Voyage

A starless night draped the city of Metro, giving Yuri, a petty criminal and ocular addict a place to hide in the shadows from the clutches of Metro Police. Yuri crept out of his hiding place once the patrol made their rounds; after a series of turns down side streets, Yuri made it to Jane Street and found his man: a well-known virtual reality narcotics dealer.

The Jane Street VR dealer, dressed in a heavy black leather waist length jacket, maroon leather pants with spikes running down the legs, leather gloves and a Hammerhead laser gun strapped to his waist, looked Yuri up and down as he approached, his green and beige reptilian skin reflecting the neon tavern sign.

“You looking for something?” The dealer growled.

“What do you have?”

“I got the usual menu...and I got something else,” the dealer responded. “Just hit the streets, it's called voyage. Fifty bucks for you.”

Fifty bucks? That's steep. “Ok, I'll take it,” Yuri said, pulling out a crumpled mess of dollar bills.

The dealer dug into his jacket, showing Yuri his merchandise, but at the last second pulled the small container away. “This one's more potent than the usual stuff, you sure you can handle it? Last I heard you ended up at Metro Memorial.”

Yuri had the shakes; it had been four days since the last “trip.” A few hours ago he robbed a few merchant's stalls in Merchant Prince Square just to fund his first hit of voyage, ever since hearing about the latest virtual reality drug from other users.

“Yeah, yeah I can handle it, just give it to me,” Yuri snapped.

The dealer's eyes narrowed. “It's yours. But if you get caught with that or you end up back in Memorial, you didn't get it from me, understand?”

Yuri said nothing, he handed the voyage dealer his fifty dollars in return for a pair of clear contact lenses. He looked at the product in his palm, then at the dealer. “What is this shit,” Yuri wailed. “This trip won't last me not even a few hours!”

The dealer scowled and stepped up to Yuri, gold-green eyes swirling. “This is primo stuff that only I can get. You don't like my merchandise, then get off my turf, little junkie, before I put in hole in you!”

Yuri sneered at the dealer but quickly left. It was just after eleven at night when he slipped into an alley off New Romano Way and Old Finch Street. Metro Police were cracking down on ocular users and dealers alike; anyone caught carrying the ocular drugs Illusion, Beast Vision, Ill View or any other illegal virtual reality drug, for use or for sale, would be immediately put to death.

Yuri's last hit of Illusion nearly killed him. The thick frames were bolted too tight to his temples, causing excruciating pain after he came off his trip. He wasn't able to remove the frames in time and experienced a vision warp; a severe effect that causes the user to remain trapped in a blur of images after his trip. Yuri had known a few users who had died from this warp. As a result, he was rushed to Metro Memorial when he was found by pedestrians, wearing nothing but his loincloth underwear and screaming at the top of his lungs. The surgeon removed the frames in the nick of time; they exploded soon after they were tossed in the garbage bin.

His last trip from the virtual reality drug, the one that sent him to the hospital, had transported him all the way back to 1941, five hundred years into the past during the Second World War. He remembered seeing himself breaking out of a Nazi compound in Occupied-France, run by none other than Hermann Wilhelm Göring, founder of the feared Gestapo. Yuri remembered running through bush and woods, hearing the sirens after he made his great escape, the shouts from the prison guards and visions of Nazi soldiers in hot pursuit with their German Sheppard canines sniffing his trail. He'd seen himself trip on the root of an oak tree, felt the dirt on his face and the strong hands that lifted him off the ground to haul him back to Göring's compound.

"Nein, nein little spy. Zsat was not prudent," the captain of the guard had growled in his ear. That was when the visual abruptly ended, causing Yuri to crash immediately.

Now with his back to the slick walls, Yuri held the new ocular drug in his hands. “Voyage, worst fifty bucks I ever spent,” he spat.

Holding voyage between his index finger and thumb, Yuri let out a frustrated sigh and inserted the clear contact lenses in his eyes. A few minutes went by but he nothing was felt.

“That son of a bitch ripped me off!” Yuri roared. “I'll kill him!” He stormed out of the alley and...

...was greeted by a blazing, rising sun, dirt road and white stucco huts. Yuri spun around; he could hear the crunch of gravel beneath his shoes, the clopping of horses trotting along the hard ground and he could actually feel the rough touch of stucco on his fingers. He looked down, even his clothes were different; cream colour buttoned shirt, blue denim pants, brown weathered boots, a thick belt with a large buckle shaped in a horseshoe and a pair of Smith and Wesson revolvers. When Yuri reached up to rub his head, his hand brushed the brim of his bowler hat.

“How is this possible?” Yuri mused. “It was almost midnight when--” then it dawned on him. “Wow, this is voyage?” Yuri patted down his clothes, his hands brushed the butts of his revolvers. “This is pretty good shit!”

Yuri walked at a slow pace, trying to get a feel for the town that only moments ago was not there. Yuri looked up at an old, wooden sign weathered by the elements.

Welcome to Mercy. Population: 351. “Mercy?” Yuri wondered. “Well, let's see what Mercy has to offer.” The first building Yuri laid his eyes was white with a beautifully lacquered flower bed. Several women in revealing blouses and frilly skirts sat on the front steps, while others leaned on the house's white pillars.

“Hey sugar,” one of the ladies called out to Yuri. She was well endowed, her brown hair flowing past her shoulders. She wore a see through blue blouse with a flowing, thin sky blue skirt. She hiked up her skirt to expose smooth white legs. “Name's Bliss. How about taking a load off?”

Yuri couldn't believe his luck. Wow, even the women here dig me! He approached the white house, a lascivious smile plastered on his face. “I'd love to,” Yuri responded.

He was about to walk in when the brown haired woman blocked his path. “Of course, a man such as yourself can afford the privilege?”

Yuri patted his pockets, his face changing a few shades of red when he realized he had no money. Bliss and her house mates giggled as Yuri stormed away from the brothel. In his anger, he almost walked past a paddock. “I'll need a horse, just in case I need to make a quick getaway.”

Yuri sauntered over, inspecting the six horses. The huge animals shied away from Yuri, some even grunted their disapproval. Undeterred, Yuri found a grey garron with black spots when the paddock owner, a wiry man with curly brown hair, thick stubble and a permanent frown ambled over to Yuri.

“Those horses belong to someone else, mister,” the paddock owner said.

Yuri's lips pressed together in a thin line, annoyed by the paddock owner's presence. “I'm looking to buy a horse, mister. And since these horses belong to someone, suppose you could tell me where I might find someone who can sell me one?”

The paddock owner's frown deepened. “I don't like that tone of yours, boy,” he bellowed. “I suggest you march on out of here before I break every bone in your body, then call the sheriff to haul you away.” The wiry paddock owner glared at Yuri as he turned and left the paddock. After aimlessly wandering the town of Mercy and with the midday sun beating down on him, Yuri thought it was best to seek shelter from the heat.

All around, the townsfolk went about their day, some were suspicious of him while others eyed Yuri wearily, but otherwise left him alone. Yuri walked up the rickety steps to a general store; the shop owner, an obese man in his late fifties with a barrel of a gut and flowing white hair that reached down to his shoulders, glared at Yuri rummaging through the shelves.

“Good day to you, sir,” the shop owner greeted in a flat tone. “Be needing anything?”

“Yeah, you got any bottled water?”

The shop owner sneered. “If you're looking for water, the well is just past the sheriff’s office, in a little alcove behind Miss Gail's bakery. I have whiskey from Deadwood, beer brewed right here in this shop, and maybe some fizzy drinks for the little tykes, those would be the only bottles I carry. But if you're looking to buy water, mister, then quit wasting my time and head for the well.”

“It's cool,” Yuri held out his palms. “No need to get excited and give yourself a heart attack.”

The shop owner's face darkened. “My health is no concern of yours,” he growled. The shop owner rounded his counter and grabbed Yuri by the scruff of his neck. “Out of my shop, you little shit! You so much as look in here I'll fill your mangy corpse with lead!” Yuri flew over the steps, landing hard, stomach first in the dirt. Yuri winced, trying to suck back the air that was knocked out of him. He slowly stood up and belted more curses at the shop owner before staggering away.

After eyeing the sheriff's office Yuri made his way to the well behind Miss Gail's bakery. He washed the dirt off of his face, eagerly scooped up water in both hands and brought them to his dry lips. At first the water went down good. But as he sipped another scoop, Yuri spat the water out when it went bitter, leaving a chalky feeling in his mouth.

“I'm sure that wasn't supposed to happen,” Yuri muttered, tapping the left lens with a skinny pale finger. He checked to see that his twin Smith and Wesson revolvers were strapped to his gun belt and emerged on to the street. The smell of baked goods wafting from Miss Gail's bakery made Yuri's stomach growl. With no money on him, Yuri was about to enter the bakery and lift a couple of buns when he spotted two sheriff’s deputies entering Miss Gail's just minutes before him. He growled a string of curses under his breath before walking past the bakery.

The more Yuri stalked the streets intimidating people, the more uneasy townsfolk of Mercy became, scurrying out of the way. Ha! Look how they run! They know a bad man when they see one! Disappointed at not being able to afford a whore, a horse or food, Yuri figured he would try his luck at the local saloon.

The Mayflower Saloon came into view just off to Yuri's right; the sounds of bawdy tunes, men shouting and glass breaking caught his attention. He drifted up to the swing doors and hesitated for a split second. Before he had cold feet and walked away, Yuri summoned his courage, stepping into the haze of smoke and the stench of urine, whiskey and beer. Those seated nearest to the entrance fixed hard stares in his direction but otherwise returned to their drinks. A table tucked in the back of the saloon was filled with men in the middle of a game of high stakes poker. Yuri thought about going over to watch. Four rough looking men were seated at a small table, concentrating on their cards, every once in a while their eyes would flick to the man next to him. In the middle of the table was a large pile of money.

Yuri was five feet away from the table when a man with a grey bowler hat like Yuri's, wearing a pin striped brown suit, grey shirt and black boots spied Yuri. The man in the bowler hat shook his head slowly, pulled back his suit jacket to reveal the butt of a gun. Yuri got the message: he was not welcomed to watch. He backed away slowly, lest the gunman blast him for making sudden moves. Instead Yuri made his way towards the bar.

“What are you having?” asked the burly bartender. Yuri wasn't sure what he was going to drink. The bartender was getting impatient. “Mister, you're either here to drink or to find a woman, so you can buy her a drink. If not, I'd suggest leaving my place.” The bartender placed a baton of dark polished wood on the bar.

“I'll have whiskey,” Yuri blurted out. The bartender returned his baton behind the bar, grabbed a bottle of whiskey and poured three fingers into a glass tumbler.

"Don't do anything stupid," cautioned the bartender.

Yuri drained his drink. The burn felt warm going down, heating his belly. He tapped his tumbler, grabbing the bartender's attention, and was poured another drink. In ten minutes Yuri was on his fifth whiskey. Meanwhile the bartender wondered how his patron was going to pay for all his drinks.

“You might want to slow down, mister,” the bartender said, noticing Yuri leaning heavily on the bar. “You keep drinking--”

“I'm fine,” Yuri exploded. “Just keep my glass filled!” The bartender, not wanting any problems glanced at Yuri's revolvers. He grabbed the whiskey bottle and poured another drink, all the while scowling at his drunken customer.

After his seventh glass the double doors swung open to reveal three mean, hard looking men. The three men wore bright, six-point silver stars. They were carrying Winchester rifles and moved in unison towards Yuri.

“This one been causing you trouble Slate?” asked the man in the middle.

“Been going hard at the whisky, Sheriff Yates. I just hope he has the coin to pay for his drinks.”

Sheriff Yates stepped up Yuri while his deputies watched. “I think it's time you called it a night, boy.” Sheriff Yates took a closer look at Yuri; his dusty clothes, his Smith and Wesson revolvers and bowler hat. “Yes, now I remember. Folks around town have been complaining about a boy acting strange and disturbing the peace. Maybe ya'll need to come with us.”

“First of all, I'm no boy,” Yuri was slurring his words. “Second of all, who the hell are you to tell me where I should or shouldn't go!?”

The man stiffened, the bartender ducked under his bar. “Mason D. Yates,” the man named Mason said in the coldest of tones. “Sheriff of the town of Mercy; and I say pay your tab, it's time to go.”

Sheriff Yates made a grab for Yuri's right arm. Yuri slapped the sheriff's hand aside and went for his guns. Before Sheriff Yates could react, his quick thinking deputies opened fire, rifle muzzles blazing. The sound deafened all saloon noise as Yuri's body flew back from the rifle blasts. What felt like a life time, Yuri slumped over against the bar, leaving a wide smear of blood trailing after him. His chest and head were ripped to bloody shreds, what was left of his face were his eyes; vacant, dead eyes stared out at Sheriff Yates and his deputies.

Sheriff Yates stood routed where he stood. He looked down at his chest in disbelief, then breathed a sigh of relief when he saw no bullet wounds.

“Inspector?”

Newly promoted Inspector Mason D. Yates stared at the corpse in shock. He had initially refused an escort; Officer Nolan and Officer "Saint" Bernard, dressed in their midnight blue uniforms, heavy padding and thick boots slowly lowered their weapons. Long-time officers and veterans of Metro's mean streets, the officers insisted to accompany the new inspector. Had it not been for them, Yates would have been the one lying dead in a pool of blood. Luckily for Inspector Yates, his officer's department-issued laser pistols made quick work of Yuri. Yates looked around to find that half the lounge had emptied out. The sounds of sirens could be heard in the distance.

“Inspector! Are you ok?” asked Officer Nolan.

“Yeah, I'm alright.” Yates looked down at Yuri's body, the ghastly holes in his chest and head leaking blood all over the lounge floor. Yates shook out of his trance after a few heartbeats and regained his composure. “What's his story?”

Officer Bernard whipped out an electronic pad. “Male perp in his mid-twenties, he's called Yuri on the streets, most likely not his real name. A heavy ocular user, he was brought to Metro Memorial by some do-gooders six days ago while stuck in a warp from his last trip. The doctors at the time confirmed it to be the street drug, Illusion.” Bernard punched the information in his electronic pad, uploading the statements to Inspector Yates' device. “We also suspect that this Yuri was responsible for robbing some of the merchants in Merchant Prince Square, most likely to pay for his habit, not to mention a list of other infractions; pissing off a brothel full of whores, disturbing the public, trying to steal a craft from a craft park and getting thrown out of a tea shop just half an hour ago. And the most bizarre, drinking out of a public toilet.” Officer Bernard bent over and plucked something from Yuri's face, turning it over in his gloved fingers, bobbing his head. “As I suspected: it looks like the newest virtual reality drug craze, Inspector Yates. It's called voyage on the streets. Stronger than illusion, voyage affects the neurotransmitters of the human eye, causing hallucinations, like the one Yuri here most likely experienced.”

Inspector Yates crouched down to get a better look at Yuri. The young man's eyes were sunken in, possibly from countless sleepless nights indulging in his VR habits. He was emaciated, with scars and cuts all over his arms.

Yates shook his head. “What a damned shame.” He looked up at Officer Nolan. “Wake up the undertaker.”