Third Life

Outside, thumping relentlessly on my windowpane, the ruptured Chiba sky pours its thick, sticky summer rain. I take a long drag on a knock-off Marlboro, synth-tobacco clinging to my throat with a taste like ozone.

The sky is a cold slab of television-grey, lit by the humming neon of the Shinjuku district as it slices through the smog from over a mile away. 65 stories up and I can feel it - the Biz - far below on the streets, in the alleyways. The eternal hustle; a grey lawless economy, both sustained and frowned upon by the Zaibatsus who feed off its live-or-die vitality. In the bustle, amongst these thousands of hustlers, pimps, dealers, fixers, runners and marks, a hired door punk like me can feel God-damn alone. I need to get out, just for a few hours.

A few key punches on my Mac-Deck later and I'm jacked in. Virtual info floods through me like I've stepped into a neon waterfall. It's fresh, clean; the virtual world has no grime or dust. Just perfect lines. And Freedom. This is my Second Life.

I take a soar to the nearest night-island, maybe I can jack in again - if you know what I mean. A few byte- cocktails and a few laughs, and I never go home without an IM. My virtual appearance is a gruffer, beefier and more handsome version of myself. A lot more. Hell, it doesn't even look like me, but it's the man behind the Av that these chicks want to meet.

I arrive to find the place swamped with avatars. Great. Just typical, yet another corporate psuedo-political movement, shouting and screaming at some lowly In- World Corp. Damn, I hate the two-bit politics of this place. Rich kids and Corp Suits all with the money to run or ruin this metaverse. I don't even have the L$s in my V- Wallet for a weapon; then I'd really join in this shit.

This isn't how it used to be. Now I got rent to pay and riots to avoid and every island is an advert. I haven't got laid in months. And no friends left since Linden Labs hiked up the prices. Something has infected this World. And now there's only one place in it where I still feel free.

A few jumps later and I'm landing on a promontory off the coast of the Tessier Ashpool commercial sprawl. I walk down an alley to a flight of stairs that lead to an underground cellar. I crank the door open and step inside to find a smoke-filled room with a couple of Avys hunched over some virtual halo-decks. This is where I come to get away from it all, just for a few hours.

I ask the scrawny Flatline by the door for a Linden. He obliges. I light up and the smoke fills me. Virtual smokes - beautiful. I set myself down at a terminal and after a few punched keys I jack my Avatar into Third Life. The graphics are a little chunkier, the animations a little blockier, but my Av gets a kick out of it. Hell, so do I.