by Zales, Dima
My fingers connect.
I’m so confused I almost welcome the whirlwind trip down the white tunnel.
When the flash of blinding light subsides, I look around and my heart sinks.
My body is in agony from the recent torture, and I’m once again tied up in Jeremiah’s cursed white room.
20
“This isn’t real,” I tell myself. “This is IRES messing with me again.”
“I’m afraid it is real,” Phoe says in my mind. “I know how it’s going to sound, given what happened the last time you played, but this is the real world. The game didn’t start. This is for real.”
“This is a game,” I repeat, squeezing my eyes shut.
“I’m coming in,” Phoe says. “It’s time we meet face to face.”
“That’s exactly what you said the last time,” I say, opening my eyes.
She doesn’t argue.
The door opens.
Fiona—the old woman who led Jeremiah away—is at the door.
“Theo, I’m Phoe,” she says as she steps into the room. “You might recall my real name is Fiona. You even heard Jeremiah call me Fi. Fi is what my friends call me. How did I always ask you to pronounce my name?”
“Like it rhymes with ‘fee,’” I mumble. “But this is all a coincidence, and this is still the game.”
She walks over to me and does something to my restraints. One second I’m bound, the next I’m free.
“Look at it this way,” Fiona/Phoe says, giving me a part-warm, part-sly smile that looks eerily like the one I saw on Phoe’s younger face a moment ago. “Even if this is the game, you don’t want the in-game Jeremiah to torture you. It will feel just as real as if you were in the real world.”
For a made-up person, she’s making a lot of sense.
“Fine, game-Phoe/Fiona.” I pick up the Stun Stick Jeremiah dropped on the floor. “What kind of world-ending event are you going to try to convince me to do now? Can we somehow unleash death by explosion instead of Goo?”
“I’m just here to lead you out,” the old woman says. “After that, we’ll find you a quiet hidey-hole and try to jack you into the game again.”
“Right,” I say sarcastically. Making air quotes, I add, “Again.”
She throws her hands up in a ‘I give up’ gesture and walks confidently toward the door.
I follow.
We exit into a long gray corridor.
“This way,” she says and goes right. “Walk quieter.”
I follow at my regular gait, muttering, “This isn’t real,” under my breath.
“That attitude will be your downfall,” Phoe says mentally. “Even if this were a game, which it isn’t, don’t you realize that if you die, you won’t complete your IRES mission? That means that in the so-called real world, you’ll be back in Jeremiah’s clutches, on the table in that room.” She points at the room we just left.
I shake my head.
This pseudo-Phoe continues making sense. Or is it my brain telling me this?
“Or maybe it’s IRES fucking with your mind.” Phoe’s mental voice is filled with mock paranoia.
“If you’re trying to be a convincing Elderly woman, you should abstain from using the ‘F’ word,” I subvocalize.
“Like Phoe— I mean, like I never used that language?” she asks challengingly.
“Enough,” I whisper. Subvocally, I add, “I’ll be careful.” To myself, I think, “But this is still a game.”
She doesn’t contradict my thought as she turns the corner.
“Shit,” her thought comes. “There’s a Guard here. Go the opposite way.”
I turn on my heels and hurry to the other end of the corridor. As I walk, I hear Fiona having a polite conversation with the Guard.
As I make my way to the end of the hallway, I wonder whether Fiona could indeed be Phoe—outside the game, that is. Could my subconscious mind have figured out who she really is and told me via IRES? Or could the game have figured it out after scanning my brain?
“Or this isn’t a game,” Phoe’s voice intrudes, “and I merely told you what’s what.”
I don’t answer.
I’ve reached a corner and need to proceed cautiously.
Repeating the maneuver I used in the Witch Prison, I crouch and peek from below a normal person’s height.
The corridor looks safe.
I get up and make the turn.
This corridor is about half the length of the other one. I can’t help but notice how much this reminds me of Witch Prison. Did IRES simply recycle that?
“If this was the game,” Phoe says, “do you think it would let you dwell on the fact that you might be in the game so much?”
“How can it stop me from thinking whatever I want?” I reply mentally. “And even if it could do that, it might find me doubting my reality entertaining.”
Phoe doesn’t have a comeback.
I walk to the end of the corridor in silence.
When I get to the corner, I repeat the stealth trick and turn into yet another empty corridor.
“Is this place a maze?” I ask as I reach a fork—empty corridors going in three directions. “Also, where are you? Where am I going? What’s the plan?”
“Go down the hallway on your right, then down the stairs,” Phoe says. “I’m already waiting for you.”
“You have to answer every one of my questions before I do anything you say,” I think at her. “So, what’s the plan?”
“There’s no time. Get here, and you’ll see,” Phoe says urgently.
I consider this. I picture going down the right corridor, walking into a room downstairs, and Fiona convincing me to press a button with her (double confirmation, of course). A digital countdown initiating some kind of self-destruct sequence for this facility, or all of Oasis, would no doubt follow.
Muttering, “This is a game,” I turn left, since that’s as close to doing the opposite of what Phoe wants as I can manage.
“You’ll regret that,” Phoe says, “when you realize how wrong you are.”
To tune her out, I mentally hum the ancient melody that I think is called In the Hall of the Mountain King. The suspenseful, tension-building music fits my mood perfectly.
The gray corridors go on for the next ten minutes.
This place really is a maze, which gives extra credence to my belief that I’m in a game. Games love mazes.
Another odd feature of this facility is the lack of people. I haven’t come across a single Guard after the one Phoe spoke to.
As though in response to my thought, I hear distant voices.
Great. I jinxed it.
I softly walk up to the turn in the corridor leading to where the voices are coming from, and crouch to take a look around the corner.
A white-haired man is standing there talking with a Guard.
They have their backs to me.
“Don’t, Theo,” Phoe says in my mind. “Don’t go near them.”
Since she’s telling me not to, I decide I should do exactly what my instincts are telling me to do: the complete opposite of what she says.
I crawl on the floor like a soldier going through enemy territory.
The men are too absorbed in their conversation to notice me.
When I get within reaching distance, I raise the Stun Stick and prepare to strike.
Glancing down at the nob Jeremiah was twirling earlier, I try not to shudder at the memory. There’s a little ‘plus’ icon on one side that I assume increases the voltage. Underneath that is a little button. I turn the dial in the ‘plus’ direction.
I extend the weapon, gently touch the Guard’s ankle with it, and press the button, hoping the shock will penetrate through his white boot.
The Guard twitches and falls like a sack of sand.
I quickly jump to my feet.
The white-haired man’s—Jeremiah’s—eyes look comically wide.
I thrust the Stick at him, but he dodges it. Then, in a whirl of motion, th
e Keeper dives for the belt of the fallen Guard.
I again try to jab him with the Stick.
I miss.
I try hitting him with the Stick, using it like a club.
It connects with his upper shoulder, but at this point, he’s already holding the Guard’s Stun Stick.
Like a fencer, he blocks my next jab with the Stick he just acquired.
His movements are too quick for what I’ve read about old people—yet another little point for the unrealness of what’s happening.
“Or his nanocytes are keeping him limber,” Phoe says. “Plus he could’ve trained as a fencer during his Adult years. If I were you, I’d focus on the fight. You don’t want to lose in either case.”
I don’t respond, but she’s right.
I try kicking Jeremiah in the shin.
He steps back and whacks my left elbow with the Stick, hitting the spot the ancients sarcastically called ‘the funny bone.’
My arm goes numb and agonizingly tingly. Only the memory of what this man did to me keeps me from dropping my Stick. I focus on that memory, forcing myself to ignore the pain.
Ancients called the emotion I’m feeling ‘bloodlust.’
With a shout designed to unnerve my opponent, I charge Jeremiah.
My shoulder hits him mid-stomach, and I hear air escape his lungs as my shoulder goes numb.
His Stick falls on the floor with a loud clank, and he doubles over, clutching his stomach.
In case he’s trying to trick me, I press the Stick against his skin and push the button.
He collapses to the ground in a heap of twitching limbs.
I know I should feel compassion, but I don’t. This is just a game, and even if it weren’t—
I turn in time to see the Guard grabbing for my throat.
He must’ve recovered from my jolt while I was fighting Jeremiah.
I duck, and he grabs hold of my hair. My scalp cries out in protest. It’s surprisingly painful to have your hair pulled like this.
I kick him in the groin—a move I employed against another Guard the last time I was in this game. I know this is a male Guard from having overheard his conversation with Jeremiah, which means that in theory, this kick should hurt a lot.
And yet the Guard merely slows down for a moment.
I use the pause to jam him with the Stick again, frantically pressing the button as I do so.
He shakes but doesn’t fall.
I turn the dial all the way up.
The Guard falls and convulses on the floor.
For good measure, I zap him once more and turn to look at Jeremiah.
The old man is trying to get up.
I touch his nape with the Stick.
“Don’t make any sudden movements,” I say. “We’re going for a walk.”
Without arguing, he gets up and starts walking down the corridor. I follow as he makes a left and a right down short pathways.
My Stick doesn’t leave his neck.
“He’s leading you into an ambush,” Phoe says. “He knows the Stick is nonlethal, so worst case is that you just zap him once, right before the Guards overpower you.”
I don’t respond to her, but to Jeremiah, I whisper in my most sinister tone, “If I see a single Guard, after I knock you out with this Stick, I’ll break as many of your bones as I can before they take me. I’ve read that bone density becomes a real problem as you age. You don’t want me to test that theory.” Of course, I’m bluffing. The very idea nauseates me, but he doesn’t know that. For good measure, I add, “I think I’ll start by putting this Stun Stick into your mouth and kicking it. That’ll more than likely break your jaw.”
I have no idea if my last threat is even physically possible, but it makes an impression. Jeremiah stops walking.
Up to this point, he was leading me down a long, windy corridor.
“We need to go back,” he says. “And make a left instead of a right.”
“Lead the way,” I say, trying to sound as menacing as possible.
We walk in complete silence. Even Phoe is quiet.
“I wouldn’t really have done that,” I think for Phoe’s benefit. “Not even here, in this stupid game.”
“I don’t know.” Her whisper sounds sad. “Without the usual nano-tampering, you’ve deteriorated to near-ancient neurotypical levels, and the ancients did all sorts of atrocities in the name of justice and revenge.”
“What will you do with me if I show you the exit?” Jeremiah’s hands are trembling as he walks. “Will you break my bones anyway?”
“I’ll use this Stick on you one more time.” I don’t know why I’m making my voice reassuring; this asshole certainly doesn’t deserve it. “I’ll set it to knock you out.”
“In that case, the exit is five more turns from here,” he says. “Left, right, left, and left, and right. You can knock me out here and go.”
“No,” I respond and poke him with the tip of the Stick. “Whatever trap you just tried sending me into, we’re entering it together.”
He walks silently the rest of the way, arms hanging limply at his sides.
We make the turns he suggested, and I see a door that looks like the twin to the one in the Witch Prison.
Looks like he didn’t lie to me after all—not this time anyway.
When we reach the end of the corridor, I point to the door and say, “Open it, and I’ll do as I promised.”
He looks at me. His eyes are watery. Without saying a word, he makes the regular ‘open door’ gesture. The door opens a sliver. It seems as if it would’ve opened for me just as easily.
“If I see something other than the outdoors after I open this,” I say, “I will come back in.”
He nods and squeezes his eyes shut, cringing as he waits for me to knock him out.
“You should sit”—I glance at the Stick to make sure it’s on the right setting—“so you don’t fall down and break something by accident.”
He looks at me with a mixture of gratitude and surprise. Then he lowers himself to the floor. As soon as I judge his ass is close enough to the floor, I zap him in the neck.
Jeremiah sags against the wall.
I’m about to head toward the exit, when I spot a shimmer coming from my wrist.
I look at it.
It’s as though an ancient wristwatch has formed on my arm. Instead of the usual watch dial, this device has a tiny, ghostly-looking Screen.
I recognize this Screen. I saw it toward the end of the last game, only it was bigger.
My pulse leaps, and I eagerly read the text on the Screen.
I hope you’re reading this, Theo, it says. This is Phoe, of course.
The little Screen runs out of viewing room after that sentence.
I stare at it, waiting.
The letters disappear, and a new message shows up.
I was finally able to hack permanently into IRES and anchor this watch to your avatar.
“I knew this was all fake,” I mentally scream at the in-game Phoe as I wait for the Screen to refresh.
‘Fiona’ doesn’t respond. I suspect she won’t be bothering me anymore.
You’re running out of time, the next part of the watch message says. I’m about to patch a feed to this Screen from the real world.
A tiny image replaces the text on the ghostly Screen—an image that sends a chill down my spine.
I’m on the screen, back in that white room, in the exact position Mason was in during his last moments. Jeremiah is there too. He’s saying something. Tiny text, like ancient subtitles, tells me what he’s saying, even though I could’ve guessed.
“Why is your neural scan like that?” the old man in the real world asks. “What’s going on?”
So there goes Phoe’s attempt to hide this IRES business from Jeremiah and his people. At least, given his questions, it sounds as if he has no clue what’s going on with my brain.
I also can’t help but notice how quickly Jeremiah returned and that he’s holding the
Stun Stick he dropped earlier, the doppelganger of the one that’s in my hand. That means the Council must’ve approved its use, despite what Fiona might’ve told them. I’ll remember this in the unlikely event that I live long enough to ever meet the Council and do something about it.
I force myself to stop watching. Now that I know what the situation is in the real world, the only way I can see to survive this boils down to beating the game and relying on Phoe to save me with her newfound resources.
It’s a small chance, but it’s better than none.
I give the in-game Jeremiah a kick to his side, but I do so pretty lightly, so as to not break anything. After all, a promise is a promise, even if I made it to an imaginary person who, even if he were real, doesn’t deserve my mercy.
This therapeutic activity done, I glance at the watch again.
The feed to the white room is momentarily gone, and the text is back.
Theo, it says. There’s something else.
I walk to the door as I wait for the Screen to refresh.
Now that IRES knows you’re certain you’re inside the game— Another screen refresh. Things could get kind of weird because it’s no longer bound by the parameters of your everyday reality.
“Great,” I whisper. All I need is for things to get weirder.
The watch returns to the scene in the white room, where Jeremiah is touching my unconscious body with the Stun Stick.
My body in the tiny image shakes as though it’s in pain.
Fortunately, I feel nothing here, in the game, aside from my heart beating as fast as a falcon diving for its prey.
Not feeling the pain of Jeremiah’s actions doesn’t make me feel any better, not when I know that my real-world heart could stop at any moment.
This realization reenergizes me for action, and I swiftly walk toward the door leading outside.
Opening the door, I step through it.
21
Unable to believe what I’m seeing, I tighten my grip on the Stun Stick.
Even for a fake world in a game, this is going too far.
I’m standing in something that looks like the Grand Canyon, only perhaps smaller. The red and brown colors of limestone and sand look nothing like what I’d expect to see in Oasis. It’s a terrain that no longer exists in the post-Goo world.