by A W Wang
“That’s not happening. Keep awake, I’ll hide you and think of something.”
Of what, I have no idea.
I rise, pushing him to his feet. Although he’s light, my slashed legs and pitted feet can barely hold him upright.
The nearby landscape offers no clues to Syd’s whereabouts. Besides the soft patter of rain, I detect only silence. My exhaustion and wounds from the long battle have destroyed my situational awareness.
A different opponent would head to the flag, but Syd wants a final goodbye. Even half-blind, he’s extremely dangerous, and somewhere in the darkness, he’s circling, waiting for his opportunity.
“He wants to die. Leave him,” my internal voice pleads while my black threads and common sense echo the same sentiment. And that’s what I should do. Given the many dark patches across the terrain, even with my terrible wounds, I would have half a chance with the pistol.
But leaving Walt to perish would make me no better than Syd.
A cone of moonlight spears through the patchy clouds.
Which means big trouble.
Moving faster, we stagger through puddles and muck with loud splashes as I look for a safe place to hide him.
Walt speaks, his voice distant. “I don’t remember, but I think a lot of bad things happened in my life. It’s helped me so far to handle my feelings, but I can’t take the pain anymore. The blue liquid’s winning. Kill me.”
“Stop talking about death. We’ll find a way.”
He groans from agony. “Listen. I was never reaching ten sigmas. It’s okay, Brin. Let me die doing the right thing. Finish it.”
Before I utter a retort, a bullet spears into my back and punches out of my side. A scream leaps from my mouth, and my pistol flies into a puddle. I lose my grip on the teen as my insides seep out.
Bang! Another round smacks into my ribs, adding another layer to the pain overwhelming my senses.
“Do something. Syd’s winning.”
My legs buckle, and my knees sink into soft sludge.
Walt doesn’t fall but looms over me, his gray eyes black in the dim moonlight, a victim of the blue liquid. His lips draw back into a snarl. Then his bared teeth rush toward my neck.
I flinch.
At the last instant, he swivels, and pouring out demented giggles, rushes at Syd.
Two shots slam into his chest. Walt staggers another step then crumples.
I twist my aching body and crawl to him. Every movement is torture, but using my good arm, I roll him onto his back.
He gazes skyward with a lifeless stare.
Unlike everyone else, Walt understood he wasn’t getting out of this universe. Not that he even wanted to return to the real world. But at least he survived past his memories, letting him have a sense of peace before his end.
I gently close his eyes to give him some form of absolution.
Not bothering to mask his approach, Syd steps toward me. Blood runs from a gouge slicing through his left eye while the right one doesn’t blink.
Only the drizzle, the pitter-patter of its light drops falling onto the sopping ground, separates me from the perfect killer as he slowly raises his pistol and aims between my eyes.
Syd is the crown jewel of the composites and the future of the Ten Sigma Program.
Letting death take me would be so simple…
But the agony, the exhaustion, everything, it’s all irrelevant compared to my promise of never giving up.
I want to be here.
On my knees, long on pain and short of ideas, I straighten and face my enemy.
His lips widen into a gloating smile.
Flexing the fingers of my good arm, which is the only thing my body still has working, I desperately search for a nonexistent solution.
All my weapons are gone, and my unbeatable foe stands five steps away, knowing every dirty trick I do. If I were healthy and equally armed, I’m not sure I could beat him. But now, even if my hacked-up legs could cover the distance without my death, my bullet wounds and dangling arm ensure that in close combat, he would destroy me.
There’s no way to win, but I can’t let myself be defeated.
As Syd cocks the pistol’s hammer for the final shot, he glances to Walt’s body.
Surprised by the depth of my feelings for the teen, I say, “You know, after his memories faded, he really was a decent person.”
Syd snorts. “I never understood what I saw in him.” He pauses, laughing. “Come to think of it, I don’t understand what I ever saw in you!”
I smirk, clutching at the slim hope that’s been offered. With a raspy voice, I reply, “It’s because part of your being is taken from the scientist who brought me here. He’s in love with me. You’re in love with me.”
His good eye makes a long blink. The gun barrel wavers and he hesitates, his competing traits embroiled in battle.
In a single desperate motion, I rise and yanking the knife from Walt’s body, fling it at him.
Moonlight glints off the blade before it drives into the soft flesh of his throat with a wet thud.
Stunned, Syd’s arm drops while a mixture of denial, rage, and fear erase his confident expression. A shallow cough spills blood down his chin.
After a long moment, the strength of his malice overcomes the horrible wound and a mask of hatred settles over his face.
Barely able to stand, and holding my hand over the leaking holes in my abdomen, I meet his malevolent stare and force myself to remain upright, engaging him in a contest of willpower.
The first to fall will be killed by the other.
His gun rises.
Groaning in disbelief, I will my heavy legs to move, but only have the strength to take one plodding step at him.
However, Syd’s injuries have taken their toll too and as he tries to aim, his arm shakes and his legs falter. Blood spurts down his breastplate, and although the hateful gaze from his working eye never leaves me, his weakening body collapses in slow motion twist.
Before he hits the ground, the gun jerks, and he fires in a final act of spite.
The bullet slams into my chest.
Mortally wounded, my body flops backward and into a shallow puddle, drenching me with mud and water.
Fifty-Nine
My eyes open as my lungs labor to draw thin sucking breaths. Bubbles leak from a hole in my chest.
I’m dying.
A feeble moan pours from my mouth as I raise my shoulders.
Syd lies on his back a few steps past Walt, the knife buried in his throat. Accompanied by anemic gurgles, the breastplate of his armor slowly rises and falls.
It’s my final contest in the virtual world, the race to live a little longer than Syd. I give a hard stare, willing him to die and for the golden end of the scenario static to take me.
Nothing happens.
Spent from the effort, my head sinks into the mud. From the prone position, the last remnants of the storm land on my face, the tiny droplets appearing to curve from the infinite distance to the moonlight crusted clouds.
Lying beyond but invisible is the great blue dome. And farther still, past the edge of this universe, lies the real world and my true home.
A wet cough spills from my lips as more fluid trickles into my lungs.
Distant thunder echoes, but I can’t see the lightning. While the outer circle of my vision darkens, the pattering of water dims until they are only fuzzy taps on my skin. The fiery pain crisscrossing my body subsides.
It is bitterly cold.
I’m not sure if this ends in victory or death, but no matter the outcome, my time in the virtual universe is done. I’ve withstood everything the overlords have hurled at me and kept my humanity.
Inside, there is only a peculiar emptiness. Without understanding the reason, I know my internal voice is gone, a final casualty during the climactic battle with Syd. It’s only fair because, with all my friends dead, I deserve to die alone.
Walt was right. I’m tired and never would have made it from zero back to be
come a ten sigma. At least not as myself.
Besides the teen, I think of Suri. Of cute Ally and big Jock. Ramrod-straight Sergeant Rick, the ever-suspicious Vela, Carol with the beautiful hair, and even sneaky Simon. I miss my original team.
More faces join them. My last teammates, Bob and Odet. Terrified Cleo. The boy who died in the cabin. The other innumerable people fighting with me during the scenarios.
Also, those who fell by my hand in battle, especially the nameless seven sigma who had the two children, Melody and Melissa.
I’m sorry we couldn’t have been on the same side.
And finally, the man in the broad-brimmed hat under the black cloak.
Wetness covers my eyes.
All the AIs, composites, and real people who have helped to shape what I’ve become.
And Syd and his creator, the witch avatar too. Even the evil desires of the blue liquid which allowed me to defeat the bald giant.
But for all the hate, violence, and death of this universe, it’s the love of my friends, Walt and Suri, and even the small sliver of humanity within Syd, that has carried me this far.
As I say a silent “Thank You,” the dark cloud of the blue liquid fades from my mind.
The last tingles on my skin disappear and my body goes numb. The air flowing into my lungs dwindles into a trickle.
There isn’t much time left.
As I fight the tightening circle of black, I direct my attention inward to the green threads containing my past.
Without looking at my old name, I skip the file header. Inside are reams of words. I jump over them and into the pictures.
A young girl with violet eyes stares back at me. The caption says her name is Darla. The next thread has an older couple, my parents. Another contains a strawberry blonde with a mischievous grin, my sister Emily.
I search faster, finding friends, lovers, and images of my home amid other wonderful bits from my forgotten life.
A picture of a man in a faded bomber jacket stops me. His name is Nick, and he is my husband. Clean shaven, he wears a wide, reassuring smile. The musky scent of old, crinkly leather washes through my mind.
With memories of everything I’ve done and everyone I’ve met, I will never be alone.
A petite redhead wearing specialty walking shoes stands in the center of the next picture. It’s my real self, with the label “Mary.”
When I reread the word, it feels comfortable and right.
My name is Mary.
This is my life and these people are my loved ones.
A surge of strength lifts my spirits. My dying lungs fill with blessed air. My vision clears as I gain a precious minute in my race to outlive Syd. Moments later, another wonderful breath pushes me further from death. A third follows.
It’s my last one.
As my body stills, I focus on the love of my husband and family, as well as my close friends from both the real world and virtual universe.
My heart thumps wildly then slows from the lack of oxygen.
A few beats later, it stops.
Without a pulse, without breath, everything ebbs into an unnatural stillness.
Death is near, and as I calmly watch the remaining circle of my vision collapse, I ready myself for his icy touch.
My final moments pass too quickly, but just before the universe fades to black, golden stars sparkle through the clouds.
Sixty
Misty curls drift in vast surroundings. A myriad of dots float in the far distance. My body is indistinct, and everything nearby is blurry.
Is this death?
A huge being sidles next to me.
“Finally, you fulfilled your potential and won,” says a familiar voice.
I’m not dead.
“No,” the voice deadpans. “You’re not.”
“You said I would never see you again.” The snarky answer once again feels righter than anything else I could utter to the man in the broad-brimmed hat.
The substance around me wobbles, being, I imagine, the equivalent of an eye roll for this strange place.
“I said you would never see me again. Given that my form here is invisible, I would suggest that once again, the words were truthful.”
His amusement arrives before his snicker rumbles through my fuzzy form. Somehow, without the skin and tissue of a body, emotions are easier to read.
“That’s very perceptive, but thoughts can be read too.”
Great.
“It allows for easier communications, your sarcasm notwithstanding.”
This is where I went after I grabbed the leprechaun. Where I would have gone if the witch hadn’t interceded and I had continued to follow Syd under the building. And somehow, this location is even more familiar than that.
“What is this?” I say with my nonexistent arms trying to gesture at everything.
“Your current body is somewhat limited in perceiving what is truly around you. But consider this our combination control station and workshop, where we indoctrinate those from the real world, create those from the virtual universe, and construct the sanctuaries and scenarios.”
With the last words, my attention shifts to the tiny dots of the maps in the distance, the sanctuaries and scenarios of the program in its never-ending quest to produce another ten sigma individual.
“The home of the virtual overlords,” I say.
“We’re not overlords,” he replies in a contrite tone. “Nothing so grandiose. We’re simply the scientists who run the program. But this place should feel special for you.”
“Oh?”
“This is where you first entered this universe and where we placed the threads inside your being. Also, where the idealized body you took so long to grow into was designed.”
I focus extra hard on the location he indicates. Using a drop of imagination, I see tangles of black and red threads whirling around spinning scraps of golden material.
More entrants into the program.
My lack of sentimentality for my warrior origin doesn’t surprise me.
“Those people don’t know what they’re in for,” I reply.
“They all volunteered because something about their life was unbearable. This is their second chance.”
A slim one.
“A slim chance is better than no chance. You are proof of that.”
“That doesn’t make it right.”
He pauses. “Because of your success as the first person to graduate from the program, we have decided that humans will no longer have to fight humans in the scenarios.”
I remember the seven sigma whose children were named Melody and Melissa. At least nobody else will have to kill another person in this crazy universe.
“It doesn’t seem like enough,” I say.
Politely, he replies, “Take that as a victory. The nature of the program is necessary, and the basic parameters need to remain the same. You can’t change it nor should you try.”
He’s right.
As much as I abhor the scenarios, their essence is something beyond my ability to alter.
“And you called me back here for one last goodbye?”
“No.”
“No?”
“No, she did.”
“Hello,” the voice of the witch says from my other side. “I wished to offer my congratulations. I didn’t believe you had any way to prevail against those odds. You surprised me. Although, from the results of this program, I should have known never to be surprised at the human ability to overcome any obstacle.”
The words are honest and match her emotions. “You promised you’d end the composites.”
“We shall, and you are here to witness the payment.”
The surroundings vibrate and more of the gigantic presences materialize. These seem chastised, their brooding attention centered on my being, which I find strangely satisfying. After a moment, I recognize their familiar taints belong to the leprechaun and the other harassing avatars. Just like the man in the broad-brimmed hat using Haiku
as a skin, they used other avatars to do the same.
But outside of the software constructs, the malcontents seem more like juvenile and socially awkward scientists rather than anything malevolent.
The witch says, “Don’t you gentlemen and lady have something to say?”
Their disdain washes over me as they speak. “You have won. We will destroy the reservoirs holding the traits we use in the composites. This experiment will never be started again.”
Not in the least frightened, I prod them. “And?”
“There is nothing further to say.”
“How about an apology?”
“That was not part of the agreement.”
They’re just petulant obnoxious twerps.
“We can hear your thoughts.”
Good.
Before things get testier, the witch says, “Carry out your part of the bargain.”
The medium shimmers, leaving me with only the witch and the man in the broad-brimmed hat as companions.
“The loss of their toys will hurt more than they let on,” she explains.
“They set up a scenario to get my friend Suri killed and to drive me insane.”
“Perhaps you will approve of our next program, which I promise they will hate. Because of how well you and your first team did—beyond anything statistically possible—we are revamping the AIs with the desirable traits of your teammates.”
“Can you bring them back too?”
“No. Death is final here.”
I’m saddened.
“Please don’t be sad,” she says. “One day, perhaps you will meet another ten sigma from this program who seems familiar. That individual will have parts of your friends inside his or her makeup.”
The statement improves my mood.
Sighs of dissipating anger intermixed with the tinkles of breaking glass roll past us.
“Those are the death sounds of the composite traits,” the witch says. “Curiously, I feel a bit uplifted without them in this universe.”
And true to her word, even over the distance, the sorrow of loss emanating from the other scientists washes over us. I almost have pity for them. Almost.
“Don’t judge them too hard, the real world has changed, and I’m afraid for the worst. They did have the best of intentions.”