by A W Wang
I jump backward as the titanic blow flashes past my nose and thuds into the sand.
The massive figure pounces with outstretched arms.
I twist to the side, just avoiding his fingertips, and run toward the green threads.
A blood-curdling bellow pierces the night.
Terrified, I break into a sprint, shielding my face from scorching bonfires and whipping my feet around deadly plants.
Crinkly pops ring as the giant gives chase, his battle-mesh plowing through all obstacles.
As my foot clears the last ripple near the edge of the island, a hand yanks at my hair.
I tumble to the sand and block a kick to the ribs. After I dodge another one aimed at my shin, I clutch at the balled fingers and twist.
The bald giant falls away, and I dive into the dark river.
When I surface, I gasp, more from the surprise at getting this far rather than the icy temperature. I take tentative strokes against the slow-moving current, staying in the center of the channel to avoid underwater plants and glancing over my shoulder for any sign of pursuit.
Nothing.
Puzzled by the turn of events, I swim onward. A minute later, I locate a clear patch of beach and crawl onto wet pebbles.
Ahead, the flattish terrain resembles that of any other island with the orange of roaring bonfires and gleams of metal leaves spilled across a wide swath of sand.
And one green glow.
My heart thumps with excitement, and I set off to resurrect my past.
As I leave the shoreline, I heed Jonathon’s warning and scan the shadows for tricks.
Except for a gentle breeze and the crackles of burning wood, the night stays quiet.
With each uneventful step closer to the goal, my anticipation builds.
As I near, I pause and curl my toes, enjoying the shift of the dry sand. Should I run my hands over the threads, sampling details of my life until something happens? Or just leap into the mass of strands, come what may?
It doesn’t matter.
I sprint the final distance.
When I reach the green glow, my stomach sinks and a moan of anguish leaves my mouth.
The waist-high, incandescent shell lies open, the top peeled back like so many jagged flower petals. Inside, the breeze fans the charred embers of innumerable threads—each formerly containing a detail from my life. Black specks, once useful information, float past my face to find their final resting places in the dark canopy above.
My best path to restoring my old self is as dead as this husk.
“No!” I scream at all the overlords in this and any other universe.
Cackles fill the night, and the surroundings whirl in wild brushstrokes of blazing red and dying green.
When the dizzy scene passes, I’m standing next to the flag in my original position.
Across the river, the green glow collapses, spraying sparkly clouds into the air. The glitters last for a moment before fading against the dark backdrop.
The violet-eyed girl steps in front of me. Malice twinkles in her eyes. “I took the liberty of removing that weakness from your mind.”
I groan and ball my hands. A fiery haze settles over my vision. “I’m going to kill you.”
She smirks.
My fist flies into her face. She tumbles backward and smashes through a row of plants, filling the air with glittery dust and metallic pops.
I stare at my hand in amazement before chasing after her.
As she struggles to her feet, I let my fury take over and blast her again.
Cartilage crunches and blood spurts from her nose as her head rocks to the side.
I laugh. “I’m not afraid of you.”
A guttural yell erupts from her mouth, and she straightens into the intact form of the bald giant.
I lock on to its beady eyes and say, “I’ll keep killing every incarnation of you until you’re gone forever.”
Its lips tighten with rage, and a meaty fist arrives from the side.
Instinctively, I tilt, taking the blow off my shoulder. My return punch deflects off its thick forearm, and over the next seconds, we exchange flurries of attacks.
My software nemesis grows agitated and overthrows a right-cross.
I sidestep and rocket a punch into its flat nose.
As the construct staggers, my bloodlust surges.
I follow with a stomp kick to the stomach, buckling its knees. Not allowing a moment’s respite, I drill a side kick into its chest.
The ten sigma battle-mesh stiffens, but the force of the blow knocks the huge form into a bonfire.
When the eruption of red and orange settles, Syd rises from the flames, his face contorted in rage. He charges, bellowing a war cry.
My anger at everything from the Ten Sigma Program explodes, and I meet him with a resounding crash.
We tumble on the sand, grappling at arms and wrists to gain the upper hand. When we hit a crest, Syd shoves me at a plant. I swivel to break his leverage and twist, whipping him through the gleaming leaves, which burst with a cacophony of tinny crackles.
As he struggles to rise, I leap and ram my knee into his cheek.
His head snaps to the side, and crimson splashes over the sand. As he sinks to the ground and rolls onto his back, a moan pours from his lips.
I kneel over him and nail him in the face.
More blood spills from his mouth.
Laughing, I cut loose again. The cracking of bones fills my heart with glee. For Suri and everyone else who suffered at his hands, I punch, again and again, enjoying the destruction of his smug expression and wanting to continue until his brains leak over the ground.
Syd’s busted lips curve into a smile, and a snicker erupts from his mouth, spraying red droplets over my chest and face.
Never hating anyone more, I growl and wipe blood from my chin, readying to deal the final blow.
His death will…
I raise my fist high, letting my dark emotions run rampant.
After I kill him, I can kill all the enemies who stand in the way of me completing my mission, which will make me what everyone wants me to be and, more importantly, free my existence from any remorse.
I blink, and my hand quivers.
“Do it,” Syd says through a bloody gurgle, goading me to finish the task.
The wrath overshadowing my being falters, and a rational thought enters my mind.
Syd died a long time ago in the virtual universe. This thing in front of me isn’t him.
His death will make me a killer like every other ten sigma.
Remembering Jonathon’s warning, I say in a quiet voice, “Getting to the green threads was too easy. This is a trick. If I kill this version of you, you won’t die. Instead, you’ll cement my hatred in place, and I’ll become what you want me to be.”
“What you should be,” the pulped face says.
I unclench my hand and stand, taking heavy breaths. “I’ll never be like that,” I answer and march away.
The control mechanism screeches, “I know someone you want dead more than this one.”
When I turn, the construct rises, and the mashed face of Syd morphs while his body ripples.
A stunning redhead forms.
I gasp.
In a flash, she bounds at me, and a fist rockets into my cheek.
Stars flash across my vision, and my head rocks backward.
I stagger to the side, retreating with halting strides.
The construct follows, chanting, “Mary is pathetic. Mary is weak.”
I lift my arms to ward off a hook, but a kick slams into my knee, buckling the leg.
Knuckles fly at my face, and I raise a hand, barely blocking the blow. An uppercut smashes into my nose.
I stumble, groaning in pain, and bang my forehead against the flagpole. The map spins, and air rushes from my lungs when I hit the ground.
Before I can recover, the control mechanism straddles my chest, pinning my arms to my sides. The beautiful blue eyes wide
n with rage, and splayed fingers rise into the moonlight. The open hand snaps downward. Blows whip back and forth across my cheeks while sharp slapping sounds fill the air. As my head rattles from the strikes, pain and disorientation crowd into my mind.
The crazed software snarls, shrieking, “All your enemies, all the things you hate, are all here.”
To emphasize the point, the enraged figure morphs from the violet-eyed girl, to the bald giant, then to Syd, before changing back to—
Hands clutch fistfuls of my hair. The redhead screams, “Fight! I’m everything you could be.”
The violence behind the words hammers into my face, and I grimace. “You’re not me. You’re just some horrible thing from the Ten Sigma Program.”
“Make your choice: live or die.”
“If you kill me, you’ll be killing yourself.”
The full, perfect lips stretch into a hideous smile. “A flawed ten sigma should be a dead ten sigma. Now choose. Yes or no!”
“No,” I hiss through gritted teeth.
Long fingers wrap around my throat and tighten.
As I squirm, struggling to break the unbreakable grip, the control mechanism bares its teeth and leans forward, squeezing the life from me.
Gurgles pour from my mouth as I battle for air. A dark circle seeps over the edge of my sight, obscuring the glare of moonlight.
Hollow, gleeful words spill past the dizziness swamping my brain. The construct chants, “Mary is weak. Mary is unfit. Mary deserves to die…”
My view dims to a fuzzy outline around the mane of red hair and flawless face.
For how many people was this their last vision?
“… so unworthy of everything bestowed on you. All those times you cowered from those school bullies making fun of your gimpy leg…”
I sigh through a wheezy breath. The words are from my real memories. So close, but so distant.
There’s no way I can win in this place.
“… and you’d be happier dead, anyway. Being as weak as you are, it’s a wonder you ever lived through the Ten Sigma Program. Mary can’t even kill a spider…”
I start, remembering my fascination with the spider in the prison cell. In the dream, I got my husband to kill them.
Ten sigma me wouldn’t hesitate to kill the insect, but I have a conflict with that. It’s the same reason I have an issue with “Proper Welcomes” and why I didn’t kill those teenagers.
And why I remember violet eyes.
Old me never left when I was in the program, and now, old me is battling to return.
The effort in the cell failed because I’ve been looking at this wrong—old me isn’t flesh needing to be satisfied. The feelings and emotions I have toward things define who I am.
If the control mechanism can use hatred to cement my behavior into that of a ten sigma, then I can use the opposite to break its hold over me.
That’s the key.
I have to focus beyond the words and live the emotions of the experience.
The pressure against my throat builds, and my body spasms.
Almost out of time…
I close my fluttering eyes and, ignoring the taunts of the control mechanism, concentrate on the story. Once again, Suri’s voice rings with clarity. “This was your third date on a warm summer evening.”
Excitement courses through my being from the anticipation of what’s coming.
Nothing registers.
“He took you to an Italian cafe where you drank sangria and had the porcini mushroom ravioli while you talked about the future.”
When I push more excitement into my mood, a sense of wrongness flares. The story I told Suri was idealized.
In my dream, I spilled droplets of wine on my wedding gown, and even my husband had to brush crumbs from my bodice. Inside the cell, I made a mess eating those chalky cubes.
Because I always make a mess when I eat.
I was nervous about embarrassing myself.
Somehow, that tidbit feels right, and I push ahead.
“Afterward, you invited him back to your room, where at the door, you gave him a sultry kiss…”
When I focus on anticipation, the words become more distant and alien.
Blackness rolls through my imagination, and I pause, struggling to retain consciousness as my breathing falters.
Now or never.
I fight back, racing through the gamut of emotions I could have had before that first time.
The only thing that slips into place is nervousness, even terror.
I was worried that this person, who I wanted to be the love of my life, would reject me because of my deformity.
“And you both took your time, getting undressed, exploring each other’s bodies…”
Miraculously, my fears subside.
My husband Nick loved every part of me, including my gimpy leg, which I was so self-conscious about…
He makes me feel… comfortable being me.
“… when you were ready, you laid on your back and pulled him over you…”
I remember the shivers from his loving touch.
“… and he pushes inside…”
Nick’s moan of pleasure rolls past, and I gasp from the tingle of him inside me. Heat blossoms between our bodies.
That’s when he said, “I love you.”
My wheezing breaths and the chants of the control mechanism disappear. A long tunnel materializes, and I fall, heading toward the abyss, letting the waves of emotion build.
Suri’s words fade, and the memory springs to life. Amazing sensations grip my body. Not just the physical part, also…
Love.
The connection forms, and I’m back in my college dorm room, basking in the afterglow, cradled in the arms of my future husband, Nick. Musky scents fill my nose, and his gentle touch caresses my skin.
The small bed is too big for the space and the cinder block walls are too cold, but everything feels comfortable and right.
This is my life.
I sigh with contentment.
Shudders rock the world.
My eyes pop open.
Unlike my other trips to this nightmare, this disturbance isn’t an imploding wave of landscape. This time, it’s an earthquake.
The perfect face above me glances around in shock.
Crinkles echo as colorful cracks spread across the night sky. The sand creaks, and the air rattles.
The software construct wails, and a moment later, the scenario map shatters into a million pieces.
Blinding white flashes across my vision.
When the brightness fades, I fall…
… into me.
Thirty-One
Clouds of many hues drift past. A billowy mass brushes against my side and vanishes in a puff of pink specks.
Sights, sounds, and tastes from my seventh birthday party flash through me—streamers popping, children screaming, and the yummy taste of ice cream cake.
The clouds are memories.
Nearby puffs explode into fireworks of pink, blue, yellow, and purple. Childhood remembrances flood into me. Unlike the dry text, sounds, and images from the green threads, these details spill painlessly into my mind as full experiences.
Because I lived them.
A filthy charcoal shroud engulfs my being.
In the front seat of a driverless vehicle, I sit next to my younger sister, Emily. Our headlights glare on the damp pavement and cut wildly across the hilly woodland with each tight curve of the narrow road.
A moving van with a trailer passes on the right, weaving erratically.
I rub the back of my neck, wondering why it’s tingling.
Instead of slowing in accordance with protocol, our car accelerates to maintain speed up a steep incline.
We round a bend, and an onrushing truck skids on the wet roadway and smashes into the trailer. While my sister screams, I punch the manual override and jerk the wheel to the side, avoiding the head-on crash. Another car in the oncoming lane swerves across our
path.
I yank the wheel in the opposite direction and avoid the collision, but a guardrail and the steep drop beyond loom past the windshield. I hit the brakes.
The car slows but not enough. We’re going to tumble off the cliff and die.
I aim for a sturdy post, the least bad of the possible outcomes, and pray.
Metal meets metal in an earth-shattering impact. The hood crumples as the airbag blasts from the wheel, smashing into my face. The engine plows into the driver’s side of the cabin, crushing my leg, just as the car swivels and stops mere millimeters from the sheer drop.
Agony shoots from my crippled limb.
I scream and scream…
More bursts sprinkle colors over me.
A doctor fits me into my new walking shoe, so I can move with only a slight gimp.
When I arrive at school, some kids give awkward stares of pity while others whisper behind my back. Hating the attention, I sit in the last row of all my classes.
To make matters worse, my gym teacher makes me participate in all activities. The giant man is muscular and shaves his head. I groan. He’s a bald giant to a twelve-year-old girl with a physical deformity. My current, perfect form is taller, stronger, and would easily twist his head off.
Like all bullies, I should have punched him in the face or at least hit him over the head with something to cut his abusive behavior short.
In the virtual universe, the nearest thing to him is the Ekton model.
I groan again, louder. The revelation doesn’t make me like the first ten sigma any more. There are enough things to dislike about his persona.
High school is just as bad, and for my prom, I’m the last one asked and by the nerdiest person in my graduating class. After I sleep with him to lose my virginity, I slam my hands in frustration when I get home.
Veritable showers of sparks pour from the thinning mists as my memories rush to return.
In college, things look up. On the first day of computer class, I catch a glimpse of my future husband with the party crew. After midterms, he strikes up a conversation. Soon, he asks me out. We meet and have dinner, which leads to the wonderful third date.
Nick makes me feel whole while I help him past a self-induced spiral of destruction, to the point where he becomes an optimist.
