Wildlife (15 page)

‘I'm from Nanjing,' says the girl. ‘Do you like football?'

The man in the football kit leans towards the girl, blows her a kiss and says, ‘No. Do you like throat sex?'

Anka watches as the man gets up without warning and charges towards the exit. In his effort to leave quickly he ends up walking against a transparent wall for a few seconds before finally finding the door. The whiskered girl from Nanjing gets up and starts walking round the restaurant bumping into people. This is a stranger's paradise, thinks Anka. She's reminded of those people who decide to knock on the door of their childhood homes and get shown around by the present occupant. It's just not quite right. It feels wrong. Strangers are lurking in the background of your family photos. Former friends are watching from the shadows as you kiss your current lover. Your enemies are
licking their lips over lists of your latest friends. The living are haunting the living.

Anka looks down at the half-eaten burger on her plate. She looks at her excruciatingly thin wrists and instructs her face to grimace. She redesigned her avatar on arriving in Wow-Bang this evening. She went to a shop on Torso Road and demanded the thinnest body available. That turned out to be an under-the-counter job. Not strictly legal, even in Wow-Bang. She positioned her new body in front of a mirror for no reason. The shopkeeper smiled, saying, ‘You're nothing but a skeleton with huge tits, aren't you?' Anka nodded.

She's due to meet El Rogerio in the Rib Cage at around nine. She's arranged to meet Life in the Real Arms at ten. She wonders whether either will sense that there are two of her, that she has a double. Will they realise that in her bedroom, back in Manchester, two identical pairs of hands are tapping at the keys.

She has only made half of her cheeseburger disappear. Nevertheless, Anka leaves the restaurant. As she does so, people stare. They are horrified by the skeletal avatar. Her body is terrifyingly thin. People instruct their faces to show pain.

THE SKY ABOVE
central Wow-Bang darkens realistically. The streets begin to get busier as, in the real world, wives, husbands, siblings and parents turn in for the night, leaving the citizens of Wow-Bang alone at their computers. Shit gets said: ‘I promise I won't be too long, I just want to see who's around.'

Life walks into the Real Arms and is greeted by several people. It's a small place, just one room. There's a dance floor in the middle where people congregate and show off the latest moves they purchased on Dance Street. Around the dance floor are tables and chairs programmed to appear wooden. Against the back wall is a bar where you can buy the Cocaine Code and the Heroin Code, each as popular as they are pointless.

Life instructs her hand to wave at the people who grin at her.

‘All right, Life?' says a guy with two pink erections sprouting like wings from each of his shoulder blades.

‘All right, Jimmy,' says Life, instructing her mouth to open wide with excitement.

Life has met Jimmy in the real world. He's gay. In reality, Jimmy's sitting at his laptop in his parents' living room in Crawley, occasionally quitting Wow-Bang to scan Gaydar for potential lovers in the Sussex area.

‘How's work going on the launch party?' asks Jimmy.

‘Oh, pretty good, still a bit vague. I'm meeting that guy Janek tonight.'

‘Oooh,' says Jimmy, making the helmets of his erections flash like disco lights. ‘The lucky fucker himself. There isn't a digital dick in Wow-Bang that doesn't want to program its way into your pants.' Jimmy's two dick-wings spurt large drops of semen which disappear the moment they hit the floor. Life and Jimmy laugh and instruct their bodies to embrace.

Life takes a seat alone in the corner of the bar. Most of the people in here have some connection to the Wild World. Jimmy, for example, has got something to do with marketing. In fact, everyone involved with the Wild World seems to have something to do with marketing. Life has never heard anyone describe their involvement in any kind of detail. Even Bossbitch, even the bald-headed guy who asked if she knew a Northerner who could be trusted with a child. They all talk in shallow code and it makes Life uneasy.

She sits and stares nervously at the door. She's got a bad feeling that Janek is going to have a very unattractive avatar. She hopes he's had the sense to buy a hairstyle and some decent clothes. The Wild World lot all have crazy avatars and frown on those who don't.

Having thought about it, Life's decided she's attracted to Janek's quietness. In a world of too many words Life is glad to have met a man of few. But sometimes few
words means more thoughts and more thoughts often means complication and then failure, lack of joy, unhappiness. But what can you do? You can't do anything. You can carry on.

Two things strike Life as odd about Wow-Bang. Firstly, the speedy growth of commerce. Originally intended as a utopian society where people could meet each other without having to be constantly buying crap, capitalism developed in Wow-Bang faster than in any other human society in history. It took about a week for most major corporations to buy land in Wow-Bang and to build huge towers displaying their logo on their roofs. Also, people quickly found that they struggled to sit at tables and get to know each other without having first bought something. Within a day or two people started opening shops and bars that sold the Cocaine and Heroin Codes, the Cappuccino Code and the Champagne Code, all of which are, in essence, total bollocks.

The second thing that Life has noticed about Wow-Bang is the quantity of penises. They are everywhere. It is impossible to walk down a street without seeing a whole bunch of people with erections jumping hugely from their trouser flies. The penis has been craving mainstream attention since the twenty-first century began and tits and fannies became as breathable as air. The erect penis is pretty invisible in culture. It is a veined source of shame. So when men entered Wow-Bang and found they could program penises onto any part of their body, they got really excited and set about doing just that. The employees of the Wild World are no exception. It's rare to meet a guy in the Real Arms who has resisted the temptation to adorn his avatar with a cock. Some avatars are only cocks: pale shafts as tall as humans
with ballsacks that waddle along like fat feet. There's a few of those here tonight. On the dance floor. Life thinks it's quite sweet. The quantity of erections in Wow-Bang doesn't add up to an atmosphere of sexual aggression. On the contrary, it's almost like men want women to meet their chubby little penises in a normal environment. As if for some time men have been meaning to clear their throats and say, deep, deep down, we are only dicks.

The door of the Real Arms swings open and Janek shuffles in. He has no cocks on his body. Life sees he's wearing a beanie and finds this cute. He's replicated his real-world image. Bless him. She watches as he takes in the atmosphere of the Real Arms. The tall penises disco-dancing on the floor. The numerous people snorting cocaine off the tables or injecting heroin into their arms. She watches as people angle their bodies away from Janek when they register his normal appearance. She warms to him. When he finally scans the room and spots her, she instructs herself to smile and to blow him a kiss.

Janek steers his body through the crowd towards Life. She's not as beautiful in Wow-Bang as she was in that hotel in London. But unlike most girls here Life has resisted the temptation to program a ridiculous cleavage for herself. Janek's glad about this. The other girls here have tits like home-made babies' heads. Full of migraine, Janek takes a seat and manages to work out how to smile.

‘So what do you think of Wow-Bang?' asks Life.

‘Are you sure you wouldn't rather we actually met?'

‘This is cheaper.'

‘Doesn't the Wild World pay?'

‘The Wild World doesn't even know what it's meant to be. How was the funeral?'

‘I'm not sure.'

‘You didn't go?'

‘No. I went. I'm just not sure how it was.'

Life becomes quickly annoyed. Janek's not getting into the spirit of Wow-Bang. She goes to the bar to buy the Heroin Code. She wouldn't normally do this, but she wants Janek to see that this virtual world is more exciting than he realises. Janek watches her and wishes that this was reality. He'd like to touch her cheek and tell her how he feels. Tell her he's ready to live, to run away and join the Fuck Festival, ready to be less bogged down in the horrors of existence. Ready to have fun and fuck with an open mind. But instead he watches as a man with a scrotum instead of a head tries to force his digital dick into Life from behind. He watches as Life turns and slits the man's wrinkled throat with a knife and then returns to the table and begins injecting heroin pointlessly into her arm.

‘Life, listen, I've been thinking a lot about stuff. And I'm pretty sure it's possible to enjoy being alive.'

‘You are?'

‘Definitely I am,' says Janek, standing up with excitement and bumping into Life over and over again. ‘Nothing matters, obviously, but that doesn't mean we can't lead great lives . . . even a fuck festival. You and me, even.'

‘What do you mean, a fuck festival?'

‘I feel stupid saying this here, Life. But meeting you has made me realise how much I've been missing out on. The simple stuff, you know, sex and laughing?'

‘Really,' says Life, wondering whether Janek is familiar with the concept of playing it cool. ‘What's brought all this on?'

‘The N-Prang.'

‘Seriously?'

‘Yeah. Because life is meant to be fun. It makes you realise. We're born, and then everything should be insane and fun . . . and you know, a fuck festival?'

Life sighs. She instructs her lips to purse and exhale. She wonders how a promotional MP3 player could have changed Janek's outlook on life in just a few days.

‘I know what you mean, Janek,' she says. ‘But I think I'm heading in a different direction. I've had enough of all that living-for-the-day stuff. I don't get much out of it any more, you know, drinking, going mental, shagging, breathing. I'm really getting into this.'

The two of them turn and look around the Real Arms. It's getting busier. Giant knobs nod at the bar, bullshitting each other about the Wild World. Naked girls with eyes instead of nipples snort coke from the tables causing the lids of those eyes to rapidly blink. People's clothing and appearance are constantly changing in radical ways; faces and outfits alter as regularly as second hands as avatars trot across the dance floor to talk to someone new.

‘But, Life,' says Janek, ‘do you not find this a little sad?'

‘No. It's not sad,' replies Life. ‘It's just really easy.'

The door of the Real Arms bursts open again and a loud squawking can be heard. People turn to watch as an enormous puffin enters the bar with its black wings outstretched. A few of the dancers instruct their faces to show anger. A lot of the dicks in the place become erect with rage and one guy alters his appearance so he's just a middle finger raised in insult. The Wild World lot don't like people who pretend to be animals. They hate them, in fact. They're not welcome in the Real Arms. Most animal avatars are members of the Dead Animals gang, a group of hippy terrorists who think
Wow-Bang is destroy ing natural human instincts. They blow themselves up in busy places, infecting those around them with viruses.

Life recognises the puffin straight away and stands up. A man with a vagina where his Adam's apple should be is firing up a flame-thrower and preparing to attack the puffin.

‘Don't,' says Life, rushing over. ‘It's my ex-boyfriend.'

‘Are you sure?' says the guy, flame-thrower poised.

‘Yeah, I'm sure. It's you, isn't it, Joe?'

The puffin nods. ‘I've come to find out about Sally.'

‘The baby?' says Life, smiling at the guy with a fanny on his throat and guiding Joe to the table where Janek is walking quickly against a wall. ‘What's the matter with her?'

‘I don't know. But I took her south of Birmingham. I thought it was bullshit and I wanted to see you.'

Joe watches as Life instructs both her hands to cover her face. ‘You didn't,' she says. ‘Tell me you didn't.'

‘I did,' says Joe, tucking his wings into his body and attempting to touch Life with his beak.

‘Don't,' says Life, looking at Janek and then turning to face the huge puffin, her former lover, saying, ‘Where are you now? Where is the baby?'

‘I'm in a Travelodge at Watford Gap services. We got thrown off the Megabus. Sally's back in the room. She's ill. I need to see you, Lie.'

Life doesn't say anything. She pulls Janek away from the wall and gestures that he and Joe take a seat. They do. Janek looks at Joe, wondering what Life ever saw in this enormous puffin and wondering what the fuck he's doing here, obstructing happiness with his black wings. Joe shows no interest in Janek at all. He just watches Life as she instructs
her face to look like it's thinking. Eyes shut and forehead creased. Life looks at both boys and thinks about being alone. And, of course, she is alone, in reality. In reality, they all are.

YOU CAN'T SPOT
a cock for love nor money in the Rib Cage. Among the young, the EMO kids, the fairly thoughtful teenagers, dicks are seen as sad or fucking crude. Unlike the rest of Wow-Bang, naked flesh is rare in the Rib Cage.

Occasionally you'll see two teenage avatars, dressed in black with blue hair heading upstairs or outside together. Chances are, they'll be en route to get their digital sex organs out and put one inside the other. But only in private, not like the huge Wild World knobs and the literal dickheads at the Real Arms. These teenagers still uphold a sexual morality. Mainly out of immaturity.

The Rib Cage is four or five times bigger than the Real Arms. It's a club. Pop metal is blasted out across the dance floor, which is covered in the young. They dance with chins held against their collarbones staring at the floor. If a heavy tune comes on then they mosh, stamping their feet and shaking their ridiculous hair with their eyes shut. But they're a lovely lot, these kids, despite their dark clothes, their pale faces and the slogans on their digital clothes that seem to
beg for death. They're actually nice, good fun, well behaved in a cool way. There's hardly any murdering in the Rib Cage and, as I say, you can consider yourself lucky if you see a pink penis or an attempted rape. What you do get here is a hell of a lot of light-hearted suicides. The long bar at the back sells the Hanging Code, the Overdose Code and the Slit Wrist Code. None of which kill you, only seem to. They're what make the teenagers such pleasant company. They're far too busy killing themselves to kill anyone else and so it's easy to relax.