“Take a good look around,” Jorgen said as strutted down the corridor, apparently forgetting that Viren needed to limp along behind him. Viren tried to move as fast he could to keep up; Fortunately, Erasmus was not short of upper body strength. “This is, after all, your new home.”

Jorgen was being coy. He clearly had an idea that Erasmus was not himself. If he is aware and still hasn’t done anything about it, he must have some other angle.

Viren looked around at the interiors of the building. As he walked by each piece of furniture and carpet, he took note of the era these belonged to. There were precisely five locations Viren had personally visited in all his life, and none of them featured the kind of structure and decor that he was seeing. The wooden floors creaked with every step that he and Jorgen took; the wallpaper was dreary and had begun to peel at several places, and in a few spots had been shoddily ripped off. The carpets they stumbled upon once in a while required a good dusting as the white imprint had begun to grey and the remaining colour looked darker than it should have been.

The hallway itself was ill-lit and, unlike the room they had just left, did not have a radiator or any other form of heating. Had Viren not grabbed Erasmus’ coat before leaving, he would have felt the cold wind howling through the corridors; to say nothing of the foul stench that lingered in the air. Viren had never smelt anything like that before. In my hometown, this place would not have been permitted to exist; not even as a place to house the destitute.

Viren arrived at a significantly well-furnished room and saw a man passed out on the couch in the seating area. At first he wondered how someone could sleep amid the filth; but on closer inspection, he found that this particular space was spotlessly clean, with not even a speck of dirt anywhere. The polished furniture gleamed; the fabric of the upholstery had a shine, practically radiating light. Even though there were no windows, the chandelier with its golden arms had clearly brought the room to life. A desk opposite the seating area came with a tantalising brown leather chair, which reminded Viren of Fyodor’s (from the interview); although somewhat less posture-friendly like most of the future executive chairs.

“This is where you will be receiving your guests,” Jorgen said. “Do you like it?”

“I don’t think I’ll be here long enough to...” Viren replied, while he gazed in astonishment around the room. Even though he was quite taken back with how realistic everything felt, he was still distrusting of Jorgen. Finally, his eyes came to rest upon the man passed out on the couch. Jorgen took notice of Viren’s quizzical stare.

“He was supposed to be your escort.” Jorgen sighed. “Now I’m reduced to menial tasks. Come along, we have a lot to do. Don’t worry, he’ll wake up soon and go about his business with no recollection of what he was supposed to do.”

Viren didn’t feel sorry for the man on the sofa; he was just an AI after all. But this at least gave him the confidence that he was not in any immediate danger. Jorgen was clearly breaking a lot of rules, just by talking to Viren both inside and outside The Anachron; and if someone was to be so bold as to do that, they would have many safeguards for themselves and those they interacted with. Otherwise, people like Viren would be like a one-time encounter, and having a revolving door of testers was not beneficial to anyone.

“I’m just going to call you ‘Erasmus’. Your real name is irrelevant.” Jorgen went over to the door that exited from the guest room.

“How long did it take you to figure that out?”

“You forget that I too can see your ‘HP’ bar and level.”

The moment that thought struck Viren, in his peripheral vision a curved ‘HP’ bar with his name and level appeared. Viren’s level 10. Not sure what that means.

“Also, the way you refused Scotch and the fact that you said ‘thank you’ gave away the fact that you are actually the person whom I was expecting. Nonetheless, I would have to make do with you. Which state are you from?”

Viren had no idea what he meant. Was he expecting someone from his own country? He was hesitant to admit he was from India. “I don’t think we are from the same place.”

Jorgen stopped dead with the doorknob halfway turned “You’re not American?”

“No.” Viren tensed. There was a moment of silence. Viren put way too much weight on his crutch, and could feel an ache start up in his shoulder and his triceps.

“That’s even better!” Jorgen said enthusiastically. “That means you are a blank slate, which is perfect. So how old are you?”

“25.” He lied.

Jorgen burst out laughing. “Kid, if you were 25, there is no way you would have been sent to assimilate all by yourself. Trust me, I’m 42 myself and I have been paired repeatedly with testers so that they don’t go ‘disrupting’ the system. Kids are left to roam freely because they aren’t smart enough to do any real damage, without knowing The Anachron from top to bottom, and that itself would take 6-7 years of non-stop play. Let me guess, you are under 21?”

Viren did not respond. 6-7 years!? Is The Anachron really that massive? Viren was also shocked to hear that this man was 42. He certainly looked it, but people (humans) could opt to look like anything in this world, really, if they had enough money. So why did he have such an avatar? Did he have to manually adjust his own features? Most people grow tired of the sheer number of details needed to customise their avatars, and settled on presets. Jorgen’s avatar looked too… unique… to be a preset, though.

“Well I guess you are under 21. That’s all right. I’m sure you can handle this job.”

Jorgen opened a door that led into what appeared to be a huge library. Viren was not expecting a two-level room with shelves lined with books, and desks with people either studying thick tomes or jotting down notes with ink pens. There were burly men guarding every single door that Viren could see, and a few roaming around the room, carefully studying the patrons. The patrons themselves seemed keenly interested in what they were reading and, despite the number of people occupying the room, there was barely a sound; the men who were roaming were actually in socks with no footwear.

Viren hadn’t ever been to a traditional library, especially one like this, but privately thought the security was a bit over the top, for what was essentially just a bunch of books. He saw nothing out of the ordinary, save for the security.

“Is this the front for our operation?” Viren whispered as he believed was customary in such a setting.

“This IS our operation,” Jorgen responded in a whisper as well. Viren looked at Jorgen with what grew to be a familiar expression by now.

“Information.” Jorgen went over to one of the shelves and removed a leather-bound book.

“And?”

“And?” Jorgen repeated with perplexed.

“This doesn’t seem like something a mafia would be involved in.” Viren said bluntly, holding back a laugh.

“What? Do you think there isn’t enough blood, guts and tears involved in this line of work?”

Viren looked again at what he now was supposed to interpret as clientele. The security was not meant as much for the people in the space as much as it was for the books. Of all the entertainment Viren had consumed over the years, especially the period pieces and practices of the underworld gangs, never had he seen or heard of an ‘Information Mafia’.