by A W Wang
She isn’t one of the others; she’s a real person.
I blink. She came from flesh and blood.
And now, we’re using her for our pleasure. The realization destroys my peaceful reverie.
“Vic?” Jet says.
Before I can backtrack, I do what the girl wants and slip my gladius into her side, pushing until the tip reaches her heart.
Gratitude fills her expression as her body shudders and stills.
I yank the sword out and stand, trying to wipe everything clean of blood.
“Vic,” Jet hisses, radiating fury.
As I walk to the doorway, she rushes in front of me. “You are a disappointment.”
“Get out of my way.”
Her face contorts, and I tense.
Instead of lashing out, she blows out a breath of disgust and steps aside. “I’m very upset with you. You keep failing with the opportunities I’m offering. Perhaps you aren’t the man I need.”
“Meat,” says a bemused Block, kneeling next to the body and painting more blood stripes on his face.
After Jet rejoins him, I pull my eyes from the odd pair and step outside, relieved to have separated myself from the strange ritual.
Oddly, instead of a clean conscience, the guilt stemming from my treatment of Gil intrudes upon my thoughts. I frown, correcting myself. It’s not the way I treated the man; it’s the opportunity I lost for coming to grips with my bubbling fury.
After sighing, I run to the nearest open space and head down a wide avenue toward the citadel.
Groups of Romans gather at the bottom of the hill, and I jog across a field to join them.
As I near, Cat steps from a pack, saying, “This should have been a set-piece battle. But with them defending the town, it’s a total shit-show.”
I take a pleasant breath of fresh air and stare over my shoulder at the islands of flames dancing in the sea of beige and brown houses. Although the distance makes the sight beautiful, I shake my head, just happy to be free of the nightmare.
“Watch out,” Cat says, raising her shield over us.
A ragged shower of arrows thuds over the field.
Cat grins. “There aren’t many of them left. But they’ve still got some bite.”
I nod, understanding that while tough fighting remains, the battle is won. And that will make three scenarios with Gil.
Time to make nice.
“Where’s Gil?” I ask.
“Somewhere back in town.”
“I need to talk to him.”
“You can’t. He’s dead.”
Still conscious of the stickiness covering my palm, I wipe my brow with the back of my hand, struggling to find any meaning from the man’s demise.
“Not even three scenarios,” I mumble.
“What?”
“He didn’t even last three scenarios. It’s a good thing we never listened to him.”
“Gil probably deserved better.”
Lan’s voice pops into my head, “And what about the world needs to be fair? In life, people seldom get what they deserve or achieve what they desire. Why should the Ten Sigma Program be any different?”
“Maybe,” I reply.
Cat points to more stragglers coming from town. “When they get here, let’s go finish this thing.”
“Jet and Block are doing something. Let’s wait for them too.”
For a moment, Cat stares as if trying to parse all the nuances in my tone. Then she gives up. “Sounds good.”
My thoughts again turn to blood, and I wipe my sticky hand on my thigh, scowling.
Misreading my expression, Cat says, “Don’t worry about Gil. I’m sure that we’ll eventually get another teammate who’ll be enough of a pompous ass for you to hate.”
“The world is sure filled with them.”
When she returns my grin, we chuckle despite the lack of humor in the situation. Still giggling, we raise our shields to stop another shower of arrows.
As the lethal projectiles fall around us, a sobering thought spoils my giddiness.
How many dark spots will the Ten Sigma Program leave on our souls before it’s over?
Thirty-Five
The impressionist paintings flow past, their unique faces staring and waiting for my recognition.
I have none.
As Cat releases an impatient breath, I pause in front of a rail bench. Before the first scenario, I sat with Cheri in this spot and we had a conversation. She’d seen the darkness in my soul and was trying to help.
“Of all the places in the sanctuary, why would you want to come here?” Cat asks.
My gaze wanders down the arched hallway. “There’s something about this place. Don’t you like the artwork?”
“If this was real life, then yes. Remember, these are digital creations.” She sniffs the air, wrinkling her nose. “It’s really musty in here. What’s up with these old bricks?”
“I like them.”
“When I mentioned trying something different for training, I didn’t mean this.”
“Something about this type of culture used to interest me. Like an echo from my past.”
“If that’s what you want, there’s the garden too. That’s where you rehearsed those scenes with that actress.”
A sigh leaves my lips. “Those friends and stories are gone.”
“Maybe that’s how it’s supposed to be.”
I twist my head, surprised at the callousness of the statement. “What does that mean?”
A moment passes before she frowns and replies, “That didn’t come out right. I meant to say the man who had that past was terrible at fighting. Without those stories, you can be your own you.”
Rather than give a direct answer, I flop onto the bench and push my face into my palms.
When Cat sits next to me, I say, “I don’t like this new me. I think I missed my chance with Gil.”
She chuckles.
“Not to be friends with him or anything,” I reply, raising my hands. “Just to confront why I hated him. Now that he’s gone, I’m feeling more out of control than ever.”
Cat nods, biting her lip. “I know. The last scenario was bad. You tried to take that hill by yourself.”
“You were there to help me.”
She rubs her elbow. “Once or twice more like that, and I won’t be around either.”
Even after what I’ve seen and experienced, I grimace, remembering the explosion of blood and her arm falling off. “That’s on me, and I need to stop that stuff.”
“Worrying about Gil is water under the bridge. Like I said, there will be more just like him. So, don’t—”
“This is worse than just Gil.”
Although her lips part in surprise, she stays quiet, allowing me to finish.
“Remember when I told you about the face-painting?” After she nods, I tell her everything from putting my hand on the bloody chest of my dead enemy in the Pacific Island Scenario to stabbing the writhing Carthaginian girl with the red hair.
The one that was flesh and blood in the real world.
I conclude by saying, “Even though I turned down Jet’s offer, I’m worried that’s where I’m headed unless I do something different.”
Cat stays silent, pinching her lips.
While I wait for her response to my screwed-up emotions, my eyes linger on a nearby painting. A woman with a parasol by Monet.
A dull familiarity registers.
Cat straightens and says, “Anger, rage, even happiness is good as long as you use it correctly and in moderation. If you let anything consume you, you’ll wind up in places you’ll never come back from.
“Like I always say, we’re training to make you better. Let’s find out what you’ve got that will carry you out of this program.”
I shift, thinking of Jet and the temptation of going down the path with her. “If that’s what it takes, I’m not sure I want to be that way.”
A slap hits my arm, and I yelp in surprise.
Cat says,
“I was getting to the point. I listened to that fucked up story of yours, so be a little patient when I’m trying to explain things.”
I roll my eyes but tighten my lips.
Satisfied with my silence, she continues, “You already turned down Jet and the blood painting, twice. So no matter how alluring the idea is, I think you can manage. But it’s this anger that’s threatening to control you. Before you had your past and, by all indications, a happy life to keep a lid on it.”
My mind wanders to the image that was important to me. Only a hazy smudge of sunlight remains.
“Hey, are you listening?” Cat says.
I send her a reassuring smile.
She frowns at the familiar gesture, twisting her body to rest her leg against mine. “Just pay attention. We need to create more of a background for you to paper over this anger.”
Her glare stops my protest, and I keep quiet, not wanting to get slapped again.
“It’s not that the stories we’ve made up aren’t working. It’s that we’re not having them do what they’re supposed to do.”
When she pauses, I return a shrug, unsure if I’m allowed to say anything.
“The stories are to give you happiness as a counterbalance.”
“But something’s missing.”
An awkward silence falls between us.
After a minute passes, she says, “What brings happiness to people in the real world?”
“Ice cream?”
Her hand hits me with a loud smack. “Ow,” I say, having no idea of where her predilection for violence comes from.
She doesn’t acknowledge my questioning stare.
“You need to be a new man.”
I nod, again afraid to speak.
Cat grabs my hands. “Repeat after me. A new man.”
Feeling sheepish, I say, “A new man.
“A new man needs a new romance.”
“A new man needs a new romance?” I ask uneasily.
“A new man needs a new romance to be happy.”
“You mean like with Jet?”
Instead of slapping me, she rolls her eyes to the arched ceiling. “No, I mean with me, you stupid, silly man. You need a little love to counter your hate.”
I pause. Although on the surface the idea sounds logical, doubts tug at my psyche.
Something’s off…
When she glares, I nod quickly, afraid of the consequences of not nodding quickly.
“And I don’t mean we actually date,” she says matter-of-factly. “Just the characters we’re creating for your past date.”
“Oh,” I reply, suppressing my trepidations. “A relationship filled with love would help offset the hate.”
“Let’s repeat that as your new mantra. The new man has loving parents. The new man has a new romance. The new romance is filled with love. The love makes the new man happy.”
After we go through the words a few times, my mood improves. Although nothing sensual will ever happen between us, Cat’s been my anchor throughout these trials. I’m very fond of her.
She lets go of my hands. “So, you asked me out. Where was our first date?”
“I’m guessing ice cream?” I say, waiting to be slapped.
She laughs, a sparkle lighting up her large brown eyes. “That’s a great idea.”
With the cheery countenance, she’s beautiful in a comforting way, especially given the screwy surroundings of the Ten Sigma Program.
Cat notices my stare with a smirk. “We’ll be dating for a long time.”
“So don’t worry about a breakup?”
Her expression turns serious. “My boyfriends never leave me. They’re always perfect.”
I glance away, fighting a sinking sensation in my stomach.
From next to the orange of sunset streaming through a nearby window, the disjointed eye in a Picasso glowers. As I try to ignore the admonishment from the puzzle pieces pretending to be a human being, Cat places her hand on my thigh and squeezes.
Although I want to enjoy the moment with her, the nagging notions won’t stop wriggling through my thoughts.
I sigh.
A voice should be telling me what I’m doing wrong, but in my mind, there is only silence.
Thirty-Six
“Hey, are you listening?” I say, tapping Cat’s arm.
The late afternoon sunshine pouring through the cafeteria windows highlights her profile as she turns from our newest surviving teammate. The man’s V-shaped body has been getting glances from Cat and Jet all day. I’m even a little intimidated by his godlike physique.
Before my anger flares too brightly, I say, “So here’s a new one. Senior prom.”
“Prom? When did you ask me?”
“Yesterday.” Before she can say “No,” I add, “And you said ‘Yes.’”
She laughs and leans into my arm, saying, “Did I? What will I wear?”
“Something sexy?”
“No, I think something proper that your parents would like. You remember the summer dress we shopped for?”
Unlike memories from the real world, I have no problem recollecting the stories Cat and I have built for our fake past, especially our new dating arc. Apparently, everything within the Ten Sigma Program is recallable because the acclimation can’t be allowed to interfere with any improvements we make during the scenarios.
“It’s pretty,” I reply when Cat nudges me.
“Okay, then that one. With a push-up bra and racy panties.”
I smile, imagining Cat in front of a wide sunlit window wearing a summer dress. Almost like…
“Meat!” Block says as Jet wriggles on his lap, whispering in his ear. Once again, their reactions to the food fantasies extend far beyond the normal and into something I can’t quite place my finger on.
I roll my eyes.
Another mystery of the Ten Sigma Program.
But they’re in their own world, which is fine by me because my new happy world is working better than I ever expected. The less Jet and Block in my life, the better.
“Where are you taking me for prom dinner?” Cat asks, drawing me back into our fantasies.
“A place that serves steak,” I say, raising the pouch.
She does the same, and we toast, splashing blue liquid over our hands.
As the droplets crawl down my wrist, I wonder why I find sloppy table manners so endearing.
“Yum, delicious,” Cat murmurs.
When I sip, instead of dry-aged steak, the wonderful flavor of porcini mushroom ravioli washes over my tongue along with a splash of sangria. I tighten my lips in puzzlement, not understanding why Italian food has hijacked my fantasy.
Cat elbows me and returns her gaze to our new teammate across the table.
The amber sunlight provides the perfect lighting for the incredibly handsome man, who sits in a rigid posture, radiating serene confidence. Joy etches his face as he sips his blue liquid. The sight is strange for someone only sporting a 2.87 score, especially in light of all the higher numbers of the rest of the team. But still, he fought well in his first scenario with us.
“Hey, new guy,” Cat says, facing the new guy. “What’s your name again?”
He pulls the bag from his lips and takes a moment to focus his eyes from his inward bliss. “My name is Jinn.”
“That’s a pretty ethereal look. What kind of food are you imagining? Something they serve Buddhist monks?”
A faint smile creases his face. “Nothing so mundane as food.”
Jet turns her attention to the budding conversation. “Really? Then what are you imagining?”
“Nothing so simple as what you fantasize about with your silly grins.” He faces Cat and me. “Nor you two with your inane high school tales wrapped around your meals.”
Jet smirks and sips from her pouch while Cat reacts with a subtle eye roll.
I keep quiet but add smugness to the list of things I dislike about the man.
“Care to share what’s so high and mighty about your t
houghts?” Cat asks.
“Love.”
Jet coughs out blue liquid. “Like sex?”
“No, as I said, nothing your pedestrian minds can conjure.”
“Mind enlightening us, Mr. Ethereal?” Cat asks.
“I have been blessed by the goddess.”
Jet giggles as Cat and I exchange dubious expressions.
“Meat?” Block says. Weirdly, I understand his meaning and nod to the oaf.
Cat leans past the edge of the table. “So, eating is more of a religious experience?”
No longer interested, I shake my head. I take a sip of the blue liquid, placing myself back into the happiness of the high school narrative, trying not to listen to his deep and perfect voice.
I have loving parents and a childhood sweetheart.
Jinn thumps his hand on the tabletop, spilling blue liquid. “The goddess exists. She’s the most perfect person. The most beautiful woman in this or any other universe.”
Cat snorts in derision.
“I think I’d like to meet and kill this goddess,” Jet says with a deadly tone.
“If you’d seen her, you’d know I speak the truth.”
“Does she come with a halo and wings?” Cat says.
“You’d recognize the goddess by her nine sigma score and beautiful red mane of hair.”
My head snaps back to the conversation. “What did you just say?”
Everybody quiets as if privy to some secret.
“She’s the most perfect being one could ever lay eyes upon, and when I drink the liquid, I imagine her taste.”
Blue droplets leak from my pouch as my fingers tense.
I force a smile on my face and say in a pleasant tone, “By imagining her taste, what exactly do you mean?”
The smug, self-satisfied grin reappears. “She blessed me with her body. So now, when I drink, I imagine the heat and the scent of her arousal. And then, to honor the love she bestowed upon me, I imagine the divine nectar between her legs. It was—”
I leap onto the table. As the smug man glances up in surprise, I drill him in the face.
He tumbles backward, smashing through cheap chairs, and lands on the floor amid a crash of plastic and metal.
