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The subterranean traveller isn’t much of a video gamer, he is normally quite happy with an ongoing game of solitary to fill the sparse moments his mind isn’t focused on more urgent matters, but when Nuret asked him if he’d be interested in playing a game called class war three and she, a student of the traveller in his every day disguise as the trotting teacher, happened to be an extraordinarily beautiful young woman who apparently recognised in him something he definitely was not, he impossibly could bring himself to declining the invitation. I’d be more than thrilled, the subterranean replied.
They would meet outside an uphill located metro station. Nuret waved from a double parked Fiat 500 with darkened windows. She was with an older woman, more beautiful even and very well kept, introduced to him as her mother. After a brief inspection of his all over appearance, eyes running up and down his body and ending with a hard stare in the eyes, she nodded him in. They put him in the back seat and made him put a helmet over his head so he couldn’t hear or see where they were going. To complicate matters they did some detours, though they were clearly heading further up. Only when they had stopped in a garage was the traveller allowed to look round him again. I hope you didn’t mind but it were best you wouldn’t know where you are, the mother, not inclined to give her name, remarked.
The subterranean followed the two of them through a richly decorated hallway into a large room stuffed with electronic equipment, pretty much what he had always imagined a football player’s TV room would look like. They sat him behind a desk with all due equipment for each of them and a large bent screen to slightly look down upon from comfortably seated positions. The screen showed the well-known initial frame of Google Earth, the green and blue ball in the middle of a star spangled black mass with roll-out menus on the left, only the menus were much larger and the hardware in front of them including a joystick with trigger option plus something which looked a lot like a Formula One steering wheel.
Class war is an ancient game of course, the mother commented, but this recent version incorporates all of the latest inventions and it allows us to play from behind a screen.
You just watch how it’s done, Nuret said. She zoomed in on her home town and when they approached the traveller saw that the streets were filled with moving traffic and people. Live footage shown at a later moment, his first thought was. They went closer and then the camera tilted upwards slightly, making it clear the electronic eye was at a height of perhaps three metres, low enough to get a real close look and still high enough to maintain that down looking perspective the screen position relative to their seats provided. People were passing by as if they were actually walking right in front of them.
Look how ugly they are, Nuret’s mother commented. She threw a radiant smile at the traveller, embracing him with her testosterone stimulating perfume. It made the subterranean wonder if she could be his age, although she certainly looked much healthier. He concentrated on the screen and saw two teenage girls talk into a mobile phone together, giggling and winking at passing boys.
They look pretty normal to me, he said.
Normal, indeed. How can one stand normal when one is exceptional oneself? Her smile had suddenly become less inviting.
May I now, mommy love? Nuret asked, impatient.
Go ahead, my dear.
She pulled the trigger on her joystick and one of the girls was pushed aside, then tumbled over and fell down on the sidewalk, a growing blood stain between her shoulder blades. Her friend started screaming, looking around her to spot the shooter and then falling on her knees in frightened bewilderment when she couldn’t find him. A second shot did well with her, the girls a pile of bloody clothes which quickly attracted bystanders, although the traveller noticed some people hastily walking past, their gaze aside as if it wasn’t happening. It all seemed disturbingly real, not in the least computer drawn.
How do they film this? the subterranean traveller asked.
Drone technique, the answer came immediately. They’re up there and you wouldn’t know it. You aren’t taken aback, I hope?
It’s the image quality that is perhaps getting to me, the subterranean responded. I’m sure it will look more like a game on a smaller screen.
But it should look real, Nuret’s mother said, we are talking serious matters after all. She zoomed them out, swaying away from the murderous scene and then bent down again over an outdoor Christmas market. So many old people, she sighed, eighty, ninety, a hundred years old, shitting in their pants and wasting our precious resources.
Mommy says we don’t need the poor any longer, Nuret mentioned brightly while targeting an elderly couple and taking them out with a swift move of her index finger. Again it looked ghastly realistic to the subterranean.
Since we are the one percent, as these days the saying goes, mother calmly explained, then how many uglies do we need to serve us? Ten percent would do just fine, I’d say. That leaves 90 percent unaccounted for.
So you shoot them.
It’s all but a game, the mother assured him, though I must point out under new American homeland security law these actions would be perfectly legal as long as we were able to show for being hired by the US government. Would you like to fire a round, dear?
The subterranean traveller politely declined. I’d be happier aiming at bubbles.
In which case it is time you were on your way home, the reaction came cold and swift.
I don’t understand, Nuret said when they were in the car again. You’re such a handsome man, I thought you were one of us.
I demoted myself, the traveller replied. I climbed down the social ladder.
How very stupid in this day and age, mother remarked. I must say I knew there was something unattractive about you, why would anybody want to become a teacher? But Nuret insisted and she’s still young and must learn, so I decided to give it a go.
I am much too old for you, the subterranean traveller said to his student.
Nuret held her hand before her mouth and gave a little cry. Not me but mommy dear, she laughed. By the way, I won’t be coming to class again. You do understand?
Back in the metro, the traveller felt the need to go to that neighbourhood and see what it looked like. It was a cold but sunny winter day. He didn’t see any corpses lying around but he did feel the streets were emptier than they could have been. An unpleasant chill crept up his spine. They knew him now and they realised he wasn’t with them. Might they be following him, considering the dangers of letting him run free? The subterranean traveller turned on his heels and hurried back to the metro entrance, his head bowed, seeking cover against the all-seeing eye from the sky. It seemed 2012 was well on its way.
