One

He was always searching for something. He didn’t know what. That certain something missing from his life. The urge to find whatever it was just existed, an impossible to scratch itch. He did know he’d recognize it when he saw it. With a heavy sigh, he dragged himself out of bed and went through his morning work out. He lagged throughout, suffering from the mother of all hangovers.

When it was finally over, a sonic shower cleansed him and his room; he and everything he owned had to be kept completely sterile, as per the law. He sat in silence for a moment, afraid he’d pass out. But it passed, and he hooked himself up to his machine. Oh that machine. The magical device that connected him to the rest of the world. Without it, he’d only ever see the same drab four walls of the almost completely empty room he inhabited. Really, the only things in it were him, his bed and his magic machine. He slid his hands into the ports and sat down. As soon as the seat registered the pressure of his body weight, two cables connected to ports on his wrists and he was connected. The metaverse.

Like the real world, only better. More colorful. In real life, his room and things were all a bland gray color. In the metaverse, he had posters and his walls were painted in bright primary colors. He preferred it that way. As soon as his machine registered his hangover, a chemical cocktail entered his system through a different port, in the back of his neck. He felt better almost instantly.

He dragged himself from the privacy of his room to his door. As soon as he touched it a list of frequently visited places appeared. He selected “work” and his room winked out around him, to be replaced by his workplace. Work, by the way, was with the New York Police Dept. There was really only one crime, now that every day life took place strictly online. The crime? Physical human contact. Sometimes, though he’d never admit it – even to himself – he envied the touchers. In the dark of night, alone in his bed, he wondered what it was like to physically touch another person. He wondered how different it was from touching someone in the metaverse.

If there was a difference; the metaverse was supposed to be a perfect virtual representation of the real world down to the very last detail. But he wouldn’t know. All he knew was the virtual. Same with everyone. He sat behind his desk, shuffling and reshuffling papers, lost in this train of thought.

Two

 Smith had barely gotten behind his desk when his partner burst in. He looked up from the heap of paperwork in front of him wearily; Smith wasn’t very fond of his partner. At first he found him off putting, but as time grew on he began to actually fear him. He didn’t know why. Just something about the other man disturbed him in a subtle yet very deep way.

“What do you want, Comrade Jones?” Smith asked, lighting a cigarette.

“Well you can put that disgusting thing out entirely, for starters.”

“No. My office. My rules.”

“It smells like shit, Comrade Smith.”�

“What do you want, Comrade Jones?”

“Right. We got a call.”

“Are you serious?” Smith hung his head, tiredly. It was too early in the morning for this shit. “It’s too early for this shit.”

“Crime don’t wait for no man, Comrade Smith.” Jones pursed his lips. Jones blinked out as soon as he crossed the threshold. Smith followed, selecting drone detail as soon as he got to his door. Crossing over, he was almost instantly in a drone. It was a little disorienting.

One second he’s in the office, the next he’s in a car screaming down the streets of New York City. Speed was never an issue. There wasn’t anyone on the streets anyway. The source of their call lay out ahead of them: an old subway entrance. The scene shifted, the car vanishing around them, leaving them on their feet. Jones was already heading to the subway entrance, Smith hurried to catch up.