Well, I'm trying to find a good place to start this story off.

When I first met her, and joined her? Probably not. So much before that moment that needs to be told.

So, my birth, then? Or childhood? It's reaching pretty far back, but then again that's when I first had that exposure to...this.

I'm certainly not going to start at the end. I always remembered that as a pet peeve of mine, having people begin their stories with its conclusion. It's like, you know that when you're reading a book, you really don't know what's going to , just looking at the side can tell you that you've got a hundred-something pages left, which would certainly be the longest it ever took to actually kill the protagonist, and yet that doesn't matter when you're reading: you're so absorbed, it doesn't even occur to you that there are at least three more books after this one and that the hero couldn't possibly die, no matter what kind of situation they're in.

But telling it from the end, setting up the story with that final scene and then jumping back, it sets expectations. You know that no matter what, your hero is going to end up there, and everything before that has no real point, in terms of how serious or tense the situation is.

So here's where I run into my little problem. Firstly, I'm clearly talking in past tense. Well, not right now, but when I tell the story I'm going to have to. Or try to lay it out in present? I sometimes did that for my journal (not a diary, never a diary) to figure out how I got so angry at some events. The point is, I already know everything that's going to happen. And let me tell you, even if a writer plans out their story from beginning to end, they always get the whisper of inspiration and their story becomes far more interesting. I can't do that, because I've already 'written' the story, as it were. I can't just change history. I can change everything else, but not that.

Alright, I think I know where to start. It's...early enough, I guess. It covers the important bits.

Well then, let's try this.

"Next stop, Queen's Road."

I look up from my laptop at the alert, and quickly shove it away in my bag before standing from my seat and attempting to shift through the crowd towards the train's doors. With a little bit of wriggling, I manage to get in front of them just as they open, stepping out onto the platform. Checking my phone, I confirm my destination, and begin walking.

This is me, I guess. Or was me, rushing to the catalyst that would throw my entire fucking world into disarray. It didn't happen straight away, it started when I got-

Ah, fuck. I thought I said I'd start from the train trip. Let's just cover me quickly, then. I'm Julius Markham, my friends call me Mark, my really good friends insist on calling me Julie, and my mother prefers Julius. Oh, and my online friends know me as Sodin Chlor, modified version of Sodium Chloride. Because, you know, I get salty. I think I had originally tried to go with a username of something with those x's at the beginning (like, xXx_insertshittyassnamehere_xXx), maybe throw in some four-twenties and sixty-nines, but thank fucking god that my friends dissuaded me of that notion. Luckily I'm a bit-

Ah fuck I said quickly.

Julius Markham, I'm twenty three, I'm in college studying computer science, I do a ton of development for virtual reality on the side, and about a month ago I got the king of sketchy emails. Here it is:

Dear Mr. Markham,

It's my pleasure to extend a hand out to you. I've heard of your work in Virtual Reality, and I'm particularly interested in your expertise in more advanced systems. If you're interested in participating in our work, please come to 424 Queen's Road on November the 5th, in about four weeks. There will be payment for your services, and we may consider keeping you on retainer if your services are adequate. If the job is disagreeable, then a talk over some refreshments would still be wonderful.

Many Thanks,

John Titus

See, I've had my share of Nigerian Princes coming my way asking for a helping hand. Princesses too, actually, though not too many. But they pale in comparison to this guy. For one, his grammar is actually perfect, and professional. That's all right, but when words and phrases like 'services' and 'on retainer' appear, the email suddenly turns into my lungs getting removed and sold to become the dinner of the lizard people who rule over us.

So why am I going?

Well, he offered refreshments. And payment. And I'm a starving college student. And he offered refreshments. Did I mention refreshments? And payment, that too.

So at the least, I'm just going to quickly peek at this building, see if it's as sketchy as an old apartment building or something like "Martinez's Hair and Organ Parlor", and if so do the one-eighty and walk away.

I'm more than a little bit shocked when my expectations of not being so intimate with my heart for much longer comes to a conclusion.

This 424 Queen's Road? It's on the right road, for sure.

This is a fucking palace. Maybe not Victorian, sure, but a palace of technology and wealth and power. The front doors are manned by some uniformed men, I can see receptionists inside, and it's all branded by this big-ass T. Just a T, no more and no less.

I take a breath, then another, and head on in. The doormen both nod as I approach, holding the doors open for me as I enter, and the receptionist is already standing with the almost-genuine smile on her face that actually manages to reach her eyes. She's good, I'll give her that.

"Julius Markham?"

I nod at the address. "Uh, yeah, that's me. I prefer Mark, though, please."

"Of course, Mark. Please, follow me."

And with that she whisks me away, handing me off to another nearly-actually-happy drone, who hands me off again to another, and all this happens as I'm passed through the facility around me which is REALLY big. I go down an elevator, then get out and onto another one, and descend still further. I'm beginning to revise my opinion quite rapidly. I had first thought that my liver were going to be sold off to the highest bidder to be made into some fine paté, which clearly isn't the case.

No, they're just going to experiment on me, tear off my arms and legs, and then let the lizard people get straight to it. Who needs paté when you can have it fresh?

The hand-offs and travel finally ends as I enter a rather comfortable looking office, a smart blend of both modern with high-tech projections hanging out on one side of the room and traditional with a lovely looking wood floor and desk. Of course, hardly complete without your Totally-Not-A-Supervillian lounging behind it!

"Ah, Mr. Markham! A pleasure to see you!" the man grins as he hops to his feet, setting his glass of expensive alcohol to the side and wrapping me up in a hug.

New revision. I'm now to be a sex slave to the lizard people. I always knew I was irresistible.

"Ah, yeah, sure, thanks," I mutter, pushing him away from me. "I've got to ask, why so happy to see me, Mister...?"

The man grins at the question. "But of course! Name's John Titus, friends call me John. You're a friend, right?"

Good god this man's enthusiastic.

"Well, this is the first time I've met you, uh, John."

He laughs. "Fair enough. Dinner and a movie first, right?"

What the-

"Never mind that! Come, come, cool stuff to go see!"

He's dragging me off before I can even finish my thought, and soon enough I've re-entered the sterile white Totally-Not-A-Supervillain-Lair space, where I'm quickly dumped into a white room with dozens of people watching me, John included.

I take a quick look around. Looks like one of those clean rooms computer companies use to assemble things like solid-state drives. In front of me is a table absolutely chock-full of equipment, headsets and controllers and sensors and other fun little things.

"Well?"

"Huh?" I turn to John.

"What do you think?" he prompts.

"I...don't know what to think."

He beams. "It's that amazing?"

"No, I just have no clue what I'm looking at."

He slumps slightly, before picking himself up again and pushing me closer to the table, offering me the headset. "Go ahead and put it on."

"Sure..." I take it from his hands and slide it on, greeted by darkness. Whatever it is, it's rather light. Wait, is this a VR headset?

I'm slightly disappointed when some slider releases itself and I'm looking out on the room again, John still grinning in front of me. "Good, no?"

"I...I mean, if you're trying to make ski goggles, then they're really clear and great, but I'm struggling to reason out why you'd need a VR specialist to make goggles.

He continues to grin.

"So can I get some explanation on what exactly is happening?"

He's still grinning.

"Uh...hello?"

I wave my arms in front of his face.

He continues to grin-

"-Come on-"

Right before his face melts.

"-Jesus FUCKING Christ!" I jump backwards, bumping into one of the workers. Turning to look at him, I just find a stone pillar. I look around, finding the rest of the workers all now transformed. John isn't there any more, just this murky black puddle.

Oh fuck what the hell is happening.

And that's when the puddle starts to rise, shaping itself and molding and sculpting and-

"ASSUMING DIRECT CONTROL."

With a scream, I toss the goggles off and at the thing.

And blink as I see people all standing around me.

John looked like he was going to fucking explode.

"So you liked it?"

I stare at him for a few seconds. "What the hell was that?" I ask, regaining motor control.

"That's the latest in Titus Industries Tech, the Mark One Scrying Orb!"

"Uh, Scrying Orb?"

"Yeah! Like, in D&D or MMOs, you have that really cool ability to-"

"Sorry, I know what it is, I was just questioning-"

"Either way, you've tried it now! I'm happy to report you're the sixty-first person to have removed and thrown it across the room!" He looks positively giddy. "It costs seven thousand for each headset, but god is it worth it."

I feel some anger flare. "What was that, man! You didn't even warn me?"

John raises his hands defensively. "Come on, don't tell me you haven't dropped anyone into Dreadhalls without them having a clue."

Well, sure, but that's different. I go to tell him that, but he's already bowing in front of me.

"Listen, I'm so very sorry I didn't ask your permission before putting you in the demo. I apologize for my carelessness, and I do hope that you'll continue to work with me."

"Pardon?"

He bows a bit lower. "I'm sorry, Julius, I really am. Please, if you want you can leave now."

I take a little bit of time to retake control of my common sense and reasoning, which John spends continuing to lower his bow.

"Listen, John."

"Yes?" he cranes his neck to look up at me, which is thoroughly weird when he's pretty much bowing a perfect ninety degrees.

"It...well, the experience...shook me for a bit."

John frowns, and nods. "I understand, if you didn't like it-"

I paused him with a raised hand. "But despite that," I grin, "that was absolutely the best goddamn virtual experience I've ever tried in my fucking life."

That's when he exploded.

Well, not physically. Almost physically. He squeals in delight and soon enough another headset has been brought in, set up much the same way that the previous one was. He keeps talking about the experiences available, the games and the movies and the contracts with the popular companies they had-

"Wait, let me get this straight," I interrupt the flow. "You're saying that you've got Bioware making Mass Effect for this?"

John grins and nods like a jackhammer. "Yep. Indeed. It's really popular, and I figured how better to advertise the future than with the future?"

"That's...a really good idea."

John manages to grin wider. "Thanks!"

I turn back to the table, which the many different researchers or whoever are fiddling over it, revealing the hidden compartments within it filled with computer parts and antennas. "So, how much you planning on releasing this all for? Must cost a small fortune."

John laughs. "Well, to be fair, I don't want to lie to you. It's only so good because of the hardware. We've got a whole bunch of those new Titan cards in there, all chugging away to make a game that beautiful. The headset is just our mid-range option."

I blink.

"Sorry, mid-range?"

"Yeah."

"Mid-range."

"Mmhmm."

"There's an implication there."

"There might be."

"John, I'm gonna have to ask you something."

He shakes his head and indicates his ring finger. "Sorry, I've already got someone."

"What? No! I mean, for what you just showed and told me, maybe, but-listen, you said mid-range?"

He seems slightly disappointed that I didn't propose. "Yeah, I did."

"You...you have something better than that."

John nods, growing slightly serious now. "Uh...yes, we do."

"Do I have to sell my organs to try it?"

John shakes his head, giving a look to the workers. They slowly file out of the room. "Well, no. But it's still in development right now, you must realize."

"What, like the beta?"

"Eh, alpha might be more accurate. Few kinks to work out."

"But you're saying there is something better than that."

"Yes."

"And I can try it."

John scratches the back of his neck, smiling nervously. "Uh, yeah. Absolutely. Here, come this way."

Soon enough, we're standing in a new room. This one's a bit less blindingly-bright, with a more grey motif going on. The centre of the room is occupied by a rather large chair, with plenty of wires running out of it.

"So, what is it?"

John seems to have regained his usual vigor. "It's a mind-reader!"

"A what?"

"It reads your mind." At my glance, he laughs. "No, not like that. It reads the impulses and other fun mind-magic coming from your brain, and then projects waves back at it to make it see something else!"

"Oh, like the Nerve-Gear from Sword Art Online."

"What's that?"

"You know, the show where ten thousand people are all locked up in a virtual MMO where if they die in the game, they die in real life."

John freezes for a second. "Oh. That doesn't sound fun."

"Which is why I'm slightly concerned you seem to have one right here."

John relaxes and grins (when did it disappear?). "Ah, that's not a problem, I promise. The headset connects straight to the computer. All the processing is done over there, and all the input/output is there. It's like if that version you just told me made the mind into the computer that could fry itself, then in this case the headset we've got here is just the display cable between your brain, the monitor and keyboard, and the real computer. I promise, your brain does no more mental gymnastics than it usually does."

"Alright...so, my mind is gonna get projected into the computer?"

"I suppose that's a good way of thinking about it."

"So how does it run?"

"Well," John glances at the chair, "a bit buggy, to be honest. You need some serious data bandwidth to get every single impulse from the brain and input it into the computer. Hell, we could probably map the brain with this, or copy one over! It's truly insane."

"Copy one over?"

John waves a hand in dismissal. "Nothing to worry about. It's all limited so that only the parts of you we want to go over actually do. You're not gonna get swallowed up and turn into a computer, promise."

Not very reassuring. Either way... "Can I try it, then?"

John grimaces (wow, that looks really weird on him). "Absolutely. Just...give me a few minutes, please? Feel free to just, I don't know, inspect the equipment. I need to grab some of my guys."

I watch as he exits the room, and turn instead to the equipment. Cool stuff.

I follow the wires over to the corner of the room, where they all trail into what looks like a full server rack. Inside, lights flicker on and off rapidly, and a small led panel seems to be listing off whatever's happening inside.

I head back on over to the seat. The entire thing is absolutely covered in wires, now that I can see it, those pads they use to measure brain waves plastered absolutely everywhere. The helmet thing is even weirder. It goes over the back of the chair, and sits right on top of someone's head. Not even any goggles, just the helmet. Looked like an electric chair, now that I think about it.

God that is not a good omen.

Either way, it looks super, super cool. I sit on down in the chair, making sure that the helmet isn't gonna come slamming down on my head, and feel the memory foam of it slightly relax beneath my weight as I lean back. This is seriously super comfy. Slightly sticky, though, like car seats on a hot day. I move my hand over the entire thing, feeling the sticky upper layer. It's comfortable, but the surface material might need to be changed...

As I pull my hand away from the chair, I notice something's left behind on it, like a long brownish-red streak. Weird. I lean back, trying to get the right angle without my head getting in the way of the lights to see what it is. Hell, I even try sniffing it. Might be some super cheap rubber surface material. A bit like iron, actually...

"Alright, Julius, we just need to clean up quickly and, you know, make sure it'll go smoothly-" he halts as he sees me in the chair.

I recognize the stain on my hand as he finished talking.

Dried blood.

The helmet slams down on my head, and I begin to screaa̖̙̖͜a̘̞̣̬͈̖̼a̢̭̼̜̯͇̰͚a̸̸͈á̷̲̙̣͎͠a̖̯͙͜a̻̪̪͎̲̻͖̯̕͜à̟̪͉̦͓̗̫͇́a̟̫̣̫͕̝͜͝ạ̫̜a̫̙̦̙͘a̶̶̠̘̗̜͚̤̦̱̠a̦͔̕a͎̮̺̺̝̤͉a̛̦̰͖̤̟̫a̛̘̞̟á̡̠̹͈̗͉̞͉a̷̘̠͚̰͚͚̬̕͢a̱ͅa̰͈̲̰͇̝͢͞a̠͕̦̦a҉̭̭̫͡ͅm̡͔͉̭͙̣̫̘̕͞ͅm̙͎̦̞̹m̧̼̠̪͖̗͚̥m̴̡̭͈m̜͙̞̩̹̰̭͠m̳̝̹̠͝͡m̸̭̯̩͎͓͙̱̰̫͞m̖̤͢m̧̧̱̟̘̗͈͉̼̠

D̸͍̞͡A͕̹̺T̠̠͖̯͜A͈͚̰̙͓̜̻̬̗̕ ̱̘͚̯̞D̴̩̥͈̘̳͚Ù̶̲͇̮̪̱̹̮̻Ṃ̡̘̥̞͙̼̜̀́P̢̮̙̥̬͔̲̫ͅͅ ̶͈̖̻͔C̯̙͟͞O̠̯͖̫̬͔̳M̴̴̹͇͍̖̪̭̯̰M̷̞̗̖͚͡E͎̹̟̣̠͠͞Ń͏̩͚̥̣ͅC̗̻̞͕͢͞I̡͖̳N҉̲̙̳G̟͘͜ ҉̧̘͔̖P̴̛̘̹͎̹L̷̸҉͇̮̥̠̘ͅE̶̟̩A͟͏̘̰̘̦̯̖̻̞Ș̙̮͘E̫͚͔̩̼͡ ̵̗̖̱̀ͅH̷̰͎͚͇̕O̡̲̭̕ͅḶ̟̺Ḑ̷͍̜̖̣͜

~\usr\julius: whatthefuckishappeningtomeitsallwhiteiwantthepaintogoaway

D͏͇̪̗͖́Ą̳̝̩͢T̡̮͎͜A͏̱̙ ̺̬̣̼͇͔̜̞͘Ḍ̮̤̕͘U̙̕͝Ḿ͍̜̜̠̝̝̹̲̻͟P͟҉͕͍̗̲̳͓͢ͅ ̞̝͓̠̭͔̣̱̥̀͡C̛̤̻̤͔̱̠͕O̵͖͔̮̦͎͉͟͞M͕͉̰̙̲̱͠P̷͇͈L̨̛̺͈͕̦͖͝É̫̬̘͜Ṭ̶̥̪͢͡E̥̦̟̭͜D̴̺̺̝͍͉̜̠ ̲̮̖͝B̘̭̫̩̭͈̀A̸̺̟̟͙͕͎̬͝ͅC̭͔̭̣K͎̱͠U̶̶̗̭̗͠P̢̫̲͚͎̗ ̵̭̠͝B̷̴̠̭͔̠̗̘É̼͈Ị̜͓͇̹N̲̻͖͙̯̞̕Ģ̗̖͚͇̖̯̱ ͉̝͎̹̩̫͙͝C͚̰̯͠R͟҉͇͔̫̬̟̬̬̘E̤͡A̷̸͓̥͡T̶̺̦̫̫͟͠E̜̫̦̜̟̭͢͝D̜͖̙͉̝̭

~\usr\julius: nononothisisntgoingtohappeniwontletitSTOP!

B͕̝̘̼͢͠A̖̘̻Ć̷͉͍͚̹̯ͅK͔̖̜̱͘U̜͖̖̮̪̰͘͟͢Ṕ͙̪̞ ͏̼͇̤̺̩̹̦̤F͕̳͙̗̫À͍͓̦͈I̶̧̖̰͎͉̗̪̳̮͡Ĺ͙͈̯̣̖͘E̢͔͕D̢͍̹̻͈̥̪

B͕̝̘̼͢͠A̖̘̻Ć̷͉͍͚̹̯ͅK͔̖̜̱͘U̜͖̖̮̪̰͘͟͢Ṕ͙̪̞ ͏̼͇̤̺̩̹̦̤F͕̳͙̗̫À͍͓̦͈I̶̧̖̰͎͉̗̪̳̮͡Ĺ͙͈̯̣̖͘E̢͔͕D̢͍̹̻͈̥̪

B͕̝̘̼͢͠A̖̘̻Ć̷͉͍͚̹̯ͅK͔̖̜̱͘U̜͖̖̮̪̰͘͟͢Ṕ͙̪̞ ͏̼͇̤̺̩̹̦̤F͕̳͙̗̫À͍͓̦͈I̶̧̖̰͎͉̗̪̳̮͡Ĺ͙͈̯̣̖͘E̢͔͕D̢͍̹̻͈̥̪

S̡̬̟̖͖̬͢Ḩ͏̬̞U̶͓̱̙T̨̬͎̹̱T̗̱̦́͘I̖̪̬̳̩̤̬̰͈N̨̳̙̻̟͟G̼̟͈͓̬ ͇̻͙̩̠̀D̛̺̺͎͈͍̠͘O͏͕ͅW҉̥̫̗̰͉̮Ǹ̛͎͖

~\usr\julius: nowhyareyoushuttingdowniwo

S̸̢̖͕̼̪̙͍̮Ḥ̴̢̦̱͙̀Ù̖͍̪ͅT͉͙̯͈̝̤͉͎ ̢̻̬͕̙̣͕̺̦ͅD҉̜̻͎̱͎̹O͔̱̫̙͙̠͍͍͙W̷̥͎̖̥̩̠̰̘̪͜N̸̙̤͉̰̞͉͇̦͜ ̦̳͞C̴̛̘̠͙͖͉͔̹̗̀O̯̫̲̱͇͎͇͟͟M͔͎͜P͔̫L̤͖̦͈̪̜E̛̛̼̘̜̟̺̗T̬̪̦E͍͖̱͓

.

.

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R͜͝͏̫̭̬̞̻E̘̻̻̯͍̟͞S͕͍̠̻͜T̛͍̭͈̦͍̳̘́͢ͅO̝̞R̬̙̥͟I͈̗̟̯͔͎̲̱ͅN̞̯͚̼͇̯͝Ģ̼̣̝͍̹̫̯ ̪̩́F̛͕̗̩̰̖͖͕͝U̞̣͙͕̝͢N͏͔͎͍̩͉̙̰C̶̖̥͇̭̣͓͖͘͜ͅŢ̴͙̝̝̦̺̣͡I̴͎̟͇͢Ợ͈̩̭̺̦͍̪͡ͅN̲̺͔̦̥̞̭̳͢͞

C͇̞̙͝ͅO̧̨͇̥̟͜R̷̘͝R̦̥̺̣̭̬͈͠ͅÚ̟̳͜͡P̷̘̝̫͉̦T҉͎͔͍͎I̵͚̰̮͖͉̹̠͔O̡͚̹̺̺̥̺Ń̫̬̩ͅ ̧̛͔̣͔̺͉̘D̡͚̖̕͟É̸̦̫̥͎͎̣͚̬Ţ͔͙͠Ę͈͕͘C̱̪͍͙̟̗͘T̮̞͇̠̟̥͎͇̫E҉̴͍̠̙D͎̖͎͔̝̫̘̞

CORRUPTION CLEARED. SYSTEM OPERATIONAL.

PORT 424 IS AVAILABLE. WOULD YOU LIKE TO ACCESS PORT 424?

Y/N

.

..

...y

PREPARING

COMPLETE.

Forgot that I hadn't put in any form of author's notes. As you can see, my first time doing this. CatalystEXE is the other big AI fic that I know of, but I'm not going that route, so relax in the knowledge that this is gonna be new. And hopefully fun.

Thanks.