But Tommy Tattoo froze in midstroke as the black bars of a tightly meshed cage closed around him, and held him immobile inside it.
Tommy: FUCK!
Doobie Littlething dropped out of the sky and landed beside them. She turned to Chas.
Doobie: So you decided to put in an appearance after all.
Chas: Well, with an invitation from a gun-toting dancer to join her and a tattooed maniac in a place called Crack Town, how could I resist?
Doobie stared at him for a moment, then burst out laughing.
Doobie: Well, you may be incompetent, but at least you have a sense of humour.
Tommy: I hate to break up this cosy little mutual admiration society, but would someone like to tell me exactly how long I’m going to be stuck in here?
Doobie turned around.
Doobie: Just as long as it takes to blow a hole in your brainless head, set your AV on fire, and crash you so hard it’ll take you a week to get back in.
Tommy: Yeh, right.
Doobie: Watch me.
She drew her weapon, cocked it, held it at arm’s length and fired twice into the cage, blowing holes right through Tommy’s head and chest. She recocked it and fired again, this time setting him on fire.
A stream of abuse and profanity issued like smoke from the stricken Tommy, before Doobie recocked again and shot AV and cage straight up into the sky. Chas swivelled to look up, but Tattoo Tommy had already gone.
Chas: Did you destroy him?
Doobie: No, Mr. Chesnokov. You can’t destroy an AV. You can damage him, make him crash. Nothing permanent. But he’ll think twice about messing with Doobs the next time.
Chas took a step back, sudden excitement rising through him, and drew his weapon again, this time selecting Damage from his menu. He spun around to point it at Doobie and went straight into Mouselook.
She was so startled she had no time to react.
Doobie: WTF!
Chas fired three times and Doobie spun out of the way, turning in time to see three AV’s running around with smoke escaping from huge holes blown straight through the chest of each.
Doobie: Great shooting, Chas!
Chas allowed himself a small smile of self-congratulation.
Chas: I know how to handle a gun, Doobie. I came first on the practice range in training.
Doobie: Good for you. Just one little thing. Why did you shoot these guys?
Chas: They were sneaking up on us, Doobie. Pretty unsavoury looking characters. I thought they could be friends of Tommy Tattoo.
Doobie threw her head back and roared with laughter.
Doobie: People like Tommy Tattoo don’t have friends, Chas. They were just three AVs out for a bit of fun. Role-playing probably. LOL. That’s the fourth innocent AV you’ve shot the fuck out of in the space of ten minutes. We’d better get you out of here before you get reported and Linden Lab ban you for life.
Before he could open his mouth to make excuses, Doobie was gone. And an invitation appeared to join her at the Armory Overstock in Shepherd. Chas accepted and glanced at the time. He had been in Second Life for less than two hours, and it felt like two days.
Chapter Fourteen
Spread over the vast indoor floorspace of a huge, brick warehouse, the Armory Overstock sold everything from armoured vehicles, helicopters and troop carriers, to personal weapons, bugging devices and gridwide radar systems.
Chas landed with a thump next to Doobie, in front of an enormous welcome board and a water fountain. He looked about as the store began to take shape around him.
Doobie: It’s taking a while to rez today.
Chas: Rez?
Doobie: For things to upload and become focused. SL is responsible for introducing a lot of new words to the English language.
Chas: If only they made things any clearer. I have so many initial letters going round my head, I’m beginning to feel like a walking acronym.
Doobie Littlething: Oh, good word, Chas.
An invitation appeared. Doobie Littlething is offering you Friendship. Accept or Decline. Chas hesitated for only a moment before clicking to accept.
Chas: So that makes us friends now, does it? It’s not that long ago I was “fucking incompetent”.
Doobie: Hahahaha. Yes, well, that probably hasn’t changed. Though maybe we can do something about it. But you know, Chas, I haven’t met that many people in here who would know what an acronym was. That makes you a little unusual. And maybe worth knowing.
Unexpectedly, she did a little backward flip, landing on her tip-toes and holding out her arms for balance, like a ballet dancer.
Doobie: Follow me.
Chas struggled to keep up as Doobie strode off across the floor, dodging banners and stands.
Chas: What are we here for?
Doobie: To get you an AV radar tracking system. You clearly have no idea what’s going on around you. Which is something of a disadvantage for a private investigator. Where is your partner, by the way? Did he ever show up again?
Chas: Twist? No, he never did.
Doobie: Must’ve been a bad crash, then. Sometimes it can take forever to get back online.
They walked past giant billboards advertising weapons and bugging devices. One promoted a mosquito, which it claimed was SL’s smallest weapon. Each one, it promised, would target the person of your choice and keep attacking until you called it off. It also offered the opportunity to rez multiple mosquitoes for swarming attacks.
Another described itself as a Covert Ops Clock.
Chas: Innoculous-looking clock (and scripts) spy on the unsuspecting. Shouldn’t that be “innocuous”? Unless of course it’s some kind of clock that injects its victims. Maybe its hands are hypodermic syringes.
Doobie Littlething laughs long and loud.
Doobie: You are a funny man, Chas.
Chas: LOLOL. But really, Doobs, there are all these clever people who can write complex software scripts but can barely spell, or conjugate a verb. Makes you wonder where the world of communication will finish up.
Doobie: Probably in a bunch of acronyms that nobody understands.
In the end, Doobie selected a simple radar hud that would provide Chas with a permanent display, letting him know exactly who was within ninety-six metres of him at any given time, with the option of caging or orbiting anyone who seemed threatening.
Doobie: Just 500 Lindens
Chas checked his Linden total.
Chas: I don’t have enough, Doobs.
Doobie Littlething sighs.
Doobie: Okay, here, I’ll lend it to you. But in return I’ll expect you to take me out to dinner.
A cash register sounded, and 500 Lindens were paid into Chas’ account. He purchased the radar and filed it in his inventory for later.
Chas: How can I take you out to dinner, Doobie? Man cannot live by pixels alone.
Doobie: Hahahaha. Don’t worry, Chas. I know the very place. And their deep-fried pixels in batter are excellent.