9. CodeRed
CodeRed
Playlist: Stripped (Remastered) - Matte Blvck
Lyra
I thought about Ash all night as I walked home from VikkCorp.
His comment about the RedRoom in DreamNet was meant to be flirtatious...
but it really got me thinking. How long has it been since I was on a date?
I mean, I do spend most of my time working, and when I’m not working, I’m pulling a side hustle for extra food card credits, sketching illegal images of the beach, sunsets, anything pulled from my memories.
I swipe my hand over the codepad in our apartment door. It’s a nice apartment for my brother and I, of course, supplied by VikkCorp for its employees, cozy but modern. I step inside, shaking the raindrops from my hair and littering them on the floor like a trail of fallen confetti. ”Hey, Bro!”
Eli is at the dining room table, hunched between actual books, LINKpads, and various tech, all being used for studying at the university. “Looks like you’re pulling another all-nighter?” I kick off my boots. “Brought sushi!” I smile and wave the bag in front of him annoyingly.
He looks utterly exhausted. “Thanks, I’ll have a bite in a few.
” He rubs his forehead, pushing away his dark curls, like Mom used to do.
His violet eyes are dim behind his glasses, not the usual bright neon purple.
He turns to face me in his chair. “This is pretty fascinating. We’re learning about the systems inside VikkCorp.
Did you know that one single guy is the architect of the whole AI system? ”
I grab two plates and sit beside him. “Really?” I begin shoveling food on my plate like a wild animal ingesting prey.
“Yeah, he’s an AI programming prodigy, born in Kyoto, his mom was some big robotics innovator there.
She ran a lab for the biggest corporation in Japan, top secret military stuff.
His dad was an American diplomat representing one of the original three corporations.
Evidently, the parents disappeared shortly after StarFell.
Big cover-up.” His hands move around as he talks, that’s how I can tell he’s excited.
“Pretty shitty life after his parents disappeared, life on the streets, a long rap sheet for petty thefts. Until Vikktor found him and wiped them clean in return for recruitment at nineteen.” Eli continues scrolling down the screen.
“He’s a U21 but supposedly has no magic.
” He blinks at me frozen, like he’s trying to solve a complex math problem. “What the hell? That must suck.”
“Weird.” I break apart my chopsticks. “But possible. I’ve met a few of us who were not gifted at all.” I pick at a piece of pseudo shrimp.
“Pretty arrogant asshole if you ask me. All the interviews with him are pretty miserable to read through.” He quickly stuffs a tempura roll in his mouth and gets right back to his books.
We finish up our dinner, and I gently touch his shoulder.
I never want to startle Eli. The stronger his magic grows, the less control he has.
Sometimes his presence alone begins unraveling things.
That means he could take the whole world down simply by existing unchecked.
This makes him dangerous to the Corporation, because they can’t contain him with standard DreamNet monitoring or TheKast’s programming.
His ability could destabilize AI-managed systems, or worse, cause physical effects in reality.
I can’t even fathom what I would do if he was to be found as an anomaly on the grid.
“Hey, it’s been a week. I’m going to go lay down, do some VR in DreamNet.” I rub his shoulder affectionately.
“Sure, sure.” He doesn’t even look up from his studies.
I strip off my clothes, opting for a large T-shirt left by some random guy I brought back from STATIK one drunken night, and check the clock.
One can never be too careful about being in DreamNet at the wrong time, I want to be double sure that TheKast won’t interfere.
I touch the necklace Ash gave me to make sure it’s there. Test run.
I sprawl across the softness of my bed and twist my DreamNet band; it immediately comes to life on my wrist, glowing that familiar bright cyan light.
After a couple of deep breaths, my room fades to darkness, and I feel a slight pull, like being yanked through the eye of a needle.
The pixelated air melts as I see the familiar doors of the lobby.
Instead of my usual path, I look behind me to the door of the RedRoom hanging in the distance like a heart-shaped sun, throbbing through the haze.
It’s dangerous but everyone I know goes in there for fun.
Rumors say the RedRoom feeds off your fantasies and emotions, stealing pieces with every visit.
Some even claim it was coded by a rogue AI before the corporations locked DreamNet down. The Corporation monitors it obsessively, but they never shut it down. Of course, they watch; they need it too. Compliant citizens are not horny citizens.
Ash or Kael could be in there. Might be fun. Maybe just this once? I’ll just have a look around and be out in a few minutes.
I walk toward the pulsating door, each step vibrating through the floor like the bass of a song I shouldn’t be listening to. The frame of the doorway throbs, light syncing to my heartbeat. I feel it, a heightened arousal, tingling, like the room already knows my secret desires.
My fingertips brush the surface. It’s warm and inviting.
A rush of pressure slams into my body, like diving headfirst into water, as a stale wind rushes past me, pushing me forward. My vision flashes red, and the door swallows me whole.
I’m in.
The temperature shifts instantly from comfortable to downright hot. Thick air slides across my skin, and I catch the aroma of an exotic incense in the room. No doubt someone’s magic adding something electric and forbidden to the atmosphere.
A room designed to cater to your wants. A room built to expose you to forbidden desires.
And I’ve just walked right in.
Inside, everything is saturated in crimson light.
Music, laughter, and moans all blend until you can’t tell which is which, overloading the senses.
Along the left side runs a long bar underlit with red neon octagons that softly pulse like a slow heartbeat.
Its walls are made of strings of light crawling in and out from floor to ceiling, dripping scarlet pixels.
Doors flicker open and shut on the sides, but no one leaves the same way twice. I can only guess what happens in those side rooms if this one already smells of sweat and sex.
I aim for the farthest, darkest corner of the bar and begin walking carefully.
Everywhere I look there are red velvet couches, bodies strewn over them in precarious positions.
Beds, in various shapes and sizes line the outer walls, couples lying on them, drifting between them, some masked, to conceal their identities from the partners they’re with.
Others are draped in silk, leather, even chrome.
No one looks directly at me, yet I feel like all eyes in the room are on me, hungrily.
I pass the first sofa, trying not to stare, but my curiosity gets the better of me. Two beautiful men, completely nude, tattoos glowing, are worshipping a woman with dark green hair. One kissing her neck as the other moves between her legs. Everywhere I look there’s desire.
It’s quite clear this room was designed for indulgence, anonymity, and escape. The kind of place where people come to lose themselves in a city engineered to profit from loneliness.
The perfect example strolls in front of me as I make a beeline for the dark corner and slide onto the bar stool.
PleazureHolos glide through the RedRoom like living artwork, almost perfect.
Their faint wavering light surrounds them, syncing with the rhythm of the tech in the room, revealing that they’re close but not quite human.
Projected bodies, wrapped in simulated skin, each one sculpted from your most indulgent fantasies.
The days of finding your soulmate on a high-tech dating app are over.
Finding someone in person? Virtually impossible.
Now VikkCorp is more than happy to provide you with the perfect companion.
With enough money or credits, you can order and custom build your own date to fill the void where your own humanity used to be.
The holo-ads scream on every corner: “VikkCorp PleazureHolos: Perfection, Made Personal,” or “Design Desire. Download Devotion,” or my personal favorite “Love, Optimized.”
I laugh at the condescension. It really should say: “Choose Your Look. Choose Your Voice. Choose Your Obedience.”
The first time I saw one, I didn’t even realize what she was.
She stood on the arm of a man in a silver suit at a corporate gala: perfect posture, perfect smile, perfect skin.
Beautiful in a way no human ever is. She laughed when he laughed, leaned in when he spoke, her hand always at just the right place on his arm.
Like a reflection that anticipated his every movement before it happened.
Once you know what to look for, you see them everywhere, draped in diamonds they don’t like, sipping champagne they don’t taste. The wealthy and elite parade them like accessories, further proving to everyone that real humans are messy and inconvenient.
The wives don’t blink. That’s the part that makes me sick to my stomach.
I’ve heard them dismiss it with soft, practiced laughter.
“It’s not cheating. It’s just code.”
“At least it’s not another woman.”
As if that makes it better. As if replacing intimacy with something programmable isn’t its own kind of domestic violence. As if being second to a projection hurts less than being ignored by your own husband.
Every time I see a man gawking at the ads, lost in the allure, I feel it like a slap. No consent. No consequences.
I’m not jealous. Just angry. Because somewhere along the way, the men running the corporations decided women were optional. Replaceable. Upgradable.