by A W Wang
The hateful glances from the leprechaun and several of the other avatars spring into my mind. “Great.”
As if reading my thoughts, the man in the broad-brimmed hat says, “The reasonable one and the person in charge.”
She adds, “Although I’m a scientist, I’m not like the others because as the lead administrator, I need to do what’s optimal for the program.
“Humans or composites, the direction we should follow is not a certainty, as some of my colleagues and rivals feel. While it’s difficult to get human subjects, creating and maintaining composites has its own unique challenges.
“When we first met under the sanctuary, we were fine-tuning Syd’s traits. The composites require a substantial amount of maintenance, but they’re also quite effective.”
“And who’s going to maintain him when he gets back to the real world?”
“The goal of this program is to produce individuals capable of great deeds. Those who can do whatever it takes to win. And our proof is whoever reaches ten sigmas.”
While not a complete answer, she’s being honest as always, and I find myself reluctantly liking her. “Okay, what next?”
“We are in agreement to not reset your sigma score and allow you to try your fortunes against Syd,” she says.
The man in broad-brimmed hat adds, “That’s the good news, the bad news is that while we attempt to ensure parity, Syd is in the middle of his last scenario with a commanding lead. You’ll be metaphorically swimming upstream.”
“Is that all?”
“Isn’t that enough?”
I have more bad news for him.
“This will be my last scenario too.”
“That’s preposterous,” he says. “You are slightly more than a nine sigma. The ten sigma rule cannot be altered.”
My big dreamer optimism powers into overdrive. “I don’t need the rules bent but live or die this will be the end of my time here. Adjust the odds so that when I win, I’ll be at the ten sigma level.”
“Why that’s,” he sputters. “That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard.”
He’s right. The odds are so gigantic, I don’t want to know the answer. “You want Syd stopped, and your enemies want me stopped. I’m not spending another extra moment waiting for an angry leprechaun or psychotic teddy bear to set up another scenario to drive me insane or get me killed.” I leave out the part of being totally sick of my virtual existence.
“You won’t stop Syd with those odds. You’ll be dead.”
“This is the purpose of the Ten Sigma Program.”
“Foolhardiness isn’t the purpose of this program.”
“I have a proposal.”
“Proposal? There is nothing that can justify this,” he says, shaking his hands.
“Let her speak,” the witch interrupts.
“No,” he says, raising his voice. “I won’t hear of this. You’d just love her to get killed to prove the superiority of your composites.”
The witch turns to him, anger flashing in her eyes. “I’ve already stated my neutrality. We both want the best for the program, don’t we?”
Before their argument boils into a screaming match, a question pops into my mind.
“What will you do?” I say.
They pause, eyeing me with curiosity.
“What will you do?” I repeat, louder. “That’s what you asked when I entered the virtual universe. The choice between heading into an unwinnable situation or staying safe. I’m going to the impossible battle.”
The man in the broad-brimmed hat flicks his fingers dismissively. “The more important questions is, ‘How will you win?’ This is more than talking your way to victory. You actually need a plan.”
I laugh. “No plan survives contact with the enemy. But that’s not the point.
“It’s not about making the right decision in an impossible situation. That’s not what you’re looking for in the Ten Sigma Program.
“You’re not trying to find someone who can be shoved into a tricky situation and win. That defeats the whole purpose of the program.
“You need someone who relishes being in the thick of things, the person who thrives when things are at their worst. Someone with enough confidence to rush into impossible situations and win. Over and over again. Someone who will always find a path to victory, regardless of the odds.”
I pause, stifling a blush because the epiphany only came when I was in the shameful throes of the blue liquid, beating the life from the bald giant.
In a lower voice, I finish. “The question isn’t ‘What will you do?’ The question is ‘Do you want to do this?’”
The man in the broad-brimmed hat stays silent, clenching his jaw, while the witch faces me and asks, “What is your proposal?”
“Take all the composites and everyone who knows the secret of the blue liquid and put them on the other team. Every last bad egg in one basket. Then if I win, you end the composite program. No more Syds.”
An uncomfortable moment passes as the two overlords weigh their options.
The witch breaks the stalemate. “I accept your challenge. If you are victorious against such odds, the composite program isn’t worth continuing.”
“No. No! I absolutely won’t allow this,” the man in the broad-brimmed hat says.
Instead of matching his undercurrent of raw emotion, I appeal to his logic. “You gave me this ideal body, hoping I would grow into it. Now, after everything that’s happened, I’m who I’m supposed to be.” I step to him and clasp his hand. “Now let me go where I’m supposed to be.”
His angry eyes meet my gaze.
“This is for the best,” I say softly.
Another moment passes before his anger melts, and he agrees by dipping his head.
I release his hand and step back. “And regardless of anything, this is my last scenario. If I win, I leave this universe and if I lose, I’m dead.”
“Agreed,” the witch says. “Very well, there is much to prepare. I wish you the best.” With those final words, she waves her hand and disappears.
“There is one last thing,” I say to the man in the broad-brimmed hat.
“What?”
“I want my memories back.”
“That can’t be done, they’re gone.”
“But you can give me the information about my life.”
“You’ve come so far not knowing.”
I narrow my eyes. “You’ve never been close to your family, have you?”
He shrugs. “I’m not, and you’ve asked me that before, but now that memory is gone forever, along with everything else. What you’re proposing is futile.”
“I remembered you.”
“Yes, you may have echoes of those involved with the Ten Sigma Program.”
Shadowy things enter my mind. Mr. Leader, Mr. Scientist, Ms. Lawyer with her irrational devotion to secrecy, and a glassy sphere topped by a golden ring.
“That means?”
“It means nothing because nothing is left from your specific past. Everything was erased to prevent any interference with your optimization process.”
“No, I won’t accept that.” Wildly, I look for something in the cavern of my memories. Zero. Even the ghostly touches of the ten sigma officials have no context. I can’t picture any of their details or where I met them.
“The Ten Sigma Program is your present and your future. Accept it,” he says with finality.
Letting my rebellious nature loose, I reply, “I react to violet eyes. That means some traces of my family are still inside me.”
He draws in a deep breath. “But consider: included in your past is everything that made you weak.”
“Those things helped me become what I am now. Better than a nine sigma. The best human you’ve ever recruited. I don’t care what format but give me every detail you have. Somehow, I’ll get my memories back.”
He blankly returns my stare before performing a strange motion with his hand. “Very well, I hope you find w
hat you’re looking for.”
Green threads appear in my mind. When I examine them, facts from my prior life pour out like paper sheets spilling from a filing cabinet. While the effect is similar to Suri pointlessly retelling my stories, they are better than nothing.
“Thank you.”
“If that is all, it’s time for you to have your final battle.”
When he raises his hand, I grab his palm.
“The chances of Syd and myself being on the same team were astronomical.”
“Perhaps. Good always finds evil,” he responds with a smirk.
“Instead of taking responsibility, you’re giving me a philosophical answer?”
He laughs. “Believe whatever you wish.”
Despite being seconds from entering my final scenario against the most lopsided odds I will ever encounter, I share his good humor with a smile.
Pulling his hand from my grip, he ends the levity. “I wish we could spend more time together, but the other powers aren’t particularly patient.”
Then he surprises me by leaning over and kissing my forehead. After he straightens, I touch where his lips lingered, confused by the action. I’ve been living in a universe consumed by violence and hate and death for so long that a few seconds pass before I recognize the emotion. It’s love.
His hand begins the weaving pattern as he steps backward. “This time, I truly promise you will never see me again. You will either die or return to the real world.”
Still unsettled, I lamely respond. “I wish I could say it’s been a pleasure.”
As the static wraps around me, his fading voice says, “Best of luck. Please be successful.”
The man in the broad-brimmed hat has changed my existence more than anyone I remember, and he never gave me his name.
Fifty-One
Heart thumping in anticipation, I materialize in my final scenario surrounded by the uncertainty of night. While I want to peek at my personal files, survival ranks as my top priority. I dive onto crusty sand, taking cover behind a curved ripple of land.
Never having entered during the middle of a battle, I expect everything.
When a minute passes without a threat, I assess the situation. Resting on my head is a comfortable helmet, my quick breaths making a light fog on its visor, while a thin ceramic armor encases my body. For weapons, I carry two grenades, a combat knife, one silenced pistol with an extra magazine, and a full ammo belt for my suppressed assault rifle.
Moonlight breaks through a stack of clouds stretching from the horizon and sends a ghostly curtain knifing across the terrain. In the visible portion of the night sky, stars twinkle.
I lift my visor and blink from a smoke-tainted breeze. Wood fires burning in scooped out holes litter the landscape. Not knowing the duration of the scenario, I presume they are everlasting.
After my eyes adjust to the dimness, I move my gaze beyond several small crests to a lattice of shimmering reflections. It’s a network of rivers carving the land into a series of islands with varied, flattish terrains lit by clusters of the orange bonfires.
Besides those oddities, this map has one other notable feature. Starting from just past my boots and spreading as far as my vision allows are shrubs resembling spiky aloe vera plants, with glimmers from the fires dancing on their tapered leaves.
My anticipation wanes. The details don’t matter. Syd is here, and my only goal is to kill him and every last one of his companions before my end.
A giggle floats past me.
I twist, my leg breaking a long leaf with a sound of a popping Christmas ornament.
When I check my armor, a deep scratch runs along its surface. The leaf is created from a thin, mottled material resembling a mishmash of metal and glass.
I shake my head at the craziness. These knife-like growths are everywhere.
Leading with my assault rifle, I rise into a combat posture and step over the crest of the land ripple. As my revulsion rises, I cautiously tread down the slope, looking for any sign of movement or ambush.
When my feet touch level ground, I pause, forcing my gaze directly forward, while bodies stripped of armor and staked out in grotesque positions populate my peripheral vision. They’ve been tortured with presumably their major nerves cut or spines severed. I don’t linger over the details because they’re too close to my own experience, and besides promising the man in the broad-brimmed hat not to succumb to the evil of the blue liquid, rage will only cloud my judgment.
With measured strides, I walk toward the back of a helmetless figure sitting in a meditative pose and facing a body with a hideously burned torso and mangled limbs.
As I approach, he remains motionless, his flaxen hair and ceramic armor bathed by the flickering orange light from the blazing wood fires to either side of him.
I stop at three paces away, ready to fire.
Without turning, he says, “There aren’t any threats. But you should be mindful of the plants, they’re dangerous.”
Although still suspicious, I ease my weapon to my hip, keeping it pointed at the center of his body mass.
While he slowly swivels to face me, only the steady crackle of the nearby bonfires and my shallow breathing interfere with the silence.
His delicate features form an unreadable mask when he meets my gaze. “Hello, Brin. It’s wonderful to see you again.”
“Hello, Walt.”
Motionless, we let the moment stretch.
Of course Walt is here. Anyone and everyone with knowledge of the blue liquid is on the other team. And none of them can leave this scenario alive.
A rising breeze fans the fires and blows strands of hair over his face.
My fingers tighten on the trigger.
He turns his palms over to show they’re empty, then he speaks in a voice radiating serenity. “Do you want me dead, Brin?”
“You killed Suri. You betrayed us.”
Yellow dots flash in the distance. A moment later the faint pops of suppressed gunfire arrive.
My eyes scan for threats.
“Weren’t you listening? I told you we’re alone,” he chides. “I didn’t kill Suri, she did that to herself. And I didn’t betray anyone. You did that.”
I pull my attention from the distant battle. In the most literal sense, he’s right. “Did you kill these people?”
“Me?” He smiles. “I couldn’t kill all these people. I’m not that good.” He snickers at some secret joke. An infusion of insanity, courtesy of the blue liquid.
“Why did you do this? Why not just kill them?”
The snickering stops. He politely says, “I told you, I didn’t kill them. As far as torture, maybe it was fun. Maybe it’s something I enjoyed.”
I pull the trigger.
Walt doesn’t flinch as my bullet flies under his jaw, leaving an angry red streak on his neck. His eyes express his disappointment. “Suri was on the other team. She had to die.” His voice cracks. “Now, I’m on the other team.”
The gun barrel wavers as my unsteady hands twitch. Thoughts of our past race through my mind. Of the good times in the barracks. Of the many times I saved his life and our more innocent existence before the first scenario.
Even as I gnash my teeth, my resolve falters. Walt has to die, but someone else has to do it.
When I lower my weapon, his lips contort, trying to suppress his inner workings. The effort fails, and loud cackles erupt from his mouth. “After everyone you’ve murdered, you’re having trouble now?”
Before I can step forward and punch him in the face, the low sound of a motorboat engine rolls by us.
“Last chance, Brin. That’s my team coming.”
It’s a lie. “Go poison another dog, Walt.”
Except for biting his lip, he shows no recognition of the only story he’s ever told me from his past.
Although there is more to say, I pivot and take deliberate strides away from him, marching over the low rise and another forty meters to the nearest river.
When
my feet reach the damp gravel near the water and I haven’t been shot in the back, I’m mildly surprised, but angrier with myself for allowing emotions to cloud my judgment. I need to be at my best, not only against Syd, but Walt and anyone else I could encounter.
“Since you’re where you’re supposed to be, perhaps you should do what you’re supposed to be doing?” advises internal me.
Rolling my eyes, I reply, “Yes, that wasn’t my best.”
“I hope not. It might be good to win this scenario.”
Unsure of why my optimistic internal voice has developed a snarky streak, I slowly shake my head, watching a five-person assault craft approach. It matches the boat from my very first scenario. Only now, three of the five places are unoccupied.
When the rubber bow scrapes ashore, the man in front lifts his cracked visor. Underneath the sweat and dust streaking his face, he’s handsome. With a southern twang and a dubious stare, he says, “You’re the reinforcements?”
After I nod, he jerks his head. “Get in.”
Fifty-Two
I lie in the middle of the craft as we glide through a forty-meter wide channel of slow-moving water.
From behind me, a woman with long black hair steers a quiet outboard engine and navigates us through the labyrinth of waterways. A patchwork of scars runs over her armor, and fear laces each of her breaths. She’s a newbie unlucky enough to have this shit-show as her first scenario. The man with the southern accent, a five, lies next to me, doing a better job of concealing his anxieties. He is in charge.
Their names are Cleo and Bob. Since I’m leading them to their deaths, I figure it’s only right to know what to call them.
As we round a bend, Bob points at the central apex of a flattish island. “Our defense is based around that flag.”
Syd’s objective is a square of glowing material draped from a sturdy two-meter high pole. Concentric ripples in the land emanate from its base and propagate into the surrounding water. Besides the rock dropped in a pond terrain features, the island holds more than a few sprinkled bonfires, casting metallic gleams off the dreaded plants, which appear to be everywhere.