Chapter 1

Jesse kicked off his boots and sprawled on the couch, the grease stains on his clothing creating new grease stains on the beige surface of the furniture that suddenly looked diminutive under his weight.  "If anyone finds out, you're going to be in deep."

Dean laughed as he shook his head.  "Nice try, but it was your idea.  No, this one's all you, brother."  He pretended to ignore the blazing glare Jesse had suddenly trained on him.

"My idea?  I said it as a passing thought," Jesse protested.  "Only you would have taken such an idea seriously."

"My point exactly," Dean said as if they were in complete agreement, looking up from his laptop long enough to meet Jesse's eyes.  "If you wanted your 'thought' to be taken lightly, you'd have shared it with someone else.  My theory is, you wanted this.  Otherwise, why speak up?"  He paused for a moment and then nodded to himself, satisfied his point had been made and turned back to his computer.  Almost as an afterthought, and not without a snicker in his voice he added, "So when does this homeless individual arrive?"

"Still don't believe me, do you?  Then please, tell me where she came from.  Enlighten me as to how she got here.  Why she doesn't have a BOSS file, genius?" Jesse's voice, dripping with sarcasm, informed Dean he was gearing up for yet another debate, and Dean decided to play along.  They'd had the same conversation repeatedly, each making the same points, differently worded, over and again.  They were both fighting a losing battle - scrawny Dean trusted in his mental prowess and refused to have his mind changed by someone he rather openly referred to as a bumbling buffoon.  For his part, Jesse was as hard and stubborn in personality as he was in body, and refused to back down from an issue firmly based on what he saw as common sense.  Nevertheless, they'd turned the subject over and over between them as if each had an actual chance to change the other's mind.  As it was, there was nothing interesting to talk about aside from the new stranger, so they continued their verbal battle as much out of boredom as anything else.

Dean was quite ready to launch back into the subject yet again.  He closed his laptop without bothering to shut it off, leaned his head back to let it rest on the gray armchair beneath him, sighed deeply as he stared at the ceiling, managing to send the impression that he was exasperated by the argument (though in truth, he was delighted) and began again.  "Fact one:  Homelessness was eradicated decades ago.  Fact two:  The Bureau Of Societal Safety has successfully logged every living being on the planet - people, cats, dogs, iguanas, sheep, lions, panda bears - everything.  From time to time, someone tries to give the system the slip, but you can't evade a system that's airtight for long.  Fact three:  You can't buy food without a BOSS code.  You can't use public facilities.  You can't shower or wash your clothes.  You can't do anything without a code, so she's got to have one.  Which leads me to fact four:  this whole thing has got to be a prank."  He raised his head to look Jesse pointedly in the eyes as he smugly added, "And only a buffoon would fall for it."

Jesse shrugged, his hard head allowing the argument to flow around his brain like so much water around a rock.  Rather than bothering with a detailed response, he merely grinned and said, "You'll see."

After a pause, Jesse decided to speak again.  "Why, then?  Why do you want her to come here if you think it's all a prank?"

Dean pondered the question for a moment.  "I guess curiosity.  I want to see the person who has fooled you so completely."

"And if she's who she says she is?"

"Right," Dean chuckled.  But then he allowed, "I don't know.  I just want to see for myself that she isn't logged.  And if she's not, I want to know why."  Realizing how he must sound, he quickly continued, "But she's logged.  I guarantee it."

"Okay, if you're so sure then let's make a wager," Jesse suggested.  "Loser cleans the apartment for the next year."

"As if I were going to be living with you a year from now," Dean cracked, but in truth he knew he would.  Jesse, oaf that he was, would be his roommate for the foreseeable future, a fact with which they were both happy.  They were not blood-related, but each claimed the other as a brother, and they joked, fought and coexisted as only brothers ordinarily would.

Considering Jesse's wager, Dean felt it was an easy win.  "You're on."

His friend grinned fiendishly.  "Awesome.  Now if you'll excuse me, I've got an hour's credit in VR calling my name."  And with that, Jesse closed his eyes and propped his head on a couch cushion, abruptly vacant.  The nanotransmitters in his brain activated at his internal command, linking him to an online world in which he could walk, talk, touch, taste, hear, and smell.  

Dean shook his head - VR-free, thank you very much - and allowed himself a laugh at his friend's expense, knowing Jesse was already far too gone to hear him.  "Some things never change," he muttered, flipping his laptop closed again, and wondering for the millionth time if he should simply give in and get a VR package.  It seemed too close for comfort, such technology tampering with his brain, an inescapable escape.  He was worried he might land in a group home, drooling his life away in a virtual imitation of the real thing.  Or that the technology could malfunction, trapping him in his mind.  Or that he'd err in some way, and find himself in the most realistic nightmare possible rather than the dreamy getaway he wanted.  Or that he'd be unable to handle the input and land himself in the looney bin.  Or, or, or... the list went on and on, and when he thought about it, he couldn't help but wonder how those who embraced VR could even function, let alone be happy.

And it was creepy.  Being in the room with someone using VR was weird - like being alone with a corpse.  Not that he'd ever been alone with a corpse, but he felt lately that he had a good idea of what it might be like.  The only difference was that the VR-user would be reanimated, coming to life as if waking from a dream.

No, he didn't want VR.  But he also knew that as VR began to dominate communication and entertainment, his choice could affect his career path.  He was good at writing computer codes and had, in fact, even written codes for VR use.  He could program anything electronic, and here he was, terrified of the very technology he was helping to create.  It was strange, but then, Dean was strange.  He sighed, and wondered if he'd ever be able to get over his fears in relation to VR.  He also wondered if such fears were justified.  He felt that he was smart enough to avoid spending long hours on a VR program, and knew that he did not have an addictive personality.  He was good with coding, so it was doubtful that he'd have trouble using the technology.  He knew that the procedure was inexpensive, quick, and virtually painless (a single shot of nanotransmitters administered via hypodermic needle).  He knew that VR was the future of many (if not most) functions of society.  And he, a computer programmer, was behind the times.  Becoming obsolete...

Suddenly Dean's reverie was interrupted by a knock at the door.  So deep in thought was he that the sound caused him to jump.  Jesse was out cold, and Dean had almost completely forgotten about their expected visitor as he reviewed the pros and cons of VR.

A bit shakily he arose and walked to the door, mentally preparing himself for this guest.  He would need to hold tightly to his skepticism, as this was almost certainly a prank.  Still, he wondered.  Though he considered Jesse a bit naive, the man was not a complete dolt, or even close to it (though he'd never admit that to Jesse).  This woman must be extremely convincing for Jesse to believe her.

He took a deep breath, ran a hand through his thick, dark hair, hastily trying to tame it, and opened the door.  Standing before him was a decidedly disheveled young woman.  She couldn't have been much younger than he - maybe 19, 20 at most.  Her eyes were an intelligent, sparkly green and her mousy brown hair hung to her shoulders.  She wore several layers of tattered, smelly clothing which may have once been brightly colored, but were now a dingy, nondescript hue.  Her fingers were partially hidden in a pair of tipless green gloves, and they were twined together at the bottom of the drooping front of her zippered hoodie, playing absently with the frayed material.  She was so thin that she may have even been emaciated under the multiple layers of clothing which she wore, and her cheekbones stood out with the measure of her starvation, lending her an almost regal appearance by the fineness of her features.  She was pretty, he realized.  But smelly.  And for all appearances, she was homeless.  Dean was speechless.

Realizing that he wasn't going to say anything, but rather stand there gawking and crinkling his nose, the woman softly cleared her throat and prepared to break the silence.  He cringed at the sound, and she thought better of speaking.  Jumpy, this one, she thought to herself as she wondered where Jesse was and why he had not come to her rescue.  He had promised to be here.  She considered just turning around and walking away, but she was hungry.  She was tired.  She was cold.  The offer of food, a shower, a night's lodging... she could not compel herself to leave.

For his part, Dean was swiftly regaining his composure.  He regarded the young woman who stood before him.  She looked so insecure, like she was on the verge of turning and bolting from the door.  She also looked hungry.  He knew he was not making a good impression - but the smell! his brain protested - and yet he realized that he did wish to make her feel welcome.  Food, a shower and a change of clothes would cure this waif before him of all maladies, and these things he could provide.

It was his turn to clear his throat.  To her credit, the young woman did not seem startled at the noise.  He forced a smile and opened the door in invitation.  "Please come in.  You must be Jesse's friend.  I'm Dean."

She returned his smile, though it looked just as forced, and refrained from stepping through the doorway.  "Is Jesse here?"

"Sort of," Dean answered, looking over at the big man lying like a brick atop the couch.  No, he corrected himself, bricks weren't useless.  Currently, Jesse was.  "He's, er... using VR."

The young woman shuddered at the words, and Dean's smile was suddenly less forced.  "I know, right?  It's just creepy."

She relaxed visibly as she nodded in agreement, glad to find she had something in common with this stranger, and chose that moment to introduce herself.  "I'm Macy."  Then she hesitantly stepped into the apartment.

Dean smiled encouragingly and motioned to a cardboard box on the floor.  "Everything you need should be in that box.  Jesse picked you up some clothes, a toothbrush, almost anything you could think of."

At the mention of Jesse, Macy's eyes flickered to the still form on the couch.  He looked as if he could be sleeping, but she knew that he was far from it.  She briefly wondered where he might spend his virtual time, then almost as quickly dismissed the thought.  Her mind turned to a shower, to food, to creature comforts.  She watched as Dean hefted the cardboard box and started down the hallway, and followed him to the bathroom.