This may come over as a bit Avatar (which I haven't seen) but is actually a return to an older thread of mine (Paper Tiger) - kind of! It's definitely in the 'virtual reality' vein though, so I apologise for its populist subject matter and can only blame yet another painkiller-fuelled, fitful attempt at sleep. Cheers!
One
Ever fancied changing sex for fun and profit?
Take it from me, it’s not habit forming.
I needed access to The Tower in short order, and the only persona Jimmy D could come up with was ‘Donna-Donna’, a female wannabe celebrity with neither the money nor smarts to cut it in the ‘real world’ – whatever that means these days. Looking over her specification I frowned, as ‘barely adequate’ didn’t come close, and given the smile on his face I suspected he hadn’t tried too hard to find something male in the first place. Still, any port in a storm…
Transition.
The crowd milling about outside the rope barriers was bigger than I’d anticipated, and I could feel my new body being jostled while the ‘vLife, incorporating SecondLife, all rights reserved. Welcome to the Reality Zone’ titles scrolled across my field of vision. Donna-Donna was a slim brunette with shoulder-length curly hair, wearing a long chiffon print dress and not much else. It was a very retro look and I was just thankful she’d gone barefoot rather than the in-period platform shoes as well. Not being able to throw my weight about and simply barge forward took a bit of getting used to, but eventually I wormed my way through the press of bodies and found myself near the line of security staff in their corporate beige polo shirts.
His name was Todd and he was obviously used to offers of future ‘gratitude’ in return for waiving the entrance fee, which was just as well given that his piercings and tattoos made him look like some diminutive extra from ‘Hellraiser’. I tried to think feminine and smile sweetly without simpering, but he was obviously taken by my plunging neckline and unhooked his section of rope without much encouragement. He took my left hand in both of his by way of verification and I felt a slight tingle as The Tower recorded my presence – but what I didn’t realise at the time was this would enable him to trace me throughout my stay. Leaving him with what I hoped was an alluring wink I tried to sashay over to the main doors, although having wider hips than I was used to made my gait a bit stilted and self-conscious, and wearing heels at that point would have been just plain suicidal.
Once in the foyer I stood to the side and inspected my makeup for flaws in one of the large floor-length mirrors, thoughtfully provided for patrons unused to the wear and tear of the Reality Zone. It was now that my problems started in earnest, as progressive access to the facilities on the upper levels was determined by your credit rating and although Donna-Donna had the usual interface in her right palm (a handshake would rate her as low-median), the financial back-up to this was entirely bogus. Basically I looked good, but any attempt to buy anything would see the Credit Police eject me from the building in short order.
There was a polo-shirted attendant beside each elevator – each of which went only to a designated floor – and I was sure their ‘meet and greet’ routine was designed to allow a close-proximity scan; ensuring only the right people reached the right level. Although I wasn’t alone in hanging back - a lot of people didn’t want to display their level of fiscal acceptability and would slip into an elevator while the rest of us pretended not to notice – eventually one of the floor-walkers would catch on to my persistent hesitation and step forward, all smiling encouragement. My only option was one of the Alternates, so I set off towards the row of shimmering arches off to my right while trying not to look too conspicuous.
Impressions of data washed over me and I was momentarily blind to my surroundings; an image of a ground-crawler carrying a nuclear demolition charge, proposed surveillance flight-paths, positions of anti-aircraft batteries, high-value target locations. Obviously this region of the Construct was utilised by the military and Donna-Donna was in some way sensitive to their (highly classified) programmes, which made me think that Jimmy D had definitely been pursuing his own agenda when foisting her on me. I swore under my breath and blinked, but it was already way too late and I had blundered through an arch at random.
Transition.
I was on what looked like an airport bus, travelling through a large, rain-swept car park, illuminated by harsh halogen floodlights. Beyond that I could see very little apart from a few distant lights, and before I could adjust to the sudden change in environment we arrived at what was apparently our final destination. I say ‘we’, although I was the only passenger and the driver was invisible behind an anti-theft screen, as I had the distinct impression someone was watching over me, remaining just out of sight beyond my peripheral vision, no matter how quickly I turned my head.
The bus deposited me outside the ‘Lazy-T’ diner, a single storey building in the Western ‘ranch house’ style, incongruous though that seemed given the surrounding expanse of wet tarmac, but I was in no position to quibble over the only source of shelter available. The inside was pure Country & Western, from the red-and-white check tablecloths in the booths to the background ‘honky-tonk’ soundtrack, and, wow, was I so out of place. The other patrons favoured plaid shirts, jeans and boots, beer either in bottles or pitchers, and a distinct lack of interest in their surroundings. I mean that quite literally, as while small groups sitting together would chat amongst themselves they ignored both their fellow diners and, thankfully, myself.
Then they all stood, as if in response to some soundless command or announcement, and began filing out through the saloon-style double doors at the rear of the diner. This led into an opaque, milky, nothingness – and I felt no desire to accompany them – so I just watched as the last cowboy vanished into what I suspected was virtual Dollywood or its ilk. I was left standing there, shivering in chiffon, with only blank-faced serving staff for company, almost in tears. In fact I had to flick a few errant drops from my cheeks and shook my head, setting my hair swinging, as an instinctive counter to embarrassment.
There was a door, no, more a milky-white gap in the fabric of the left-hand wall, but only visible when I wasn’t looking directly at it. This was definitely in the realms of technical support and that meant Donna-Donna was definitely not your run-of-the-mill air-head avatar. However, as I was out of options I sidled up to the systems access portal, closed my eyes, and stepped into oblivion.
One
Ever fancied changing sex for fun and profit?
Take it from me, it’s not habit forming.
I needed access to The Tower in short order, and the only persona Jimmy D could come up with was ‘Donna-Donna’, a female wannabe celebrity with neither the money nor smarts to cut it in the ‘real world’ – whatever that means these days. Looking over her specification I frowned, as ‘barely adequate’ didn’t come close, and given the smile on his face I suspected he hadn’t tried too hard to find something male in the first place. Still, any port in a storm…
Transition.
The crowd milling about outside the rope barriers was bigger than I’d anticipated, and I could feel my new body being jostled while the ‘vLife, incorporating SecondLife, all rights reserved. Welcome to the Reality Zone’ titles scrolled across my field of vision. Donna-Donna was a slim brunette with shoulder-length curly hair, wearing a long chiffon print dress and not much else. It was a very retro look and I was just thankful she’d gone barefoot rather than the in-period platform shoes as well. Not being able to throw my weight about and simply barge forward took a bit of getting used to, but eventually I wormed my way through the press of bodies and found myself near the line of security staff in their corporate beige polo shirts.
His name was Todd and he was obviously used to offers of future ‘gratitude’ in return for waiving the entrance fee, which was just as well given that his piercings and tattoos made him look like some diminutive extra from ‘Hellraiser’. I tried to think feminine and smile sweetly without simpering, but he was obviously taken by my plunging neckline and unhooked his section of rope without much encouragement. He took my left hand in both of his by way of verification and I felt a slight tingle as The Tower recorded my presence – but what I didn’t realise at the time was this would enable him to trace me throughout my stay. Leaving him with what I hoped was an alluring wink I tried to sashay over to the main doors, although having wider hips than I was used to made my gait a bit stilted and self-conscious, and wearing heels at that point would have been just plain suicidal.
Once in the foyer I stood to the side and inspected my makeup for flaws in one of the large floor-length mirrors, thoughtfully provided for patrons unused to the wear and tear of the Reality Zone. It was now that my problems started in earnest, as progressive access to the facilities on the upper levels was determined by your credit rating and although Donna-Donna had the usual interface in her right palm (a handshake would rate her as low-median), the financial back-up to this was entirely bogus. Basically I looked good, but any attempt to buy anything would see the Credit Police eject me from the building in short order.
There was a polo-shirted attendant beside each elevator – each of which went only to a designated floor – and I was sure their ‘meet and greet’ routine was designed to allow a close-proximity scan; ensuring only the right people reached the right level. Although I wasn’t alone in hanging back - a lot of people didn’t want to display their level of fiscal acceptability and would slip into an elevator while the rest of us pretended not to notice – eventually one of the floor-walkers would catch on to my persistent hesitation and step forward, all smiling encouragement. My only option was one of the Alternates, so I set off towards the row of shimmering arches off to my right while trying not to look too conspicuous.
Impressions of data washed over me and I was momentarily blind to my surroundings; an image of a ground-crawler carrying a nuclear demolition charge, proposed surveillance flight-paths, positions of anti-aircraft batteries, high-value target locations. Obviously this region of the Construct was utilised by the military and Donna-Donna was in some way sensitive to their (highly classified) programmes, which made me think that Jimmy D had definitely been pursuing his own agenda when foisting her on me. I swore under my breath and blinked, but it was already way too late and I had blundered through an arch at random.
Transition.
I was on what looked like an airport bus, travelling through a large, rain-swept car park, illuminated by harsh halogen floodlights. Beyond that I could see very little apart from a few distant lights, and before I could adjust to the sudden change in environment we arrived at what was apparently our final destination. I say ‘we’, although I was the only passenger and the driver was invisible behind an anti-theft screen, as I had the distinct impression someone was watching over me, remaining just out of sight beyond my peripheral vision, no matter how quickly I turned my head.
The bus deposited me outside the ‘Lazy-T’ diner, a single storey building in the Western ‘ranch house’ style, incongruous though that seemed given the surrounding expanse of wet tarmac, but I was in no position to quibble over the only source of shelter available. The inside was pure Country & Western, from the red-and-white check tablecloths in the booths to the background ‘honky-tonk’ soundtrack, and, wow, was I so out of place. The other patrons favoured plaid shirts, jeans and boots, beer either in bottles or pitchers, and a distinct lack of interest in their surroundings. I mean that quite literally, as while small groups sitting together would chat amongst themselves they ignored both their fellow diners and, thankfully, myself.
Then they all stood, as if in response to some soundless command or announcement, and began filing out through the saloon-style double doors at the rear of the diner. This led into an opaque, milky, nothingness – and I felt no desire to accompany them – so I just watched as the last cowboy vanished into what I suspected was virtual Dollywood or its ilk. I was left standing there, shivering in chiffon, with only blank-faced serving staff for company, almost in tears. In fact I had to flick a few errant drops from my cheeks and shook my head, setting my hair swinging, as an instinctive counter to embarrassment.
There was a door, no, more a milky-white gap in the fabric of the left-hand wall, but only visible when I wasn’t looking directly at it. This was definitely in the realms of technical support and that meant Donna-Donna was definitely not your run-of-the-mill air-head avatar. However, as I was out of options I sidled up to the systems access portal, closed my eyes, and stepped into oblivion.
