The Rage Room Read online

  “We were a great team. We are a great team,” I insisted. “And even more genius was us sitting on it for years, milking it. Did you score more vintage games while I was gone?”

  He shook his head. “Nah. Minnie’s cracked down even harder.”

  Great. Going back to work wasn’t only going to be super stressful, we didn’t even have games to pass the time.

  “Hey,” I said, “maybe we can do a rerun of ClothesKissezThugs?”

  ClothesKissezThugs was Jazza’s follow-up idea to the Lottery 123BlikiWin. He said it was inspired by the religious baptismal trucks that rolled out after Minnie the Great’s Supreme World Leader inauguration, but instead of mimicking her Come-to-Jesus Marathon, we marketed Come-to-Style. We paced our pitches, riding the 123BlikiWin as long as we could before offering up the couture trucks of ClothesKissezThugs.

  I loved Jazza’s way of thinking, and at first we had fun, hanging out at work, gaming and eating crap and feeling like we owned the world, but then Mother kicked me out. She said I had to get my own apartment with her life and that she was cutting the umbilical cord. I asked her what that meaningful thing was because perhaps I could do it with her, but she just looked cagey and said I wouldn’t understand.

  And I got tired of cleaning up Jazza’s mess at work. It was like the guy couldn’t be in a room for ten seconds without making it look like Hoarders met The Trashman from Outer Space. About two days into our partnership, he looked over at me.

  “Clean the shit up,” he said, “if you need to. But don’t expect me to do any of it and don’t expect me to change.”

  Relieved that he understood me, I bagged his crap, wiped his sticky fingerprints off the surfaces, and sanitized the world endlessly. Cleaning brought me peace. Jazza said I was OCD and that there was a pill for that, and I said who cared, I had BleachBuddy, I didn’t need pills or his psychoanalysis, thank you very much.

  But, after career success, what was next? I began to feel empty. Bored. Lonely. I hit the rage rooms even harder.

  The rage rooms were Minnie’s idea. Three years after her ascent, an outbreak of violence spread throughout the world. People smashed up cities, rampaging with baseball bats, hammers, and wrenches. Minnie had outlawed firearms so at least no one got shot, but the damage was nonetheless widespread and extensive. Rioters tore down parks and buildings, smashed cars, and looted malls. Minnie called in an alarmingly large secret AI army. She tear-gassed the unruly and got things back under control. Who knew she had an army? We fell in line pronto. We thought Minnie would be furious and punitive in the aftermath, but instead she was sorrowful.

  “I get it,” she said with that honeyed voice, direct to our flashviews via our CPs. “Life is tough. Even when it’s good, it’s tough. Everyone has anger issues. You just need a place to express your true emotions. I didn’t realize, when I banned the internet, that it was a drug you were hooked on. It was a place you could vent your opinions and feel like you had been heard.” She didn’t say that we were all idiots, addicted to expressing infantile opinions, but it was clear enough from her tone.

  “But,” she said, and her voice turned stern, “you misused the tools. I mean, my goodness, exchanging pictures of your genitals and having sexual relations willy-nilly! Encrypting messages so child pornography could thrive? You lost your way. And, by God and through God, it is my Divine Destiny to help guide you back to the path of Light. God handpicked me for this job, me, with Mama by my side, and we will help you!

  “I thusly decree that rage rooms shall be constructed, places where you can express your most basic hatred and fears. Because I realize now that much of life is fuelled by hatred, rage, and fear. That is simply the way man is. You are fundamentally flawed. But, flawed though you are, you were created in God’s image, and it is my Divine Task to help you shed the wages of sin and find your way back to that image, back to the perfect human beings that you were before you ate the apple and were lured by the snake.”

  And, at Minnie’s side, her mother, Mama, leaned in and whispered something into Minnie’s ear. Minnie nodded.

  “Before the Advent of Minnie, the world was depressed, obese, and morbid. You spent your lives staring at screens and arguing with strangers about your ignorant opinions or pretending to love each other with likes or sad faces. Emoticons! Banning emoticons was one of my greatest triumphs. Learn to talk to each other; don’t gesticulate like uneducated children flashing reader cards with stupid faces.”

  A wild look had come into Minnie’s eyes, and Mama laid a reassuring hand on her shoulder. Mama whispered something else, and Minnie nodded again.

  “But all is not lost. Every step is a step forward. So we are going to give you fun! We are going to make you happy! I thought sunshine every day would make you happy, but no! I gave you solid Vitamin D, not a cloud in the sky! Then you complained. Why are there no clouds, you asked! You people are so hard to please! Why are you so hard to please? So I got you clouds.”

  She shut her eyes, and Mama patted her again. “Right. There shall be rage rooms where you can express your rage and frustration to your heart’s content.”

  In addition to the rage rooms, Minnie poured money into streaming new shows. Robots invented new dances and we became preoccupied, adult and child alike, trying to learn new moves and share clips of ourselves thus engaged. Once again, we found ourselves staring at screens, our viewing monitored by Minnie the Belle.

  Minnie also gave us comfort centres. I tried them out too, but I’ve got restless leg syndrome and can’t lie still for any amount of time without feeling like I’m going to go nuts, the ants under my skin wanting to eat me alive.

  “Nope, we ran ClothesKissezThugs dry.” Jazza grinned, bringing me back into the moment. “Ha, but we did good with CrystalMeBooty. Think about the good times, buddy. That was you as much as me.”

  I laughed. Despite the circumstances, it was good to be talking to Jazza again, reliving our glory days.

  The follow-up to ClothesKissezThugs was CrystalMeBooty. Towering crystal-sided transport trucks rolled out with strobe lights and disco mirror balls, and the music became urgent, angry, and hateful, which only increased its appeal. Not everyone could place a purchase; TCs had to earn points to be considered Big Spenders, accruing a certain level of debt before being given access to the arenas of superior consumerism. And oh, the shame if you weren’t that level. For some reason, the Big Spender and CrystalMeBooty made even more money than 123BlikiWin. Pretty soon, the whole world was in hock, just to be on the so-called right playing field.

  Meanwhile, my life became increasingly utterly meaningless. I don’t know what I would have done if Celeste hadn’t come along. She and Bax changed everything. I finally knew my purpose. Family. My family was the only thing that mattered, the only thing that gave any kind of meaning to this sham plastic world. All I wanted was to be a stand-up guy. I wanted my boy to be able to say, That’s my Dad! with a mixture of choked-up pride and overwhelming love. I wanted Celeste to look over at me, There’s my man, he’s the guy, don’t you know?

  But the minute I had Bax, my worries increased a thousandfold. How would I keep up in this fiercely competitive world? And, increasingly, I couldn’t afford Celeste. Of course, Celeste was a great fan of CrystalMeBooty and Daddy’s money was, as he himself often reminded me, limited when it came to keeping Celeste in the style to which the world had told her she needed to remain accustomed.

  And what about when Bax grew up? How could I make sure he had what he needed, to be part of the respected world of The Haves? How could I make sure he didn’t get into drugs? There were rumours of strange sex clubs popping up like fungi in a forest, which was a bit rich coming from me, given my predilictions, but I didn’t want Bax to end up an anxiety-ridden, anger-driven worrier like I was.

  4. THE TRUTH INSIDE

  JAZZA SNAPPED HIS FINGERS IN FRONT OF MY FACE. “Earth to Sharps! What’s going on insid
e your alleged brain? Still wallowing about MDoggHotBody?”

  I shook my head. How could I tell him about the fear I felt for just about everything? How I couldn’t sleep at night, and when I finally managed to doze, I was beset by terrifying dreams of being publically humiliated at work, arriving for a meeting unprepared and having to flub my way through. I dreamed that massive white fire trucks, steel ghosts the size of buildings, tried to mow me down while I rolled out from in between their wheels with my colleagues laughing at me, their mouths wide and fingers pointing.

  How could I tell Jazza that even when I looked calm, icy sweat was pooling in my pits and snaking down my sides into the waistband of my trousers? That my unflinching, sincere gaze was a mask and all I wanted to do was fall to my knees and sob uncontrollably? I had no idea why I felt so terrified all the time, terrified of everything. I’d always been afraid but ever since I’d had Bax, the terror had become rampant. It was as if the world’s dangers were magnified and all I saw were monsters and demons around every corner.

  “You’ve got Daddy,” Jazza said, mopping up mustard with onion rings. “You’re safe as houses, and you know it. Teflon Boy, that’s you.” He pointed at me with a french fry, and I nodded.

  “True. But there’s Ava.” I shuddered as I uttered her name.

  Jazza laughed. “She’s not so bad,” he said, and I looked at him in horror.

  “Not so bad? She’s a scorpion! What happened?” I leaned forward. “Since when did Ava become ‘not so bad?’” I air quoted him.

  He shrugged, and I swore I saw him blush. “Jazza?” I pushed him harder.

  “She writes poetry,” he said, sheepishly.

  “And? So what? I wrote poetry too before I realized it was a lost cause.”

  “You did? When?”

  “Ancient history. So how come you know aboout this poetry? And what’s it about?”

  “It’s experimental poetry, about men and what shits we are, basically. Her book’s called And She Shall Rule the Day, and it’s about what cretins men are, good for nothing except for being big hot swinging dicks when a woman feels like a booty call or having a baby the old-fashioned way.”

  “You read it?”

  “She read it to me.”

  “And you understood her? I can never hear what she’s saying. I swear it’s a power thing, how softly she talks. Fucking whispers everything.”

  “I understand her just fine.”

  He was right, he did. Even in meetings, he’d scribble down what she said when he knew I had no idea what was going on.

  “It’s brutal but good. I hate to say it, but she nailed our Neanderthalism to a T. It’s a clever title. And She Shall Rule the Day, but it also means He Shall Rue the Day! And, mark my words, we will, Sharps.”

  I stared at him. “Jazza, you’re really scaring me. I thought you were in my camp. I thought we were both batting for the same team, team you and me.”

  He pushed his food away, his second burger half uneaten. “Ava likes me,” Jazza said. “Okay, well, maybe not me. She likes my dick, I’ll tell you that much.”

  “What?” I was speechless. “You fucked Ava? When? How did your dick not turn green and fall off?”

  “Actually, she’s pretty hot in bed. And besides hookers, who’d have me, Sharps? It’s not like you’ve even invited me to your home.” Ah. He finally cut to the chase. “I’m just the brain you ride. I don’t have anybody, Sharps. You ever think of that? All you think about is being Mr. Perfect, Mr. I-Have-Everything, perfect little baby boy, a perfect little wifey. What do you care?”

  I wanted to tell him the truth. “But it’s harder than you think,” was all I could manage, and I looked away. When I looked back at him, I saw the scepticism on his face and I realized I’d have to be more forthcoming. I had to sell him on Team Jazza/Sharps, which annoyed me. If I wanted his support, I was going to have to work for it. I sighed inwardly and leaned forward, my sincerity mask in place.

  “Jazza,” I started, and he laughed.

  “You’re shitting me, Sharps. I can see it. You think I don’t know you? You called me here because you somehow knew about me and Ava and you wanted to find out how it would affect you.”

  “I had no idea about you and Ava,” I said, and Jazza could hear I was telling the truth. “I asked you to come here because Celeste…” But I couldn’t carry on. I couldn’t admit that things weren’t great. And what if I told Jazza and he told Ava, who told Daddy?

  “Celeste what? You see, Sharps, that’s you, you never tell me anything.” Jazza got up to leave but I grabbed his arm.

  “Please, Jazza,” I said, and my eyes filled with tears. Jazza immediately sank back down.

  “I just…” And then I was crying. Crying in a bar. Jazza slid into the booth next to me and put his giant arm around my shoulder. “I try so hard,” I sobbed, and it was such a relief to get it out. “I’m worry so much, Jazza. I’m sorry I don’t invite you home. There are things I can’t tell you, things I have to deal with.”

  I felt Jazza’s big body melt against his side, and a surge of relief filled my chest. I couldn’t afford to lose him. I wound down, blowing my nose loudly into the napkin that Jazza handed me. He patted me on the shoulder until I had cleaned up and then he went back and sat across from me.

  “There are meds for that,” he observed, and I shook my head.

  “No. I don’t want to go there. I’m just stressed. About going back to work, yeah, and then hearing that you’ve been banging The Whispering Queen. Kind of took the wind out of my sails. You really did the nasty with her?”

  He nodded. “Where did you guys hook up?” I couldn’t imagine precise, starched, pleated, and ironed Ava in Jazza’s apartment, but of course I was wrong.

  “My place, and hers. She loved my fur babies! And her place is really cool. It’s like an underground honeycomb cave. The walls are made of stone quartz, and they change colour. And it smells good. There’s no décor, just a mattress and a big screen that covers one wall with mountains or waterfalls, whatever you feel like. I said it was very monastic, and she said she didn’t think in such gender-restrictive terms, she just liked the simplicity and purity. She also loves old Kung Fu movies. Man, we had fun!”

  I wanted to ask how Ava felt about his granny panties but didn’t feel I could go there.

  “How many times did you hook up?”

  He looked away. “I dunno. Lost count.”

  So that’s what Jazza had been doing while I was hanging out with Bax, changing diapers and studying my kid’s fecal matter for irregularities. “Lost count? Were you ever going to tell me?”

  He hunched his shoulders, and I told myself to back down. “Like you cared. Anyway, like I said, I’m just a dick to her. Literally.” He paused. “Sharps, I don’t have any real data on this, but I think Ava was, or still is, a Blowfly!”

  “What? No shit! That’s impossible! They can’t infiltrate the outer perimeters. What makes you say that?”

  “Clues in her book.”

  I cued my CP for And She Shall Rule the Day, but there was nothing. “I can’t access it,” I said, and he shook his head.

  “It’s print. Hard copy. And you’re probably spelling it literally. It’s S(h*)E shALL R.U.L.E the day*” He wrote it on a napkin for me, and I studied it.

  “Pretentious and incomprehensible. Just like her. Never makes sense. But wait. What? Nothing is in print! You saw a copy? Do you have one?”

  “Nope. She wouldn’t give me one. I only got to look at it when when she went to the washroom. It was published by The Eden Collective on behalf of The World Wide Warriors.”

  “Who? Are they Blowflies? It doesn’t make any sense.”

  I wondered if this had anything to do with Jazza’s mother, but I had the good sense not to ask.

  He shrugged again. “I don’t know for sure, but there were clues
in the poems. It’s also about how colonialism and patriarchy are still fucking up the world despite a woman being in power. We need to recalibrate and revolution is the only way. Pretty intense. ”

  “Why didn’t you screencapcha it while she was gone?”

  He looked away.

  “You did! You’ve got a copy!”

  “Yeah. But I won’t give it to you.” He looked petulant and frightened. “And you can’t make me, Sharps. This is mine.”

  I’d seen that expression before with Bax and his favourite toy. I knew better than to trigger a black hole tantrum. I held up my hands in surrender. “I will never mention it again.” Maybe I could hack into Jazza’s drive.

  “And don’t think you can hack me,” he said, reading my face. “I’ve got firewalls that will burn you backwards in time.”

  “Firewalls!” I laughed. “Talk about nostalgia.” A red exclamation mark popped up in the corner of my eye. Incoming flash comm from Celeste.

  Where r u?

  I swiped it away, leaving it marked unread. “I gotta go,” I said to Jazza, but I made no move. “Listen, buddy, I know I’ve failed you as a BFF. But we’re a team, right? I’ve got Daddy, you’ve got Ava, and we’ll rule the world, right?”

  I needed Jazza like never before. I had wanted to stay home with Bax and somehow have Daddy support us—that had been my ridiculous fantasy—but Daddy said I had to go back to work. He said that the Board said Jazza and I needed to come up with something shiny and new.

  But what if Jazza and I couldn’t come up with anything? Daddy had also said I had to be his eyes and ears at the company because he’d heard that Ava was gunning for the top position and he wanted to nail her. As if that was breaking news, and besides, I didn’t care about any of that. I wanted Bax and me to be together forever, alone. Me and my boy. But Daddy told me I had to be there, on the ground, to tell him everything I heard, so I had no choice.