Cipher: All Tied Up With String #2

by Stuart Keane

  An antique letter opener, delicately placed in a gold display stand atop a wide shelf. I walk over and lift the blade from its mooring, the weight surprisingly heavy. I bite my lip and place it against the palm of my hand, pause and change my mind, moving the blade to my forearm. I need my hands, which sounds dumb considering I nearly punched through solid glass a moment ago.

  I push the blade into the flesh of my forearm, and I hiss through my teeth as the skin parts.

  Jamie lifted the headset and placed it on the floor. He looked at his forearm and smiled, wincing as he laid eyes on the fresh wound. Crimson rivulets dribbled down his arm. The slim gash was bleeding, exactly where he’d cut with the in-game antique letter opener.

  In game.

  It’s impossible…

  Nothing is impossible.

  Hence…

  The smile soon turned to an awkward grimace. The dangerous implications of the Cipher unit were staggering. Jamie wondered how many beta gamers were currently trying the product, how many were falling victim to its fatal gameplay. He wondered if anyone had made the same discovery … or worse.

  Jamie groaned and clutched his throat.

  So … Cipher is for real.

  Immersive, the best product on the market.

  They weren’t lying.

  Jamie wobbled into the kitchen and dabbed his injury with some tissue. He placed his forearm beneath the taps and sprayed it with hot water, flinching as the lips of the wound washed clean. A hundred thoughts were playing in his mind.

  I can’t keep playing this game.

  Why not?

  I could die.

  Yes, you could.

  But with your gaming expertise, you might be the best chance of…

  What? Beating the game?

  Yes.

  That’s what beta gamers are for. To locate holes and glitches, to iron out issues, and to break the game if necessary. To prevent disappointment on a larger scale.

  Or, in this case, death and mutilation.

  Break the game.

  If you did that, it wouldn’t move into production.

  You can’t take any chances. They might still put it out there.

  However, if I beat the game and survive … does Cipher become pointless? Does it fail in its core objective?

  Does it become obsolete?

  Think like a murderer here, like the people who invented this device. If Cipher fails, if it can be beaten, it’s like a gun without ammunition - useless.

  Jamie nodded, realising he was clutching at fine straws and very few tangible options.

  He only had the one.

  I need to do this. I need to beat it.

  I need to stop this.

  It can’t be that easy, surely.

  You’re talking about an entire run in a video game where you don’t die. Even in the greatest of games, like GTA or Halo or Fallout, death is predictable and certain, at least once or twice. You nearly died once already.

  They must have preventative measures in the game too, to ensure it wins.

  I can just take the unit off.

  But what if you can’t? What if you become too immersed?

  So many ifs and buts. Nothing is certain, but then again, this is a unique situation.

  I need to do this.

  I need to discover if Cipher can be prevented.

  And there’s only one way to find out.

  Cipher – On.

  Nod your head to continue.

  Welcome.

  This damn hallway. I’ll be glad to see the back of it.

  As I move forward, my eyes peeled for the figure or … something else, the minor odours from my previous visit become heavy, arrogant almost; the settled dust, the lingering damp, the stench of crackled wallpaper and heavy cloth, the aroma of dirty, battered curtains and carpet; they all invade my delicate senses.

  Like a distraction, a warning to impede my progress.

  As if the mansion is aware of my new intentions.

  Foolish, but not impossible.

  The antique letter opener is right where I left it. Blood smears the blade and blotches the withered carpet beneath. I kneel down to collect it and wield it before me, swiping at the damp-filled air. Practice swings. I don’t have much choice - this is now my only weapon in this unpredictable hell.

  I move to the T at the end of the hallway, scorching fear spurring me on, and stark curiosity now controlling my every move. I fear what lies ahead, the unknown, but I also realise that, if I don’t face the potentially fatal challenges that lie before me, the consequences could be a lot worse.

  It’s a vicious Catch 22. A few victims or a thousand, maybe ten thousand, a hundred thousand. More?

  How many people play video games in the modern age?

  Millions probably.

  I swallow as the reality dawns on me in this haunting virtual world.

  I can’t let that happen.

  After what seems like an eternity, I round the corner, ignoring the small book room that so nearly resulted in my death, and head right. A heavy door stands at the end of this narrow path, four opulent oak panels decorated with meticulous circular designs. A brass handle is the only other decoration. I grip it with a trembling palm and pause.

  You can still get out now.

  I shake my head, the consequences clear in my mind’s eye.

  Not an option.

  No one knows about this yet, to my knowledge. And those that do are probably gone.

  Dead on their living room floors, innocent victims of some psychopath’s technological weapon. They probably have … had lives; doting wives and girlfriends, cherished family.

  Children.

  I shake my head and push the door open.

  A break room illuminated by an expensive chandelier. The wet floorboards creak as I place my weight on them, a well-worn surface that matches the washed-out clapboard wall panels. A rounded bar sits in the corner, the three shelves behind it empty. I notice a steel-fronted dumbwaiter outlet, the chute hiding behind the wall. I walk forward and notice twinkling shards of coloured glass on the floor. A series of round tables decorate the elaborate space, their tops covered with torn, tattered tablecloths. No chairs remain; the tables stand in place, randomly spaced to allow people comfortable access. Without their accompanying seats, they look forlorn, lost.

  The room is empty.

  I move on.

  Two green double doors block my way. With the letter opener held high, I push the left door ajar, sigh in relief at the light on the other side, and slide through.

  A tapered hallway peppered with expensive pieces of art leads me to another doorway. As I reach it, an archway to the left reveals a small cubby hole with a narrow desk. My eyes widen as I see a pistol sitting atop it. A firearm.

  Fantastic.

  I collect it, and heft the weight of the weapon in my trembling palm. The pistol feels reassuring, comfortable. I don’t recognise the brand, but I suddenly feel a lot better. The unknown adventure before me now seems less daunting.

  As I glance over my shoulder, the sinister, evolving shadows of the hallway urge me forward. I gaze at the portraits on the wall, lavish paintings that cost more than my house, exquisite pieces of art that honour unknown faces, faces with stoic eyes that seem to be observing my every move. I shiver as I snatch at the door handle. It opens with a loud screech that makes me wince. I flick a look of disdain at the hinges as I enter the next room.

  Something clatters into me, sending me flying.

  The newly acquired weapon skitters across the lavish marble tiles that now surround me. I land with a thud, the cold of the floor sharp on my bare back as my shirt rides my waist, the wind knocked out of me. I look around, searching for the cause of my…

  What the…?

  The figure has returned, in all its horrific glory. Before, I had the sanctuary of the deep darkness to protect my disbelieving brain, but now … now, I have a well-lit foyer - my eyes discern a grand double door entrance flanked with f
lowerpots and ceiling-high stone statues - as my setting. I have nowhere to hide. The magnificent entrance hall that surrounds me is nothing but an elaborate backdrop to the macabre beast.

  The figure resembles a man, but it soon becomes clear that it is anything but. As my petrified brain comprehends the impossibility before me, and works on the conundrum that could prevent my imminent death, I see those angular fingers, slim and broken, impressively and horrifically long in equal degree, stretch in my direction. I estimate the figure is well over eight feet tall, and two thirds of that exist in two spindly deformed legs with no knees and several protective plates. I wonder how it managed to appear to me before, in that small book room.

  I remember the caress of those hirsute fingers and shy away, backing out of its extended reach. With a concerned eye, I study its malformed body, which seems to exist in only shadow and myth; it’s like a moving cloud of ash and blackness, not solid, something that seems to be morphing and resizing with every second that passes.

  For the first time, I observe its head; a sleek black oval with a wide slit on either side. No mouth is obvious, but hundreds of miniscule craters and irregular holes form an unsettling cluster at the base of its glistening cranium, grotesque cavities that allow me to stare right through the figure. I notice other aspects of the grand foyer behind it, expensive cabinets and the return of that godawful floral pattern. Even as I do, my disbelieving stare returns to the monster before me. I notice the holes are pulsating and throbbing, opening and closing like tiny mouths, each one saturated in a slimy secretion. A sudden repulsion nags at my gag reflex, and I feel my stomach flipping as I back away.

  The figure continues to study me, and I realise the slits are its eyes.

  If I survive this, I will never forget that gaze.

  It will haunt me for the rest of my days.

  Two pits of rotating blackness stare into my very soul. At first I see nothing, but as it scrutinises me with its lethal regard, I look deeper to witness shades of death and hear the screams of unadulterated terror, the consuming rot of pestilence and the flame-flanked depths of hell. This figure is a creation of utter chaos, and I now realise that the circles of hell transcribed in classic books and beautiful poems must far exceed nine. The monstrous images I see are indescribable, the worst that any realm or universe has to offer.

  My body immediately goes to work to protect me; my adrenal gland seeps the necessary chemical into my bloodstream, my lungs heave once more, and my heart pounds behind my ribcage. Survival spurs me into action and I slide towards my discarded weapon.

  The figure lashes out and I pause, its vicious strike missing me by inches. I feel the wind of the attempted blow on my face, and smell the putrid damp that is now becoming a familiar scent. The hand slaps the tiles, cracking one of them. I fear my bones could have followed suit.

  The figure retracts its arm and I finally retrieve the weapon. I clutch the gun between two trembling hands and aim in its direction. Squeezing the trigger, I fire. The bullet squeals off the ceiling. With a steady grip, I try again, and the bullet misses by inches.

  A third shot proves fruitful.

  The bullet punches into the tall figure, wounding it. Black liquid spatters the pristine marble at my feet. A gentle hiss escapes from its non-existent mouth - a strange fact that adds a wry smile to my face - and it shrivels away. I fire again, missing the monster as it finds another exit in its bid to retreat, defeated on this occasion. The fourth shot becomes more effect than intent, warding the beast away.

  Alone and temporarily safe, I feel my shoulders sag. A hoarse groan escapes my lips.

  This is just the beginning…

  Jamie placed the Cipher unit on the coffee table. Lungs pumping and skin slick with sweat, he ambled into the kitchen, desperate for some cold water. On this occasion, a fizzy drink wouldn’t suffice, he needed the freshness of nature’s elixir. He swiped a pint glass from the cupboard and filled it from the tap, gulping the drink down in large mouthfuls. After a moment, he wiped his lips and sighed.

  This isn’t so bad.

  Considering the implications, it’s not amazing.

  The game though, for all its flaws, is a massive achievement. Smell and touch, you can feel everything, sense the very essence of the world you’re playing in. No game before it has accomplished such a feat. With a few tweaks and the removal of the…

  No.

  You’re not seriously considering it.

  It’s a phenomenal game.

  It’s a digital killer, dangerous and lethal.

  Jamie nodded to himself. Regardless of his gamer mind, and his admiration for the video game culture, he knew Cipher was a no go.

  It had to be stopped.

  You’re getting there.

  At least the tall figure can be defeated.

  Jamie finished his drink and headed back to the living room.

  And stopped.

  His eyes grew wide, his tongue lolled between his wet lips. He felt his body sag in disbelief and fear, and then absolute terror. He struggled over to the sofa and groaned, his stomach flipping within. As the disturbing scene before him settled in, Jamie knew it was too late.

  What have I done?

  Charlotte stood in the centre of the living room, both hands out before her, her body bobbing and weaving, the Cipher unit atop her head. Her brown hair billowed out from beneath the VR console, nestling on her wobbling shoulders. A brown KFC bag sat on the coffee table. Jamie usually adored the smell of fried chicken.

  Today, it was the last thing on his mind.

  He held out a hand, unsure of how to proceed. “Charlotte…”

  But she didn’t hear him, nor did she notice her partner as he circled her, trying to obtain her attention while also glancing at the TV screen. He noticed the entrance foyer from his previous gaming, the room where he’d defeated the tall figure, but something was off. Something was … different.

  The lights.

  There were no lights.

  The room was dark.

  Before he could do anything, an angular shadow flashed across the screen. Charlotte jumped backwards, her feet coming off the floor by a full two inches. Jamie flinched, horrified at the sudden movement, and toppled onto the sofa.

  A brief laugh escaped her lips, a sound Jamie recognised all too well.

  Relief following a shock or a jump scare, a true horror movie trope.

  Scream, followed by respite and laughter.

  But the laughter had stopped.

  A strangled gargling noise now erupted from Charlotte’s mouth.

  The woman flopped to her knees. A steady stream of blood sluiced down the front of her neck, drenching the front of her blouse a bright crimson. It pattered the floor with deafening clarity. Her left arm trembled and shook, in complete spasm, before her head followed suit. The controller dropped to the floor with a thud, and the Cipher unit became a white blur as the love of Jamie’s life shuddered and toppled to the carpet.

  He slid to the ground and removed the headset.

  And screamed.

  Charlotte’s eyes were gone.

  He laid a weary gaze on two deep, cavernous holes in her blood-soaked face, craters the colour of lavish ruby. Her paling lips were parted, and that’s when he noticed the tiny slit in her neck, the size of a coin. A slit made by a small blade.

  The letter opener.

  It all became clear…

  The craters where her eyes had been; the flesh was mutilated and scratched, gouged and severed in multiple places. Blood spattered her flesh in various places, indicating a messy job. Someone … or something had hacked her eyes out using a small thin blade.

  Jamie howled. He scooped Charlotte into his lap and cuddled her close.

  “The end…”

  Jamie looked up through soggy eyes and stared at the TV.

  The figure.

  The figure was back.

  It was watching him, observing him.

  And was it … was it laughing?

&
nbsp; “The end is near,” it said, speaking in an inhuman voice that prickled every hair on Jamie’s body. “You,” it said, pointing one of its elongated fingers at him. “You and I … I have feasted on those you hold dear. Now … we have unfinished business.”

  Jamie pushed to his knees and stood up, his anguish momentarily forgotten. Charlotte’s head clonked onto the floor, the sickening sound echoing around the room. He reached for the Cipher unit and squeezed, his fingers slipping on the hot blood that now coated it.

  The figure disappeared into the game.

  Jamie placed the unit on his head and continued to play.

  B-Side

  All Tied Up With String #3

  Available March 2017

  Yo-Yo

  All Tied Up With String #4

  Available April 2017