Lack of Faith

By Troim Kryzl

Third episode of the 1kYears Virtual Reality saga. Alt Left SciFi, imminent future type of. Diverse cast as usual. Some characters familiar, most new. Trigger warning for non-atheists: Chances are this plot comes across as blasphemous. Please do refrain from reading if you don't fancy making fun of religions.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Troim Kryzl
• Release date: Nov 5, 2017
• ISBN: 9781370488223

Troim Kryzl

Not providing a photograph and writing under a pen name for professional reasons. Please refer to my website and LinkedIn profile for as many details as can be made available under my current career circumstances.Mastodon: @[e-mail]

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Lack of Faith

Published by Troim Kryzl at Smashwords

Copyright 2017 Troim Kryzl

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

Thank you for downloading this ebook. This book remains the copyrighted property of the author, and may not be redistributed to others for commercial or non-commercial purposes. If you enjoyed this book, please encourage your friends to download their own copy from their favorite authorized retailer. Thank you for your support.

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Too much. Too soon. Way too much. Way too soon. One shouldn’t spoil one’s kids.

Dhak makes a stern face. Watching his performance on the dark screen of his standby phone, he’s pleased. Kind and stern achieved. And looking good. At forty two, he has gained in gravitas. The actor inside the manager is in better shape than ever,.

She’s done with her lessons. Drives well, according to her instructor.

Jaylo spent less than a quarter of the money to get to this stage.

Her overseas auntie wired too much. No clue, about MMA prices. The Mehut Metropolitan Area is an expensive location. Housing and imported goods are bad. But services, and anything locally made, are quite affordable. If you know where to look and how to buy.

Dhak nearly keeled over when this particular birthday present showed up on his bank account. The pounds converted into a stack of local cash. More than enough for Jaylo‘s lessons. And to get her the license. And for a downpayment on some unsafe wreck.

Dhak loves his eldest daughter. Doesn’t want her to die in a car crash.

Kind and generous looks even better. With a sigh, he activates the phone and sends out the alert request form. Tonight he’ll tell Jaylo to stop her wreck chase. He’ll get her a proper car.

Letting his eyes wander, Dhak tries to feel privileged. His own office. Corner. In a posh downtown high rise. Seeing eye to eye with the directorate of the central bank next door.

He’s a very senior manager. With a successful high tech company. Doesn’t get more cutting edge than 1kYears. And not just in MMA. Anywhere. Clients from all over the world. Paying millions, of US dollars, for their unique service. AIAP. As Immortal As Possible. As fancy as it gets.

Dhak belongs to the one percent. He’s aware he’s lucky. Doesn’t stop him from feeling the pressure. You still have to make ends meet. Even this far up.

He barely recalls life closer to the bottom. Dhakir Hassan needed a day job in a biscuits factory, and had to dine on their products on most days, to survive his comedian years. Politically ambitious standup, a sure path to starvation. Unless you’re born rich. It was a scramble, to keep himself alive. And a gamble. One illness or accident could have finished him off. And you do fall sick, quite often, without access to clean tap water.

His first screen roles didn’t improve matters much. Despite his looks, fluency in four languages and flashy stage name, Dhak Hash the actor didn’t make enough. Too few gigs. Hand-to-mouth precariousness. Less job security than a street cleaner, he used to joke.

His acting at least got him known. Helped him land better paid conferencier jobs. Promoting a hadj package one day and sex toys the next. As a young, aspirational comedian, he used to mock the assorted prejudices prevalent in the different strata of Ginerian society. Now he had to embody them. Adjusting his non-English inserts and the odd joke to the audience of the day became a routine. And he was making serious money, by his early standards.

He got introduced to his future wife - may she Rest In Peace - on one of the poshest occasions he ever had the chance to host. Inauguration of the first MMA branch of NoGharar Bank.

At the end of the event, he was still hanging around handing out business cards. Seeing the director himself approach, he expected a scalding, for unauthorized promotional activities. Got quizzed instead. About his religion, family background and marital status.

Two weeks later, Dhak got married to a flamboyantly beautiful, Swiss-British educated wife. A very low key ceremony. They barely met. A fake marriage, to keep up appearances. As her father had foretold, the freshly re-wed and re-named miss Hassan dumped two primary school age daughters, a six bedroom residence with a live-in nanny, a cook, a maid and a driver on a gaping Dhak, to immediately fly back to London to resume her partying.

A good deal. Dhak’s best deal ever. And Jaylo and Beora even turned out to be lovely kids. Less spoilt than their mom and aunt. The granny who supervised their early years had decided not to commit the same mistake for the third and forth time in a row.

Another two weeks later, at five thirty in the morning, miss Hassan keeled over. Right on the dance floor. Stimulant overdose, collapse, coma. Her father flew over to liaise with the doctors. They admitted lack of options. Irremediable brain damage had occurred. Advised the next of kin should grant permission to switch off the life support.

Dhak complied. His wife died. Her father stayed courteous throughout the ordeal.

They agreed on a cover story. A traffic accident, caused by a drunk driver. Just like lady Di. The kind of tragedy kids can handle. Dhak was allowed to inherit the house and staff. And granted a monthly allowance. To make sure his daughters would grow up in adequate style.