Eric exited the elevator, and walked into Sunrise's 3rd floor lobby. He spotted Arvin seated and waiting, then watched the machine rise to his robotic feet.
"Good morning, Dr. Roberts," Arvin greeted.
Eric stopped and smiled. Arvin's accent, poise and demeanor, had all returned. No trace of Mike remained. The mechanical client was back.
Arvin, reading the amused data streams, rolled his light absorbing devices in their ocular cavities.
Eric smiled wider, then started for this office, the machine clomping behind him.
Once inside, Eric assumed they wouldn't focus on therapy, so he walked behind his desk, and sat in his high-backed leather chair. Arvin confirmed his suspicion when he sat on the guest chair and spoke.
"So," the bot started, "are you still Eric Roberts in our home away from home?"
"Nope. I took care of that. And quite well I might add."
"How so?"
Eric grinned. "You'll see."
"A surprise. How intriguing. But I'm certain your new character can't be any worse than the last one."
"True, but trust me when I say this one's good. With it, Victor won't avoid me. In fact, he'll come begging to be my friend."
Arvin turned up his synthetic lips.
"So, anything new?"
"No. Yesterday, I logged in when Chad entered, but nothing of importance transpired. He spent all his time in his apartment."
Eric rubbed his chin. "That seems odd."
"Well, it's certainly uncharacteristic of him. He has never entered only to sit and watch television. But he was only there for half an hour. However, I did manage to acquire some information from outside the world."
"Crypt Keeper?"
Arvin nodded. "Chad posted some juicy tidbits on their message boards, describing his extravagant plans for this weekend."
Eric nodded as well, recalling what Hanging Chad told Bee Keeper.
Things are just about ready. Maybe in the next day or two, she's done for. This coming weekend at the latest.
"Yeah," Eric continued, "he told me as much on Crypt Keeper–that the weekend's his likely time frame. And with today being Friday, the weekend's pretty much here. Hell, he might have the murder planned for today."
"I have the estate under constant surveillance, including Chad's room where he logs in from. If he enters the simulator, I'll know."
Eric considered this, then shrugged. It seemed like their bases were adequately covered. This his brow furrowed.
"What wrong?" Arvin asked.
"Nothing's wrong. It's just that I thought of something, something I should've considered earlier. Actually, I'm surprised that I didn't."
"And what's that?"
"After the murder. After Chad kills the librarian, what then?"
Arvin didn't answer. Instead, he faced the floor, then swept his light receptors along it.
Eric's furrow remained in place. Why didn't Arvin have a ready answer? He always had a ready answer. And even if he needed to generate one then and there, his powerful processors could formulate it rapidly. "Because again," Eric continued, "what Chad's doing technically isn't a crime. It's pretty damned awful, but he's not breaking any laws. So..."
Arvin looked up, and tunneled into Eric just like before. He again wanted glimpse Eric's inner essence, and for the same reason–gauging his trustworthiness. He succeeded.
Eric Roberts was a good person, something Arvin concluded after contrasting Eric's data streams to the others stored in his memory bank. True, Eric wasn't faultless, far from it, but he possessed a strong moral compass, and once set, it seldom wavered. That was the problem.
Eric smiled. Had Arvin's battery depleted and sent him into stand-by mode? Then Arvin's ornamental eyelids blinked, and Eric knew his friend hadn't left. "Well. What's the plan? Should we burst into Victor's room after the murder, then wag our virtual fingers at him?"
Still no answer.
Eric leaned back and crossed his arms. The bot had something in store. He simply didn't want to disclose it. But that was fine, because Eric didn't intend to pry it out. But why couldn't Arvin simply say as much? "You know..."
"If we witness Victor murder the librarian," Arvin cut in, "further action will be taken."
Eric hesitated. "And just what does further action mean?"
Arvin likewise let a moment pass. "I will remedy the problem."
Eric's crossed arms tightened. Did Arvin mean... no. Impossible. There's no way Arvin plans to real space murder Chad if Victor kills Alice.
With Arvin expressionless, impossibility evaporated, and in its wake, probability crept in.
"You're not," Eric tip-toed, "you know... C'mon," he pleaded, the machine still quiet. "You're not planning on, you know..." Arvin kept staring, his silence speaking volumes. Eric sat up. "You gotta be fucking kidding me. Oh, my God, you gotta be fucking kidding me."
Eric Mathew Roberts was a man who no longer cared what happened to him, or so he thought.
Yes, over the past few days, he had trampled multiple ethical guidelines, but the territory he just entered was something else entirely. He now had reason to believe that his client intended to commit criminal homicide.
Eric's heart raced, along with his mind. He needed to terminate this session immediately, but not before clarifying something. "Why?"
Arvin remained mute, and as the machine stared, a new sensation dawned on Eric–fear.
While in Arvin's presence, Eric was completely at his mercy, as in addition to superhuman mental abilities, Arvin was also strong, mechanically strong. But would the machine tear Eric limb from bloody limb in order to keep him quiet?
Arvin read Eric's fear, along with the gory images they conjured. "You're really asking me why?" he responded, hoping some insight would assuage the pulsing waves of anxiety. "Why kill Chad Vale? Why do you think?"
Eric tightened his lips. All doubt had vanished. Arvin had murder on his mind.
Eric sucked in deep, and while exhaling, he likewise dispelled his professional obligations, again. He decided to reason with Arvin, the move a monumental gamble. If successful, Arvin's intentions would never leave this room. If unsuccessful, Eric's future home wouldn't be a virtual world, but a prison cell. "This isn't right. You can't just take it upon yourself to kill someone. You don't even know if Professor Vale was murdered."
"Oh, come now, Dr. Roberts. Do you still believe that fairy tale that Dr. Vale died from a heart attack?"
"No, but even if he was murdered, I'm not one-hundred percent certain that Chad Vale did it. Is he the likely candidate? Yes. But even if he signed a confession, then forwarded me a copy, this still doesn't give me, or anyone, the right to arbitrarily kill the bastard."
"Dr. Roberts, I understand your anxiety. However, you must appreciate the fact that you did not have my relationship with Dr. Vale."
"Granted, but that still doesn't give you the right. Hell, it even highlights why people in your situation don't decide these things, because right now, you think murder is a reasonable response. And make no mistake. It's murder, irrespective of your justifications. Because of that, I'm out. I won't have any part of it."
Arvin leaned in. "You're already part of it."
Eric's jaw clenched as he looked away. He was implicated, severely, and Arvin's statement underlined the fact. But the reminder itself didn't upset him. It was the delivery, which hinted at Arvin's willingness to use this as leverage, and if he wanted to, he could.
If this drama ends with Chad's blood oozing across the stage, whoever investigates the occurrence will examine the preceding events, and even if the most lackadaisical detective would find Eric's fingerprints everywhere, both digitally and physically. That's what clamped his mouth, and why his little voice of reason levied the ultimate I told you so.
"What's your opinion of Chad?" Arvin asked.
Eric refocused. "What?"
"Chad Vale. What's your opinion of him? You read his medical profile, then you met him in person. You also gathered some information from me, then from his actions in net space. So, tell me your opinion."
Eric took another breath. He knew where this was going. And while he wanted to avoid bolstering Arvin's murderous intentions, he answered truthfully all the same. "Chad's an asshole. He's arrogant and violent, and pissed off with tech. He blames tech for society's woes, and periodically, he makes people suffer if they don't hate it as well. He's does this by murdering them... in net space. And net space murder isn't real."
Eric wanted to retract that last part, or at least add a caveat.
He still maintained that net space murder fell short of its real space equivalent, but his recent virtual forays made something clear–the two were far closer than previously considered.
"You still aren't convinced," Arvin continued, "of how real net space can be?"
Eric smirked. He was convinced. He simply didn't want to say as much.
"Tell me," Arvin went on, "what did you feel when I pointed that gun at you?"
Eric turned once more, his thoughts drifting back to his own little moment of virtual terror. The moment paled compared to the murder video, but was otherworldly intense nonetheless. All too clearly, he remembered that haunting pistol leveled at his chest, remembered the bone-chilling anticipation of a close-range bullet, the round ripping into flesh and shattering bone, and triggering a torrent of warm blood. He refocused. "Fear. When you pointed that gun at me, I experienced fear."
"And what is fear?"
Eric paused. Did Arvin want the textbook response, or his personal description? To avoid reliving the trauma, he took the scholarly route. "Fear is a response mechanism. It's a chained series of biological events, which occur when an organism receives threatening stimuli. When humans undergo this response, they usually describe it as fear."
Arvin nodded. "And is there a difference between net space and real space fear?"
Eric worked his jaw around. "No. No, I don't think there is."
"And were you aware that some humans have suffered posttraumatic stress from fearful virtual experiences?"
Eric did know of this. The phenomenon stemmed from online war games, as some virtual battles proved so convincing, some players responded as if in actual combat. Eric usually dismissed this as insulting to real-life combat veterans, but again, his long-held virtual preconceptions needed retooling. "Yeah. I've heard of that."
"And tell me, Dr. Roberts. What is posttraumatic stress disorder?"
Eric smirked. Arvin was mechanically persistent, if not anything. "PTSD is an anxiety disorder, one that results from an overactive fear response system. This occurs when an organism experiences real or imagined threats, and continues responding to these threats, but when none exist. Clinical PTSD occurs when this happens so frequently, the person's life begins to suffer."
"So the threats can be real or imagined?"
"That's right. Real or imagined."
"And how do you think Chad's murder victims respond to being killed, when they're completely convinced their murder is real?"
"With fear. Perhaps with fear so strong, it stimulates the onset of PTSD."
Arvin let a moment pass. "Chad knows this."
"What?"
"He knows what he's doing to his victims, knows how they'll respond. He was in the medical profession, remember? He's read journal articles documenting the anguish these people suffer, and he murders them anyway."
Eric's teeth tightened once more, doing so when familiar anger revisited. It was the same anger he experienced when watching the murder video, only elevated. After all, knifing someone into bloody oblivion was one thing, but something else entirely when knowing how much the victim will suffer, and perforating them regardless.
"What does it say," Arvin went on, "about the people who commit these atrocities, about the people who inflict such unimaginable violence on the undeserving?"
Eric didn't answer. With his mind still wrapped around the murder video, he focused on its contents, on its ending, when a blood-soaked Victor Vane looked into the camera and smiled. Eric shook his head. The person behind that smile was an evil, evil human. But so what?
What should he do about this? Intuitively, he wanted to destroy said evil. Rationally, he questioned the reasonableness of doing so.
Arvin read Eric all the while, watching the moral compass struggle to orient itself. Arvin didn't want to disorient it further, but he had to, an unfortunate byproduct of providing insight, of showing Eric why his compass wouldn't waiver. "Dr. Roberts, I understand that you're undergoing hardships with your romantic partner. But please. Imagine that someone murdered her. Now imagine that you had one week to live, and you knew the murderer would never face justice. How would you feel, knowing that these thoughts would be your last, right before your consciousness blinked out for eternity?"
Eric looked down, the point striking a chord. True, his relationship with Kim was in trouble. They long since grew distant, and he was all but certain of her disloyalty. All the same, he would fly into a madman's blood rage if someone killed her. And if Chad Vale did it, then stood over her lifeless body, covered in her blood while smiling, hell would have no wrath... "If that happened to Kim," Eric responded, eyes still lowered and unfocused, "and I was in your position..."
Eric started to understand Arvin's motivations. And while he didn't fully agree with them, he empathized, and in so doing, he moved evermore in Arvin's direction. Just how far would he go?
Arvin, for his part, kept reading, reading as Eric's compass twitched in his direction. "What are you thinking, Dr. Roberts?"
"I'm thinking that I can't go along with your plan to kill Chad, not yet."
"Not yet?"
Eric looked up. "I'm going to need more evidence. I need to see what Chad does in the virtual world. Now that we know Chad is Victor, whatever Victor does, Chad is responsible for. I need to know what kind of person Chad is."
"Then nothing has changed. That is our current plan."
"Right, but it's a challenge because we can't get close to Victor."
"Yes. I remember."
"And do you also remember what I told you? That I came up with an idea that might help?"
"Yes."
"It's time to put itinto effect."