Identity Illusions: A RolePages Novella Read online

#Hangover #PornAddiction #FamilyMan

  Location: The city of Eridon in the southern sector of the True Evolutionist Empire. Eastern Continent of the planet Hellifyno.

  Joe dug greasy palms into aching eyes before blinking around his dimly lit common area. The air smelt more stagnant than usual. Across the room, a flickering screen played muted messages from the Empire

  How long had he been in there? It had only seemed like, maybe an hour. He'd had at least sixteen hours saved when he started. Could he have used that much time already?

  He tried to rise from the sofa, but his muscles were weak from hours of immobility. It took an effort; the real world felt thick and slow, but finally he made his way to his feet.

  Joe's body hurt, a million tiny pains of mortality rushing back over him. These were compounded by the indolence and malnourishment which were a result of his marathon session in the Weave, and then contrasted by the painless purity, and sheer bliss of that place.

  Reality sucks.

  He tried stretching his stiff muscles, but his body groaned in anguish. He barely noticed that his clothes smelt of urine. Then another pain consumed him. Thirst.

  He shuffled into the kitchen, tiny groans sounding from parched lips. His hand absently swatted at the light switch, but it didn't work. It must have blown out.

  In the frost box, all he found was spoiled milk and a sugary fizzing drink that his kids were crazy about. Where were his kids anyways? The thought tugged at him even as he allowed himself to be consumed by his thirst, grabbing the soda and chugging it greedily, though it did little to soothe his dry throat.

  The cold can was sweaty from the humid air of the tight packed apartment. Beads of condensation began slicking his fingers as he gripped it shakily, and began moving down the hall towards the bedroom he shared with his wife.

  He saw that the door to his children's room was open, so he peeked in curiously. His son, the elder of the two, was sitting on his bed in a slumped heap, WeaveWear glasses hanging from his face. His daughter, a girl of only ten summers, was slouched over a WeavePad that rested on her desk. A dribble of spittle was drooling from her lips.

  Both children had the vacant expression that many took on while in the Weave, and they looked so skinny. Too skinny, even for former Elves. They almost looked like corpses...

  With a long blink, Joe moved on down the hallway.

  Eve was laid out on their unmade bed, her eyes twitching beneath their lids. She was in the Weave. He could see the pad clutched against her bare chest.

  He briefly wondered what she did when she went there, as his eyes trailed down the line of flesh exposed by her negligently slipping white robe. They said the Weave worked better with direct device-to-flesh contact, but still, she was his wife.

  A part of him, perhaps a long forgotten, noble sector of his mind, knew it was wrong. All of it. His wife entangled in some fake fantasy with a made up man, or worse, another real man, using the Weave in disguise. She certainly never made any visits to his part of the Weave anymore.

  Of course, he was guilty of the same sins. He had stopped visiting her in the Weave first, and had certainly engaged in his share of erotic fantasies. Everybody did it. It wasn't cheating, was it? So what if some of those women had been real Users? It was best not to dwell on that.

  Then a stabbing dread hit as a thought occurred to him. What were his children doing in the Weave? There were built-in parental controls, right? He vaguely remembered something about that. They couldn't have children in there killing and fucking, getting off and getting high, could they?

  Guilt for every dirty, nasty, depraved act he had committed in the Weave washed over him like a wave. Had any of the Users on the other end been...? No.

  He shouldn't allow this. He needed to stop this from happening to his family. He couldn't just stand by and watch as his children faded to skeletons! Couldn't be just a bystander as his wife drifted away from him, drained and divided by something that wasn't even real.

  It wasn't real.

  But he needed it. Already he was starting to twitch, his palms sweating as his fingers curled against themselves.

  He missed it. Craved it. Yearned for it.

  Hadn't there been something else he yearned for not too long ago? A forgotten place and time?

  Time.

  He had to get more Weave time! The Imperially allotted amount wasn't enough. But how?

  Forgetting about his lethargic wife and listless children, Joe moved back to the kitchen. He hastily began shoving empty containers and trash around the countertops. Growing frantic, he started rummaging through drawers, pulling them out and dumping the contents.

  Where was it?! He knew he had had it. But where did he put it?

  His pocket!

  Anxiously he dug into the pockets of his plain grey slacks. One hand pulled out the liner while the other grasped a firm piece of paper. A business card.

  What was on the front didn't matter. It was the information scrawled on the back that was his answer. His saving grace.

  An address. A code word.

  That word would gain him admittance into one of the underground Weave dens. Horrid, glorious places; he'd heard the stories whispered in local taverns. Tantalizing and daunting, illegal and dangerous, but oh so tempting, they were the only way to purchase extra time.

  All he needed was some more time...

  With the card clutched in his fist, Joe quickly darted through the apartment, grabbing anything he could find of value: his wife's golden ring, a symbol of their marriage; some stashed credits she was saving for the holidays; even a few of the kid's nicer toys; the last heirlooms of their lost heritage. He dropped them all into an empty garbage bag.

  Finally, he pulled a golden medallion from its hiding place in the closet. An ancient, beautifully crafted piece of jewelry, it had been passed down through his family for ages.

  Hopefully it would fetch a few hours. He just prayed they'd take it.

  Hefting the bag over his shoulder, Joe slipped out into the night to begin his search for the Weave Den. Troubled thoughts struggled to draw his attention, but he pushed them aside. He had to focus on getting back to the Weave. That was the only place he could find peace. It was the only place where he was still magical.