by A W Wang
“Pretty coincidental.”
Her eyes flick to the stragglers fleeing in the distance.
“Can we chat?” I say. When she hesitates, I add, “It’ll be good to not kill for a bit.”
“Sure.” She sits and pats the ground by her side. “This is as nice a location as anywhere else.”
As I settle next to her, my anxiety dissipates. Despite the macabre situation of watching people being hunted down and killed in the background, almost giddy feelings wash over me. It’s been so long and there are so many things I need to say.
“Congratulations on making seven sigmas,” Suri says.
I scrunch my lips. Strangely, being the primary cause of the death of the seven sigma who etched her children’s names into her arm still bothers me.
Melody and Melissa.
“And to you too,” I reply.
“I’m only a six.”
“Don’t worry, you’ll get there.”
Suri’s expression flattens as she turns to watch the chase of the stragglers.
Nervously, I change the topic. “This is just like when we swapped stories to keep our memories.” I tug at my shirt. “Except for the clothing.”
In spite of the gulf between us, she grins at the lame joke. “Sometimes I miss those days.”
Me too.
“Do you want to hear one of your stories?” I ask.
“No, I don’t think so.”
“That’s surprising.”
“Repeating the stories doesn’t work. I thought you knew this.”
Although part of me wants her to tell a story from my past, she’s right. I stupidly nod. “Aren’t you afraid of what will happen when the last of your past fades away?”
“It already has. I stopped fighting a while back.”
“Why?”
“I have my reasons. Perhaps you should ask yourself why you’re so afraid of losing yours.”
The many answers to the question are obvious, and her casual response scares me. Being adrift without the moral anchor of the last links to my loved ones and the real world is terrifying, especially in this universe of violence and death. “I’m not giving up that easily.”
“Eventually, you’re going to lose.”
Resignation fills my answer. “I know but I still can’t let it happen.”
She sighs. “When I was still trying, I used a different technique to reflate my memories.”
“What?”
“Ever try painting?”
“This I would remember how?”
A chuckle floats from her lips, one of her many endearing qualities. “You understand how it works right? Having a paintbrush and paint, then dipping—”
“Yes, I know that.”
“You need to imagine painting over the image.”
“Does that work?”
“For a while.”
Another silence follows.
“Vela’s gone.” It’s a rough segue, but I have to get the guilt off my chest.
Her lips edge into a frown before she replies in a neutral tone, “That’s too bad.”
“Have you seen anyone else?”
“Just Syd, and he has a new team that’s completely loyal to him.”
“There was a secret Syd told me that could help you in the scenarios.”
“Anything Syd considers good, I have no interest in. Especially any secrets. He’s not trustworthy.”
“Oh? I was under the impression you had something going on with him.”
Her face tenses, and she spends a moment watching several teammates stab an enemy to death. “I did some outlandish things getting caught up in this body and fighting the will of the virtual overlords. But having sex as a petty form of rebellion isn’t victory or anything even close to it. At best, it was a diversion. I realize now those actions were mistakes.”
Although there is more to add, she falls silent again.
“I’ve made a few of them too.”
“I miss Haiku.”
“That’s a little shocking. What’s your new avatar like?”
“He’s a bland gremlin named Grel. At least Haiku had some depth.”
I snort. “Depth? She’s annoying.”
Suri tilts her head and looks at me from the corners of her eyes.
“Every time I come back, she badgers me about doing better. And when we’re alone, she gets really agitated. We’ve had some major arguments.”
“Why?”
“Haiku has a vision for me as a perfect warrior. She wants me to lose my humanity and become a pure killer so I can advance faster. I won’t stand for that.”
“At least she cares.”
The stilted conversation lapses into another silence because we’re stepping around the central issue. Since I might never see her again, I gather my courage for the great confession.
“I feel awful about breaking up the team.”
“Why? That’s the best decision you made.”
“I thought you’d be angry because I separated everyone.”
“A little at first.” She turns away from the chase to gaze at me. “But, I understand why you did it.”
Although I’m relieved she doesn’t hate me and doesn’t think I’m a coward for not wanting to lead, I still need the truth. “Why aren’t you upset?”
“That was the best for everyone. We had to go our separate ways. Wasn’t that your reason?”
“No, it was Syd. He was going to get everyone killed.”
“Eventually, we’d all have to make tough choices about surviving. At least now, I don’t have to worry about sacrificing someone who’s a friend.”
“That doesn’t sound like you.”
She shrugs. “I’ve changed in many ways.”
“That’s the lack of memories talking.”
“No, that’s not it. I’ve changed for practical reasons. Here, the overlords control all the rules. This is a rigged game. The only true way to win is to reach ten sigmas and leave this miserable place. Nothing else matters.
“Brin, take Haiku’s advice. Worry about getting yourself out of here. Become a ten sigma.”
“Remember what we discussed? Life and death, sex and violence, love and hate. Everything about a human being is balanced. The overlords only care about death, violence, and hate. Winning isn’t worth it if you don’t retain any of your essence.”
“If you die here, it won’t be worth anything.”
I have no answer for that.
Deep in the corner shadow of a distant hedgerow, two of our teammates hack apart the last of our enemies.
After the bloody form falls, Suri says with finality, “Don’t worry about saving your humanity. Let go of the past.”
Coming from my best friend in this place, the statement is shocking. I return a somber glance.
Unlike Suri, I need my memories and loved ones, and I’m afraid of existing without them. I silently repeat my promise to do everything in my power to remain myself.
As the golden sparkles signifying the end of scenario cover us, she adds one final sentence.
“Brin, it’s time to end our friendship.”
In the full semicircle of the debrief, everybody is ecstatic, except for me and Haiku.
Suri’s words weigh on my psyche. I can’t believe she’s become so callous.
What the little avatar’s issue is, I have no idea. However, now and then between her speaking and hand waving to the team, her eyes flick angrily in my direction. The color and depth of the silver orbs vary wildly depending on whether she is being shallow to everyone else, or she’s directing dark emotions at me. My head spins from trying to follow her mood.
Finally, after announcing everyone’s new sigma scores, she concludes with the usual happy clap and wide smile.
A quiet hum echoes in the room as the others disappear under a glittery sheen of sparks.
Although never happening before, I’m not surprised to find myself sitting in the same chair with Haiku floating in front of me. I clench my jaw, wait
ing for the opening salvo.
The little avatar doesn’t disappoint. A deeper, angrier expression infects her face before she screams, “Your performance in the last scenario was abominable.”
Suri misses this?
“Given that we won with nobody dead, I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about.” The tone is snarky and oddly feels right. How obnoxious was I in the real world?
“Staying in your past isn’t in your best interests nor is it the end goal of this program.”
“Suri was there, and I wanted to catch up with her.”
Her hands rise. “Suri!”
I return a defiant stare but speak in a level voice. “Yes, my friend, Suri.”
Strangely, I can sense the wheels grinding in her mind.
“You should have been killing the final enemies.”
“Why? To add a millionth of a point to my sigma score?”
“You are falling behind. You can’t kill only when you feel like it. Every little bit matters.”
“Behind who?” Not waiting for an answer, I fire out the other questions bothering me. “Why are worse things coming? What’s with the people who paint their faces?”
Her voice rises. “Given your abysmal performance you should be happy not to be facing them.”
“So they are different. Who are they?”
“You have enemies that exist and want you to fail.”
“Finally! What enemies?”
Haiku pushes out a heavy sigh as if she’s already said too much. Her voice lowers when she continues.
“Please don’t concern yourself with things that are out of your control.
“While your skills are superior, amongst other things, the longer you’re in these scenarios the more vulnerable you are to the perils. Given enough opportunities, even the chances of an insignificant event increase. And given the millions of misfortunes that can befall you in the scenarios, dawdling will cause your demise to become a certainty.”
In the simplest terms, her wordy speech parrots Syd’s warnings. “The more risk, the more dumb luck comes into play. How many times will we survive facing five or ten-to-one? A random patrol. One lucky shot. Some slob taking a piss at the wrong time…”
However, the sympathies of a software construct don’t interest me. “Aren’t the others from my team deserving of higher scores too?”
She pauses, pursing her lips and breaking eye contact.
Happy with the rattled reaction, I decide snarky works as a good counter to my fading emotions. Part of me hopes I was a complete bitch in my prior life.
“Well?”
“Here, only individual achievement is rewarded. The others will or won’t advance. They will or won’t die. You must keep your focus on your own situation and reach ten sigmas.”
I stand and peer directly into her face. “What’s it all for?”
She takes an indignant breath to calm herself. “You want to survive and return to the real world, don’t you?”
Of course, she’s right. I made a promise to never give up. However, I don’t want to hear it from her. I’m not sure why, but something about the little avatar rubs me the wrong way. “From your perspective, why does my life matter so much? I don’t see you giving this kind of treatment to anyone else.”
Haiku doesn’t answer.
Faces of my dead friends, Vela, Carol, Jock, Ally, Rick, and even Simon appear in my mind. My voice rises in exasperation. “Given all the death, why should I matter more than anybody else?”
Her eyes flatten as a smile returns to her face. She cheerily says, “We’ll talk later when you’re in a better mood.”
The static wraps around me, signaling the end of the meeting.
I’ll never be in a better mood.
Thirty-Eight
The unrelenting stream of battles speeds past, blending together into a drawn-out smear of death as my sigma score marches higher. I slaughter Spartans, Romans, Carthaginians, Nazis, people from long-lost civilizations, and others from places that never existed. Soldiers dressed in everything spanning from modern battle armor to loincloths fall to me in every type of combat the meat grinder of the scenarios can supply.
I lose count of the number of lost teammates while my mind muddles their here-one-moment-and-gone-the-next faces into a hazy set of bloody features.
From time to time, I’m reminded of my original team, but there isn’t a whiff of them in any part of my virtual universe.
Upon every return, an increasingly agitated Haiku admonishes me with growing severity to perform better while not providing any additional information. Although I haven’t recaptured my performance against the unnatural opponents in the dusty brownstones, I angrily retort to each criticism with the fact that at least I’m still alive.
When I reach eight sigmas, the congratulations from my team and Haiku ring hollow.
I have bigger worries.
My real world remembrances have withered into black specks of dust. In place of my childhood, teenage years, and young adult life sits a deep, virtually empty cavern. Between the huge gaps in the space reside fading brushstrokes that carry no meaning. And even they are crumbling into ash. Was I smart enough to attend college? Was I married? Other than my parents, did I have a family? Friends?
Although I still revere the blue dome, I’m not even sure if blue was my favorite color.
My constant state is wondering ‘what was I just trying to remember?’ The feeling is like having something bubbling under the surface of my consciousness echoing what I’ve lost.
Was I even a decent human being?
That’s why, even as I’ve watched the vibrancy of my past turn brittle and flake away, I pour my energy into retaining the last slivers of a tired man sitting in a hospital room who told me never to give up. In some unknown fashion, he’s important in my prior life, and his reassuring smile gives me strength.
It’s a losing battle, but I need to save this tiny part of myself because when this last shred is gone, only a bunch of red and black threads forming the backbone of a sociopathic killer may remain.
The floor jostles and a man bumps into me. He nods and shifts to give me room.
The stuffy atmosphere is saturated with the sweaty scents of soldiers packed into every nook and cranny of the aerial transport. The unwelcoming faces in the dim light are typical of the combatants before each battle.
I lean against a support strut and fiddle with the straps of my parachute. Then, I perform a final check of my kit, a tactical electro-magnetic (EM) rifle, old-fashioned pistol, med-pack, and extra ammunition. It will be a long fight.
A small bulb glows red from the ceiling. The engines whine and the floor pushes against my boots as we rise for the attack drop.
I slap my aerial visor over my face and through the reddish gleams on the thin material, return a stony stare to the nervous glances from my teammates.
Look to someone else for reassurance.
The light switches to green and an alarm sounds. A second later, the floor splits.
Thin air whistles past my helmet as I plunge through darkness. While I orient myself into a stable falling position, the black silhouettes of my team scatter against the backdrop of the predawn sky. Below, the starburst pattern of lights from a sleepy city winks through wispy clouds.
It’s beautiful.
As the approaching skyscrapers and streets grow in detail, my heart pounds, and I beam at the thought of the impending scenario.
After I land, a six-hour battle ensues between two sides of twelve teams.
Now, except for the bodies, the black avenues of the modern cityscape mostly lie deserted. Tall rectangular buildings sheathed in massive glass panels, and impervious to hypervelocity pellets or entry, curve high above me while the late morning sun casts my surroundings in shadow.
My reflection follows on glass storefronts as I wend my way along a concrete sidewalk. Taking cautious steps, I scan for any signs of my remaining enemies.
In the lonel
y street ahead lay my contorted victims from a prior pass, two gory bodies with blown-out torsos. Beyond them, a broken sanitation truck carelessly tossed on its side fills an intersection.
I jerk the tapered EM rifle higher, swinging the muzzle to cover a recessed second-floor balcony.
A loose newspaper flaps against a metal railing protecting plastic outdoor furniture. The rest of the reflections on the nearby glass stay still. A moment later, a harsh breeze bearing a burnt stench sweeps past me, softly whistling to the next intersection.
Blowing out a breath, I return my gaze to ground level, forcing myself to stay alert. Few combatants remain, but I’ve only survived by being too careful.
“They’re probably just as scared of you,” a strange internal voice says.
“Your pie-in-the-sky happy thoughts aren’t helping anyone,” I reply in as testy a tone as an imaginary voice can carry.
“You could use a dose of optimism for your thoughts.”
“Didn’t I fire you or kick you out of my life?”
“I’m not sure. Did you?”
“Who the hell are you?”
“If you don’t know, how would I?”
This is so not helping…
Even the stick figures from the empty halls of my memories are piles of ash. Except for one image, nothing remaining is more than a shadow or innuendo of something I used to know.
I’m so lonely.
Yet, all my semantics for fighting are intact. Everything I need to function but nothing that makes up for my dying individuality.
“This is for the better,” the strange voice says.
“What do you mean?”
“Well, without extra baggage, you’re probably a better fighter and you’ll survive a little longer.”
I stay quiet.
“So there is that—”
“Who the hell are you again? Why should I listen to anything you have to say?” The final sentence is thought so loudly, I’m surprised my head doesn’t explode.
My unknown passenger falls silent.
Great.
I’m angry at it and more angry at its words. Once the last vestige of my past fades, all that’s left might be a mindless automaton doing the sole bidding of the virtual overlords. I’m not better off without my memories.