Chapter 5: The Pacific

About three weeks passed since Owinson had made his pact with Roger. For school, it seemed that the academy had announced a period of refinement as most of the courses would be online. Uncle Derek was starting to earn a bit from selling sandwiches using his trailer. Most people loved them, despite being chased by the tax robots. For the young Roger, he had more free time to follow up the Pacific because there was no school and thus no time to sit and think about Tamara. For the latter, he hadn't heard anything from her or her father; it seemed as if Bob was trying to take some time off too. From time to time, Roger would swear he would hear Owinson's voice sometimes, but the former's manipulation of nerves and perception hadn't occurred again. Meanwhile, breaking the virtual walls had never been more tempting, but he would end up spilling his own blood trying to control hovering cars. His ability was limited to the remote control of phones, perhaps manipulating the illumination system but not beyond the same room. Some days he would dream of his father, other days of his faceless mother. What was intriguing recently was that lucid dreaming had never been easier; Roger did it all with his mind. He blamed himself for painting less than before. However, with Owinson's threats, he had to start looking for evidence.

After a short while, he managed to gather enough data. It seemed that the Pacific Crime Family, ruled by a triad, was a small drug supplying group back in Florida that managed to bring itself a small fortune before its original founder was caught when his partners took the word back to the Feds. Somehow, the mob was revived with the coming of the reviving triad that, not only kept the family together, but improved on it. When Owinson returned back to Florida, before ever contacting Isaac or Bob, he contacted the family. They funded all of his work, even supervised some of it as part of the deal. In return, he did finance them back with some interest as it was stated in the contract. As part of the deal, he offered them a place in Garlem to run their business. There were two main places that belonged entirely to the Pacific. The first was the VR World, previously a brothel, where people, after answering dozens of questions, dive into their own world, a simulation created by hundreds of servers under the ground, which served as a form of escapism. The second place was the auction center where newer prototypes of Red Tech's products were budded for, the specific place where Jeremy's father worked. Of course, what was spoken of represented the legitimate businesses of the family without forgetting the underground fight pits, the supplying of comfort robots, drugging simulations and selling viruses to hackers, with immunity over their own servers. It was the true definition of the modern crime family. They used less hitmen with every passing year. If they had picked someone, they would blackmail her with a scandalous affair after having hacked her accounts. Other times they would use the VR World and manipulate the servers in order to torment those they hated, sometimes push the stimulus of their brains to the edge of insanity. Still, such activities were not run as often; there were some disputes within the family over its modern methods.

"These people understood the essence of this war, that's why the war on crime is different now. I have to keep that in mind," Roger said; he spent the last month tracking every cell phone ID on the street, trying to make connections between the Pacific and everything that seemed suspicious at that time. There was only one thing that was left to do, to follow the given thread.

"Hey, Jeremy, it's me," Roger said, his hands in his pocket while his head prickled every time he heard the call. His phone was glowing inside his jeans pocket.

"Hey bro, it's rare of you to call, I hope everything's alright."

"Nothing too critical, pal. I just need to talk with you a bit, I'm feeling sort of… confused,"

Why the hell did I say confused?

"Oh … I'll come to your place, bro."

"No, I happen to be passing by your neighborhood, I came to find my Uncle. He went home, I told him I'm going to stay in your place for the afternoon."

"Okay, I'll be here just come by," Jeremy said.

"Thanks, bro," Roger said before he shook his head, hanging on the phone eventually.

Do I even like Jeremy? Do I even get to say that he isn't my best friend? Would I rank him as a friend of mine?

Roger was already knocking on the door. Jeremy was wearing a sleeveless shirt with blue shorts which had extending thick ropes down to his feet. His phone was in his usual palm. His eyes were dug deep into his face, spreading traces of blackness around his eyes. Some small sprays of mayonnaise were crawling near the left part of his upper lip. He picked up a napkin from the kitchen table on his way to his room; Roger took his shoes off while resisting the amount of stimulus his mind received. Inside closed homes, his sensitivity to technology would be elevated, and thus focusing on a single stimulus would require a bit of effort.

"No one's home. Mom went to pick up my little sister, Dad went to work, it's just me," Jeremy said before he fell atop his own bed, his left leg atop his right knee. He rested his arms on his thigh while his fingers danced on the phone screen. Roger observed how the content was portrayed in his eyeball, falling down without a second to read each post. No matter how much he wondered why people did it in the first place, he would not quite understand.

"Why didn't you pick your little sister? You told me your mom's got some pain in her ankle the other day," Roger said, sitting on a chair facing Jeremy's computer.

"As if you don't know, Roger, I'm not good at anything, or so she says. They never send me on errands. I'm never relied on for any reason whatsoever. All I do is either scroll or study, that's enough for them and I'm sure that's enough for me too. There was a time I thought maybe I'm retarded or shit, but I didn't care now," Jeremy said, his hands still on his phone.

Roger swallowed what was left of water in Jeremy's cup. He started looking at the room, examining it wall by wall in his search for evidence. Jeremy's room was filled with pictures from video game heroes, there was a picture of a female anime character behind the closet. He did not need to wonder why it was behind the closet. Atop his desks were textbooks of his current study as a geologist, beside his own computer in the middle. There was a trash bucket under his feet, filled with unfinished snacks and toilet papers, along with a drying liquid soap bottle.

Apparently, there is nothing in Jeremy's room. His father would never hide anything here.

"Tell me, Roger, what's wrong?"

"Huh?"

"You said you were feeling sort of confused… confused about what?"

"Oh, that one, well… I know you'll never stop bringing that up," Roger said, arms folded.

"Ah man! So there is something! C'mon, tell me what's wrong?"

"Yeah, well, nothing much. I was just thinking about that girl from class, you know the one."

Jeremy laughed, snored bit before he exploded laughing, unable to hold his breath. He slapped his knee a couple of times.

"Roger Garaldson is freaking in love, what are the odds? Maybe things can work out with you," Jeremy said before he stood off his bed.

"I'm not in love, you prick! I just kind of like her, it's not wrong to like somebody, right? I liked girls when I was a kid, only that they didn't like me back," Roger said, blushing as he rubbed the back of his head, the area near the chip to trigger full scale scan of the other rooms.

"What is there to lose, man? You can tell her and get rejected, or you can tell her and get accepted. In my opinion all lead to the same conclusion, only memories can differ," Jeremy said, walking to the kitchen. Roger followed him.

"Why? You don't believe it can last?" Roger said, catching several signals around the whole of the house, all of different frequencies and intensities. Jeremy picked up the juice from the fridge, pouring a bit of it into his own cup and into another one for Roger.

"Oh looks like I'd have to explain it to you, it's your first time anyway," Jeremy said, offering Roger a cup of juice. As Roger swallowed the cold juice, his head was little bit tilted to the left as he caught a computer signal from the bed room; it must have been Jeremy's father's laptop.

"Look, buddy, I will break it slowly to you so that you wouldn't get a stroke. You see these type of things never last, you get to know each other for a while and then boom, the first who gets bored breaks it up and goes for a newer partner, poorly justified but true. I've done it thousands of times, my heart kept breaking until I started breaking hearts. You see, you either break hearts and get yours broken."

"Pretty philosophical for someone who's good at nothing," Roger said as he smiled, swallowing what was left of the juice.

"Yep, I had my time and used it… let me say pretty wisely," Jeremy said. He took his leave to the bathroom.

"So what do you think I should do? I don't wanna get rejected," Roger said, tiptoeing to the bedroom. There was nothing specific inside but a bed with a laptop atop the table. He didn't walk inside; he stood close enough to initiate the full override of the computer. His mind kept aching while his visions blurred; he had to keep himself intact while his friend took his time in the bathroom.

"Let me just come and I'll tell ya," Jeremy said. Roger figured he had finished. Roger felt a gigantic urge to fall on his knee, but he relied on the wall while his friend washed his hands. The scratches kept on eating Roger's vision. It was supposed to be a natural reaction since that he was connecting with the computer's network, but usually it wouldn't take that long. Blood was starting to burn inside his nostrils, pushing its way out. He wiped it with the back of his hand, perceiving the reddening of his skin. He winked a couple of times as his friend came back to the corridor, walking back to his room.

"First, you gotta start to establish something, you have to talk to her. Don't just straight confess, happened to me once and she thought I was a weirdo. You can't be too late either, happened to me as well and she considered me as a friend. So hear me out, you gotta start to establish light connection before you confess. It's not a big deal, I do it all the time and it rarely fails. Roger, bro, Roger, you okay?" Jeremy said, watching how dull his friend looked as blood drizzled off his nose like ran crossing the trenches of an old brick rooftop. Roger found himself facing an army of digits. He saw a fellow with a metallic face and red glowing eyes, clinking all the time. It only took a few seconds before the connection was established. At that exact moment, it was as if his face was splashed with icy water, his eyes opened and he fell on the ground.

"Yo! What the hell happened to you, man?"

"Ah, Jeremy," Roger said before a stream of memory with an update version that carried the contents of the files he found in the computer. Jeremy hurried to the kitchen in order to bring him some water. Roger put his hand on his head; the scratching was leaving his head at a slow pace.

I have not yet broken the security walls. Yet I did break the computer's firewall, but that one… the glowing eyes and the metal face, that wasn't me, was it?

Roger picked the cup from his friend's hand as he sipped the water. After he put the cup, he turned back to his friend. Roger put his chin atop both of his wrists; the curtains of his eyes were lowered a bit. He was put on what he would call half auto mode.

"I get these strokes sometimes, I have been suffering from them for a while," he said, there was almost no emotion in his voice. He was focused on searching the files for anything related to the mob. His eye balls danced, searching for anything.

"Maybe you should go see a doctor, you really should have seen your face when you got this… stroke," Jeremy said.

"I get these strokes sometimes, I…" Roger said as the curtains were lifted; he heaved his chin off his wrists when realizing that he was about to say the same thing over and over again, all which freaked Jeremy out.

"I'm thinking of visiting a doctor, yeah," Roger said, having already checked almost all the files of the computer except a few. Jeremy's father seemed to be a discrete fellow, either that or Owinson played Roger when he gave him the first thread. There was knocking on the door. Jeremy walked to the door while Roger resumed his search, and thus resumed his cold posture again.

I must keep looking. I can't leave empty handed, I have to keep searching for a clue. Sadly I can't bypass Internet security, but I can read the latest files, the stored emails perhaps. Oh, maybe I should check his To Do list.

Roger stopped his search when Jeremy's father walked inside with his son. He was a short fellow with a small mustache and a bald head, yet he had no extra weight on him. His legs were skinny; he had a bit of muscle. Back during his younger days, he was nowhere to be defeated amongst his peers, be it in the neighborhood or in the military.

"Mr. Jackson," Roger said, extending his arm for a handshake.

"Call me Jerry," Mr. Jackson said as he held Roger's hand, covered it with his other palm, shaking the both of them. He had a gentle smile; his eyes would close whenever his lips spread across his face. "You are the famous Roger Garaldson, my son has told me a lot about you, he also told me that you are going through difficulty. I am truly sorry for your loss," he said.

Roger nodded with a light smile.

"Jeremy, I will be in my room if you need anything," Jerry said before he pulled the door behind him.

"Your dad's cool," Roger said, not bothering to wonder if that was genuine. As he inspected through the rest of the files, there were nothing but work statistics and family pictures, most of them were about Jeremy with a few of his little sister. Still, there was a note on the VR world. Many times had Jerry planned to head there at specific times, some were after dusk. Aside from that, there was nothing but family pictures. Roger looked at Jeremy whose phone slept in his palm while he picked his nose.

He knows you're good at nothing, yet he loves you more than anything in the world. He is willing to believe in you even if you screw it all each time you try.

"Thanks buddy, he would have liked yours I'm sure," Jeremy said.

"So, what else should I know about finding a girlfriend?" Roger asked, resting a bit as his analysis of the computer was finished. His next step was to head to the VR World; there was much more evidence to be found. He knew it would not have been that easy to find the specific file that Owinson asked him to find.

"Tell me, what do you know about this girl?"

"Surprisingly, her dad was my dad's best friend. They used to work together. Same as my father, he is sick and dying. We talked, you know, I don't think you'd believe that," Roger said, bumping his fist into his friend's knee. Jeremy put the phone down, put his palms behind his head while he gazed upon the infiniteness of his black rooftop.

"You and the girl?"

"Yeah, we talked about art, perception ,beauty, even mentioned love at some point. It was wonderful, I never felt more… connected," Roger said with a smile; the whole world could be seen in the dullness of his eyes. He rubbed his hairy cheek, feeling nostalgic of her voice.

"You artists and your topics, makes you feel enlightened, huh?"

"Enlightened, no. Just self-aware if it's the right way to put it. Still, I hadn't taken her number, I'm sure she has forgotten about me," Roger said, as his mind was alerted to the upcoming notification on Jeremy's phone. He used the chip to smother the sound of the notification, letting him hooked on their conversation.

"You can never be sure. You've seen her for the whole year, does she talk with anyone else?"

"Hm, I doubt that, no she doesn't, not at all. She seemed like someone who truly believed she was superior over all, makes sense since that she was to be a Neural Engineer before she quit. Hard not to believe she was superior, since most people, though not all , choose Art school when only when their grades are not good enough in technical modules. Mine were just fine, but I went for the school anyway. I hadn't felt superior. Anyway, I guess I'm the only one she'd ever talked to in that school, I guess that makes me something," Roger said, biting from Jeremy's hidden chocolate under the drawer. While he explained, Jeremy tended to his phone.

Roger sighed, sat with his head tilted to the back. His chip caught the signal of a conversation from the other room, the bed room. Roger cleared observing the flow of messages when Mr. Jackson wrote his password and opened his email box. The newest message spoke of a "special file" stored in the VR World, in the owner's computer. The owner was a woman in her forties, Miss Louisa Rain. She had always been a lady of renown and respect, also a target of journalists and love conquerors. Still, she had always been stubborn and straight to the point. She always had that look on her face that inspired unpredictability. Roger made his mind; she was next.

"Hey, Jeremy, I'm heading into town, would you want something?"

"No, Dad, just drive carefully," Jeremy said, looking back at his phone.

"Sir, if you may, drop me by the next street," Roger stood. Jerry nodded, stepping aside in order to let Roger pass.

"I'll see you tomorrow!" Jeremy said. Jerry looked back at his son, almost with a look of shame in his face yet unshakable blame. Roger waited by the car as Mr. Jackson descended down the stairs and walked to the vehicle. As he unlocked the doors, Roger stepped inside the car while the man fastened his seatbelt and turned the keys.

"I hope you're not in a hurry, Roger. I usually wait for the engine to heat up a little bit before I start driving," Jerry said with a snarl.

"I'm not, sir," Roger replied.

"You know, my son has told me a lot about you. Unbelievable, you are his only friend in years and this is the first time you and I meet."

"He is my only friend too."

"You see, Jeremy has spent most of his life facing a screen, ever since he was a child. It began with a small tablet before his computer and then his phone. I remember there was a time when he sat in my lap and told me about his marvelous adventures with his friends, you could say he truly loved them. It felt strange because we lived in a secluded villa, the family villa, before I came here with his mother, looking for opportunity. I then realized that the friends he spoke to me about were his online friends, those whom he would rejoice to see connected were his… fake friends. He was a fake friend as well since that one can choose whatever he desired to be in the virtual world. I was shocked when his mother told me that she saw a boy walking with him a few years back. That boy was you, Roger. That is why I would like to thank you for letting my son step away from the screen a bit, even though Garlem worsened the whole of it with its boundless technology," Jerry explained before his feet touched the acceleration pedal. Roger looked down between his thighs; his fingers were shaking.

"I didn't have much friends when I came to Garlem with my father either. I was sitting alone at the back of the class when you brought Jeremy to class. He sat beside me and so it began, we are dear friends till this day, even after the whole academic specialty put a subtle division in our lives," Roger explained; his voice seemed to be as neutral as ever. With every word he spoke he would be reminded of how many times he disgusted spending time with someone who would not see beyond his own boundaries, someone who was a slave to a device. Still, the words of that person's father made his heart heavy.

"So," Jeremy said, turning the wheels to the left as the vehicle left the parking lot behind the residential building. "How are you dealing with… you know?"

"I am actually living with my Uncle, he came soon after the funeral. He will stay with me for a while," Roger said, catching weird signals coming out of Jerry's phone.

"I see. If you need anything, help, food, shelter, you can always come to our home, Roger. Never hesitate to ask anything from me, you can consider me your father," Jerry said, keeping the vehicle at a regular speed as he checked the newer messages on his phone. Roger read one of the upper messages of the phone; his eyes widened.

"We need to talk," a message by someone with the tag name of L. As Roger sunk into the search for the source of the IP, his skull shook in awkwardness. He saw a constant number of IPs appearing after each other, each would lead to a different branch of sequential IPs. Roger had to pull himself out of there; it was a rat hole of fake IPs. The one on the other side must be smart, Roger thought to himself while keeping a hand in his forehead.

"What's wrong, Roger? You seem in pain," Jerry asked, taking the right turn. A quick stroke fell upon Roger's head before blood descended through his nostrils. He wiped it with his forearm before it crossed his lips, mingling with the trenches between his teeth.

"You look as if you have a little insect playing in your head," Jerry said with a smile.

"Fortunately, I don't, sir," Roger said, smiling back at the man. Jerry was closer to Roger's apartment, yet he was lessening its speed despite that the parking lot was empty. Roger figured something was being played.

"Earlier I had a problem with my laptop, it seemed that someone had accessed it remotely. Someone had searched throughout my files, it was mentioned in the list of activities. Do you have any idea what I should do about it? I figure someone from your generation might know what should be done," Jerry said, entering the parking lot. Roger's heart raced as a small droplet of traveled across his cheek.

"No… sir," he answered.

What the hell is going on here? Someone of my generation, why the hell didn't he ask Jeremy then?

As the car stopped in the intended spot, Jerry turned around with a curious look on his face along with a half smile. His eyes were scrutinizing. His breaths were slow, so slow that Jerry seemed to be as stiff as a statue. For a half second, Roger was certain that he was doomed.

"I'll see you next time," Jerry said, switching to a joyful face and a snarl. Roger nodded as he opened the door and walked out of the car.

"Hey, Roger!"

"Sir?"

"Avoid the Ninth Street these days, I hear people are more likely to get robbed there," Jerry said. Roger watched the vehicle as it exited the parking lot. Interestingly enough, the Ninth Street contained the VR World.

"Hey Roger, you're finally here! Get up, come on!" Uncle Derek said as he saw his nephew from the window.

Roger turned back to his residential building, determined to finish his search the following day.

It is obvious, he wants me to stay away from the VR World. There is something there, there must be something there. He will see me if I go today, I will leave for the place tomorrow.

There was a man sitting in the living room. He seemed to be in his mid-thirties, wearing a full black suit with a tie and a leg over the other. His hair was slightly short and trimmed. His face was clean. His blue eyes were turned to Roger. He was holding a paper journal, an outdated one. Roger walked inside the room with his Uncle behind him.

"Aye, like I told you, this agent came looking for you, claimed it was something about you Dad or ," Uncle Derek said in Roger's ear. His inability to crack through the man's phone bewildered him, even stressed him out. He seemed to be some government official; it could explain why his phone was sealed from Roger's scanner. The man held his vest as he stood; legs stuck to each other, and then offered Roger his hand.

"Mr. Garaldson, FBI agent, Patrick Lorenzo, pleasure to meet you," the man said, holding Roger's hand for a short shake before he withdrew back to his seat. He placed the journal aside, but instead diverted his complete focus to the young Roger. The latter sat facing the agent. Uncle Derek stepped away from the door, sitting behind the wall while drinking his tea, listening to the guest.

"To begin with, I would like to state that I am terribly sorry for your loss," the agent said, taking a short bow for a few seconds before he retrieved his posture. Roger nodded.

"Sir, my Uncle and I are worried, if we could know what the purpose of this visit is, we would be glad," Roger said in a formal manner, observing the tone of his voice and the gestures of his face.

"Sure, I will tend to the subject at hand," the agent said, placing a file on the table. The file contained the picture of a trio, Isaac, Bob and Owinson. They seemed younger, the streets didn't resemble Garlem because the sea was just behind them. They were standing beside a car, caught by a local store's camera. The agent then showed pictures of different animals whose brains were open; Roger's expectations of how animals had their heads sliced up exceeded with every picture the agent showed.

"Have you ever heard of the shutdown affair about twenty years ago?"

Roger kept his lips intact for the following seconds. He looked towards the window before he looked back at the agent. The latter picked up a cigarette and placed it in between his lips while fetching his vest for his lighter.

"You wouldn't mind, would you?" the agent asked.

Roger shook his head. "I did hear about it, but not in the way you may think. My father didn't tell me about it, I read about it in article in the net shortly after he died."

"Oh, okay then. What did you read in that article exactly?"

"That their previous company was closed because of—" Roger said, pointing to the pictures enclosed the file.

"Yes, you may be in need of further details. Owinson Enterprise, the predecessor of Red Tech, was a semi-tech company that operated solely on the neural interface. They had a newer vision. They wanted to see how an organic mind would operate with a piece of machinery without the interference of any connector. The pictures you see in here are real, Mr. Garaldson. Without permission of the state, they imprisoned animals and operated on their brains. You see, most of the experiments failed and the animals died… painfully. The amount of data their minds received was way beyond their control."

Roger shook while he looked at the pictures atop each other. There was a picture of a rabbit with two blood pools around his eyes with a red line across his skull. The chip had crippled his mind and destroyed him.

"Your father, Isaac Garaldson, and his partner Bob Polion slipped out of it. Owinson, however, was thrown into prison for two years, served only one as he managed to bribe his way out. We have no evidence over it but the bureau doesn't want to care about how he got it. The case was over then, but there were what you would call… loose ends."

"What? Loose ends?"

"Yes, you see. There was another case. The bureau suspected that the trio went far enough to use human subjects. The establishment of Red Tech corresponded with strange disappearances occurring across Florida. Some of dead bodies were found at the bottom of the sea. Agent Darius Lorenzo was close to prove it, but the bureau linked the dead bodies to a serial killer at that time. The case was closed ever since," the agent explained.

"So, that's it," Roger replied, rubbing the back of his neck. "It makes more sense to me that that the serial killer was the one behind the disappearances."

"And so it did to the bureau, the press, but not to the FBI agent, and subsequently not to me. You see, based on the evidence of the dead bodies that were evidently linked to the serial killer, they didn't have a scar in their skulls. For the bodies at the bottom of the sea, they did have that one scar going from the crown of their heads down to the upper part of their napes. I didn't want to care why the bureau dumped the case but something happened recently, something that made the bureau rethink opening the case back again."

"Sir, I have no connection to Red Tech or Owinson enterprises, I wasn't even born back then," Roger explained, sensing his hair at the back of his head around the hidden scar rising.

"What? No, don't worry about it at all. You are not at the top of my list, it's just a necessary procedure that I talk with all of those connected to the case. Since that your father passed away recently, I am compelled to speak to you as his son. So, my question is… did you notice something suspicious about your father?"

"Suspicious, what do you mean?"

"You know, an important document maybe, or something from his work as a neural engineer."

"Well, I haven't seen him do something like what you have described because I usually don't see him at all. He goes out early and comes back late, without speaking of the nights he would spend at work. I rarely spend time with my father, but I assure you than when I did spend some time with him, there was no mention of anything like what you said."

The agent subbed the cigarette in the ashtray. "Well, I guess that's the end of my visit, isn't it?"

Roger kept silent. The agent stood off his chair, picking his file with him. He tossed his hand into his pocket before he extended his hand holding a card.

"Here is my card. You seem to be an interesting fellow, Roger Garladson. I can simply relate to that, to how you rarely spend time with your father because he was intensely caught at work. However, that's a subject for another day. If you remember anything that can serve the case, please do make the call. Many good men and women died, I wouldn't want them to have died in vain, I'm sure the former agent thought the same," agent Patrick Lorenzo said before he left the card in Roger's hands and walked to the door.

"I will be seeing you real soon, Mr. Garaldson. I hope I get the pleasure of seeing you too, Mr. Sheelan," the agent said, addressing Uncle Derek . As the door was closed behind the agent, Roger was left all alone in the living room while Uncle Derek looked at him from behind with a look of bewilderment in his face. There he was with another contact card in his palms, yet this time the wonder was different.

Did you do it, dad? Did you kill those people?