D.I.A.N.N.E. Ch. 03

© Antidarius 2020

*This is a work of fan-fiction. The author, Antidarius, does not claim ownership of any characters or titles mentioned that are the existing property of other entities.*

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D.I.A.N.N.E.

Chapter 3: The Main Access Point

P: 19 M: 25 S: 12

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--Day Three: Saturday, 22^nd May, 1999--

When I woke up, the daylight that had been streaming in through my tiny bedroom window was gone. I was still face-down and apparently in the exact same position in which I'd fallen asleep. I pushed myself up gingerly, bracing for more pain, but none came. In fact, I felt pretty good. I was hungry and thirsty, but over-all I seemed fine.

I stood up and immediately noticed a sense of power in my muscles that hadn't been there before. Upon some experimental stretching and flexing this way and that, I found I was more limber, too. A persistent erection jutted from my waist, but that was no real surprise. I couldn't tell if it had grown any further; if it had, it was only a very small amount.

Smiling at how good I felt, I went out to the lounge to grab my phone. The time on the screen read eight-fifteen p.m. I'd been asleep for twelve hours! Not the first time I'd done so, certainly, but still I wondered about the toll of Dianne's technology on my body.

I headed to the bathroom to relieve myself. While sitting on the loo, I checked my phone for any messages from Debbie, but all I saw were a few inflammatory remarks from some of my gaming mates whom I had ignored the past two days.

"Sorry, lads," I muttered to myself as I read the texts. "Better things to do at the moment. Quake is going to have to wait." I never thought I would appreciate being a loner but having no one I was close to prevented me from having to explain my recent behaviour.

I nearly dropped the phone when it beeped and vibrated in my hand. It was a message from Debbie! With everything going on, I'd forgotten all about her! The message read: *Hi, Jake! It's Debbie. I forgot to get your number from you yesterday, so I pulled it up at work. I hope you don't mind!*

"I don't mind at all," I mumbled as I typed the same back to her. *How's work?*

*Slow. Still keen for Tekken later?*

I tried not to write back too fast; I'd heard that that made guys look desperate, but I found myself replying almost immediately. *Sure. Still bringing a pizza?*

*Yay!* Came her response. And a few seconds later: *I sure will! Usual?*

*You know it. I'm pretty hungry though. Better bring two, if you can.* It wasn't a joke; I actually felt like my stomach was trying to eat my spine.

*LOL. OK you got it. See you around 11.*

I didn't get it. What did a girl like Debbie want with me? A chubby, pale dude answers the door in a towel and she's all interested? Something felt very out of whack, here. I buried my face in my hands as I remembered cracking a woody right in front of her. "What are you doing, London?" I asked myself in despair.

Finishing up, I flushed and left the bathroom. "Some device from the future shows up on your doorstep," I muttered to myself as I went to the kitchen. "And shows you things you never even imagined were possible, and you're having trouble believing a girl likes you?" I grabbed a beer from the fridge and plopped down in my chair.

"How are you feeling, Jake?" Dianne queried as I cracked my beer.

"Physically or mentally?" I asked. "One is quite good, the other not so much."

"I would be happy to scan you if that is suitable," Dianne suggested.

"Don't bother, Dianne," I told her, my tone reflecting my current sense of resignation. I felt like I was on a roller-coaster ride that just wouldn't stop. "I don't think your scanners will pick up what's wrong with me." I took a glum sip. Why did Debbie seem to like me? "Too bad there's no game that makes you good with women," I grumbled under my breath.

"My memory has no files on such a title," Dianne confirmed. "At least as far as games are concerned. But there are several films that might be of use to you."

I sat forward, staring at Dianne intently. "I can put movies in you?"

"Yes, Jake," Dianne replied. "I can accept any technological entertainment medium."

My mind spun with a new world of potential. I had an extensive movie collection. "What will happen if I give you a movie?" I asked excitedly. "Will it be like a game?"

"Somewhat," Dianne answered evenly. "A world will be created according to the data available and you will be inserted into that world. Your mind will imprint much the same as it would in a game."

I shot to my feet. "I'll be right back!" I bolted to my room and dragged out the two large boxes under my bed that were packed with DVDs. "Someone who's good with girls," I muttered as I rifled through the boxes, my eyes flicking over titles as fast as I could recognise them. I liked lots of different movies, and my collection was diverse.

My gaze fell on 'Swingers,' the Vince Vaughan and John Favreau comedy from a couple of years back. That might work. Trent Walker had the moves, and he certainly knew how to talk to women. I put it aside and continued my search.

I almost put Thunderball aside, but then dismissed it with a shake of my head. I didn't want to suddenly start acting like James Bond and freak Debbie out. I chuckled as I imagined such a scenario playing out, then laughed aloud as I thought of myself wearing a tux and drinking martinis while sitting in my crappy apartment.

Wait a second. It didn't need to be a movie centred around a womaniser. Why couldn't it just be a movie with a confident, charismatic hero? I grinned as my hand fell on one of the greatest movies ever made: Raiders of the Lost Ark. Indiana Jones never had trouble getting laid, plus he had other cool skills that might come in handy.

I rushed back out to the lounge and urged Dianne to open herself so I could replace the Final Fantasy disc with the DVD of Raiders. Once I'd made the switch, I threw myself into my chair and put on the headband.

My vision instantly darkened for a moment. When I could see again, I was floating in an endless black void. "Dianne?" I called uncertainly. "What's happening?" I tried to feel around myself, but realised with an uneasy feeling that I didn't have hands, or a body.

*I have recently installed an upgrade,* Dianne said inside my mind. *Please review the updated features.*

The space around me flickered brightly and then became a large room with the walls, floor and ceiling apparently made of large, square tiles with fluorescent backlighting. A chrome, circular podium stood in the exact centre of the room upon which there was a replica of none other than myself, standing with my arms by my sides and rotating slowly.

Having a body again, I slowly approached the three-dimensional image of myself. It was remarkably lifelike. It even blinked from time to time, which was unsettling to say the least. "Could have at least put clothes on me," I muttered as I regarded my less-than-glorious nudity. "What is this place, Dianne?"

*This is your Main Access Point,* Dianne explained. *Referred to as the MAP. As you progress through the testing, any upgrades you attain can be reviewed in this place. You can return here any time you wish. The MAP has other functions which will be made available to you in due time.*

"So, this is me, as I am now?" I reached out to touch my image, but my hand passed through as if it were a hologram.

*That is correct, Jake. Here are your current statistics.* Part of the wall to my right became a square screen two metres on a side. Green text appeared on a black background beneath a large heading reading: 'Jacob Patrick London.' It reminded me of the old monochrome monitors from the sixties and seventies.

Beneath my name was a complex list of what I could only think was my personal character record. The major headings read: Physical, Mental and Social. The three words were in bold and placed left to right respectively under my name. Beneath them was a tree of related skills, traits and abilities, all of which linked back to their parent attribute. Some crossed over, connecting between two or even all three branches of the tree. There were hundreds!

"Wow," I murmured as I stood back to take in the scope of it. The further down the tree I read, the smaller the text became. The labels near the top were more generalised, such as: 'Strength,' or 'Fortitude,' or 'Charm,' while down lower I could see more specialised and specific things like: 'Running Speed,' 'Negotiation,' and 'Vocabulary.'

When I asked Dianne why there were no numbers next to any of the stats, she simply asked me to wait a moment, and soon after the tree was populated with numbers next to each one. I was alarmed at first, because upon first glance they were all zeroes, but then a small window popped up on the right side of my name that read: 'Downloading Data: Final Fantasy Seven. Stage One Synchronicity 100%'

After the window disappeared, some of the numbers on the screen changed. My physical stat moved to '19,' my mental to '25,' and my social to '12.' Several sub-stats changed, too, to varying degrees, though none of them went as high as the major ones.

I didn't know what to think about any of those figures. Were they good, or bad? Probably less than good, if my strength stat when matched with my current physical condition was any indication. "What's the cap?" I asked Dianne. All games had a cap -- a limit you reached where you couldn't go any further.

*That information is unavailable at this time,* Dianne answered. *The most accurate response I can offer within my programming is that the ceiling on development depends on the individual.*

So, there was no way of knowing how far I could go with it, but more importantly, I needed to figure out how effective each point was and how it trickled down into the tree. From what I could see of the corresponding sub-stats that had changed, the formula might be a tricky one.

"Right," I replied flatly. "So, tell me, what would the physical attribute on a world-class athlete look like?"

*That would depend on the athlete,* Dianne said.

"Okay. What about, say, basketball? Michael Jordan in his prime."

*One moment, Jake.* A few seconds later, she continued. *I would approximate Michael Jordan's physical attribute to be in the high nineties.*

"Bloody hell," I muttered. "And here I am with a whopping 'nineteen.'" At least now I had a benchmark. "What about mental? Where would, say, Steven Hawking be at?" I was choosing the most extreme examples I could think of.

Dianne was silent for a moment, then chimed the answer. *Approximately one hundred and twenty.*

"Huh," I grunted thoughtfully. "Alright, so what about someone like John Goodman? What would his physical stat be?"

*Less than ten would be an accurate score for Mr. Goodman's physical condition.*

Well, I might not be as smart as Steven Hawking, but at least I was fitter than John Goodman. I thought about getting a social comparison, but then decided I didn't want to know. "Wait a second," I said, confused. "How am I so low in everything? Didn't I just sort of upgrade myself by synching with Final Fantasy?"

*To a degree, yes,* Dianne replied. *You enjoyed an increase of two units per major attribute due to your stage one synchronisation. This is not an insignificant amount, Jake.*

"How much will stage two give me?"

*That is uncertain,* Dianne said smoothly. *The results will be clear, however, upon your completion of this stage.*

Well, at least now I had a map of some sort, complex though it was. "Okay, Dianne," I said decisively, clapping my hands together. "I think I want to try out a movie. I guess if I want to get better with women then I need to improve my social and physical attributes," I mused as I looked at the screen. "Mental wouldn't hurt either." I suddenly remembered my scheduled hangout with Debbie. "Dianne, can you please let me know when it's ten-thirty p.m.?"

*Of course, Jake,* Dianne replied smoothly. *Would you like to enter the current title until then?*

I thought about it for a moment. Why not? Imprinting some of Indiana Jones could only be good for me, but something made me pause. Apparently, Debbie already liked me without any extra enhancement, so why was I going to this extra effort? It couldn't hurt to stack the odds in my favour, certainly, but what would her reaction be if I answered the door behaving all different?

I decided that some extra mojo from Indy was a good idea, but something else gnawed at me, a worm of doubt wriggling in my belly. Part of my brain didn't want to accept that a cute girl liked me, and that was that. In fact, she probably had an ongoing joke with her co-workers, whom no doubt all knew about my erection beneath the towel and everything. They'd probably all put Debbie up to seeing me again.

I felt my shoulders slump at a sudden overwhelming sense of despair. "Go ahead, Dianne," I said despondently. "Fire up the movie. We'll see if Debbie even turns up."

***

--DEBBIE--

Debbie rechecked her hair and face in the mirror before she left the Papa John's bathroom. Nothing fancy, just a clean, good old-fashioned ponytail, suitable for a girl her age. Same with the makeup; just a touch of foundation and some lip gloss. This was just a casual hangout, not dinner at a pricey restaurant or anything.

She'd brought a change of clothes to work, and she'd thrown them on as soon as her shift ended. She gave herself a quick once-over to make sure she looked okay. Tight black leggings to show off the generous curves of her hips and butt, and a grey zip-up hoodie that once undone would reveal a tight white shirt that showed her flat belly and hugged her breasts for maximum effect, especially the way she'd left her bra off. She'd noticed the way Jake looked at her in the game shop, and she wanted him to look again. Cute white sandals completed the outfit.

Turning from the mirror, she picked up her small black handbag from where it was hanging over a nearby cubicle door and fished her phone out. No more messages from Jake. The time read: eleven p.m.; she still had plenty of time to get over to his place.

Her bag buzzed suddenly. She dropped her phone back in and dug out another, smaller phone. Flipping back the cover, she read the message displayed on the screen. *Hold on Twenty. Plans have changed. Will update you tomorrow.*

Pursing her lips in irritation, she tossed the device back into her bag with more force than necessary. They wanted her to pull out now? What was that going to do to Jake's already limited confidence? "Not 'Jake,'" she reminded herself. "Subject Twenty." They said it was bad to use the subject's real name unless you were with them. They said if you thought about them like friends, it made your job harder. Debbie failed to see the logic in that. If anything, Jake -- Subject Twenty -- needed a friend more than anything. She wasn't interested in him; he wasn't her type, but he still seemed like a nice enough guy.

Either way, she had to follow orders. Sighing, she grabbed her work clothes and left the bathroom, but not before she had an idea. Papa John's was a hole-in-the-wall pizza joint, set up for delivery orders only, and the staff bathroom let out in front of the main counter. As she walked out, she saw the two huge pizzas sitting in the stainless-steel shelf behind the counter, where outgoing orders were stored. Those were supposed to be for Jake, but now Debbie had been called off.

"Bye, Deb!" Pimply-faced, skinny George said as he popped up from beneath the counter, dustpan and brush in hand. George was a sweet thing, and Debbie knew he liked her from the way he looked at her. She did her best not to lead him on; she didn't see the point in hurting the boy's feelings.

"See ya, George," she returned with a grin. "Hey, listen, I was wondering if I could ask a huge favour?"

George put the dustpan and brush down on the counter and nodded. "Sure, what is it? Need me to cover a shift or something?"

"Even easier," Debbie replied, coming up to the counter. "See those two pizzas, there?" She pointed to Jake's food. "They're for a friend of mine. I was meant to take them over there after work but something's come up and now I can't. I was thinking if you can run them over to him, I'll make it worth your while. He only lives about five minutes away. How's twenty bucks sound?" That was more than delivery drivers get paid an hour, and George knew it.

A big grin split his face. "Deal!" He said. "I'll lock up here and get them to him. Thanks, Deb, I really need the money."

"I know," she said as she pulled a twenty out of her bag. "I've been there. I really appreciate it, George. Thank you." Pulling out a slip of paper, she scribbled the address down for him and handed it over.

"Whoa!" George exclaimed as he read the address. "This is the martial-arts dude's house!"

"The what?" Debbie blurted.

I delivered to this guy yesterday," George told her, his eyes wide with excitement. "I saw him kick the shit out of three guys out the front of his building. I think they were giving him a hard time or something, 'cause they had him on the ground, but then he pulls this pole out of nowhere and just goes whack, whack, wham!" George performed an enthusiastic demonstration behind the counter of how the pole was utilised.

"Wait," Debbie said, holding up her hands to settle him down a bit. "What did he look like, this 'martial artist?'" When George gave a disturbingly accurate description of Jake, Debbie swallowed uncertainly. Was this pudgy, awkward guy more than he seemed? "Uh, thanks for the update, George," she managed as her brain spun with questions. Just who had they assigned her to? "You sure you're okay to drop off the pizzas to him?

"Uh, yeah!" George scoffed. "I want him to teach me some of his moves and shit!"

Debbie wanted to shake her head in bewilderment but made herself smile at George instead. "I'd better get going, now. See you tomorrow, hey?" In the wake of George's goodbyes, she left the shop and hurried to her car, wondering what she should do. Her silver BMW M3 -- a perk of the job -- was parked just behind the shop, and once she was inside, she took a moment to think.

"The Company said not to go over there," she said to herself. "But they didn't say I couldn't text him." Her phone was out of her purse in a flash and her fingers were flying across the buttons. *Hi, Jake! I hate to do this to you, but I've had a family emergency come up! I can't make tonight's Tekken battle royale, but I will reschedule with you! I'm really sorry. Deb.*

Knowing it sounded like a flake-out, she hit send anyway. "Well, Deb," she muttered. "You wanted the money they offered so you can go study. You gotta suck it up and do the job." She just wished she could quiet her conscience on the matter.

***

--JAKE--

I forgot all about my earlier sadness once the movie kicked off. It was like those three-dimensional movie theatres you could go to, the ones where you put on the stupid glasses, but in Dianne, you could touch, smell and taste, as well as see and hear. I rode in the body of Indy as he explored the Incan ruins, felt his excitement as he swapped the bag of sand for the golden idol, then his panic as the boulder rolled down from the ceiling and chased him from the room.

I experienced the frustration and disappointment replacing my elation as I finally reached safety only to find Rene Belloq waiting with a band of Hovitos warriors, their arrows trained on me. Being in a movie was different than a game, especially where a scene ended. Suddenly my vision would go blank, then when it came back, I'd be in a new location, wearing different clothes and whatnot.