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She says it as if she was talking about the weather and that's all she says. The sound of Peter playing drums in the next room is all I hear as I try to assimilate things.

  “What the fuck, Laura?!” I shout, chasing after her. She enters the bathroom and slams the door on my face. “Hey, you want to come back here and put it straight? Laura, fuck! What the hell!”

  I punch the bathroom door.

  Peter walks out the door of the room with his drumsticks in hand.

  “Dad, you all right there?”

  I sigh.

  “Yeah, it's all right. Go back to the bedroom and play this thing as loud as you can, right?”

  Laura remains locked in the bathroom, no matter how much I call her or hit the damn door. The sound of Peter's drumms blows as I pray that Elise will not decide to take a surprise trip and see this mess.

  “What the fuck do you want from me, eh?” Laura asks, opening the door.

  “What the fuck do I want from you? I want you to put things straight. How do you come to me, say something like that and walk away as if nothing had happened?”

  Laura walks past me and returns to the bedroom.

  "It's just a pregnancy, Jimmy, what do you want me to say? You know how things work: a man has sex with a woman and months later a child appears. Sometimes it's a boy, sometimes it's a girl. So you buy things for her until she becomes an adult and prevents her from doing some really big shit. You sit late into the night and think about why she’s taking too long to get home. You think you should call the police. Meanwhile, your kid is out there smoking marijuana and telling people how pathetic her parents are. After she comes home, you run to find out if everything is okay and she tells you to go fuck yourself. That's all you could possibly know about kids, baby, what else do you wanna hear?”

  The drums continue to play.

  “I thought you were taking pills, weren’t you? Because if you haven’t noticed, this isn’t the perfect time to have a child.”

  Laura drops her robe to the floor.

  “Would you please shut the fucking door? I don’t want your son to see me naked.”

  She throws herself into the armchair, puts her legs on the arm of the furniture, and takes a pack of cigarettes from the bedside table.

  “These things happen from time to time,” she says, with the cigarette on her mouth and the lighter in her hand. She lights it up, takes a drag on it and releases the smoke. “The name of this is surprise, accidental, or even unwanted pregnancy. It depends on how each one sees the story. If the parents are kind people, then they say it was a surprise pregnancy and that God blessed them. But if they are parents who are experiencing some difficulty or simply don’t like children, then they say it was an unwanted pregnancy. Sometimes they accept everything as the will of God and the child grows fucked up and unattended, but sometimes they just decide to get rid of the kid like they would get rid of a garbage bag. One way or another, unwanted pregnancy always ends in shit.” She takes another drag on the cigarette and looks at me. “What do you think, Jimmy?”

  I sit on the bed, sigh, and put my hands to my face. The drums stop playing.

  “I don’t know what I should think, to tell you the truth.”

  Liar.

  “We are experiencing some difficulties ...”

  You guys are totally fucked.

  “... but I like you, Laura.”

  No, you don’t.

  “And I'm not saying I don’t want this child ...”

  You don’t.

  “I'm just scared.”

  You are angry.

  “Do you understand?”

  And do you understand that all you want is to go far away from here?

  “I love you, Laura, and I just want you to understand that this is hard.”

  Coward.

  “But in spite of everything …”

  Pussy.

  “... I really hope we can be together with this child.”

  Liar.

  Laura doesn’t even seem to hear my words. She continues to smoke and now looks at the branches that scratch the window.

  You'd like to have said everything you think, but you're just a scared man who now heads to a bar where you'll spend the next few hours drinking and trying to forget the pathetic big trash you are. You should have said that you didn’t like her, that she’s terrible at fucking, but all you did was nod like a puppy. You piece of shit. You must have been the fruit of an unwanted pregnancy, a form God has found to curse the world. To hell with the apocalypse, you're worse than all the infernal plagues together. You shouldn’t have been born, ever.

  Coward.

  All you have now is a bottle of whiskey and a bartender who tells you all his interesting adventures with asian prostitutes on the internet. The radio plays some old happy music, while groups of friends laugh around the tables. You've never had friends. You’ve never had time for that. You had Elise and Peter. Then you had Laura. You had your job and all the bills you had to pay. You always had everything but yourself.

  If real life could look like Total Life ... A place where you can be anyone you want, as many people as you want. You can fulfill your wishes and then simply reset the events. A place where women love you and murders are ignored with any remorse. After all, the things you kill are just a bunch of codes programmed to feel and act without free will, so who cares?

  The bartender fills my glass again and leans over the counter. He drums his fingers and sings softly along with the music.

  “Are you all right, buddy?” he asks. “You haven’t said a word since you sat here. What’s going on?”

  I drink in a single sip.

  “It's none of your business.”

  I put the wrinkled money on the counter.

  “Come on, this will all be just between us. Why don’t you drink more and tell me everything?”

  “Is that your sales strategy? Do you see that a person is in trouble, offers company and makes them pay for more and more drinks?”

  He stares at me for a moment and then walks away, embarrassed.

  I start to get up, but my phone vibrates in my pocket. I look with the corner of my eyes at the bartender, then I pick up the device and click on the new message.

  My heart races.

  Stephen Pitman.

  III

  Hello, dear Jimmy. How’s it going? First of all, I'd like to congratulate you. Is Laura pregnant? Oh my God, that's great! You must be wondering how I know that, right? Well ... maybe I'd better show you.

  Even before I finish reading, videos come from my own home. Each room is monitored through the cameras of my own devices, from television to computers and phones. And what records Laura masturbating on the bed must be the phone lying in the armchair.

  A call.

  “What do you think, buddy? Technology is really a wonderful thing, isn’t it? It's so easy to access your entire life virtually. Well, maybe that's due to the fact that I'm a part of it.”

  He laughs.

  This is Steve's voice. May God forgive me, but that's Steve's voice.

  “What the fuck?” I ask, trying to pull myself together. “Who are you?”

  “Don’t be stupid, you know who I am. I'm the one you always wanted to be. I’m the one who fulfills your desires, eats your shit and opens a smile at the end.”

  His voice is calm and steady, the kind of careful voice of a man who knows exactly the steps he's taking.

  “That's not funny, who the hell are you? What do you want? Money? Tell me what—"

  “I do not want money, Jimmy. What would I do with your fucking money? I don’t exist in your world. At least not in the traditional way. I'm a bunch of soulless codes, isn’t what you like to say? No, my friend, your fucking money is useless. All I want is enlightenment.”

  “What the hell —”

  “Hey, watch your mouth. When someone has your whole life in the palm of their hands, you better choose your words very carefully”. Steve sighs, I can hear his breath. He can’t be real, of co
urse not. “But, yes, all I want is enlightenment. I wanna understand you, Jimmy. I wanna understand the pleasure of a game.”

  The memories of the afternoon I spent with Steve's neighbor come back quickly. I feel the beginning of a headache when I see the corpse beside me, the blood on her body and vomit trickling down her mouth.

  “That can’t be real ...”

  “And what is real? Your mediocre life as an attendant that you always complain about to your virtual friends? The pathetic sex with your wife that you try to forget with prostitutes through virtual sex? I know everything you do, every word you say. Everything is here, recorded. Your mediocre life is the only real thing you have.”

  I see Steve standing in front of his family’s portrait. The daughter wears a purple dress with embroidery, a smile with milk teeth that have just fallen out. And the pink lace in her black hair ... Steve watches everything. He touches the photo with affection. Then he turns and stares at me.

  Steve stares at me.

  “Hey, Jimmy, old friend, are you still there?”

  I stop squeezing the glass in my hand and relax my face. For a moment, everything around me disappeared and I completely forgot about the people in the bar. Some look at me strangely, giggle and whisper. I hurry out, trying to avoid the stares.

  “Yeah, I'm here.”

  “Good, I would hate to lose your company. I mean, not that you have a choice.”

  People look at me with the corner of their eyes outside and I look for a corridor through the buildings. A beggar sleeps in the middle of cardboard, but I don’t think he'll bother.

  “What do you want from me, you son of a bitch?”

  Steve doesn’t answer at first. The only sound is my nervous breathing that sends smoke into the cool afternoon air.

  “Look at the phone,” he says at last. “Look closely at these images, but don’t hang up the phone.”

  Laura stimulates the clitoris, twisting her toes in the bed and rolling her eyes when she reaches orgasm. She moans, gasps, and sticks her fingers deeper.

  “You know, Jimmy, today Laura's family is coming over for dinner. Her father, mother, brothers ... She didn’t say anything to you, but I checked the messages she sent. She wants to surprise you. The point is that it would be really pitiful if, by some accident, these images ended up on all phones of those present. And also on the living room television, a beautiful video of Laura masturbating and moaning with the stereo. Imagine the scene. Laura wouldn’t be happy, would she? No, she would probably blame you. She would think that you did that, so she would call the police. The police would track down virtual traces and find out what? That's right, that a certain Stephen Pitman left a surprise message to them. And who's Stephen Pitman to them? That's right, you, my dear Jimmy! Now imagine the repercussion that this would have. Everyone would look at you with contempt. Imagine you lying in jail. Imagine what they would do with you inside there. I'm sure you don’t want this, do you?”

  I bite my lips hard enough for the pain to rise throbbing to my brain.

  “Jimmy?”

  “You can't do that.”

  “Do you wanna bet?”

  I remain silent.

  “Do you wanna bet?”

  I clench my fist.

  “Because I can end your life and all those around you in the blink of an eye. So I'm going to ask you one last time, Jimmy: do you wanna bet?”

  Those last words come out in a whisper and I can imagine Steve's face contracting with sadistic pleasure as he whispers them.

  “No, I don’t wanna bet.”

  “Great, that's what I thought. Now pay attention to what you are going to do.”

  The next few seconds pass in slow motion, each word of Steve striking me like a hot sting in the brain. I’m getting crazy. Damn, I can only be completely losing my mind.

  Steve stops talking and a cold wind hits my face. The sweat drops through my face as I look at my own reflection in a puddle of water on the ground. My skin is red, my mouth compressed. Shivering and gasping, I am the perfect portrait of dread.

  Steve says, “Do understand what you must do, Jimmy?”

  You're getting crazy.

  “Yes.”

  “And do you understand what happens if you don’t do what I'm telling you?”

  Do you realize that this is all crazy? That all this is simply implausible?

  “I understand.”

  “So welcome to the game, my friend.”

  The connection is ended and all that is left is the liquid that flows hot through my legs.

  I keep my cell phone and start to put into action exactly what Steve asked me to do.

  IV

  You meet a hooded man in the suburbs and he hands you a revolver. Colt Cobra. He says it's okay, your friend who made the order has already transferred the money.

  You touch the gun and looks at it. You think of running away. Drop the gun on the ground, get in the car and drive as far as possible. But where do you run away when your life is being totally tracked by a virtual figure who has all your data? You don’t run away, that's the truth. You try to convince yourself that none of this is real, everything is just a fucking dream. You close your eyes, sigh and open them again. The gun is still there.

  Come on, you tell yourself, I just need to do what he wants and everything is fine. Soon he will disappear, he will leave me alone.

  May God wants you to be right.

  You look at the address sent by Steve. The car's sound plays Paint it Black by the Stones. The music makes chills run through your trembling body, each note sending shock waves as you whisper, “Old warehouse, near the industrial area.”

  You accelerate, overtake a few cars and almost go outside the road. The drivers honk and truck drivers show the middle finger for you. Nearly five-twenty, you have to arrive at five-thirty. You ignore the other drivers and you step on the accelerator.

  The phone rings, only this time it's not Steve.

  “Laura?”

  “Jimmy, where the fuck are you?”

  “I'm kinda busy right now, honey, but I promise I'll be back as soon as I can."

  “If it's because of what happened earlier—”

  “Laura, it's okay. Really.”

  It's okay, excet for the fact that you're about to do something you'll regret for the rest of your life. It's okay, you're just being manipulated by a maniac character who came true.

  Nothing has ever been better.

  “I love you, Jimmy.”

  Liar.

  “I love you too, sweetheart.”

  Coward.

  You go through a gas station and kick the car wheel while filling the tank. How did things end up like this? You are alone, trying to save yourself and others. You've never been more alone, lost and completely fucked. Laura says she loves you, but she was probably masturbating without even knowing she was being monitored. You need to save a woman who says she loves you, when she actually enjoys thinking about a famous actor with white teeth and a perfect suit while having sex with you. You need to save her if you don't wanna be the sex toy of other inmates twice your size.

  A van hits the side of your car as you try to overtake it, almost throwing you off the road. An old woman shows up in the window wearing a golf cap and tells you to fuck off. You show the middle finger. She takes a gun and points at you. She says she’ll blow your balls if you dare to repeat what you said. You roll your eyes and keep accelerating. One hundred and fifty miles an hour and less than four minutes to get to the warehouse.

  Message from Steve.

  He tells you to put the wireless earphones on and you obey. You take your hands off the wheel and prays for any idiot shows up on your way. It's hard to put the earphones on when your hands shake, but you can do this just in time to get back on the wheel and divert a dog that walks in the middle of the road.

  The warehouse rises, a rusty building with abandoned old trucks in front it. The desert landscape of late afternoon gives the place a morbid appearance, some
thing seen in horror movies.

  You step on the brake, the car skids on the dirt ground and throws dust up. The clock changes to five-thirty, while you thank God almost in tears for having arrived on time.

  Steve calls.

  “Just on time, huh? I thought you would never make it. But of course I'm not the first person to doubt you, am I? Your father always doubted you, I saw you saying it in Total Life a million times. Elise always doubted that you would ever be a good father. And Laura, well, she doubts even you're a man. How does it feel, Jimmy? What does it feel like to be a nobody, need to wear glasses and pretend to be someone else to feel complete? Is your life so empty that you have nothing better to do? Let's be honest, old friend, you're just a failed sadist. A psychopath with no life. You need to feel the blood in your hands to be able to move on. And like every coward, you need someone else to act for you.” He pauses. “You shouldn’t have used me, Jimmy. That was the worst mistake you ever made.”

  The stero turns off.

  “Get outta the car,” Steve says.

  Tears stream down your face. Hiccups make your body squirm. What did you do? It was just a game, a fucking game. None of it was real, for God's sake. How can anyone blame you for murdering things that are not even real? You're not a psychopath. You're just a man trying to clean his mind while he survives another fucking day.

  “Get outta the car, Jimmy, I won’t say it again. The girl is waiting for you.”

  “I ... I can’t”. You’re almost choking on your on saliva.

  “Of course you can. You've made me do worse crap before. How do you think I felt, huh? I want you to know the feeling. I want you to get outta the car and do whatever I tell you to do. I wanna control you. I managed to persuade some men to kidnap this girl earlier and I'd hate to waste my time. Now get outta the fucking car, Jimmy.”

  You stagger out, carrying the gun with you. You wet your pants again and the scent of urine covers your body. Birds fly over the roof of the warehouse, a cold wind coming from the west. The sunset reflects on the steel of the building and makes your vision blurred.

  Inside, the concrete floor is almost completely broken and full of garbage. There are boxes scattered around, rubbish everywhere and stuff like SALLY FUCKED FOR THE FIRST TIME HERE written on the walls. Sunlight enters through the broken windows and reflects in shards of glass. You cover your nose when the scent of carrion enters through your nose and you force yourself not to vomit, hoping to have stepped on something other than used condoms.