LITMIR.BIZ

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that coward, Sam, and you, I’ve had all I can take for one day. Go home. We’ll discuss this later.”

      “You bet we will.”

      Sam pulled back from the door and slipped down the hall towards the stairs. He had to give Bryce credit. She had balls, to confront Martin like that.

      * * * *

      Sam scraped his meal of leftover spaghetti down the garbage disposal and dropped his plate into the sink. It made an awful clanking noise but didn’t break. He slammed the faucet on and ran water into the dish to let it soak, then jerked it off. But his kitchen appliances and dishes were no substitute for the person he was boiling angry at.

      Earlier in the day, he’d feigned sickness and left work. He still hadn’t told his team, and he didn’t plan to. Restless, he walked into his living room.

      His furnishings were modest. Nothing embarrassing, but simple in style. The hardwood floor was cool against his bare feet. He walked down the hallway leading to the bedrooms and turned into the guest room he’d converted to a game room.

      Stepping across its threshold was like entering a different dimension. Whereas the rest of his apartment was humble, he’d spared no expense here. The walls were covered with limited edition memorabilia from old science fiction movies, collected over the years with care so that each one represented a different period within the genre. The futuristic bar was custom-made from his own design and included a glass surface with interactive LED lighting. The sound system and entertainment screen were top of the line. In the center of the room was VIC’s simulation chair.

      Sam poured a glass of bourbon. He sipped, letting the whiskey burn down his throat to warm his belly. VIC had changed the way the world played video games. By simply uploading a photograph, the gamer could create a virtual image clone of himself or herself to play with, or a synthetic image clone of someone else to play against. Instead of the cartoonish characters players could choose from in other video games, VIC was so realistic that players felt they were in the movie. Yet it was better than a movie. It was as if they’d traveled through different dimensions of their own making. No fantasy was off limits.

      It was time for a fantasy of his own. Setting down his drink, Sam slid his body into the VIC simulation chair. After hours upon hours of play, the chair’s soft leather had contoured to the shape of his body. He closed his eyes, enjoying the feeling as his body relaxed into it. He clipped the cross-chest harness into place and wiggled his bare feet into the footgear attached to the chair, working his toes into the flexible foot glove that would read his movements and reflexes. Next, he slid both forearms into the gloves attached to the armrests. The gloves contracted comfortably around his arms. His fingers tapped the controls inside the glove, and the helmet and display settled around his head, blocking the sights and sounds of reality.

      After the VIC intro, Sam set up his game scenario. He always played in Group Play mode as a default. The anticipation that an unexpected player might enter the game made it more interesting. After clicking several options, he went to his personal files and selected a picture of Martin from the company website. VIC searched its database, loaded the stored character, then prompted, “MR. HARRISON IS CURRENTLY IN PLAY. WOULD YOU LIKE TO JOIN?”

      He selected Yes. He was more than ready to challenge the bastard. Maybe the defeat of Martin in virtual battle would salvage his bruised ego.

      The VIC Sam found himself in the living room of a large pretentious mansion, one he could imagine Martin living in. His gorge rose when he found Martin—the VIC Martin—standing in front of an ornate fireplace. How he hated the man. Before Martin could react, Sam strode across the room and punched him in the face. Man, that felt good.

      Martin staggered back, nearly falling. “You son of a bitch. Who do you think you are?”

      “It’s a game,” Sam glared at him, making his hands into fists so tight his knuckles turned white. “Let’s have some fun.”

      Martin grabbed a cast-iron fireplace poker from its rack and swung it at Sam. Sam ducked low and drove an elbow into Martin’s kidney. Martin doubled over in pain, his grip on the poker loosened, and Sam yanked it out of his hands. Clenching his side, Martin looked up at Sam, his eyes wide. Sam stood over him, tightened his grip around the handle of the poker, and brought the heavy tool down across his boss’s shoulders. Martin went down on his hands and knees, crying out in agony.

      “This is for everyone you’ve stepped on to get to the top, you greedy bastard,” Sam growled as he brought the poker down on Martin’s body again and again. He swung until he could no longer catch his breath, then hunched forward with his hands on his knees, sucking in air, tears running down his face as he looked at the crumpled body. Embarrassed that his emotions had overtaken him, he wiped his face with his arm. It’s just a game, he thought, though a sense of power surged through him and he allowed himself to feel a brief satisfaction.

      In VIC, he was in complete control, but tomorrow he would have to do Martin’s bidding.

      * * * *

      The next morning, Sam arrived at work later than usual, delaying the inevitable for as long as possible. He paused outside the lobby and squared his shoulders, taking one long, slow breath. Primed, he strode through the entryway and called out “Good morning” to the receptionist. She shook her head and gestured toward the lobby’s waiting area.

      Two men rose from the couch and walked toward him. Both were fiftyish, both dressed in slacks, white button-down shirts, and sport coats.

      The taller man spoke. “Sam Breske? I’m Detective Rob Cresslar of the Raleigh PD and this is Josh Moore of the SBI’s Computer Crimes Unit. May we have a word with you, somewhere private?” They flashed their badges, their faces serious. Too serious. Was his team playing a joke on him, and at the worst possible time?

      Sam led them to a small conference room on the lobby floor. “What’s this about?”

      “Martin Harrison died last night in his home. Apparent heart attack,” Cresslar said.

      Remembering how triumphant he’d felt standing over the VIC Martin’s body, Sam felt shameful, almost guilty. “Oh my God, that’s awful.”

      “Mr. Harrison’s death occurred while he was playing VIC,” said Moore. “Seems the simulation was too realistic for him. Something your software was supposed to detect, right? Shut the game down and signal for help? Thing is, emergency services never received a distress call from Harrison’s address.”

      Sam shook his head. “That doesn’t make sense. We’ve never had reports of issues with the HMC.”

      “We had his game unit checked out,” said Moore. “It was the current version with no signs of tampering. We also found he was in Group Play mode with you when he died. Want to tell us about that?”

      Alarmed, Sam started to protest but stopped himself. He glanced from one detective to the other, searching their faces. “I don’t think I should answer any more questions without my lawyer.”

      Cresslar raised both hands as if to protest. “Relax, you’re not under arrest. Martin had a bad heart and his HMC seemed to have a glitch. How the glitch happened is the question no one seems to be able to answer. We thought it might have been hacked, but you built a firewall around the HMC to prevent that, didn’t you? You’re free to go unless there’s something you want to tell us.”

      Sam shook his head no, hoping his calm expression didn’t betray his conflicted feelings: guilt mixed with curiosity. Whatever happened to Martin’s HMC?

      * * * *

      After his exchange with the police, Sam went back to work on his current project, carefully avoiding conversations with his team about Martin’s death. Sam couldn’t be sure where the project or his team’s future lay, so he thought it was best to carry on until he heard differently.

      The next day, Bryce summoned Sam to Martin’s office. As Martin’s heir, she had taken over the privately held company. He found her sitting behind the oversized desk,

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