AFK, All of it

By Huckleberry Hax

ALL FIVE NOVELS OF THE AFK SERIES:

AFK. Definitely Thursday, Second Life® detective, reflects on cases and confessions, on love, on anger and on understanding the virtual world as perhaps the greatest liberator there has ever been.

AFK, AGAIN. Step Stransky is dead. All that Thursday has to do is live with the fact of being his killer.

AFK, INDEFINITELY. Step Stransky is dead. And everyone knows now it was murder. And everyone knows now it was Thursday who murdered him. Can she stay ahead of the law long enough to complete one last mission in the metaverse?

AFK, INPURSUIT OF AVENGEMENT. The virtual world is changing. And Definitely Thursday is struggling to keep up. Once she tracked down metaverse cheats; now her job is to find criminals who would use the virtual world to con, rape and murder.

AFK, AWAITING. Her partner is dead and the killer's coming for her next; meanwhile, her cover is blown and the authorities are once more on her trail. The net is finally starting to close around Thursday.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Huckleberry Hax
• Release date: Mar 13, 2018
• ISBN: 9781370600649

Huckleberry Hax

Huckleberry Hax writes novels set in and around virtual worlds. His best-known titles are the books of the AFK series set in Second Life®.A resident of Second Life since 2007, Huck also writes regularly on his blog about the metaverse and was a columnist for the acclaimed AVENUE magazine for over two years. His book, Second Life is a place we visit, collects together 42 of these articles.Huck is also an experienced voice performer in SL and has read aloud from his and other titles at a wide range of venues, including Milkwood, The Blue Angel, Bookstacks, Cookie, Nordan Art and Basilique.Huck's other interests include poetry (he has published a volume of his own poems called Old friend, learn to look behind you in the coffee queue and co-edited issue one of the poetry journal, 'Blue Angel Landing'), photography and machinima.

Book preview

AFK

For Dad.

Ten years departed from RL.

LOVE

1

This is how you make a listening device in Second Life®. It starts with a prim; you know how to create one of those, right? Right-click, select 'create' then left click anywhere on the ground. If building is allowed there, of course. So you have a cuboid prim. On the big grey window find the 'content' tab and click on 'new script.'

The air is thick with communication in SL, just as it is in Real Life. But it's not just the people doing the talking in SL. Plenty of the objects you walk past are all gassing away to each other in their own particular way. Otherwise the objects that do things, well, wouldn't. In Real Life objects communicate in digital codes. In SL, one object can send a message to another on any one of literally millions of channels. It could be a digital code. It could just as easily be a message like, 'you smell'.

And – of course – objects can listen as well as talk. Take a look at that tree you're standing next to; are you *sure* it's not leaning that way so it can tune into you that little bit better?

A tiny amount of script and your bog standard prim becomes a fully functioning listening device:

integer channel = 0;

integer listen_handle = 0;

default {

state_entry()

{listen_handle = llListen(channel,,NULL_KEY, );}

listen(integer channel, string name, key id, string message)

{llInstantMessage(llGetOwner(),name+: +message);}}

Seriously. That's all it takes. Drop your innocent little box (no-one ever suspects the virgin prim) in your listening location, then take yourself to anywhere you like in SL. Anywhere. From this point on, anything spoken in public chat within a 20 metre range will be delivered straight to you via the magic of Instant Message. If you're outworld and you've configured SL to email you your IMs it'll even mail it to you. Not that that's an issue for me these days, now that I'm SLFT.

Oh yeah... Terms Of Service stuff, etc. Don't blame getting banned on me.

So that's the technical stuff. Next there's the issue of concealment. The brand new prim will only actually go unnoticed in a certain type of location. By that I don't mean it'll come under suspicion, just that someone will end up cleaning it up. You can go for a variety of disguises if you want – I used to do that quite a bit in the early days of the agency, thinking it was some sort of field craft. But really the simplest thing to do is just to sink it under the surface of the ground. No-one ever looks down there – they can't if they don't have their camera constraints disabled in any case. And if they did and saw a prim there who would really give a shit?

Ok. So what if the place you want to bug won't let you build stuff? Let's be honest – this is, after all, kind of likely. When was the last time you went to a shop and bought something you could actually rez there and then? Actually, you might be surprised when it comes to private parcels at just how few people *do* protect their land from other people building stuff there; bugging a private property can sometimes work out a lot easier than you were expecting. But that doesn't get around another key problem, which is that targets have this annoying habit of going to places. Philandering husbands in particular are prone to *not* bringing girlfriends back to places they are known to frequent, such as their houses (awkward bastards, I know); even if you've discovered the land is open to you for building, therefore, more often than not your carefully placed bug ends up listening to nothing more than an evening's worth of silence. Oh and don't forget, it's easy to look up the ownership of foreign objects on your land, giving targets a direct link back to you if it ever occurs to them to do this (again; you'd be surprised how rare this is). It's not an entirely insurmountable problem, that, but it can be a bloody nuisance for half an hour or so when it happens.

My name is Definitely Thursday, by the way. 'Def' to anyone who can't be bothered to type, though those who can seem to prefer 'Thursday'. On paper I'm 50 per cent of the Step Stransky Second Life Detective Agency. Well, technically I'm an employee, (although that's a fairly fluid situation at this particular moment in time). I have about 49 per cent of the say and at least 70 per cent of the case load. But I do *love* my job. The demand is simply astonishing. It's all about infidelity, of course. It's all about paranoid 'partners' keeping tabs on their newly acquired spouses. It's all about that week or so following the ceremony and the noticing that the partner isn't on quite as much as s/he used to be... and so on, and so on.

That is until the case of Arton Urriah.

Arton, I should point out, was the target. It was his wife who'd come into the office during an afternoon in October. Regarding infidelity. I think it was three weeks the couple had been married at that point (nothing odd in that), though they'd known each other longer. It was the usual kind of worry.

Starfish Picturebook: You are a detective?

Step Stransky: Yes indeed. Would you care to sit down?

Starfish Picturebook: Excuse me, do you follow husbands? I need to know what mine is doing.

Starfish Picturebook fiddles awkwardly and feels like she's going to cry.

Step Stransky: It's ok Starfish. People cry in here a lot.

Step Stransky offers Starfish some tissues.

Step Stransky: Yes we can look into your husband's activities if you'd like.

Step Stransky: I see from your profile you're recently married...

Starfish Picturebook: yes...

Step Stransky: My dear, can I ask how it is your suspicions have come to be aroused?

Step Stransky: Please take your time.

Step was so much better at the initial interviews than me. More tact, I guess.

Starfish Picturebook: Well... I noticed that he always waits now for me to log off first.

Starfish Picturebook: Since after the wedding.

A common sign. I reckon at least half our clients come in reporting that one at some point during their interview. It starts off a small annoyance to them, but within a couple of days they've started checking out the bit on the website that shows which of their friends are online, desperate to try and work out what the hell their other half is up to. The next thing they notice is that it's their partner each evening that brings up the subject of logging off first.

Starfish Picturebook: Why talk about going to bed and then not do it?

Starfish Picturebook: One evening, sure – things come up unexpectedly.

Starfish Picturebook: Two I can tolerate...

Starfish Picturebook: But *every* evening?

Step Stransky: I understand.

Which, incidentally, was one of Step's favourite phrases. It's unbelievable what he achieved with that line, in fact. And it always came just before the 'rephrase':

Step Stransky: So you think your husband wants you to log off so he can do things without you?

The 'rephrase' appearing to me to be nothing more than pretty much repeating back exactly what had been said with a few extra words in a few different places. Yet people seemed to love it when Step used it on them. I must admit I have tried it out myself a few times, occasionally with very satisfying results...

Starfish Picturebook: Yes, Mr Stransky. I do.

Starfish Picturebook: He was on once for three hours after I'd logged off.

Starfish Picturebook: In the end I logged back in again and asked him what the hell he was doing.

Step Stransky: You logged back into SL?

Starfish Picturebook: Yes.

Starfish Picturebook: He told me a friend needed some help.

Step Stransky: Did he mention who? Did he say with what?

Starfish Picturebook: I didn't ask and he didn't say.

Step Stransky: And the next evening...?

Starfish Picturebook: And the next evening.

I never actually got to meet Starfish. I very nearly IMed her, but more about that later. The 'rules', for want of a better way of putting it, were that when Step took down the details I took on the job. And vice versa.

Step Stransky: Is your husband a land owner?

Starfish Picturebook: Oh yes. A landlord, in fact.

Starfish Picturebook: A big one.

Step Stransky: But he has a house? Of his own?

Starfish Picturebook: *Our* house, you mean?

Step Stransky: Yes.

Starfish Picturebook: Well... neither of us are spending much time there at the moment.

Step Stransky: Where does he like to spend time then?

Starfish Picturebook: I met him in a jazz club; we still go there sometimes.

Starfish Picturebook: But I'm pretty sure he doesn't go there after I log.

Starfish Picturebook: Well I checked that evening, at least.

Step Stransky: We'll need your help if we're going to find out where he goes and what he does.

Starfish Picturebook: What do you need me to do?

Step Stransky: If you gave him something to wear do you think he'd put it on?

Which brings us back to listening devices, and the solution to the problems of building permissions and target movement: don't bug the land if it's at all possible to bug the person.

Starfish Picturebook: What kind of thing?

Step Stransky: Does he like watches?

Why a watch? It has to be an attachable item first of all, because shirts and trousers can't have scripts put in them. The other thing about shirts and trousers is that they tend to be removed when avatars get down to the business of virtual adultery – and that, at the end of the day, is the event we're trying to record. Unlike RL, there's no trail of underwear across a lover's bedroom floor that a listening device can snuggle in; clothes not worn get stuck in inventory, where they can't listen to a damned thing. So shoes are no good for the same reason.

But watches often get left on. At least, *nice* watches get left on. And I make very nice watches.

Starfish Picturebook: I suppose if I gave him a watch he probably would wear it, yes.

Starfish Picturebook: I mean, If I insisted.

I actually rent a little stand for my watches at a jeweller in Varano. Watches *without* a listening script installed, of course. Just for the sake of authenticity. It does very well. It pays for itself, in fact.

2

It's cold in RL as I write this. My breath is wispy white in the glare of the monitor. Just like the steam that's rising from my coffee. I'm observing both and thinking 'particle effects.'

Inch is IMing me, all stressed again about Step's whereabouts. It must be five times I've told her already he's probably just AFK for a bit. Apparently they were due to meet up about now. Which is handy to know.

Inworld, I'm sitting on The Wall at Bear and there's absolutely nobody about. Five minutes from now it might be absolutely crawling with avatars old and new. Bear can be like that. It's where I was 'born'. It stopped being my Home location a long time ago, but I always find a little time each week to spend here. It's good to keep in touch with your roots. I suppose I could invite Inch over here if she's in need of company... It's just that that's not really part of the plan. Moments like this are important when it comes to plans. Deviating just that little bit when you think all the hard stuff is done and out of the way is exactly the way that cock-ups happen. See it through, all the way. See it through to the end.

I'm gazing at her name on my friends list and tracing absently with my finger where her name is scratched into my desk. It's a fine old desk that I own, but by old I don't mean 'antique.' This used to be a teacher's desk in a school; I reckon it was in use maybe twenty to thirty years ago. The surface is well worn, but most of the stuff that's scratched into that has been done by me since I got it. It has two drawers and they're each still lined with big squares of coloured card like you used to get out with scissors and glue during wet play. Lift the card up and the bottom of the drawers underneath is absolutely covered with scribblings and doodles. Sometimes I tip everything out of both drawers and try to work out what's been written there, but it isn't easy because at some point someone went over everything with first a red and then a green crayon. What fascinates me is that they didn't just scribble at random over the whole drawer bottom – they actually took the time to cross out every individual word. Twice.

There's so much stuff I can't work out in the world. Where hidden graffiti in the bottom of a teacher's desk comes from is one of those things.

Above the word 'Inch' I have our 'special code' scribed across the desk in blue, black, red and finally green ballpoint. We agreed it several months ago during a late night drinking session. It's amazing how an Internet connection and a couple of distant chums can transform the way you feel about sitting alone in front of the monitor with a bottle of economy red.

Step Stransky: We should have a code.

Inch Sideways: A code?

Step Stransky: A code.

Definitely Thursday: What sort of a code?

Step Stransky: An identifier code. Something we can use to identify ourselves by.

Inch Sideways: To each other?

Step Stransky: Exactly.

Definitely Thursday: Are we talking SL or RL here?

Step Stransky: Both.

Inch Sideways: Both?

Step Stransky: Why not?

Inch Sideways: Are there plans to meet up in real life that I don't know about here?

Definitely Thursday was about to ask the same thing.

Step Stransky: Why, you want to?

Inch Sideways: Do you?

Step Stransky: I asked first.

Definitely Thursday: Haven't we had this conversation before?

Definitely Thursday: Several times?

Step Stransky glares at Thursday and puts his finger across his lips.

Inch Sideways: Funny like being smashed in the face.

Step Stransky: What I was thinking is...

Step Stransky: We all use alts, right?

Definitely Thursday: No.

Inch Sideways: No.

Step Stransky: Exactly. Wouldn't it be cool if we had a code phrase we could use to each other when we thought we'd 'spotted' one.

Inch Sideways: Eh?

Definitely Thursday: Oh I see what you're on about.

Inch Sideways: You do?

Step Stransky: Well it works like this: say I'm out and about and I see this fabulous young blonde admonishing someone for the use of the acronym 'lol'...

Inch Sideways: Oh for crying out loud...

Inch Sideways: I can't believe I'm the only one with this issue

Definitely Thursday: It is so wrong...

Definitely Thursday: ...people laughing out loud like that.

Inch Sideways: That's just it, though – are they? Are they actually laughing out loud in front of their monitor? Are they actually filling their rooms with laughter?

Inch Sideways thinks not.

Step Stransky: May I continue?

Inch Sideways: Is this actually going to be interesting?

Step Stransky: Think of it as a game, if you will.

Step Stransky: You walk past the avatar you think is an alt...

Step Stransky: ...and as you pass you utter the code phrase in chat.

Step Stransky: If you're right you get a point!

Inch Sideways: That's the most ridiculous thing I ever heard.

Inch Sideways: For the principle reason...

Inch Sideways: ...that if I didn't want you know that such-and-such an avatar was me in the first place...

Inch Sideways: ...then code phrase or no code phrase I would still ignore you.

Definitely Thursday nods.

Step Stransky hadn't thought of that.

Inch Sideways: Wow. The great detective.

Step Stransky: Still think it would be good though...

Step Stransky: Then we could... use it to identify ourselves!

Definitely Thursday: Isn't that what you said in the first place?

Inch Sideways: So I'm in an alt – unrecognisable to you – and you, for some reason, come up to me and identify yourself using the code phrase?

Step Stransky: Exactly!

Inch Sideways: And I haven't recognised you already because...?

Step Stransky: Right, right. Yes, there is that too.

Step Stransky: Aha! But what if *I* was in alt form *too*?!

Step Stransky: Eh?

Step Stransky: Eh?

Inch Sideways: Do you think we should have a secret code, Thursday?

Definitely Thursday: Yes. Yes I do.

Inch Sideways: For what purpose?

Definitely Thursday: Because it would be well cool.

Scratched across my desk was the phrase, 'Thursday is Definitely a Sideways Step.'

The other great thing about my desk is that it's got this hole at the back where an ink well used to go. All my cables go through it now, and I've noticed that they're making office desks these days with ink well holes for exactly that purpose (ie, cables). I like it when design features survive because they evolve their function. So my desk in SL now has a hole in it too, because I think it should be acknowledged that desks have to have holes in them – that's just the way desks are.

I recently moved. I tipped all the stuff out of my drawers and took the card out and photographed all the crossed out graffiti. I uploaded it as a texture and applied it to the bottom of my desk drawers in SL. I did all of this solely for the highly remote possibility that one day the person that did all the crossing out might come across my desk in SL and look inside it and see his or her work again, after all these years. And maybe they might tell me why they did it.

It's cold in RL as I write this. Inch's name looks so lonely on the monitor. But I will see it through, all the way. I'll see it through to the end.

3

Oh, a quick word of warning... don't use that script code I gave you earlier in a listening device that you trick your target into wearing. Without modifying it, I mean. If they're *wearing* it then of course they *own* it and the script unaltered will spew forth its feed to whoever its owner is – ie, them. Which would rather signal the end of your cover if it happened. It's the 'llGetOwner()' bit that needs changing, and you can work out how to do that for yourself.

The first I knew about the Urriah case was when the familiar green text started rising up the screen. I looked for a name I recognised and couldn't see one, so I surmised Step had handed out a new watch to a new client.

Watch: Starfish Picturebook: Do you like it?

Watch: Arton Urriah: It's beautiful, baby.

Watch: Starfish Picturebook: I want you to keep it on always.

Watch: Arton Urriah: I promise you it's not ever leaving this wrist.

Watch: Arton Urriah wonders if it's waterproof.

Watch: Starfish Picturebook: LOL

As usual it was asking too much for Step to give me any sort of advance notice before I started getting the feed. The problem with this sort of device is that you can't turn it off (well you can, but it's complicated) and a particularly active feed can flood your screen in seconds. I'm pretty sure this is actually the reason why he never gives me any warning, incidentally. I think he thinks it's funny. In a buddy-buddy kind of way.

I IMed him.

Definitely Thursday: I see I have a new case.

Step Stransky: She got him to wear it already?

Step Stransky: Can't have left here more than 10 minutes ago.

Right. Sure.

Definitely Thursday: Any specifics I need to know?

Step Stransky: Nah

Step Stransky: So what you up to?

I was in my house at the time, looking at a picture of Inch.

Definitely Thursday: Checking out a new nudist beach.

Step Stransky: You dirty bastard!

Step Stransky: Ah, the single life!

Step Stranskey gets all nostalgic.

Step Stransky: Any luck?

Definitely Thursday: I'm looking at an amazing AV right now...

Definitely Thursday: The skin is just incredible...

Definitely Thursday: she's three days old, apparently...

Step Stransky: Ahhhhh. An alt, then.

I could almost hear him salivating. It was Step's contention that all gorgeous newbies were alts created just for sex. Coming across them in the 'mature' sims pretty much cinched it, according to his logic. My guess is that he was rationalising his own behaviour with a sweeping generalisation, but that's only a hunch.

I currently own seventeen different alts, four of which I will never be able to use again. I have no idea how many Step used. Of course he *told* me it was only seven. But then I told him I only had six.

Susan Sonnet is my favourite alt. Skin and shape by ND (Paris, naturally); hair by Abyss, outfits by Blaze. Classy, aloof, unobtainable and utterly drop dead gorgeous. It cost me a fortune in Lindens to put her together, but a stickier SL honey pot you could not imagine. I'm telling you, she's deadly.

And I put her on for the night that I met Arton Urriah.

You walk into a place wearing an AV like Susan and the first thing that happens is that IM windows appear to start breeding right in front of you. Poor old Def, in his denim jacket and Whitesnake T-shirt, can stand in the corner of a dance hall for an hour and watch sixty minutes' worth of other people dancing come and go, but not Susan. Sometimes the carpet hasn't even rezzed beneath her feet before the first of her offers start coming in.

Arnold Torchemyer: Free for some fun?

Happiest Redmond: nice lady you want 2 dance?

Bottle42 Guy: are u with so?

Bottle42 Guy: way too few good looking girls around lol

Bottle42 Guy: wanna move away?

And sometimes she replies.

Baz Winchester: hi

Susan Sonnet: hey

Baz Winchester: are you escort here?

Susan Sonnet: no

Baz Winchester: are you waiting for someone?

Susan Sonnet: no

Baz Winchester: do you want to dance?

Susan Sonnet: no

Baz Winchester: do you want to fuck?

Susan Sonnet: no

Baz Winchester: do you speak Italian?

Susan Sonnet: no

But most of the time Susan just finds a spot to stand in and wait, and tries to shut the IM windows down just as fast as they keep on popping up. And waits for the IM from the target. Which nearly always comes.

Did I mention my Animation Overrider? It's intense. It's custom-made. It has some *amazing* stands (I never sit Susan in public). Most importantly, the poses don't override gaze direction. Think about it. When you're a newbie and you've not yet got hold of your first AO your AV's head turns to look at whoever you're checking out with your camera. In other words, other people can see what you're looking at. Which can be kind of annoying. Load up an AO and often as not your AV's head stays rock steady wherever you point your cursor, so you can look wherever the hell you like and nobody is the wiser. Sort of the SL equivalent of sunglasses, and don't tell me you don't know what I mean there. Great if you want to *avoid* attracting attention, of course, but that's not what Susan's about at all. I guess I could have forgone the AO altogether – and in all likelihood it wouldn't have mattered much with an avatar as good as hers – but I'm just too much of a perfectionist for that. I got the poses made by a contact of one of my other alts - Burp Basingstoke (he does building and stuff, and attends all sorts of 3D modelling and scripting classes). The best one of the lot has her with arms folded and a stare on her face that you just can't work out. I hold down ALT, I left click on the target... and I wait for them to notice me.

Arton Urriah: Hello there Susan

Susan Sonnet: hey

Arton Urriah: All alone tonight?

Susan Sonnet: How do you know it's night time where I am?

Arton Urriah: lol

Arton Urriah: I had a feeling.

Susan Sonnet: What a clever boy you are.

Susan Sonnet notices from his profile that Arton has a partner.

Susan Sonnet sighs.

Arton Urriah is intrigued that Susan has noticed that so quickly.

Susan Sonnet: She looks nice.

Arton Urriah: That's because she *is*.

Susan Sonnet: Hmmmm.... nice wedding vows.

Arton Urriah: You're looking at Starfish's profile now?

Susan Sonnet: I can't help myself... I'm a profile junkie.

Which is actually true. I see an interesting avatar and I *have* to check out their details. Wherever I am. Whatever I'm doing. Ironically, my own is utter shit.

Arton Urriah laughs.

Arton Urriah: Yeah I do that sometimes lol.

Susan Sonnet: You know, I never got invited to an SL wedding before.

Which *isn't* true, even if I sometimes wish it was.

Arton Urriah: Really? I've been to several now.

Susan Sonnet: Do people bring gifts?

Susan Sonnet: Do you get to listen to speeches?

Susan Sonnet: Does the virtual bride throw her digital bouquet?

Arton Urriah: LOL

Susan Sonnet: :)

Susan Sonnet: I would be good at an SL wedding.

Susan Sonnet: People would remember me.

Susan Sonnet: It's an injustice that I've never been invited to one.

All this time I was standing in my spot midway between the bar and the dance floor, and Arton was sitting on a barstool between a newbie in a painted-on tuxedo and a guy in a Star Trek costume. There was a hesitancy to Arton's IMs at first – small pauses which could only mean he had other IM windows open. You learn to recognise such things. After a few minutes though the hesitancy was gone and I knew I had his complete attention. 'Arton, my boy,' he was probably thinking, 'play your cards right and this could be your lucky night.'

Arton Urriah: Care for a dance?

Susan Sonnet: I thought you'd never ask.

We strolled over to the dance balls. Arton's decisiveness was refreshing (Susan finds male umming and ahhing such a pain in the arse, although Def can twist himself into knots trying to 'gauge' things right). Without any messing about we were waltzing. The sync was terrible and the music was worse... in fact, I seem to recall it was a radio commercial for Viagra just at that moment. But we made an attractive couple, nonetheless. Decisive or not, I still had to endure the thirty seconds or so of silence you nearly always get at the start of a dance with someone new, whilst they try to come up with an appropriately modified banter that takes into account the fact that you're now touching each other (it can be up to a minute if you've gone straight for one of the slow dances). I spent the time looking up the creator of his hair and wondering what on earth had convinced him to go for that particular colour.

Arton Urriah is offering friendship.

By default, you will be able to see each other's online status.

Arton Urriah is online.

Arton Urriah: Thnx :))

Arton Urriah: I haven't seen you here before.

Susan Sonnet: I've been here once or twice I think.

Susan Sonnet: The music was better last time.

Arton Urriah: That wouldn't be difficult lol

I could see this was going to amble indefinitely without any assistance.

Susan Sonnet: So... if you don't mind me asking...

Susan Sonnet: Where is Starfish tonight?

Arton Urriah: She's offline at the moment.

Pause. I waited for the change of subject.

Arton Urriah: You have an amazing AV.

Bingo!

Susan Sonnet: Why thanks. You cut a pretty dashing profile yourself :)

Arton Urriah: hehe. Thanks :)

Arton Urriah: Where are you from?

Ah yes. Always the geography. I gave my standard reply:

Susan Sonnet: Oh... here and there.

Arton Urriah: lol

Arton Urriah: Fair enough.

The ballroom was pretty packed that evening, which made moving my camera around a little hard. Busy rooms make my PC most unhappy when my mouse gets its usual bouts of wanderlust. I suppose I should get a faster graphics card, or something. But that would require RL money, which was something of an issue at that time. I should have kept my camera in one place, but Arton was starting to bore me already, and meanwhile a rather stunning troupe of dancers had taken to the stage, all bling, feathers and thongs. A couple of guys in pinstripes (I recognised the suits instantly as MadeMen) were mixed amongst them with fedoras and canes and stuff. It was all very pleasing to the eyes. Especially the thongs. I decided a blue garter worn by one of the dancers was deserving of a much closer inspection and zoomed in on what I believed was some writing there. It was asking too much and my PC froze up for a full two minutes, an over-zoomed piece of floorboard filling my screen whilst the egg-timer rotated because the dancer had had the cheek to move her leg just a split second before I'd Alt-clicked on it.

When the action resumed it was still pretty jerky and I knew a relog wasn't far off. The screen got filled with two minutes' worth of chat spam (typically, I'd managed to miss a lucky chair again) and Arton's IMs took on a sense of growing concern.

Arton Urriah: I guess I should know better.

Arton Urriah: I like to keep my RL separate too.

Arton Urriah: I usually don't ask any more than country...

Arton Urriah: it's just cool to know how many hundreds (thousands?) of miles separate us!

Arton Urriah: Ok, so I might end up asking your age at some point.

Arton Urriah: lol

Arton Urriah: And it's conceivable that I might just check you really are female hahaha.

Arton Urriah: You still with me?

Arton Urriah: Oh.

Arton Urriah: Did I upset you?

Arton Urriah: It was only a question.

Arton Urriah feels foolish.

Arton Urriah: Ok fine.

Arton Urriah: See you around.

And therein lies the problem with SL communication. It's not what you say, it's the way that you say it. Kind of. Sure, we use smilies and stuff, but we're never *really* sure of the manner in which things have been said. Tuning into the non-verbals is impossible, because there *are* no non-verbals; although we look for them all the same. It's like anthropomorphism, where you attribute human qualities to inanimate objects or animals. At least I think that's what it's like. I guess it probably isn't. But you know what I mean.

Of course, there's always voice chat. But I have gender identification issues with that.

I reset my view, and he was still there, still spinning me around (it was a very poor waltz). My fingers flew to the keyboard to type reassuring comments and at that precise moment the phone started to ring. Shit! I'd been waiting on a call all morning. And the cordless was in the bog, where I'd taken it earlier so I wouldn't miss it, and... I cursed at the screen, kicked back my chair and legged it...

I got back just in time to see the fairy lights circling his empty spot.

Susan Sonnet: Aaaarrrrgggghhhh! My PC locked up!!!

Second Life: User not online - message will be stored and delivered later.

Bollocks. But it wasn't a total disaster. Things like that can be repaired in SL just as quickly as they can be broken. Provided he wasn't outworld for too long and provided he wasn't so popular his IMs got capped then my message would probably bring him straight back, cap in hand. To be on the safe side I added:

Susan Sonnet: Awww you left :(

Susan Sonnet: Damn my stupid PC.

Susan Sonnet: You poor thing, you must have thought me so rude!

The trick to repairing and rebuilding, you see, is always to try to see things from the other person's point of view; never, ever, under any circumstances question the way they see it. It's an easy strategy to follow when you don't actually give a shit.

Susan Sonnet hopes she hears from Arton soon.

Susan Sonnet might even tell him how many miles separate her and him!

If that didn't do it then nothing would. I waited a few minutes longer, just in case he was screening via email and came back online when he realised what a complete idiot he'd been. Then I relogged, returning to the grid as Def and throwing on a Blaze tuxedo before following the landmark I'd sent myself from Susan. Back to the club. There was the small matter of the dancer with the blue garter to attend to. I sent her a hundred Linden tip and an IM about removing the garter with my teeth.

Sunshine Laminate: lol

Sunshine Laminate: thanks for the tip honey.

Sunshine Laminate: but you see I'm not hetero...

Sunshine Laminate: I prefer the company of ladies to gentlemen.

A guy, then. Never mind. For a moment I didn't care; I actually contemplated bringing Susan back on and seeing if the same line might work coming from her. Girl or not, I could really see the two of us wrapping ourselves around each other somewhere. But that kind of evening can be such a work up. I decided I couldn't be bothered. I wondered, absently, if the dancer was Step in disguise. Nothing would surprise me of that guy.

4

Sometimes you get what you're after with your bug; sometimes you get what you're after with your alt. You try both each time because it doubles your chances. It's all about speed. When you're working on a fixed fee, fast is good.

Every now and then, neither works. One guy once refused to wear anything he hadn't made himself - he even had a home-made penis (scripted and everything). Those were the days before Susan, and I reckon I might have had a bit more luck with that case if she'd been around back then. I did have a female avatar and she wasn't at all unpleasant to look at, but I guess a one night stand with an AV called 'Bitchonheat Doggy' was never going to be everyone's cup of tea. You live and learn. She's not one of the four, by the way.

In the end I had to resort to a newbie disguise (the white T-shirt guy, the one that looks so innocent). I spent a whole week hanging out at this bloke's info hub, knowing he'd at least be there each day for the half hour start to his evening (I guess it was a comfort thing). It was a drip drip drip affair. The first day I just hung out on the periphery of the group - 'lurking' is the term, I believe. The next day I laughed at some of their jokes and one of them - not the target - asked me how I was enjoying SL. And so I used the killer line:

Bilkoben57 Hex: I like but no-one is to make friendship with me.

By the end of that hour my friends list was bulging, but the target had TPed off on other business before I'd had a chance to get to him. By the end of day three, however, not only had he been added, but he'd given me a load of freebie store landmarks and taken me shopping for prim hair. Day four was Saturday. I came on later than usual in the evening and IMed him, asking if he knew of a good place to take a woman. Within half an hour I had the photos in the bag and the Lindens in my account.

More often than not, people trust each other far too much in SL. That's why this job is so easy most of the time. Yes, I abuse people's friendship, there's no point in denying it. I do what I have to to get the job done. I do feel guilt, but ultimately all I'm delivering is a consequence to a behaviour that in the first instance was a choice. What it all boils down to is that people just don't realise what they're getting themselves into when they register for this whole experience. And when they first make friends. And when they first have simulated sex in Sinners' Paradise or Sumo's Playpen in the Sky. It's all too much freedom and fun to understand that real hearts are getting hooked, committed and broken. Once you do actually realise that you either quit – because it's just too exhausting – or you start trying to take care of people. Or you make a conscientious decision not to care a damn. And by 'taking care' I don't mean avoiding relationships, because – let's face it – they're what makes SL the best killer app there's ever been; by 'taking care' I mean making things clear and not pretending you're after long-term love and manogomistic happiness.

Fuck; I'm getting preachy. I was just about to get onto the whole children thing and all; I'll save my views on that freaky shit for later.

I still remember the poorly-concealed smirks that used to slide their way across people's faces in RL when I was still bothering to tell them about my new-found interest. Hell, I'd had one all of my own not so long before. I mean, it had been like hearing people tell you their best mate was Jet Set Willy.

The first time I saw SL was when some kid of a friend's friend was crashing on my floor overnight, down for the day for some sort of a job interview, I think. I saw him looking across at the PC in my flat and, half guessing his intentions, told him it'd be fine if he wanted to check his email. So he asked if it would be ok instead to install the Second Life viewer for a couple of hours and hang out with his buddies on the grid (he didn't put it quite like that). I admit it: I looked at him and thought to myself, 'you sad, sad little bastard.' And he knew I was thinking that when I looked at him, and I don't think he gave a shit. Likely as not he'd thought the same thing himself when he'd had his own first look at SL. He knew then as I know now that there's no point whatsoever in trying to force that which curiosity will manage all by itself in good time.

I watched him logging in, knowing that he resented my observation. The first thing he showed me was a sandbox and how to stretch and squeeze a prim. I got bored and left him to it after five minutes, and he was tapping away all evening after that. Of course I realise now his little guided tour was all about reducing my interest just as far as it would go in the hope that I'd fuck off and leave him to it. I just remember seeing wooden things being moved about and people walking stiffly, and wandering what on earth all the fuss was about. Of course I'd *heard* about SL before then. In passing. On the radio. On the telly. On the net. Next big thing, I'd heard them saying. Just like they'd said about the web all those years ago. And, just like I hadn't believed it about the web, I hadn't believed it about SL – not one bit. I actually went to bed that night wondering what all those geeks and nerdies were going to do once their 'second life' company went bankrupt and they had to return to the real world, where grit was grit. *Now* the mere *thought* of a situation like that occurring makes my heart beat quickly and my stomach feel sick. It reminds me how much our wellbeing is now in the hands of others – a frighteningly small group of others, at that – and the sheer magnitude of the power they theoretically have. What would we do if they decided tomorrow that SL would cost a pound a day to access? I'll tell you what we'd do: we'd pay. We'd turn to a life of crime to fund it, if necessary.

I remember Orientation island so clearly. I remember the excitement of new things and being thoroughly unable to assimilate even half of the information being pushed upon me. I remember Governor Linden giving me some clothes that included a flat, grey cap. I remember the sound of the wind rushing as I flew, and the bops and bumps of my clumsiness. I remember the sound of keyboards going tap tap tap tap tap tap, and of that guy laughing off in the distance somewhere. It was intoxicating. I must have spent a whole week on Help Island, at once impatient to make my way to the mainland and at the same time anxious as to how I'd manage when I got there. It was like an afterlife, hanging out there in the distance somewhere, that I wasn't sure I was ready to go to yet; I love thinking myself back into that memory and then reflecting on what went on to be from there.

You might imagine that the wait in the end was worth it, but after a couple of days mainland the novelty of SL had well and truly died and I was ready to pack the whole thing in. Second Life doesn't so much hit you between the eyes as reveal itself to you, piece by piece, worming its way into your life until the point where you realise you can no longer manage without it. And then some more. And then some more again.

5

I'm pretty much full-time on SL these days. Obviously there are times here and there when I have to turn the computer off, like when I leave the flat to go shopping. I don't turn it off at night any more, in fact I actually put my AV into a sleep pose and leave it like that until the morning. An IM will usually wake me up, so I'm easy to get hold of, even when asleep. I guess I get about four to five hours kip each night, in total. Also, I nap at my desk during the day.

It was the sound of the teleporter that awoke me that afternoon. It's a sound you only tend to hear when *you* use the device, so I was aware instantly that something odd was up. Looking at my screen I could see that Def had been moved without my permission to somewhere beige and brown. An office of some description. Well that was quite impossible. Immediately, I suspected Step.

But it wasn't Step; Step wasn't even online. I really had been moved. They really had used beige. And there was a guy behind a desk with his shirt sleeves rolled up and wearing a thin blue tie that had been loosened.

Fred: Mr Thursday. Welcome. This won't take long. Please take a seat.

I didn't know who this guy was and I wasn't about to play his game. I was curious, yes, but I'd ask my questions from a safe distance.

Definitely Thursday: Bye bye.

I hit Ctl-Shift-H and waited.

Could not teleport.

Rats. It always went down when you needed it the most.

Fred: Please take a seat, Mr Thursday.

Or it was some kind of exploit weapon, like the freeze thing on Force Prophecies. I'd seen people get caught by that before, suddenly completely unable to move for themselves (oh, the language you would hear). I bought it once, I think, for one of my alts, but it was expensive and non-transfer. And it just wasn't something I had a need for. To be honest, the only really indispensable element was the radar, and you can get radars in SL for free.

It didn't matter to me a jot - it was probably time for a re-log anyway. I Xed the window and shut Second Life down.

When I logged back in again, I was still in the beige and brown office, still looking at a guy with his shirt sleeves rolled up and wearing a thin blue tie.

Fred: Please take a seat, Mr Thursday.

Definitely Thursday: Who are you?

Fred: We need to have a short conversation, Mr Thursday.

Fred: When we're finished I'll release control of your avatar back to you.

*Release control*?

I shut down Second Life again, turned off the computer and left the flat completely.

I went to the local pound shop. It was just across the street from me. I could fill a carrier bag in there with biscuits and coffee and still have a handful of change left over from a tenner. Which was the only reason I set foot in the place. The aisles there were so narrow and the shoppers so fat you could't move past a metre's worth of merchandise without having to squeeze up against at least one sweat-soaked fleece or dandruff-flecked shoulder. I pushed past a guy with a greasy comb-over comparing quantities of gummi chews across barrels and resolved to add shampoo to my list (now there's something you don't see in Second Life). And vegetables. The electronics bits and pieces they had in the pound shop were occasionally interesting. Pen radios, but I hardly ever listen to FM any more. All manner of miniaturised LED torches. I looked at a rubberised case for the original Nintendo Gameboy that they had there, and that started me thinking about how things used to be in the days when things got built with pixels rather than prims. I wondered how long it would be before someone built a fully functional ZX Spectrum in Second Life. With a cassette recorder. That you loaded virtual tapes into. That got chewed up. That you could wind in with a virtual pencil. That had a rubber on the end of it...

When I logged back in again, I was still in the beige and brown office, still looking at a guy with his shirt sleeves rolled up and wearing a thin blue tie.

Fred: Please take a seat, Mr Thursday.

I took a seat.

Definitely Thursday: Who are you? How are you doing this?

Fred: My name is Fred. I work for an organisation.

It appeared that his name really was just Fred. No surname floated above. I was certain it was a trick.

Definitely Thursday: You can't be called just Fred. You have to have a surname.

Fred: My name really isn't all that important.

I right-clicked on him to look at his profile. But right-clicking on him didn't seem to do anything.

Definitely Thursday: Are you a Linden?

Fred smiles.

Fred: I'm not a Linden, Def.

Definitely Thursday: Where are we?

Fred: Why don't you look on the map and check?

Apparently, we were in the blue sea between land masses. About two regions to the north there was a private island in the shape of a star. There was nothing else for miles around.

Definitely Thursday: That's impossible.

Fred: Not impossible, Def.

I looked around the office we were in and saw nothing of any particular note. It had been furnished with a retro 1970s feel. I moved my camera outside. We were in a nondescript skybox, the exterior walls were vanilla pine. My co-ordinates indicated an altitude of 700 metres exactly.

Definitely Thursday: What kind of organisation?

Fred: An intelligence gathering organisation.

Definitely Thursday: I'm supposed to believe you're some sort of law enforcement?

Fred: Would that be hard for you to believe?

Definitely Thursday: You can't commit crime in Second Life.

Fred: What?! Are you serious?

Definitely Thursday: Let me rephrase that...

Fred: I can't believe you just said that.

Fred: You, a 'detective'.

Definitely Thursday: You know what I mean.

Definitely Thursday: You can't hurt people in here.

Definitely Thursday: You can't steal things from them.

Fred: So much of that is a matter of semantics.

Fred: But I really don't have the passion for a debate like that right now.

Definitely Thursday: You *know* what I mean.

Fred: Well...

Fred: Why *wouldn't* there be some sort of law enforcement agency interested in what goes on in here?

Fred: We listen to people's phone conversations.

Fred: We read people's email.

Fred: It's just another form of communication, at the end of the day.

Definitely Thursday: You're connected to Echelon?

Fred: Let's not dirty this hypothetical discussion with labels, ok?

The back of my neck went all prickly. Fred then proceeded to tell me my real life name, address, telephone number and the brand of biscuits I'd just bought in the pound shop across the road. Actually, he got the brand name completely wrong; it wasn't even close. In fairness, however, I doubt that many people are that familiar with the range of brands stocked in 'Yes! Everything A Pound!'. I didn't make anything out of the error. I guessed it was enough that he knew I'd bought biscuits.

Definitely Thursday: Ok. So what do you want with me?

Fred: You've become involved recently with someone we have a strong interest in.

Fred: His name is Arton Urriah.

Definitely Thursday: Arton?

Definitely Thursday: He's just a virtual adulterer.

Definitely Thursday: Allegedly.

Fred: In the context of Second Life that might well me the case.

Fred: But *outside* of SL we have reason to believe he is considerably more important than that.

It occurred to me that I'd want to come back to this location later; Step would never believe me about any of this if I couldn't bring him here personally. Whilst Fred typed I tried to create a landmark.

Region does not exist.

Damn.

Fred: No point in trying to create a LM here Def.

Fred: Just as soon as we're finished here it'll cease to exist.

Fred: In a very real sense, it doesn't actually exist in the first place.

Fred: ((Get your head round that sentence if you can!!))

I wondered if I was even in Second Life any more. I tried taking a snapshot. That *did* work. But then what did it show? A guy with his shirt sleeves rolled up and wearing a thin blue tie. In a beige and brown office.

Perhaps I could bring Step here? Right now? I checked my friends list, but he wasn't online. In fact, none of my friends were online. Well that couldn't be right. It was just being made to appear that way, surely? I fired off an IM to find out.

Definitely Thursday: Step! Are you there?

Second Life: User not online - message will be stored and delivered later.

Fred: Oh and you can't communicate out of here either.

Fred: Think of it as being a bit like a bubble.

Fred: or a satellite, if you will, connected for just a moment.

Fred: Sort of a mobile office.

Fred: We call it 'the van.'

Definitely Thursday: We?

Fred smiles.

Fred: You imagined I'm a one man outfit?

Definitely Thursday: So you're male?

Fred grins and wags his finger at Definitely.

Fred: You might find that some things are better not known.

My anxiety levels were dropping; I was becoming accustomed already to Fred and this highly intriguing set up. I wanted to know more. But I could tell that the cheerful banter was thin. I could almost hear the guy's fingers drumming softly on that desk. Fred was not for toying with. Not yet, at least.

Definitely Thursday: So what do you want from me?

Definitely Thursday: You do know I've only just met Arton?

Fred: Yes.

Fred: But I imagine you're after evidence of his extra 'marital' relations...

Fred: ...and that once you've got it you'll shut the case.

Definitely Thursday: Correct.

Fred: Well don't.

Fred: Keep it open.

Fred: We want you to become his girl.

Fred: We want you to become the best that he's ever had.

Fred: If you manage that...

Fred: it's just possible he might let something slip.

Definitely Thursday: You're kidding me, right?

Fred: Def... let me assure you... organisations like mine don't become involved in cases of unpaid parking tickets.

Fred: It is *very* important that we know what this guy's up to.

Fred: We have good reason to believe that he uses SL to liaise with various contacts he has.

Fred: We badly want to know who those people are.

Fred: So someone well-placed could learn us a lot.

Fred: It's not dangerous work for you, only time consuming.

Fred: And you will be paid generously for your time?

Money? Real money? The sort all the local shops kept referring to? Well why hadn't he said?! I found myself looking at Fred in a whole new light.

And all of a sudden I had a light bulb moment. It was beautiful. It was momentous. It was a landmark moment, in more ways than one. I agreed to Fred's terms, with one extra condition. On top of the money, I asked him to get me some information of my own.

6

My newbie month had been December, full of white and crunchy locations (it's possible I imagined the crunchiness), full of ice rinks and pine trees and falling snow. Ok, so not for the first week – that was spent on Orientation/Help island, where the seasons don't encroach. And not so much for the second week, either – or, at least, the first part of it. *That* was spent pretty much wondering about on the mainland close to Bear – I hadn't really got my head around search back then. Or flying. Actually, I was a bit of a slow learner all round.

I got bored with it all so quickly. Nothing but empty shops, it seemed. Full of things I couldn't afford and couldn't see the point in buying in the first place, not that I could afford them anyway. I went through a phase that I think most residents can identify with... wandering around from sim to sim and coming steadily to the conclusion that the world had gone completely mad.

I came across an art exhibition after a couple of days of wandering. The building was three storeys high, each concrete textured wall full - but not too full - of RL paintings and sketches that someone was trying to sell. A single AV sat inside, a female newbie of the Girl Next Door mould sitting on an egg chair near the entrance. Text above her head announced she'd earned eight Lindens 'so far'. The seat beside her promised two Lindens per ten minutes perched. So I sat on it. And, with that, I'd discovered camping.

Stacey12 Hardcastle: Hey

Definitely Thursday: Hello

At my desk in the real world, my heart started thumping just that little bit faster at the onset of my first ever SL conversation. An anti-capitalist my whole thinking life, it had taken the promise of a payment rate a fraction above a penny an hour to entice me out of my anti-social state, and I didn't even have the plans for how to spend it. You thought the function of camping was making money? Think again. Even in my state of physiological apprehension, the irony wasn't lost on me.

Stacey12 Hardcastle: Are you new to second life?

It always fascinates me how newbies don't seem to realise just how easy they are to spot. The difference between newbs and non-newbs is so obvious once you've a month or so under your belt, it's like telling the difference between black and white. Newbies just don't see it. It's like you go through some sort of perceptual transformation at some point, a moment of revelation where you look suddenly upon the computer monitor and cry out, What the FUCK is that on my head?

My avatar was slim, muscular, and devoid of facial hair - entirely satisfactory in the aesthetics department, I felt. I reckoned Stacey12 looked like a bit of alright and all.

Definitely Thursday: Yes. And you?

Suffice to say that the conversation which followed was mind-numbing in its blandness. For half an hour we sat there throwing extremely dull pleasantries at each other. It was like the first night in the Big Brother household. It was sickening. Eventually we reached the point where twelve Lindens an hour no longer came even close to being worth the level of boredom we were each enduring. Claiming we had real life stuff to attend to, we both logged off. I thanked Christ once the viewer was gone from my screen and I'm sure she did the same.

Ahh, Stacey12, whatever became of you? Is your second life happy? Do you ever think of me the way I think of you? Something happened to me sitting there with you; the two of us, there together - two green blips in a lonely exhibition. Something clicked. A penny dropped. It wasn't a very large penny, that I can tell you, but it was enough to stay what had been my imminent departure from this dull-as-shit 'virtual world' for an extra day or two at least. Nothing you had said was of the slightest interest to me, but there was something – just *something* – about our situation that gave me a strange feeling I couldn't quite make sense of. I went out for a walk to think it through that afternoon. I went as far as the garden centre on Allington Lane, in fact, and examined my reflection in at least a hundred different baubles. I kept looking at my watch, wondering how long it would take me to get back home, wondering when I would log on next, and wondering what I'd do in Second Life in the future and whether I would ever see Stacey12 again. I couldn't understand where my enthusiasm for this was coming from, given that the highlight of our conversation had been a mini history of the varieties of Christmas tree she'd bought over the last twenty years. And what games her son liked playing on the Play Station.

Finally, I grasped it. It came to me in the pub that evening with some of the guys from the Castle. Fat Charlie asked me what I'd been up to on my day off. Instead of telling him I'd been on Second Life, I mentioned I'd visited an art gallery.

7

The moment I got ejected from 'the van' it was like the whole of SL and its inhabitants came bursting onto the screen. Instantly a whole load of my friends appeared to come on line, but I barely noticed for all the IMs flying about. An IM from Step wanting to know how the evening had gone (ie, could he request payment yet?). An IM from Inch wondering when the two of us were going to get together for a proper chat (I lingered on that one for a while, gazing at the words until they'd faded from the screen). A whole load of stuff from the watch that I would need