“Surely you know about idIocy?”
In honesty he couldn’t say he did — Jack was not altogether up on what went down in the big wide world of Melbourne, having buried himself away for two years — but a wild guess wasn’t off the table.
“We’re talking idInteract gaming with the cheat mode switched off?” He remembered the deaths of the Big O and Iffy Bizness. “Safeties inoperative. Making them very, very illegal?”
Just to be sure, Jack studied both colleagues. Acknowledgement filtered through in their faces and the truth settled in to roost. He felt brave enough to take another stab. “So Heropa is idIocy?”
“Not exactly.”
PA stood, stretched her legs and arched her back — already she seemed in a better mood. “Let me give you a lesson in the basics: IdInteract is the state-controlled stuff, government-licensed. Legit.”
“I do know this,” Jack fudged. “I’m not as stupid as you think.”
“Bear with me, SC, so there’s no confusion.”
“About me being stupid or not?”
“About anything you like.”
“All right.”
“Good boy. Now, let’s get back on track. IdI’s role, as you must know, is to entertain the masses, keep them addicted — but never kill the losers. Think of extreme sports without the bruising. Players create a whole world of advantages for themselves to make the game easier, usually via cheats — activated from within the game or created by third-party software and hardware. Things like enhanced abilities, superhuman strength—”
“Increased sexual prowess an’ a killer libido,” intercepted the Brick.
“—and so on.” Pretty Amazonia wiped away a knowing smirk.
“I get the gist,” Jack said. He hated to be lectured.
“Well, number one on the idI agenda is an automatic shut-off that stops a player from being fatally or seriously injured. We could debate the issue of trauma, since a load of officially-approved horror merchandise is ultraviolent and gore-central — but let’s leave that to the Australian Recreation Classification Board.”
“Who’re in the pocket o’ the pols, big biz and the profits made from them there horror,” the Brick added.
“Yep.”
Heading to a sink after finishing the tea, Jack rinsed his cup and noticed it had the brand name IMPERIAL DALTON stamped on the bottom, with smaller print reading Morris René Goscinny. An obligatory Equalizers hallmark hogged one side of the chalice.
“So, horror aside,” he mused, staring at the silly symbol, “idInteract basically comes down to ego-stroking shenanigans with a nanny complex — anything goes, so long as you’re safe.”
“Basically.”
“Sounds like here.”
PA proceeded to touch her toes. The manoeuvre was a striking one, given her towering height.
“Except for the nanny,” he heard the woman say as hair tumbled over her face and she was upside down, placing palms flat on the floor.
The Brick grinned. “That’s where idiotic stuff comes in.”
“Exactly.”
PA had bounced straight back up to her full seven feet.
“IdInteract games are legal, whereas idIocy is not — this is bootleg, obviously idiotic street stuff with cheat mode and all safeties switched off. I don’t condone that merchandise either — absolute madness. If you ever try it, SC, I’ll kick you. You hear me?”
“Yeah, yeah.”
“Better. Just saying. Anyway, platforms like Heropa sneak through somewhere in the middle. Usually idI and idIot lurks are private affairs for a single player. Our one is networked, so we all get to roughhouse together. We’re not constrained by the boring restrictions of permissible produce — we can take risks and dice with death, but have rules and regulations to keep the anarchy of idIocy at bay.”
“Why take the risk at all?”
“Adds an edge,” said the Brick. “If Superman falls off of a skyscraper nobody cares, since the bastard’s invulnerable. But if Daredevil takes the same plunge, equal chance he survives or is dead-meat. Human condition, an’ all that.”
“Okay, fine, if this is the case — what happened to the Big O and the Aerialist? Not in Heropa, but back in the real world.”
“Haven’t seen for meself. Been here the past few months, no timeout.”
Jack glanced at Pretty Amazonia. “You too?”
“Mmm.”
“Any guesses, then?”
The Brick scraped one stone finger along his paved left temple, like he was scratching. “I’m guessin’ their brains were fried, going by what we saw of the bugger that was Little Nobody.”