The Leveller - Julia Durango Page 0,29

ear trans.”

Wyn lifts his head. “I’m not the one who tampered with it.”

“Either way,” I say. “It won’t work. It’s not coded to your trans.”

“Why don’t they just shut down the game for a few minutes?” asks Wyn. “If everyone is as worried about me as you say, why doesn’t my father just turn off the MEEP?”

I snort. “I see your father has kept his dirty little secret from you.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Apparently there’s a pesky side effect.” I push some bright, feathery boas off a wooden table and hike myself onto the surface, sitting cross-legged. “Anybody playing the MEEP using nonregulation frequencies could suffer brain damage if the game is shut down.”

Wyn grimaces, though he does not look very surprised. “I wondered about that,” he said. “The brain’s incredibly complex . . . my father’s people have done a lot of research but our neural paths are like an infinite universe.”

“Yeah, well, easy to say now, Einstein. Maybe your father and his people should have let players know about the dangers involved instead of treating us like guinea pigs.” I think of Chang and Moose, and wish they were here right now to help me figure this out.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about. My father’s brain stem research has the potential to change the world,” Wyn says. “True innovation always involves a certain amount of risk.”

I get mad all over again. “Look, hotshot, you have no idea what I just went through. I’ve always loved the MEEP, as a game . . . but in one single day I’ve made two important discoveries. First, your father’s ‘innovation’ has the potential to put people—people like us—in a coma. And second, it can be used to torture people. That maze would send most people into lifelong therapy.”

Wyn doesn’t look convinced. “People get ‘killed’ in games all the time. That’s one of the reasons they play, isn’t it? For the thrill, the adrenaline rush. How is that maze any different?”

“Because I didn’t get to choose any of it. Half the time I didn’t know what was coming. Don’t you understand? It’s like your worst nightmare, only a billion times worse because it feels so real.”

“Still, it can’t be that scary if you know it’s a game,” Wyn says with a shrug. I want to punch him.

“Fine, let’s go then,” I say, hopping off the table.

Wyn gets to his feet. “Where to?”

“You want to go to the maze, I’ll take you there. Be my guest,” I say. Before meeting Wyn I wouldn’t have wished the maze on my worst enemy, but now I can’t wait for him to give it a go. Wyn Salvador is just as arrogant as his father. Let him be the shark bait and see how he feels.

He follows me to the alley, a small grin on his face like he’s just won the battle. He has no idea. I look around to get my bearings once we reach the intersection. The street is still busy with festive Meeple and glowing neon signs advertising beer and cigarettes.

“We need to get to the Floridita bar and your pal, Chucho,” I say.

Wyn raises his eyebrows, then points left. “This way,” he says, and we begin to make our way down the busy street.

As I follow Wyn, I take a good look around at the world he created. I have to admit, it’s the best custom MEEP I’ve ever been in, certainly much more extravagant and vast than anything I’ve ever made. The buildings we pass have all been meticulously detailed, with their shadowy colonnades, their weathered paint, the scrolled ironwork of outdoor hanging lamps, gates and balconies. I glance through one of the ground-floor gates and see a garden courtyard tucked between two buildings, where a Meeple couple sits and holds hands among the white flower bushes. A breeze floats across my cheeks and I smell a salty-sweet combination of ocean and flowers.

“That’s amazing,” I say, stopping to breathe in the delicious scent.

“Gardenias and Sea Breeze,” Wyn says, his tone a little friendlier now. “The aroma modules are my favorite things to experiment with lately. I installed a bakery last week just so I could try out Buttery Croissants and Cinnamon Apple Pie.”

“Can you taste them as well?” I ask, thinking of the delicious daiquiri.

Wyn nods. “It’s not as good as eating the real thing . . . the programmers are still playing around with texture, but it’s a start.”

My previous anger has dissipated somewhat during our stroll, and