Chapter 3: Chapter 3

Sara waited patiently in a small room. It was furnished only with a table and two benches, one of which she now sat on. A bright light blared overhead. From one corner, a camera watched her.

Clad in an orange jumpsuit and shock collar, she waited for her public defender and her family to arrive—she had not seen the latter since before she had left for the protest. Even though she did not believe she had done anything wrong, she still felt terribly over what she was putting them through. She was determined to remain strong in front of her family. Her distress would surely make their pain even worse.

During the previous week, Sara had learned of the charges being leveled against her—first degree murder and terrorist conspiracy. All the law enforcement personnel she had talked with had done nothing to hide their hatred, and had constantly reminded her that the slain police officer was survived by a widow and four children. They had seemed to completely believe their narrative that she had been an ally of the killer despite her denials. The cop’s body camera had not established that she had failed to notice the gunman—it had only shown her interference when he had tried to draw his weapon. She had been put under constant pressure to confess to the crime. And Sara did plan to confess—though not for the reasons the police and FBI pressured her with.

The only door to the room opened briefly, and Sara’s family entered. She rose from the bench to meet them. She hugged her parents first, then her little sister.

“Sara!” Poor Lane already sounded shaky, and she was on the verge of tears. “Your face...” Sara had a nasty but fading bruise where she had fallen on her gas mask. It was the least of her concerns—soon she would not even have a body to injure.

“I’m okay,” she promised in her usual soft tone. At fifteen, Lane was four years younger than Sara—and her girlish pigtails made her seem younger still. She had always been timid and sensitive, and the prisoner wished that she could somehow shield her sibling from this trauma.

Sara walked back to the table and indicated with her hand that they should all have a seat. She sat across from her family.

Her father spoke without preamble, his voice carrying its hint of his childhood Japanese accent. “I’m searching for a lawyer willing to take your case. I’ve reached out to a number of legal defense charities, but they haven’t been helpful. The national media...they’re saying the most vicious lies about you.” Despite his reserve, Sara still picked up on his anguish.

“I’m sorry, but there isn’t anything another lawyer can do for me,” she said sadly. “The police found my anarchist writings online—and these days that sort of thing just isn’t tolerated. I have no chance of receiving a fair trial.” She briefly held up her hand to forestall any protest. “There’s nothing for it—that’s just the reality of the situation.”

As recently as twenty years ago, anarchists had been considered by the general US public to be nothing more than naïve crackpots. But the demonizing of a growing anarchist movement by political and economic leaders, as well as a compliant media, had equated holding such views with terrorism.

“So you’re just giving up?” her mother asked in dismay.

“No. I’ve accepted what’s inevitable and begun planning accordingly.” Sara was sympathetic, but firm. “When I arrive in Fantasy, I don’t want to cower inside the supposed safety of the inmate capital, unable to help anyone—that’s not a life where I can respect myself. I’m going to fight against the hunters. I’ve already done thorough research on Fantasy Justice from when I argued against it. I’m as ready as anyone could be for something like this.”

“We shouldn’t think that way just yet,” her father insisted. “Tell me everything that happened during the protest—I don’t trust what I’ve heard in the news. And I don’t believe we should give up on bringing you home.”

By the time Sara had explained all the events of that day and her experiences since, Lane was gently crying. Seated on either side of her, her parents both did their best to comfort her. Sara reached across the table and took one of her sister’s hands in her own. “Lane, I’m so sorry that I won’t be there for you anymore. But mom and dad will be.”

“I’m sorry,” Lane choked out past her tears. “I didn’t want to cry like this. I’m only making things worse...”

“No one expects you to bury your feelings. Especially not at a time like this.” Sara supposed she was being hypocritical by not allowing herself the same luxury—but there would be time to struggle with her own emotions later.

The door opened and closed again to admit Sara’s public defender, who approached the table. He was a tired-looking young man in an inexpensive suit. He carried a briefcase.

Sara’s parents rose. She reluctantly released Lane’s hand so that she could rise to greet her lawyer as well. She also made introductions all around. Her father and the new arrival shook hands and exchanged contact information. Lane remained passive, but she had stopped crying.

Finally everyone was seated, with Sara’s advocate now sitting next to her. He put his briefcase on the table.

Sara’s father addressed the man. “My daughter has been insisting that going to trial is hopeless. Are you of the same opinion?”

“Mr. Takahashi, I’m afraid I can only tell you the same thing I told her. So long as she refuses to recant her anarchist beliefs for public consumption, she has no chance at trial. If she were to do so, she might have a possibility for an acquittal—or a traditional prison plea.” Sara was slightly annoyed that he had brought this up.

“Why didn’t you mention this?” her father asked her.

“It’s irrelevant. I absolutely refuse to betray the cause that’s most important to me just to save myself. I know you think that my political views are ridiculous, but I’ll stand by them so long as I’m sure they’re valid. Please don’t argue with me on this—you’ll only waste what little time we have.”

He shook his head. “I hope I wasn’t the one who made you turn out so damn stubborn.” Despite his words, he sounded almost proud.

She managed a weak smile. “You might have had some influence.”

Her advocate turned to her. “On the inside, please don’t try to radicalize the prison population. The company can pull the plug on high-profile troublemakers—though they try to avoid that to maintain the illusion of fairness.”

“I understand.”

“Sara, this is really what you want?” her mother asked. Her utterly defeated tone briefly shook Sara’s resolve, but she tried to hide any sign of this from her expression.

“It’s better that I get a plea agreement—that will give me the best chance to accomplish what I want in the game. And if I were to go to trial and lose, it would also waste precious time. There are only nine months until Invasion Day, and I don’t want to be helpless when it comes.” The mention of this infamous yearly event made everyone uncomfortable.

“But this does mean that I’ll have to plead guilty.” Sara paused uncomfortably. “I’m sorry to put all of you through such an embarrassment. ...On the other hand, an actual trial would drag our whole family through the mud.”

“Don’t worry about anything like that,” her mother told her. “Make this decision for yourself.”

“I will.” She turned to her lawyer. “Is there any progress with the agreement?”

“Yes—I was able to get everything you said was important. As well as the information you requested.”

He opened his briefcase, and from it handed Sara a manila folder and her glasses case—as a terror suspect, she was not allowed even the most trivial of personal possessions. He also placed a pen in front of her on the table. She put on her glasses and opened the folder. The first page was blank, save for the in-game address she had asked for. She committed it to memory and proceeded to the actual text of the agreement.

Sara looked up briefly, and noticed Lane was sitting completely still with her head down. This worried her, but she had to attend to the matter at hand first. Any mistakes in this document would be costly.

As she read, her defender summarized the bargain he had struck for her family. “Under the terms of the plea agreement the murder one charge will remain, but the terrorist conspiracy charge will be reduced to criminal conspiracy.” This was the most important detail—cop killers were well regarded among Fantasy inmates, but terrorists were not.

“The company has allowed for her in-game character model to be based on her current appearance, though all skin blemishes will be removed and her teeth will be straightened and whitened.” This was standard even without an agreement—photogenic prisoners increased viewership.

“The vampire player race is approved. Her weapon and armor choice is approved. Her outfits are approved. Her starting gold is increased to eight hundred.

“Her spells and gems were not approved.”

“What does that mean?” Sara’s mother asked, concerned.

“It’s nothing,” Sara reassured her. “I didn’t actually expect to get those things—I just wanted something extra to compromise on in the negotiation. I can buy them in-game.”

Lane suddenly stood up. She slammed her hands onto the table. “Have you all lost your minds?!” she screamed. She was shaking. “Sara’s getting thrown into a death game and you’re talking about it like it’s the weather!” Sara was briefly frozen in surprise. Lane almost never used profanity. “Can’t you see how insane this is?! Someone has to stop it now!” She hung her head, and her tears flowed freely. “Someone, please...” she whispered. She sobbed uncontrollably.

Sara stood and quickly rounded the table. She grabbed her sister and hugged her close. A few tears leaked from her eyes as well. “It’s okay. It’s really not as bad as it sounds. The inmates cooperate more often than not. And there’s a whole virtual world to explore.” Lane looked up at her and returned her hug. Sara offered a reassuring smile that she hoped looked less forced than it felt. “The inmate capital even has shops, and restaurants, and trolleys. There’s all sorts of fun things.”

“But what if—”

“I’m sure someday the law will be changed, and they’ll stop senselessly hurting prisoners.” Rarely in her life had Sara lied to her sister—but she did not know what else to say.

Sara’s parents had taken longer to get over their own shock at the outburst, but they finally rose from the bench to reassure their children.

“I found a charity online that helps families who can’t afford a medical VR system to visit inmates,” Sara’s mother said. She was also in tears, but tried to be soothing regardless. “There’s a waiting list, but we’ll get there eventually... And we can send messages.”

“I definitely want to hear from you,” Sara told her. “But please don’t get into financial trouble by overusing the service—it’s two hundred fifty dollars for one text and reply.”

“How could they...

would they do something like that?” Lane asked.

“FJI really aren’t fans of leaving money on the table. But that also means that they allow luxuries in the game as an incentive for inmates who earn lots of views.”

“If you get a show, just know that we’ll be watching and cheering you on,” her father said.

Sara hesitated. She was afraid of upsetting Lane, but this was something she had to get across while she still had the opportunity. “This is difficult to say...but it might be easier on all of you if you didn’t watch. I may have to do some unpleasant things to get by. ...I may even need to defend myself from other inmates—though that doesn’t happen often,” she reassured Lane. She left unspoken the fact that any episode of such a show might unexpectedly end with her death.

Sara’s father was a stoic man of quiet dignity. She had never seen him cry outside of a funeral. But he wept openly now. “How can you ask me to look away when your life is in danger?”

Seeing him like this was too much—she also burst into tears. She then hugged him fiercely. “I’m sorry! I’m so sorry all of this happened...” She sobbed loudly, finally releasing some of the pent up emotions of the hell she had been through.

Sara cried for some time, while her mother did her best to comfort Lane. Finally she noticed her lawyer rising to his feet. “I absolutely hate to bring it up at a time like this...but there’s a secure plane to Kansas leaving soon. If you don’t want to spend any more time in solitary, now is the time to sign the agreement. ...I’m sorry that I couldn’t do more for you than this, Ms. Takahashi.”

She pushed up her glasses to wipe away her tears. “Not at all. Thank you for your help.” She reluctantly parted from her family to return to the plea agreement and finish checking it over for errors. Everything was in order. She took a deep breath. Sara then forced herself to pick up the pen and sign. She then put her glasses away and returned everything to her lawyer. He nodded, gathered his things, and then went to the door to knock on it.

Sara hugged her mother one last time.

“Stay safe.”

“I will.”

Next she hugged her father.

“I know you’ll make us proud.”

“Thank you.”

Finally, Sara grabbed Lane and held her fiercely.

“I promise I’ll find some way to help you,” Lane said tearfully.

“Just knowing you’re out here and safe will help me. I love you all, and I’ll miss you so much.”

Two guards entered the room. “She needs to be on the next plane,” Sara’s lawyer explained, showing them the agreement. One of the guards nodded. Sara stood before them and held out her arms. They affixed restraints to her wrists and ankles. As she was lead away, Sara glanced back at her family. She knew that she would never see them again in the real world—and unless she survived long enough, she would not see them in the virtual one either.