by A W Wang
M243-U9860-000D-74D
I force away my fear.
Who needs a name?
Optimism wins over doubt. This is just a minor bump on the path to reuniting with my wife. When we meet, she can tell me.
I study the black and red threads woven throughout my being.
And here are the tools to get there.
Those hopeless tasks weren’t a fair test of my abilities. Everyone would have died in them.
I look forward to another chance to show what I can do because I’m going to kick ass in this program.
Nine
Inside the fixer-upper, Mary’s specialty shoe clomps on the worn flooring.
When she reaches the smallish den, she drops a box with a heavy thump and wipes her forehead. With a scowl, she kneels and breaks a piece off a ratty floor tile.
“If your leg’s hurting, I’ll handle the rest,” I say from the entryway. “We’ve got a lot of work ahead of us.”
Without answering, she walks to the end of the T-shaped hallway and pulls at the fading wallpaper. “I have plans for this.”
I walk to her. “We have plans.”
A smirk crosses her face before she leans up and pecks me on the cheek. “Sweetie, your tastes are somewhat limited.”
“I like them,” I say defensively.
She meanders toward the bedroom, pointing. “We’re going to do this nineteen-twenties style. Some nice wood paneling, a few wall fixtures. Furniture to match. Fancy molding. A splash of art déco here and there. And we’ll fix up the floor.”
I interrupt her exuberance. “Aren’t you the practical one?”
She nibbles on a fingernail, composing the ideal answer. After a moment, she flings open the bedroom door and swivels to face me. A knowing look is plastered over her face. It’s the one that says she has it all thought out and everything will be okay. “I am. I’ll make it work within budget, even if I have to prowl through every flea market in the country to do it. If we’re going to be here forever, then we need to spend the time to make this place perfect. But only older stuff with style. Nothing polluted by new tech like everyone else’s generic housing is.”
Framed against the backdrop of the bay window, she’s super cute with her gorgeous mane of red hair in a ponytail and dust streaked across her nose and cheeks.
“Why are you staring?” she asks.
“I’m just wondering if I get a say in anything.”
“Yes, you do. The den by the entrance is all yours. Make it your man cave.”
“Well, I guess that’s something,” I reply with a shrug.
The morning sun bursts through the broken clouds, catching in the streaks running over the wide window. The bright light outlines my wonderful wife and makes the sight perfect.
I smile.
A chuckle leaves her lips. “Don’t you have a man cave to plan?”
With a peaceful sigh, I walk to the den.
Marrying her was the best thing to ever happen to me…
Air cascades into my lungs.
I have a body!
By habit, I roll my shoulder. Surprisingly, the joint is pain-free and in tip-top condition. Everything else is too. Muscles ripple over the length of my form; I’m in better shape than when I was twenty-five and a fitness freak.
Strangely, not a stitch of clothing covers my skin.
A tall woman stands nearby, her wavy blonde hair flowing around her pretty face, her large eyes staring past me. She’s naked too.
I blink at the unexpected but voluptuous sight and offer a wide smile.
Her unfocused gaze eerily stays in line with her nose as she turns away, and I instinctively detest her.
Weird.
More naked people loiter beyond her. Lots of men and women, all attractive and all in perfect shape. Somehow, despite the lack of privacy, nobody is the slightest bit self-conscious.
Me included.
Of all my expectations for joining the Ten Sigma Program, none of them involved being part of a nudist colony, especially with a bunch of ideal-looking people. On second thought, not people. When I look closer, they resemble human beings, although they’re something else. Nuances of their bland facial expressions and stiff poses are off.
What does that make them? Too richly detailed to be sexbots. Not that anything is sensual about the circumstances. If anything, this feels the opposite of sex, whatever that is.
That leaves them as some sort of virtual constructs, most likely advanced AIs. My fractured memories tell me I hate computer programming, which considering the situation, tells me nothing.
After making sure Mary isn’t in the menagerie, I divert my attention from the eye candy and survey the rest of the surroundings. Everything lacks detail. The sky hangs cloudless and gray. A red, smooth as glass ocean extends to the horizon. The nondescript platform I’m standing on is a perfect circle, gently rising to a central peak. An acrid stench permeates the air.
Welcome to the virtual universe.
A ripple runs through the fake people. With a hiss, the sea rises over the lip of the dull surface, spewing smoky tendrils.
Acid!
“This is a primordial test—be the last survivor.”
The words aren’t spoken; they resonate in my mind.
All the others must die. A surge of excitement charges through me. This is a chance to use my new skills and prove all the doubters wrong. It’s a good thing these aren’t real human beings. I flex my hands, happy Mary isn’t here to witness the destruction I’m about to unleash.
Fleshy impacts thud across the island as the fighting begins.
With her strange eyes centered on me, the voluptuous woman advances.
Disturbed by her pseudo-realistic expression of hatred, I run through my different threads, deciding how to eradicate her existence.
She covers the final distance in a blink, and her fist lashes out.
I stagger backward, holding my bloody nose, stunned by the power and speed of the punch.
A lightning hook follows.
By reflex, I twist and let the blow glance off my shoulder.
In a tremendous display of footwork, she shifts and sends a roundhouse at my ribs.
I flinch enough to dull the impact. Although I gasp for air, nothing is broken, and I retreat from the murderous attacks with a shuffle and try to formulate a plan. If everybody has the same threads, then she’s lethal like I am. The last thought is comforting. I stop and fire a right-cross.
Her movements are too quick. Easily dodging my attack, she leaps, cutting inside my guard, and grapples my arm, threatening to break it.
To relieve the pressure, I twirl and wind up flat on the platform. I avoid a stomp and roll to my feet, ducking under her flying kick.
She lands on a two-person deathmatch. The trio falls in a knotted pile of limbs with each attacking the others.
I walk toward the melee and wait for her to turn, not wanting to punch anyone in the back.
When she disposes of the other two using some Jujitsu techniques, I blast her in the face. The crunch of her nose is satisfying, but she simply wipes away the blood and jumps at me.
Afraid of another encounter with my nemesis, I retreat into a chaotic, swirling brawl.
Fists and feet fly as bodies grapple and twist, grunting in death struggles.
I cringe with each horrible impact of flesh or awful crunch of breaking bone. As terror swamps rational thought, I scramble against the raging tide of battle, trying to get away from everyone.
A woman missing an eye reaches for me with bloody hands.
I backpedal for all I’m worth and trip over a mangled body. My head crashes into a thick set of legs.
An angry man stomps at my face.
I jerk away and struggle to my feet.
Wild kicks whip in my direction.
Leaping sideways, I accidentally slam into two snarling people, who claw at my arms. Somehow, I yank myself from their clutches, only to catch the voluptuous women charging at me.
With a yelp, I turn and find a path to safety. When I get clear of the fighting, a muscular, beady-eyed man centers his attention on me. As fast as my feet will move, I arc around the knots of combat, until the voluptuous woman blocks my path. I stumble back into the chaos as she pursues.
Before she closes the distance, an elbow shoots from a tangle of people and catches my temple.
I fall, landing on my side with a splendid view of the rising acid.
Then the world goes black.
Ten
Chaos rumbles behind a shroud of blackness.
“Wake up,” a feminine voice whispers.
Coherent thought returns. As I regain consciousness, grating sizzles and sharp smacks echo in my ears.
While I cough from acidic air scratching my throat, the female voice screams loud enough to cut through my throbbing headache. “Wake up!”
I open my bleary eyes, blinking from stinging tendrils of smoke.
“At least that’s one nemesis gone,” the mystery person says.
From a pile of bodies up the slope, the dead stare of the voluptuous woman bores through me.
“Stop lollygagging. You’re in trouble.”
“Mary?”
“Yes, dummy.”
“But how can you be here?”
“I’m a figment of your imagination. Now get up.”
Even though she isn’t real, her presence is comforting. I push past my dizziness and roll onto a knee.
Nearby, motionless bodies hiss as the rising acid dissolves them. The few people remaining fight near the apex of the platform. They probably thought I was dead too.
“Mary?”
“Yes, I’m here. Now, stop talking out loud and attracting attention. You can communicate with me just by thinking.”
“Oh,” I say and slap my hand over my mouth. “Sorry, this will take some getting used to. How long have you been here?”
“We’re soulmates, and I’ve filled that empty part of you since we first met. Somehow, since you were stupid enough to follow the real me into this hellish place, I can communicate with you. I was going to keep quiet, but I got tired of watching you trying to fight. You’re really not good at this.”
“I’ll get better.”
“Well, better, better be in a hurry.”
I glance up the platform, understanding her meaning. The last man standing among the field of broken bodies is a latter-day Adonis with long hair.
A burning sensation stabs into my toe.
I yelp and leap away from the acid.
Adonis’s dark eyes settle on me.
Given the ever-shrinking circle of safety, this will be an inevitable confrontation. My optimism surges because it’s just one person.
I can handle this.
“Um, you realize that this is the last one. He beat everybody else, including that woman you had the hots for.”
“I didn’t have the hots for her.”
“That doesn’t change the facts.”
“Thanks, your pessimism is really helping the situation.”
“Sarcasm doesn’t become you, dear.”
Ignoring my newfound ally, I walk toward the larger man, flexing my hands.
His long hair waves in the gentle breeze as he strides to meet me.
While the distance closes, I wipe dried blood from my nose and study him, gauging his strengths and weaknesses to plot out my strategy.
Before I come up with any ideas, he lunges. I sidestep a jab and twist my body from a Thai kick, absorbing the brunt of the impact with the back of my thigh. With his body out of position, I fire my fist at his face.
He snaps his elbow, and the block destroys my knuckles. As I grimace, he shifts his hands into a grapple and breaks my forearm near the wrist.
I scream in pain and kick at his knee, but he twirls and tosses me. With the world whirling around the center of my vision, I use my good arm and stop tumbling a step short of the acid. As the red fluid crawls closer, I roll higher and rise, taking pained breaths.
The fearsome man approaches, and I run.
“You’re really good at this.”
“I am?”
“Yes, running suits you.”
I pick up my pace.
“You’re lucky, that’s a positive trait and counts for something.”
“Thanks,” I reply. “Are you being sarcastic?”
“What do you think? You’re getting tired, and your luck’s going to run out. The acid is shrinking the area pretty quickly. You’ll need to stand and fight.”
The padding of my opponent’s footsteps grows louder.
I groan with frustration.
“This isn’t going to end well.”
“Do you have anything positive to say?”
“Remember, you wanted this.”
“Thanks,” I say, rolling my eyes. “You got anything useful?”
“Between the two of us, you’re the creative one, although I’d suggest tougher doesn’t necessarily mean being a better fighter. Figure out what you do better than him.”
“Oh,” I say, realizing.
Despite my mashed knuckles and broken forearm, I laugh in the face of my imminent death. I run as close to the rising sea as possible and slow down, allowing my opponent to move closer. When he enters my peripheral vision, I stop and swipe my hand through the corrosive fluid.
My skin sears, and agony spikes from my dissolving fingers.
Before the flesh disintegrates, I fling the handful of acid at him.
The liquid splats on his face, getting into his eyes and melting his perfect hair. While shrieks pour from his mouth, he tries wiping the acid off and only succeeds in rubbing the horrible stuff further into his cheeks and over his hands. Scalded and blind, he sends his fists wildly through the air.
I step to a safe distance, trying to shake the caustic stuff from my flesh without damaging another part of my body. It doesn’t work, and the hand melts into a stump. Only by clenching my teeth and convincing myself of my enjoyment of pain, do I regain any self-control.
The second half of my problem is trickier. Although the other guy can’t see, his swings are dangerous, and with one arm dangling and the other ending in a mushy pulp, I can’t punch back.
“You know, you’re really good at running.”
“Yes, you’ve said that before.”
“I mean really excellent at it.”
“Is there a point to these backhanded compliments?”
Silence.
“Mary?”
“I’m rolling my eyes.”
“Great, I liked the real-world version of you better.”
“Now, don’t get testy. Running requires feet.”
If my one arm wasn’t broken and the other not ending in corroded flesh, I would smack my forehead. Mercifully, I prevent myself from making any gestures. I stride to the flailing man, searching through my threads for all the kicks I can deliver. When I reach him, I dodge a wild hook and snap my foot into his knee.
A bone cracks, and he sinks to the platform. Before he can roll aside, I stomp on his chest, breaking bones.
Air wheezes from his mouth.
As he lies helpless, I smash my feet into his head.
Although the blood pouring from his lips and nose makes me squeamish, I force myself to continue until he’s a quivering mess. Then I step away and watch the incoming sea swallow his body with sharp hisses.
I’m the last one standing.
Unsure of what else to do, I suck down a few breaths and walk to the apex. Despite the pain roaring from my body and queasiness pooling in my stomach, I holler in triumph.
The breeze rises, carrying the intermixed odor of decay and acid. Unable to use my arms, I lower my head as the air current strengthens into a howling wind that circles the shrinking area of the platform.
Terror seizes me when the remaining bodies fall apart, the pieces rising into the gusts. As the vortex tightens, disembodied hands grab my limbs and spin me to the ground.
&nbs
p; I writhe and kick to no avail while the acid crawls higher, flowing around my body and under my back.
As skin and tissue dissolve, a long wail erupts from my mouth.
Eleven
Before the searing agony becomes too great, golden sparks flow over me, and the gray sky dissolves into a brown-domed ceiling.
A breath of clean air fills my lungs.
Odd.
Although I shiver, my body registers no discomfort. Amazingly, I have hands. I flex my fingers, finding all ten digits whole and working perfectly. In other amazing news, my broken arm is healed and the bruises from the fighting have disappeared.
Everything is perfect.
Was that entire experience just a dream?
After the trembling across my muscles subsides, I accept the absence of pain being for the better and examine my new reality. I’m on the top bunk in a barracks with lots of bunk beds. Each bed holds a naked, shivering person. No, not naked. Strips are covering their most private parts.
A thong like garment covers me too, although the material is so sheer and tight nothing is left to the imagination.
So much for modesty.
“Dear, you don’t have to be modest down there.”
I chuckle. “Flattery will get you everywhere.”
There is a soft pop, and a voice says in a dry English accent, “Good morning. It is a pleasure to meet you.”
A knight in shiny armor hovers above the bed. From the end of his long lance, a red pennant flutters in the still air. The strange sight would be impressive, except he’s only the size of a stuffed teddy bear.
“What is this place?”
“Welcome to the Ten Sigma Program. I am an artificial intelligence programmed to be your guide, friend, and confidant.”
I frown. This thing is my Jasmine for the virtual universe. “What should I call you?”
“My name is Lan.”
“You mean like the knight, Sir Lancelot?”
“No, one has nothing to do with the other.”
I narrow my eyes, staring at my skewed face reflecting off the curves of his armor, and contemplate the sophistication of this AI. The software is far more advanced than Jasmine, but with the pointy metal visor covering any expression and a monotone English delivery, I can’t tell if he’s being humorous or not. Also, with a thin echo ringing in the miniature suit of armor, I’m not sure if he even has a face or body.
