How to Become a Henchman, A Novel: The Henchman's Survival Guide Read online

  “Ask me a question,” Matthew says as he walks out of our kitchen, a protein pack in hand.

  “Another one?” I ask as I quickly check him over. His long green jacket is fastidiously tied, and his black hair looks washed. Those soft blue eyes are clear. I’m not liking the black nail polish on his fingers, but Matthew and I never agree on fashion. Overall, he looks good. Skinny and delicate, and clearly wearing lifts in his shoes as usual, but good.

  I rack my brain. Matthew’s been on this trivia binge for over a month now and I’m seriously tapped out. “Betty, think of a question.”

  “What is the current unemployment rate?” asks Betty.

  “Trick question,” Matthew responds as he lowers himself onto the cushions next to me. When I moved into his dad’s building three years ago, we immediately bonded over our antiquated names. We’ve basically been best friends ever since. Matthew taught me how to survive in a semi-reality town. He’s also one of the few people in Biggie LC with as little interest in grabbing lens time as me. For my part, I didn’t flee when he went through a bout of severe depression two years ago. Thanks to my brother Alby, I’m quite familiar with that gut-wrenching rollercoaster ride.

  “Officially, the unemployment rate is only 37%,” Matthew is saying, “but the reports don’t take into account all the people who have dropped out of the workforce or aren’t actively looking for a job. If we add those people in, the rate is estimated to be near 54% in the United States.”

  Makes me feel almost grateful for my cringey job at the Redemption Café. Almost.

  “Of course,” Matthew continues, “that doesn’t account for gig work, which actually represents between 25% and 35% of the entire economy, so really that wasn’t a fair question at all.”

  “Speaking of gigs,” I say, turning to my best friend, “When are you actually going to put all that knowledge to use?”

  “I’m not even close to ready,” Matthew says and takes a swig of the protein pack. His dream… well, his current dream is to touch down on one of the dozens of trivia shows that come out of Media Sector 2. The one he wants to get on most is Andor’s Realm, this kind of fantasy strategy factoid game. He’s made me watch it with him a couple of times. It involves medieval armor, trivia fights, and robo horses.

  Matthew’s been soaking up facts, battling trivia bots, and training for over a month, but I’m worried this is going to be another massive build-up of grand expectations followed by an implosion. Matthew barely made it through the last one when he set out to be a kiting Stream star two years ago. Cue the episode of major depression. How many nights did I stay up with him, not saying a word, just being there, making sure he didn’t…

  I shake those terrible memories away. I’m not sure I’ll be able to drag him through the other side of another big disappointment.

  “So, Betty’s got a horn now,” I say to shift my thoughts.

  “Yep.” Matthew grins at me. His big head nods on the small stalk of his neck. “I saw the design on my Stream and printed it this morning. She looks glam, right?”

  “Sign her up for a robo fashion show.”

  “Oh, yes,” Betty agrees. “I could win.” She precariously spins around. Poor Betty. Her circuits have been degrading for years, and her turn is slow and wobbly.

  I smile at Matthew. “We got a new neighbor. Just met him.”

  “Yeah, I heard about that.” Matthew finishes his protein pack. Those things cost serious currency, and they aren’t putting much muscle on his frame. Probably because he doesn’t actually go to the gym and lift. High-grade protein supplements can only take him so far, especially when all his genes seem to be straining to keep him skinny as a twig.

  “What’d you think of the new guy?” my friend asks.

  I give a casual-as-can-be shrug. “Seems sane, but seeing as he moved, on purpose, to Biggie LC, I’m sure some major character flaw will show itself.”

  “Alice, the sun never stops shining on you,” Matthew sings, mimicking the tune from Lysee’s fav K-pop band.

  “He actually seemed really keen on…”

  The apartment door whooshes open, and Lysee prances in, polka dot bows bobbing in her scarlet-colored hair. The Pod switches over to her Stream automatically.

  “SHINE!” she sings to us. “SHINE WAS AT THE BANK TODAY. HE SAVED MY LIFE!” She manages to exclaim every word in all caps while tossing her purse on the counter. With practiced hand motions, she flicks through the pics and vids of her friends and the hundreds of Personas she’s currently following on the holo-screen. Her Stream is a constant rush of activity, new alerts and updates pouring in every second. It’s exhausting just to watch.

  “He is so glam,” Lysee gushes as she responds to her friends’ updates with long strings of emojis. “He used his Torch Whip on Crank, but she gave herself up so that Socket could get away. That was sooooooo Romeo!”

  Her Band releases a bouquet of holographic, heart-shaped balloons. Done checking the updates on her Stream, Lysee skips over to the couch and drops down between us. She drapes her arms around Matthew’s shoulders and gives him a heavy kiss. Proudly polyamorous, Lysee isn’t exactly shy about her goal of “putting as much love as possible out into the world.” Her occasional rubs with Matthew are all fun and frivolity to her, but for Matthew, I know they are much more. The way his eyes practically glow after that kiss makes me uneasy. Lysee is about as easy to tie down as the last holographic balloon fading away over her Band.

  “I got in the Maniacal Mechanics ep, I know I did,” she babbles at Matthew. “Look!” She proudly points to a small, discolored bruise on her cheek. “I was all like, ‘You won’t get away with this,’ and Socket hit me. It was A-MAZE!”

  Matthew furrows his brow. “My Anders can print you some ointment for that.”

  “What? NO! I want this to last foreeeever!”

  Personally, I’ve always suspected Lysee’s tendency toward gratuitous overacting is why her Stream isn’t doing better. My roommate is a bundle of energy covered in bows and polka dots. Honestly, with her milk white skin and blue eyes — artificially brightened, of course — I think she would be far more gorg if she took all the personal enhancements down a notch.

  “That’s not how you get noticed,” she tells me every time I mention it.

  It’s also not how you graduate college. I’m almost certain her parents don’t know she dropped out of school. Then again, getting a diploma was never part of Lysee’s life plan; it was just a way to keep the Loons coming from her dad while she impatiently waits to grab her fame.

  “I’ve got some news that you’re going to like,” Matthew says. Despite the claim, he seems less than thrilled with what he’s about to say. He’s been a little off since I got in, I realize. He’s more fidgety than usual.

  Lysee doesn’t notice. “What? What? What?” she squeaks at him.

  Matthew pauses for just a second, as if gathering himself. Then he says, “Pops finally got a remake.”

  “NO!” Lysee actually leaps up off the couch.

  Matthew’s voice is strained as he adds. “The Professor is back in the vil business.”

  My thoughts immediately turn toward the practical implications of this announcement. Does this mean my home is returning to its roots as a den of devious plotting? Will it be at risk of hero raids, and can this possibly give me leverage to negotiate down the rent even further?

  I glance over at Matthew and see the strain on his face. A shot of guilt rides through me. I’ve been hankering after a few saved dollars while Matthew’s clearly struggling with demons from his past.

  My friend clears his throat. “Pop’s holding auditions for henchmen next week.” He takes Lysee’s hand. “I can get you into the tryouts… if that’s what you want.”

  Lysee’s scream of joy just about shatters the windows in the apartment.

  Chapter 4

  Let’s show them the light.

  Shine, S15, E3

  For some reason, Adan deems it necessary to snag a
spot at my table in chemistry class the next morning, and of course today’s module is a partner project. This is what I get for being early to class. A cam drone drifts lazily overhead.

  A skinny boy slinks into the chair on Adan’s other side, completing our table of three. He’s all sharp angles, from his pointed chin to his beaky nose. Two precise stripes of green marching through his blond hair and polka dot suspenders outline his thin shoulders. I’ve seen him in class before, but the new semester just started two weeks ago and I’ve never thought to look up his name.

  Adan and I both glance at our Bands to figure out who he is, and I find his Stream on my proximity list. Whoa. Ollie’s Stream has even fewer followers than mine. I didn’t think that was possible. I see Adan recoil as those numbers hit his eyes.

  I pon what damage this kid’s carrying. Did he do something terrible and get shame-viraled? You can’t be too careful, even in your own home. Just last week, a woman’s personal cam drone caught one of our state senators doing something particularly sexually devious with his personal robo through an open window. When something like that happens, you’ve basically got to drain your Stream and start all over.

  “How are those arms?” Adan asks, disrupting my thoughts. He’s all smooth operator, tossing me a glinting white smile and running a hand through his tousled black hair. Chin implant? Hard to tell.

  “Just gotta stay away from capes and I’ll be fine,” I tell him sweetly.

  Ollie jerks up his head and looks at me curiously. “You don’t like heroes?”

  “What’s to like?” I respond.

  “They save the innocent. They keep people safe,” he says with apparent sincerity.

  I almost laugh, but something in Ollie’s wide blue eyes halts me. I didn’t think anyone over the age of five actually bought into the kayfabe of this town.

  “The only thing capes do is participate in the vast corporation-funded scheme to keep the population glutted on distraction and entertainment,” I explain to Ollie.

  Adan rolls his eyes. “What are you, a Buddhist?”

  I can’t stand his dismissive tone, all that easy glam just rolling off of him. I lean sideways, pushing into Adan’s space, and lay down some truth for Ollie. “Our economy is automating its workforce and hemorrhaging jobs. People are becoming obsolete. They’re losing their purpose.”

  I think of Lysee, spending her days flipping through the Streams of Personas she’s never met, obsessing over their lives, despo for their notice.

  “PAGS is feeding on this despondence,” I continue. “They flood Streams with endless semi-reality. Game shows, heroes, dating, zombies, all of it.”

  “So profound,” Adan mutters. “You learn that in Social Bitterness 101?” His Band flashes an emoji of a bored dinosaur rolling its eyes. “Our gen is media obsessed. Never heard that before.”

  I ignore Adan. Of course he doesn’t see the problem. He’s a Persona, capital P. He is the problem. “It isn’t just the media that’s tearing us apart,” I tell Ollie. “It’s so many other things, like the wealth disparity and how every one of our damn experiences is curated. By age six, our Bands know us better than our parents do. The world is changing hyperloop fast. Faster than we can handle. As a society, we’re losing our sense of self. Our very autonomy.”

  I think of my brother, Alby, hiding in his Virtual Reality world and push away the sick lurch in my stomach.

  “We’ve lost our purpose,” I tell Ollie. “That’s why people are grabbing onto Buddhist Minimalism. Why so many are going Hikikomori and never leaving their bedrooms. It’s why our gen is gulping down Mellows just to relax or stuffing vapes with Sweet Dreams to clock out of the world.”

  “Come on!” Adan interrupts, thrusting his face into my field of vision. “We’ve always had probs, but life isn’t so bad. We’ve got UBI and UHC. People in the good old days used to deal with homelessness and cancer! Ever heard of cancer?”

  “Universal basic income can’t even cover the average rent,” I say, “and universal healthcare is a joke. You’ve got to be half dead before an AI health bot will even look at you.”

  “Of course you think that.” Adan throws up his hands as if he were talking to an utter lobotomy.

  “You wouldn’t, by chance, have a private health plan, would you?” I ask him sweetly.

  That shuts Adan up. No sarcastic emojis dance along his forearm from his Band.

  Ollie stares at us as if we both started squawking like birds.

  “You make it sound like heroes are causing every prob in the world,” Adan finally says.

  “Not causing; they’re a symptom of the problem,” I correct.

  Adan groans.

  “Class is starting,” the human teaching assistant says, and presses a button on the holographic keyboard projected from his Band. The lights dim, and our Bands automatically lock out. The room’s central Pod casts a holo-screen upfront, and Professor Hersherwitz pops up on screen to explain the lesson. Professor Hersherwitz is a blue unicorn who wears glasses and a lab coat.

  “Let’s think small today,” Professor Hersherwitz says jovially. He shrinks down in size, his voice now a high buzz. “We are entering the world of…” Huge letters appear on the screen, each made up of a thriving mass of tiny particles. They spell out THE ATOM.

  I try to listen to the lesson, but my brain is processing hot. Usually I appreciate the fact that Shield University is one of those rare schools where the students actually meet in person, but not today. I can feel Adan next to me, all that arrogance wafting off him like a celebrity scent. Eau de Shigit.

  Worst of all, my brain is traveling down the well-worn path of my worries. As a society, we are fragmenting from reality. Our social cohesion is melting as fast as the polar ice caps. This entire town is proof of that. So are Matthew with his dependence on Betty, Lysee with her “Life Is Fame” mentality, and my Twinly One, Alby. Especially Alby.

  But that’s why I’m here, in this class. Call it my own heroic mission. I’m one year away from getting my undergraduate degree. Then I’ll spend two more years here to get my Master in Sociology with an emphasis on public affairs. I have big plans for how I’ll put that knowledge to good use.

  Someone’s got to figure out a way our society can transition into a world of AI; a world without jobs. We’ve got to discover a new path to meaning and purpose that doesn’t including filling our abundant free time with zombie semi-reality shows, VR video games, makeup tutorials, or fake heroes. This social transition has to happen on a global scale, a reset of the mindscape for the entire population of the western world.

  And I’m going to help do it. After I graduate, my plan is to join a think tank in Chicago or New York. While the Captains of Industry try to swipe away their guilt by financing artist guilds to paint murals over dying cities, I’ll be part of a group that thinks up policies and programs that will actually help our society thrive in a new way. We’ll send it to the pols, to the Captains, to the people, to anyone who will listen. And eventually someone will put our ideas into action, and things will finally change. It’s one way to save the world.

  Are my plans crazy optimistic? Naïve as hell? Probably, but I have to grip this dream. It’s all I’ve got. The only apology I can ever give to Alby that will mean anything.

  All these familiar thoughts dance through my mind as the lesson on the holo-screen ends and the overhead lights brighten. The droopy-eyed human teaching assistant stands from his stool at the back of the class and walks down the aisle, tapping a code into the Pod sitting at each table. A holo-screen flickers to life and boots up our experiment. Holographic beakers float gently above the table, blank labels on each one.

  “If anyone needs assistance or additional information about the lesson, please raise your hand,” the teaching assistant says with a hint of hope in his voice. Poor guy. I don’t even know his name. No one will ask him for help. Professor Hersherwitz’s program already includes additional explainers and hints if anyone needs them.

&n
bsp; Before I can tap the icon of Professor Hersherwitz’s head for a quick explanation of this assignment, Ollie reaches over and pulls a beaker toward him. He lifts out the element, a glowing fog, and uses hand gestures to zoom in. Zoom, zoom, zoom, until we can see the tiny atoms bundled next to each other. Zoom, zoom, zoom. The individual atoms are as big as Ollie’s thumbnail. He counts two protons.

  “Helium,” he says out loud.

  Professor Hersherwitz gallops across our screen, stands up, and claps his hoofs. “Your sharp mind lifts me up,” he says as he floats in the air. The word Helium appears across the beaker’s label as the glowing fog vacuums back into its belly.

  “Now, Adan, you try,” Professor Hersherwitz says.

  Adan grabs a random beaker, dumps out the crusty silver element and begins expanding it. As he does, he looks at me, his green eyes soft with indulged humor.

  “So, what, you hate heroes?” he asks.

  “I don’t hate heroes. I just don’t like them,” I reply. “They’re as fake as those atoms,” I point to the screen.

  “Boron,” Ollie says.

  Professor Hersherwitz neighs. “Did you just call me Boron?” he jokes. “Great job, group, but Ollie, let’s allow Adan or Alice to answer the next one so we can all learn.”

  I nudge Adan’s beefy arm out of the way as I reach over and pull a beaker toward me. Another chunk of metal slides out, this one silver with a yellow tinge. I begin zooming in.

  Adan folds his arms in front of him and tilts his head. His Wyvern model Band is so thick it almost looks like a gauntlet on his wrist. Closer up, I see that it’s one of those personalized affairs you have to special order. His Band is etched with artistic lines that almost looks like a bird in flight.

  “Those fights are real,” he says. “The weaps are real. People get hurt.”

  It takes me a second to realize he’s still talking about heroes. I give him a flippant reply. “Everyone knows the producers tell the capes and vils what to do. They develop storylines together. The whole thing is practically scripted.”