Bryce came out of the program, a sigh catching in his throat as he woke from the other world. A thin sheen of sweat glazed his face, reflecting the shine of the computer screen. The lights were out in the room, though he couldn't have seen them if they had been on. The stereoscopic wrap-around goggles covered his eyes. The goggles were his windows to other places, other futures, worlds, lovers and rewards. He cared more for the goggles than he had for his last girlfriend, whose name eluded him. Maybe that was why she had left him.
    The VR simulation program wasn't finished. Yet he had come out of it. Why?
    Bing-Bong!
    Oh, that was why. The computer was programmed to shut down the VR session whenever someone rang the doorbell. Bryce had been forced to reprogram the computer by his brother, Steve. After the last scare that Bryce had given his family by not answering the phone or door for a month, they had put harsh restrictions on him. Amazing presumptuousness considering he lived on his own, without their support, with no need for them.
    Bryce removed the goggles, set them on the table next to the terminal and rose to answer the door. His mouth felt like paste. This distinctive taste of soured nicotine made him grimace. He had a headache, actually it was more like an elephant-sized migraine. His legs felt weak. In fact, all of his body felt weak. There was a shadow on his face from two days of no shaving.
    Bryce undid the locks and chains on the door, not even bothering with looking out the peep hole. What difference did it make? It wasn't like he had anything worth stealing. Blasphemy! There was the VR terminal, stereoscopics, cerebral stimulator and program chips in the bedroom. Thousands and thousands of dollars worth of beloved hardware and software.
    Steve was standing on the other side of the door. Well dressed and groomed, freshly shaved and his hair was blow-dried. The young business exec with everything going for him. Bryce was never sure if he loved or hated his older brother; whether he admired or despised him.
    By the time the features of Steve's face came wholly into view and the swimming sensation of Bryce's sight stopped, there were the clear marks of disgust and disappointment battering down on Bryce. Steve was showing a furrowed brow and a lip-pulling frown. Bryce did his best to roll his eyes. His eyes were too tired to do it. A sigh of resignation did manage to escape on its own, however
    "What is it, Steve?" Bryce muttered, turning away from the door and walking back into the apartment.
    "Think you could at least take off the cerebral stimulators before answering the door?"
    "Wastes time," Bryce shot back. That was Steve, always hounding Bryce's ass. Do this, do that. Fuck big brothers, who needed them anyway? Big brothers were more of a pain than anything else.
    "How much time are you spending in Never-Never Land, Bryce?"
    "What's the dif?" Bryce replied boredly while checking the coffee pot. He pulled the drip lid off of the glass pot and sniffed, his nose wrinkled at the smell. But the smell was muted to him. Not strong enough. It was a lot stronger in VR. Bryce rinsed out the pot once, changed the filter and put in fresh grinds, poured water into the top cover and set the pot back in place. He heard the sound of water heating to boiling
    "Your landlord called Mom and Dad again for your rent. This is the third time, Bryce. The third time in six months. What's the matter, bro?"
    Bryce didn't answer. What business was it of Steve's? Mister Goody Two-Shoes. Steve never did anything wrong in his life, did he? Oh no, not everyone's little angel, Steve. Now the angel had come to preach the way to a new salvation. Just like last time and the time before and the time before that.
    "When's the last time you were at work, Bryce?" Boring, key-pounding work. Bryce was smart, damn smart. He could program just about anything you damn well pleased and in any language you liked. It all came easy to him. He pulled big bucks for big projects for big corporations. But the down side was that it was all boring. The work bored him to tears. Especially when the computers worked slower than he did. He had done memory upgrades on dozens of new mainframes and personal systems simply because they didn't work fast enough to keep up with him. And most places wouldn't let him use the low level languages that he prefered.  They processed faster but were harder to understand.  Everyone wanted high level languages so their own undereducated, underpayed techs could do patches and repairs to the code later after Bryce had done his contract work.
    But VR was fast. Incredibly fast. As fast as thought and sometimes faster. He could do it in two speeds: fast and fast forward. That was the way he liked it. There was so much you could do and accomplish at that speed. You never needed drugs when you could tap into that speed and do anything you wanted. It all came true under the influence of virtual reality.
    "It's been more than a week, hasn't it, Bryce?" Steve prodded. "At least that's what your boss said. But hey, he's used to it and you're the best damn hot-dog programmer in the world, ain't ya, Bryce?"
    Barbs and nettles now. Bryce heard the splatter of brown water in the coffee pot as the heated liquid passed over the coffee grounds. Bryce was hungry. A dozen flavors passed over his tongue in phantom memory. Pizza with real bacon and mushrooms. Baked catfish in white sauce. The soy flavoring of Chinese cooking. More. But it was all unreal. Food never tasted as good as his tongue was telling him it did. Nowheres near as good as when the stimulators sent the message straight into his brain, telling him how well the food really was. Orgasmic, in fact. Real food was only paste mock-up compared to VR. And in VR you could have anything you wanted.
    "How much weight have you lost recently? Ten pounds? Twenty? You look bad, Bryce. You haven't been eating, have you? Coffee and nicotine aren't going to keep you alive. You're gaunt as a ghoul, paler than a ghost and I've seen scarecrows with more meat on their bones."
    "So what are you trying to say?" Bryce asked calmly. "If you're here to berate me, stop it, you're boring me. If you're here to deliver a message, then get to the point."
    "Do you have the money to pay the rent, Bryce?" Bryce thought a moment, screwing up his face as he thought. "Yeah, just a sec' and I'll make the transaction on the credit board. I can pay the utilities, too."
    "Your boss said you've got twenty-four hours to report to work or you're canned."
    This was amusing. "Did he really? I didn't think he cared."
    "He cares about getting the contract filled and you're the one who has to get the work done. You're being docked already. Much longer and you're not going to have a job at all."
    Bryce shut off the coffee maker before it had finished. He didn't pour himself any. Instead he went to the fridge and pulled out some bologna. By the grace of God it was still edible. Barely. He rolled three pieces of it, bit and chewed lazily. Steve walked into the kitchen, wrinkling his nose at the stacked dishes, caked with pizza sauce and grease. The stench of it was definitely unpleasant.
    "I'm here to make sure you go to bed and the VR terminal gets locked up for a few days. You've been on it too much, as usual. It's not good for you, Bryce."
    Bryce was suddenly incessant. He felt white hot anger shoot through his head. "Who the fuck do you think you are, telling me what to do, 'Big Brother'? Who the hell appointed you my keeper? Just get the hell out of my place and leave me alone. I can take care of my own ass."
    Steve shook his head. His patience was wearing thin. Poor Steve, always having to look out for his little brother. Always having to clean up his little brother's messes. Always having to baby-sit. Steve reached forward and pulled the cerebral stimulators off of Bryce's temples. Bryce winced as the skin was pulled and stretched as the adhesives were stripped off.
    "These are going under locks and I'm setting up the lock-out program on your terminal, Bryce. Then you're going to get undressed, get into bed and go to sleep. When you wake you're going to shower, shit and shave and get to work."
    "Will you read me a bedtime story?" Bryce asked in a whiny, childish voice. "And will you tuck me in?" He stuffed the last of the bologna into his mouth and chewed, his cheeks puffing out like a gorging ground squirrel's. Steve pulled back from his brother and squeezed his eyes shut, his brother's rank breath singing his nostrils.
    "And don't forget to brush your teeth and use mouthwash, too," he said.
"I want you to read The Little Engine that Could," Bryce continued in his chiding, childish voice. He let himself be guided by Steve back into the bedroom. Bryce undid his shirt and shrugged out of it. Then he sucked in his stomach and let his pants fall to the floor. He wasn't wearing socks or shoes. All that was left on him were a pair of sallow colored briefs. Steve grimaced sadly and pulled a clean pair from the dresser and tossed them to Bryce. Bryce changed while Steve took the stimulators and stereoscopics to a foot chest that Steve himself had put into the bedroom after the last incident when Bryce had wired himself to the VR terminal for too long. Steve locked the chest with his key. His was the only key to the chest.
    Bryce had collapsed onto the bed and was fast asleep, his body sprawled cadicorner on top of the unkempt sheets. Steve shook his head as his eyes filled with stinging pity and anger. He loved his younger brother, but Bryce had been digging his hole for three years now. Ever since Bryce had gotten his first VR terminal, stereoscopics and stimulators he had been sinking downwards. Bryce bought program chips for his VR system by the dozens, cutting into his paycheck to support his love. No, call shit by its proper name. Bryce spent his money to support his habit, his addiction, his means of self-destruction. The worst part was that Bryce was capable of so much. He was one of the best programmers in the area. If Bryce had really applied himself, he could be a multi-millionaire by now. Hell, why didn't Bryce at least design the VR chips that he kept plugging into. Might as well make some money off of the addiction. Sellers should never be users. Yeah, that was what they said in the movies and shows where some idiot got into something illegal and then started using it, too. Most of the time when the cardinal rule was broken the seller/user ended up dead. Was there rehab for VR? Of course there was. VR was the fasted growing drug on the market and VR rehab was the fastest growing business. The rich sent their wayward children to gilded cages to be treated and cured.
    Steve positioned Bryce in the bed so that he lay more naturally. He then pulled the covers over his brother. A sudden memory came to Steve of when they were both young and they would wait until the lights were out in the rest of the house. Once the lights were out and their parents were asleep the two of them would sit up in bed and tell each other ghost stories. There were a lot of fond memories to fall back on. But the truth remained that his brother was sick by his own design. The two of them had separate lives now with separate responsibilities and separate mistakes.
    Steve turned to the credit board next to the VR terminal. He punched in Bryce's password, having gotten it out of Bryce the last time Bryce was going through bad spots in his addiction. Steve punched in the amount payable to the landlord and then to the utilities. He thought of paying both for the next month as well, not expecting Bryce to make the payments himself. But sooner or later Bryce would have to learn to take care of his own responsibilities. Steve checked the account. It was getting low now. Bryce would have to go back to work to get any more money. Especially if he wanted new VR programs. Hopefully Bruce would take care of things on his own from now on.
    Shutting down the credit board Steve turned to the VR terminal. He typed in a lock-out program and passworded it. Then to be extra sure Steve took the keyboard and drive units with him. Bryce might be able to pick open the locks on the chest and break through the password on the lock-out, but he didn't have the money to buy a new keyboard or drive unit. With that Steve left the apartment, locking the door behind him.
    Bryce woke twelve hours later feeling even worse than before. The sour nicotine in his mouth had continued to ferment and his head throbbed. The first thing that he thought of was the VR. He was trying to decide between the mountains of Tibet or the countryside of France. He didn't feel like sex right now. His libido was running on empty. Then he remembered Steve. Steve taking the stimulators and the stereoscopics. No problem. Bryce had picked the lock on the chest before and he could do it again. Then he saw the terminal with its missing keyboard and drive unit. His heart sank, a strangled sound creeping out of his throat. He didn't have the money or credit to get a new keyboard or find the parts to cannibalize a working drive unit.
    Bryce fumed for a moment. Damn, now he was going to have to work to get the money for the stuff, or get Steve to give back the keyboard and drive. Little chance of Steve reciprocating so easily. Glowering at nothing, Bryce got out of bed shakily, his legs not doing much by way of support, and made for the bathroom. He slipped out of his underwear and ran the tap. Pulling the bottle of aspirin from the medicine cabinet he took off the cap (no child proofs here, thank you, he had enough troubles with the caps as it was) and tapped out four tablets. Filling a glass of water he took all four of them.
    He got the shower going, barely lukewarm, and stepped into it. A wave of wakefulness was carried by the water and bored into him, shocking him into reality. His hands were twitching, just a little. Bryce pulled a washcloth off the inside rack and lathered it with soap. He scrubbed himself fiercely. He was feeling the days of built up sweat, oil and grime. It was good to be clean again. He rinsed and started to shampoo his hair. His fingers worked his scalp, exciting the circulation of blood.
    Then his knees buckled and he fell. Bryce's head struck the rear of the tub, adding a cry of pain to the migraine that had not yet been carried away by the aspirin. Spitting soapy water, Bryce pulled himself into a sitting position. The pain was blurring his vision along with the warm water.
    Panting, he pulled himself up off of the floor of the tub and held his head under the spraying water, rinsing out the soap. He wasn't cut, thankfully, but he was hurting. Hurting all over and the aspirin had not begun working. He lathered his hair again and rinsed.
    Then he turned off the hot water and felt a slash of cold hit him and make him want to scream. He held back the cry and then turned off the cold water. He dried with a towel and stood, still naked, before the mirror and took out the razor and shaving cream. He smeared his face with the cream and ran the razor under the water. His hands shook harder as he brought the razor close to his neck. He shut his eyes hard and fought down the shakes. Then he pushed the blade to his flesh and pulled up, tracing the line of his neck. He didn't cut himself on that first stroke.
    He did cut himself twice before he had finished shaving. Not bad, really. He could live with it. He rinsed off the leftover shaving cream, tended to his nicks, and dried his hair. Slipping back into his underwear he went to the bedroom and got out a pair of chinos and a shirt and tie. Twenty minutes later he was out of the apartment with keys in hand.
    It had been hard keeping his hands still enough to get the key into the locks, but he had managed it. Bryce drove slowly, not trusting his body's sluggish reflexes to driving the freeways and interchanges of Omaha. They could be dangerous. Construction was constantly in progress. Omaha was a growing city filled with industries and its own billionaires. Lincoln, on the other hand, was the office center of the U.S. and liked things that way with one of the highest education rates in the nation. Bryce himself had gotten his programming degrees in Lincoln.
    He worked for twelve hours straight that day, which helped to make his boss a little happier. Bryce estimated that the programming for the mainframe that he was working on would take another three days. That seemed to settle well with his boss. Bryce would still be docked a couple of thousand credits for the time he had missed, but the paycheck would still be hefty.
    Bryce went home that night and drank two pots of coffee, his body starved for caffeine. That helped to alleviate withdrawal symptoms of one habit. He smoked a pack of cigarettes that night while watching holo-vision. The smoke didn't have a proper flavor to it. There was something missing. In VR it was so much better, in VR it was alive.

    Bryce had programming done on the date that he had predicted and was promptly paid for it. There was a stern reminder from his boss that Bryce had other projects to work on as well and was expected to be back the next morning on time.
    Bryce checked his account. There was now another five thousand in it. He paid the land lord for two more months and did the same for the utilities. That would keep them all off his back for a while.
    He cleaned up the place, putting the dishes in the dishwasher, running it three times, cleaning the filter each time it had finished. They came out mostly clean. He then emptied the fridge and put new supplies into it. Finally he cleaned the house and did the laundry. That night he sat in front of his vid-phone and punched in Steve's number. His sister-in-law answered.
    "Oh, hello Bryce, how are you doing?" she asked cheerfully. Children screamed playfully in the background.
    "Pretty good," Bryce responded, giving her teeth and sparkling eyes. "Is Steve in?"
    "Just a sec, Bry, he's coming."
    "Hey, li'l brother, how're you doing?" Steve asked as he come on-screen.
    "Just fine," Bryce responded, nodding with curt vigor. "Got the brokerage house finished up and my boss is happy. The rent's paid for the next couple of months and the place is cleaned up. Happy?"
    The cheer in Steve's face drained as he took in the view of Bryce and the sarcasm in his brother's voice. Sighing, Steve shook his head.
    "I'm not going to give you the keyboard or drive unit back, Bryce. You've probably got the money to get new ones. In a week, on your salary, you can afford a whole new set-up. But I'm not giving you the stuff I took. I'll pay your for it, but I'm not giving it back to you."
    "Still trying to look out for me, Stevie?"
    "Bryce, you know I love you. And that's why I'm doing this. You can live without VR. You can live without the junk."
    "So now I'm a junkie?" Bryce hissed. The pain and hatred mingled in Bryce's eyes as the salty tears started to well and the muscles of his face tensed and eased rhythmically.
    "That's not what I meant, Bry, and you know it. But I'm not going to let you waste your life with cerebral stimulators, stereoscopics and program chips. I love you too much to see you throw your life away to this stuff. I'm sorry. You've got to get off of the habit."
    Bryce nodded demurely. "Thanks, bro, I appreciate it. I gotta go and fix dinner. I'll talk to you later." Bryce broke the transmission as he clenched the side of the vid-phone, his knuckles going white with rage.
    "What's on the job board?" Bryce asked his boss as he came into the office. Carl Thurlwaite was a middle-aged, balding and portly man who knew less about programming than even the most junior members of the agency. His specialty was administration and this he carried out effectively. The board was the file of uncompleted and new programming jobs that had just arrived to the company for assignment to the brilliant programmers. It came down to Thurlwaite to decide who got what and for how much.
    "Mmm, on the new listings we got a job with an information retrieval company that's just starting out. They got themselves some big money backers and need the top programming that can be found. I was thinking of giving it to you."
    "Talk about boring," Bryce bemoaned. "Give it to one of the juniors. Don't you have something a little more interesting? A little more challenging?" Bryce walked to the table and picked up the folder that held the listings for uncompleted and new jobs. The contract forms were kept in a separate office. Only the general job descriptions were forwarded to Thurlwaite's office.
    "Ah," sighed Bryce as he opened the folder and saw the first of the assignments. "This looks right up my alley." The job was a teaching/recreational VR system for the Omaha Public School system. The bond issue for school financing passed the year before would allow for the very best in VR equipment and software. And the pay was nearly three times as high as Bryce's usual commission.
    "I'm giving that one to Siegerson," Thurlwaite said, sounding flustered and unsure of himself.
    "Siegerson doesn't know a thing about VR systems or VR programming. I've got an extensive background on the subject."
    "I know," Thurlwaite responded coldly. Bryce shot his boss a piercing look. "I'm not any kind of addict, Thurlwaite. My brother cured me of that. I can work with VR without getting too wrapped up in it."
    Thurlwaite shook his head slowly. "No, Bryce. I can't afford the chance. This is a big contract with a great deal at stake, including tax dollars. If this goes off without a hitch this company's reputation will go through the roof."
    "Then you'd better not give it to Siegerson, 'cause he'll trash the whole system before he even gets it out of styrofoam. I'm taking it, Thurlwaite. Not because I'm a VR addict, but because I need the money and the company needs the rep. Get the contract ready and I'll sign it this afternoon. I'm going to go review the program specs."
    Bryce took the sheet with the job posting and placed the folder back on the desk, then turned and walked out of the office. Behind him Thurlwaite fidgeted with a paper clip, pulling it apart roughly. He hoped to high heavens that Bryce didn't screw this assignment up.

    Bryce hated mathematics programs. He detested them. Unfortunately the school wanted a lot of them in their new VR system. Mathematics, physics, chemistry, art, sports and a host of other subjects would be put into application on the new VR system. Bryce couldn't help but feel sorry for the students that would be put through all of the learning that the VR system would entail.
    But he envied them as well. When he had grown up and gone to school he had not been privileged to use a VR system to assist in his learning. He had learned his three R's the old fashioned way. In his time they had known how to do molecular docking on VR, but the technology wasn't yet available to public schools. Now a ten year old would have access to the hardware and software that showed the experiments, without having to use any dangerous chemicals. Students would be able to do the experiments themselves if they wanted.
    Suddenly the thought of doing a chemistry experiment excited Bryce. He could make the docking and the computer would explain what he had done, what the results were and why. There was simply so much that could be done and Bryce was in a love affair with the project. Why spend life in a dull world of reality when VR allowed for so many infinite possibilities?
    Bryce had just finished downloading the instructionals into the memory. Tomorrow he would be working on the sports programs. Simulated plays, physical training guides and diagnostics. The day after that would be the recreational programs. After that came the sizable job of linking the system with the Library of Congress. That would take up a lot of time and memory space. Then he would have the chance to do a test run of the system.

    "Hello?"
    "Steve? This is Carl Thurlwaite."
    "Oh God, what's Bryce done this time?"
    "Well," Thurlwaite had to force himself to look Steve in the eyes and Steve noticed this.  "First off, he programmed the new school VR system. Did a top notch job. Unfortunately, during a test run of the system there was a, um--problem--in the hardware."
    "What do you mean, Mr. Thurlwaite?"
    "Well, it's like this, Steve, the supplier of the cerebral stimulators had a couple of bad stimulators in the batch. Bryce was test running all of them himself instead of letting the computer do a diagnostic and, well..."
    "What happened to him?" Steve demanded, feeling a sudden pang of fear run through him.
    "Steve, Bryce is at Omaha General Hospital. The stimulator was bad and caused a bio-feedback. Bryce is comatose."
    "Oh dear, sweet Jesus," Steve whispered.

    "Your brother is very lucky to be alive," Dr. Mlnarik told Steve as they walked towards the ICU. "By all rights he should be dead. The feedback that the stimulator gave him was massive. During the CAT and magnetic resonance scans we were able to find massive amounts of cysting and fraying to the nerve endings in his brain's neuro transmitters. I take it your brother used the VR systems quite frequently?"
    Steve nodded mutely. He was trying to get everything into perspective. He always felt something bad would happen to Bryce because of the VR addiction he had. But he never dreamed it would be life threatening.
    "The cysting from the regular usage saved his life. His brain had a high tolerance to the stimulators. A high need for VR stimulation as well. But all the time he had spent under the stimulators braced him for the shock that he received." Mlnarik shook his head sadly. "I can't help but think what would have happened had a little kid been using those stimulators."
    "Will Bryce come out of the coma?"
    Mlnarik shrugged his shoulders. "We certainly hope so and quite frankly the chances look pretty good that he will. But there is a price. We've mapped certain areas of the brain that were permanently impaired by the accident. All five of his senses have sustained some damage. It was the telepresence field he had been using which caused most of the damage."
    "Will surgery help him?"
    Mlnarik shook his head slowly. "We may have to do some neurological work to clean up the burned out synapses and remove the inoperable cysts. But his eyes will never again see on their own. Don't buy a seeing eye dog yet, though. There have been a great number of advances in cybernetics in the past few years and there are some things that can be done to help make Bryce's life as normal as possible."
    "Could you explain that, please?."
    "VR was first Bryce's addiction, then his downfall. Now it is his salvation. We are going over a plan to implant stimulators and enhancers along the skull and hardwire a new visual system from a pair of sunglasses fitted with opti-scopes and wetwire it directly into his brain. Other stimulators will enhance the damaged messages that Bryce receives from his senses and in some cases will be responsible for acting in place of his senses altogether. Very complicated, very touchy and it will be very expensive. You also have to understand that Bryce would serve as a guinea pig if Bryce and the rest of your family give consent. It will be a stepping stone in medical history. As you know, new innovations in medicine always have their bugs that need to be worked out. It may not be wise to have Bryce submit to the experimental changes."
    Steve shook his head at the irony. All of Bryce's life had been turned towards the wonders of VR. Then VR had permanently damaged him. Now Bryce was going to need it to continue his life.
    "The company that supplied the stimulators, Sosuno Industries, have recalled all of them and is offering to pay for the surgeries and medical expenses. They want to make as much of amends as possible..."
    Steve didn't hear any more. Like Bryce, he, too, was in a world of his own.

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