HENRY/HECTOR

I rush to pack my things. I'm running late for my date with Grace. Traffic in the city is brutal during rush hour, and I don't want to leave a bad impression.
I've already invited Grace to my cabin for a weekend, where I set up helmets to enter The Machine with her. It will be a more interesting date than the ones I've been bringing her to lately. I'm sure she's bored of restaurants by now.

I want to focus on her. Shower her with attention and thoughtful details. In just a few more dates, it will be time to make things official. Grace deserves to feel special. She is the one I fell for in The Machine. Although her memories were wiped, I still have mine.

Doting on her is the right thing to do. My brief slip of focus with Leila had been a dishonorable mistake. And although I don't speak much with my father nowadays, that was one of the values he taught me to succeed in business. Honor. I can't flirt with my secretary again. Not when I'm trying to move ahead with Grace.

I pick up a folder containing Leila's helmet analytics. I haven't sorted through the bug report yet, but I have plans to get it done by tonight. I'm particularly interested in this bug, and printing the code on paper has always helped me diagnose problems quicker.
What memories did Leila keep from when she was logged in? I suppose it doesn't matter. She'll be the only one to ever know.

I drive to the restaurant, arriving twenty minutes late. My reserved table is still open and a complimentary bottle was sent.

I greet Grace, kissing her cheek and embracing her tightly. She waves off my apology and joins me on the table. We order our appetizers and she dives into a tangent about The Machine, showing a passion she never had shown before. She tells me that she's reading a book about it, found a server for skydiving that she wants to try out, and made virtual friends. It's strange how focused she is on this topic. On our first date, she mentioned hobbies like gardening, but she never mentioned it again. I've yet to see a picture of her garden, guitar, or pets.

She sighs and curves her lips, which are painted a lovely red. The dress she wears is also more eye-catching than the office clothes she usually arrives in. She must have made time to dress up for me, and it makes me appreciate her more.

She reaches for my hand, sliding past our cups of wine to touch me. I look down to admire our united hands.

"You know, this is going to sound crazy, but sometimes I feel deja vu with you. Like we've gone on dates before. Talked before." She bites her lip. "Do you think we've met in The Machine, but don't remember?"

I smile at this precious, magical woman. "I think we have."

She grins brightly and returns her hand to her lap. I already miss her touch.
"I can't wait to spend time with you at the cabin. I hope things aren't too busy and that I'm not keeping you from work?"

I shake my head. "Everything is fine. Don't worry about it."

"How has Leila been?" She asks, her pretty face scrunching with concern.
My thoughts shift to the mysterious, short woman that's so different from Grace. Leila doesn't take over conversation. In fact, I can barely get a few sentences out of her. She doesn't dye her hair or wear bright colors, because she's content blending into the background with her white, grey and black clothes.

"Leila has been fine. Helpful," I answer. I don't mention how distracting she has been.

"Oh..." Grace's eyes fall to her wine glass, and she fists her hands.
"What's wrong?"

"I'm sorry. I don't know how to say this. She's my friend and all but..." she can't hold my gaze.

"What is it, Grace?" I've never raised my voice at her, but I can't stand the suspense. I have a bad feeling about what she's about to deliver.

"Well, I overheard her having a strange conversation on the phone. Something about a leak that she assisted. I don't know, but I thought I should let you know."

This makes no sense. Leila couldn't possibly be behind that leak, although it happened right around the time she started working for me. She never got access to sensitive information. Not that I know if. But then there's the unexplained bug in her helmet. I've never seen anything like it before. Maybe it's not a bug, after all. Maybe someone jailbroke the helmet to make it a deliberate glitch.

The utensils on the desk clatter when I pound a fist on it. I hate this, because although I doubt Grace's suspicions, I must investigate it. Leila will have to lose access to the office for a week or two until her computer and communications are cleared. She will be hurt by this, I know it. But there's no way to avoid it.

"Forgive me, Grace, but I'll have to cut this date short."

She looks at me with wide eyes. As she ringles her napkin, she whispers, "Is everything alright?"

"Yes, but I need to make calls. Don't worry. Our date at the cabin is still on. Please forgive me for being curt, but I need to get wheels running now that you have me this tip."

"Oh, I understand."

We rise from our seats. Grace walks around the table to kiss my cheek.

Maybe I'm too shaken or distracted, but her kiss brings me no comfort.

Why did it have to be Leila?

I feel furious whenever I suspect that I've been slighted. Like a beast trying to protect its territory; my company. I strategize to end the enemy, but that becomes incredibly difficult when the enemy has soft brown eyes

I don't want to hurt her. I'm not bloodthirsty. I just want all of this to be a false alarm.

"Goddamn it," I grit, throwing my jacket and tie into the back seat of my car and ripping my top two buttons off my shirt.

This better be a false alarm.

————

By the time the morning comes, everything is set. I've contacted human resources and my lawyers. I've had Leila's computer and paperwork seized from her desk. I've hired a private investigator to check into her activities and acquaintances. If there is any dirt on her, we will find it.

I just don't want to.

I'm sitting behind my desk, struggling to focus on work, when I receive a call from reception. I yank the phone up, and listen closely.

"Sir, we intercepted the employee in the lobby and brought her to a private room as you requested. She has been informed that she has been laid off pending an investigation, and her access to the building has been temporarily revoked. We also suggested she got a lawyer."

"But you did this quietly, right? You spared her the humiliation?"

"Yes. No one in the lobby suspected anything."

My shoulders drop in relief. "Good. Carry on."

"There's one more thing you should know. After I explained that she's under investigation, she quit on the spot."

"What?!"

Heat flushes down my body, and I shoot up from my chair so rashly that it topples backward and hits the glass wall. "She quit?!"

"Y—yes."

I slam the phone down, disconnecting the call, and I process all of my emotions. I'm surprised by how raw they are. How volcanic.

Leila is leaving the company over this insult.

Having her quit never crossed my mind. It's an awful realization, knowing that I will never catch glimpses of her as she walks my halls with her head shoved in a folder.

I pull my chair and sink back into it, riding out the anger for many minutes.
My eyes find her helmet's file, which I've been too busy to study these past few days.

Wanting to feel closer to her, I open the file and scan over the hundreds of lines of code. My coding skills are rusty, but I understand most of the information printed on the sheet. I find that ID number again. 100006. It's all over her logs. The person she interacted with most in The Machine. Grace.

Now that I think of it, this ID number might be too low to be Grace's. The ID belongs to the sixth person to make a character n the machine's history, but Grace hasn't been a part of the company for so long. A high-level engineer, an executive with priority access level, or an extremely enthusiastic worker would make more sense.

Actually, now that I'm on this topic, what is my log ID?

I pull up one of my helmet logs on my computer, scanning the screen with unsuspecting eyes, until I find the impossible.

100006.

The number glares at me. I was the sixth person to create a character. But this makes no sense. Why is my ID appearing in Leila's interaction logs? This isn't a bug. The data is too simple, too primal to be a mistake. I definitely met with Leila all of these times, but then that would mean I never met with Grace.

A snarl rips through the back of my throat as I grab my cell phone and call Grace.

"Hi honey," she breathes into the phone. Sounding cheery although she knows her best fucking friend has legal problems.

"Describe your character to me, Grace."

"W-what?"

"Describe what your in-game character looks like! Your hair, your height, your gender! I know you remember these details. Character creation isn't deleted from memories!"

"Uh... my character has red hair, and..."
I hang up the phone, throwing it to the damn ground, because I've connected the dots. Laura's character doesn't have red hair in-game. Grace couldn't describe what Laura looks like, so it's not her. Grace isn't Laura!
Leila is Laura, and I've just insulted her to the point that she wants to leave it all behind. Her coworkers, the company, me.

Goddamn it! How did I fuck this up? I knew something wasn't right about Grace's answers. I should have seen right through her and not gotten blinded by all the red.

I run out of the office without my wallet or phone. Just the keys in my pocket and the festering desperation in my gut. I need to reach Leila before she gets on the bus. I need to fix this.