by A W Wang
Somehow reading my mind, she says, “Everything will be grueling. This is the hardest test you will ever face. Please do the program proud and win.”
I nod, unsure if she can see the gesture in the thick smoke.
“Yes, I can. Now, let’s go meet your team.”
We perform a tight loop and emerge into dazzling sunlight. As we speed over the rings in reverse order, I focus on learning the map. At least as much as I can from the dizzying height. Except for the varying colors from the different terrains, everything looks the same.
Too little time passes before we reach the ocean and head toward a bean-shaped island.
I’ve only gathered enough detail to know the journey will be one long shit-show.
“This will be your starting point,” my companion says.
I sigh, hoping my devotion to getting back to the woman with the red mane will carry me to the end.
Instead of landing, golden sparks wrap around me.
I materialize on a wide beach covered with smooth pebbles. The edge of the surf skims past my lightweight boots.
A black poly-something unitard covers the rest of my body, reminding me of the outfit Cat and I wore when we fought the face-painters.
“The garment resists scratches and weather,” my companion says.
I do a double-take.
Floating next to me is an avatar-sized witch, complete with pointy hat and broomstick.
“You’re like Haiku, aren’t you? Something more than a piece of software.”
“That’s very perceptive,” she says with appreciation. “Similar in many respects. Different in many others.”
Despite the strange circumstances, I like her and my lips rise into a faint smile.
“While there is much I wish to discuss, time is short,” she says, heading inland. “The campaign will begin when a way station appears as your means to get to the mainland.”
As I follow, my gaze lifts above the flattish features of the island to the green tops of the trees of the forest ring. Higher and much farther away come glints of sunshine reflecting off the tallest skyscrapers in the cityscapes. In the far, far distance, the broad triangle of the volcano looms over all. An ugly funnel of black spews through the crown of haze pooled around its crest and rises into the highest reaches of the bubble.
My steps slow.
By air, the volcano was only a hop, skip, and jump away. However, here on the ground, the final goal is only visible because the map is flat and has no horizon.
It’s a thousand kilometers distant, and every centimeter of the journey promises to be brutal. Each ring will be filled with terrible trials. Even with the way stations and short distance trams, getting through everything while eliminating all the competition seems like an impossibility.
“It’s not impossible,” the witch says. “Improbable, yes, but not impossible.”
The minute difference in semantics does nothing to mollify my impending sense of doom.
After we step off the wide beach and pass a small rise, she leads me toward a waiting group of five men and four women.
“This is your team. Within this campaign, there are many teams with up to ten people in each grouping.”
My breath catches, and I stop, consumed by a terrible fright.
Cat isn’t one of my new teammates.
Forty-Eight
“Wait,” I yell as the witch makes the leave gesture.
Her hand freezes, and her placid eyes turn to me.
“There was a woman from my former team who joined this special program. I need to be with her.”
“The participants are grouped so those with similar scores will traverse a similar set of obstacles to reach the ten sigma threshold.”
“My points from the last scenario should bring me—”
“Your score comes to 4.98. Not enough to join her group.”
I clench my fists in desperation. “Haiku said that humans would never have to fight other humans again in a scenario.”
Her tiny lips scrunch in annoyance before she replies, “Secrets you shouldn’t know notwithstanding, this isn’t a scenario. This is a war.”
“There must be something you can do?”
“The rules are the rules and must be obeyed.”
Again, her hand begins the leave gesture.
“Wait—”
The flat black eyes snap into focus and acquire a disconcerting depth. “Perhaps being away from your former teammate is for the best. You will need to rely on yourself to become the type of person who is worthy of reaching ten sigmas.
“This campaign will start soon. It would be best to make your plans and be ready to move lest your team falls behind and too many obstacles appear in front of you.”
As her hand weaves, she offers a final thought before disappearing.
“What will you do?”
The vague question resonates while I look up and stare helplessly at the fake sky, searching for anything to change the coming shit-storm.
Nothing comes to mind.
However, to get to the woman with the red mane, I’ll kill whoever I have to…
Including Cat.
Unsure if I could pull the trigger on the last thought, I mutter a curse and stride to the waiting people, hating the forsaken place my path has taken me. The scenario-hardened veterans, who are dressed like me and all have scores between 4.8 and 4.99, meet my entrance with stony expressions.
I tap the stripe of orange running down the leg of my unitard. “Guess we’re the orange team.”
Nobody reacts.
“That’s a great way to break the ice.”
I ignore internal me, who is probably rolling her eyes, and say, “Did everyone get briefed on what we need to do? And is there anyone still happy with their decision?”
Although one woman with a roundish face and pixie haircut returns a nervous smile, the rest maintain their neutral stances and distant stares.
However, similar to the flesh and blood encasing me being my last body, these people will be my last team in this universe. Remembering my first team, I say, “Let’s introduce ourselves. I’m Vic.”
A gruff man with a short beard and straight black hair steps forward. His dark eyes assess me as he says, “We don’t need introductions. There’s no point in getting close to anyone.”
From behind him, the woman with the pixie cut, whose most striking feature is being remarkably plain, says, “I’d like to know who I’m going to be dying with. I’m Jill.”
“And just think, we might not even die,” I reply with humor.
Nobody cracks a smile.
The gruff man grunts. “Ty.”
Quickly, the others follow suit, all having the short monikers common to the Ten Sigma Program, which I’m sure are repeats with some of my former teammates. While my newest acquaintances don’t care about each other, I memorize each name. Ty and Jill. Mouse, who is a mousy teenager. An Asian man named Kai and Talon, a slender, sinewy woman. Two Jims and a Tom, whose head of spiky red hair is a poor parody of the woman with the red mane.
At least there aren’t any Cats, Jets, or Blocks.
“That would be ironic,” internal me states.
When the last person, a muscular female calling herself Cece, finishes, Ty says, “Let’s get moving.”
“Hold on,” I say. “We should organize.”
Because this is the Ten Sigma Program, where everything is about the individual, blank expressions greet the foreign concept.
“We need every advantage we can get,” I add.
Mouse, the smallest among us, says, “We see’em. We kill’em. What’s to plan?”
I roll my eyes as Jill says, “My last three teams got wiped out in one scenario. Prove this is any different, and I’ll listen.”
Mouse lets out a squeaky laugh and jerks her thumb at Jill. “What she said.”
The others, looking like the unemotional victors of many scenarios, nod with her.
My lips tighten into a frown. Altho
ugh frustrated, I don’t push the suggestion. None of these people has the advantage of being with anyone for a prolonged period of time, like Cat and me, and to a lesser extent, Jet and Block.
“Better for them,” internal me says uselessly.
The ground rumbles and a yellow, circular structure sprouts at the far end of the island.
Get to the top of the volcano.
Like every scenario, the directive appears in my mind.
Ty says, “Time to move.”
Given the limited options of “See’em, kill’em,” I point toward the distant column of smoke. “Fine, let’s get started and make the best speed we can. With the terrain, we can’t let anyone else get ahead of us. If we don’t get to the volcano first, one of the other teams will have the high ground, and we’ll be screwed.”
Not waiting for a response, I head toward the way station.
A moment later, everyone else follows. Jill, who I decide is more attractive than I gave her credit for being, trudges next to me.
When she nibbles on a thumbnail, I stare, trying to figure out why the action is endearing.
She returns a dimpled smile. “Weird having a team without the same number of men and women.”
“It’s because we’re the only ones stupid enough with these scores to volunteer for this,” I reply darkly.
“Maybe we’re the only ones smart enough to get this over with as soon as possible.”
Unwilling to have a half-full, half-empty argument, I grunt and march ahead.
The path narrows, leading into an area of grass-topped mounds. Ty forces his way to the front.
As we walk in single file, I scan the features with suspicion.
Jill brushes against my side. “What’s wrong?”
“There are supposed to be obstacles as part of the campaign to get to ten sigmas.”
“I don’t see anything.”
“Aren’t these mounds strange? Usually, the maps are designed either really lazily or overly detailed. But why have this stuff?” I say, wishing I had Cat’s opinion.
She purses her lips but doesn’t answer.
Ty slows, also sensing something, and spends a moment surveying the landscape. Besides a faint ocean breeze waving some stalks of grass, everything stays still.
Jill elbows me. “There are no accidents. I think things have already started.”
I twist to the rest of the group. “Let’s move, now!”
“Come on,” Jill says and pushes Ty. He pops out of his trance, and we jog toward the distant tram station.
The earth trembles, and we increase our pace. Because keeping ten people in a single file while running at different speeds is impossible, gaps open in the column. I drift ahead with Jill, Ty, and Mouse while the others fall behind.
“Slow down,” I say. “We have to stick together.”
Nobody responds.
On both sides of the path, patches of dirt and greenery shift across the tops of the mounds.
Already thumping heavily, my heart pounds into overdrive.
Clods of earth pour from rising forms. They are oversized men dressed in animal skins. The broad-shouldered figures hold wooden clubs and bone daggers in dirty, hairy hands. Even scarier, a red-and-black painted demon mask with protruding horns covers their faces.
Brutes like cavemen.
At least fifty of these things surround us.
Jill cusses as our pace grinds to a halt.
As one, the first obstacles of my final trial in the Ten Sigma Program leap, bellowing war cries.
Forty-Nine
All hell breaks loose as the hideous creatures pounce from everywhere.
A giant with demented eyes glaring through the cutouts of his demonic mask charges at me.
True to my training with Cat, I step toward him, angled opposite the swinging club, and ruin the initial attack. Dirt spills from his hair and shoulders when I grapple his free arm. I pivot my feet for leverage and send him crashing into another opponent.
Nearby, Mouse snarls and, acting completely contrary to her meek appearance, meets a foe head-on with a wild rush and banshee-like scream.
I dispose of a second attacker with a throat punch and survey the area.
The fight has devolved into organized chaos, the swirling forms centered around the three islands of my team, who are outnumbered more than five to one. The crude armaments of our enemies are better than our no armaments.
A wild swing comes at me.
My threads coordinate perfectly, and I sidestep, grabbing the backhand, and wrest the club from my opponent. With a pirouette, I smash the thick wooden stick into the side of his head. He drops instantly, leaking blood from his eye sockets. I reach down and toss his bone-knife to Jill.
She catches it and drives the sharp tip into her opponent’s neck.
In front of her, Ty smashes another of the fur-clad men into the ground.
“Grab weapons and let’s finish them,” I yell, smashing my bloody club through a demon mask and whatever’s behind it.
Jill nods, getting her opponent into an arm-bar, and breaks his forearm.
Mouse brushes against my back, holding a dagger in either hand. “They’re not very talented.”
Thinking of Cat, whose abilities I miss more than ever, I say, “Don’t get overconfident. Even if they wound you, you’ll have to fight that way until you can get first aid.”
The truth of the last sentence sobers me to the new chilling reality. Any injury will carry through to the next battle and the one after that. But being overly careful could have worse consequences.
I parry a wild strike and twirl, driving my club through my attacker’s knee. Then I block his counterstrike and crush his mask. By the time the fur-clad monster hits the ground, the nearby fighting has stilled.
“This way,” Jill calls, running to help the other groups.
I follow, and we dash into the next fight like a whirlwind, hammering with vicious blows, bruising flesh and breaking bones. When Mouse and Ty join the attack, we quickly finish our enemies and free our teammates.
Then together, the seven of us charge the remaining obstacles.
With the opposition occupied with only what’s in front of them, we’re met with little resistance and dispatch the rest in no time.
But of our final three, one is wounded and one is gone.
From under a hulking body, the dead man stares unseeing at the sky. I expend a moment remembering his name was Kai. Not that anyone else would even put in the effort. In a program only caring about the living, sympathy for the deceased is an overpriced luxury.
I roll the shaggy form off Kai and pull aside the demon mask. A rubbery, pale face lies underneath.
So much for realism.
“These guys were pretty vicious,” Mouse says, kneeling next to me.
I nod. Bite marks cover Kai’s body, including a nasty one over his throat. Although these obstacles were just something to increase the odds and not well-trained, they possessed an inhuman ferocity.
A feral grin crosses her mousy face. “Makes killing them more fun.”
“You’ll get plenty of chances,” I reply, thinking of the infinite supply of these things, who will be coming if we wait in any area.
Talon groans from a gash running across her rib cage. Jill walks to her and cuts strips off her unitard, trying to seal the wound.
I rise and ask, “Can you walk?”
“Do I have a choice?” Talon replies, wincing.
I shake my head. “No, I was told not to dawdle. There will be more things like this or worse.”
Ty steps near, glancing over the bodies and hideous masks lying across the battlefield.
“Considering what we were up against, we did pretty well.”
My anger rises. “The campaign’s just started, and we’re already down to nine.”
“What’s your point?”
“Every loss we take lessens our chances. We’ve still got five rings to cross and the volcano. Things will get wor
se. We need to function together because we can’t make it out unless we’re a team. The only ones we’re not competing with is everyone you see here.” I point to the black funnel of smoke rising in the distance. “Nobody is getting there alone.”
At least this time, several heads bob with approval.
“What do you suggest?” Jill asks.
“To make this campaign ten-sigma worthy, there are going to be a lot of these ambushes. I think these guys were a warm-up, and everything else that gets thrown our way will be worse. And there are the other teams. We can’t get caught unprepared and strung out like that again. We’ll rotate scouts, and as we move, we’ll protect our flanks.” I look to Talon. “The tram has first aid and weapons, so let’s get there as fast as we can while staying disciplined.”
After everyone grabs something to kill with, Jill says, “I’ll scout ahead.”
While the others step into position, I help Talon. Then, advancing as a somewhat cohesive group, we hurry toward our destination with more caution.
Strange growls and mysterious scrapes crisscross the landscape as we reach the halfway point to the yellow structure.
I signal to move faster, and we break into a jog.
While the sea breeze stills and the rustles of grass quiet, the eerie sounds intensify.
Nervous glances get tossed over our shoulders as everyone breaks into a run. When Talon stumbles, I hand her to one of the Jims and fall behind, joining Mouse and Ty as the rearguard.
Over the last kilometer, an oppressive feeling of being watched hangs like a cloud, thickening with each stride.
Although nothing happens, a wave of relief washes over us when we spy Jill waving from just outside the circle of red bordering the way station.
Our feet can’t move fast enough, and we sprint the final distance. When we finally step onto the rubbery surface, the sense of imminent danger evaporates.
With furrowed brows, I study the green and beige landscape.
“We better keep moving,” Jill says.
I nod, and we join the others as they head toward the yellow, cylindrical structure that is fifteen meters high and more than twice as wide.
