erased.”
“You’re lying,” the man on the right countered. “And I think I just might start counting myself. When I reach two, I start pounding you senseless. Or maybe do some of my own hacking.”
“One,” Sarah said softly. “Two.”
The bouncer on the left was getting more and more agitated. “You wouldn’t dare. You can’t mess with our personal information!”
“Three. Four.” She turned to Michael—he was quiet, actually enjoying the show. “Get the distribution list ready.”
“Got it,” he said, trying hard not to smile.
Sarah faced the giants again. “Fi—”
“Wait!” the man on the right yelled. “Just stop!”
“We’ll let you in,” his partner said. “Who gives a crap? Just make yourselves look a little older so we don’t get in trouble.”
“Fair enough,” Sarah replied. “Come on, guys.”
“Dude,” Bryson said to one of the men as they passed him. “After what I just saw in your files, I hope you never have kids.”
4
The Black and Blue Club was mostly how Michael imagined it would be, just a little louder, a little more sweaty, and filled with so much human beauty he knew he’d never see it replicated back in the real world. Skull-pounding music thumped and bellowed from the massive speakers hung on the ceiling, and strobe lights flashed and dazzled. A red glow permeated everything else, cast over the people dancing and gyrating and jumping out on the floor. Body heat filled the space, warm and sultry. Everywhere Michael looked, he saw perfection. Perfect hair, perfect clothes, perfect muscles, perfect legs.
Not my cup of tea
, he thought with a smile. He preferred dorky girls with messy hair and potato chip crumbs on their shirts.
“Let’s walk around, find that woman!” he yelled at the other two. He wondered if lipreading was a popular download of those who frequented the place—he couldn’t even hear himself speak.
Bryson and Sarah just nodded. They started winding their way through the herds of beautiful patrons.
The pounding beat of the bass felt like a blacksmith’s anvil in Michael’s head, hammer blow after hammer blow. He couldn’t remember if he’d had a headache before they weaseled their way past the bouncers, but he sure had one now. It was impossible to move without bumping into people, sweaty arms slicking against his. He found himself involuntarily dancing as he walked, and Sarah looked mortified at his lack of talent.
She mouthed the words
You’re cute
, but she rolled her eyes as she said it.
A sea of people. Pure, unbreakable noise. Disorienting lights. And that unending beat. Michael was already sick of it. But they needed to find a person named Ronika, who supposedly knew everything about everything. How were you supposed to find anyone in a place like this?
Michael looked around and realized Bryson and Sarah were no longer beside him. With a jolt of panic, he spun in a circle searching for them, pointlessly calling out their names. He was on edge—they’d gotten in illegally, and it made him nervous—but his friends’ disappearing so fast felt wrong. Michael stopped, and someone pushed him from behind; an elbow struck him in the side of the neck. Over the deafeningly loud music, he heard a woman’s laugh.
Then he fell through the floor.
5
It wasn’t like a trapdoor. And the floor didn’t collapse. Instead, as everything around him continued on, his body became immaterial and transparent, and he sank as the dancing people around him seemed to rise toward the sky. Michael quickly looked down and saw his legs and torso slip through the shiny black tile like a ghost.
He instinctively closed his eyes when his head went through, and when he opened them again he’d emerged in a dimly lit room filled with formal furniture. Tufted couches, mahogany paneling, and ornately carved lamps surrounded him, and his feet landed softly on a lush Oriental rug. Bryson and Sarah were standing nearby, looking at Michael as if he was
“You’re lying,” the man on the right countered. “And I think I just might start counting myself. When I reach two, I start pounding you senseless. Or maybe do some of my own hacking.”
“One,” Sarah said softly. “Two.”
The bouncer on the left was getting more and more agitated. “You wouldn’t dare. You can’t mess with our personal information!”
“Three. Four.” She turned to Michael—he was quiet, actually enjoying the show. “Get the distribution list ready.”
“Got it,” he said, trying hard not to smile.
Sarah faced the giants again. “Fi—”
“Wait!” the man on the right yelled. “Just stop!”
“We’ll let you in,” his partner said. “Who gives a crap? Just make yourselves look a little older so we don’t get in trouble.”
“Fair enough,” Sarah replied. “Come on, guys.”
“Dude,” Bryson said to one of the men as they passed him. “After what I just saw in your files, I hope you never have kids.”
4
The Black and Blue Club was mostly how Michael imagined it would be, just a little louder, a little more sweaty, and filled with so much human beauty he knew he’d never see it replicated back in the real world. Skull-pounding music thumped and bellowed from the massive speakers hung on the ceiling, and strobe lights flashed and dazzled. A red glow permeated everything else, cast over the people dancing and gyrating and jumping out on the floor. Body heat filled the space, warm and sultry. Everywhere Michael looked, he saw perfection. Perfect hair, perfect clothes, perfect muscles, perfect legs.
Not my cup of tea
, he thought with a smile. He preferred dorky girls with messy hair and potato chip crumbs on their shirts.
“Let’s walk around, find that woman!” he yelled at the other two. He wondered if lipreading was a popular download of those who frequented the place—he couldn’t even hear himself speak.
Bryson and Sarah just nodded. They started winding their way through the herds of beautiful patrons.
The pounding beat of the bass felt like a blacksmith’s anvil in Michael’s head, hammer blow after hammer blow. He couldn’t remember if he’d had a headache before they weaseled their way past the bouncers, but he sure had one now. It was impossible to move without bumping into people, sweaty arms slicking against his. He found himself involuntarily dancing as he walked, and Sarah looked mortified at his lack of talent.
She mouthed the words
You’re cute
, but she rolled her eyes as she said it.
A sea of people. Pure, unbreakable noise. Disorienting lights. And that unending beat. Michael was already sick of it. But they needed to find a person named Ronika, who supposedly knew everything about everything. How were you supposed to find anyone in a place like this?
Michael looked around and realized Bryson and Sarah were no longer beside him. With a jolt of panic, he spun in a circle searching for them, pointlessly calling out their names. He was on edge—they’d gotten in illegally, and it made him nervous—but his friends’ disappearing so fast felt wrong. Michael stopped, and someone pushed him from behind; an elbow struck him in the side of the neck. Over the deafeningly loud music, he heard a woman’s laugh.
Then he fell through the floor.
5
It wasn’t like a trapdoor. And the floor didn’t collapse. Instead, as everything around him continued on, his body became immaterial and transparent, and he sank as the dancing people around him seemed to rise toward the sky. Michael quickly looked down and saw his legs and torso slip through the shiny black tile like a ghost.
He instinctively closed his eyes when his head went through, and when he opened them again he’d emerged in a dimly lit room filled with formal furniture. Tufted couches, mahogany paneling, and ornately carved lamps surrounded him, and his feet landed softly on a lush Oriental rug. Bryson and Sarah were standing nearby, looking at Michael as if he was
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