Displaced - Book One of the Alternate Reality Series

Chapter 12

Eric nodded once more.

Arvin leaned forward. "Then why the hell would you enter a virtual world, to spy on a potential murder suspect, looking exactly like your real space self?"

All in one motion, Eric closed his eyes, pursed his lips, and lowered his head.

"Does he know what you look like?"

Eric, his eyes still closed, his lips still pursed, nodded. He then looked up and shot hands over his mouth.

Arvin sat there in open-mouthed silence, and Eric struggled not to laugh. He couldn't stop superimposing the classily refined Arvin over this very biological, very upset human. It was too damn hilarious.

Eric drew in air to steady himself, then went on. "Sorry, Arvin. Me coming in here was kinda spur of the moment."

Arvin cringed. "Oh, for the love of God. Don't call me by my real name!"

Eric's laughter suppression gave way. It was official. He was the worst spy in the history of the profession. "Goddammit. Sorry." He took some breaths, finally excised his delirious demons, and continued. "Well, what's your name in here?"

"Michael. I go by Michael. But just call me Mike."

"Alright then, Mike." Eric then observed Mike admiringly, to which Mike opened his own hands. "It's just kinda cool," Eric explained, "seeing you like this."

Mike shook his head, but immediately after, he eased back into his seat, signaling relaxation. "I suppose it's not so bad from my end, being in this body and all. But I selected this body, along with these clothes, to blend in, to be inconspicuous. You on the other hand..."

Eric reddened.

"You know what you look like with those glasses and hat?" Mike gestured at Eric's mission kit resting on the table. "You look like a spy. Like some secret government operative. What you don't look like is just some plain old guy, existing in plain old 1950s Los Angeles."

"I know. I know. Like I said, spur of the moment."

The waitress arrived with their drinks, and they both halted conversation. She set their glasses down, inquired once more if either wanted anything else, and Mike said they were fine for now. She smiled before turning on her heel.

Eric leaned forward, then picked up his glass and studied it, eyes slightly narrowed. He brought the glass to his nose, inhaled, and smiled after detecting a wonderfully pungent aroma. Without additional fanfare, he went in.

He filled his mouth with the frosty liquids, bitter and heavy, then swallowed. He cast another smile, the gesture wider than before, and not only from the phenomenal taste, but how the viscous fluids travelled down his throat, cooling his chest as they passed. "Holy shit," he responded, quickly going in for another pull.

Mike, eyeing Eric all the while, emanated amusement of his own.

Eric appreciated this, as it stamped out the last traces of tension. "By the way," he continued, setting his glass down, "where are you right now? I mean in real space."

Mike sipped before answering. "I'm in my basement quarters, shut down while updates are filed into my neural networks." He smirked. "Bastards keep me in the basement. But it works out in my favor, because that's the best place to login, and it's secluded from the family."

"I can't blame you for feeling that way." Eric eased back. "So, is our target the person we think he is?"

"Yeah. I concluded that days ago. Whenever Chad logs in, Victor appears, and it's happened numerous times."