Tubes of sodium light burst into life as Fee and Rick stood open-mouthed at the vast underground bunker. It was the size of a tennis court, the height of two storeys, and lined with concrete from top to bottom. Heavy industrial girders propped up a fabricated ceiling made of steel plates.

  "What is this place?" Fee said.

  Amy folded her arms.

  "A museum for a dead man." She said. "Go on, have a look."

  In the corner sat a draughtsman table, surrounded by dusty office furniture. The right wall was stacked with a rack of weapons and ammunition, next to a long shooting range, peppered with several calibre rounds.

  All eyes were drawn to the centre, where a World War II B-17 Ball turret sat on a simulator cradle.

  The word 'Mendacium' was stencilled on the side.

  Amy circled the base while Rick clambered up the ladder to the entrance of the Ball Turret.

  Fee stood by the gun wall, struggling to grasp the moment. Her father liked to hunt, but it seldom involved a belt-fed M-60 machine gun.

  "You okay?" Amy said.

  "Rack 'em and stack 'em."

  “Ah, Alberta, you old floozy in the sky."

  “What is this?” Fee said, gesturing around. “All of this.”

  "Your father was a hardcore gun-nut, but didn’t let the culture bleed into the family life.”

  "Bleed." Fee said. “A good way to put it.”

  "It was a way to blow off steam, Fee." Amy said. "All that time he shot off guns in here, no one heard a thing. That was the whole point of having heavy security."

  "Were you ever going to tell me about this place?"

  "We agreed when you were eighteen, everything would be out in the open. Turns out you are way too nosey for your own good."

  "It was a mysterious notebook inside a broken glove box,” Fee said. "What did you think was going to happen?"

  "I should have just bought you a brand new car."

  “Oh, now it’s a good idea,” Fee said, then pointed to the Ball Turret. "And what the hell is that thing for?"

  “Someone’s idea of a mid-life crisis. Cheaper than a motorbike or the town bike."

  "This whole set-up looks like it's fully operational," Rick said, joining the others.

  "I think you'll find it's a V.R. motion-sim," Amy said.

  "Well, obviously," Fee said, mounting the ladder. "Why don't you start it up?"

  "I don't like messing with someone else's gear," Rick said. "It wouldn't be right."

  "And the real reason?"

  "I have claustrophobia."

  "You're dead weight, Rick," Amy said.

  Peering into the turret, Fee recognised a Sensu-rama console, Sypital Sim headgear and a CorDex 'Money-deck'.

  "Seems a bit of a squeeze," She said.

  A set of VR goggles and gloves was neatly piled on the seat..

  "You're actually going in there?" Amy said.

  "It's just going to bug me if I don't."

  "I'm starting to think obsession is a family curse."

  Fee made herself comfortable, which took a bit of time. The interior of the ball turret was ridiculously cramped even without the surrounding tech. Traditionally, the gunner would be curled into a tight foetal position with little room for manoeuvre. A small circular viewport between the legs provided the only targeting screen. Fee cursed her long legs and wondered what kind of game was worth being in constant pain for hours on end.

  "Wait, how do even know how to start it up?" Rick said.

  "It's all written down."

  The ignition sequence was spelt out with sticky Dymo labels on the overhead panel.

  "Strap in tight," Amy said with one hand on the door.

  "Any tighter and I'll be a circle." Fee said. She gave the thumbs up, and the door was locked overhead.

  Secured in a safety harness, Fee flicked on several switches before tracing her fingers across the 'Money-deck'. The Ball turret shuddered into life. Taking the headband, Fee regarded the indigo lights that orbited around. She placed on the VR headset, letting the thick black cables flop like ropes around her shoulders. Once ready, she let out three sharp breaths and pressed the button.

  ***

  Electrodes around her temple fired up the synapse, as the data-stream cascaded into prickles around the side of her head. An orange wire grid scanned the contours of her body, followed by individual tiles of colour quickly rotating to birth a mosaic of photo-realistic imagery. Once the visuals had synced up, she found herself behind the controls of a fighter jet. Every toggle and switch was mapped to perfection, down to the precise textures on the dials. The feeling of plastic between her fingers felt eerie, even though she knew it was thin air. With a virtual reality indistinguishable from true reality, Fee thought she had leapt into someone else's body. She lifted the sleeves of her flight-suit, revealing the skin to be blank, devoid of any inkwork.

  The author's tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

  "This is nuts." She said, with a light laugh.

  The jet plane flew through a series of green rings while waiting for the pilot to initiate the program. Shifting around in her seat, a Command menu flicked up on her HUD, giving her many options. Fee typed in a name and proceeded to access the main game. Her surroundings shuddered again, and this time she took control. Everywhere she looked, Pop-up hints explained the minutiae of every dial or switch. A red outline box pointed to the flight stick, which set out the directions for roll, pitch and yaw. Another helpful hint reminded her to keep an eye on the altitude meter. Once she got used to the controls, she switched off ‘flight assist’ and took a deep breath. Flying through the green rings was nerve-wracking at first. Once more, on the on-screen training was dialled in, she began to adapt to the nature of the immersion: from a snap of the thrust to the tilt of a roll. Once the G-forces popped, she could feel them pressing down on her body. After a few mistakes, she was starting to get the hang of flying around, skimming the lake until a whale tail of water trailed behind. It wasn’t like those movie characters who magically knew how to pilot a spaceship they had never set foot in. It was hard graft, trial and error. Fee gradually became more confident in her abilities. She flew over mountains, through clouds, above utility poles, around cliffs and hills that soared. Sometimes she would dive at an angle, forcing herself to bank around. She whooped as the speed kicked in and the landscape became a grey blur, with odd houses dotted around. For the first time, she felt free. The kind of freedom that came with the exhilaration of knowing she could do anything and be anywhere. Fee was no longer bound by her scepticism or darkness; here she felt a part of something, here she felt whole. Things were going fine until she clipped a wing and crashed into a lighthouse. Red letters swam into view: Dead.

  Fee pressed the red button on her ear, and the virtual cockpit faded to black. The void of nothing slowly dribbled away until the true reality returned once more. Unsealing the lock, she lifted herself out and made a beeline for the office area. After a quick search for the waste-paper basket, she lifted it to her face and promptly threw up.

  "Have fun, dear?" Amy said, with a full box of tissues.

  Fee took a deep breath.

  “Why couldn't Dad get a PC like everyone else?"

  "You know how guys get when they find a new toy. How was the V.R.?"

  "Spooky, it was like I was actually there. Why do you still have it?"

  "It's not like I could drop it off at a charity shop.”

  "So weird," Fee said, eyeing the ceiling. "He must have dug the garden, then lowered it in."

  "Yep, ruined a perfectly nice garden in the process," Amy said. “This area used to be so different. Middle of nowhere, remote, abandoned. Then the money came in, and the houses that looked like clinics. To buy one of these houses now, you’d have to be a country gent or a gentry…” Fee gave her a look. “It doesn’t matter.”

  Fee nodded. "What time is it?"

  "Seven P.M."

  "How long was I out?"

  "Almost five hours," Amy said. "You seemed to enjoy it, so I left."

  "It was alright; I might try again," Fee said. She caught sight of Rick, who wore a pensive look. "What's up with him?" Amy could only shrug. "Hey! Are you okay?"

  "Well, the good news is you have plenty of time to play games." He said.

  "How so?"

  "We've been sacked."

  "Sacked?" Fee said. "Why?"

  "Apparently, you tried to make off with company funds. According to the boss, we must have staged the whole thing with our smiling friend. So I got fired as well."

  "We paid them back!" Fee cried.

  "Guilty conscience. It doesn't count."

  "Didn't you tell them the truth?" Amy asked.

  "Funnily enough, teleportation is a hard sell." He raked his hand fringe back across his scalp. "They won't call the police, they think the school beating messed you up and they got the money back, so that's the end of that."

  "I didn't do anything!" Fee said and stormed off. Amy called after her, but her words became as nothing in the dust.

  ***

  At 11.58 pm, Fee finally emerged at the foot of the sofa, redressed in a jumper, pyjama bottoms and bed socks.

  "Hey.” She said quietly.

  “You alright?” Amy asked

  Fee shrugged and curled up on the sofa..

  "What are we watching?" She asked.

  "Some cop show. I love how they can get DNA results in the same afternoon, that is some daaark magic."

  Fee was too distracted to concentrate on any show and kept looking toward the shed.

  "I want to go back to the game." She said.

  Amy nearly choked..

  "You might want to rephrase that, love." She said, Fee offered up another quizzical look. "You don't know? Never mind. Just flip the mousetrap on the stool."

  "Mousetrap?"

  "It's quick access."

  "So what was that crap with the Greenhouse?"

  "System reboot,” Amy said. ”Everything was reset after the boys died, as a precaution. I wasn't sure if I was allowed to keep the house. It's really not a good idea to have heavy artillery lying around." She glanced at Fee’s blank expression. "Wait until tomorrow. No point going in angry."

  "I'm not angry, I feel useless." Fee said.

  "Welcome to seventeen, Bab," Amy said. "It's a crazy time. Your head is full of bees, and everything is unfair."

  "Doesn't that apply to everyone, regardless of age?"

  "We all get an ass kicking at some point, the universe doesn't discriminate. How you deal with it, that's the real question. My instructor once said, 'No one won a prize for hugging the mat. ' You lost something today, tomorrow might bring something better."

  "Is that why you stopped playing piano after the funeral?"

  "I stopped because my heart was empty. When you are empty, you are less inclined to do the things you love."

  "But you had such a great voice."

  "I had a lot of things that were great," Amy said. She looped a free strand over her daughter's ear. "Still do."

  "Promise you will sing a song on my next birthday?"

  Amy shifted in her seat. "I guess I have no choice."

  "It's all I ask."

  Fee looked at her mother's trophy wall. Silverware lined the shelves. Underneath were a line of medals, two copies of championship belts and nine trophies of varying sizes.

  "What's on your mind?" Amy asked.

  "How can I get a recommendation when I am accused of theft?"

  "I have friends in retail, see if they can throw you a bone. For now, I need you to kill a bunch of rats in the basement."

  "I can't work if I’m still sad over my previous job."

  "Hey, don't look for excuses to be lazy."

  "It's being thought of as a thief by people I actually like. That's what hurts the most, losing their respect."

  "I know that feeling," Amy said. "I was the ultimate punk." She looked down in recollection. "Maybe a little too much."

  "How so?"

  "Before your Grammy died, she sent me a note. At the time, I was in a bad way, head full of spiders, all kinds of crazy. This note didn't change my life, I wasn’t howling at the rain, but it unlocked something inside. The potential to do good."

  "What did the note say?"

  Amy paused. "It read: Do not let anger rob you of friendship. Do not let pain rob you of promise. Do not let fear rob you of adventure. Do what must be done, within reason, and with a good heart, but do what must be done."

  "That's nice."

  "I thought it was corny, until it sank in."

  "You have regrets?"

  "I don't do regrets," Amy said. "It's like trying to walk into a photograph. Waste of time."

  "What was she like?"

  "Your Grammy? Firm but fair. The last time I saw her, I was in a bad place mentally. She tried to reach out to me, but all I wanted to do was push her away. Then one day she was gone. Never forgave myself."

  "Sounds like a regret"

  "Alright, Champ", Amy said, with a sly smile. “You got me there. “

  Fee hugged her mother and headed for bed.