by Zales, Dima
My attackers lose their grip on their ropes and tumble down.
One plummets without any signs of life, but the second one starts clutching at the air with his pincer-like fingers.
With a clank of metal, the creature manages to grab onto my rope several feet below.
The rope shudders, nearly causing me to lose my grip, but I manage to hang on.
Hoping he doesn’t shake the rope, I decide to do a risky maneuver. Letting go of the rope with my right hand, I grab the sword from between my teeth.
The Guard begins to climb up.
Though my sword hand is stiff with fear, I hack away at the wires below me.
The Guard moves closer.
I continue hacking away at the rope. Each downward swing of my weapon cuts some of the intertwined wires.
He climbs even closer.
I raise the sword higher and bring it down so hard that the ricochet causes my rope to swing toward the cliff.
All that’s left of the rope below me is a thin braid of red, blue, and green wires that look too thin to support the weight of the creature, yet, impossibly, they don’t break.
The Guard is almost on me. He reaches up with his claw-like pincers.
I use the sharp tip of the sword to cut at the leftover wires.
Only the red wire is left intact.
The Guard reaches higher, his pincers scraping at the sole of my shoe.
The red wire snaps with a soft ping sound.
Reflexively, the Guard continues to climb up the detached rope. As he falls, the creature claws at the cliff side, but all that accomplishes is leaving marks in the stone.
I stick the sword between my teeth again and resume the climb.
The last six feet are harder than all of the previous climb. Only two thoughts enable me to keep going:
This isn’t real. Don’t look down.
Finally reaching the edge of the cliff, I grip it with my hands and pull myself up, scrambling over the cliff on all fours. Breathing hard, I grab the sword from my mouth and stand up.
A thick coil of wires and screws securing the rope to the edge of the cliff is in front of me. I step over it and begin walking.
Almost immediately, I see the neon Goal structure. It’s a short sprint away. This close up, it looks like a giant rippling mirror made out of some mysterious luminescent material—a material blinding in its brightness.
All I have to do is find the energy to reach it.
Unable to help myself, I glance at the little watch on my wrist. On the tiny ghost Screen, Jeremiah is standing next to me, talking. On the table to his left is a syringe. The small captions scroll by, but I don’t bother reading them.
Instead, I push my tired muscles into motion and run.
When I’m two-thirds of the way to my target, I jerk to a sudden halt.
A new hovering door appears between the Goal and me.
Unlike the others, this one looks worn and rusted. With a screech of unoiled hinges, the door opens.
Incredulous, I stare at what exits through it.
23
The thing in front of me is a white-haired nightmare of gears, antennas, and drill bits. Like an octopus, it has eight wires instead of arms. Each arm ends in a set of pliers, and they all move around like the snakes on Medusa’s head. Half of its face is Jeremiah’s, but the other half looks like someone poured hot liquid steel onto it. Its left eye is human and blue, while the right one is not an eye at all, but an LCD screen.
I see myself on that Screen. My eyes are damp and unhealthily bright. Tendons are protruding from my neck, and my frantic pulse is visible. With the scowl on my bloodied face, I look like an ancient berserker.
Cyborg Jeremiah opens his mouth, revealing screws and nails where teeth should be. I hear a loud screech come out of the speaker that’s stuck in Jeremiah’s throat. Through the metallic radio static, I make out the words, “You’re dead now.”
In the next second, the thing charges at me.
His right middle tentacle reaches for my throat.
Coming out of my stunned paralysis, I swing the bolt-sword.
Half of the tentacle flops to the ground, machine-oil-smelling green blood spurting from the stump.
Now the monster’s left middle appendage tries to grab me. I time my slice carefully, and the arm joins its sibling on the ground.
Having lost two of his eight upper limbs, Jeremiah treads more carefully. He reaches for me with the top left and the top right arms at the same time.
I suck in a quick breath and sever the left appendage as I grab the right one with my left hand. Before he registers what’s what, I leap at him, bringing his right arm with me. The thing is stretchy, like a rope. He tries to grab me with his three left ones, but I swat them with the sword, and they retreat.
Finding myself behind him, I wrap the arm I’m holding around his other two right arms, tucking the tip of the appendage under his armpit. I then plunge the sword into Jeremiah’s back.
The creature jerks so violently that I end up leaving the sword in its back. Its three right arms seem stuck, as I hoped, but the left ones have free motion.
The upper appendage grabs me by my waist. With inhuman strength, it lifts me in the air, and the lower and upper left arms grab onto the flesh of my thigh and shoulder.
Before I can react, the creature throws me. I fly toward the edge of the cliff, chunks of my flesh left behind in Jeremiah’s pliers-hands.
As I’m flying, I note, almost as though from a distance, that the pain is not as bad as I imagined it would be. Is it shock, or does the game not allow the player to experience pain above a certain threshold?
I crash-land on my damaged shoulder and roll, bumping into the coil of rope wires. As air rushes out of me, I realize I might’ve jinxed myself again.
The game does allow for horrific pain, because I’m feeling it.
Trying not to swallow my tongue or bite it off, I lie in the fetal position and gasp for air as robo-Jeremiah walks toward me with menacing inevitability.
My gaze flicks away for a second, and I spot movement on my wristwatch Screen.
Real-life Jeremiah is reaching for the syringe on the table.
Horrified, I tear my gaze from the Screen and frantically scan my surroundings.
All I see is the wire rope I used to climb up the cliff.
Cyborg Jeremiah is a few feet away.
Without turning, I feel for the rope with my left hand. When I find it, I pull up the chunk that was left after I chopped it in half. Clutching the bottom end of the rope, I tie it around my right ankle in a double knot.
Doing my best not to dwell on the long drop behind me, I shakily rise to my feet. I glance down at my wrist for a split second and see that the real Jeremiah is turning to face me, syringe in hand.
My stomach hollow, I tear my gaze away again and wait.
The monster Jeremiah extends his upper left arm toward me.
When it’s within my reach, I close my right hand around the pliers that make up his hand and hold on as if my life depends on it—because it does.
His human eye registers surprise at my action.
If you think this is strange, let’s see what you think of this next part.
Bracing myself, I take a confident jump backward, off the cliff, and drag Jeremiah with me.
There’s a moment of weightlessness, followed by a nausea-inducing jerk as the rope pulls taut.
I’m swinging head down, the rope holding me up by my ankle.
I clench my teeth, preparing for the next part of my plan.
Jeremiah’s body whooshes past me on its way down.
The world seems to slow.
I see his back.
The bolt-sword is still sticking out of it.
With my free left hand, I grab for it.
He continues to plummet, leaving the sword clutched in my hand.
I open my right hand to let go of his pliers, but it’s not that easy. Before my fingers uncurl completely, the pliers grab my
wrist.
He jerks to a stop with a violent pull on my arm, and I understand why the ancients considered the rack to be the worst torture device ever created. Being stretched like this is unbearable, and it’s only made worse by the wounds I just sustained.
Through the haze of pain, I realize the sword is still in my left hand. I hack at Jeremiah’s wrist. With a splash of green, his flesh splits open, but he doesn’t fall. Instead, he grabs onto my sleeve with his two remaining appendages.
With a desperate growl, I jab him with the sword again.
More green liquid splashes across my face, burning me like acid.
One appendage remains.
My skin screaming in agony, I put all my remaining strength into this last chop and cleave the limb with one swing.
With a metallic screech and a fountain of green blood, Jeremiah falls.
My hand can no longer hold on to the sword, and the weapon follows Jeremiah, clanging against the rocks on its way down. I squeeze my eyes shut in an effort to not look down and strain my aching body once more as I reach for the rope.
My mind is in a fog as I climb back up, nearly blacking out from the pain. I feel like a ghost of myself—something I marvel at. Is the extreme pain I endured causing this illusion, or do I, in this game world at least, really exist as a spirit-type thing possessing this broken body? Is that what’s allowing me to force this humanoid shell to crawl toward that Goal structure? Then again, isn’t that how the human will is supposed to work, even in the real world? Mind over matter, determination over agony?
I crawl up the cliff, and once I get to the edge, I crawl forward.
The only reason I know my crawling doesn’t take hours is because I keep sneaking glances at my Screen from time to time. In that tiny display, I see why I’m still alive.
Armed with the syringe, Jeremiah is delivering a monologue that seems meant more for his conscience than for the benefit of my clearly unconscious self.
In my growing panic, I glimpse a tiny subtitle: “The good of the society outweighs the good of an individual.” He might’ve stolen that line from some ancient philosopher.
I crawl faster, the Screen flickering in front of my eyes as I move my elbows, one in front of the other.
“Now that it’s come to this, I really hope you at least receive Oneness. I don’t wish to cause you needless pain,” Jeremiah continues. “Then again, perhaps your brain being as it is, you will not feel what’s about to happen. One can only hope.”
Feeling sick, I extend my hand toward the shimmering Goal sign. My fingers push through it—and disappear.
The Screen on my wrist is still visible. The subtitles say, “Take solace in this: the people who knew you will Forget that they did. They won’t suffer the pain of your loss.”
Jeremiah moves the syringe toward my upper arm.
Gathering the remnants of my strength, I push off the dusty ground with my feet and rocket headfirst into the Goal.
As soon as my head crosses its mirrored surface, a kaleidoscope of odd sensations hits me. I think I smell the color red and taste sunbeams.
Instantly, I find myself standing on a large pedestal. Placards with the word ‘WINNER’ are plastered all over.
There’s a roaring noise. I look down and see millions of people standing below, clapping and cheering.
Remembering my predicament, I steal another look at the watch.
“If it makes you feel any better, I will be the one to suffer most from this,” Jeremiah says. “I will not Forget.”
I think the game figured out that I’m not interested in prolonging the celebration of my awesome IRES-beating abilities, because another light display and bout of synesthesia leave me floating in the middle of gray nothingness.
In front of me is a giant Screen that looks like the one I used to shut down the Zoo, only it’s a hundred times bigger.
There’s no text on the Screen at first, but then words appear.
Do you want to play again? the Screen asks.
“No,” I think and shake my head from side to side for good measure. “No, thank you.”
Shall I shut down?
“Yes,” I think and bob my head up and down in case it needs a gesture.
Are you sure?
“Positive,” I say, think, and nod again. “Affirmative. Yes.”
If you change your mind, the reboot time will take four hours. Please confirm you understand.
I glance at my watch. Jeremiah looks finished with his speech. The syringe is moving toward me.
“I fucking get it,” I yell at the game. “Just shut the hell down.”
Shutdown commencing, the giant Screen informs me.
This time, I travel as bodiless white light.
When I open my eyes, I’m standing in my man cave.
Something bright is illuminating the whole space.
I turn to look at whatever it is.
I’m faced with a being of light—a creature that resembles Phoe, yet is blindingly, overwhelmingly sublime, like the angels and demigods of ancient fairy tales. Her beauty is so overpowering I feel as if I might go insane from looking at her—assuming I haven’t already. The ethereal presence I felt during Oneness was a joke compared to this.
“Am I still in the game?” I wonder. “Or did Jeremiah kill me? Is there really an afterlife with angels and everything?”
“No,” a voice booms. “Do the gesture, Theo. Now.”
The sound of this voice does to my ears what her visage does to my eyes. It’s the most beautiful, soothing, healing song I’ve ever heard, better than the most haunting melodies by the most talented of composers.
“Do the fucking gesture,” the beautiful voice repeats.
Having something so divine use the f-word brings me out of my reverie enough to comprehend its meaning.
I start making the double-middle-finger gesture, which brings my right wrist into my field of vision. The Screen-watch is still there, and I see that the needle of Jeremiah’s syringe is touching my skin. What I can’t tell is whether it has already penetrated, and if it has, whether he’s pressing the plunger.
I flip off the creature of light and white-tunnel back into my body with a single wish: for my body to actually be there when I arrive.
24
I open my eyes to a white room.
The fact that I actually have eyes to open is a very good sign.
On a wave of relief, I notice my lack of in-game injuries.
Of course, none of this will matter in a moment unless Phoe saves me by using whatever resources I freed up when I shut down IRES.
This is when it clicks. The being in the man cave was Phoe, and given how she appeared and sounded, I must’ve accomplished something. Surely she didn’t look all deified just for kicks?
Suddenly, I feel a sharp pain in my arm.
I look down.
It’s the needle of the syringe finally penetrating my skin.
I squeeze my eyes shut. This is it. I failed.
I prepare for the pain, but it doesn’t start.
I open my eyes.
Jeremiah’s withered hand is holding the syringe in place, but he’s not pressing the plunger.
I look up at him.
His face is frozen in blissful blankness.
“You’ve seen that expression on the faces of your friends,” Phoe says from behind me. “When they experience Oneness.”
She’s right.
It’s Oneness’s telltale ecstasy that I see on his face.
“So it’s Oneness that stopped him from killing me?” I ask, trying my best to look behind me.
“Let me come around so you can see me,” Phoe says.
She’s not a ghostly figure, I realize as she walks into my field of vision. Nor is she Fiona—not that I really believed that theory when the game presented it to me.
Phoe looks exactly the way she did in my virtual man cave before she went angelic: she’s a cute pixie-haired woman.
“You have to excus
e how I looked when you saw me last,” she says. “I wasn’t used to the flood of resources you freed up for me.”
I stare at her, wondering if she’s really here.
“I’m still just a figment of your Augmented Reality interface.” She walks over and touches my cheek.
To my shock, I feel her touch, just as I did in the cave.
“I tapped into tactile, kinesthetic, and other AU sensory controls,” she explains. “Plus, I now have enough resources to modulate these details.” She points at her face and gives me a beaming smile. “I can also do this.” She makes a palm-out, pushing gesture in the air. The gesture is directed at Jeremiah’s outstretched arm.
In an odd, jerky motion, Jeremiah pulls the needle out of my skin and moves his hand away from me. The syringe clatters to the floor.
Looking satisfied, Phoe points at my restraints and does the same gesture again. Jeremiah’s arm reaches for my bindings in an unnatural motion, and he slowly unties me.
When he’s done, he extends his hand to help me to my feet.
“Careful now,” Phoe says. “Let the blood in your legs begin circulating again.”
“Are we safe?” I ask as I back away from Jeremiah’s hand and massage my limbs back to life. “Or could a Guard barge in at any moment?”
“I’m having everybody nearby experience Oneness, like him.” She nods toward Jeremiah.
I look at Jeremiah’s face and verify that he’s still floating in blissfulness. In fact, I think he was like this when he untied me.
“But how did you—”
“With my original resources, the neural nanos were nearly impossible for me to hack.” Phoe’s eyes are filled with a glow I don’t recall seeing there before. “I couldn’t exactly expect everyone to offer me that Screen exploit the way you did when we first met. Even in your case, there were limits. At first, all I could do was interact with your cochlear implants. Now I can play him like a musical instrument.” She waves her hand in Jeremiah’s direction, and a neural scan Screen shows up on top of his head.
Jeremiah’s face changes in response to her gesture. It goes from blissful to frightened in the span of a second. He also moves in a jerky motion again, raising his hands. His amygdala and other brain regions become active on the Screen. The neural scan is now completely different from the one associated with Oneness.