Page 78 of Tapeworld Induction

Sacha called his name through the team chat, voice full of worry. Then Haze rammed into him at full speed.

Through tears, Isaak watched the force feedback of the hit throw Sacha off his treadmill IRL.

Out of the corner of his eye, his consciousness drifting, he thought he saw a black shape.

29

The Curator

Dylan

Isaak might as well have vanished off the face of the Earth.

Another day went by.

She texted him. Called him. No answer.

She missed him.

She’d run out of tape after their last meeting, so she couldn’t even go look for him in the other place. Three days without jacking into the Tapeworld… She was starting to forget what it felt like to have her mind adrift in neonscapes.

Her parallel chats with Talia were a back and forth of “He still hasn’t replied”s and “Forget him”s.

Maybe he just didn’t want to see her anymore. She couldn’t believe he would just stop talking to her like that, after everything they’d been through, pulled into his heist, escaping those black spheres… Fuck.

Her friend kept telling her the sensible thing to do would be to forget him. But since when had she ever been a sensible woman? And sure, maybe he didn’t want to see her, but maybe he needed her help. What if those things had got him? Or what if Astrid had turned on him? Seeking revenge for his quitting, wanting the Gunkatana back.

She’d rather be spurned in person than let him suffer because of her cowardice.

The spying thing was icky. But she’d be happy to talk to him about it, hear his side, if it meant he’d be talking to her. Anything to hear his voice again, see him smile. IRL or in the Tapeworld – she didn’t care where.

Insides gnawing with worry, she began formulating a plan. She didn’t have his address, nothing besides his phone number, but she did know someone that might be able to help.

@dylan: dress posh, we’re going to find isaak.

@talia: it’s a workday, girl, I’m already dressed posh!

@dylan: meet me at this address after work, and bring the fancy camera drone you use for Jab

The above-average temperature meant lots of passersby visiting the museum franchises and eateries, despite the dark grey clouds high above, punctured by the skyscrapers in the city core.

Talia looked like a complete smokeshow, exhaling a puff of yellow-purple synthtube smoke. She was wearing a double-breasted black faux-leather coat over a formal red cotton shirt, paired with fluid black satin trousers, flared at the bottom, covering knee-high black boots. Dylan had told her to dress posh, and she had, looking like an action star from old vids.

They hugged when she arrived, and Talia did her whole spiel: We shouldn’t be looking for that deadbeat, but you’re my ride or die, so I’m with you all the way.

Dylan rang the doorbell and stepped quickly aside, leaving Talia in front of the intercom camera. Her anxiety was like an electric blanket installed under her skin, threatening to burst out.

“Fingers crossed,” she whispered.

“Just be cool.”

A voice crackled through the old speaker. “Hello? Yeah, I can see you.”

“Hi, Mr Vogel.” Talia’s voice buzzed with coffee energy. “I was wondering if I could have a chat? Do you know Jab?”

“The magazine? Sure, what about it?” He spoke in a guarded tone.

“I’m Talia Williams, associate editor. I heard from a friend that you make art installations now?” Her eyes flicked to Dylan, who pointed her back to the camera lens. “I’d love for you to present your work. It’s quite a story, a rising star of ReSports, becoming an abstract artist, speaking out of his soul. Our scrollers just love that sort of content—”