Fractured Reality

The crowds made Billy dizzy, a whirlwind of noise swirling around him, wild conversations crisscrossing, thumping music, light shows, people shouting, cheering, heckling, begging, and...

"Come on in and keep your umbrellas open, folks, 'cause it’s gonna get real wet in there!" a short, chubby guy with a hat, cane, and little mustache hollered at passersby, trying to lure them into the sleazy nightclub behind him called "Squirt." Billy couldn’t help but shake his head at the cheap Charlie Chaplin knockoff. But before he could get far, another barker was already in his face at the next door: "You look like a guy in desperate need of a blowjob, weirdo. In here, we’ve got women who’ll never give you trouble. They’ll suck your brains out, dear men of culture! Blow all the worries and diseases right out of your dick. Swallow it all, and never spill a word. Yeah, real women. Hard to believe they still exist, right? But only here."

The brothel next to "BeeJay" was a six-story building with giant floor-to-ceiling windows on each level, showcasing rows of draped sex robots. Some were dressed like schoolgirls with pigtails, others in maid or nurse costumes. They looked both real and fake at the same time—uncanny, too close for comfort. Their movements were far too mechanical for real people, and their eyes... empty, soulless. The sharp-tongued, dwarf-sized hype man stood in the entrance, shouting at the passing men, "Come on, you pricks! Get in here and torture our squirting, farting sex dolls! Take out all your frustrations on them. Do the stuff your wives at home forbid. The things the law doesn’t allow! We welcome them here! Live out your dirtiest fantasies! Our pleasure dolls come in all ages, shapes, sizes, and hair colors. Don’t be ashamed of your secret desires, you perverts! Just act on them instead of hiding!"

Suddenly, Billy felt like he hadn’t just missed a week, he’d missed an entire lifetime since his last time on Times Square. Back then, there hadn’t even been a red-light district. And now this. People were so damn out of control, ruthless, animalistic. The place was booming. Two big double doors stood open, with an endless stream of satisfied men pouring out, while another wave filed in on the other side. The guys coming out of the puppet brothel crossed paths with Billy Jones and X-3-19, forcing them to stop as if waiting at a red light.

"I don’t know who I despise more," Billy muttered. "The people running the place or the ones who go in there to act out their sickest fantasies and violent urges on some dolls or robots."

"Doesn’t matter," X-3-19 said. "People are completely rotten. The real question is: Were they always like this, or did the world make them this way?"

At 42nd Street Station, Billy and X-3-19 shared a narrow metal bench. In the reflection of a passing train, he could see what he already felt on his shoulder: the girl of his dreams resting her head against him. A cold gust blew through the underground station, and she pressed even closer. Despite having imagined this moment countless times at work, it lacked the feelings he'd always pictured. The magic wasn’t there. The sense of familiarity. What did X-3-19 really want from him?

On the subway to Stillwell Avenue, they found seats between the zoned-out brothel visitors on hard plastic chairs, which had a thin fabric covering that pretended to offer comfort but gave up the lie the second you sat down. The car reeked of a mix of unfortunate lives: alcohol, sweat, puke, tears, and sorrow. While X-3-19 dozed off on his shoulder again, Billy craned his neck to catch the local news flashing on the overhead screens.

A news anchor, her expression somber, was reporting on the health of Mayor Fenix Grant. She explained that the mayor, due to his worsening chronic lung disease, was no longer able to perform his duties. He was currently in Bona Dea Hospital, waiting for a lung transplant, but a donor had yet to be found. After a brief moment of silence for the mayor, the reporter shifted her focus to the board of the Thandros Corporation, saying, "Now, let’s turn to the global situation, which looks just as grim as the fate of our mayor: Too little was done to prevent the disaster that now looms before us. In order to develop the technology necessary for harnessing R-Energy, more coal plants and factories had to be fired up, pumping even more greenhouse gases into the atmosphere. It was a step we had to take at the time. Since then, natural disasters like storms, droughts, and floods have ravaged the continents of our fragile world. Meanwhile, deserts are rapidly expanding across Asia and Africa. Crop failures and famines plague those regions just as much as civil wars, causing massive waves of refugees. Malaria is spreading at a terrifying rate in Africa as well. It’s the hardest time in human history, but the Thandros Corporation has given us back our old strength. And even more importantly, they’ve restored the most valuable thing we can have, something we would’ve lost long ago without them: hope. We desperately need it to fight against the crisis we created ourselves. What do you have to say to the people? Can the latest developments still allow us to hope?"

A group of street drifters got on the train, immediately filling the air with noise from drums and rattles, hoping for a small donation. Billy couldn’t make out a word of the lies Thandros was feeding the world anymore. He rubbed his temples in frustration as the racket around him grew worse than the chaos on Times Square. The people who threw their last five cents into the tattered cardboard cup looked around the train with smug faces, seeking approval, feeling more generous than those who didn’t, or couldn’t, give.

X-3-19 stared absentmindedly out the window, sinking into her seat. Her skirt slid up slightly, and Billy caught a glimpse of her white lace underwear beneath her dark stockings. When she noticed his gaze, she crossed her legs. His heart pounded. She flashed him a teasing smile.

"Go ahead, ask me something," X-3-19 said in a drowsy voice, blinking sleepily. Billy glanced at her. She was stunning, too beautiful for the abandoned districts. She seemed unreal to him in that moment, the harsh fluorescent light casting down on her, giving her the glow of an angel. Her skin was flawless, her face smooth, like the cover of a fashion magazine, perfect in a way that seemed almost impossible, like she was 80% Photoshop and 20% cosmetic surgery. But here she was, a living, breathing wonder: X-3-19. The perfect woman. She was real, alive, and too beautiful for all this misery, like a flower blooming on a garbage heap, a reminder of how life, and beauty, could endure in the ugliest of places.

"Well, are you gonna ask me something, or what? Otherwise, I’m just gonna fall asleep again. You have to keep a girl entertained, sweetheart."

"I’m supposed to ask you anything?" he asked.

"Yeah, anything at all. Whatever you want. I’ll answer with the truth, and nothing but the truth. Scout’s honor."

After a moment, Billy cleared his throat. "What’s your name, actually?" he asked. "I just realized I never asked you."

Suddenly, X-3-19 giggled into her hand. Billy tried to figure out what was so funny about his question, but he couldn’t.

"Why do you want to know that?"

"Well, I mean…"

"What’s your name, sweet stranger?" she asked playfully.

Now Billy was the one looking confused, but there was something heavier than confusion in his expression: fear, deep in his chest.

"You don’t remember me," he said softly.

She chuckled in disbelief. "No, why would I?"

"I talked to you today, in the factory. Well, a week ago, I mean. Exactly one week ago, in the evening." Billy studied her face, but X-3-19 furrowed her brow, not seeming to recognize him at all.

Great. So much for my big hero moment. I gave up everything for that. My whole life. If only I’d gone to the theater sooner, I would’ve never run into that disfigured woman. Without her, I wouldn’t have crashed. And…

"That was you? Yeah, I remember that weird guy."

"Yeah, that was me!" Billy exclaimed. "At least, I think it was. My name’s Billy. Billy Jones."

"You think it was, Billy Jones?" She laughed and shook her head. "Who gave you your name?"

"Who gave it to me... My parents, I guess."

"You guess, huh? Maybe you gave it to yourself?"

"What?"

"You don’t really know who you are. That’s what I mean."

"What makes you say that?"

"Because most people don’t know themselves,” X-3-19 said thoughtfully. "Most people never really ask how they’re seen by others. What they think they are inside is often completely different from how they come across. It’s just like with your own voice. You know it, but when you hear it on a recording, it suddenly sounds strange and uncomfortable."

"I… don’t get it. Your voice is great!"

She laughed, her tone softening until it turned playful as she said, "I don’t care about your name."

"Oh, really?"

"No."

"But?"

"But I do care about you."

Billy felt himself blush. His cheeks heated up, and the collar around his neck suddenly felt too tight.

"What’s in a name, anyway?" she said, not waiting for a response. "At the factory, they just gave me a number. And where I came from, I was never more than that either. Just a quick number." There was a hint of sadness in her eyes as she stared absently out the window.

"Where you came from? What does that mean?"

"Oh, we’re here," X-3-19 said as the subway pulled into Stillwell Avenue Station. The beautiful young solar technician stood up and took Billy’s hand. Though people were still getting off, the impatient crowd outside began pushing into the train, making Billy feel like he was swimming against the current—a stinking, miserable, unwashed, and uncivilized current.

Stressed factory workers hurried past the seemingly invisible beggars, while white supremacist groups and neo-Nazis, growing in strength alongside the rising number of immigrants, protested against taking in more refugees. Left-wing punks clashed with right-wing thugs, fought against the totalitarian power of the Thandros Corporation, and their enforcers, the police. There wasn’t a single inch of the dirty metro station’s facade that hadn’t been covered in graffiti slogans.

This was just a small glimpse of the bigger problem, Billy thought. People weren’t built to stick together. It was almost as if hatred and greed was embedded in human nature, and where hate and greed goes, war follows. Barely two hundred meters from the chaos at the station, the solar technician lived on Stillwell Avenue, in a rundown building in an even more rundown neighborhood. By the time they reached her door, her mood had brightened again. X-3-19 gazed at him with her big blue eyes, almost hypnotizing him with their sensuality. It was only then that he realized he hadn’t gone to a doctor or found Vivian, like he’d planned back at Times Square.

Two things! Only two things you were supposed to remember! And you forgot even those. Just being around her.

"So, here we are," she said.

"Yeah, we’re here," he replied, clearing his throat, while the young solar technician rocked innocently back and forth on her small feet.

"So, do you want to come up for a hot coffee?" she asked after a moment.

"I…" His lips seemed unable to form the words that would tell her he was a married man. And his marital duties, his vows, kept him from saying yes.

Why do the things you’ve been dreaming about for so long only come up when you can’t act on them?

X-3-19 smiled at him. "Well?"

"I think I have to go…"

Yeah, go where? Where exactly do I plan to go at this hour? I don’t have a home anymore. No car, no money for a hotel, and no idea where my wife lives now.

The thick cloud cover was moving rapidly eastward, bringing heavier rain clouds that signaled an approaching storm.

Great. Do you want to sleep on the street in the rain, waiting to get robbed and torched by some gang?

X-3-19 began to shiver in the bitter cold night. She looked up at him with wide, innocent eyes. Her gaze was questioning, pleading.

They both knew that he had no real choice but to accept her offer.