The drive home was a nightmare, halfway through I gave in and let the autodrive take over, silently swearing at the rise of our robot overlords. I slid my seat back a bit and tried to catch up with the news, filtering for MindLink stories in the last 24 hour cycle. I frowned at the level of noise in most feeds, they didn’t even try to disguise the sponsored editorials. The legitimate items were tiny in print, nearly invisible, between monstrous links with flashing stars to places like the Pussydrome and Apokolipse.
	Ever since Granger v MindLink, the south side of the city was a hot mess of virtual brothels and Xperience theaters. Some were so vivid, and realistic that people were being diagnosed with PTSD after extended use, especially the war simulators. Another popular choice were the “end of world” scenarios, where you’d be plugged into a thoughtscape and assume the identity of a rugged, survival oriented man beast after the collapse of civilization. You’d use your guns and wits to eliminate the competition and repopulate the earth as your feudal domain. Very popular amongst the libertarian geek sects.
	My phone babbled and chirped at me, it was Mike. I jabbed the icon with a car on it, “Whatcha got Mike?”
	Mike’s rich baritone came from everywhere, “Preliminary on the financials; second victim was a dreamer, his most recent bank statement is loaded with trips to the clubs,” he said.
	“You got a warrant and pulled that already?! I just left like 25 minutes ago,” I said, astonished.
	“I’ve got some pull with Judge West, he rubber stamped a template for me and the banks were falling over themselves to give me what I needed, I think basically everyone in the world wants this murder quickly and quietly solved,” he said.
	“Good work, I’ll be in touch,” I killed the call and thought for a minute.
	I wasn’t that far from Pratt street, where a lot of these establishments could be found. I took the wheel from the autodrive, which relinquished control with a disappointed chime, and started heading that way. It was definitely time to see what the fuss was about when it came to MindLink.
	I arrived a few short minutes later at a place called Pür Imagination. I parked in a side lot that was nearly full to capacity and went inside. The lobby area was a violent assault on the senses.
The building was little more than a circular dome surrounded by an endless wall with no corners, with doors to other sections of the club every ten feet or so. There was a thick artificial mist sliding down the walls and across the floors, veiling and softening pulsing neon flashers beneath. Above, strobes of an ever changing infinite cycle of colors painted various sections of the reception area in ethereal lights. The fog soaked it in and held it deep inside like foxfire. The music was physically beating on my body, a thrumming, driving bass that seemed to vibrate in a resonant frequency with my internal organs, threatening to liquify them.
	There were black leather couches strewn around the room, young folks lounged, chatted, and laughed. Most looked like harmless kids socializing, but some had the criminal edge to them, probably minor dealers, bookies, and a pimp or two. I spotted tough looking bouncers spaced evenly around the room keeping stoic watch over everyone.
I approached the counter, a drop dead beautiful young woman who couldn’t be more than twenty years old turned around, flashing me a smile that was both seductive and cheerful in equal measures, “Welcome to Pür Imagination!” she said, I could hear her pronouncing the umlaut like her bosses drilled into her, “I’m Tanica, and I’ll be your dream waitress tonight,” she said, curtseying in her black pleather outfit. Flashing LED threads sent spirals and curlicues around all of her most interesting parts.
I decided I wanted the cliff notes and flashed my badge, “I’m Detective MacMurray with Baltimore PD, you got a manager I can talk to?”
“Look if this was about that customer last week, I told him ‘no way’ when he offered, and I’d never even consider-” she babbled, this kid had a terrible poker face.
“It’s not about that, I just have some questions,” I smiled.
Her body relaxed a notch, but not entirely. She skated away onto the floor in nullfriction boots, picking up spooky speed as she darted across the lobby to one of the doors arrayed along the circular wall that surrounded the reception desk. She knocked a few times, then appeared to be having a conversation with the door itself. Probably a peephole display of some kind.
	A few seconds later, an older man emerged from the door in an ill fitting dark purple suit with black shirt and shiny metallic tie. He flashed me a smile full of too-big teeth as he approached, “Detective!” he said, reaching out a hand to shake mine, “Welcome to Pür Imagination, I’m Sullivan Doyle,” he saw that I wasn’t making a move to shake back, and put his hand away. The smile on his face soured appreciably, much to my satisfaction.
“Got somewhere we can talk?” I asked.
He guided me over to the office he had emerged from. It was smallish, cramped even. The fantasy facade fell away in the more utilitarian areas of the club, I noticed. Sullivan tore off his jacket and tie, there were dark patches of sweat under his arms. He collapsed into a creaky leather chair that looked to be a 20th century relic that could probably survive a nuclear blast.
The office was littered with displays and monitors, there was even a lot of good ol’ fashioned paper pinned to the walls in places, with processes and procedures written down for various events, schedules, internal memos, company directives for Doyle Entertainment Enterprises employees. The screens had feeds from all the ‘entertainment’ rooms. Most just featured some person laying back in a chair with a dream waitress nearby looking bored. There were heart rate monitors and vital stats scrolling in a ticker along the bottom of each one.
Sullivan exhaled audibly, turning into a yawn as he finished. He produced a cigarette from his shirt pocket and lit it with a wick lighter, snapping it shut. He exhaled twin plumes of smoke from his nose as he looked me over, “So what do you want, officer?” he started.
“Detective, I’m Regina MacMurray from BPD homicide, I’m doing some research into MindLink for an ongoing investigation,” I said, sitting in the chair opposite to him.
“The headless body from last night?” he asked. He smiled when he noticed my reaction, “Yeah all of us down here know about that already, who do you think went down to the Mayor’s office this morning and rattled cages to get this swept under the rug?” he asked smugly.
“Nothing is getting swept under any rug, we’re going to arrest whoever committed this crime, nothing more, nothing less,” I said.
He waved his hand dismissively, “As long as the feeds don’t start breaking down our doors asking about ‘The Mind Link Killer’ or whatever crock of shit they cook up for the idiots,” he said, “bad for business.”
“Do you know this kid?” I said, showing him a photo of victim #2, Nicholas Rainey. A picture of his I.D., not his severed head with spikes sticking out of it.
“Haven’t seen him here before, he looks higher class than my joint,” he said, I figured he was telling the truth, it certainly would suit him in this matter.
“Do you ever get people who get too into the experience? Addicted?” I asked.
	His response was a short bark of laughter, “Lady, all those kids out there are addicted. The only reason any of them stops coming is because they can’t afford to dream anymore. I’ve had them fall in love with computer programs, show up with wedding rings, and flowers, and letters from lawyers threatening me with legal action for holding their loved ones hostage,” he leaned over his desk a bit. “They’re all animals out there, becoming more burnt out and desensitized to real life every day, but as long as they keep paying me, they can dream,” he finished.
“What if they can’t pay?” I asked, trying not to show my disgust with this man.
He spread his hands, “It’s not like you can steal time in a chair mounted to the foundation of a building. Some have kicked in the doors with guns, some have tried hacking their girlfriends out of my databases. Hell, the rich ones just buy a setup from me. I have fair market rates for home installation jobs. Who ever knows if those kids see the light of day again,” he finished, leaning back in his chair and putting his feet onto a small filing cabinet nearby. He started picking at his teeth, there was a half eaten salad nearby, I must have interrupted dinner.
“How much does it cost to ‘dream’?”
“Three hundred an hour. But you’re a pretty one, so I’ll give you a half hour free,” he said, “consider it a perk for your assistance with our little head chopping weirdo.”
I wasn’t considering getting hooked up to one of these brain fuck machines, but now that he offered, it seemed like a good idea for the case, to understand what this was all about.
“Show me,” I said.
He donned his costume and led me back to Tanica, who in turn led me to one of the small rooms that lined the circular wall that surrounded the lobby.
“Looks like I get to be your dream waitress after all,” she said, with a big theatrical wink.
She led me into a dark room with a large chair in the center and a console off to the side. The chair was in a wide angled “V” shape, for resting comfortably. It was partially surrounded by some kind of mounted equipment above and to the sides. There were lots of glowing panels with numbers and readouts flashing. I took a logical leap and guessed that they were mostly for effect. The console was just a flat board on a podium. There was a stool nearby, where I assume Tanica would sit and play DJ for my trip.
	I made to sit down in the seat, but she stopped me, “The more skin-to-surface contact, the better, I’ll also need to hook up some monitoring and stimulation electrodes,” she said.
	I was hesitant, but decided I may as well do it right. I took off my shoes and pants, handing them over to her, grateful that I was dressed for the gym with regards to my undergarments. The tight fitting shorts and sports bra didn’t leave me feeling too exposed, but the temperature in the room seemed to rise appreciably as I took on an excited flush despite myself.
	I lay in the chair, it was cool to the touch, and comfortable. What I thought to be hard plastic was actually some kind of gelled surface that gave way to my body and cradled it. As I lay back, Tanica approached with a fistful of electrodes dangling from her hand. She began to place them on my body, seemingly at random. Several on my legs, arms, chest, and neck. She placed a few on my inner thighs, and one above waistband of my shorts. Gooseflesh broke out on my neck as I felt some of them testing out their connectivity.
	“It’s more for the overall experience.” Tanica said, as she pulled the cap for the MindLink down over my head. “The dream is completely capable of inducing all of the wildest pleasure you could ever want, but the flesh wants to play as well,” she said, as the strap cinched itself comfortably under my chin, “You can go without electrodes, but you feel a schism when coming awake again,” she slid her hands over my upper chest and shoulders, “Relax.” she cooed as she stood up and walked back to the console. I took her advice and tilted my head back and closed my eyes.
	I felt a small vibration as the cap and chair powered up, suddenly Tanica’s voice was alive inside my head.
	What’s your fantasy tonight?
	I didn’t have to answer, I was thinking of the beaches of Ocean City, where I had spent so much time between classes at college. They manifested slowly around me as I fell into a faux slumber. My mind was conscious but malleable from sliding down that edge between reality and dreaming. The MindLink used your own memory references and reckoning, compositing them with a database of millions of other experiences to create a virtual landscape.
	All of a sudden, I felt the sand beneath and between my toes, I smelled the salty air, I heard the gulls, I felt the warm breeze. The constant, susurrating roar of the ocean crept into my awareness, like it had always been there but I had tuned it out. I focused on it now, the steady rhythmic pull and push of the waves.
	I looked down at myself and saw I was beach appropriate. I had on a gaudy neon pink and lime green string bikini I loved dearly in college. There was ocean water beaded on my impressive abs, sculpted to tanned marble by my krav maga training and obsessive gym routines. I was holding a cold beer in one hand and a pair of sunglasses in the other. I put them on instinctively, and the landscape faded to that filmy brown. I smiled big despite myself, knowing and also not knowing or caring that this was all fake.
	I walked to my base camp on the beach, where there were some other young people waiting. They were familiar in a way, but also not. Unless I asked specifically, the MindLink would index some companions for me from my experiences, not a real individual I knew, but people I would get along well with.
	One of the thoughtscape phantoms turned and smiled at me. He was shirtless and looked like a Greek God, or at least a demigod. He had dirty blonde hair in a retro messy style jutting from the top of his head, and a chiseled body. When he looked at me my guts turned to mush, I went weak in the knees.
	“Hey Reg,” he said.
	“Hi Donovan, I have some stuff back in my car; cooler, sandwiches. Can you help me?” I called back. A bubble of information about Donovan formed in my mind. He was a transfer student, we became fast friends, he was from Oregon. Last night we were both drunk and made out for awhile. In an omniscient way, I knew this was a simple “tryst” scenario, and it filled me with confidence that no matter what, this game was rigged so that I always won.
	“Sure!” he replied, dusting some sand off himself as he stood and came toward me, we walked briskly to the parking lot.
	My car was in a secluded spot which would never exist in the real Ocean City, there didn’t seem to be anyone for a million miles as I pulled him atop me in my backseat. He slid between my legs and pressed himself against me hard as we kissed deeply. My body was absolutely on fire for this moment. I recalled the entire day we had just spent together; waking up early in my dorm, packing all my beach stuff, the drive that was just long enough to be annoying, but not unbearable. Sprawling on the beach and dozing as the sun cooked me beautiful. Splashing foamy water at my friends, laughing so hard I almost drowned, all culminating in this perfect moment.
	It was then that I felt the panic rise. Something about the way this experience gripped and sculpted these memories in my mind, these feelings. It suddenly felt so wrong, so invasive. I thought of Mike, and instantly a wave of revulsion for this man atop me soured the experience like a fast acting chemical reaction.
It took the MindLink a beat to interpret what was going on, and in that split second, the phantom continued to force itself upon me, I pulled my hand back to break his fucking arm. When it ceased, the entire scene shattered around me like an enormous stained glass window being brought down by a wrecking ball and I awoke in the chair with a gasp, crying out. Tanica stared at me dreamily, her face illuminated with a soft blue hue, tinged with a strobe of red from her console.
	“Wow, you fought back against that, I’ve never seen someone resist their first dream so hard,” she said, sounding almost bored yet slightly fascinated.
	I sat up in the chair, pulling the cap from my head, “How long was I in there?” I asked.
	“Two minutes,” she replied.
	I stared at her in shock, I felt like I had experienced an entire day; the planning, the drive, the beach. Or had I? The more I tried to focus on it, the faster it slipped from my mind, like sand through my gripping fingers, until finally I couldn’t remember a single detail about the experience, except for how freaked out it made me.
	“It’ll be gone shortly,” she said, “Sully charges more for long term encodes, he wasn’t going to let me give you that with his freebie.”
	My breathing slowly returned to normal as I pulled the the last of the electrodes from my body and got dressed. Tanica tried to make small talk, but I was too brittle for conversation of any kind. I felt sorry for the kid, she was just doing her job.
	As I left, Doyle gave me his business card, I tossed it in the gutter on the way to my car, not wanting any association with that creep, regardless of the potential assistance he might provide on our cases.
	I called Mike.
	“Welker,” he said as the connection established.
	“MindLink is fucked up and should be illegal,” I started.
	“Whoa, whoa, what happened?” he asked.
	I tried to recall what happened, but there was nothing there. I remember when I came to, the fleeing feelings of revulsion and contempt for what had occurred, but all of the details were sanded down to nothing. The blank spot in my memory was disconcerting, I knew something had once occupied that space and now didn’t, it made me uneasy, I kept fiddling with it in my mind like when you tongue the gap where a tooth fell out as a kid.
	“I went to one of the clubs on Pratt, the owner let me try one of the machines, let me try a ‘dream’, well it was a weird experience,” I said, babbling on, trying to give form to what was making me anxious. “The way it crawled inside my mind, it fucks with who you are, like what you’re made of, your core,” I said tensely, this experience had rattled me more than I had even realized up until now. “The bastard didn’t even let me keep the experience, it vanished after it ended. All I remember is that it ended badly and now I have this smudged out memory in my mind like a smoking crater,” I finished. There was tears welling up in my eyes.
	“I’ll be at your apartment soon, we’ll talk about this, there’s a lot of things to go over,” he said
	I was pleased he was going to spend the night. As the car conveyed me home, I focused on what I had felt in those last moments, I wanted to make sure they didn’t fade. Something was fundamentally wrong with what was going on in those clubs. Experiences in physical space were one thing, you were free to consent or not to anything that happened, to make choices. The way MindLink was used in these clubs was an affront to my senses, to have you, the real you, the pilot inside your skull, to have that most sacred of foundations tampered with for cheap thrills.
The car raced to carry me home, a rain had started and quickly turned into a downpour. I turned in the driver’s seat to watch the skyline drift by, wet and bright, starbursts of light forming where it refracted in the raindrops. I felt a complex dread I couldn’t even begin to put into words yet.