by Dawn Chapman
“So…” Pierce, looked back at Wilkinson, then the flower woman. “How do we do this?”
“We have a limo waiting,” said Wilkinson. “I hope you’ll find it comfortable. Afterward, we have some appointments to attend to.”
Pierce’s eyes were on the woman “What about her? Is she coming with us?”
Wilkinson giggled like he’d just remembered the woman by his side. He pressed a button on a small device he held between his fingers, the woman’s cue to step forward and hand Pierce the flowers.
“It’s an honour to meet you,” she said and smiled. “My name is Lynette, and I’ll be accompanying you for the next few days.”
Pierce took the flowers in his lap. They were a fancy lot, looking almost like real ones. Not as impressive as the woman, though. It took some time for Pierce to realise she was as organic as the material of her dress. Before he had the chance to say anything, the chair started moving. Lynette was pushing him. “Please, I don’t like to—”
“You shouldn’t worry about anything,” said Wilkinson, “Lynette’s very advanced.” He handed Pierce a pair of sunglasses, offering him assurance. “She’ll take special care of you.”
Just as Pierce put his sunglasses on, the automatic doors slid open. For the first time in months, he experienced heat from outside. The heavy air filled his nostrils with an oily fragrance; he coughed. Pierce looked at the orange sky; it seemed dark. Still. Menacing. That lasted just a few seconds though, for soon they were inside the limo, Wilkinson shutting the door behind them.
Pierce took his glasses off.
“It’s getting worse,” he said, catching his breath. He looked out the window, saw other cars passing, but no people walking on the streets.
Wilkinson continued to smile. “We hope your skills in the games may grant us another chance.”
Inside the limousine, it was fresh. Cool, as all interiors used to be. A heavy vehicle, completely shielded, of course, with a minibar and TV. The seats were covered in dove-grey leather. One seat had been removed to leave wheelchair space. Lynette locked Pierce’s wheels then sat by his side, picking the flower basket from his lap to set it on the floor.
As the limo moved down the street, Pierce realised how scary it was being in a car again. Wayne had refused to learn how to drive. Apart from the ambulance, and a cab from the hospital back home, Pierce’s freshest memory of being in a vehicle was the accident. Sure, he’d driven a lot of tanks in the virtual world, crashed most of them, but the only stakes there was he’d lose a few life points. He felt his legs pulsating as if they sensed the peril of being over moving wheels again.
“You’re feeling well, son?” Wilkinson leaned in and set a hand on the chair’s arm.
Pierce nodded, though the smog and light made him feel queasy. “So, where are we going now?”
“Don’t worry, relax.” Wilkinson busied himself, pressing a button on the device in his hand.
“I think you are very handsome,” came a weird voice, making Pierce almost jump out of his chair. Lynette had been by his side all that time. She offered a creepy smile, stared into his eyes. But since she didn’t breathe he’d forgotten about her. Pierce realised those eyes were lifeless. He shuddered.
Plastic doll eyes. “Thank you,” said Pierce then turned back to Wilkinson. “I want to know our schedule.”
Wilkinson pulled a pad from his pocket, read it. “Lunch with the president first,” he said as he scrolled through, then added, “He’s in town just to see you. Then we have a press conference, a meeting with the contest’s winner.”
“What contest?”
Wilkinson stared, his eyes blinking. “Seriously? You don’t know?”
Pierce shifted away from Lynette and waited.
“A contest’s been held—on the Internet. Over two million people applied. They all posted a video saying why they deserved to meet the big gamer. The winner gets the chance to meet you.”
Pierce rubbed his eyes. “Oh, god…”
“Would you like to see the video?”
Before Pierce could answer, Wilkinson pressed a button on his pad, so the TV facing them showed the face of a teen speaking to the camera. “My name’s Max; I’m thirteen.” As he spoke, the camera panned out, showing Pierce dressed as a soldier. “I was born without hands. My dad couldn’t pay for surgery. They said I couldn’t do anything.” The boy raised his two mechanical hands, the cheap kind that only allowed for grabbing things. “I used to complain a lot, but not anymore. I found my new hero. He didn’t have the money to pay for new legs—”
“—Shut it off,” Pierce demanded.
“—but Pierce is going to save the world anyway.”
“Now.”
Wilkinson pushed the button, banishing the teen. He touched his tie. “I think empathy goes a long way.”
“Is that what you are telling people? That I can’t afford new legs?”
Wilkinson shrugged. “It’s a believable story.”
Pierce grabbed the arms of his wheelchair to avoid attacking the man, knuckles turning white. “Mr. Wilkinson…” he growled, “my legs were shredded to pieces. My arms broken, my lungs filled with blood. They did a commendable job. You could never imagine the amount of pain I went through. The leg surgery required them to amputate mine—apply new ones. The surgery? It takes two days. One of the most dangerous procedures available, especially for a person in the state I was. Plus, I’d have spent months in physiotherapy—”
“—I understand all that.”
Like the monster he knew he was when confronted with these painful truths, Pierce’s anger rose, smouldering within. “I don’t think you do!”
Wilkinson snapped his fingers then pressed the button again, but Lynette only put her hand over Pierce’s shoulder. “I think you are very handsome,” she repeated in the same chilling tone as before.
“Shit,” Wilkinson cursed, “wait.” He pressed it one more time.
Trying to be softly sexy, Lynette cooed, “I’m incredibly well-built.” But it was off. Not right. At all. Pierce wondered who’d programmed her. “I believe you’d be surprised!”
“She’s a prototype,” Wilkinson explained. “One of our sponsors thought it might interest you…”
“You can’t be serious?” Pierce hid his face in his palms. “Shut up,” he warned, then asked, “Grab me some juice, will you?”
Wilkinson almost pressed the button again, but instead, he opened the minibar for a plastic bottle of juice. “After the meeting with the winner,” he continued. “you’ll have a couple of hours to rest. We reserved a suite in the Plaza. Lynette will be at your disposal…”
“I don’t want to be in a room with this thing,” said Pierce, opening the juice. “I can take care of myself.” He peeked at the artificial woman at his side. Her face was frozen into what was supposed to be a sexy smile. Ugh. “You said a couple of hours. What’s after that? What do I have to do next?”
Wilkinson consulted his pad again. “We’ll take you to the game centre. They want a demonstration.”
“They? You mean the…” Pierce pointed upward.
“No, not them,” said Wilkinson. “Our scientists created a simulation—of the game. They want to know how you’ll interact with it. They also want some videos for commercial purposes.”
He said those last two words carefully, clearly expecting a violent reaction, but Pierce was thinking of that first part. A simulation! That meant he’d be able to experience it this evening, not in a week’s time. “Can we cancel everything else? The president, the kid, the whole deal?”
“Yeah, right.” Wilkinson grimaced. “Anyway, before going back to bed, you have a photo session…”
“I said cancel it!” repeated Pierce. “Get me to the hotel. Get me a gaming system. If you can’t find a decent one, take me back to my apartment. You can pick me up at the end of week. And don’t bring Lynette.”
“Are you out of your mind?” Wilkinson sat with eyes wide. “Do you have any idea how much
is at stake.” A hand waved to the street and beyond. “This is not—”
Pierce’s glare shut Wilkinson up. “I’m going to save this species, all of it. Including the president. Including you. It seems to me I call the shots, doesn’t it? What are you going to do? Revoke my contract?”
Wilkinson mumbled for half a minute before being able to make sense. “This is not all about you. Even if you finish off their warriors before breakfast, there are economic issues regarding who’s going to build the ships that will take us to New Ararat. You have to realise that…”
Pierce didn’t pay much attention to the rest. Economic sanctions, disputes about who gets to build what… was it really worth it to save this planet? How long after they got to New Ararat before the first real war started there? How long before they needed a third, or fourth, planet? What sense did anything make?
“Are you even listening?” asked Wilkinson.
“We’re going to the hotel,” informed Pierce. “Tell the president I felt indisposed if you must. And get me that gaming system before I finish lunch. I don’t want to get rusty.”
Chapter Five
Drayk
Drayk looked through the microscope with Callo standing over his shoulder, watching his every twist and turn.
Mrissa spoke in his ear. “Unauthorised outside knowledge sourced.”
Drayk swallowed, hoping he wouldn’t get into any trouble using his skills outside the game. There were no rules for mascots pooling resources though.
MASCOT + SKILLS
SCIENCE LEVEL UNKNOWN
ENGINEERING LEVEL UNKNOWN
DNA SEQUENCING LEVEL UNKNOWN
“Skill usage has been reported to Hygon’s Guild,” Mrissa said. Damned, he’d be in trouble, no doubt.
“So, tell me, Callo, where are we? What’s this game? I’d only hoped to try out for the guild, not get swept into… this.” Drayk looked up, waving his hand at the room, his eyes falling on the monster.
Callo didn’t answer right away, but Drayk held his gaze. “I’m not sure what I’m allowed to tell you, but I think you’ve already seen a lot of things you shouldn’t have.” Callo moved closer while Drayk worked. “The team was invited to play this game a few months ago. The planet’s called New Ararat. We were hyped up on the offers of new loot, new experiences. The chance to become the best team on Ragaliz. It has a hostile environment, as you’ve already seen.”
Drayk returned his focus to the scope, looking deeper into the DNA strands of the three creatures. “Go on.”
“Well, when we got here, things were very different. It’s nothing like we’d been promised. The Pardo, the local species, NPCs, they seemed… to have ulterior motives. Sometimes they help, then they don’t. It’s almost as if they’re sentient, not created by the game designers. Each time we come in, there’s another mystery.”
Drayk could confirm that by what he saw in the scope. It didn’t make sense, no matter how he thought about it. Why would NPCs, a warring species calling themselves ‘humans’, be interested in splicing DNA? Drayk did not hearing anything else until Callo poked him in the ribs.
“What’s going on in there?” Callo asked when Drayk finally lifted his head to rub his eyes.
“A lot more than you might think, at first glance.” Drayk moved away from the scopes to a large screen where he could pull up several images. “I’m not a hundred percent sure on the language used here, but from what I see, the Pardo Humans were putting DNA together from several different species. I’ve no idea why.”
Drayk looked over to where the others in the team still milled, talking. He wanted to know what they chatted about, but he couldn’t hear. It was heated either way. That worried him. He looked back at Callo, then the large screen. “What kind of game is this where DNA sequencing is a task?”
Callo shook his head, but his eyes twinkled with curiosity. “We… Well, I don’t know. We’ve never seen anything like it before.” Callo pointed to the half-eaten body still bleeding all over the floor.
Haal wandered over, a frown on his face, having taken his nose from the machines to talk. Haal pointed back to the machines. “You understand all that science stuff?”
The red flashing light in the corner of Drayk’s eyes grew in intensity. A warning message flashed up.
HEALTH—60/100
BUFF—VIAL OF DRAX—FIFTY SECONDS REMAINING
His health had dropped to almost half. Drayk panicked. “Guys, I’m almost out of the buff you gave me. What are we going to do now?”
Drei had followed Haal, heard Drayk, and shook her head. “I don’t have another like that, but as long as you stay in the building, you should be all right. Haal, I think we should secure the area. Recon outside, investigate this some more. This base is full of weird things. You’ve not seen…” she waved her hands at the room, “anything yet.”
Drayk didn’t really want to look around, but Mrissa’s voice popped into his head along with the message:
QUEST FOR INFORMATION. BONUS AVAILABLE.
WILL YOU ACCEPT?
Y/N?
Haal’s face lit up, Drayk knew they’d all received it. “The first joint quest for us all. Doesn’t seem too hard.”
Drayk glanced to each of them, watching as their focus came back to Haal. “Should I accept?”
“Want to stick with us?” Haal questioned, looking his mascot up, down, once more considering their options.
Drayk could almost hear Haal’s thoughts, but asked with a sudden ache, a need to stay together. “Will it help me gain footing in the guild?”
Haal didn’t answer straight away. He turned to Torin, taking a few steps away from Drayk to confer with his second on a decision. “Hasn’t caused any ill effects as yet. What do you think, Torin? Should we head back, let the guild decide Drayk’s fate, or continue and see where it leads us?”
Torin’s brow furrowed as he thought. “I’d like to know more about this base, this monster.” With his boot, he tapped the dead creature at his feet. “We’ll stay, stick this one out. The quest itself doesn’t seem so hard. But I think it’s hiding something. There’s more to it than just a simple ‘seek out.’ Don’t you think?”
Haal didn’t look back to Drayk. “Agreed. We’ll proceed with extreme caution. Going to take the building’s bottom half again with Callo and Vic. You and Drei take Drayk down below where we saw the others…”
Drayk pondered what Haal meant, but although he wanted to ask, he didn’t. Torin glanced in his direction; with a nod, he indicated the door. “Come on. We’re heading down. Let’s take it nice and slow.”
Still flashing:
WILL YOU ACCEPT?
Y/N?
Drayk tapped the Y option.
Stepping away from the machines, Drayk moved to the doorway with Torin. “Keep your eyes peeled,” he was ordered. “We’ve checked the floors once already, but that doesn’t mean something can’t appear.” Drei slinked in behind as they navigated through the door.
“Does the game have a habit of throwing extras into the mix?”
Drei raised her weapon. “Expect the worst. Could be hiding spots.” She moved ahead, taking point. “I always do.”
“If there’s more down here to see, can you at least warn me as to what…” Drayk fished inside his jacket to pull the smaller hand weapon out. As far as a gun went, it didn’t weigh anything, but on contact, the stats popped into view. Drayk read through them, clicked the screen away before he fell over his own feet.
“Powerful little thing, isn’t it?” Drei asked. She placed her hand on a door. It slid open, revealing a set of stairs.
Drayk had seen many weapons when gaming with his brother, but he neither liked guns nor enjoyed their destructive capabilities. Give him a sword any day. Hopefully, if he were allowed to join the guild, that was what they’d let him specialise in: Close Combat Fighting. To the outside eye, Drayk looked just like he wanted to—weak; most might assume he was just that.
“Come on,” Torin said, peerin
g into the space. “There’s a lot of levels in here.”
Drayk remembered the building from outside. “Four stories?”
Torin shook his head, pointed down. “No. Where we’re going, there’s a lot more. This place is huge.”
Drayk’s grip tightened on the gun, wishing it were something he could handle better, not just point and shoot. That seemed so lame right now.
They followed Torin in, with Drei trailing. Maybe we should’ve gone back to the guild—see where I’d have been placed properly. What would Cale say now? There was no way he’d be home for their party. Drayk had never expected it anyway, but he’d hoped the guild might have signed him up that day. So, he could have celebrated their birthday knowing they’d have a better future. Now, these feelings of loneliness, being out of his depth consumed him.
Right or wrong, he followed Torin; they headed down the flight of stairs, Drayk’s heartbeat thrumming in his head. Louder. Louder.
Reaching for the handrail, Drayk noticed there were tiny bumps. His hands slid along the surface. The more he felt them, the more they started to mean something, as if they were carved in the wood for a reason. He stopped, with Drei almost running into his back. “What is it?”
Torin moved back to secure their stationary position.
Drayk felt farther along the banister, feeling each bump. “This is a language,” he said, “etched into the banister, almost missed it.” Each bump, recognisable, an old dialect of theirs. Finding the pattern then following it around for a few more minutes, Drayk caught a fingernail on a notch. Almost like a catch. It couldn’t be, that simple, could it?
“Hold on, guys, there’s a lever.” He glanced to Torin, who nodded.
When he flicked it, there was a resounding click. The floor vibrated beneath their them. They all stared wide-eyed. A wall to the left slid open revealing a hidden space, a dark corridor with a dim light at the other end, seemingly miles away from their position.
Torin edged closer to his sister. “See what she means… expect the worst.”
“You didn’t see this before?” Drayk asked, already knowing they hadn’t.
