunity!

Step Stransky: Ok fine.

Step Stransky: You're taking the piss.

Step Stransky: I was just trying to be helpful.

Definitely Thursday: No you weren't, you were making a judgement regarding my sexuality.

Definitely Thursday: I'm entitled to respond to that.

Step Stransky: Ok fine.

I didn't respond any further, because I knew staying silent would piss him off like nothing else. Step was always better at answering stuff than creating sentences of his own from scratch. For what seemed like several minutes we both just stood there, two still avatars in Step's poky little office, saying nothing. In RL I was chuckling away in glee, however, pulling up my copy of the transcript I'd just given him to relish once again the words that were causing him so much discomfort.

Redbridge Earl runs his tongue, slowly, all the way to the tip...

That was me.

Green Eisenheiff leans back and lets out a long sigh of contentment...

That was him.

Redbridge Earl eases himself slowly into Green...

The note card was practically sizzling on the screen in front of me. It was practically setting the monitor alight. Case or no case, adulterer or no adulterer, male gay sex or no male gay sex it was the best SL fuck I'd had that month by far. And, by all accounts, the guy had virtually exploded all over his keyboard, so don't try telling me it was a one-sided deal. At the time I was even betting on it becoming my hat-trick call-back – my third case where the ex-target contacted me again for sex following closure of the case *even though* they knew by then that I'd been working as a detective and passed on the all the tiny details of our previous liaison to their (now ex) partner. That's how good it was, and if Redbridge had contacted me and asked I might well have said yes.

Step Stransky: You and I have different ways of going about things, Def.

Step Stransky: For me this work is my means to an end.

Step Stransky: For you it seems to be the all of what you do, and you're becoming lost in it.

Definitely Thursday: Right, right.

Definitely Thursday: And what exactly *is* your 'end' Stransky?

Definitely Thursday: What do you actually *do* besides sitting in this office and making dirty-old-man remarks and poorly concealed judgemental put-downs and thoroughly pissing me off?

Step Stransky: I'm not going to rise to that.

Step Stransky: Except to say that I think that's grossly unfair of you.

Step Stransky: But think what you will.

And ten minutes later I had Inch IMing me, and I knew before I even looked at the screen that it was her and that he'd gone running to her and probably cut and pasted the whole text into her IM window – look what that nasty Def just said to me, etc – and it just made me want to smash his fucking face in even more.

Inch Sideways: Thursday, what the hell is wrong with you and Stransky?

Inch Sideways: Why aren't you two getting along any more?

Inch Sideways: Am I going to have to come and bang your heads together?

Definitely Thursday: Let me ask you something, Inch.

Definitely Thursday: What in the name of Christ do you see in that guy?

Inch Sideways: Oh ffs.

Inch Sideways: We've been through all of this before, Def.

Inch Sideways: I'm not going through it with you again.

Inch Sideways: This is about you and him; it has nothing to do with us.

I was used to her saying that sort of thing by then, but it still astonished me, all the same. She'd used it one too many times, though, because this time I had my answer prepared.

Definitely Thursday: Is it *possible* for me to have an issue with Step without you telling me it's actually to do with you and me?

Inch Sideways: So tell me what your issue is.

Inch Sideways: Enlighten me.

Definitely Thursday: What I want to know is, who the hell does he think he is to stand in judgement of me?

Inch Sideways: For crying out loud, Thursday; are you such an idiot that you believe no-one's allowed to question you about your work? Do you think you're some sort of God?

Inch Sideways: What world do you live in?

Inch Sideways: Step is actually really concerned about you.

Definitely Thursday: Answer me one question, Inch; just one.

Inch Sideways sighs.

Inch Sideways: Go on.

Definitely Thursday: Are you faithful to Step? Or do you sleep around?

Inch Sideways: Go away

Inch Sideways: and calm down

Inch Sideways: and sort this out, Thursday.

Inch Sideways: I want you *in* my life, not out of it.

Of course I did calm down and I did sort it out, because – for all my SL shenanigans – those two were my life in there. There was just nowhere that my anger could take me to; not then; no place that I wanted to go to, at least. For about a week or so Step and I went out of our ways to be attentive to each other, and Inch took the piss, thinking all things were well once again. After that things just went pretty much back to normal, like they mostly do when things like that happen.

And now it had happened again.

But this time, things were different.

# Chapter 20

At Rachael's, Arton was waiting for me. The teleport seemed to have restored some of his decisiveness. Without comment, he jumped onto a slow dance version 3 and, without question, I joined him there.

The room was still in the process of rezzing when I spotted Sindy Witchell in the list of the ten names or so on my radar. As Arton resumed his IM conversation I scanned the room to try to locate her. I hadn't taken her off my friends list yet, so at least I wouldn't have that awkwardness to deal with. It is so the pits when you run into someone you accepted friendship from and then deleted it, and they go and choose that particular moment to realise it.

She was over by the bar, by herself, still greyed out, but as I watched she coloured in. I wondered how long it would take for her to notice me. I wondered if it would be better to nip it in the bud and say hello to her before she did. I wondered why she was here and why she was alone.

I tried to remember what she had said to me.

Sindy Witchell: Do you bring your bf here?

And I had replied that this was 'where I had met him'. Hmmmm.

I watched. Sindy did nothing. It felt odd.

I checked back on Arton.

Arton Urriah: You must think me an odd one.

Arton Urriah: None of it is quite so mysterious as it sounds.

Arton Urriah: But there are things that I have agreed to...

Arton Urriah: things which I have promised...

Arton Urriah: although it is true that perhaps now my priorities have moved a little since then.

I jumped in, making a comment that I immediately regretted the instant I hit return.

Susan Sonnet: You know you could always just quit the group.

It was hardly in my interests for Arton to do that, now was it?

Susan Sonnet: Choose Starfish instead.

Arton Urriah: I have thought about that.

Arton Urriah: I thought if I told her and she made me choose then I would probably choose her.

Susan Sonnet: But why tell her? Just quit the group! Spend the time with her instead!

Arton Urriah: Because the ideal thing would be to have both...

Arton Urriah: and if I never even tried to see if that was possible...

Arton Urriah: I would always be left wondering.

Susan Sonnet: Fair enough.

Susan Sonnet: Are you expecting her to make you choose between her and this group?

Arton Urriah: It's possible.

I checked the bar. Sindy was still there, still alone apparently. But how do you ever know in SL whether someone is alone or not? And why did it matter to me?

Susan Sonnet: And by the way...

Susan Sonnet: I don't think you 'an odd one.'

Susan Sonnet: I think you are...

Susan Sonnet: principled.

Arton Urriah laughs.

Arton Urriah: Principled, yes.

Arton Urriah: I believe I can live with that.

Susan Sonnet: Principled is good!

Arton Urriah: Don't worry, I understand the sentiment.

Arton Urriah: It's just a little bizarre to be hearing it from my up and coming act of infidelity.

Susan Sonnet feels a tingle of excitement. She'd been wondering if Arton had forgotten about that :)

Arton Urriah: Not forgotten, no.

Arton Urriah: But not especially good at making the first move.

Arton Urriah: Especially when I have guilt to contend with.

Susan Sonnet: Arton, let excitement guide you.

Susan Sonnet: Look at me. Think about what you would like to do to me.

Susan Sonnet: And then start writing it down.

Susan Sonnet: Do you like to use balls? Or do you like to keep everything in chat?

Susan Sonnet: Be honest.

Arton Urriah: Starfish and I, we have a special bed.

Susan Sonnet: Balls then.

Arton Urriah: We tend to use Xcite to these days.

Susan Sonnet: Uh-uh. Not tonight you're not.

Arton Urriah: You don't approve?

Susan Sonnet: I don't enjoy. It does nothing for me.

Susan Sonnet: Balls I can do. I'll strip for you. You can even use your XCite attachment... but you run that baby in silent mode for me, ok?

Arton Urriah: LMAO

Arton Urriah: Yes ma'am!!

I checked the bar. Sindy was gone.

Susan Sonnet looks into Arton's eyes and allows herself a moment to bathe there in that darkness.

Susan Sonnet moves both hands up Artons arms and links her fingers behind his neck.

Susan Sonnet pulls back from the depths of Arton's gaze and looks upon him simply. She tilts her head, everso slightly.

Arton Urriah would like to kiss Susan.

It didn't look like Arton was going to be an especially literate lover.

Susan Sonnet: That's the general idea, my lad.

Susan Sonnet: Now look...

Arton Urriah: Yes?

Susan Sonnet: If you're going to run this whole group thing past me then now might be the time – we might not feel like it later at all.

Arton Urriah: lol

Arton Urriah: You could be right there.

Susan Sonnet: Only a suggestion.

Arton Urriah: Perhaps I might talk to you about it tomorrow?

I realised the sensible thing would be to accept that. There was no sense in pushing too hard. But I wanted this whole thing over and done with as quickly as possible.

Susan Sonnet: Don't take this the wrong way, honey...

Susan Sonnet: But you're assuming that I'm still going to be around tomorrow.

Arton Urriah: You're not?

Susan Sonnet: I offered you a night off from yourself...

Susan Sonnet: ...not to become my new best friend.

Susan Sonnet: I don't mind keeping you on my friends list...

Susan Sonnet: ...but I do have other stuff to be getting on with...

Susan Sonnet: ...and you have your relationship with Starfish to sort out.

Susan Sonnet: So use me – use me as you need to use me... but use me *tonight*.

Susan Sonnet: This is a one night only deal, ok?

Arton Urriah: You're right; of course you are.

Arton Urriah: 'Deal?'

Susan Sonnet: Figure of speech.

Susan Sonnet: Don't worry... I'm not going to charge you :)

It was now or never. I crossed my fingers.

Susan Sonnet: So...

Susan Sonnet: Are you going to tell me about this group?

I waited. Hours seemed to pass. And finally... better than I could have dared hope for...

Arton Urriah: Let me show you the place... it might make more sense that way.

Arton Urriah: I think I can get you on the access list for a few minutes.

I couldn't believe my luck. I kicked back my seat and punched the air!

Susan Sonnet: I'm not going to get you into trouble over this, am I?

Arton Urriah: It's ok.

Arton Urriah: The worst they can do is chuck me out, right?

I thought back to my conversation with Fred:

Fred: Def... let me assure you... organisations like mine don't become involved in cases of unpaid parking tickets.

Fred: It is *very* important that we know what this guy's up to.

I wasn't *entirely* certain that being kicked out of the group *was* actually the worst that could happen to Arton, but I decided now was not the time to voice that particular concern.

Susan Sonnet: Sure!

Susan Sonnet: Like you said – just a group, right?

Arton Urriah: Not just any old group...

Arton Urriah: Vivre wants to make a difference.

Susan Sonnet: 'Vivre'?

Arton Urriah: Our group's name.

Susan Sonnet: Ah, I see. Very clever. Very ironic.

Susan Sonnet: And how do you intend to make a difference?

Arton Urriah: There the devil is in the detail.

Arton Urriah: But let me TP you over.

Arton Urriah: It'll make more sense when you see it.

Susan Sonnet: kk

I was there – I was nearly there!! It had to be Sevron he was taking me to, it just *had* to be.

And then, out of the blue, the screen filled up with text:

Silent Window: WARNING TO ARTON URRIAH: THE AVATAR YOU ARE DANCING WITH IS ACTUALLY A GUY!!!!

Silent Window: WARNING TO ARTON URRIAH: THE AVATAR YOU ARE DANCING WITH IS ACTUALLY A GUY!!!!

Silent Window: WARNING TO ARTON URRIAH: THE AVATAR YOU ARE DANCING WITH IS ACTUALLY A GUY!!!!

Silent Window: WARNING TO ARTON URRIAH: THE AVATAR YOU ARE DANCING WITH IS ACTUALLY A GUY!!!!

Instinctively, I knew where to look, and I was correct. He was right where Sindy had just been sitting. Standing on the exact same chair, in fact. Where he'd just TPed in. To the co-ordinates he'd sent himself. From Sindy. Of course. Of course of course of course. The truth rezzed into being right there and then in front of me, and I couldn't believe how stupid I had been.

He'd cut and pasted and re-pasted and re-pasted and re-pasted so that the entire screen just got flooded with his message; there was no possibility whatsoever of it being missed by anybody within twenty metres.

Arton Urriah: What?

Susan Sonnet: Don't listen to him Arton.

Arton Urriah: You're a guy?

Susan Sonnet: I'm not a guy.

Arton Urriah: Who is this person?

Susan Sonnet: Just someone with a grudge.

Susan Sonnet: Ignore him.

But there was more.

Silent Window: WARNING TO ARTON URRIAH: THE AVATAR YOU ARE DANCING WITH IS A SECOND LIFE DETECTIVE CALLED STEP STRANSKY.

Silent Window: WARNING TO ARTON URRIAH: THE AVATAR YOU ARE DANCING WITH IS A SECOND LIFE DETECTIVE CALLED STEP STRANSKY.

Silent Window: WARNING TO ARTON URRIAH: THE AVATAR YOU ARE DANCING WITH IS A SECOND LIFE DETECTIVE CALLED STEP STRANSKY.

Silent Window: WARNING TO ARTON URRIAH: THE AVATAR YOU ARE DANCING WITH IS A SECOND LIFE DETECTIVE CALLED STEP STRANSKY.

This had to stop! I checked to see if the land was push enabled. I opened up my inventory to see what weapons I had. I had to get this guy as far away as possible from us right now.

Arton Urriah: What kind of a grudge?

Susan Sonnet: It's a long story.

Arton Urriah: He thinks you're a *detective*?

Susan Sonnet: He has a warped mind.

Arton Urriah: Why would he say things like that if they weren't true?

Susan Sonnet: He has a warped mind, Arton. What can I say?

I found some sort of multi-tool HUD I'd bought a while back, which I thought had some sort of push device on it. It started to rez. Slowly.

Arton Urriah: He's IMing me.

Shit shit shit shit shit

Arton Urriah: He's sending me a photo of you with some girl.

Arton Urriah: You're a lesbian?

Susan Sonnet: Arton, I'm bisexual.

Susan Sonnet: Nothing I have said to you has suggested me to be straight heterosexual.

Susan Sonnet: I enjoy all forms of sex with all forms of people.

Arton Urriah: He says you're a guy and that's why you do it with girls.

I opened up an IM window with Silent.

Susan Sonnet: Silent, I am not a man.

Susan Sonnet: And I am not Step Stransky.

Susan Sonnet: Now will you fuck off and leave us alone?

Silent Window: Sorry Susan, my sweet little faggot...

Silent Window: You do realise I was Sindy Witchell, don't you?

Susan Sonnet: *Yes* silent, I get it what you did!

Susan Sonnet: Very good. Very clever.

Silent Window: And so!

Silent Window: The hunted... becomes the hunter!

He switched back to public chat.

Silent Window: This another 'case' of yours, Susan?

Silent Window: I see you're married, sir!

Silent Window: Perchance is your wife of the suspicious variety?

Silent Window: Let me tell you what this nice man here does:

Silent Window: He takes money from suspicious wives...

Susan Sonnet: Silent, you're talking bollocks.

Silent Window: ...dresses up as the woman you see before you...

Silent Window: ...fucks their husbands...

Silent Window: ...takes pictures of himself doing it...

Silent Window: ...and then presents this 'evidence' to his client...

Silent Window: ...as proof of their beloved's infidelity.

Silent Window: Now let me see...

Silent Window: Does this make you a whore, Step?

Silent Window: A nancy boy?

Silent Window: A rapist?

Don't imagine I was just sitting there taking this. I was *trying* to find my way around the myriad of buttons and menus of the multi-tool. MY GOD, THE BUTTONS! *Finally* I found what I was looking for.

Silent Window: And I know, because I fucked this he-slut myself!

Silent Window: And let me tell you...

My fingers crossed, I clicked. Silent went rocketing up through the roof, on his way to the stratosphere. I had just bought myself about two minutes.

Susan Sonnet: Arton, please can we leave?

Susan Sonnet: Please can we leave right now?

Arton Urriah: Is it true what he was saying?

Susan Sonnet: Arton, I am not Step Stranksy.

I opened a window to Step and began typing furiously.

Susan Sonnet: Step! I'm sorry sorry sorry

Susan Sonnet: And now I'm in a hole and need your help now right now

Susan Sonnet: There's this guy who thinks I'm you.

Susan Sonnet: Can you come here? *Please*?

What a fucking mess.

Arton Urriah: It all makes sense.

Susan Sonnet: No no no!

Susan Sonnet: Don't do this Arton. Don't listen to him. I'm not Step Stransky!

All in pieces.

Step Stransky: Sort your own mess out Thursday.

Step Stransky: You're not my problem any more.

The plan in ruins.

Susan Sonnet: Step please! This is important - *really* important!

Second Life: User not online - message will be stored and delivered later.

Everything destroyed.

Arton Urriah: I see he's not online.

Susan Sonnet: So he's not online!

Susan Sonnet: That doesn't mean he's me!

Everything over.

Arton Urriah: Goodbye Susan.

Susan Sonnet: Arton, please!

Arton Urriah TP'ed out of Rachael's and I was left there standing by myself, my arms curled around thin air, my body touching nothing.

# Chapter 21

Of course, I *did* understand the whole 'one night only' rule. I don't want it to appear that I didn't.

Sim sex is writing, at the end of the day. At least, *good* sim sex is. You do it once and if it goes well it's bloody fantastic; it's spontaneous, it's articulate, it's intelligent, it's erotic – of *course* it's erotic – it's original, it's surprising, and if it's *really* good there's more than a splash of humour in there too. If it goes well, your mind is taken completely out of the here and now, and you're exhausted at the end of it. No touch, no taste, no talk – the only sound in the room is from the tapping of keys (and perhaps the odd gasp or two) – yet the mind escapes to a different place completely, and it takes the body with it. *All* *you* *are* *doing* is pressing a selection of flat little buttons in sequence and looking at a two-dimensional screen, yet you will never remember that as being what you did. Your partner will never remember that as being what she or he did either. No touch, no taste, no talk; just two minds thinking delicious thoughts together, and sharing them through fingers and eyes.

Not everyone can achieve it, or understand it as something they want to achieve. It's like making love through poetry. It's the closest you can ever come to actually reaching out and touching another person through words and words alone. It's fingertips brushing, gazes meeting, hot breath on the back of your neck sort of stuff. You achieve it even once and you know that you are privileged to have touched another human being so.

That's the first time. You do it with the same person a second time and, if you're lucky, it might be just as good, just as original, just as surprising. If you're unlucky, however, things might not seem quite as arousing as they did before.

On the third time it *could* be great...

The bottom line is that eventually the time is going to come when you start spotting things getting recycled, and the likelihood is that that will be sooner rather than later. And it's not good, it really isn't; it's like someone using the same joke twice and expecting people to find it just as funny. And that's why couples like Arton and Starfish end up resorting to devices such as XCite; if you're going to have to sit through reams of text you've read before, at least XCite spares you the bother of having to type it.

It's one thing when you're talking physical sensation – when you're having *actual* sex you've always got good old physical sensation to fall back on. Your actual sexual partner might well be repeating moves from last time and the time before that and the time before that – to the point at which you pretty much know exactly what's going to be happening, and when (and *by* when it'll all be over) – but biology isn't much concerned with originality and can usually be relied upon to do it's job and provide you with *some* sort of gratification for sticking with it until the bitter end.

But sim sex isn't quite so forgiving... at least, not if you have high expectations from it.

I understand the 'one night only' rule. I use it a lot myself now. I use it because I don't want to disappoint. I use it because I don't want to be disappointed.

I understand that the relationship Inch had with Step was nothing like that which she and I had shared on that amazing Christmas Eve. Long, slow and glowing, rather than short, brief and bright, sort of thing. I get it. I understand. I understood.

That's why I'd asked her if she took lovers alongside him. My next question would have been whether or not he knew, because there's no doubt in my mind that had she answered the first question honestly her reply to it would have been yes. And I do think that he knew. I don't think Inch could have loved him if he didn't. I think he knew, and I think he loved her for it. I don't mean he loved her in spite of it; I mean he loved her *because* of it. He loved her because she loved others intensely and then she came back home to him. He loved her because loving with her body through her words was an important part of her being; it excited him that he had found someone who was like that. The issue as to whether it was with him or not was largely irrelevant.

I *did* understand the whole 'one night only' rule. I understood how it applied for intense sexual liaisons.

But that wasn't what I wanted from Inch. That wasn't what I wanted at all.

I wanted to have IMs from her waiting for me when I logged on in the morning.

I wanted to go exploring places with her and find hidden places to hug and kiss.

I wanted nights to end sometimes with us just lying on a virtual bed together, talking about our days. I wanted Inch to see as many guys as she fancied... and I wanted her to tell me about it all, every last detail.

I wanted, in a nutshell, exactly what Step had. But better.

And that night, I resolved that nothing – nothing at all – would stop me from taking it from him. Nothing.

# HATRED

# Chapter 22

I look back now and I wonder when and where it all went wrong. I wonder when magical turned into mundane, when novelty turned into necessity. I wonder when it was that SL stopped being something I chose to do and became something I needed to do instead. I wonder when it was that I became addicted. *Really* addicted. I wonder if it could have been any other way, and I honestly doubt that it could have.

I think it's fair to say that I haven't yet lost my ability to function completely in RL, but I can see how easy it could be for that to happen. I've spoken to other SLFT residents for whom this is a reality - people who've effectively become prisoners in their own homes (their RL homes, that is). They don't go out to work, they don't go out to play; they do all their shopping online and pretty much the only human contact they have is with the people who deliver it. As for me, I still need to feel the air pushing past me at least once a day, but the time I'm spending outside of these four walls is increasingly less and less. I chucked in my job at Pizza Castle months ago - the very same day Step informed me about his engagement, in fact, and in a blaze of misdirected fury that should pretty much guarantee I'll never work again for any employer who goes to the trouble of checking references. I've done a small amount of web design work for a couple of local businesses since then. Nothing much, and nothing complicated, but enough to pay for the odd upgrade here and there (replacing my computer pretty much used up what savings I had). I'm actually pretty good with money. I have my budget and I stick to it. So I'm not in arrears in my rent, which means I can move in a moment's notice if I need to. And have done exactly that very recently.

There's no getting away from it, though; I'm addicted. I know I'm addicted from how I behave when the grid goes down. You do not want to know me when that happens, it's like the air has been drawn from my lungs; the language I throw at the computer as I fight to breathe is something else entirely. There was that whole day a few months ago when the grid was down for the best part of twenty-four hours, for example. I was practically in tears. 'Hey,' it said on the website, 'Use the time to rediscover your RL. Why not take the dog for a walk?' Each time it told me that I told my computer to fuck off in an extremely loud and increasingly desperate voice. Although it did amuse me (admittedly, not a great deal) to think of all these pale-skinned people stumbling around their local parks, shielding their eyes from the light and pulling behind them on leads the half-rotted carcasses of the pet dogs they'd just 'rediscovered' in the cupboard under the stairs.

How does it happen, this dependency? And where do all our RL skills disappear to? How is it I can walk down my street sometimes and feel overwhelmed by the sheer detail - the visual clutter *everywhere*, the thousand different sounds; the *smells* - my God, the *smells*.

By the way, I was never into computer games. Well, not massively. So don't go imagining me to be some sort of gamehead or something. I remember playing Doom when it first came out, and I went through a short period of playing Sonic the Hedgehog regularly; that was mostly late on Friday and Saturday evenings, however, with cans and mates and kebabs. Oh yes, and I *loved* Tetris on the Game Boy. But that really is about it.

Actually, now that I think about it, I *did* play this Second World War game once. I played it quite a bit for a few days. It involved getting through a French village somewhere to find some guns that were shooting down our planes. I think it was a demo disk or something. If I recall correctly, it came with a multi-player level too where you were in this town and, basically, had to shoot everyone you saw there. So the usual sort of thing, I guess. It was the first time I'd ever played a game online and I only installed it in the first place because I'd just got this thing called a broadband connection and I wanted something to try it out on. I think I played it for just the one evening. Possibly two. I remember being quite intimidated at first that the other soldiers moving about in there were actually being controlled by real people somewhere on the planet. It caused me to die quite a lot.

Yes, it's all coming back to me as I write, that initial sense of excitement; that quickening of the heart when I caught a glimpse of uniform scurrying across a distant corridor. But the game just seemed to go on and on and on. There was literally no point to it other than to find other people and shoot them. And then they would re-spawn somewhere else in the town and try to find and shoot you. Over and over. In an environment that can't have been much more than a quarter of a sim in size. There were usually about seven or eight of you to a game and when you'd had enough you just logged out and that was that. I remember my very last game of it; there was about eight of us in there, and it was getting especially dull and boring because there was this one guy who was just so good that no-one could find him. Over and over and over you'd find that each time you died it was him that had popped you. Eventually, the other seven of us that were getting slaughtered in this way made a truce. We resolved to work together. It made not a jot's worth of difference and the guy still kept picking us off, but for a brief period I experienced my first ever sense of 'online camaraderie;' we didn't really talk all that much other than to say, 'the bastard got me again' sort of thing, but it was something shared all the same. In the end the guy himself broke his silence and announced he had to go to bed because he had to get up for school in the morning. We were all quite mortified. And when we said farewell to each other, knowing that that was that – it was over and we wouldn't be seeing each other again, I remember feeling that the whole multiplayer thing was ultimately dissatisfying; there were so many restrictions imposed on your freedom.

It would never have even occurred to me to think back then that within ten years there would exist an online world many thousands of times bigger than that tiny little town, that would continue to exist after the computer had been turned off, where people kept the same names and could be found, one day after the next, where you could look like whatever you wanted to look like, where you could collect and keep – and *make* - stuff, where you never knew for certain what you would find in the next sim along...

The sense of peace that can come over me now when my little home in Second Life rezzes on login is extraordinary. Even if I've only been away for an hour or so (sometimes if I've only been away long enough to do a reboot). The instant I hear the first chirrups from the ambient noise log in my garden, something seems to happen inside me. It's like a big grin, spreading. Since windlight came online, with its incredible skies, the sense of having *arrived* somewhere is particularly inescapable. I don't think I could ever have felt like that about an online multi-player game; ultimately, that's not the experience that games are in the business to deliver.

I don't think I'll become one of these stories you read about where MMOG addicts die in front of their computer screens, but I guess all things are possible. In some ways, I don't think that would be such a bad thing at all; it would be sort of like dying in Second Life, which would be cool. I made a will not so long ago where I've left instructions to go onto SL (I've left my login and password details) and inform everyone on Def's friends list of my demise. But I digress.

Each time I enter the virtual world, each time I log in and feel that sense of relaxation washing over me I know that this is big. I know that this is more than just me and the small collection of virtual friends I have. I know that virtual living is a minority activity now only because it's new. I know that the vast majority of smirks and dismissals will fade and vanish, and that those which don't will become grimmer and harder and more firmly set than ever. I know that SL is the first step being taken by humanity into a lifestyle choice that will become *the* topic, *the* debate of the future. There will be no people indifferent to this issue in the years to come: there will be only those who do and those who do not, there will be only those who love what we are becoming and those who despair of it and the inevitability of its direction. And the more deeply we fall into it all, the more breathtaking the pace of immersive technology will become.

Television, of course, is dead. Its days really are numbered now. People used to talk about the web taking over from TV, but of course they were wrong. They were wrong because they forgot that the web – fantastic though it is – doesn't offer the ingredient key to television's longevity: escapism. Escapism is what made plays and then books popular. Escapism is what made films popular after that. Escapism is what made radio and TV popular after films. And escapism is what will make virtual living the default choice of pastime for the many in the many years to come. The debate will not be about if we should or if we shouldn't, because there really won't be all that much point in talking about that; the debate will be about how much and how often we should, and how deeply.

We will talk a lot more about our virtual friends and lovers – it would be nice if it became the norm that we pursue and maintain as many as of the latter as we're able to, although I guess I doubt that will be the way that it does pan out. We will talk more about our virtual homes and our virtual possessions. We will talk more about our virtual holidays and our virtual experiences. We will worry about virtual crime. We will be fearful of virtual terrorism. We will cease to care about the things that we actually have and do and are...

In all things, if one really wants to see ahead, one only has to ask some simple questions. Is there a market? Is the market big? Is this something that the masses could become hooked on, and if so could they be parted from their cash in the process? Could this whole thing, properly exploited, help keep the rich folk rich and the poor folk poor? Well could it?

I am addicted to Second Life. It has to be there for me every single day; if I had to pay for that to happen then I would do so in an instant. This is not a moment of madness, this is not a flash in the pan bandwagon zeitgeist thing. It's here. It's staying. It will grow, and it will grow quickly.

I knew all of this before I met Arton Urriah. What I didn't realise was how he knew it too, and how he and others had their plans drawn up already.

# Chapter 23

Straight away, I started to write. What started as a fiction with a function, however, quickly turned into something far more engrossing; but, you see, I'm like that – sometimes I just can't help myself. Some of it I wrote from scratch, some of it I found in my logs. Most of Arton's faintly inane comments were from logs. Well, it had to be realistic. When I'd finished, my only regret was that the whole thing hadn't happened like that for real. In fact it left me rather flushed. In fact I had to go and spend some quality time with myself. Quite a bit of quality time.

Arton Urriah tips Susan Sonnet the generous amount of L$100. Thanks!

Arton Urriah: Hmmm... There's something about mini flexi skirts and thigh length boots.

Susan Sonnet: Well hello again, Arton.

Susan Sonnet: Isn't that four nights in a row now?

Arton Urriah: You're counting?!

Susan Sonnet: You're not?!

Arton Urriah is pleased he has become significant enough a figure in Susan's life that she knows how many times she has met him.

Susan Sonnet is disappointed that Arton doesn't consider her significant enough a figure in his life that he knows how many times *he* has met *her*.

Arton Urriah: lol

Arton Urriah: As a matter of fact, I even know how many hours we've spent in each other's company.

Susan Sonnet: Ok, now that's just plain obsessive.

Susan Sonnet: Learn to gauge where the line is.

Arton Urriah: hahaha

Susan Sonnet: So tell me...

Susan Sonnet: We've covered quite a number of topics, you and I...

Susan Sonnet: Except the one that's lurking in the background, watching everything we do.

Susan Sonnet: I think you know what I'm talking about.

Arton Urriah: Starfish?

Susan Sonnet: Starfish.

Arton Urriah: Yeah...

Arton Urriah: I'd like to tell you it's one of those mythical 'open' relationships you hear so much about...

Arton Urriah: But the truth is, it's not.

Arton Urriah: The truth is, it's over.

Arton Urriah: At least, it will be soon.

Susan Sonnet: See, this is why I'll never partner in SL.

Susan Sonnet: You guys haven't even made it to your first month anniversary yet!

Arton Urriah: We had a big argument tonight.

Arton Urriah: She logged off.

Arton Urriah: I'm glad; I think it's for the best if she ends it.

Susan Sonnet: Oh I see. Then you don't have to answer awkward questions.

Susan Sonnet: Typical man.

Arton Urriah: lol

Arton Urriah: Yeah I guess you're right.

Arton Urriah: Past caring, though.

Arton Urriah: The marriage thing's not all it's cracked up to be.

Susan Sonnet: Whatever.

Susan Sonnet: The guy next to you just tipped me 200 L$, by the way.

Susan Sonnet: Just thought you'd like to know.

Arton Urriah: lol

Arton Urriah: Is that a hint?

Susan Sonnet: Hey sweetie...

Susan Sonnet: These boots you seem to like so much don't come cheap, you know.

Susan Sonnet: Did you know, there are more prims in these things than most people have in their entire house?

Arton Urriah: lol

Arton Urriah tips Susan Sonnet the generous amount of L$1000. Thanks!

Susan Sonnet: Wow thanks! Now *that's* what I call a tip.

Susan Sonnet leans forward and plants a cherry red kiss on Arton's forehead.

Arton Urriah feels Susan's hair brush across his cheek as she leans over him; it smells fresh and flowery. It's the lightest of touches, but the effect it has on him is far from subtle.

Susan Sonnet: Down boy.

Arton Urriah: lol

Susan Sonnet tries not to notice the bulge in Arton's trousers.

Arton Urriah tries to think of ugly avatars.

Susan Sonnet: hahaha

Arton Urriah: Like his wife, lol

Susan Sonnet: Arton! Shame on you!

Arton Urriah is decided: he's never going to marry again.

Arton Urriah: I never realised just how much choice there is in SL...

Arton Urriah: ...and that I don't have to stick to just the one girlfriend.

Arton Urriah: Talk about RL conditioning!

Susan Sonnet: Well quite.

Susan Sonnet: Unlearning RL stuff is the biggest SL challenge there is.

Susan Sonnet: But tell me - why stick just to *girl* friends?

Arton Urriah thinks that might be taking things just a little too far.

Susan Sonnet: Awww, what a pity.

Susan Sonnet: Oh well suit yourself.

Arton Urriah: Why do I get the feeling that was the sound of a door shutting?

Susan Sonnet: I'm not in the habit of shutting doors, honey.

Susan Sonnet: If you heard one closing it must have been you that closed it.

Arton Urriah: lol

Arton Urriah: Well maybe you've given me something to think about.

Susan Sonnet: Oh good!

Susan Sonnet: Progress!

Susan Sonnet: Here's something to help you out...

Susan Sonnet: Think of all the things you would *dis*like about making love to a woman who is unattractive to you.

Arton Urriah: Riiiiight...

Susan Sonnet: Now think of all the things you would dislike about making love to a man.

Arton Urriah: Do I *have* to do this?

Susan Sonnet: I might make it worth your while...

Arton Urriah thinks of all the things he would dislike about making love to a man.

Susan Sonnet: Good boy.

Susan Sonnet: So...

Susan Sonnet: That means you have two lists...

Susan Sonnet: Compare them...

Susan Sonnet: Is there stuff that's common to both of them?

Arton Urriah: Now that you mention it, yeah.

Susan Sonnet: Give me an example.

Arton Urriah: Ok... bad breath.

Susan Sonnet: Right.

Susan Sonnet: So, when you make love to a woman in SL, do you think of her as having bad breath?

Arton Urriah: Of course not.

Susan Sonnet: So then...

Susan Sonnet: Why would you choose to think of a man in that way.

Arton Urriah reflects on this for a moment.

Susan Sonnet: Is that helpful, do you think?

Arton Urriah: I suppose I can see what you're driving at.

Susan Sonnet: You're programmed to think of the stuff you don't like rather than the stuff that you might.

Susan Sonnet: Think of a fresh smelling guy with minimum body hair, clean shaven, slim, mmmmmmmm.... Yum!

Arton Urriah: You have no idea how much you are turning me on right now.

Susan Sonnet: Heehee

Susan Sonnet: Well, I think I just opened a new door for you, even if only a little crack.

Susan Sonnet: The polite thing to do would be to thank me, you know.

Arton Urriah casts his eye over Susan's fine form, enjoying the warm glow that her skin seems to have.

Arton Urriah crosses his legs.

Susan Sonnet: hahaha

Susan Sonnet: Why don't you take those pants off, my dear?

Arton Urriah is a bit embarrassed to do that.

Susan Sonnet: It's a sex sim, Arton; no-one will notice.

Susan Sonnet: It can't have escaped your notice that there are lots of guys running around in here with preposterously large knobs attached to their groins.

Arton Urriah: Yes.

Susan Sonnet: No-one's paying any attention to them.

Arton Urriah: True.

Arton Urriah: I guess I'm worried I might see someone I know.

Susan Sonnet: See this is what I'm talking about. This is *exactly* the problem I have with people like you.

Susan Sonnet: How many times do I hear people banging on about all the infinite possibilities in SL stuff...

Susan Sonnet: And all they do is end up being in SL just exactly like they are in RL.

Arton Urriah: What if Starfish was to come in? You don't think that would be upsetting for her?

Susan Sonnet: Arton I'm not saying you're wrong to think that so-and-so will think such-and-such if they see you doing XYZ to yourself in front of the nubile young dancer...

Susan Sonnet: What I *am* saying is why have you arranged your Second Life in this way, that that is what will happen?

Susan Sonnet: Find yourself friends who can't keep the grins from their faces when they read what their buddy writes when he's gone all wobbly and horny.

Susan Sonnet: And in any case... do you *really* think it likely that Susan is going to come in here?

Arton Urriah: I guess not.

Susan Sonnet: Right. So take off your pants.

Arton Urriah takes off his pants.

Susan Sonnet: Oh my...

Susan Sonnet: Someone *is* excited...

Arton Urriah: Ahem.

Susan Sonnet steps slowly down from the platform to stand in front of Arton. She holds him in her gaze as lowers herself, inch by inch by inch...

Arton Urriah: Oh boy...

Arton Urriah: Are you about to do what I think you're about to do?

Susan Sonnet takes hold of Arton in her left hand, moves her head down to meet the head, seems to pause a moment as if to study it...

Susan Sonnet licks her lips, everso slightly...

Arton Urriah: Oh boy...

Susan Sonnet moves her tongue around the head, feeling Arton stiffen beneath her feather touch.

Arton Urriah: Christ.

Susan Sonnet circles slowly. She extends her tongue its full length and runs the tip of it down as far as she can, letting his head lie flat against the length of her tongue. Gently, she closes her lips over him, taking in the velvet, sucking gently on it, bringing it further into her, feeling the tremble in his belly.

Susan Sonnet feels Arton's hands in her hair, trying to push her downward.

Arton Urriah: Oh yes... downward... please...

Susan Sonnet won't be rushed!

Arton Urriah feels you moving your tongue around on me feels so good.

Susan Sonnet starts to move slowly up and down him, her left hand leading the way and using the wetness she leaves on him to gently massage as she goes.

Arton Urriah feels susan sliding up and down on his cock oooooooohhhhhhhh.......

Susan Sonnet starts to pick up a little speed. She moves her body slowly into a kneeling position as she goes so that she can look up over Arton's body and into his eyes.

Susan Sonnet: Look at me.

Susan Sonnet: Look at me whilst I suck you off.

Arton Urriah looks at Susan.

Susan Sonnet: Good.

Susan Sonnet: Now curl your fingers in my hair. Force me to go faster with your hands.

Arton Urriah clutches at susan's head.

Arton Urriah oh god feeling my cock sliding up and down against the roof of your mouth....

Arton Urriah sooooo goooood

Susan Sonnet sees Arton leaning back into his pleasure... sees his head roll back slightly, his mouth dropping open, his eyes rolling shut....

Susan Sonnet: Arton! Look at me!

Susan Sonnet: Don't make me some distant receptacle.

Susan Sonnet: I want you looking into my eyes at the exact moment that you cum.

Susan Sonnet: Don't you dare shut your eyes.

Arton Urriah looks at Susan.

Susan Sonnet: Good.

Susan Sonnet moves up and down faster now, the whole of Arton's shaft glistening now with hers and his wetness. She feels the muscles in his legs tightening around her.

Arton Urriah: oh god this is so good

Arton Urriah: I am so hard in RL right now

Susan Sonnet: You had better be more than just hard.

Arton Urriah: Oh jesus your turningme on

Arton Urriah: oh god ohg od oh god

Arton Urriah: so closeto cumming

Susan Sonnet: Don't you look away now.

Susan Sonnet: Look into my eyes.

Susan Sonnet: Look into my eyes as I suck you hard.

Susan Sonnet: Look into my eyes and feel yourself filling up all of the space inside of me.

Arton Urriah: ohhhhhhhh goooooooodddddddddddddddd

Susan Sonnet: Now give me something to taste.

Arton Urriah: ccccccccccuuyhngxcfh ch

Guys rarely write good cum prose. Understandable, of course, but such a shame. A good piece of orgasm text can be a real turn on, particularly if it manages to put into words the intense helplessness and vulnerability of that moment. I wanted to write something fantastic like, 'Arton explodes in his seat, his frame arching suddenly backwards with a force that raises his feet from the floor; he has to hold on to Susan for balance. He feels himself gushing into her. His arms shake and tremble as he holds her there. He tries to look into her eyes, but he cannot stop his own from closing...'

Or something like that. But I couldn't, because I just knew that Arton would never have written something along such lines. And so, since the primary purpose of the writing was to be convincing, I settled for the one spare finger out of control on the keyboard approach and decided to end it there. The post-orgasm chit chat could be left to imaginations.

I copied the whole text into a notecard and sent it straight to Arton.

User not online - inventory has been saved.

I opened an IM window.

Susan Sonnet: Arton, that whole text I just sent you gets sent to Starfish if you don't meet my demands.

Second Life: User not online - message will be stored and delivered later.

Susan Sonnet: Read it. I think you'll agree it sounds convincing.

Second Life: User not online - message will be stored and delivered later.

Susan Sonnet: You might even find it... stimulating.

Second Life: User not online - message will be stored and delivered later.

Susan Sonnet: I want you to take me to Sevron.

Second Life: User not online - message will be stored and delivered later.

Susan Sonnet: If you don't you can kiss your marriage goodbye.

# Chapter 24

I said earlier on that every case up until Arton was only about virtual infidelity. That's not quite true. The first case I worked on started out that way but turned into something quite different; Step sensed the true direction right from the start, and his strategy was a work of genius. It was actually his case, with me along for the training. It taught me a lot about Second Life, about depravity, about deception, and also never to underestimate this guy that I was suddenly working for.

He took me to a place built to resemble a play park. There was a set of swings and a roundabout, both of which animated dreadfully. There was a tall, metal slide of the variety kids used to fall and die from in the good old days before the nanny state. There was a pond with little plastic ducks swimming lazy figures of eight. There was litter around an overflowing bin. I've been to many places in Second Life *designed* to give you the creeps, and this one beat them all. Considerably.

We sat down on a bench overlooking the empty scene.

Definitely Thursday: Why are we here?

Step Stransky: The couple we're investigating...

Step Stransky: There's a child involved.

Definitely Thursday: *What*?

Step Stransky: Not an actual child, of course...

Step Stransky: An adult in role.

I remember that God-forsaken place as clearly as if it was yesterday. It was a floating at about 250 metres up, non-visible from the ground; just at the height of the clouds, it was, which rolled across the grass like a grey November fog. Everything looked as though it was cold and damp and clammy.

The pose balls made it worse. A green ball behind the swing was tagged 'Push' and, just above the seat itself, 'Wheeee!' was smaller and blue. On the roundabout were placed two copies of 'Hold on!' A little blue and white checked ball by the pond was tagged 'Feed the ducks.'

A little distance away, at the edge of the park and half concealed by the mist, was an orange and blue ice cream van. I let my camera wander over and discovered a queue of three white balls leading up to the open window. 'Freshly made for you!' was printed in large red capitals down the side of the van. 'Stop! Children!' at the back. Inside, a raspberry coloured adult ball was tagged, 'What'll it be, my darling?' It made my flesh crawl.

I clicked absently on the van. 'Greensleeves' leapt suddenly from my speakers in that shrill, sickly, only-an-ice-cream-van-can-sound-like-that kind of way. I nearly shit myself.

Definitely Thursday: Fuck, this place gives me the creeps.

Step Stransky: Settle down. They're on their way.

Step Stransky: They'll be here in a minute.

Definitely Thursday: How do you know?

Step Stransky: I can hear them talking about it.

Definitely Thursday: You can?

Step Stransky: Watch when they arrive - the girl will be wearing a bow in her hair.

Step Stransky: Her 'father' gave it to her earlier.

Step Stransky: It contains a listening device.

Definitely Thursday: A listening device?

Definitely Thursday: You can get those in SL?

Step Stransky: Oh yes, it's easy.

Step Stransky: I'll show you later.

Definitely Thursday: Cool.

Definitely Thursday: So what are they saying?

Step Stransky: hang on... I'll copy and paste.

Step Stransky: Bow: Tickle Satiate: When are we going to the park, mommy? Bow: Foo Hemmingway: In a moment sweetheart. Bow: Tickle Satiate: Are we going to the park with the ducks? Bow: Foo Hemmingway: That's right honey. Bow: Tickle Satiate: Can I feed the ducks this time, mommy? Bow: Foo Hemmingway: We'll see. It depends on whether or not you're a good girl. Bow: Tickle Satiate: I promise I'll be good, mommy! I promise!

Definitely Thursday sighs deeply.

Definitely Thursday: I just can't get my head around this whole pretend to be a kid thing.

Step Stransky: Not our place to judge, Def.

Definitely Thursday: It isn't?

Definitely Thursday: Not even for stuff like that?

Step Stransky: It's two adults in role play.

Definitely Thursday: And how far is 'role play' allowed to go before we judge it?

Step Stransky: Oh make no mistake...

Step Stransky: There's role play that's allowed... and there's role play that's not allowed.

Definitely Thursday isn't so sure such an easy distinction can be made.

Definitely Thursday: Why do adults need to pretend to be children?

Definitely Thursday: What legitimate need does it meet?

Step Stransky: The need to be loved, unconditionally?

Step Stransky: The need for structure? For rules? The need to have boundaries enforced?

Step Stransky: Do you disapprove of the whole dominant/submissive scene also?

Definitely Thursday: No. But that's still adults pretending to be adults.

Definitely Thursday: You can argue the greys all you like, but it just feels like a line needs to be drawn on this one.

Definitely Thursday: What would be the worst that could happen if it were banned?

Step Stransky: Ok, they're coming now.

I think they must have TP'ed in at the edge of the park, for the first I saw of them was two dim shapes in the mist and a notification from my radar that two avatars were coming into chat range. The 'mother' was wearing ordinary jeans with a red and yellow T-shirt that exposed a thin slice of well-tanned midriff. Her hair was red and put up into a bun. She wore glasses. The little one bounced and skipped beside her, and the fact that someone had gone to such trouble to put this animation overrider together appalled me – both at the time it must have taken to put together something so intricate and – frankly – beautiful, and at the market that this degree of effort hinted at. Tickle had brown pigtails, blue eyes and freckles across her nose. She was wearing dungarees over a yellow T-shirt. And she had a matching yellow bow in her hair.

There was nothing overtly sinister about either of them. And yet... And yet.

Tickle came running up to us.

Tickle Satiate: What are you two doing here?

It completely threw me. I found I had nothing to say

Step Stransky: Hey there little Tickle!

Step Stransky: Me and my friend here are just having a reminisce.

Step Stransky: We used to come to a park just like this when we were boys.

I realised the way she was moving and talking, and the way in which step was responding to her was making me think of her as though she really were a child.

Step Stransky: Are you here to play on the swings?

Tickle Satiate: Yes Sir!

Step Stransky: Well you run along and have fun then.

The 'mother' caught up.

Foo Hemmingway: I'm so sorry. She's dreadful.

Foo Hemmingway: Tickle, what have I told you about talking to people you don't know?

Tickle Satiate: Sorry mommy.

Step Stransky: It's no problem at all, madam.

Step Stransky: Always nice to see a child out here in the fresh air, enjoying the play equipment.

Step Stransky: That's what it's here for, after all.

Tickle ran off to the roundabout.

Step Stransky: They seem to spend so much time indoors these days, don't you think?

Foo Hemmingway: Well we've never had that problem with Tickle, thankfully.

Foo Hemmingway: But I do know what you mean.

Step Stransky: You have a beautiful daughter :)

Foo Hemmingway: Why thank you!

This was all making me feel mighty itchy.

Definitely Thursday: Excuse my ignorance; exactly where do you get hold of 'children' in Second Life?

I could practically feel Step's glare boring into me. But Foo seemed unperturbed.

Foo Hemmingway: Why you go to an orphanage, of course.

Definitely Thursday: Of course!

Foo Hemmingway: You know I heard there are these people working on some sort of upgrade...

Foo Hemmingway: Where the baby really does come out of you!

Foo Hemmingway: And then, when you sign up new, you can choose to rez as a baby that's just been born!

Foo Hemmingway: Wouldn't that be cool?

Step Stransky: To be honest, I doubt it's an imminent update.

Definitely Thursday: What happens if you don't like your child?

Definitely Thursday: Do you take it back to the orphanage?

Foo Hemmingway: Well it's funny you should say that...

Foo Hemmingway: ...because Tickle was taken back twice before we got her.

Foo Hemmingway: They tried to keep it from us, you know!

Foo Hemmingway: They should really give you the complete history when you enquire, don't you think?

Step Stransky nods.

Foo Hemmingway: My husband got quite cross with them.

Definitely Thursday: But they told you? And still you took her?

Foo Hemmingway: Oh, but who could turn her down? Just look at her!

Definitely Thursday wonders if Tickle will turn into an arsey teenager in due course, who sleeps in late, hangs around on street corners and keeps her room in a total state.

Foo Hemmingway: lol

Tickle Satiate: MOMMY!

Foo Hemmingway: Coming darling!

Foo Hemmingway rolls her eyes. 'Kids, eh?'

She walked across to her daughter. I opened up an IM to Step and found that he was already writing in it.

Step Stransky: Playing it a bit free and easy with the sarcasm there, aren't we?

Definitely Thursday: Sorry.

Definitely Thursday: It's just I'm finding all of this rather hard to take in.

Step Stransky: Just keep your judgements to yourself.

Definitely Thursday: Still not entirely sure I actually have that luxury.

Definitely Thursday: But anyway...

Definitely Thursday: You haven't told me yet what the story to this case is.

Definitely Thursday: ie, why are we involved?

Step Stransky: Oh, nothing spectacular. Nothing too far out of the ordinary.

Step Stransky: The father thinks the mother is enjoying the company of other men.

Interesting. Apparently we were now referring to them according to their relationship to Tickle.

Step Stransky: I had a meeting with him yesterday.

Step Stransky: He told me he thinks she meets up with guys here.

Definitely Thursday: So why are we here? Why aren't we just listening in on your amazing bugging device?

Step Stransky: He wants us to be the guys.

Definitely Thursday: You're joking!

Step Stransky: Nope.

Definitely Thursday: We're here to seduce the client's wife?

Step Stransky: That's about the size of it, yes.

I started looking at Foo in an entirely new light.

Definitely Thursday: Isn't that... unethical?

Step Stransky: I imagine some might see it that way.

Step Stransky: Although it has to be said...

Step Stransky: ...most of the people who talk about it in those terms...

Step Stransky: ...are the people we've just caught.

Definitely Thursday: You know... I just don't get it...

Definitely Thursday: It seems to me that half the cases you've told me about involve infidelity before the confetti's had a chance to settle...

Definitely Thursday: Why go through all the drama of virtual weddings if the commitment is so weak?

Step Stransky: Perhaps your theory is right...

Step Stransky: Perhaps it's all about creating exciting storylines.

Tickle was on the swing now, being pushed by Foo from behind.

Tickle Satiate: Whee!

Tickle Satiate: Higher, mommy, higher!

Foo Hemmingway: Hold on tight now!

The two animations had fallen out of sync with each other; Foo's pushes were taking place after the swing had swung back, right through her head. I was in range; I typed in a sync command and they both returned to the start position. Neither seemed to have noticed either the drift or the adjustment. I wondered how much attention they were paying to the scene and to each other. I wondered how much of all this role play was the actual experience they were seeking and how much of it was just the preamble to other, more sinister things.

All of a sudden the haunting shriek of Greensleeves jumped out of my speakers once again and I realised someone had clicked on the wretched ice cream van. In an instant, Tickle was out of her swing seat and running across the park towards it.

Tickle Satiate: Oh boy!

Tickle Satiate: Ice cream!

Tickle Satiate: Mommy, can I have an ice cream?

Tickle Satiate: Please?! Please?!

Foo Hemmingway: But Tickle honey I thought you wanted to feed the ducks today!

Tickle Satiate: I do!

Tickle Satiate: Can I have an ice cream too please mommy?

Tickle Satiate: Please?!

She really did seem to have child mannerisms mastered. To watch her, it was almost impossible to think of her as an adult. Of course, it could also have been a man... Of course, *Foo* could also have been a man. None of which would ordinarily have mattered to me in other contexts, but here it seemed to matter a lot. I tried to see things from Step's point of view. I could *sort* of see why a couple in love might want a child, since I guessed it extended their marriage role play. But why do marriage role play in the first place? If you were in love – *really* in love – then what function did role play serve? Why not simply spend the time together? Why not just talk? Why not just explore stuff together? But then, was setting up a house together role play? I supposed it was. Was having sex together role play? I supposed that was too. The latter was something I loved in Second Life; regarding the former, it was about two months back then since the day I'd bought my first plot of land and stood upon that blank parcel of grass, wondering what to do with it. I ended up building my first house. I ended up buying furniture. I ended up running out of prims and buying up the two plots either side of it so that I could buy more furniture. Was this role play? Would it be role play if it was done with someone else? Was role play the stuff that you did in the house with other people once all the furnishings were in place. Were the furnishings essentially scenery and, if so, was a child essentially a prop?

Step had told me that there was a definite line you stood on either side of in adult-child role play. I didn't see it that way. Perhaps he thought my worry was that the one side didn't exist without the other; I'm not entirely sure that it's not like that, but actually my discomfort was about something else as well. It was more what the so called innocent use of children revealed of us as people more generally; if virtual children were props to be used in Second Life in support of all our drama, was the same to be said of reality?

Tickle got all the way to the van then turned round and ran back. She ran towards us, stopping eventually in front of Step.

Tickle Satiate: Will you be the ice cream man, mister?

Tickle Satiate: *Please*?

Foo Hemmingway: Tickle!

Foo Hemmingway: I'm so sorry she can be so cheeky!

Step Stransky: Once again, madam, it is no problem at all.

Step Stransky: Of course I'll be the ice cream man for you my dear.

Step got up from the bench and started over across the park towards the ice cream van. Tickle bounced and skipped her way across beside him. For a moment, Step looked old beside her.

Foo Hemmingway: Just make sure you say thank you to the nice gentleman!

They reached the van. Step clicked on the ball inside. Straight away he was sucked into the interior and into a sequence of beautifully animated actions. I watched as he dug deep into imaginary tubs in front of him, pulling the invisible scoop towards him once, twice three times. Then he emptied it into an imaginary cone, held up in the air, put the scoop down and leaned forward through the hatch; his hand outstretched, he held out the cone for the customer. The movement was amazing. It reminded me of countless summer holidays, all different places, all different ice cream vans.

A cone appeared in Step's hand with a big white dollop of that soft and squirty ice cream that looks like enormous bird shit. A sculptie, I assumed. Tickle was instantly impressed.

Tickle Satiate: Wow!

Step Stransky: Do you like a flake in your cone?

Tickle Satiate: Yes please!

A flake appeared in the cone.

Tickle Satiate: Can I have one?

Step Stransky: Of course you can my dear!

Step Stransky: It's you I'm making it for!!!

A duplicate cone and flake appeared in Tickle's hand.

Step Stransky: Now you hold onto that, won't you? Don't you go losing it!

Tickle Satiate gives Mr Stransky a quizzical look.

Tickle Satiate: You're funny. But I like you :)

Stransky had been counting on it.

How did it all turn out in the end? It turned out that Tickle and her 'father' were engaging in daily adult-child sex; Foo, who was just a woman wanting to role play loving a child, had come close to discovering them on a couple of occasions; Tickle and her dad had cooked up the affair story between them as a way of removing her from the scene. They could have just left her and no-one would have been any the wiser, but they reckoned they were too clever for something as crude and blunt as that. All of which placed them on the wrong side of the line, so far as Step Stransky was concerned. He sent the evidence direct to Linden and the pair got thrown out of Second Life along with all their known alts. Good riddance. They're lucky they don't live in Germany – then they could be languishing in prison right now for what they did.

How did we find this out? We heard every last word of it. Obviously, Tickle took off the bow with the listening device in it. Unfortunately for her she thought it would be fun to keep hold of the ice cream Step had given her whilst she went about her evening.

# Chapter 25

Inch and Step's wedding took place on Christmas Day in one of those fairytale type sims with hills and huts and hideaways. Step had wanted to use one of the private sims exclusively set up for weddings, but Inch had vetoed, saying that they were artificial. Step had wondered aloud how one made the distinction between artificial and not artificial in an entirely digital world, and Inch had sighed loudly and told him.

Inch Sideways: You're an idiot, Stransky. Are you telling me I'm marrying a guy who doesn't know the difference between a place that's been designed for life to take place in and a place that's been designed solely for weddings to take place in?

A point which Step delighted in conceding to. He made one last effort to persuade her by emphasising the privacy of a dedicated sim, but Inch was having none of it. Let the strangers come, was her view. After all, because of the short notice and because of the date itself, the guest list was a little on the small side. Actually, Inch's first choice for the venue had been the frozen lake at Wales; that was where Step had stepped in with his own veto, hoverer, claiming he couldn't possibly be married in the vicinity of "that castle and all the humping going on in there." As though he was worried his mother might attend and end up wandering off in the direction of the BDSM dungeon during the hors d'œuvres. If it had been me I'd have held the ceremony up on the castle roof.

The sim owner was very obliging and organised a seated clearing for the ceremony and a marquee nearby for the reception afterwards. She bought a whole load of wedding pose balls from Bits and Bobs specially for the occasion (I think it was her first ever wedding), including a cake cutting set for the bride and groom and a set of ten balls for the group photo. What started off as a small affair became bigger as the days got ticked off. Names got added to the guest list. An official got hired. Roles got assigned. Step asked me to be his best man and, of course, what could I say? Inch chose some guy that was the first person she'd ever met and remained in touch with to 'give her away.' Another long-term friend was her Maid of honour. And there were ushers. And there were bridesmaids. Step got rings made up by some specialist jeweller and entrusted them to my safekeeping, and we all made jokes about the state of my inventory and how they'd better allow for plenty of time when the official asked me for them; how we laughed...

The sim itself was under snow, the owner having transformed it at the start of December in any case. Snow men and women in various attires were dotted around the region here and there. There were snow furries and nekos too. Snow was falling perpetually over the 'alter' and the audience, and all of the 'furnishings' were made of ice. Very pretty it looked, but imagine sitting on a seat of ice for half an hour in RL; your clothes for the day would be ruined, never mind the haemorrhoids. It annoys me when SL does stuff like that that's obviously just silly.

The day arrived. The hour arrived. The guests got seated. The music started. Step took his place in front of the official. Inch walked up from behind and everybody dutifully typed in their appreciative sighs.

And so it began.

After a fashion, we got to the vows.

Step Stransky: Inch, we've only known each other a week!

Step Stransky: And yet I feel I've known you all my life.

Step Stransky: Perhaps that's because everything I've ever done up until now...

Step Stransky: Has been pointing me in the direction of this moment.

Oh yes, always the one with the words, was Step. That got several rounds of 'awww.' Such-and-such reached for her tissues. So-and-so looked with wet eyes at her own husband, hoping Step and Inch had at least half the happiness she and he had blah blah blah blah blah. And so on and so on. We waited for all the chatter to die down so that Inch could speak.

All week she'd been going on about this moment. Why did she have to do vows? Why couldn't she simply follow a script? What the hell was she going to say, etc, etc. We waited in silence. A minute or so passed. It started to get uncomfortable.

Inch Sideways: Step...

I was perched on the edge of my seat.

Inch Sideways: Thank you for being who you've been for me.

Inch Sideways: You know how much it's meant to me.

Inch Sideways: I look forward to our marriage together.

Then another short silence, before people realised that that had been it. A few polite people hurriedly typed in nods and smiles. Step said nothing. I sat back in my chair with a big smile of satisfaction on my face.

I was ridiculously nervous about the best man's speech. I ordered a book from Amazon, forgetting about such complications as the Christmas post. In the end I found some guidance online. Step asked me to do voice chat for it and I refused categorically.

I delivered the speech when everyone was sitting in the marque.

Definitely Thursday: Ladies and gentlemen...

Definitely Thursday: As the best man, it's my job now to entertain you with a collection of witty anecdotes drawn from good times I have shared with Mr Step Stransky. So, first of all, I had to write down a list of the good times – and here it is...

I rezzed a very small piece of paper in my right hand. I'd seen the same gag in an RL wedding I'd been to that summer. It didn't translate well to Second Life. I think I got one small chuckle from someone at the back. It occurred to me later that SL is the one place where you could arrange for tumble weed to roll and bounce past when jokes die publicly; I'll remember that for next time.

So I talked about Step. I talked about meeting Step and our 'hot date' together at the charity dance that was such a hit with the DJ (I did the whole mock apology to Inch thing). I talked about some of the subsequent way out and crazy stuff that he and I had done together (which required a significant amount of embellishment, since most of the way out and crazy stuff I've been involved with in SL has not been in or anywhere near the company of Step Stransky). I talked about Step being kind. I talked about Step being clever. I talked about Step being generous and sharp and considerate and funny. And lucky. I talked about Step being lucky quite a bit.

And the whole time I talked about Step I kept my camera focused on Inch, as though I was curious to see what reaction my words might provoke, as though I was looking for the give-away blink/swallow/intake of breath that an avatar could never provide me with. As I sat there typing, her face filling my screen, I wondered what it was that was filling hers. Were we just two people gazing at each other, words of another man floating between us, but ultimately unattended to? I hadn't had the chance to speak to Inch one-to-one since Step had dropped his bombshell. She'd been around and I'd been around, but it had always busy and there had always others and there had always been stuff. I had send her an IM once when she was offline, but she'd just replied that we would 'talk about it properly later'. Were we just two people gazing at each other? I wanted it to be so. I tried to believe that it was.

The guests awwwed and ahhhhed and LOLed and one or two of them even LMAOed from time to time. The most I got from Step was the occasional '/me grins.' Inch sat and said nothing. But at the end she stood up and gave me a big hug.

Inch would like give you a hug. Say [Yes] to accept.

Inch gives Definitely a big hug.

And after the speeches came the disco and the dancing and the drunkenness. After the speeches came the whole talking bollocks with people you've never met before and will probably never meet again.

Adam Scratched: So listen, best man dude, we've got this petition going with Linden.

Definitely Thursday: Ok.

Adam Scratched: You've got to go and sign it, right?

Definitely Thursday: Ok.

Adam Scratched: We want Linden to introduce the word 'Bastard' as an official SL surname.

Definitely Thursday: Haha. Very amusing, yes.

Adam Scratched: It'll be fucking brilliant, the names you'll be able to do!

Definitely Thursday: Such fun!

Adam Scratched: Like 'Total Bastard' HAHAHAHA

Definitely Thursday: Very clever.

Adam Scratched: Or 'Complete Bastard' HAHAHAHA

Definitely Thursday: Hehe. How about 'Yora'?

Adam Scratched: Eh? Yora? That's not a word. How does that work?

Adam Scratched: Fuck me there are some thick twats here tonight.

Happily, these conversations didn't always end up in me having to pretend I was being IMed heavily by the bride and groom about the whereabouts of the photographer.

Evaporating Slowly: So... tell me... what does Definitely Thursday do for a living in RL?

Definitely Thursday: I don't normally like to talk about my RL... but, well, actually, I'm a fire fighter.

Evaporating Slowly: Really?

Definitely Thursday: Yes. Yes I am.

Definitely Thursday: I fight fires.

Definitely Thursday looks menacingly at some of the lit candles.

Evaporating Slowly: heeheehee

Evaporating Slowly: Oh wow I'm dancing with a hero!

Evaporating Slowly: Have you, like, saved people's lives before?

Evaporating Slowly: Saving lives is what I do, Eva.

Evaporating Slowly: Tell me... does your life need saving right now?

Which got me a night of reasonable passion later on that evening, even if the next day the story fell apart when Eva started asking me about the difference between the different sorts of fire extinguishers. In truth, by then I didn't really give a shit in any case.

About an hour or so into the party I noticed I couldn't see Inch anywhere, but my radar told me she was still in the sim. Step was still in sight. So were all the bridesmaids (one was in very much in sight with one of the ushers, but you really didn't want to look too much at that). I used my find tool, selecting Inch from the list of AVs local. It sent a brilliant stream of white light up into the sky, connecting us with fiery particles. I left it on for just a second – long enough to get a bearing – then turned it off and took off in that direction, flying up, over a hill to a terrace on the far side of the sim that overlooked the sea.

Inch was there, leaning on the balustrade, looking out to sea. I landed on the grass to one side and walked in to stand beside her.

Definitely Thursday: Hey.

Inch Sideways: Hey!

Inch Sideways: You're clever – finding me like that.

Definitely Thursday has been flying round this place for hours trying to find you.

Inch Sideways: Liar.

Inch Sideways: I've only been here five minutes :)

Definitely Thursday: You look deep in thought.

Definitely Thursday: Any particular thoughts I can help you with?

Inch Sideways: Deep in thought, yes...

Inch Sideways: Thinking about all kinds of stuff.

Inch Sideways: Stuff I couldn't put into words if I had a whole evening, face to face with you...

Inch Sideways: Not sure I stand a chance trying to put it into SL text.

Inch Sideways: You know, you really should check out voice.

Definitely Thursday: nah...

Definitely Thursday: Then you'd hear how much I talk with my mouth full.

Inch Sideways: Tell me... Def... that night that we met up again last week...

Inch Sideways: That night that Step and I got engaged...

Inch Sideways: Did you really have to go to work when you did?

Had we been just two people gazing at each other? I didn't know if I dared hope. Was she hovering on the edge of one of those what-the-fuck-have-I-done revelations? I knew I wouldn't hesitate for a second if she was. I'd fly away with her there and then, that instant. To hell with Step. To hell with the agency. We could create new alts together and no-one would ever know who we were or where Inch and Def had got to. No-one would ever bother us again. It wouldn't matter to me if we lived in newbie AVs forever.

Definitely Thursday: I suppose I didn't *have* to go, no...

Definitely Thursday: But I did choose to.

Definitely Thursday: What are you driving at?

Inch Sideways: I was just wondering...

Inch Sideways: How things might have been had things been different...

Inch Sideways: What things could have been instead.

Inch Sideways: Or not been.

Definitely Thursday: Nothing's ever set in stone, you know...

Inch Sideways: Is that the future you're referring to?

Inch Sideways: Or is that a denial of destiny?

Definitely Thursday: I don't understand what you mean by that.

Inch Sideways: Def... Did you think about me much during that year?

Inch Sideways: Did you remember me?

Definitely Thursday: Yes.

Definitely Thursday: I thought about you a lot.

Inch Sideways: 1 sec – someone at door brb

Definitely Thursday: ok

Had we been just two people gazing at each other? From the edge of misery, was there yet hope? Could something be salvaged? Could a way be found? Whilst Inch was AFK I thought about it. I tried to visualise all of the possibilities. I tried to piece plans together. I thought to myself, 'maybe Inch can't bear the thought of leaving Step and what that might do to him. That's ok. We could create alts and keep our regular AVs going too. We could lead a double life.' I wanted Inch all to myself, of course, but the opportunity to conduct the very lifestyle right under Step's nose that he himself professed to be an expert in detecting seemed just too good an opportunity to pass up on. I loaded up the Second Life website whilst I waited for Inch's return. I started looking through the current batch of surnames. I decided I liked the look of 'Shostakovich.' Too bad Dimitri was already taken.

Presently, the SL tab on the blue task bar started flashing orange. I flicked back into Second Life.

Step Stransky: Where are you? Where's Inch?

Step Stransky: Why isn't she responding?

Now that I'd started putting scraps of thoughts and plans together, it was almost as though they were real in my head; it was almost as though they were happening now, right that minute. I actually felt pity for Stransky as I looked upon his words across the screen.

Definitely Thursday: She went AFK for a few minutes.

Definitely Thursday: Somebody at the door, I think she said.

Step Stransky: Oh.

Step Stransky: Right.

Step Stransky: Where are you?

Definitely Thursday: I'll be back in just a sec Step.

Definitely Thursday: Just stepped out for some air.

Step Stransky: Ok.

Step Stransky: I understand.

Step Stransky: Well don't stay too long.

Step Stransky: I need you both; you know that, don't you?

Definitely Thursday: Cut it out Stransky.

Definitely Thursday: Wayyy to much emotion already for one day.

Step Stransky: lol

I wondered when we'd tell him. I wondered how we'd put it. I wondered how he'd take it. I wondered if I'd smile.

Step Stransky: It went ok, don't you think?

Definitely Thursday: It went great :)

Step Stransky: Ok buddy.

Step Stransky: Don't stay out there in the cold too long.

I stood in the cold, relishing the chill. Another big grin had spread across my face.

Inch Sideways: Back.

Definitely Thursday: Everything ok?

Inch Sideways: Just a neighbour.

Definitely Thursday: On Christmas Day? Wow!

There was a pause for about a minute.

Inch Sideways: It's ok. My neighbours have helped me a lot recently.

Inch Sideways: They've become good friends.

Definitely Thursday: Inch... can I ask you a question?

Inch Sideways: Of course you can Def.

Definitely Thursday: What did you get up to?

Definitely Thursday: During 'that year'?

Another pause. A longer one this time.

Definitely Thursday: I'm being nosey, right?

Inch Sideways: It's ok.

Inch Sideways: Listen, Def, it's fine now; it really is.

Definitely Thursday: What's fine?

Inch Sideways: Me.

Inch Sideways: I'm back in SL, aren't I?

Inch Sideways: I thought about this place a lot.

Definitely Thursday: During 'that year'?

Inch Sideways: Yes. During 'that year'?

Instantly I knew I'd got it wrong. All of it.

Definitely Thursday: Something bad happened, right?

Inch Sideways: Yeah.

Definitely Thursday: Oh honey, what happened?

Inch Sideways: Def... you don't need to know the gory details...

Inch Sideways: And Lord knows I don't want to speak of them any more.

Inch Sideways: Let's just say that the night I met you...

Inch Sideways: I was in a warm and wonderful place in RL.

Inch Sideways: I was loved. I was understood. I was needed.

Inch Sideways: I was free to play, and it was glorious.

Inch Sideways: And then men and metal took all those things away from me.

Another long pause.

Inch Sideways: Christmas Day last year.

Inch Sideways: One year ago exactly.

Definitely Thursday: Inch... I don't know what to say.

Definitely Thursday: I'm so sorry.

Inch Sideways: Well it's like I said... I'm fine. I'm healing.

Inch Sideways: I'm healing well, in fact.

Inch Sideways: Today is all about that healing.

Inch Sideways: Moving on.

Inch Sideways: Taking the next step. Quite literally lol.

Inch Sideways: Thursday... you'd better not tell anyone I let that lol slip in there.

Definitely Thursday smiles at his friend.

Had we been just two people gazing at each other? I felt the dream slipping from me now, seeping between fingers that had never held it. Perhaps only for the sake of completeness, I asked the question I had to ask, doubting now that I would get anything even approaching the sort of answer I wanted.

Definitely Thursday: Earlier you said you were wondering how things might have been had things been different.

Inch Sideways: Yes.

Definitely Thursday: How *could* they have been different?

Inch Sideways: When you left that evening to go to work, Step and I got talking.

Inch Sideways: Eventually I told him stuff.

Inch Sideways: He's an amazing guy, Def.

Inch Sideways: He knew just exactly what to say.

Inch Sideways: He understands exactly what I've been through.

Inch Sideways: It causes me to wonder what loss he's been through in his own life.

Inch Sideways: He hasn't told me yet. But I think it's substantial.

Inch Sideways: And I intend to be there for him, as he has been there for me.

Inch Sideways: Because I love him.

Inch Sideways: In a way that I had thought I could never love anyone ever again.

Inch Sideways: You know what? It might just be that the only way I dare offer my love to somebody again is for it to be to someone I can't see or hear or touch, who is Christ knows how many hundreds of miles away on the other end of a computer connection.

Inch Sideways: Perhaps that's the only way that love can feel safe again.

Inch Sideways: I recognise that that's possible. And I've told him that as well. He says he doesn't care.

Inch Sideways: He says he doesn't mind if he's just the bridge to my next RL relationship.

Inch Sideways: But I've told him that, even if I do find love again in RL, I never want to be parted from him. I adore that man.

Inch Sideways: So those are some of the thoughts I've been grappling with out here.

Inch Sideways: The ironies of life... its cruelty... its compassion. Some days I think I'll never work out even a tiny piece of it.

Inch Sideways: And Def... I want to thank you... from the bottom of my heart.

Inch Sideways: If you hadn't taken off when you did that evening I would never have got to know Step in the way that I did.

Inch Sideways: If you hadn't taken off when you did we would never have found each another.

Had we been just two people gazing at each other? No. We had not. It didn't matter what I thought about it. It didn't matter what I felt about it. Inch was in love with Step Stransky. And that was that.

# Chapter 26

I received an IM from Arton Urriah that indicated he was not best pleased with my proposal.

Arton Urriah: You have a sick and depraved mind, Susan.

Susan Sonnet: Awwwww.... You didn't enjoy my little story?

Susan Sonnet: I must say, the fictional you is just so much more fun than the real you.

Arton Urriah: I can't even begin to understand you.

Susan Sonnet: Arton, all you need to understand is I try hard to enjoy everything I do.

Susan Sonnet: Now what's it going to be?

Susan Sonnet: Are you going to take me to Sevron or is Starfish going to be hearing from me?

Arton Urriah: How did you hear about Sevron in any case?

Susan Sonnet: You don't need to know that.

Arton Urriah: You don't *need* to know about Sevron.

Susan Sonnet: Actually I do. And you need for me to know about it too.

Arton Urriah: Fine. Send it to Starfish. She's never going to believe you.

Susan Sonnet: Really? Are you sure about that?

Susan Sonnet: You don't think hiring detectives to check out the activities of your husband indicates a suspicious frame of mind?

There was quite a long pause whilst Arton assimilated this information. I could almost hear the wind coming out of his sails. There was nothing new there that hadn't been intimated by my good friend Silent the day before; as I'd suspected, however, Arton had been reluctant to read between the lines all by himself.

Arton Urriah: So she did hire a detective? She really did that?

Susan Sonnet: Yup.

Arton Urriah: So it's all true.

Susan Sonnet: You didn't get that? I rather felt that was kind of the focus of conversation yesterday.

Susan Sonnet: So when you TP'ed out, leaving me by myself, it was because you'd left a tap running or something?

Arton Urriah: And you are Step Stransky?

Susan Sonnet: Nope. I just *work* for Step Stransky.

Arton Urriah: To trap adulterers?

Susan Sonnet: Yes.

Arton Urriah: Why would Starfish think me an adulterer?

Susan Sonnet: Arton, you're raising the subject of bed time each evening... she agrees and logs off... then she sees on the website an hour later that you're still online. What is she supposed to think?

Arton Urriah: We talked about that! I told her I was helping a friend!

Susan Sonnet: And were you?

Arton Urriah: Technically....

Susan Sonnet: And the evenings before? And the evenings after?

Susan Sonnet: It was hardly a fantastic leap of the imagination, now was it?

Arton Urriah: People like you disgust me.

Arton Urriah: You feed off people's misery.

Susan Sonnet: I think you're confusing me with the tabloids, Arton.

Arton Urriah: Why should she believe what you wrote there, anyway? It's all lies!

Susan Sonnet: Because it's exactly that sort of stuff that she hired us to find out.

Susan Sonnet: And in any case, we very nearly *did* do all of that.

Susan Sonnet: So don't make out it's like science fiction.

Susan Sonnet: It's up to you Arton.

Another long pause.

Arton Urriah: Fine. I'll need to add you to the region's allowed residents list.

Susan Sonnet: You do whatever the hell you need to, Arton. Just do it quickly. I don't have all day.

I waited. I looked at Def's gmail whilst Arton sorted it all out, wondering if Step or Inch had sent me something. There was nothing. I rather feared that bridge was well and truly burned now.

Arton Urriah: Ok. It's done.

I checked the map.

Susan Sonnet: I can see one green dot at Sevron, Arton. Is that you?

Arton Urriah: Yes.

Susan Sonnet: I don't want any surprises now. Maybe you should TP me?

Arton Urriah: Fine.

Arton Urriah has offered to teleport you to his or her location.

Join me in Sevron.

I clicked on Accept.

Greeter whispers: Welcome to Sevron, Susan Sonnet. Please remove any attachments you are wearing, then proceed down the corridor to room 12.

Arton was not in sight, but the mini map showed a green blip nearby and my radar listed only him as being present in the sim. I was in a room that loosely appeared to resemble something like the transporter rooms in Star Trek. I was standing on a raised, circular platform, part of a larger, circular room. Opposite me was the corridor.

Straight away, I took my camera outside the immediate vicinity to check out my surroundings. I didn't know what I was expecting, but what I saw disappointed me. Outside the room and the corridor and the room at the end of the corridor ('room 12,' I supposed) Sevron appeared to be an empty sim and nothing more. Just that sandy sort of grass, right up to the square edges. I checked all four corners of the region, boosting my draw distance temporarily as far as it would go. And there was nothing. The altitude I was at was two metres, so I presumed there was nothing underneath either.

Of course, none of this should have surprised me. It corresponded exactly with the miniature overhead on the main map: green sim with a few small shapes in the middle. For some reason, I'd suspected the map image to be a sort of smokescreen, a virtual camouflage net of some description placed at 700 metres. Obviously, it was not.

Arton Urriah: What are you doing there?

Susan Sonnet: Just checking out the neighbourhood, Arton.

Susan Sonnet: Not much here, is there?

Arton Urriah: You really don't have a clue what this place is, do you?

Susan Sonnet: Consider it your job to enlighten me?

Arton Urriah: Come here to where I'm standing. You'll see everything in good time.

I stepped off the platform and walked down the corridor to the room where I presumed Arton was waiting, impressed by the speed with which he appeared to have accepted his situation. I contemplated emailing Fred there and then with my progress update, but decided against it. After all, I hadn't yet learned anything really. It might still turn out that Sevron was just a special sort of strip joint.

Thinking about Fred reminded me about his instructions. He'd wanted the names of Arton's associates. I brought up the land details window (I could access it for Sevron now I was actually *in* the sim) and copied the Allowed Residents list into a fresh notecard. 197 names. That ought to keep him going for a bit. Provided there was anything here of actual interest, of course.

Might it be nothing more than a secret meeting place? I thought about the list of names I'd just copied. Anybody else would have just created a group and managed membership that way, I supposed; that way, however, the group itself would be 'visible' to the public and it would be easy to get a list of members. Managing the group via a land access list effectively made it invisible.

In any case... If it was a secret meeting place, what exactly were the secret meetings for.

The room at the end of the corridor was small, white, empty. It contained only a single, one by one by one cuboid pine prim in the centre of the floor. Nobody ever suspects the virgin prim, remember? Arton Urriah stood at the far side of the room in the same clothes he'd left me in last night.

Arton Urriah: Sevron is nothing, in and of itself, Susan.

Arton Urriah: Sevron is a gateway. It's what it leads to that makes it special.

Susan Sonnet: Where does it lead to Arton?

Arton Urriah: To a new world.

Susan Sonnet: A new world? You mean a new virtual world?

Arton Urriah: A new virtual world, yes.

Susan Sonnet: Like Second Life?

Arton Urriah: Like Second Life only in appearance.

Susan Sonnet: I don't understand.

Arton Urriah: The box here is a teleporter. To activate it you must give a command on channel 46.

Susan Sonnet: Channel 46? Why channel 46?

Arton Urriah: That's how many minutes past the hour it is.

Susan Sonnet: So what's the command?

Arton Urriah: 'Redpill'

Susan Sonnet: Ah right. I see what you're doing there.

Arton Urriah: Of course, now it will be channel 47.

Susan Sonnet: You're waiting for me to go first?

Arton Urriah: Are you sure you want to see this?

Susan Sonnet: Oh I'm just chomping at the bit.

Arton Urriah: There will be a delay – it's not just another sim you're teleporting to.

Arton Urriah: Effectively your viewer will be disconnecting from SL and reconnecting to a completely new world, dragging your avatar and its inventory with it.

Susan Sonnet: So what are we waiting for?

Arton Urriah: Channel 50 now.

Susan Sonnet: See you on the other side, then.

On impulse, I copied my list of 197 names into notepad and saved the file quickly on a pen drive.

Susan Sonnet: /52 redpill

The viewer screen went blank. My avatar left Second Life.

# Chapter 27

I rezzed about five minutes later. In some sort of city sim. The map showed about 20 green dots in various places about the region. It looked just like Second Life.

Arton rezzed in right next to me after about a minute. He hovered in the air for a moment whilst he was fleshing in. Then he landed gently and turned to face me.

Arton Urriah: I guess I should welcome you to Vivre.

Susan Sonnet: Vivre? That's what you call this place?

Arton Urriah: That's its name, yes.

Susan Sonnet: It kind of looks a little like Second Life to me.

Arton Urriah: I already told you – it only *looks* like Second Life.

Susan Sonnet: So how is it different?

Arton Urriah: It's different in a few small ways...

Arton Urriah: ...and one big one.

Arton Urriah: Follow me... and watch.

Arton walked off down the street. I noticed that the fly button was greyed out. I tried reactivating it, but the usual Ctrl-Alt-V thing didn't work. So I followed by foot.

Susan Sonnet: So what's up with the no flying thing?

Arton Urriah: Not everyone can fly in Vivre, Susan.

Arton Urriah: You have to earn those sorts of powers.

Arton Urriah: There are all sorts of limitations here that you don't get in SL.

Susan Sonnet: Like what else?

Arton Urriah: Like limited teleporting.

Susan Sonnet: Really?! Shit! So how are you supposed to get around this place?

Arton Urriah: You walk. Or use a vehicle.

As if on cue a virtual Ford Focus estate shot past us on the road.

Arton Urriah: All academic at this stage, mind you.

Arton Urriah: There's only this one region so far.

Arton Urriah: When we're properly live we'll have virtual bus services from one sim to the next, virtual trains that cross continents, virtual boats that cross seas and virtual planes that'll fly you in luxury to almost anywhere you want to go.

Arton Urriah: Each will have a cost, of course.

Susan Sonnet: Each will have a *cost*?

Susan Sonnet: You're going to take away the stuff that people are used to having for free and then *charge* them for stuff that's inferior?

Arton Urriah: Yes! Exactly!

Susan Sonnet: And why will people choose to do this?

Arton Urriah: Here we are – now watch.

We were approaching an intersection. Arton stopped walking and stood still for a moment. After about a minute, an item started to rez in his hand.

There was a male avatar standing nearby, examining stuff in a shop window. All of a sudden, Arton's arm went stiff in front of him and the weapon he held flashed briefly yellow. The sound of a firearm being used snapped out of my speakers and a small plume of red (clever particle effect) spurted from the leg of the nearby avatar. Instantly the guy was on the ground. As virtual blood continued to squirt out of him, so a pool of red on the ground began to widen.

None of which was the shocking bit.

The shocking bit was the guy's reaction.

Simpleton Wriggle: Fuck! Arton! What have you done?

Simpleton Wriggle: You know the medic's off until Tuesday!

Simpleton Wriggle: What the hell are you up to?

Arton Urriah: Hello Simpleton. Have you met my friend Susan?

Arton Urriah: It appears someone's been speaking to her about Sevron. I wondered if it had been you.

Simpleton started moving slowly away from us, his avatar crawling across the ground towards the road.

Simpleton Wriggle: What are you talking about, Arton?

Simpleton Wriggle: I never said anything to anybody.

My IM with Arton started flashing.

Arton Urriah: Take a look at his profile. Quickly.

I pulled it up. Simpleton's groups box was empty. The 'About' box had a load of stuff in there about wanting to meet new friends. There seemed nothing especially remarkable about it.

Arton Urriah: By the way, you can only see profiles and stuff for people on this grid. Check your friends list. It will only be me that's listed.

I checked. It was only Arton that was listed.

Simpleton was edging closer and closer to the road, a trail of blood leading back from where he rested now to the spot where Arton had shot him.

Simpleton Wriggle: Arton what are we going to do?

Simpleton Wriggle: My health is falling rapidly.

Simpleton Wriggle: Arton I swear to God I never said anything to anybody.

Arton Urriah: Goodbye Simpleton.

Simpleton Wriggle: Arton no, please!

Simpleton Wriggle: I've had this AV over a year. I'm married back on the main grid.

Simpleton Wriggle: Please don't do this.

At the road's edge, Simpleton had managed to pull himself back up onto his feet. Now he took off in a badly limping run. He'd got about halfway across the road when the Ford Focus estate ploughed into him. It looked like the slow motion footage you see of crash test dummies being driven into, only incredibly faster. It just seemed wrong that a human form could be put into a state of such violent motion so quickly. The bumper hit Simpleton just below the knee; his whole body went into an immediate pivot around this point, throwing his body into the bonnet, then into the windscreen, his head appearing to snap sideways over his right shoulder. Then he just got thrown away.

The car screeched to a halt and the driver jumped out. Arton shot him in the head. He felt onto the roof of the car, his legs sticking rigidly out over the windscreen. Blood spilled out from underneath him and dripped down the side of the vehicle.

Arton Urriah: In fact it looks a lot more complex than it actually is.

Arton Urriah: The whole body state emulation thing is nowhere near as thorough as it could be.

Arton Urriah: It's just a handful of variables at this stage.

Arton Urriah: One for the functioning of each limb, one for the neck, one for the head...

Arton Urriah: We have a few of the major organs covered – it's a little bit more detailed than just on or off, but not a great deal.

Arton Urriah: The infection routines are about as far from biologically accurate as I imagine it's possible to get, but it does introduce the possibility of SL illness.

Arton Urriah: Anyway...

Arton Urriah: The most important thing is...

Arton Urriah: These AVs are now no more.

Arton Urriah: Why don't you check out Simpleton's profile now?

It said just this: Deceased.

Arton Urriah: And you try searching for that guy back on the SL grid now and you'll get 'None found.'

Arton Urriah: Because he's dead, Susan. Finished. Gone. His avatar, his inventory; everything.

Susan Sonnet: How is that possible?

Arton Urriah: Let's just settle for 'it is,' shall we?

Susan Sonnet: He can't log on any more?

Arton Urriah: Not as that resident he can't, no.

Arton Urriah: If he has an alt, he could log on as that.

Arton Urriah: If he hasn't got an alt he could create a new account.

Arton Urriah: But the avatar know as Simpleton Wriggle is now no more.

Arton Urriah: Isn't that exciting?!

Susan Sonnet: Is it?

Susan Sonnet: Why?

Susan Sonnet: You've created an environment in which it's possible to die – why?

Susan Sonnet: What's the point?

Arton Urriah grins.

Arton Urriah bets Susan thought exactly the same thing when she saw Second Life for the very first time.

Arton Urriah: It's all about stories, Susan.

Arton Urriah: People just *have* to have their stories.

I stopped what I was typing and stared at the monitor for a moment.

Susan Sonnet: Who are you?

Susan Sonnet: Are you a Linden?

Arton Urriah: I'm not a Linden, Susan. I'm just a programmer.

Arton Urriah: However... we do have a couple of people that used to work for Linden with us.

Susan Sonnet: Who is 'us'?

Arton Urriah: Us is Vivre, Susan.

Arton Urriah: Or whatever we decide to call it when we launch.

Susan Sonnet: When you *launch*?

Arton Urriah: Of course.

Arton Urriah: There's not all that much more to do, you know.

Arton Urriah: This is just a test sim, a place to get the laws of physics working.

Arton Urriah: So to speak.

Arton Urriah: We already have the capacity for a thousand sims like this.

Arton Urriah: Hey - what do you think of this idea: when you log off at night your avatar stays exactly where you left it!

Arton Urriah: So if someone should come along and kill it whilst you're AFK then that's just too bad.

Arton Urriah: Homelessness will actually mean vulnerable.

Arton Urriah: People will have to buy land and build secure houses.

Arton Urriah: Oh and did I forget to mention food?

Susan Sonnet: Do Linden know you're doing this?

Arton Urriah: Of course they don't know.

Arton Urriah: How could they? Have you seen how big SL is?

Arton Urriah: Have you seen how few of them there are?

Arton Urriah: What they need is a police force lol

Susan Sonnet: Which Vivre will have, I take it.

Arton Urriah: That'll be up to the residents.

Arton Urriah: Vivre will be no different to SL in that respect.

Arton Urriah: But I imagine something like that will evolve, sooner or later, yes.

Susan Sonnet: So let me get this straight... you're a company? Vivre is your product?

Arton Urriah: Not just any old product, Susan.

Arton Urriah: This is going to be the product that changes everything.

Arton Urriah: SL will come to be viewed as just a warm up to the main event once Vivre's established.

Arton Urriah: This is going to be the product that saturates.

Susan Sonnet: People aren't going to start a new virtual existence when they have SL already!

Arton Urriah: Have you been paying no attention at all?

Arton Urriah: Vivre is avatar compatible with Second Life – that's the *whole point* of Sevron!

Arton Urriah: Users will be able to migrate straight across. They'll be able to take their entire inventory with them.

Arton Urriah: Plus we'll export the details of any land they hold and match it, square metre for square metre, absolutely free. All they'll have to pay is the land fees.

Susan Sonnet: So this is just about making money?

Arton Urriah: Oh Susan...

Arton Urriah: This is about making *a lot* of money.

I think I would have preferred it that Arton had been some sort of terrorist to just being a moneymaking bastard. I knew what was coming; it was time to get ready. I copied the entire text of our conversation into another notepad window and saved it to stick. In the meantime, Arton rezzed a big red box in between us with a digital timer on it. The timer was at five minutes and counting down. How dramatic.

Susan Sonnet: So why are you telling me this, Arton?

Arton Urriah: Well, Susan; you asked.

Susan Sonnet: And now?

Arton Urriah: And now I'm going to destroy this sim and everyone and everything in it.

Arton Urriah: Including me.

Arton Urriah: Including you.

Arton Urriah: As Step Stransky I'm sure you'll have quite a tale to tell, although not a scrap of proof to show for it.

Arton Urriah: So send Starfish your dirty little story if you will.

Arton Urriah: She will have no husband to leave.

Poor Arton. I suddenly realised what this was all about. He'd thought about it in no depth whatsoever, in fact it shocked me at how shallow his conclusions were. To think he actually thought I gave a shit about this stupid little world of his of misery and suffering! To think he was prepared to lose the one thing that he cared about most of all to promote it. Arton *wanted* me to talk! He wanted me to tell everyone about this filthy little world. He wanted the rumours to grow and to multiply. He wanted websites dedicated to all the speculation surrounding Vivre and a Wikipedia page dedicated to debunking the myth. He thought that was why I was there!!!

Susan Sonnet: Arton, It's ok. I'm not going to send Starfish anything.

Susan Sonnet: And I'm not going to go round telling people about this place.

Susan Sonnet: And I'm not Step Stransky.

Seconds passed. Sometimes you just know what's going through the other person's mind. You can *sense* it! I sensed Arton Urriah trying and simply failing to come up with a good reply to that.

Arton Urriah: My mind is made up, Susan.

Arton Urriah: It's no good trying to bargain with me now.

The best he could come up with. He thought he had me terrified. He was desperate to go on believing that. He had no idea just how happy I was with this result.

I typed out my last ever sentence to Arton and then waited with my finger on the return key. I waited until the timer got to five seconds before pressing.

Susan Sonnet: Don't you want to know which one of your competitors it was that hired me?

Arton Urriah is typing...

But he never got to finish it.

# Chapter 28

Before I rezzed back in to Second Life I made sure my documents and logs were backed up. Then I opened a command prompt window and typed the dreaded command – I was taking no chances.

Format c:

I reinstalled Windows. I reinstalled the Second Life viewer.

But Susan Sonnet was dead. The client no longer recognised her. So I rezzed in as Def, sorry that I would never get to see my fantastic little honey pot ever again.

I'd saved a copy of Susan's fictional escapade with Arton to stick. I pulled it up and did a quick find and replace. I substituted in 'Silent Window' for every place that Arton's name came up. I sent it off to Twelfth Tulip for her to read when she came back on later. It would have been a shame to waste it.

And the next thing was:

Step Stransky: Def, I'm really sorry. I'm really *really* sorry. I flew off the handle. I said things I shouldn't have.

Step Stransky: Can we make up?

Step Stransky: I really don't want our friendship to end this way.

Probably Inch had got to him. What did it matter whether we were friends or not now? I supposed it might just make the last little bit more pleasant. And if it made Inch happier then I guessed I was up for it.

And I was such a sucker for happy endings.

Definitely Thursday throws his arms around Stransky.

Definitely Thursday feels tears welling up in his eyes.

Definitely Thursday feels Step's bony little ass in his hands and thinks, 'hmmm... Has this guy been working out?'

Step Stransky: lol!

Step Stransky: You're incorrigible.

I retrieved the text files from my key drive and packaged them all up in an email to Fred. I was a little concerned he would break the deal since he'd told me not to go to Sevron. But I needn't have worried. His notecard arrived one day later. Oh yes, and the money. Two *weeks* later, I moved out of my studio to a bedsit three hundred miles away.

# Chapter 29

It's cold in RL as I write this, but I like the cold some nights. It makes things feel more 'now'. It makes things nice and pointy. It's two-thirty in the morning and the houses opposite are still silhouetted by the flames. There's flashing lights mixed into it too. I can hear crackling. I can hear shouting and generators and radios and stuff. The neighbours on my street have been going to and fro for the last two hours. They'll probably all be pals in the morning, like in the war or something. I suppose I'd better become a part of that, just for a few days.

I'm pretty certain no-one saw me with him; I guess it doesn't matter *too* much though if they did. I can always say I was embarrassed. I mean, have you *seen* me? Have you *seen* him? People will probably think me some sort of stupid, drunken, desperate idiot. In fact, I've gone out of my way that last few Fridays to help them to think exactly that.

And they'll see quite clearly it was a cigarette end that did it. I even left the body on the floor by the window, like he was trying to get there, but didn't quite make it. There won't be any DNA. Or fingerprints. In the latter case I was very careful about what I touched and made certain I wiped all those things down before I left – even though I was counting on the place being burnt to a crisp before any forensic-type people got to go anywhere near it. The one factor that had worried me was if it was a slow starter and some good Samaritan neighbour saw it and called the neighbour in time. Or even went in there himself. So I added alcohol to the mix, just to be on the safe side. The guy in the off-licence will vouch for John-Paul's custom.

And they'll see no financial gain. No reason. No motive.

All that's left for me to do is to shower the foul stink of his oldness off my body. I should have done it earlier, except I didn't want to do *anything* that might have woken neighbours until the fire and the sirens did. And I guess it's been kind of sensational, sitting here with nothing on, still smelling him on me and knowing it's the only thing left of him.

He picked me up in Charlies, exactly as planned. Onlookers will have considered me drunk.

He took me back to his place and that's where we did it. And that's where I killed him.

In the planning, I'd thought of all manner of stuff... poison... stabbing... strangulation... In the end all I had to do was put a pillow over that fat old bastard's face and hold it there until he stopped his twitching. But not before he knew. I took him to the point of ecstasy, but I didn't let him finish. I climbed off at the last minute and got to my feet. I walked around the bed so I was behind him and started putting back on my bra and panties.

"Wha?" was all he managed to say, he was so out of breath. "What are you doing, my gorgeous?"

"I wanted to tell you something, Pops," I replied, picking up the pillow next to him and tossing it up and down playfully. "Thursday is Definitely a Sideways Step."

Incomprehension flooded his face, then recognition, then confusion; then all at once a smile, a ray of hope I'd known I'd have to wait for as the final confirmation... and the final punishment.

"Inch?" asked Step Stransky.

"Wrong guess," I told him, and pushed the pillow down. Later, before I left, I took with me the third book from the right on the fourth shelf down.

# AFK, Again

Step Stransky is dead and now all that Definitely Thursday - the remaining partner of the Step Stransky Second Life® Detective Agency - has to do is live with the fact of being his killer.

" _How can a book based in and around Second Life be so heart-breaking, and so thrilling? I'm seriously at a loss."_ (amazon.com review)

# AFK, Indefinitely

Step Stransky is dead. And everyone knows now it was murder. And everyone knows now it was Definitely Thursday who murdered him. Can Thursday stay ahead of the law long enough to complete one last mission in Second Life®?

" _One surprise after another, yet all hanging together because the characterization is so good. I want more in this series, preferably right now!"_ (amazon.com review)

# AFK, in Pursuit of Avengement

The virtual world is changing. And Definitely Thursday is struggling to keep up. Once upon a time she tracked down metaverse cheats; now her job is to find the online criminals who would use the virtual world to con, rape and murder.

" _The explanation of the twist at the end of the previous book was pretty brilliant. If you've enjoyed the series so far, you're definitely going to enjoy this one as well."_ (amazon.com review)

Available now.

# Support independent authors by leaving a rating

Independent authors do not have large advertising budgets; feedback and ratings, therefore, are the most effective way to show that their work is being purchased and enjoyed.

If you have enjoyed this novel, please consider leaving a rating using the link on the final page of this eBook. It will take you five minutes and cost you nothing, but will help me enormously. Your help in this is really appreciated.

# Books by Huckleberry Hax:

AFK

AFK, Again

AFK, Indefinitely

AFK, in Pursuit of Avengement

Be Right Back

My Avatars and I

Your Clothing is Still Downloading

Beside an Open Window

The Day is Full of Birds

The Introspection of Imogen Card

Second Life is a Place we Visit (articles)

Old Friend, Learn to Look Behind you in the Coffee Queue (poetry)

huckleberryhax.wordpress.com

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