Tag, You're Dead

by J C Lane

  Robert spun around, but there was nowhere to go except the hotel bedroom he wouldn’t be using. He didn’t know why he bothered talking to his dad about any of this. His dad didn’t understand. But Robert knew it. If—no, when—he won this Game, Robert would get the attention he deserved. Not for his father’s money. For himself. For basketball.

  He would.

  “Robert.”

  “What?”

  “Your pocket’s ringing.”

  Robert pulled out his phone.

  Tyrese Broadstreet was on the run.

  Charles

  “She didn’t run,” Charles said. Time enough had lapsed that it didn’t take a genius to realize what had happened, even without the Referee contacting him. He’d been waiting for the call, every moment growing angrier and less willing to listen to whatever reason the Referee might throw his way.

  In his agreement with the Ref, he had insisted on being told the full profile of his Runner. Since the Runner’s life was not at stake in his package, the Referee agreed to his request. Also, Charles paid extra.

  Amanda Paniagua was an enigma. A small, nothing-special kind of girl, except for her brain. That was all that mattered to Charles. She could have been the Hunchback of Notre Dame, and he wouldn’t have cared. All he wanted was a good Game.

  The androgynous Referee avatar stared out from the screen. “Perhaps she is not as intelligent as we had hoped. The computer may have made an error in choosing her, although the chances of that are three million to one.”

  “It’s not an error. She’s the one I want. She’s most likely thinking logically instead of being frightened and behaving rashly. She’s probably also convinced she can figure out what’s happening, and is taking steps to end the simulation. She’s done amazing things in the virtual world, so I expect she could do them in the real world, too, if given the chance. It might take some adjusting, but I want her to try.”

  “You do realize you could win the Game right now, both Individually and Ultimately. Tag the girl while she sits at home.”

  “Which would mean I’d be asking for a refund,” Charles said. “This is not the experience I paid for.”

  Not in the slightest. As a last-ditch effort to exercise his brain and not turn into a raging sociopath, Charles had bought a place in the Game. School was no longer a challenge, and none of his former friends could hope to compete with him in any intellectual activity. He’d tried college, Mensa, online gaming, even online dating sites, where found that the women, though older than girls of his generation, were definitely not any brighter. His parents had given up on him ever having a normal life, and while they were brilliant themselves, they came nowhere near his level.

  He’d tried other things, having been told it would “help.” Exercise, diet, travel. He even wrote a book. The only problem with that attempt was that no one else could understand it. He’d dumbed it down, and still it left even his parents wondering what it had been about.

  As far as his circle of friends went, it really was non-existent. He’d tried social media, but the amount of inane and useless ramblings by people far his intellectual inferior made him mad with boredom and disbelief. He’d tried to care, but when it came right down to it, the lives of other people weren’t at all interesting. The only person he could stand being around for any period of time had been his grandmother, who’d called him Charlie and never tried to “understand” him. When she died the year before, it was like his one lifeline to normal society was cut off.

  Finally, through a number of academic avenues, he’d come into contact with a guy from Singapore who also struggled to find worthy acquaintances. For a while they’d kept in touch, discussing everything from astrophysics to ancient Sumerian artists, but eventually, through some unbelievable—and unfortunate, for Charles—stroke of luck, the guy had met a woman who set him on a different path. He’d told Charles he was sorry, but he wouldn’t be speaking with him as often anymore. He had supposedly become…happy. Before he’d taken off on his romantic life interlude, however, he’d offered Charles a gift. The contact information for the Referee.

  “I understand,” the Ref said now. “This Game has proven a disappointment so far. What would you like me to do?”

  “Not my job,” Charles said. “I’m paying you a lot of money to give me a good Game. If you expect me to plan it, again I’ll be expecting a refund. I came to you because I want a superior product. I was given a guarantee. The price I paid was more than fair. Extravagant, I would say.”

  The avatar nodded, giving what might have been construed as a patient parent’s expression—or an impatient parent pretending a calm it didn’t feel.

  “I’ll take care of it,” the Ref said.

  “Good.”

  “I’ll be in touch soon, when she’s on the Run.”

  “I’ll be waiting.”

  Amanda

  “Finally.” Amanda stopped reading to plug in her game console and see if it was working. The stupid Asian avatar and countdown had disappeared from the screen, to be replaced by the world where she and HotNerys666 were last fighting. PeruvianGoddess13 appeared, in full armor gear. Amanda spun her avatar 360 degrees, but didn’t see her archnemesis.

  She grabbed her headset. “Nerys, are you there?” Receiving no response, PG13 took off for Nerys’ last-known hiding place. Well, it was really more of a hangout place, since PG13 had known about it for some time. Amanda watched the landscape change from inner city ruins to Hobbit countryside. Nerys’ favorite pub came into view, and PG13 stopped at a distance and scanned the interior. Several hobbits lounged inside, along with a dwarf, two humans, and a low-level wizard. Interesting combo. She performed a scan on the humans, but neither had the complex structure of Nerys. He may have created them, but their makeup was definitely that of secondary characters.

  PG13 hunkered behind a hill and swept the surrounding area for life forms and weapons. Nothing suspicious, except a trace of something that could have been an ion trail from the Star Trek storyline Nerys embedded in the program. She closed her scanner. Where was he?

  Reluctantly, PG13 headed for the pub. Not her kind of place. Drunk men—human or otherwise—were not the sort of people she sought out, even virtual ones. Give her a logical, clear-headed Tolkien Elf any day. Legolas, to be exact. As depicted by Orlando Bloom.

  She paused outside the ramshackle wooden building and listened for any clue that Nerys was inside. All she heard was men singing. And someone playing a drum. She sighed. Maybe she would just wait outside. Nerys was bound to come along soon.

  But maybe that was his plan. Show up where she was sitting and obliterate her.

  Scanning the horizon, PG13 skimmed the ground, sprinting to another hillock, the opposite direction from which she usually approached. Finding a dip in the ground, she covered herself with a Shield Spell and waited.

  Amanda yawned and stretched, snuggling into her gaming chair. Nerys had better come soon, or she would just go to bed, and they would miss a great battle. Thinking he could intimidate her. What a jerk.

  She was in that zone halfway between sleeping and consciousness when an alert sounded. Something was in PG13’s space.

  Amanda woke in an instant and scanned the area with her non-detectable probe. No Nerys. Nothing new in the bar. Nothing out front, over the hill—

  Hello, Amanda Paniagua. The words appeared on the screen.

  Holy crap. Nerys had found her. The real her. She held very still, then typed, Call me PeruvianGoddess13, you stalker.

  What a shame that name will soon be obsolete.

  Amanda sat forward in her seat.

  What do you mean? And how do you know my real name? BTW, as of this moment, we are through. You’ve broken more of our Agreement today than I ever expected. I’m disappointed in you. You are so going to jail for this.

  I hardly think so. Your real name is no longer protec
ted. And neither is your virtual presence.

  Amanda threw every protective item she owned over her avatar, and charged her Sword from the Stone, as well as her E-11 Blaster Rifle.

  Talk to me on the headset, you scumlord.

  Very well.

  Something clicked in her ear, and a robotic, genderless voice said, “Hello, my dear.”

  “Why do you sound so weird? And don’t call me that, you perv. Now show yourself. Did you get a new invisibility spell or something?”

  “I made it myself, and my voice is as it ever has been.”

  Amanda punched in new settings, checking the feed for what could possibly be hiding HotNerys666. She found nothing in the code except one new number sequence she didn’t recognize. Nerys’ code, which he had no idea she’d discovered, was conspicuously absent.

  “Nerys?” Her voice quavered.

  “I am sorry, Amanda Paniagua. No one named Nerys is present. Of whom do you speak?”

  A cold weight settled in her stomach. “Who are you? What do you want?”

  “Did you receive the smartwatch?”

  “That was you?”

  “Good. Have you read the Rules?”

  “I’ve read them. I’m not going to follow them.”

  “I realize that is your wish. I am sorry to say you will have to pay the consequences.”

  Amanda tried to remember if she’d locked the front door. Of course she had. Right? And re-set the alarm?

  “You can’t get to me in here.”

  “Perhaps not. But there are other ways to persuade you to participate.”

  “Like what?”

  Something shimmered on the screen directly over PG13’s hiding place. Slowly, the shimmer took form to become the androgynous Asian avatar she’d seen earlier that evening. “Say your farewells to the lovely PeruvianGoddess13.”

  “What? No!”

  Amanda fired all her weapons, but watched helplessly as the stranger pulled a lance from its backpack, tainted it with poison, and thrust it into the ground, right through to PG13’s burrow. The shield spell wavered, and PG13 became visible, the lance through her heart. Amanda threw every healing spell she possessed into the program, but PG13’s vital signs faltered, slowed to almost nothing, and eventually stopped altogether. She went fuzzy, as if affected by static, and disappeared.

  “No!” Amanda whispered. “Nononononono.” Tears pricked her eyes. “What is happening? Who are you?”

  The Asian avatar looked out at her. “I am the Referee. You will now commence the Game of Tag. DarwinSon1 is waiting.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “You sound like a regular girl.”

  “I am a regular girl.”

  The Referee gave Amanda one of those condescending, parental looks. “You really want to go that route? Claiming that you are the same as the rest of the girls at your school?”

  Amanda didn’t know how to respond to that, especially since she wished she was like the rest of them.

  “Now, Amanda, you have been given the tools. The Rules of the Game have been imparted to you. You must play the Game.”

  Amanda stilled her quivering lips. “But who is this DarwinSon1? Why does he want to play with me?”

  “You have been chosen.”

  “By who? You? Him?”

  The avatar smiled. “Fate.”

  Amanda took a deep breath, swallowing everything she wanted to say. This was real life, not a fantasy. She’d been chosen by fate? Hardly.

  “Do I know him? If It really is a him?” Because like Nerys, the name could be a disguise.

  “You do not.”

  “So why—?”

  “Now,” the Referee said, “are you going to continue arguing, or are you ready to begin?”

  “You really expect me to run? Like, outside? For real?”

  “Did you ever play Tag as a child?”

  “Of course.” There had been a day when she at least pretended to be normal. She might have even believed it back then.

  “So you know what to do. You will commence with the Game. DarwinSon1 has agreed to allow the timer to re-start. So, on my mark, you will Go.”

  Amanda stood up. “Fine. DarwinSon1 wants a game? I’ll give It a game. It will wish It had never challenged me.”

  “One last thing, Amanda. The phone you received? You need to put it on.”

  Amanda eyed the wrist phone. “I have to wear it?”

  “Yes, that is how you will be tracked so DarwinSon1 can receive thirty-minute location transmissions.”

  “Can I keep it in my pocket?”

  “No, you must put it on. As soon as the Game is over, you may take it off. And you may keep it.”

  “At least I’ll get something out of this stupid game.” Amanda snapped on the smartwatch. It looked good.

  “That will be your only method of communication during the Game. You must leave your own phone at home.”

  “That’s not even fair.”

  “You are not allowed to contact friends or family, anyway. Besides, your phone has been deactivated, so it would not be of any use to you.”

  Amanda grabbed her Droid. The power was on, but she couldn’t even get past the home screen. “What did you do?”

  “These are the parameters of the Game.”

  Amanda squeezed her phone so hard it creaked. Very carefully, she set it on the table. “So if I need to use the smartwatch to research where to go, or traffic patterns, or whatever, can I do that?”

  “Certainly.”

  “Will DarwinSon1 know everything I do?”

  “Your It will know nothing but your location every thirty minutes. The smartwatch is yours to use however it is helpful to you, as long as you are not connecting with your personal Contacts. Remember, we know who those people are, and we can track them, whether or not you are communicating with them.”

  “So DarwinSon1 won’t know what I’m doing, but you’ll be watching the phone?”

  “No, we will be watching your father’s phone, and those of your friends.”

  Amanda rolled her eyes. “My dad isn’t even here, not like he knows anything about this kind of stuff, anyway. All he does is work. Can’t he just stay out of this? It’s not like he has time to be involved in a game of Tag, anyway.”

  “He may absolutely remain detached. We will not make any move to involve him, or anyone else on your Contacts list. Their ignorance of the Game depends solely on you.”

  It didn’t really matter. Nobody Amanda knew could help her with games, anyway. When it came to outsmarting people, Amanda had pretty much been on her own her whole life.

  “Another question. There’s supposedly a Home Base on the phone coordinates. What’s keeping DarwinSon1 from just waiting for me there once It knows the location?”

  “DarwinSon1 is competing against others. The first It to Tag its Runner wins the Game.”

  “What do they win?”

  “That is not your concern, but believe me, it is worth their while. You should realize It has forgone the opportunity to Tag you while you wasted this half hour in your basement. You could have been Tagged as soon as your location was transmitted.”

  “Why didn’t It? DarwinSon1 would have won, and we could all be done with this whole stupid thing.”

  “Because DarwinSon1 wants a challenge, Amanda. Not a senseless victory. I expect you to give It a Game.”

  Whatever. Amanda didn’t know this avatar killer from one of the mindless drones in Call of Duty. She didn’t owe this “referee” anything. But she didn’t need to make that known. Let the Ref and DarwinSon1 think she would play along. That would be enough. “Anything else?”

  “I wish you the best of luck, Amanda Paniagua. May the best player win.”

  Blah, blah, blah.

  5 a.m.

&n
bsp; Laura

  Laura half-hoped a cop would stop her as she raced to the next train station, but she knew it would only cause her family trouble, so her other half hoped she’d get away with speeding and risky driving. She made the distance in thirteen minutes, only one minute longer than she’d lost waiting at the last stop. Seventeen minutes until her location would be sent again. She scrambled in the car for pen and paper, settling for a McDonald’s wrapper and a Sharpie from the glove box. Holding the wrapper with a tissue, she wrote the owner a short note, apologizing and saying it was life or death. The owner wouldn’t believe it, but at least Laura knew she was telling the truth.

  She wiped her fingerprints from the steering wheel, glove compartment, and anywhere else she might have touched—because she watched cop shows—and slunk up to the platform, where a schedule said she could catch the next train in nine minutes. She tried not to scream at the delay.

  A small, disparate group joined her, still way too early for a Saturday, but at least none of them looked at her funny. When the train came, she climbed on and walked as far down the aisle as she could. The back seats were already taken, so she claimed the next one up and scrunched down in her seat. Eight minutes until her location went again.

  hic

  Sigh.

  Three stops later, an old Hispanic man who smelled like soap sat next to her. He tipped his hat, but didn’t try to start a conversation.

  At five-thirty her watch buzzed again. Laura didn’t know what to do except get off the train and see if she could find another car. This time, no one had been kind—or forgetful—enough to leave their key in a wheel well. Laura was stuck. She checked bus schedules on her watch, but this stop was in such a small place there wasn’t other public transportation anywhere close. She hoped It figured she was still on the train and wasn’t checking each stop. Laura hung in the shadows, waiting for the transmission to go again, which it did at six o’clock. Should she get on the next train? Wait for the one following that one? Start walking?