Zoey Is Too Drunk for This Dystopia (Zoey Ashe #3)

by Jason Pargin

For my mother, who gave everything to everyone

THE EVENTS DESCRIBED HEREIN take place in the future, in an 85,000- square-mile expanse of a gorgeously hostile territory that people in Zoey’s time will call Utah, which you’ll note is the same as what it’s called now. The difference is that in your present, the southwestern part of the state is home to a number of friendly small towns and some of the best hiking grounds in America. In Zoey’s future, a cabal of wealthy real estate developers have bulldozed all of that nonsense and laid the foundations for a gleaming new metropolis called Tabula Ra$a. Spearheading that effort was Arthur Livingston, an innovator responsible for numerous breakthroughs in the field of committing crimes in ways that cannot easily be prosecuted. Tabula Ra$a was to be a Utopia built according to Arthur’s undying belief that if enough capital accumulated in one spot, everything else would just work itself out. His spectacularly violent death at the hands of his rivals would thus be declared “ironic” by some in the press who clearly did not understand the meaning of the word. When a professional shark wrestler gets bitten in half by a Great White, that’s not irony, that’s somebody getting precisely what they signed up for.

Arthur’s team, whom most people in town simply called the Suits, were the subject of endless conspiracy theories (one claimed that they owned an invisible military helicopter to move about the city) and just as many conspiracy facts (they had, in fact, used such a helicopter at some point, but it was a rental). “In a world full of cameras,” said one obituary, “Arthur Livingston and his underlings mastered the art of staging a reality that suited their needs.” Fringe publications often attributed some kind of occult powers to Arthur and his people, but the truth was they simply didn’t need them. Arthur had learned early in life that reality only existed as the collective perceptions of the beings living in it, so if one could manipulate those perceptions, they could effectively control reality. Arthur used this unfathomable power to advance goals that were similar to the goals of most powerful men throughout history: mainly to acquire stupid amounts of wealth and sex.

Zoey has since become the subject of many salacious rumors herself, many revolving around the accusation that she has resorted to some deeply unhealthy habits in order to cope with the stresses of her new position. Zoey would be the first to tell you that this is absolutely untrue: her unhealthy habits were doing nothing to help her cope.

He was wearing the clothes of a man headed for a funeral and the expression of a man who was about to cause one.

Zoey turned to the reporter and her camera operator. “Seriously, you guys might want to leave. I have, uh, weird enemies.” The reporter and camera guy actually seemed to be considering this. Just how badly did they want to become real journalists? The job didn’t pay much. But Zoey was rooting for them to go mainly because she intended to follow them to the door. They didn’t move, but Wu said, “We need to get Zoey out of the building. The front exit is clear.” All three of the hovering cameras now swung around to focus on Zoey. She knew she would be forever judged by whatever she said and did next. Would she flee from whatever was heading her way, leaving her rank-and-file factory workers behind? If so, that clip would be replayed and used against her until her dying day. Or would she stay and face down the threat like a brave male would? If so, the incident would be forgotten by lunchtime.

Zoey took a moment to compose herself before speaking. “You know my story, right?” She began. “Not too long ago, I was on minimum wage plus tips and government PDR payments. Now, I know you think all of the rich people in this city are monsters, but I’ve been dealing with them personally ever since I got here and I can assure you they are actually much worse. This whole city was built with casino money—did you know that the games don’t run on chance? Those slot machines use software, it’s an algorithm that picks payouts based on human psychology. It detects right when the player is about to give up and then throws them a minor win to keep them hooked, or makes the spinning numbers look like they just missed a jackpot. Big payouts are timed for when the most tourists will see the flashing lights and get tricked into thinking they could be next. And you know who cleans and maintains all of those towers downtown? It’s not robots, it’s migrant workers who wiped out their life savings for their papers, then got here and were told they had to work for half the promised pay or get deported. Do you see the theme? This whole city was built on false hope dangled to desperate people like a fishing lure!” Zoey was getting so worked up that she had to stop and restrain herself before the vein on her forehead started throbbing. Wu was now looking at her with some concern. Harmonia said, “I am well aware of what people like you do to the downtrodden—” “I don’t think you are!” interrupted...

“If our security team killed her, just tell me.” Will shook his head. “That would have been the wrong move. Her people would have made her into a martyr, claimed we were afraid of what she ‘knew.’ In fact, her benefactors may have been hoping we would kill her, for that very reason. To stop a movement like that, you need to make it socially radioactive, make it clear that anyone who joins is instantly lowering their own social status. She came off like a clown and the moment was captured on camera for all time. That’s a better outcome, in terms of nullifying the threat.”

“I’m dumb about the business at the ground level so I’m going to ask a question that is probably stupid, so just bear with me: How do we know she and the others didn’t just quit and/or leave town for their own reasons? Doesn’t this job have a really high turnover rate?” Axol’s face showed that this question wasn’t just stupid, but also offensive. Before Axol could answer, Will jumped in. “It’d actually be very surprising if all three just left without notice. Girls go missing for violent reasons often enough that it’s an unspoken rule that you let somebody know if you’re looking to change cities or careers. They keep a lookout for each other. And of course, DeeDee keeps track, when she can.” “And you think they’re all being abducted by these religious types? And what? Killed? Held prisoner somewhere? That doesn’t sound like the Christian thing to do.” Axol stared at Zoey. “Bitch, have you ever opened a history book?”

“Do we have a picture of Rose?” asked Zoey. “And the others?” Will got a look on his face like he wasn’t sure why Zoey would need this. It wasn’t like she was going to personally embark on a manhunt. Still, somebody shot them over to Zoey’s phone. She pulled up holograms that were clearly from the Chalet promotional materials, each of the three women depicted lying in bed, apparently naked, giving alluring looks to the camera. Rose was the kind of woman guys would call “plain,” meaning she had hair, teeth, skin, and a figure that most women would kill for, but kept her makeup subtle and her hair dye natural. Just a notch below perfect, enough that customers could convince themselves her smile was genuine, as if she was pleased with their attention.

This was what outsiders never understood about the Suits, even going back to the reign of Zoey’s father: there usually were plans in place but, in the end, the endemic chaos of the universe would always have its say.

Zoey closed her eyes and pressed her fingers into the lids. “So what you’re saying is that it’s entirely possible that whether or not America has a fascist president in ten years may depend on how quickly we can empty these trash cans this weekend?” “Welcome to the wonderful world of politics,” said Budd. “A vocation you can’t do when drunk but can’t cope with when sober.

IN EVERYDAY LIFE, MEN tended not to notice what Zoey was wearing unless it made her look far more or far less attractive than her baseline. In high-stakes business meetings with powerful sociopaths, however, the decision about what to wear was supposedly much more fraught. Will relentlessly reminded her that these meetings were full of subliminal dominance signals that Zoey still barely understood, rules these guys apparently learned in business school or while apprenticing for their rich and powerful fathers. Those rules were, by design, incomprehensible to outsiders. Strivers projected power with tailored suits, while billionaires showed up to those meetings in sweatpants, projecting that they didn’t have to put out the effort. Overt status symbols are a minefield because, by definition, they only work on those below you—no billionaire is impressed by a celebrity brand—so showing them off can play like an insult rather than an attempt to put your best foot forward. And so on. As a result, Will was obsessed with how whatever Zoey wore represented the company or her mindset, how certain jewelry signaled “new money” or how a color of shoe would imply to any women in the meeting that she was there to steal their husbands. Will knew a hundred of these rules but seemed to not know the most important one: when Zoey was meeting with a certain type of man, there was simply no winning. If she dressed to look her best, emphasizing her chest and squeezing things in the middle to giv...

“The video was posted anonymously. The killer was careful not to include anything that indicates location or identity. The full video supposedly goes on for over an hour, during which he peels off her—” “Stop. I swear, men get such a thrill out of describing every little detail of a mutilated female body.”

“Just take me to the meeting,” said Zoey. “All things being equal, I’d just choose not to play his stupid game.” It was clear Will had something he wanted to say about that but was choosing to stay silent. He actually didn’t need to say it, because he’d said it many times before: some games, you’re playing whether you choose to or not.

“So all I have to do is not take the bait. I can do that.” “It’s the hardest thing in the world, in my experience. Remember, if your father had been better at not taking bait, he’d probably still be alive. As always, go back to the basics: How does the other party want to project themselves into the world? Figure that out and you’re ninety percent of the way to predicting how they’ll act.” “And this guy wants to rid the city of crime.” “What? No. Zoey, listen, because this is everything: There’s nothing in Damon’s platform that involves preventing crime from happening. His promise is that he will inflict harm on the bad guys. Big difference.” Budd added, “It’s like the old joke about the hunter and the bear.” “I don’t think I know that one,” said Zoey. “It’s kind of blue, if you’re okay with that. A hunter goes out into the woods, finds a bear, shoots at him, and misses. The bear lopes over and says, ‘You just tried to shoot me! Now there’s gonna be consequences. I’m gonna bend you over this log and have my way with you.’ So he pulls the hunter’s pants down and does just that. The next day, the hunter comes back with a bigger gun, a big ol’ elephant gun. He finds that same bear, shoots, and misses again. The bear pounces and says, ‘You never learn, do ya? Just for that, I’m gonna force you to give me a blow job.’ So he does just that. The next day, the hunter comes back with an even bigger gun, a bazooka. He shoots, not even close. The bear comes over, grabs the hunter and...

Minutes passed. Again, she was being made to wait. Will said they like to watch you while you wait, see what you do. Are you a fidgeter? Do you pace around, inspect the surroundings? Will’s rule: Sit and appear totally unperturbed by the delay. They get ten minutes. If they don’t arrive by then, leave. It doesn’t matter how badly you need the meeting, you don’t give them the satisfaction of letting you dangle on the hook. So Zoey had a seat in one of the lawn chairs, rotating it to face the back door so Damon wouldn’t have the pleasure of sneaking up on her. Don’t pick at your clothes, she thought. Don’t pull out your phone. Don’t reveal how much it enrages you that this petty wannabe tyrant is using your concern for the missing women against you because he himself is incapable of feeling any such thing. Find something to think about to distract yourself. Zoey decided she would pass the time by pondering just how much she hated politics. It was an arena in which everyone lied, all the time, because lying was required, demanded by the voters themselves. And because Zoey had money, it meant she had no escape. The snakes hit her up for campaign donations, they hinted at their ability to grease wheels she needed greased, they dropped implied threats about how they could make the machinery of commerce grind to a halt if she didn’t play ball. But the worst part was that, despite all this, politicians had an insidious ability to make you like them. Zoey thought of them as a speci...

Zoey fought to hide her discomfort and failed. “Can you put some clothes on?” “Why? Do you feel threatened? Would you feel threatened if I was a woman? Or do you feel that there is danger inherent to specific sex organs?” “You apparently do. You’re doing this because you know it makes me uncomfortable. You’d feel the same way if you were ambushed by a strange naked man. Especially if he was six inches taller than you and outweighed you by seventy-five pounds.” Damon looked Zoey up and down. “I don’t think I outweigh you by that much.” “I swear, guys like you, it’s like you have this radar for people’s insecurities so you can zoom right in. I have messed-up teeth, too. Go ahead and get that one out of the way.” “You started it, by commenting on my body. All I did was say hello. Hey, would you like to go in and make me a coffee?” “Ah, because I was a barista. Funny. Somehow, you’ve told me nothing about yourself but managed to tell me everything I need to know. And you’re not worried that what you’re doing now looks bad to the voters? Waving your genitals at a notorious woman? You know there are cameras everywhere, right?” “Nothing here is new to my neighbors or my constituents. I have nothing to hide, I lay bare all of my mind and body for judgment, as everyone should.” Zoey decided to just move on to the subject at hand. “I’m here because we have employees who are going missing. Which you already know. Three, so far.” “Sex workers, you mean.” “Yes, that’s the type of work ...

“I don’t think this is the work of a serial killer. In fact, I don’t think the girls are dead. Or at least, not this way.” “We just saw a butchered corpse, Will. Splashed all over the skyline.” “No, we didn’t. We saw a video, broadcast to the public. Which means we only saw what someone wanted us to see.” “I don’t understand.” “Neither do I. But I will. Budd, has Violet’s corpse turned up?” “Not yet.” Zoey studied her hand, which was smeared with the blood she’d wiped from her face. Her cream sweater was soaked at the shoulders. She wondered where they’d gotten it from. Was it cows’ blood? Pigs’? “I think I did wind up threatening him a little bit. Damon, I mean, I think it’s reasonable to say that he did, in fact, successfully bait me. He did his bit about how sex work is ruining society, I gave him the line about how we’re just giving the market what it wants but things kind of went downhill from there. I’m not sure how well I came off. He popped out of the water with no clothes on, did you see that? I’m trying to imagine if I pulled something like that, what people would say.” Staring at the passing traffic, Will said, “You think the stuff about the market is just a ‘line’?” “It definitely didn’t sound as convincing hearing myself saying it as when you say it to me. I mean, yeah, how much choice do these women really have? Do you ever sit down and think about that?” Will shrugged. “You can think about it all you want, you can sit around and pontificate about why gravity...

the calendar, it had promised to be long but boring. In retrospect, Zoey should have known that days such as these were where your real problems hid, so they could jump out and punch you in the gut. Zoey’s people were all in the conference room cobbling together a new security protocol with Wu, since the day thus far had been a string of spectacular failures on that front. She had wanted no part of that meeting, not just because she was totally uninterested in hearing Will and Wu take turns deflecting blame, but because the whole thing just drove home how, based purely on allocation of assets, the company believed Zoey’s life was simply more valuable than any of her employees’, including the sex workers’. They couldn’t even argue that her extra protection was due to her public profile making her a target; these women were objectively in more danger and they would never have Zoey’s around-the-clock protection, purely because they didn’t have Zoey’s net worth. As such, it was now occurring to her that the subject of the missing sex workers and the city’s de facto legalization of vice was going to come up in the debate, which meant Zoey’s actual name could come up, which meant she was likely going to be asked by the press to comment afterward, which meant answering questions about the seared wound in her hair as well as her views on cannibalistic conspiracy theories. The invisible boa constrictor pulled itself tighter around her sternum.

“So how’s the vigilante business?” “That’s not my full-time job,” replied DeeDee, “it’s more of a community service. The cops in this city barely show up and when they do, they seem to pick what calls to respond to based on what’s easiest. Private security only protects those who can afford it. You said the costume is scary, but I’d make it scarier if I could. I can’t be everywhere but if I show up in these dudes’ nightmares, I don’t have to be.” Zoey said, “She protects the sex workers.” DeeDee shrugged. “I try to be there for anybody who works off the books and doesn’t feel like they can go to the cops, or won’t get a response if they do. In this city, yeah, it’s the sex workers most often. A lot of the other off-the-books laborers, the big gruff construction workers, they look out for each other, I suppose. This is really good, by the way, I’d ask for the recipe but fortunately I was able to memorize it.” If she was being honest, Zoey had spent the days after DeeDee recovered from the surgery waiting to hear about some prominent local lowlife having been punched so hard that his lungs landed on a rooftop several blocks away. Most of the augmentation applications had come from individuals with a specific score they wanted to settle; DeeDee, however, had always insisted that it was simply about correcting an imbalance. A lawless society was one in which women were destined to be prey unless they huddled under the umbrella of protection offered by some strong man whom they...

“Why, it’s Will Blackwater,” said a voice from behind Zoey, “the man who will be responsible if one day my car spontaneously explodes.” Zoey turned to find that Leonidas Damon, visibly made-up for the cameras, had approached with an entourage that included a few young assistants with tablets, all looking stressed out of their minds. Will looked bored to see him. “I’m curious, do you think the introduction of prohibition and black markets increases or decreases the number of people getting blown up in cars?” “I agree there is less crime when everything is legal. Where we disagree is on whether or not the suffering of innocents increases or decreases.” “What we disagree on depends entirely on whether or not our conversation is conducted on-camera. And the only reason you or anyone else think crime is rampant in this city is because the worst of it gets splashed across everyone’s feeds in real time. The media pours snuff films into every eyeball until the citizens grovel at authoritarians’ feet and say, ‘Please, please take away my freedom.’”

“That guy is a turd in my teeth. As for his politics, the only thing I like is that he wants to hang rapists from bridges, I’m actually fine with that part.” “You are? I’m kinda surprised to hear you say that.” “It’d be nice to send a message to all of the other predators.” “I’ve known a whole lot of predators, Zoey. Done time with a few, worked with a few, got rid of a few. One thing I’ll tell you right now: they don’t get that message. These guys, the way their brains work, they don’t think they’re gonna get caught. That’s their whole thing, they can’t conceive of a future beyond satisfying this desire or that. Threaten them with death, threaten them with torture, it don’t matter. You know why?” “Because they’re sick? Mentally ill?” “No. Or, you know, that’s not for me to say. No, the reason they don’t think they’ll get caught is that they’re right. You do a crime with no evidence left behind, no witnesses, victims who can’t talk to the cops—you’re free and clear. Some of these guys prey on girls their whole lives, hundreds of them, before they die or just age out of the behavior. So people like Damon say, ‘What we’re gonna do is, the rare bad guy we actually catch, we’re going to go way over the top in punishing him, to set an example.’ But it doesn’t work, people have been trying it for thousands of years. I mean, maybe it deters good citizens, the ones who wouldn’t dream about raping anyway. So the only purpose it serves is cruelty. Remember, Zoey, cruelty is more add...

“It’s always fascinating, watching men transform from werewolf mode back into human after the fluids have left their body. It’s like all of the reason and anxiety comes flowing back in.”

He went into the bathroom and gathered clothes from the floor. “I know more about you than you think,” he said while fishing out his toilet sock. “I don’t mean intel I looked up to pull this job, I mean I know where you’re coming from. I know your mentality.” “I don’t doubt that you think you do.” “How’s this: You hate that men find you most desirable when you’re naked. Because it makes it seem like none of your choices matter, that everything you’ve done to express yourself, the hair, the clothes, the attitude, isn’t enough to drive a man crazy, that the kind of attraction men show you would be the exact same if your personality vanished and you were just a Zoey-shaped sex doll.” “Jaw-dropping.” “But it’s more than that,” he said, stepping into his underwear. “Because it’s really about power. If a woman is hot, I mean the kind where she can walk into a room and instantly change the vibe—” “Like Echo.” “Yeah. Their world is full of men who wish they could have them but can’t. That’s real power, it follows them everywhere. It means that any man who has her, or is just allowed to be around her, instantly has social currency. She’s proof of his success, his worthiness—she dictates status by who she grants her company to. You think what you have just isn’t the same, right? It’s power over guys who want to get with you but it’s the kind of power a cheeseburger has over somebody on a diet, it goes away as soon as it’s sated. I bet you hate how when you’re dating, they always hav...

“My problem,” said Zoey, “isn’t that I’m anxious about this meeting, the problem is I can’t get anxious enough about this because there are too many other things to get anxious about. This meeting isn’t even the big nightmare on the schedule, that’s coming tonight, at Catharsis. And between here and there we have to, I guess, try to solve a serial kidnapping? I mean, are we doing that before or after lunch?” “Humans have eyes that face forward, like any predator,” replied Will, in a tone like this was a classic axiom and not something a serial killer would say while chasing you through a lair full of mannequins. “We’re designed to focus in on one target, one goal at a time. If too much is going on, it plays against our strengths, just from an evolutionary point of view. Our brains are terrible at multitasking. Juggling threats causes a unique type of stress and most dysfunctional behavior you see today is just humans doing a bad job of managing it.” “Okay, then why do people like that crazy butterfly lady make up dangers instead of dealing with what’s actually in front of them? Back in my old trailer park, I had a neighbor who found out she had a mass in her lung, then spent the whole time she was dying obsessed with conspiracies about secret government mind-reading drones.” “It’s counterintuitive, but that person likely reduced their total amount of anxiety by focusing on that belief. They’re trading a hundred tedious internal fights for one, big, external battle. It actu...

Before Zoey could say it, Echo stood and said it for her. “Open the doors. We’re getting off.” “But you haven’t even touched your food,” said Wrexx. “Two women are in a closed space with you and demanding to leave. Demonstrate now, for the world: Will you comply with that demand, or will you keep them locked in, against their will, to gratify some fetish for exerting power?” They stared each other down for a moment, then Wrexx ordered the doors to open.

Zoey leaned over the box and looked the girl in the face. Iris had black hair, like Zoey’s, puddled under her skull. She wore a peaceful expression; she could have been asleep to a casual observer. Zoey looked over Iris’s naked body and wondered what parts of it she had hated in the mirror. Then she was suddenly aware of the spectators and drones and all the other curious cameras. Eyes on top of eyes, all around them. She asked, “Is there any evidence to be taken from the outside of the box?” “So many tourists had handled it by the time I got here that it’d be hopeless, even if the perps had been careless,” said Kowalski. “Whatever we get, we’ll get from the corpse inside.” “The tourists were, what, taking pictures with it?” Kowalski gave her a strangely offended look. “They were trying to get it open, Zoey. To help her, if they could. This city is full of weirdos but they’re not monsters. But yeah, they were also taking pictures with it.” Zoey turned back to Will. “Give me your jacket.” “Why?” “If you get a call one day that they’ve found me out here, in the middle of a crowd, naked, what would you do? Would you just let people stare?” He took off his jacket and laid it over the box, covering the top half of the woman’s nudity. Wu, without a word, removed his jacket and covered the bottom half.

“Somebody with implants,” said Will. “We knew that was inevitable.” Someday, Zoey thought, there would surely be a book written about the augmentation-implant subculture as it grew up around the city. So far, the overwhelming majority of the augmented were men and fit a particular profile. Virtually all relentlessly promoted their abilities on Blink in an effort to parlay them into some kind of notoriety and, as a group, there seemed to be a shared belief that they were destined to be the true power in society, if they weren’t already. In their videos, they ranted about what needed to happen with taxes, and crime, and abortion. They’d melt iron bars with their hands while they talked, as if to say, “See? My opinions matter now. Please listen to me.” They would make vague threats to politicians, even the president, acting as if possessing the physical strength to tear their way through the fence around the White House meant they had a proverbial seat at the table, as if that had been the only thing holding them back before. That first wave of implants had, it seemed to Zoey, attracted those who had a child’s idea of what power was and how it worked. The second wave of customers would, she thought, be people like DeeDee who sensed an arms race coming, those who didn’t want to be left behind in a world in which this first group of crazies had become common. There were still only a few hundred augmented vigilantes in the city, but knowing that the next man who grabbed your arm...

She glanced over her shoulder at Wu. “I have a question. If somebody came and attacked me right now, would your guy back there with the sword stop it? Or does he only stop it if they come for you?” “I would stop it,” answered Wu. “Not in my capacity as Zoey’s personal security, but as man in position to do something.” “Interesting. How does a guy like you get into a job like this?” Wu smiled. “Do you want the short version or the long?” “You choose.” “I joined the army, based on a promise that I would learn a marketable skill, which I believed would assuage my worried parents. I also held a secret belief that it would make me seem like more of a man to all of the girls back home who, without exception, saw me only as friend material. I wound up getting sent to South Korea as part of the peacekeeping force there, once it became clear the mess in the north was going to spill over. The joke was that we were there to be the corpses they could show on the news to justify a full military intervention, but it was one of those jokes that was also true. I did, in fact, discover a lucrative skill, though it was not the one my parents were hoping for, or what any parent wants for their son, I suppose. Once I was out, I took a job as a bouncer at a club. I went viral on Blink for an altercation in which I subdued several men. The rest is very uninteresting history.” “I doubt it’s uninteresting,” said Lyra, “but I know we’re short on time. One more question: Were the other soldiers wei...

Margaret gazed upward. “Have you ever wondered what would happen to a society if it became totally impossible to discern fact from fiction?” After only brief consideration, Zoey said, “Actually, I think we’re living in it right now.” “I mean truly unable, to the point where evidence could be falsified so thoroughly that no human sense could detect a forgery, where lies could be created that are identical to the truth, down to the molecule. To the point that all of our forensics and experts would be helpless to determine what is real and what is false. What would people cling to, when searching for truths?” “They would probably do what they do now: they’d believe whatever they wanted to.” “The technology that makes people strong and turns them into weapons like that strange man back there, some say that’s the future. But it seems to me the next frontier, the true power, is in mastering these new, perfect forms of deception. The power to throw a car with your bare hands isn’t godlike. There are animals that can do it. The power to create your own reality, that is the power of a god. But you already know that, right?”

“I was about to ask why nobody told me about all of that but every time I ask that question, somebody says it was brought up at a meeting where I wasn’t paying attention. And it usually turns out they’re right.” “You can’t micromanage a company this size. It doesn’t work like that. You think Lyra was the first sex worker to get hurt?” Zoey rested her head against the window, letting the vibration of the engines massage her skull. She closed her eyes and, with them closed, asked, “Am I doing a good job?” “What? What do you mean?” “Just, in general. Running things. I feel like nobody thinks they can be honest with me.” “You think Will is afraid to tell you when you’ve screwed up?” “I know he is. Not because he’s afraid of me, but because he thinks I’m too fragile. He filters everything, like I’m not strong enough to handle it.” “Well, it’s not exactly that.” “What?” “It’s just that … okay, have you ever had a job where some really eager employee comes on board, but they’re so eager that they can’t stop questioning everything? You’re trying to show them how to brew the coffee and they’re like, ‘Why don’t we sell donuts? Why don’t we put in more comfortable chairs for the customers? Why don’t we get a bigger sign?’ Only imagine you had an employee who was like, ‘Why do people need coffee to stay awake? Why can’t everybody just get the proper amount of sleep?’” “I’m sorry, hold on. So everybody thinks I’m annoying because I ask questions like, ‘Are our businesses ruining lives?...

“If what you’re trying to say,” said Andre, “is that the poor people here are being forced to pick their poison, either live terrified of a creep crawling through their window or be terrified of a jackboot knocking their teeth out for no reason, well, that’s the same choice the people at the bottom have been stuck with for several thousand years.” “I feel like every discussion I have about this just goes in circles.” “And now you know why the very first human cities all had a common ingredient that made them work. We wouldn’t have a civilization without it.” “The law?” “Alcohol.”

“Do we know what Damon’s going to say?” Echo said, “We don’t, but it’s easy to predict. He’s going to go up there and repeat his accusation that we all tried to have him killed at the pirate debate. He’s going to try to whip his people into a frenzy, to get a riot going.” “So even if he causes the riot, it works in his favor because his official position is anti-riot? How is that fair?” Andre said, “Tyrants have been using that playbook for longer than we’ve had words to describe it.”

“The control-room people aren’t going to get mad at us for intruding?” “Nah,” said Budd, “I know all those guys.” “How do you do it? How do you just instantly connect with people? Will said he once saw you walk up to a cop who was in the act of arresting a homeless man and both of them turned and greeted you by name.” “Well, that’s the key, knowing that everybody is different in the details but the same at the core. Every human being has one big, gaping weakness. It’s usually one of two things: a sucking hole at their center called ‘need’ or something they’ve desperately latched onto to fill that need. Either way, their entire world and personality, all their posturing and bluster, it’s all revolving around some central weakness they’re trying to cover up.” “So you’re just looking for weak points to exploit, like a predator looks at a herd of elk?” “Oh, no, it don’t have to be like that at all. When you see a puppy or a wounded bird, does their weakness make you want to squish them? No, that’s when you love ’em the most. When you see even the worst monster among us and realize they’re just a needy mammal at heart, it’s hard to see anyone as truly bad. Understanding this just takes away the fear of talking to them, that’s all.” “Well, it’s kind of hard for me to see the frail humanity in the billionaires who kill so they can add two pennies to their stock price.” “Would you trade places with them?” asked Budd. “Put their hard heart inside you to replace yours?” “No.” “So yo...

“If only we could transplant into you even half of the irrational confidence of your prankster friend.” “Oh, god. Don’t get me started on Aviv, I swear, I can’t tell if he’s charming or just really tall.” “Does it matter?” asked Budd in an odd tone. “I say, in our world, only one thing counts in romantic relationships, and that’s trust. So do you trust him?” “Not at all.” Budd gave her a curious grin. “You sure? It seems like you treat him like someone you trust.” “I hope not. Will said the most effective con is when you let the mark think they’re in on it. For all I know, that’s all Aviv is doing with me. ‘I trick everybody else, but I’m letting you in on the game.’ Hell, you tell me if I should trust him. You’re the one who can read everybody.” He shrugged. “I think it’s easy to assume males are all sly schemers, when most of us are clumsy oafs, falling on our rears and then tryin’ to play it off like we did it on purpose. I think the most common mistake we make in dealing with people is in assuming that while our own feelings are a mess of contradictions, everybody else is operating with a clear agenda and any inconsistencies must be due to some kind of ruse.” “Wait, are you encouraging me to start a serious relationship with this daredevil-slash-prankster? I’d almost suspect you’re saying this to me as a prank on Will.” “I’m, ah, not so sure that Will wouldn’t tell you the same thing. I mean, he wouldn’t tell you, I’m saying if you could pry open his skull and see his ...

“Look,” said Alonzo, “what the citizens want couldn’t be simpler: They want all evildoers to be instantly apprehended and punished, with perfect accuracy and no inconvenience to the innocent. They want jobs with good pay, flexibility, and low stress but also want all products and services to be available instantly, at all hours, and dirt cheap. They want generous government infrastructure and benefits, but without paying taxes. In other words, they want the impossible. So what they get instead is a show.” He gestured to the riggings and the lights above the stage. “Something they can follow like a sport, argue about with their buddies.”

Zoey followed DeeDee after properly reassuring herself that her legs worked. They got only mildly curious glances from the sex workers and it seemed clear that DeeDee was familiar to them. They passed the neon-lit trailers and were now walking among makeshift tents, presumably where the residents slept in between shifts. Everything stank of urine and wet trash. All along the ground were discarded Iso patches, purple and pink and red. Slap one on and it would dispense the drug into your bloodstream at perfect intervals to keep the euphoria humming for about eight hours, until it was time for a new patch. Within four hours without one, you’d feel like you had the flu. Four hours after that, your insides would spasm and twist until there was nothing left in your bowels. When you took on an Iso habit, Zoey had been told, it was like you’d had a major organ removed and only those colorful patches could replace its function. DeeDee said, “I see the disgust on your face. You know, Leo Damon got famous coming to places like this? Getting the trash and human waste on-camera, saying, ‘See, look at these subhumans, living like animals, wallowing in filth.’ Like anybody wants to live like this, like they’re getting away with something.” Zoey said, “You could get a dozen Ivy League lawyers, make them live out on a patch of land cut off from their money, get them hooked on opioid patches, and within a day it’d look just as bad. No trash-pickup services, no running water, no sewer lines....

“Just know that I don’t consider this resolved until the accusations are cleared up. A man’s reputation is all he has.” “Well, now, there’s where I do have to disagree. A man’s character is all he has. If reputation is the only thing keeping a man in line, well, then all he has to do is build himself up a following that’ll turn a blind eye to anything but an atrocity committed live in front of their eyes, and maybe even that.

“But how are you holding up?” “I don’t know, man. Grief is funny in a situation like this. When it’s sudden, I mean. Out of the blue. At first, it’s just shock, like an ambush. But once that’s passed, you realize the ambush isn’t really over, the grief hides and waits, ready to jump out at the most random times, for years and years.”

And now here was Will, striding in from outside. He somehow did not have a drink in his hand even though he was surrounded by ten thousand bottles of the stuff. He was instead holding a blue blanket that he’d apparently borrowed/stolen from the paramedics. Zoey got to her feet, rather than make Will force her, and tried to ready herself for whatever plan he’d come up with while she was holding everything up by selfishly getting buried in a building collapse. She said, “I suppose it’s time for another emergency meeting.” Instead of answering, he draped the blanket over Zoey like a cape, pulling it over her shoulders. Then he reached around, like he was adjusting the blanket or something back there, and he kept doing it, reaching farther around her back, and Zoey finally realized that Will was hugging her. She got her arms free and hugged him back and he squeezed her so hard that it kind of hurt her ribs, but she didn’t say anything and they stayed like that for a while. After he let her go, he swallowed and said, “You should be in the hospital.” Zoey didn’t even acknowledge this. “Echo told me what happened. After everything, of all the enemies you’ve taken on, Budd is gone forever because this mentally ill woman blew him up by accident?” “No.” Will stabbed a finger at her. “No. Don’t think that. Don’t ever think that. Damon’s people leaked this narrative, they fed it, they made it trend. He and his backers are who fed Harmonia’s neurosis and paid for her implants. I said i...

In Rose’s final bit, she said the killer had paid for the right to do it. That’s never been true, Clarence, and you know it.” “I don’t know it. I got thrown under the bus over that whole Wrexx situation.” “You refused to ban him,” said Zoey. “After Lyra reported him. Did that order come from above or not? If it did, tell me who gave it to you and I’ll get rid of them.” “You don’t get it. They didn’t have to specifically say I couldn’t ban him. All they had to do was make it very clear that per-store revenue goals had to be met, no excuses. No, I couldn’t lose an influencer customer who could swing my average review score by three stars with a single video. Not when I was trying to meet a number that was based on paying eight-figure rent at the mall. Real cute how that works, isn’t it? Nobody has to come out and say anything about keeping Wrexx as a client, they just set the conditions so that nothing else can happen. Then when disaster strikes, they shrug their shoulders and say, ‘Not our fault, that was an underling who went rogue, for absolutely no reason.’ So as far as I’m concerned, yeah, Wrexx did pay for the right to indulge his psychopathy.”

“Oh, god,” she asked, “what is it now?” She stepped back out of the restroom and found the crowd outside the orange fence was parting for a new arrival. Zoey suspected she knew who that new arrival was, mainly because there was only one person who could truly make the situation exponentially worse and, according to the rules of the ancient curse that this city apparently lived under, that’s who it had to be. Leonidas Damon and an entourage that included his wife and assistants made their way through the crowd, Damon smiling his fake smile and waving as if he was among friendly supporters, though here he most definitely was not. He forced his way toward the spot in the fence where the rest of the Suits were waiting for Zoey to return. “So now all becomes clear,” announced Damon as he reached the fence, using his stump-speech voice. “The corrupt puppeteers of this city put together a scheme to try to thwart the will of the people. Honestly, it’s insulting that you think it’s so easy to manipulate the public.” Andre said, “Did any of this look easy?” Zoey approached the fence. “I promise you that not only did we not ask Aviv to run, but I am officially asking him, in front of all the cameras and all these people, to please drop this write-in campaign. It’s just confusing the voters.” She said this while awkwardly trying to re-button her shirt. “And what exactly do you think we planned? Do you think we blew up our own building? Do you think that guy,” she gestured toward Pisto...

“No, no, that’s not what I’m saying,” slurred Andre around a cigar. “I’m not a religious man, I’m not saying I believe it. I’m saying that the Bible itself says God is a cheat. If he came into one of our joints we’d have to kick him out.” Zoey was gazing vacantly at the city lights sprawled out behind tendrils of smoke. They were at a rooftop cigar lounge that Budd had frequented and possibly owned. Golden braziers kept the chill at bay and the most beautiful man Zoey had ever seen was tinkling away on a grand piano at the center of the space. Zoey suspected her hair would stink like aged tobacco for a month. “You know the bit in the New Testament where Jesus resurrected that guy?” continued Andre. “What was his name?” “Lazarus,” said Echo. “Yeah. Budd told me one time—and Budd grew up religious, you know—he told me one time that that bit was the one that stuck with him. Because Jesus finds out his friend has died, and Jesus is God incarnate, but this man, this man who was also God, he goes and when he sees the corpse, you know what he does? He cries.” “‘Jesus wept,’” muttered Echo. “In Sunday school we had to memorize a verse and I picked that one because it’s only two words long.” She glanced over at Zoey. “Your cigar has gone out.” “Yeah, I think mine is defective.” “You’re supposed to take a puff every minute or so,” noted Will. “It won’t just burn itself down.” “Eh, the wet end is getting gross anyway.” “I’m still talking,” said Andre as a server set a fresh drink on ...

Will had stood and was putting on his hat. “Got an early morning meeting. You guys stay and relax, this place never closes.” “So that’s how it is, huh? Just always onto the next threat, dealing with this one while preparing for that one, probably while already thinking about the one after that?” “Yep.” He grabbed Zoey’s half-full glass from in front of her and downed the rest of the contents. “And it never ends?” she asked, staring into the empty glass. “Nope. Well, it ends eventually.” Zoey shook her head. “It’s exhausting. How do you keep yourself going?” “You pick up the torch the departed are no longer able to carry, and you press on, in their memory.” He shrugged. “But to be honest, seeing what’s next is the best part. And I bet deep down, you agree. See you tomorrow.” He patted her shoulder and headed off. Zoey leaned back and sighed, watching ghostly tendrils of smoke rise up and dissolve among the stars.

Abbott Coburn had spent much of his twenty-six years dreading the wrong things, in the wrong amounts, for the wrong reasons. So it was appropriate that in his final hours before achieving international infamy, he was dreading a routine trip he’d accepted as a driver for the rideshare service Lyft. The passenger had ordered a ride from Victorville, California, to Los Angeles International Airport, a facility Abbott believed had been designed to make every traveler feel like they were doing it wrong.