Ten Sigma

by A W Wang

  Jack lets out a squeal.

  I fire, the bullet plowing through helmet and skull. The large man’s body jerks once then falls. Below him, Jack is dead, a ghastly expression on his face and blood dripping from his mouth.

  When nothing else moves, silence settles over the battlefield. In many ways the stillness is more disconcerting than combat.

  There is a groan.

  I rush to Odet, who lies flat on the ground. A bloody form is nearby, a knife buried deep in his chest.

  Kneeling next to the tough woman, I check for injuries. Nothing is obvious.

  “Plant,” she whispers in a hoarse voice. “Landed on a stupid plant. I can’t feel my body.”

  Without touching her, I lean over to examine underneath her neck. When I raise my visor, I see blood trailing from a spike embedded between her helmet and shoulder armor. An unlucky break.

  “You’re paralyzed.”

  She blows out a huff. “Tell me something I don’t know.”

  “I’ll leave you here and finish the scenario.”

  “No,” she says. “Don’t leave me like this.”

  “When I win, you’ll come back healthy.”

  “Liar. You’re not winning.”

  I purse my lips. She’s right.

  When I bring up my pistol, she pleads, “Not in the face.” Her watery eyes blink back tears. “I really thought I was going to reach ten sigmas.”

  Everyone thinks they have the winning lottery ticket.

  “Do you have any memories left?”

  “A few.”

  “Tell me the best one,” I say, returning the pistol to its holster.

  “I have four children. All girls, all brats.”

  “Happy memories.”

  “I’m getting there.” Her eyes wander. “My oldest daughter married a bum. Good for nothing bum. When she got pregnant, he beat on her. But I got her out of there. Put him in the hospital too. A month later she gave birth to my beautiful grandson.”

  I lean closer. “Tell me about him.”

  “He had the most inquisitive stare and the cutest nose. Took after my husband. He always wanted a son. I had forgotten how wonderful children are.” She cracks a half-smile as a tear leaks from the corner of her eye. “Those years watching him grow up were the best years of my life. I miss my girls; I was so mean to them.”

  She stops, gurgling her last breath.

  Leaving her knife in her chest, I stand and wipe my cheek. To my disappointment, it’s dry.

  I wonder for a fleeting moment if I will be punished for killing another teammate before I shake it off. I have a bargain with the virtual overlords, and win or lose, this is my last scenario.

  A smoky breeze blows past as I sweep my eyes over the scattered bodies. Beyond them, the entire map is quiet.

  It’s only me against Syd and his teammates. My people have fought well but even if they took two of Syd’s for every one of them, that still leaves over forty enemies. Forty of the toughest and most evil individuals mankind has to offer. And that’s not including Syd, who is the most formidable opponent in this or any other universe.

  Cleo’s words ring in my ears. “He’s reserving the worst things for you.”

  Remembering the horrendous injuries Syd inflicted the last time we met, I tremble. Whatever happened to those people who were hacked into body parts awaits me. Only a lot worse. The type of sadistic torture only a mix of the worst parts of rapists and murderers could devise.

  My fingers touch the pistol strapped to my thigh.

  “You made a promise,” says my internal voice.

  The silence stretches.

  “You are the avenging angel!”

  I straighten. Now is the moment to be strong. I made a promise to stop Syd and his brethren, and I intend to keep it.

  This is where I belong.

  Although I’m in the all too familiar state of being alone, that’s okay. Somehow my worst fears of loneliness have dissipated.

  “Do the unexpected,” my internal voice shouts.

  As I look at the razor leaves sprouting from the plants and the shimmering water beyond, a plan comes together. Although not much, the proactive strategy offers my only chance of success.

  I kneel and start pulling off Odet’s armor. The pieces aren’t designed to be removed and I have to waste extra seconds breaking some stubborn clasps. When I’m done, and after I retrieve the knife from her last kill, I board the boat and cross the channel to the home island. The world map is still etched into the sand and I step on it as I walk toward the flag.

  My preparations require a few minutes and after finishing, I return to the beach. As my bare feet touch the shimmering water, I pause and enjoy the surrounding calm.

  Across the way, orange glints flicker over the deadly plant leaves while speeding clouds obscuring the full moon run playful shadows over the broken masses of land. In the distance, thunder rumbles and lightning flashes from the dark wall of the approaching storm.

  No more time to waste.

  I step off the sand and plunge into the icy river.

  Syd’s coming.

  Fifty-Six

  Air gushes as the sharp steel slices through the thick rubber segments, gutting the craft from stem to stern. My enemies tumble into the freezing water.

  Satisfied by their drowning cries, I slide my knife into its sheath and angle myself to face against the gentle current. Using a modified breaststroke, my head barely breaching the water’s surface, I swim toward my protecting position as the feeble sounds fade into silence, the newly dead joining their three other sets of teammates at the bottom.

  Even as the frigid surroundings numb my skin, I keep my motions smooth and efficient. I’m not naked, but I’ve stripped to just my undergarments with my only weapons, the knife wrapped around my thigh and silenced pistol jammed into my bra. A single reload, which I hope not to use, forms a conspicuous bulge in the back of my panties.

  I slice through a thin mist and swim closer to the curving river bank to save time.

  An underwater plant scrapes against my bare leg. It’s only a shallow cut, and although I twitch from the pain, I keep focused on controlling a growing nervousness from the coming confrontation with Syd.

  A bolt of white forks in the distance, revealing ominous clouds with dark bellies, the vanguard of the approaching storm. When the stark illumination fades, only the broken radiance of the moon remains. A few moments later, faint thunder passes me, accompanied by a breeze laden with warm moisture. The storm, bringing chaos and uncertainty, will be here soon.

  Something tickles my bare arm, and I yank out my knife. It’s a helmet from one of my victims. I put the weapon away, admonishing my jumpiness.

  The low hum of boat engines slides over the water.

  My heart skips a beat. It shouldn’t be possible for the enemy to have moved that quickly.

  Shedding my disbelief, I increase the pace of my strokes and take inventory. Except for the minor wounds I’ve sustained, I’m functional, and that’s a positive. The negatives are growing fatigue, a tiny supply of weapons, no protection against the inhospitable environment, and worst of all, having a host of merciless enemies.

  “And a promise to survive, and you get to kill Syd and rid the universe of evil,” internal me chimes.

  I roll my eyes, not sure why its optimism no longer bothers me.

  As I rush to the island, the hanging mist scatters to reveal two small crafts resting on the empty strip of beach.

  Fine mud, littered with jagged pebbles, squishes under my feet as I hurry from the water. My freezing muscles want to shiver, but I relax to allow blood to flow to my extremities.

  Time is short, and I focus inland. Although having a head start, my enemies advance cautiously and with surprising inexperience. I read them as lowly 2.5 sigmas in their first battle.

  But regardless of their experience level, if they touch the flag, the scenario ends and Syd goes on to the real world. I force my freezing muscles to action,
and in plodding steps, leave the beach and head toward the waiting rows of lethal plants.

  While I keep my sight glued to my targets, the razor leaves take turns slicing my bare shins. While helpful in the water, the lack of armor is a massive detriment on land. I wince with each cut, and soon, everything below my knees is a crosshatch of gashes under a dripping layer of blood.

  As a sharp sliver of plant spikes into my heel, a single form peals from the group and kneels in the dim light, scanning the flanks against attack.

  Readying my knife, my bare feet stay silent as I rush to his blind spot. A quick back twist of my hand parts the flexible armor plates protecting the neck and head while the blade slips through the gap. Blood spurts over my fingers. Before he sags to the ground, I slide past, wiping the knife on my panties.

  I advance further inland, my teeth grinding from the pain radiating from my sliced shins and wounded heel.

  Before long, I locate another rearguard. This one narrows at the waist—a female. Even though the man in the broad-brimmed hat explained my fascination with her, I hope it’s not the girl with the violet eyes.

  Because of the evil flora, my hobbled strides take a more cautious tone as I alter my path into the wavy shadows cast from a nearby fire.

  Suppressed gunfire rings in front. They’re shredding the empty armor shells I’ve left defending the flag. Since the decoy was meant for Syd as a last line of defense, it’s another setback for my plans.

  “All plans die upon the initial contact with the enemy,” a black thread announces.

  With everyone’s attention shifted to the gunfight, I hasten over the remaining distance. When I reach her, I use the same hand technique to create a weak spot in her armor.

  Soundlessly, the girl dies, her body collapsing face first into the muck and to my relief, hiding the color of her eyes.

  I follow the final eight with my anger increasing from each cut of the hateful vegetation. Besides the degradation of my abilities, I’m worried about the simmering rage of the blue liquid overcoming my sanity.

  However, the armor has served its purpose, making my neophyte opponents fear ambush and become timid in their advance. And because I lack armor in such a hostile environment, they have no idea I could traverse the river without drowning and arrive directly behind them.

  The advantage is almost worth the clawing pain.

  After the fifteenth cut, the malevolence of the blue liquid surges and I tighten my jaw to stop from shrieking in rage.

  Forcing calm into my mind, I re-sheath my knife and yank the pistol from my bra.

  The popping sounds fade while smoke climbs from the tatters of the two sets of armor. The remaining combatants rise and advance.

  I fire at the edge of effective range. In real Sergeant York style, I start with the rearmost opponent and work my way forward. Four of the shadowy figures crumple from shots into the back of the neck before I take cover behind a shallow ripple.

  The others arrive at the shredded decoys, unaware. When they turn, I take out the one furthest from me and then the next with throat shots. The other two dive, and instead of firing at them, I shoot at where they’re seeking cover. There are several sharp cracks from the bullets piercing the ceramic armor.

  I pull the other magazine from my panties and reload but everything stays still.

  As the leading edge of the storm crosses in front of the moon, lengthening shadows reach past my face and blanket the rest of the island. Beyond the smoky armor, the flag’s pinpoints of light wave proudly in the rising breeze.

  Raindrops touch my body.

  Puzzled with the entire situation, I survey the battlefield as I stride to the prone forms.

  Droplets splash in the pools of blood around their bodies. Surprisingly, their faces aren’t painted and look familiar. After a moment, I realize they’re AIs, and just like the girl with the violet eyes, I’ve killed them many times.

  However, in the midst of all the composites, myself, and Syd, the finest warriors the virtual universe has to offer, the arrival of these AI neophytes is bewildering.

  They never had a chance.

  My bloody calf brushes against a curled leaf with thorny spikes.

  I grab a rifle and smash the hated plant. As I fling the weapon into the next one, the irrational but wonderful darkness of murder seeps into my mind.

  Angrily, I flick wet hair from my face then squeeze my lips between my thumb and forefinger. I won’t let the stupid plants drive me over the edge.

  Motor sounds arrive through a gust of wind.

  Syd!

  Adrenaline dumps into my bloodstream while the pit of my stomach drops. For all of my tactical acumen, and for all of his not caring about strategy, I’m cornered.

  Nothing comes easy.

  With no more tricks or allies, and because I have to defend the flag, which limits my mobility, I’m in deep trouble.

  Cleo’s words whisper in my mind. “He’s reserving the worst things for you.”

  I’m going to die as Syd’s final sacrifice in his journey to the real world.

  The thought angers me. Syd isn’t dead, and I made a promise to beat him.

  My eyes dart across the barren landscape, searching for a solution. I can’t surrender to the inevitable.

  There isn’t any way out.

  Clenching my hands into fists, I swallow a pool of saliva and battle with my panicky desire for the murderous power of the blue liquid. Since it saved me from the bald giant, certainly it could help against Syd and his friends.

  Blood trickles under my toes.

  I glance downward, bringing myself back from the abyss.

  Like me, each of the AIs carried into battle a standard load consisting of an assault rifle, a pistol with one reload, a combat knife, and two grenades.

  But they just entered the fight and have barely expended any ammunition.

  It makes no sense.

  “Hey, Dummy, it has to make sense,” internal me adds in a snarky voice.

  “When did you decide sarcasm was fun?”

  “You have plenty of optimism for us both; somebody has to be a realist.”

  I nibble on a nail. Arguing with internal me won’t solve anything. Time is running out, but I need to reason through the problem.

  For this to be my last scenario, the overlords needed to stack the odds against me. The jump from slightly more than nine to ten sigmas is staggering, and these novices provided the smallest fraction of the total. With the number of reinforcements joining Syd’s side, it could have been done through many combinations.

  And these AIs died so quickly.

  The novice team was sent to resupply me.

  “Yes, Dummy, they still have most of their ordnance.”

  I look upward to the sky, and thickening raindrops pelt my face. Behind the gigantic clouds of the storm and the nighttime blackness beyond hides the glorious blue dome. I imagine the man in the broad-brimmed hat looking downward.

  My lips mouth a “Thank you.”

  I have a path to get home.

  Fifty-Seven

  As the rain spatters mud over my bloody shins, I take a calming breath. I need to apply my experiences from every scenario along with the knowledge embedded in each thread and all my abilities to devise a workable strategy.

  Although I’m not emerging unscathed, with a little luck and a lot of skill, I’ll have a chance—albeit a slim one—of surviving.

  And kill Syd too.

  Despite my wounds and physical exhaustion, my energy surges at the prospect of one final fight. Surrendering to my senses, I notice the temperature, the worsening rain, the nuances of the wind, every frond protruding from the vegetation, and each variation in the terrain. Everything that will influence the coming battle.

  Time is critical.

  For each of my last eight kills, I drag the body into sight of the flag and prepare both grenades, pulling their pins and tucking them into whatever sturdy place like under a hand or arm that allows easy freedom whi
le preventing the safety handle from releasing. After finishing, I glance longingly at their ceramic armor, but as I discovered with Odet, the protection isn’t built to be removed, much less put back on a different person. Cursed plants or not, I’m winning or losing in my unclad state.

  Ridding myself of weak thoughts, I jog to the two rear guards, and after appropriating their weapons, head toward the beach buoyed by confidence in the plan as well as the rifle slung across my chest and the four grenades and pistol crammed into my bra and panties.

  When I arrive, a thick mist still hugs the channel in spite of the awful weather. I stake out an overwatch position nestled behind a waist-level rise in the terrain that offers a straightforward egress to the flag.

  As I wait, brushing wet strands of hair from my eyes, the rain pours and lightning crashes onto nearby islands with loud cracks of thunder.

  The storm is mine.

  I relish in the water pelting my face and rushing down my body, my toes curling in the coarse mud, the hisses of the droplets extinguishing the fires, and the wind gusting across the landscape.

  There is nowhere in the universe I would rather be.

  Only moments pass before four boats emerge from the fog.

  It’s time!

  Nineteen armor-clad soldiers jump onto the island in expert fashion. The least of them owns a five sigma score, and even in the awful conditions, they speedily clear the beach.

  Then a single malevolent figure strides ashore. He screams loud enough to cut through the burgeoning storm. “Brin! Sweetie, are you ready for me?”

  I grind my teeth, refusing to be intimidated.

  Syd motions for his people to advance and scatter to the flanks.

  Because I can’t have them spread out, I stand and yell, “I’m right here Syd.”

  They stop. Syd yanks off his helmet, the rain instantly drenching his spiky hair and smearing his blood-painted face. As he flings it into the wild weather, he lets out a broad smile.

  I send back an obscene gesture.

  The heavens rip open. Waterfalls pour from the sky, joined by thick, incandescent strikes of lightning, which whiten out the land. The earth trembles from gigantic claps of thunder. And through everything, the wind shrieks.