The next day I go to the hospital to visit Taco, and on the way to the malWard I peer into adTech. Beakers and test tubes and steel tables stretch as far as the eye can see. Techs scurry back and forth between a row of computers, a dozen or so servers racks, and a conveyor belt that sends freshly incubated babies squealing toward QA. A woman sits at the end of the conveyor belt, making sure each affiliate's jumpsuit interfaces properly with dNet, that the ads on their skin contain the correct Parent Company, that the images and videos and slogans are all to spec, that the banners are not only clickable but also eye-catching and equipped with compelling calls to action. After the ads are approved, the affiliates move down the line, where they’re infertilized and fitted with a visor. From there, the baby spends the next year or so in a plastic cradle, hooked up to a gooDrip, their waste filtered down a tube, into The Without. As the brain develops, its exposed to age-appropriate content on the feed as the algo learns the affiliate's personality and preferences. Very efficient, very productive. Apparently, people in The Without still raise their own children, which means they have to change dirty diapers, administer milk drips, and, like, listen to a bunch of crying and whining all the time. Not in The Within. Here, the babies are given pharmas so they don’t have to suffer. And the whole process is automated. It’s way better. Believe me.
As a baby approaches, I swipe on her banner. Her name is Blue Goo16. I’ve heard of Blue Goo, but I’ve never tried their products. They’re relatively new. But given that affiliates are hellaExpensive, the company is either doing really well or has a ton of seed capital to have already invested in sixteen affiliates. I buy some Blue Goo and set the delivery to tomorrow. This makes me feel good because I’m, like, investing in this baby’s future or whatever. I guess I’m just a really good guy like that, altruistic and charitable.
The next thing I do, naturally, is to look for any new Vonns. Last I checked, there were hundreds of us. Since Vonn Industries has been around so long (almost twenty-five years) and has tons of cash flow, Vonns are like the Johns of the oldenTimes. We’re, like, a dime a dozen. Still, it’s always good to see a fellow affiliate. Makes you feel like you belong to something. A family.
And sure enough, coming around the bend of the conveyor belt, I see the recognizable V-shaped logo of Vonn Industries. The baby has passed QA and is heading toward infertilization. I click on a banner on the affiliate's thigh that says Efficient Living, Productive Pleasuring, and I’m brought to a squeeze page that’s selling some fancy new gooDrip that apparently makes the best espresso in the Within. It’s really incredible the amount of products that Vonn Industries produces. The CEO, Mr. Vonn Senior, is an absolute genius.
I try to buy the drip, but it’s sold out. Damn. I really wanted that espresso machine, even though I already have five other espresso machines at my persy. Oh well. Unlike Blue Goo 16, I don’t think Vonn 652 will have much trouble with cash flow, given that Mr. Vonn Senior invests heavily in his affiliates, so I don’t fret much, even though a part of me does want to have the honor of giving my baby brother his first kickback coin.
In the distance I see a handful of executives waving to their affiliate sponsors, and I’m tinged with envy, knowing full well that some sponsors get to meet their CEOs. Some even have relationships with them. Of course, I’ve never personally met Mr. Vonn Senior (he’s much too busy to meet with affiliate sponsors) and I have to remind myself that his work is more important than me, that the wellbeing of the entire Within is reliant upon his constant innovation and enterprising nature. It’s a blessing, really, to have Mr. Vonn Senior as a CEO. Most affiliates would kill for a Vonn Industries sponsorship. So I can’t complain. And I have to remind myself that a lot of these affiliates don’t have the kind of opportunities that I had. They don’t get to go to prestigious preps. Or get interviews at top-notch media firms. So yeah, all things considered, I’m proud to be Vonn 19. I might not be the first Vonn, but I was a relatively early affiliate sponsor, and that’s pretty cool.
X pings me. Where the hell are you? We’ve all been here for, like, ten minutes, waiting on your ass.
On my way, I message back.
I wave goodbye to Vonn 652 before following the blinking neon signs to the malWard.
And when I finally get there, Taco is all strapped to a bed with tubes coming out of his arms, and X and Yide and Ginger are there too, and they’re all like “hey, Vonn, where’d you go last night?” but I can’t tell them anything because Bunnfield told me to keep it zipped because the whole thing is classified on account of the threat that Claudette poses to The Within, so I'm all, like, “I just split, you know, back to my persyPod.”
“We thought you were dead,” X offers, and then he swipes, and a few seconds later he’s sporting a new pair of kicks, and that’s when I hear Yide gasp.
“Those are hellaMeth,” she says, and then she swipes and there’s a silence because everyone is looking at their own feed, and then a song comes on, “The Year I Fucked a Fridge” by Droid Bunny, followed by “Goo Me, Goo Me” by Juggo, and I look around the infirmary, at the rows and rows of beds. Most of the patients are suffering from laser wounds. Some of them are dying from cancer. Others, diabetes. A few are amputees. I order a round of xTonics for all my colleagues, and everyone is, like, “hey, good looking out, Vonn,” and we sit there bopping to “Goo Me, Goo Me,” enjoying the vibes.
“I’ve been thinking,” Yide says.
“That’s a concern,” X says.
“Seriously,” Yide says insistently, “watching Taco get lasered last night got me thinking, you know, about life, because, like, I realized, you never know how long you have in this world, you could die any moment, you know, just like that, and then what?”
“You’re just now realizing this,” Ginger says. “Most people learn about death when they’re, like, three.”
“Well, yeah…” Yide’s face scrunches. “I guess it just got me thinking, you know, if I were to die, like today, what would, like, my legacy be?”
“This is your legacy,” X says. “The idiocy of this conversation.”
“I just feel like…” Yide pauses. I get distracted by the banner above Taco’s head, which is advertising these delicious Gooey Tacos, so I click on the banner and order a party platter for all my colleagues, and then Yide is finally like, “I just feel like, you know, that I should do something meaningful with my life, that’s all.”
“Like what?” Ginger says absently, swiping.
“I guess, like, build up my brand. I only have ten thousand followers, give or take, and I just got to thinking, you know, how many of those followers would watch my stream after I’m gone?”
“Zero,” X says. “Because they’re all simuls.”
“You’re an asshole,” Yide says.
X shrugs. “At least I don’t sound like an idiot.”
“Hey!” Taco shifts toward me. “Did you just order a party platter from my banner?”
“I did indeed.”
“hellaMeth!” Taco’s complexion brightens. “Thanks, simul, I was desperate for coin. My med bills are piling up.”
“How long did they say you’ll be here,” I ask, but Taco doesn’t answer, because he’s too busy spending his throwback coin on a new crypto called doseMoon, and he's all, like, “doseMoon is gonna tenX no doubt, just watch, it’s the safest bet you can make right now. The founder, Cadman, is hellaSmart. I don’t even understand half the shit he says.”
And then Yide is, like, “I miss throwback coin,” her beautiful face hanging low, and nobody says anything because we all feel bad that Yide’s parentCompany, Yide Pharmaceuticals, went under several months ago, and ever since then her banners have all been, like, “Yide Pharmaceuticals Denies Any Wrongdoing…” and “Yide Is Dedicated To…” blah blah blah. Yide has been trying to change her sponsorship ever since her parentCompany went off-glass, but the legality is hellaInconvenient, almost as inconvenient as trying to disown your family back in the olden times.
“Isn’t there a settlement or something,” X asks, swiping, “Or is that Gopher I’m thinking of?”
“That’s Gopher,” Yide says. “The lucky bastards.”
“Gopher,” Taco says. “Yide. All the pharmas are the same.”
“Not really,” Yide says.
X: “Taco is right. It’s hard to keep them all straight.”
“Not when it’s your parentCompany,” Yide says, and I can see a tear skirting down her cheek.
“Maybe you’ll get a settlement too,” I offer, trying to change the vibe. “If Gopher had to settle, why not Yide?”
“Gopher was a startup, and a lot of the angel investors work for upperManagement, so, like, they’re all hellaPissed they lost their money, but nobody lost money on Yide, at least nobody on the inside.”
Ginger: “Is Gopher the one that, like, killed all the kids or whatever?”
“Nah, nah,” X says. “That’s Younder you’re thinking of. Gopher made people blind.”
“I heard it was superMethy,” Taco says, “but not in a good way.”
X: “It’s not that methy.”
“Wait,” Yide says. “You did Gopher?”
“Yeah, once. There was a BOGO deal. It wasn’t anything special.”
“But you’re not blind,” Taco says.
“Apparently you aren’t either,” X replies.
“Why aren’t you blind?”
“Probably because I haven’t unGlassed and looked at your skinny ass.”
“It was only the one batch,” Ginger says. “That’s what I read. Just the one batch that made people blind.”
“All it takes is one,” I say, idiotically.
X swipes. “I was watching withouterKiller the other night and started chatting with a Gopher affiliate, and the guy told me that he’s getting hellaCoin and the option to opt out of his brandDeal, which obviously he’s going to do.”
“Must be nice,” Yide says, and she’s being such a vibeKill that I kind of want to leave, but then our party platter comes, and everyone is all, like, “thanks, Vonn, thanks,” and we’re all eating hellaGoo, and nobody is talking much, so I zoom to the newsroom and look up the details of the Yide case, which really just brings up a bunch of suicide articles, which is depressing as fuckAll, so then I type in Claudette’s name, but there’s no news of her arrest, no mention, even, of a Withouter terrorist attack the night before, and I get to thinking, you know, about her freckled face and her thick legs, and there’s a feeling in my gut, kind of like curiosity, or whatever. It’s the first time in a long time that my every thought isn’t consumed by Yide, and I can’t help wondering if they’ve already killed Claudette, and I start to feel sad.
Then Taco is all, like, “yo, simuls, The Withouter Hunter is livestreaming,” so we all start frantically swiping over to The Withouter Hunter’s feed so that we can watch him hunt down Withouters in real-time.
I hate myself for watching this because it’s so dumb, and yet, I can’t take my eyes off the footage. The Withouter Hunter is standing there, all roided out, the wasteland of The Without stretching behind him, jagged trees and desert sands. According to the box in the corner of the feed, over one million Withiners are currently watching the livestream. Emojis rush down the comments bar: flexed biceps, machine guns, skulls. The Withouter Hunter, shirtless and tan, flicks his head back, and his long, blond hair swirls majestically.
“I wonder what roids The Withouter Hunter takes,” Taco says.
“Click the link in his profile,” X suggests, “and you can order the whole package.”
Curious, I click on the link. Photos of The Withouter Hunter flood the screen.
Tired of being a beta cuck? Want to become a real man? Look no further than The Without Hunter’s proprietary blend of steroids, creatine, testosterone, and his secret DOMINATOR FORMULA. Order THE DOMINATOR today and we guarantee that you will make tons of money, be the envy of all your colleagues, and get laid immediately. While supplies last.
I return to the livestream. I compare The Withouter Hunter’s muscles to my own. When he turns, his lats look way more defined than mine, and there’s no doubt that his biceps are larger. Despite stacking steroids for years, I’m a cuck compared to him. No way a chick like Yide would ever be interested in a shrimp like me. Not when there are men like The Withouter Hunter and X walking around, all jacked and confident.
The Withouter Hunter loads a magazine into his machine gun.
“This episode of The Withouter Hunter is sponsored by Vonn Industries,” he says. “Vonn Industries is a cutting-edge corporation bringing you a safe and comfortable world in The Within.”
“Yo, Vonn,” Taco says, “that reminds me. Could I get an affiliate link for the new Vonn jumpsuit? You know the one I’m talking about? With the high-def sensors? So I can buy some new skins?”
“The new skins are hellaSharp,” X says. “You can see, like, every muscle. No ripples or nothing on your avatar.”
“Exactly,” Taco says. “They’re hellaSharp.”
I shoot Taco an affliate link for The Vonn Jumpsuit 3000. “There you go.”
“What’s the affiliate discount? Twenty-five percent?”
I nod before turning my attention back to The Withouter Hunter. He’s blasting through a village with a flamethrower.
“The Withouter Hunter is so badass,” Taco says. “I heard he eats raw human liver.”
“No,” Ginger says. “It’s the other way around. The Withouters are cannibals. That’s one of the reasons we’re not allowed to leave The Within. It’s too dangerous.”
My stomach sinks, realizing how close I was to getting eaten by Claudette, and I’m about to tell my colleagues about the tunnel before I remember the NDA I signed.
“We’re so lucky to have The Withouter Hunter,” Taco says.
He sends a message in the chat bar: Thank you for your service, Withouter Hunter. At the end of the message is the Vonn Industries logo.
The Withouter Hunter is standing in front of a burning hut, flexing. Sun reflects off his sweaty bod.
“Why is he attacking this village?” Yide asks, her brow furrowed.
Taco scoffs. “Because it’s a Withouter stronghold.”
“Doesn’t look very strong to me,” Yide says.
“He’s being proactive,” Taco says.
The Withouter Hunter’s feed switches to a sponsored ad. Mr. Vonn Senior scowls into the camera. Lines crease his broad forehead. His ears are large. His skin looks burnt to a crisp. His grey hair is luscious. He’s dressed in his usual suit and tie.
“My name is Mr. Vonn Senior,” he says, as if anyone in The Within doesn’t already know the CEO of Vonn Industries, “and I’m here today to tell you about a brand new venture that I’ve undertaken.” He breathes deep, a smile rippling on his face. “It is with great excitement that I announce that Vonn Industries is expanding its reach to…the moon! That’s right. Beginning next quarter we will break ground in the Kepler Crater in our quest to create an absolutely out-of-this-world experience. Vonn Land...” CGI footage flashes on the screen, zooming in on the moon “…will be a sprawling theme park with roller coasters, virtual simulators, and all kinds of wonderful things. You’re going to love it!”
The screen hisses as the footage switches back to The Withouter Hunter, who is unloading a machine gun on a group of Withouters fleeing a burning hut. And that’s when I see a familiar round freckled face turn toward the gun fire. Claudette ducks behind a boulder and returns fire.
“It’s her,” I say.
Yide whips her head toward me. “Who?”
“It’s…” But I stop myself. I can’t let my colleagues know about my run-in with Claudette. My synth is doubtless being monitored by an AI bot who will report me to Compliance if it detects that I’ve violated the NDA. And then I’ll be fired. Which is the worst thing that can happen to someone in The Within. When you’re fired, you can’t make any money, so you have to live on The Outskirts, which means you’re, like, a total loser the rest of your life.
“Never mind,” I say. “I think there’s a glitch on my feed.”
Yide narrows her eyes, making me uncomfortable, so I’m relieved when her gaze turns toward Taco when he starts talking.
“Mr. Vonn Senior is such a good businessman," he says. “I’m so glad The Within is run like a business. It makes our lives so much more efficient and pleasureable. I mean, can you imagine living in a democracy? Having to vote all the time?”
“Total vibeKill,” Ginger says.
“That’s why The Withouter Hunter is a hero,” Taco says. “He keeps us safe from all the Withouters who want to take away our freedom to profit and pleasure.”
The freedom to profit and pleasure…A phrase straight out of the Business Plan of The Within, co-authored by Mr. Vonn Senior and Orson Mitchell. At prep, we’re all required to memorize the founding principles of The Within, so it’s no wonder that the phrase comes so naturally to Taco. He wasn’t the brightest at Prep, but he did work hard, and his fear of failure pushed him to get good enough marks to land an entry-level position at beeHive, where he’s a finance specialist. I don’t work that closely with Taco because I’m in the media department, but I hear he’s good at his job, and everybody seems to like him, which is good, because being liked has always been Taco’s primary mission in life.
“A business is efficient,” he’s saying. “It’s profitable. It creates jobs. So it only makes sense to run a country like a business. Don’t you think, X?”
“Huh?” X is poking the air in front of him, chatting up someone. “Oh, yeah, a business. Right. Much better than democracy. Democracy is so…inefficient.”
“Exactly,” Taco says. “People aren’t equal. Some are buttonPushers, some are middleManagers, while others belong in the C-Suite. It’s just common sense.”
Yide is swiping, chatting someone up, and I have a feeling that she’s talking to X, and my skin heats up, and I find myself clicking on the link to buy the DOMINATOR FORMULA. If I gain some more muscle, maybe she’ll pay as much attention to me as X…
“Terrorist!” The Withouter Hunter yells.
He fires into the gnarled trees.
Claudette is gone.
“Remember the first season of The Withouter Hunter?” Taco asks to no one in particular.
“So epic,” X says.
“I remember,” Ginger says, sticking herself with a Mounjie injector pin.
“I thought it was dumb,” Yide says.
And everyone kind of turns to her, unsure what to say.
She shrugs. “I mean, think about it. The whole premise of the show is just this guy going around killing withouters. Like, it’s not interesting…at all.”
Silence.
Taco coughs, shifting in his hospital bed. “I think it’s fair to say that the production value skyrocketed once Vonn Industries began to sponsor the show, but there’s still a quality to the early seasons that is nothing short of brilliant. The grainy footage, the gonzo style reportage. I mean, The Withouter Hunter is, like, a visionary.”
The Withouter Hunter flexes before spraying flames over the charred landscape.
Dead bodies strew the ground.
If Claudette is among them, I wouldn’t know, because the faces are unrecognizable.
“I gotta go, guys,” I say. “I have some unread emails I need to unsubscribe from.”