Fantasy Justice: Incarceration

Sunday, March 7th, 2060 — Same Day

Felorius, Unholy Alliance Territory

The party soon arrived at the trolley stop, parting company with goodbyes from everyone except Clare. She and Sara boarded a trolley to Queen’s Square.

Clare’s outburst about Sara was still eating at her slightly. Despite herself, she spoke up. “What I said earlier about you...it came out harsher than I intended. I was just angry at Roberts for her rumor mongering.”

“It’s fine—I wasn’t under any delusion that you liked me. What actually did surprise me is that you think well enough of me to let me lead the group during combat.”

“You’re even-tempered and knowledgeable about the game. I find you hopelessly naïve, but that’s not the same thing as stupidity.”

Sara laughed slightly. “Coming from you, that felt like a ringing endorsement.” After Clare shot her unpleasant look, she continued. “Just kidding. ...But, before I forget, there is something about what you said that concerned me—it implied your pro-capital punishment views. You’re entitled to your opinions of course, but please don’t say anything like that to anyone outside our group. It could cause friction with other inmates.”

“That’s a sensible request. I agree to it.”

They traveled in silence for a while before Sara spoke again. “So, any costume ideas?”

“Fashion doesn’t interest me. I’ll leave the details to you.”

“But I was hoping you’d be involved... Since you were in the military, what if we did something in that style? Maybe a jacket, with a skirt and boots?”

Clare mulled this over. “That would be acceptable. ...While we’re on the topic of appearances, something occurred to me during practice. That long hair of yours might prove a liability if an opponent were to grab it.”

“Actually, it’s impossible to be restrained by your hair during combat. Though it wasn’t always that way. Early on, adventuring women cut their hair short. But that tested poorly with audiences, and hair physics was altered so that it becomes insubstantial when pulled too hard. The same is true of clothes, wings, and tails.”

“The company certainly is thorough.”

“They’re very focused on the bottom line,” Sara said regretfully. “There have been allegations that they bribe judges and attorneys to help put more women in Fantasy, since we’re better for ratings. For the same reason, they allow transwomen to have female character models even without a plea. But they never allow transmen to transition.”

“Allegations mean nothing unless proven. As for the latter, I may not agree with it—but unlike traditional prisoners, Fantasy inmates have no legal rights.”

“And you’re really okay with that? This is your life we’re talking about too.”

“The Supreme Court already ruled on the subject. The rule of law is everything—personal wishes are nothing.”

Sara seemed disappointed by her response, and there was another lull in the conversation.

“Getting back to what you said about hair...” Clare began.

“Yes?”

“Nevermind.” She reminded herself that she should not be concerned with something so irrelevant.

“Please don’t hesitate to speak freely.”

She supposed the other woman would not let the subject go now. “I had to cut my hair short when I joined the military. ...But I liked it better long.”

Sara covered her mouth to hide a smile. Clare narrowed her eyes. “That’s amusing to you?”

“I’m sorry. But you’re always so grim, and seeing you care about something normal... I don’t mean to make you uncomfortable, but it’s cute.”

Regardless of what she meant, Clare was uncomfortable.

“The place we’re going, we can get your hair done too,” Sara added. “I went there my first day.”

“Your hair looks the same as it did in the real world.”

“Oh, well...” Sara looked embarrassed. “Players with the stylist trade can alter any hair on your body. And since I was going to strip...”

Clare looked away to hide that she was suddenly blushing.

“I think you figured out where I was going with that,” Sara said with a laugh. When Clare refused to look back in her direction, she continued more seriously. “Sorry if that was a little racy. I didn’t mean anything by it—I really want you to feel comfortable in the party.

“And I want you to know that I’ve talked with May about toning down her hostility. She can be a little prickly...but it would really help me out if you could go easier on her.”

Clare finally looked back at Sara. “Fine. I can certainly be more mature than her.”

“Thanks.” She gave a warm smile. Clare hated to admit it, but the other woman’s expression made her feel much better.

The conversation drifted into game-related topics, and continued past their arrival at Queen’s Square. Since her incarceration, Clare had been here a number of times on errands for work. It was strange that an essentially imaginary place felt familiar to her.

Near the edge of the square was a small shop, which was done in the usual architectural style. However, it had a very out-of-place orange neon sign over the open metal door. Justine’s Fantasies. And below that on a more ordinary sign: Piercer — Stylist — Tailor — Tattoo Artist.

As they approached, an inmate with a large green mohawk walked out of the shop. The man sauntered off while whistling cheerfully. “This isn’t the place for me,” Clare said.

“All the girls at work swear by her. We don’t want to settle for second best.”

“Oh, well if the strippers all think she’s great...” Clare said with impatient sarcasm.

Sara gave her a sidelong glance, but then laughed. “Just give her a chance.”

They walked into the shop. Apparently the building was currently on the public setting, because they did not need to wait for permission to enter.

Inside was a small waiting area with eight chairs. Beyond that was a barbershop-style chair, a padded, adjustable table with a stool, and a freestanding beige mannequin. There were large mirrors opposite each other on two of the walls. The place was well lit, but black was the predominant color. There were a few decorations, including posters for various punk bands, and another door at the far end from the entrance.

The only person present was a woman sitting in the barber’s chair, reading one of the inmate-made newspapers. She looked to be in her early twenties, and had unruly, medium-length purple hair. She wore a low-cut top, jeans, and boots. She also had a few piercings and tattoos. Clare found her look vulgar, though her own standards were admittedly conservative. As usual, a nameplate appeared in her field of vision:

Justine Williams

XP 0% | I22560

Manslaughter

Guild: Amazons (~5.0k)

Clare knew that the Amazons were considered one of the major guilds. Involuntary manslaughter could not land one in Fantasy, so the crime must have been voluntary.

Williams dematerialized her paper and approached them. “Sara! I remember you. How’s the dancing working out?”

“It’s going well, thank you.”

“Hey, you’ve got a party already. Weird name, but I like it.”

Sara nodded. “This is Clare, we’re hopefully going to adventure together.”

“Justine. Nice to meet you.” Clare simply nodded. She did not trust herself not to offend the strange woman somehow, and she did not want to make this process any more annoying than it had to be. “So, I’m guessing you’re in the market for a new outfit?”

“Yes.”

“Original design?”

Clare remained silent, looking to Sara for guidance. “We’re hoping to get our own show. So I was thinking it would be something original.”

“I only get to submit three new designs per day, so I charge four thousand extra.”

“That’s fine. Oh, and she also wants a longer hairstyle, but that doesn’t need to be anything new.”

“Okay, let’s start there.” Williams led them back to the mannequin. She touched it, and it glowed briefly. When it rematerialized, it had Clare’s skin and eye color, as well as her clothing and hair. The body shape was also identical to her own. “Wanna change your hair color?” she asked Clare.

“No.”

Williams looked to Clare, crossing her arms and then touching her chin thoughtfully. “A woman of few words. You don’t like anything flashy or outrageous, do you?”

“That’s right.”

“Cool, I can work with that. The low difficulty hairstyles aren’t too unusual, and they’re the least expensive. I’ll show you.”

Each time Williams touched the mannequin, it’s hair changed to a different style. After examining a few, Clare spoke. “This one.” It had a large black barrette on the back of the head that swept back some of the hair. The length fell half way down the back.

“It’ll look good on you. All these styles go for four hundred.”

“I’ll pay for—”

“I can afford it,” Clare said, interrupting Sara. She made the purchase through her HUD, then used the inventory controls to switch to the new style. Her hair glowed and was then replaced. Clare touched the hair absently. It certainly felt real. She looked at herself in the nearby mirror.

“You look nice,” Sara told her. Clare felt self-conscious from the complement, but tried not to let that show on her face.

“So, what are we thinking for this outfit?” Williams asked Clare.

“A military-style jacket with a skirt and boots. Can you do something like that?”

“I’ll admit there’s not much call for it, outside a few guilds that have their own tailors. But I’ve got their patterns, and a lot of reference materials. Let’s see your weaponry first.”

Clare materialized her sword and shield. After Williams touched the mannequin once more, it was holding identical copies of her armaments. Clare returned the real items to her inventory.

“Any other ideas?”

Clare shook her head, and then Sara spoke to her. “I was thinking, seeing as how we’re healer and tank, that it might be cute if we had complementary colors. Since I’m in black with some white, your outfit could be mostly white with black accents?”

“That’s fine,” Clare said quietly. The suggestion made her blush slightly, but fortunately Sara looked to their tailor and did not seem to notice.

“All right, that’s enough to get started with.”

The design process took a while. Two new customers arrived during this time, a few minutes apart—one was dressed in medieval finery, the other in a punk style similar to Williams’. The men each sat down and materialized books to occupy themselves upon arrival.

The outfit gradually took shape under many alterations. Clare gave input when it was solicited, and Sara had a few suggestions as well. Williams never had to measure anything directly—apparently, the trade system supplied her with the information she needed. With her fingers she set the outfit repeatedly aglow and placed various features.

“What do you think?” Williams finally asked. As promised, the jacket was predominantly white with various black decorations. It had long sleeves and a standing, stiff collar. A black stripe ran down the front. Under the stripe were the hidden clasps that closed the jacket. Though Williams had suggested epaulets on the shoulders, Clare had rejected that as more showy than she wanted. There were also gloves, thigh-high boots, and a very short skirt in matching colors.

That last item bothered Clare slightly, but Sara spoke up first. “This is amazing! I really like how you’ve got a zettai ryōiki thing going here.”

“A what?” Clare asked her.

“It’s slang for when there’s bare thigh between a short skirt and high stockings. Or in this case, boots.”

“That’s a ridiculous thing to have a name for. Regardless, I’m not comfortable showing my legs above the knees.” Both the other women looked to Clare in surprise. She knew that she was being prudish by modern standards, but she did not approve of dressing in such a fashion.

“Not a problem,” Williams assured her. One final adjustment brought the skirt’s hemline down to just above her knees, though this did hide the top of the boots.

“I won’t have my mobility restricted in any way,” Clare added.

The tailor laughed slightly. “Don’t worry—most of my customers are adventurers, you know. If you have any problem fighting in this, I’ll give you a full refund. So...what’s the verdict?”

Clare walked around the mannequin to scrutinize it, and then nodded. “It’s acceptable.”

“That means she likes it,” Sara said with a smile. Clare looked at the healer disapprovingly.

“If you’re sure, then I can work out a price. After that, I’ll just need to submit it for GM approval. I’ll refund you the gold if the outfit gets rejected.”

Clare nodded.

“I’ll be covering this,” Sara said. After a short time, a surprised look crossed her face and she laughed awkwardly. “Oh. Not that it isn’t excellent work, but that’s a little more than I was expecting.” Since Clare was not part of the transaction, she could not see the price—whatever it was, she felt frustrated to again have to rely on Sara’s help. She reminded herself that this purchase was in the best interest of all the Magical Girls. I really can’t believe I went along with that ridiculous name.

“Sorry, but the tailor trade has a gold penalty for anything that don’t fit a medieval fantasy setting. If you’re short on cash—”

“It’s nothing like that.” Sara said. “I guess I just had sticker shock for a second there.”

“If you wanna join the Amazons or Rough Riders, I can give you a guild discount.”

“I’m afraid not.”

“Tell you what...” Williams drew closer to Sara and continued more softly. “Buy me a drink sometime, and I’ll knock off ten percent. ...There, how’s that price?”

Sara smiled playfully. “Much better. You could come by the club and watch me dance sometime. Or if you’re free tonight, I already have plans at ten to meet some friends at the Sapphic Sorceress.”

“That’s my favorite place. I’ll see you tonight then.”

Clare pretended to study the mannequin once more. She should have known Sara and Roberts would have an open relationship. That was completely undignified in her opinion. She tuned out the continued flirting of the other two women.

After a minute or so, Williams spoke up to get Clare’s attention. “It’s approved.”

“Thanks for your help,” Sara said to her.

Clare received a message on her HUD, asking if she wanted to accept the outfit from Williams. She did so, and then used her inventory controls to put it on. Her entire body below her head glowed briefly, and when it stopped she was dressed identically to the mannequin.

“You look positively dashing!” Sara told her. Clare fervently wished she would stop saying things like that. The two men in the waiting area also took notice, but thankfully they did not speak.

After walking around briefly to be sure the outfit was comfortable, Clare looked to the tailor. “...Thank you.”

“Come back any time. Except before noon—I like to sleep in.”

“See you tonight,” Sara said to her as she followed Clare toward the exit.

“Wouldn’t miss it.”

Once outside, they started back toward the trolley stop. It was early in the evening, and the streetlights had come on. “Would you like to come with me to the Great Library?” Sara asked.

“I suppose I’ll want more to read after I finish what Martinez recommended.”

“There’s a lot available—writings by inmates, public domain works, and various properties the company has the rights to. I consider the place the only genuine mercy our captors show us.”

“It sounds useful. But it’s strange that we need to go to an imaginary building to access digital media pretending to be books.”

“The company likes a bustling world as a backdrop for its shows. That means making us travel from place to place. Hunters at least can teleport between their settlements.”

“Are there many settlements in this world?”

“When the game launched, there were only four cities—Felorius, and the three hunter capitals. Other than that, there were only tiny NPC villages that served as quest hubs. Since then, both sides have built fortifications around various resource nodes. Some are in the vicinity of the more advanced dungeons and raids, since those are too far from the capitals for a practical commute.”

“How big is this place then?”

“Pretty big. Even on the fastest horses, it’s a twelve hour ride from here to hunter territory. Most PvP happens out that way, near the raid entrances and expensive nodes. We should find an atlas when we get to the library.”

Their conversation about the game world continued through their wait at the trolley stop. By the time they boarded one of the vehicles, both women had fallen silent. There were other inmates on board, but none of them were nearby.

“Clare, I just wanted to say something. I know you don’t trust anyone here—and this place really doesn’t make that easy to do. But being alone can be stressful. If you ever want someone to talk to about anything, I’m here.”

“You never get tired of trying to foist your help on everyone, do you?”

“It’s not as if my interest is entirely selfless. Your mental state may influence your fighting ability. And if we do work together, that may affect my safety.”

“That’s a valid concern,” Clare acknowledged reluctantly. “If you have any questions for me, I’ll consider answering them.”

“You make it sound like an interrogation,” she said with a slight laugh.

“That’s as good a word as any—it’s not as if I particularly care to speak with you.”

Sara looked taken aback. “Fair enough. I’m curious about you regardless. Let’s see...any siblings?”

“That’s related to my mental state?”

“It might be.” She shrugged.

“Nineteen.”

“...Seriously?”

Clare sighed. “Yes. Five were adopted, same as me.”

“If it’s not too personal, how did you come to be adopted?”

“I was taken from my biological parents when I was seven. They weren’t good people, and I don’t care to talk about them,” she added quickly to forestall such questions.

“I’m sorry. Is it okay if I ask about your adoptive parents?”

“They aren’t much better—a couple of Protestant fundamentalist lunatics, and part of the ‘Quiverfull’ movement.”

Sara frowned slightly. “I’ve read about that. They pressure their women to have as many children as possible. And most of them have theocratic leanings as well. It’s disturbing.”

“Exactly. I can’t stand people who put their religion before their country.”

“You must have had a very strict upbringing then?”

“I suppose. I grew up on a farm, and between chores and all the praying there wasn’t too much time for anything else. My adoptive father has a temper. He used to send me out to cut a switch for him fairly often.”

“That’s awful!”

“I don’t believe children should be coddled. ...But most of what I was punished for was bullshit. I kept my sexuality and atheism hidden, but I refused to be weak and passive like my fake mother.

“Those people weren’t parents to me, only caregivers,” Clare continued viciously. “They refused to let me take their family name because I wouldn’t fall in line. They didn’t even let me go to school anymore. And what education they gave me was mostly focused on religion. I had to fill the gaps in my knowledge by sneaking onto my fake father’s computer—he wouldn’t even let anyone else use it!”

As she had spoken, Clare had gotten more and more angry. After she finally brought her rant to a halt, she was embarrassed by how much information she had volunteered. She had never before referred to her adoptive parents as “fake” aloud.

“I can’t even imagine how terrible that was for you. Weren’t any of your siblings supportive?”

She scoffed. “Most of them were scared of me for being rebellious. The two that weren’t, I had to fight them to shut them up about my computer time. ...Does that satisfy your curiosity?”

“If you don’t mind one last question...what interested you in the military?”

Clare’s first instinct was to tell her to mind her own business, but something held her back. Still, she was unwilling to tell the whole truth either. “I’ve always loved my country, and wanted to be part of something bigger than myself. As for why I chose the specialization I did...well, I suppose it’s a little silly—I’ve been into combat exoskeletons ever since I managed to sneak an action movie with them behind my family’s back.

“Actually joining was simple. I pursued my high school equivalency and then gained early entry into the service. My adoptive parents had finally given up on me, so they didn’t stand in my way.

“After the process was complete and they could no longer legally retract their consent, I finally told them I was a gay and a nonbeliever.” Clare smiled. “Their impotent rage is my fondest memory.

“There’s nothing else to say really. I started boot camp not long after I turned seventeen—about three months ago. You know the rest.”

Sara paused, clearly considering what had been said. “Thank you for telling me about all that. It couldn’t have been easy to talk about.”

“Don’t get sentimental. You know everything you need to as my quasi-superior in the party. I would prefer that you not share any of it with the others.”

“Of course.”

Clare supposed that some or all of their conversation might end up on their show, if they got one. That annoyed her, but there was nothing for it. Despite herself, she felt curiosity of her own. “It’s in my best interest to understand you as well. Tell me about your family.”

“Let’s see... My parents are both nurses at Mass General, which is how they met. My father emigrated from Japan as a child. My mother is mostly Japanese, but her side of the family goes way back in the US.

“I’d say dad is kind of reserved, but he’s always been there for me when I needed him. Mom’s really kind, and she’s very motivated—she kept working part time even while homeschooling me and my sister.

“As for my sister...Lane’s quiet, but really smart. She’s the sweetest person.” Clare noticed that Sara’s eyes were watering slightly. No doubt she missed her family. Even if Clare was slightly jealous of all this normalcy, she supposed it was less taxing to have no one important on the outside.

“Oh, and she’s really interested in robotics.” Sara laughed self-consciously as she continued. “Between that and my wanting to be a doctor, I guess the two of us are kind of stereotypical. Although my parents discouraged me from going into medicine at first, on account of how difficult it can be to deal with the patients and all the bureaucracy.”

“I take it you had a better homeschooling experience than I did?”

“Definitely. I met other kids and went on field trips with them. All our parents would even set up play-dates when we were younger.”

“What were you like as a child?” After she asked the question, Clare was slightly embarrassed that she had done so. She had meant to keep the discussion more impersonal.

“I was always trying too hard to be mature—which I guess is it’s own form of immaturity. I’d say I got along with everyone. But between all my studying and solitary hobbies, I didn’t have many friends.”

“Any other education or work experience?”

Sara again gave a slight laugh. “Is this a job interview?”

“In the sense that I may leave the party if I don’t like your answers—yes.”

She had already seemed homesick, but Clare’s response seemed to upset her even more. Her tone became impatient. “Shortly before I turned seventeen, I started at UMass Boston. I was pre-med, and majored in biochem. I trained to become an EMT and started working part-time as one when I was eighteen. I did that for a year or so, up until my arrest.

“Is that ‘acceptable?’” There was definitely some bitterness evident in the question.

“Yes.” Clare supposed she had not learned anything relevant—she had already known Sara was studious and hard working. And obviously, the girl’s idyllic childhood had made her excessively softhearted. Maybe a more piercing question would tell her something useful. “Do you want to heal in the game because you can no longer go into medicine?”

Sara’s expression made her look as if she had just been slapped. “I...yes, I guess I do. It’s a poor substitute, but I don’t want to feel like I’ve lost everything that matters to me...” A tear escaped her eyes, and she wiped it away. “How embarrassing,” she said with forced levity. “I get thrown into one little murder game, and the next thing you know I’m all emotional about it.”

Clare actually felt guilty at upsetting the other woman—this stupid infatuation was getting out of hand. Still, there was no sense in coddling her when correcting her misconceptions would be more productive. “You’re too obsessed with helping strangers. Worry about yourself first. That’s even more important now that you’re in this prison—nearly everyone here is beneath you.”

“Who’s better than who isn’t the point. Creating needless suffering to derive pleasure from is wrong, regardless of how horrible the victim may be. I want to stop it.

“...But thank you anyway. That’s the second time today you’ve had something nice to say about me.”

Clare frowned. “I only meant that you’re better than the monsters in this place. That’s not much of a compliment.”

“I’ll grade any compliments you give me on a curve,” she said, smiling reassuringly.

Clare felt a little awkward after this exchange and fell silent. Fortunately, it was not long until they arrived at their stop and got off the trolley. The Great Library was the second most massive building in the city. Atop the high central structure was a massive transparent dome, reinforced by the usual cold iron bars. Another different architectural feature here was the collection of massive stone columns before the main entrance.

The weather had turned to a hardly noticeable drizzle. The two prospective adventurers and a number of other inmates started up the long and wide flight of stone steps leading toward the open metal doors of the library. Others who had been waiting boarded the trolley.

“You know, now that I think about it, the two of us actually have a lot in common,” Sara said. Clare looked to her skeptically. “Really. We both like reading, and have solitary tendencies. We were both homeschooled. We’re stubborn about our principles. We both have the same basic goal in the game, even if our outlook is different. We’re both gay, and atheists. ...I guess those qualities put us on a fictional highway to Hell. Oh, and we’ve both used exoskeletons—ambulances come equipped with civilian models for moving patients.”

“I think our differences are more important.” There was one difference in particular she suddenly wondered about. Clare continued less harshly. “...I have one last question.”

They came to a stop some distance from the doorway, beneath the library’s stone facade. “Ask as many as you like.”

“Were you happy with your job?”

“I was. I’ll admit it was stressful, and occasionally depressing—sometimes you see the worst of human behavior. But I really felt like I was making a difference.” She laughed slightly. “Of course, I had to put up with my older coworkers complaining about how damn easy I had it. After all, I didn’t have to drive or manually lift anything.” She looked to Clare curiously. “Why do you ask?”

“No reason.” The truth was, as relieved as she had been to get away from her adoptive family, Clare had still felt strangely empty during her brief time in the military. Maybe her experiences had left her incapable of ever feeling happiness again.

“Anyway, why don’t we go find an atlas like I suggested before?”

The pair entered the building. Inside there were many bookshelves with rolling ladders. There was a high ceiling and more stone columns. The floor was done in black and white marble tiles. Everything was well lit by magical lamps. Ahead of them, in the very center of the structure, was an open area. The ceiling was absent here, and one could see all the way up to the dome. The many floors of the buildings were visible as they approached the center, with the edges surrounded by railings.

In the middle of the open area were row after row of large wooden boxes, filled with labeled drawers. Other inmates walked among them, opening the draws to reveal rows of index cards. “What’s that?” Clare asked softly.

“A card catalog. Haven’t you ever seen one in any old movies or shows?”

Clare shook her head. As the other woman showed her how it worked, she noticed elevators at the far end of the building from the main entrance. They had both wooden doors and cold iron bars in front of them. “Why is everything in this city built like a fortress?”

“The game lore reason is zombie-proofing. The actual reason is to never let us forget that we’re in a prison. There’s other snide touches like that. The name Felorius was created by changing a couple letters in the word ‘felonious.’”

“That’s obnoxious,” Clare admitted.

Sara quickly located the entry in the card catalog for the most recent inmate atlas. Together they walked to find it. Clare found that when a book was removed from a shelf, another copy materialized where it had been. Her inventory could store many different books, but only one copy of each. Any additional copies she created could only be physically carried.

After obtaining the atlases and looking through them a bit, the two women split up to pursue their own interests. Clare decided it would be most efficient to collect as much future reading material as she could, so she never lingered to actually read at any of the many couches, chairs, or tables. There were many other inmates around, but fortunately few attempted to talk to her. Those that did were easily ignored. A couple townies who made unwanted sexual advances were sent scurrying away when she materialized her weaponry.

Caught up in her searching for books, Clare completely lost track of time. It was a little after 21:30 when Sara found her at the card catalog. “Hey, I’m heading to that bar now. You’re still welcome to come along.” Sara smiled. “If nothing else, you might get a good laugh from watching me learn how to not dance like a stripper.”

“No, thank you.”

“Have a good night, Clare.”

“...Goodnight.” She felt strangely melancholy as she watched Sara depart.