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  Of course, modders had added that as an option, but only someone using the plugin would see it.

  She’d passed on that.

  With the technician out cold, she rushed around the lab looking for a telltale object with a glowing yellow aura around it, indicating a quest item. The sixth glass lid she opened revealed a bizarre electronic component that couldn’t seem to decide if it was a handheld remote control or a circuit board meant to be plugged into something. Evidently, the game used a ‘random electronic object’ graphic for the quest objective.

  The instant she grabbed it, the door flew open and a pair of security guards ran in, pointed guns at her, and shouted, “Stop right there!”

  Fawkes scowled. “What’s the goddamned point of stealth quests if they force a combat?”

  Both guards fired at her, filling the lab with bright orange laser flashes. She flung herself sideways into a somersault. One of the incoming blasts hit her in the arm despite her acrobatic dive, but it hurt only about as much as being slapped with a wiffle bat by an annoying little brother. In contrast to the hyperrealism of everything else, injuries only provided enough of a sensation to announce a hit, milder than taking a paintball to the chest.

  Her life bar appeared at the bottom of her vision, showing her down to ninety-one percent, denoted by a little red encroaching into the green at the far right end. Another innate attribute of her class reduced incoming damage by half if she got hit while attempting to evade.

  Before the security men could correct their aim, she invoked a special ability, Flicker, which let her jump into stealth in an instant, even in the middle of combat. Her body went semitransparent and she scurried around the end of a big cabinet of research equipment, getting out of the middle of the lab.

  “That’s odd,” said Guard One, as though he hadn’t shot her a second ago. “I thought I heard something in here.”

  “Let’s check it out.” Guard Two walked around the cabinets.

  Fawkes edged to the side, trying to avoid them.

  Guard One’s boot struck the unconscious man’s leg, almost tripping him. “Damn. Who left this lying on the floor? We need to get maintenance in here to clean up.”

  “Lazy,” said Guard Two.

  Fawkes giggled, while the Dakota part of her brain rolled her eyes at the bad programming. Security guards would react to a corpse, but they evidently considered an unconscious lab worker as a misplaced bit of debris.

  While the guards meandered around searching the room, she tiptoed past the edges of their vision cones to the vent shaft, but the hatch cover wouldn’t open. She bonked her forehead on the wall, and growled.

  “Dammit. Of course, I have to kill them. The developers wouldn’t force the combat if they were going to let me sneak away.”

  Irritated, she drew her sidearm, a smallish black laser pistol. ‘Equipped – PL144’ appeared for a few seconds at the bottom of her vision. She’d carried that sidearm for the last six levels, and its low damage had started to get in the way. Of course, it had an enchantment on it that boosted her agility and dexterity, so she’d kept it more as a ‘stat token’ than a weapon. Ambushing made up for a lot of shortcomings in overt damage output. Then again, if she had a decent weapon, ambush would go from passable to obscene.

  Still. Should be enough for these idiots.

  Guard Two stumbled over the unconscious lab worker. “Damn. Who left this here? We need to get maintenance in here to clean up.”

  “Pff. Lazy,” said Guard One.

  Fawkes scooted behind a desk, aimed over it at Guard Two, and squeezed the trigger.

  A brilliant blue beam appeared, connecting her gun to the security guard’s helmet for a second. White light burst from the point of contact; he lurched forward with a loud groan. Fawkes’ body remained semitransparent, which meant she hadn’t lost stealth. Grinning, she scurried to the left and ducked behind a refrigerator-sized computer cabinet. At some point a few levels ago, stealth had gone from useless (everything always saw her right away) to godlike.

  Guard Two swiveled around to face the direction she fired from, a one-inch-wide hole straight through his head. A health bar had appeared floating in space above him, showing him at twenty-nine percent health remaining.

  “Did you hear that?” asked Guard Two, virtual blood rolling down his face. “I thought I heard something over there.”

  Guard One spun around, aiming his sidearm at where she fired from. “I don’t see anything.”

  “I know I heard something.” Guard Two―still with a laser tunnel in his head―looked around. “There’s someone here. I know it.” He paused before yelling, “I will find you.”

  “Only cowards hide,” said Guard One.

  Fawkes rolled her eyes. Every single NPC said that when they got within a certain distance of a stealthed player.

  She waited a few seconds for them to drift apart before popping out of hiding to shoot Guard Two in the head again. The second shot dropped him like a sack of dirt, his laser pistol clattering to the floor and sliding a short distance from his lifeless hand. Fawkes ducked and crept around the other side of the tall cabinet.

  “What was that?” Guard One hurried over to where his fallen companion lay. “I hear you. I’m sure there’s someone here!” He turned and bumped the corpse of Guard Two. “Who left this here? I should call maintenance to have them clean it up.”

  Pff, lazy.

  Fawkes stepped out into the aisle between two rows of scientific equipment. She intended to fire twice and put him down, but her first shot caused a bright red flash indicating an ambush critical hit for 548 damage. Guard One’s head popped like a water balloon, spraying red everywhere. He fell to his knees, teetered for a second, and collapsed forward. Cartoony blood geysers without fragments of gore evidently didn’t bother the ratings board.

  She flinched at two men and a woman walking by the lab outside in the corridor, but the workers showed no reaction whatsoever to the gunfight that happened moments before, or the quite-obvious dead bodies of two security guards. The inanity of it made her laugh.

  “I wonder if they do that on purpose so we know we’re in a game?” She shrugged and crouched to check the two guards for loot.

  After liberating 824 credits, a pair of crappy particle-beam handguns that did significantly less damage then her piece-of-shit, and two security officer ID badges (never know when a future quest might need them), she dragged the bodies into the vent to hide them, and pulled the hatch closed.

  “Okay, that wasn’t too hard.” In the dim confines of a duct, Fawkes held up the little prototype object and smiled at the soft amber glow it gave off. “Hello twenty-grand experience. Come to mama.”

  Extra Shot

  2

  Hazy green and brown faded in and out of view. The opposite wall of the coffee shop blurred, the faux stone merging with the emerald trim and separating again in an endless, mesmerizing cycle. Dakota caught herself before sleep sent her tumbling to the floor, and took a deep breath of caffeine-laden air.

  She trudged over to the espresso machine and made herself a shot, grinning at thin stream of awesomeness gurgling out from the spigot. Steam fogged over her reflection on the metal face above the knob, making her appear less bleary-eyed than she probably looked. She leaned closer, checking her eyes for dark spots. Satisfied she didn’t rock too much of the ‘zombie’ style, she slugged the espresso down and tossed the paper cup in the bin.

  “You okay?” asked Trini, a short girl with long, straight black hair. The seventeen-year-old had been working there for a few months, and once mentioned she’d come from Morocco or Tobago or something exotic. Some people mistook her for Indian by appearance.

  “Yeah.” Dakota resisted the urge to wipe her eyes. “Stayed up a bit late. This swing shift is killing me.”

  Trini shivered. “Yeah, I know right. Here late last night and opening today? That’s gotta suck.”

  While she did suffer a close-to-open day in her schedule, it hadn’t been
last night. No, last night went to the game.

  Just one more quest and I’ll go to sleep.

  Dakota smoothed her hands down the green apron, managing a passably-alert smile at the small room full of round tables, tall chairs, and shelves bearing mugs, snacks, and other kitsch. Prior to the buyout in 2027 (the year of her high school graduation), it had been a Starbucks. She’d started working as a barista while a junior, and remained here at twenty-two. Of course, she now worked for the Amazon Café. About a third of the coffee went to walk ins, a bit to the drive-up lane, and perhaps half to drone pickups. As luck would have it, her store’s downtown location, surrounded by office high-rises, made it a prime node for online ordering. The constant whirr of small drone fans as they flew in and out could drive a girl crazy.

  Sometimes, people preferred to pay $9 for their coffee instead of $11 per cup, and actually came in the door or used the drive up. It never ceased to amaze her how many people would rather spend $2 on drone service than walk two blocks.

  One such intrepid soul, unaffected by the dread of person-to-person interaction, tromped in the door. He appeared to be in his late forties with a frumpy grey coat, ugly green scarf, and a surly set to his features. The instant she made eye contact, she knew he’d give her a hard time.

  “Morning,” said Dakota. “What can I get started for you?”

  Her soul died a little more each time she asked someone that. Alas, this would be her home for the foreseeable future. Despite it being legit, a degree in computer programming hadn’t done much for her. Then again, working here did cover her rent and probably entailed a lower amount of stress than a ‘real’ job might.

  The man shuffled over to the counter and glanced up at the bank of monitors simulating slate boards. She pursed her lips at the jackass ignoring her like some android worker without a soul, but managed to keep the plastic smile on. Trini hurried off to the drive-up window, chatting via her headset with a customer outside.

  Blake, the assistant manager, a twenty-one year old with even less drive to advance in life than Dakota, rushed out of the back room. His khakis strained to contain his legs; the man had an unusual build. From the waist up, he appeared reasonably average. Below the belt, he carried quite a bit of extra weight. A scruffy goatee of light brown ringed his mouth, something he thought made him more ‘dignified.’ Other than being a little too proud of his title as assistant manager, he didn’t bug her too much. Being a year older than him helped though, as he could be a tad overbearing when interacting with the high schoolers.

  While Frumpy-Coat-Man continued staring at the menu, Blake attacked the machines, whipping up a handful of lattes destined for drone delivery. Dakota watched him out of the corner of her eye. He usually hummed when working, but had the serious expression of a neurosurgeon.

  “Something wrong, Blake?” asked Dakota.

  “Huh?” he looked over his shoulder at her. “Why?”

  “You look so serious.”

  “Oh, this is for Kauffman Stein.” He snapped his fingers. “Has to be perfect.”

  “Right…” She turned back to watch Frumpy. A law firm that ordered a thousand bucks of java a week needed to be kept happy.

  Frumpy lowered his gaze to Dakota and smirked.

  She braced for a snide comment about her neon blue hair. It seemed anyone over thirty felt the need to give her crap about it. “Can I get anything started for you?”

  “One of those”―he flapped his hand at the signs overhead―“caramel latte things. With an extra shot. I need to wake up.”

  She punched in the order on the flat panel. Before she could quote the price, he already had his smartphone up to pay. The system beeped, accepting the barcode on the screen. “Thank you. Your drink will be ready in a moment.”

  He made a noise part grunt, part grumble, and shuffled to the left.

  Dakota grabbed a cup and went through the motions of making a caramel macchiato.

  “Aren’t you supposed to ask for my name?” Frumpy leaned close, peering over the counter.

  She held back the sarcasm that wanted so desperately to erupt. “Usually when we’re busy, we do, but you’re the only one in here and I’m making your drink right away.”

  He grumbled to himself, leaning back and casting a frown at the display case full of breakfast food and pastries.

  After finishing the drink, she set it up on the counter and smiled at him. “Here you are. Thank you and have a great day.”

  Frumpy took the cup and wandered with it over to the cream and sugar station. She cringed inwardly at the thought of someone adding even more sugar to an already overbearingly sweet coffee, but the man simply opened the lid, sniffed the foam, and replaced it without further modification. He started for the door while taking a sip, but abruptly stopped and stared at the cup. After a second sip, he spun around and walked back over.

  She forced herself to keep smiling.

  “You forgot the extra shot.” Frumpy set the cup back on the counter, hard enough to make a little foam burp out the hole in the lid.

  “I’m sure it’s in there, sir.”

  He peered at the door into the back room. “You charged me an extra $1.75 for it, but it doesn’t taste any different than normal.”

  Blake nudged her in the back with an elbow and muttered, “Just drop another shot in there.”

  “Sorry for the confusion.” She stuck a small steel cup under the espresso machine and hit the button. Her forced smile must’ve flattened, as the man’s eyes narrowed.

  “Where’s the manager?” asked Frumpy.

  Blake emitted a strangled groan. His pride at being the assistant manager collided headlong into his need to get the law firm order perfect. “One moment, sir. I’ll be right with you.”

  “Here you go.” Dakota opened the latte, poured in a shot’s worth of espresso, and covered it again. “One extra shot.”

  The plastic doors to the back room flapped open, revealing Hal Brown, the manager. His receding afro left the front middle of his head smooth and shiny. He wasn’t the tallest guy in the world, (far from it) but had the muscles of a professional wrestler and a stubby neck as wide as his head. Whenever anyone mentioned shirts, he’d always bemoan having to order his custom since no ‘standard’ size had collars large enough for him to button. Despite his imposing physicality, he had a relatively soft voice, which sometimes caused constipated chuckles, since people wound up afraid to laugh at him.

  “Can I help you?” asked Hal.

  “I ordered a drink with an extra shot and your associate forgot to put it in. When I mentioned it, she had a bad attitude about it.”

  Blake gave Hal the ‘this guy’s an asshole’ look over his right shoulder.

  While the manager walked the customer off out of earshot, Dakota busied herself cleaning milk foam off the nozzle. “It’s 2031. You’d think they’d be able to invent a machine that doesn’t need to be wiped down after every cup.”

  Blake chuckled.

  A few minutes later, Hal returned to the space behind the counter. “So… what form did the alleged attitude take?”

  “A half-inflated smile I guess. I put the shot in, but he complained anyway. Guy came in here looking for an argument. Probably hoping to scam us for a free drink.”

  Blake arranged fourteen cups in an insulated box for drone pickup. “Worst thing she said was she did put the extra shot in. Guy was itching for a problem.”

  Hal nodded and smiled. “You look half awake. He probably thought he could get one over on you because you seem ready to pass out.”

  “Sorry.” She leaned her head back, rubbing her neck. “Couldn’t sleep.”

  “Maybe you should lay off that game of yours a little… before it microwaves your brain.”

  Dakota felt like a teenager all over again, eye rolling at her father. “The helmets are safe, Hal. They don’t fry brain tissue.”

  “Hope so.” He winked. “You’re way too smart to nuke your brain cells.”

  She m
anaged the first genuine smile of the day. “Thanks.”

  Blake pushed the tray out through the hatch to the pickup pad. Seconds later, a green and white drone dropped out from its holder on the roof, clamped onto the carrier, and hurtled off into the city.

  A steady but slow trickle of customers walked in over the next twenty minutes, most winding up plopping down at the tables to relax and enjoy their coffee. The lull came to a sudden end when seven people entered almost back to back. One woman had a trio of tween girls with her who laughed and chatted amongst each other much to the annoyance of the other customers. Dakota smiled to herself while mixing up coffees, hot cocoas, and a few custom teas. She much preferred it busy. It made the day go by fast.

  Once the rush abated, she leaned against the counter and sipped at a cup of black regular brew. The TV over the seating area showed a headline ‘Steyr wins governor in surprise upset.’ Dakota almost sprayed coffee over Blake. Instead of blasting him with java, she tried to hold back and wound up choking on it.

  The people at the tables all looked up from their smartphones or tablets to gawk at the TV. Total strangers began conversing with each other about how obviously rigged the election had to be.

  Blake caught her arm before she threw her drink all over the floor, eased the cup to the counter, and clapped her on the back until she started breathing again. “Whoa, don’t try to breathe the coffee.”

  She laughed, which got her coughing all over again. Tears streamed out of her eyes, but she kept on giggling. “Coffee breathing isn’t one of my superpowers.”

  “What are you choking for?”

  Dakota pointed at the TV. “That Steyr creep won the election… what the hell is wrong with people?”

  “Huh? Who?” Blake glanced at the TV in passing before swiping a rag from the counter and offering it to her. “Got some on your chin.”