Avatara

17th July 2030. Four months have passed since the riot at Piccadilly Circus caused by my unlicensed release of Avatara.

Robert Ash ( 26 January 2015 - 8th March 2030) otherwise known as Knightmare on the web, was buried at Lambeth cemetery in South London. He was the son of a thirty something year old woman who struggled with drug addiction and an absent father. His mother hasn't been seen since his burial.

Byron Grimm (26 July 1972 - 8th March 2030), Director of Sheldrake enterprises, was cremated a month after his death. His penthouse was largely empty apart from a stool by the balcony, a painting of wild boar running in winter woodland and uncooked meat in the freezer.

They were the only casualties that day...

I still haven't gotten over it but Jazz has been a great support. He filed a detailed police report that showed my involvement in Avatara by the facts and how I tried to stop the situation going out of control. He explained that I released Avatara to the public in Piccadilly Circus to save his life, the police and other civilians in the area. He concluded that Avatara was a great risk to public safety and privacy and should be banned. He was keen on me reading the report and incessantly asked me questions about how the Avatara program developed from idea to product. I just wanted to move on but I agreed with him, Avatara should be illegal.

I escaped media attention. How? By signing a non-disclosure agreement with the government. That in exchange for my silence, they would pay me a sum of money as damages for the trials and torture I experienced under Grimm. I used that compensation to open a flower shop. My identity as the creator of Avatara would remain a secret.

They were keen on avoiding a public scandal. They needn't have worried, I had no intention of selling my story. How much money did they offer? Not as much as you might think.

"Hey!"

I looked up from my lunchtime reading of a trashy newspaper. Sometimes, I read celebrity gossip, so that I can zone out my brain from thinking too much. When sitting outside, under the canopy of a lovely cafe in Soho, I am truly relaxed. Jazz walked across the street to meet me. Sauntering, with his left hand in his trouser pocket, like a fashion model. I waved at him with my fingers coyly.

"I was thinking we should go to a blues bar this evening," said Jazz. "Just saw a good one round the corner."

"Nope," I said. "We are not doing that. Me and you are going to do dance lessons."

"Dance lessons?" said Jazz.

"Yes. Tango. You know that day we fought 'he who we will not name in Piccadilly Circus,' I left my real body in the cupboard of a tango dance studio. It has left a lasting impression on me."

"A lasting impression eh?" said Jazz. He whisked me around in his arms and leaned in close, his light hazel eyes locked in with my blue. "How about this for a lasting impression?"

"How about it?" I smiled.

This was not the first time I kissed Jazz but why is it at perfect moments like this, something always has to mess it up.

'Brrrrring! Brrrrring!'

"Sorry, it's my phone," I said. I checked the screen and of course it was Mum. Darn. Lol.

***

At Sheldrake enterprises, there was not much obvious activity. An ongoing government investigation decided who would become the next director. Rylan Spector won the candidacy. While, the decisions were made, Spector and a small team continued their work at Q division in the bas.e.m.e.nt. Apparently, not much changed in operations policy since the Avatara farce and Q division was allowed to operate independently, they reported their work to MI5 and the ministry of defence.

If anyone demanded to know what they were currently doing, Spector would have told them they were running a few simulations to check system efficiency. He was the last to leave that night, and he instructed the security guard of the monitor room in the bas.e.m.e.nt to call him immediately, if any message came up on the main supercomputer monitor.

It's a boring job, staring at screens you don't understand but the security guard occupied his attention with a comic book while snacking on peanuts. He was interrupted by a knock on the door.

"Who is it?" he said. He adjusted his thick rimmed glasses, pushing them further up his nose bridge, concentrating on what he was reading.

"Hi David." The person entered the room and it's only now that the security guard looked up. "What are you doing?" The person was dressed exactly like him but was broader and had a large belly which overhung his trousers.

"Oh hey buddy," said Dave. "Not much going on here I'm just reading a comic, not much going on here."

"Cool, what's it about?" said the other security guard. He had a bubbly tone of voice, with an accent, clearly not from London. In fact both men, sounded like they were from somewhere else like Wales.

"It's called the flying Nanoman," said the first security guard. "It's about a lady who creates a secret serum that can give people superpowers but her evil boss wants it for himself only and tries to kill her. She then has to take it to escape and then she gets superpowers and is able to fly like superman."

"Aww that sounds ridiculous, any way mate, you fancy a tea?"

David looked at the screens in front of him for a moment. There was not a flicker of activity. "You know what, nothing's happening here, let me come with you." He jumped out of his swivel chair that continued to spin following the speed of his exit.

A second after they left the room, he stormed back in.

"Hang on, I forgot my tobacco," he said. Then he left again, slamming the door behind him.

There was a cold silence in the room. But in a brief moment like a butterfly leaving the cocoon, there was a fast flutter of activity on screen. Hundreds of algorithms and scripts appearing on screen were separating and merging again in various formations. Lines and lines of code ran down the left side of one of the screens and then stopped. It was followed by three dots.

…

Simulating...

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K/G module for soulcasting.