Free Moxyland by Lauren Beukes Page B

couch, which is the only furniture in the room, apart from a deflated beanbag and the scramble of consoles and wiring and six different screens blaring a mash of content into the lounge, providing the only light. He's wearing the same leopard-print vest I saw him in last time, which was at some LAN party, but when I rib him about not having any other clothes, he claims it's just cos he's got three of them. He's also shaved his head, so between him and the androgynous thing at the door, it's beginning to look like a real cult around here.
       'I don't know, man. When was the last time you played?' he hedges, fiddling with the frayed tassle of the shweshwe throw that has solidified from unidentified spillage like a topographical map.
       'Cut the sceptical, man. You know I can handle it.' The truth, kids, is that I can't remember. 'I've been busy, man. Diary of Cunt takes up most of my day. Have you checked it?'
       'No.'
       'And I've been working the decks, sampled a VIMbot earlier, which was mental.' I half raise my phone to transfuse him a copy of the Replica invite, but he's not keen. Never one for the social. 'And girls,' I add, cos I can't resist the dig at him nesting in this shithole, pre-demolition, twentyfour/seven by seven, getting it on only in Pluslife. 'Uh-huh. Maybe you could bring 'em round some time. Get me a piece of your pie. For once.'
       'Sure, man. I'll do that.' And this is a lie deluxe and we both know it. Although at least it resolves the gender question of the nondescript baldy.
       'Yeah, that'd be kif .'
       ' Kif like a spliff.'
       'Want one?'
       He tosses me a baggie of sugar, A-grade, and isn't it always the way that someone who never even fucking leaves the house should score the premium? I start rolling while he plugs into my data.
       'You're way outdated.'
       'So?'
       'My clients won't dig that.'
       'If I can get the shit, who cares about my track?'
       'It's real competitive, Tobias. Real lucrative.'
       I don't say anything. Lick the ends of the paper to fuse 'em together, which is a waste of effort when the paper's self-adherent, but fuck it. I light up, take a toke, and pass it on. Unathi takes a deep hit and shows no sign of passing it back.
       'How about we start you off easy?'
       'Whatever.'
       'There's a new weapon in Nemesis Redux that everyone's after, but I doubt you're up for that right now. Doesn't look like you played it before either.'
       'Fuck you. I can handle.'
       'Uh-huh. How about Kiwi Pop ?'
       'What, the kid's game?'
       'You'd be surprised how many parentals want to indulge their kiddies' every heart's desire. It's war out there, 'specially in virtual mutacute land.'
       'Isn't there an age protection plugged in? Precisely to stop people like me from amokking among the kiddies?'
       'Yeah, but I got a hack. Like candy, baby. How could you resist?'
       'Exactly. I just wouldn't feel right.'
       'Coming over all moral? Spare me.'
       'Don't you have anything else?'
       'How do you feel about meatspace? There are some interesting ARGs happening at the moment.'
       'Alt reality? I don't know. Do I have to dress up?'
       'You'd look so cute with pointy ears. Or fangs.' He wiggles his fingers in front of his mouth all nosferatu.
       'Not a chance.'
       'Okay, okay. There's a new title, just hit the market a couple of months ago. Scorpions Elite ?'
       'What's the concept?'
       'Pseudo-cop shit. Mix of gamespace and meat. In game, it's busting heads, fragging bad guys, typical shooter. Real world is mainly detective work online, collaborating with wikis to solve clues, but also field action, shaking down informants kinda thing. It's quite kif, cos it's not only game employees, it's other players too. It ties into FallenCity Underworld , so you have other people playing bad guys. Oh yeah – and some gun battles in publisher-approved location. Although it might be