LITMIR.BIZ

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of character, you could say.’

      Erman took another turn about the cottage before he returned to the kitchen table.

      He gave HP a long, searching look, and seemed to be weighing something up seriously before he went on.

      ‘Okay, like I said, I don’t usually talk to anyone, and above all never about the Game, but you’ve got a pretty good sponsor who guarantees that you’re okay, and you seem a bit too daft to be playing a double-bluff …’

      Erman pulled a piece of paper and a pen from a kitchen drawer and started to draw a pyramid.

      ‘This is what it looks like. Right at the bottom are loads of small-time players who are happy with a little bit of excitement and a reliable source of extra income, they’re called Ants. The Ants are used for small jobs, like getting hold of stuff, or information, preparing and delivering the tools for various assignments, or helping to film them. Ants never aim for the top, they never become real Players, they just play it safe, if you see what I mean?’

      HP nodded quickly. He hadn’t missed the fact that Erman had just called him daft, but this was fucking interesting!

      ‘I bet it was an Ant who left the mobile on the train for you, and filmed your trial. The guy with the umbrella could well have been an Ant, unless he just happened to be there, it’s hard to tell,’ Erman went on.

      ‘But all the other stuff: the passcard, the tools for the Ferrari, the flash-bang grenade, the locker at Central Station, the key under the table …?’

      ‘Probably all sorted by Ants!’ Erman confirmed. ‘The entire Game is built on the Ants. Without them nothing would work, and they’re always recruiting more. There are Ants everywhere: in the police, social security, Telia, Microsoft, Google, you name it. So you can be sure they knew anything that was worth knowing about you way before they let you find the mobile.’

      Erman drew another layer in the middle of the pyramid.

      ‘The Ants also help to find Players, people like you. The Ant who found you gets a bonus for each assignment you complete, and the further you get, the richer you make him or her.’

      HP held up his hand. He had to pause a bit to digest what he had just heard.

      So someone had tipped off the Game about him?

      Maybe someone he actually knew?

      Erman seemed to be reading his mind.

      ‘You might not even know your Ant. It could be anyone who stumbled over your credentials, an employer, someone in social services, or who dealt with your unemployment benefit claim.’

      For some reason the explanation didn’t make HP feel much better.

      For him the whole thing had been just a game, a way of passing the time with a bit of a twist. But this …

      ‘The Players are a different category to the Ants, and they’re used for more advanced and risky assignments, if you see the difference?’

      Oh yes, HP got it. The arson attacks on his flat and the shop weren’t the sort of thing you’d get an Ant to do, that took a lot more balls.

      ‘As you already know, each Player gets a series of assignments,’ Erman went on, as he drew the top layer in the pyramid.

      ‘They’re all designed to find out how far you can be pushed, and obviously the Circle bet on what the boundaries are. Over time most of you fall by the wayside, but the Game takes that into account. Players are basically no more than perishable goods, and only a very few have what it takes to stay in the Game. When you sang your heart out to that cop, regardless of whether he was real or not, somewhere in cyberspace was one gang of happy souls who’d bet that you’d crack, as well as a load of others that you seriously disappointed. But you can be sure that someone else has already taken your place in the limelight.’

      He drew an arrow through the whole pyramid.

      ‘The Game goes on always – you’re always playing the game, you get it?’

      ‘But the high score list, the clips and everything? I mean, I was first Runner-up, that has to mean something?’

      He could hear how desperate he sounded, but made no effort to hide it.

      Erman let out a slow chuckle.

      ‘HP, HP, HP … You still don’t get it, do you? … None of what you’ve been through is real. It was all just a game, a phone app that seamlessly integrates truth and illusion so well that in hindsight it’s practically impossible to know where the boundaries are. Look up the word Game and you’ll see what I mean!’

      The look of incomprehension on HP’s face made Erman sigh again.

      ‘Okay, I’ll spell it out: they’re lying to you, HP! The Game shows you some things that are true, and some that were stitched together just for you. Motivations differ from player to player. Some get turned on by sport – others by girls or music.

      ‘Whereas you evidently like films and computer games – so the Game gives you your very own starring role, complete with a fan club and everything …’

      Erman gulped the last of his coffee before going on.

      ‘Suddenly you’re the leading man instead of a spectator. From Nobody to VIP in the space of a few days. The fans out there in cyberspace can’t seem to get enough of you, and pretty soon you can’t get enough of them. And all the Game asks in exchange for this massive trip is a few tiny little assignments …’

      He was staring at HP, whose face had gone completely white.

      ‘Basically it works just like any other sort of addiction,’ he went on. ‘Drugs, gambling, or in your case attention and affirmation – the same mechanisms kick in inside your head. And as the addiction grows, the brain loses the ability for critical analysis. You’ve turned into a recognition junky! Anything that doesn’t support or increase the buzz gets filtered out and your imagination fills in the gaps. You believe because you want to believe, and therefore help the Game to paper over the glitches in the app. True or false, right or wrong, it matters less and less. Bigger and longer kicks are all that count, and more of them.

      ‘But it’s all just a game – it’s all a fucking Game, understand?’

      He looked expectantly at HP once again.

      ‘So, to return to your question, my friend. The list they showed you could very well be real, but it could just as easily be something they put together especially for you. Because that’s what gets you going. They’re playing with you, HP, just like you play with the poor bastards on the other end of the assignments, which brings me to the less attractive part of the Game.’

      Less attractive! HP thought. How the fuck could anything be less attractive?

      He was suddenly feeling like a prize idiot, a fucking puppet that they’d been playing with just for the hell of it. Jerking his strings to see what would happen, and betting on the outcome.

       My ladies and gentlemen, guess what will happen if we pull string number four! Will 128 withstand the pressure or not? Will he throw a stone at his sister’s police-car to get a bit of affirmation, and will she survive? Will he crack under pressure and cry like a baby? Ladies and gentlemen, place your bets, and stay tuned …!

      His head was spinning fast now and it took him several seconds before he realized that Erman had started talking again.

      ‘… the assignments really come from? Betting is only one of the Game’s sources of income. As I’m sure you can understand, it costs a hell of a lot to keep something like this rolling. People are playing on several continents, so the financing is pretty damn important.’

      He paused to refill their coffee-cups and took a third turn around the house. Once he’d reassured himself that everything was still okay, he returned to the kitchen table.

      ‘You see …’ Erman

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