Decimation Island

by Damien Boyes

  You slide a cylindrical grenade from the strap over your chest, cook it for a second, and toss it. It bounces through the jungle and Linker must hear it coming ’cause the crashing gets frantic as he scrambles to avoid the blast. You circle around to the front of the tree, away from where Linker will expect you to be, just as another cannon of pellets blows through the place you were hiding.

  The visor lights up, revealing his position, and now you’ve got the flank on him. He’s lost track of you and you keep circling, shadowing his movements through the jungle until you’ve crept up behind him and got him in your sights. Then you empty the bullpup’s magazine into him.

  Your throat tightens with a momentary pang of remorse as the bullets tear through your partner’s armor and into his back. He whirls with a shriek, wild-eyed, and tries to get the shotgun on you, but he’s lost control of his arm and the blast goes wide.

  Linker drops to his knees, embedding the shotgun barrel in the dirt, trying to keep himself upright, but he’s done.

  He looks up at you, no regret, but no hard feelings either. You worked well together, but of everyone you faced out here, he’s the one that came closest to ending your run.

  Maybe partners aren’t such a great idea after all.

  “GG,” he chokes, and blood sprays from his lips.

  “Good game, pal,” you reply. But the game isn’t over, he isn’t dead yet, and you only have five seconds left before the bots come for you both.

  You draw your pistol as you cross the jungle and step up next to him. He watches you, knows what’s about to happen. And he doesn’t try to stop you when you take the Redeemer off his back. Survivors get to take one item into the next round, and this will be yours.

  “See ya in the next lobby,” you say, then flip off his helmet, and just as the prowler behind you flexes to leap, you blow out the back of his head.

  AniK@ betrays LinkerJayyyy. 10 players remain.

  Round complete.

  GAGE, FINSBURY

  16:19:49 // 7-JUL-2059

  I’m in Decimation Island, ghosting Anika’s run through her eyes. She’s got a pistol braced to fire in her outstretched arm, only a twitch of her finger away from surviving her tenth game in a row, with one last enemy to finish before she wins it all. She has nothing to lose by hesitating, but she doesn’t pull the trigger.

  “What are you waiting for?” a male voice calls from behind. He’s confident, with an accent slanted toward British. OVRshAdo, her partner for her last two games. They’ve made it to the end together. Worked hard to get here. This is a win for him as much as it is for her.

  But she doesn’t answer. Doesn’t take her eyes off her target.

  Even the guy standing across from her, his weapon empty on the ground next to him, the guy clutching a bleeding stomach wound and about to be eliminated with a bullet through the Cortex, is excited. You can see it in his eyes. People will know his name for this, even if he’ll never remember it himself. GrUNchuck00—AniK@’s final victim. The last player defeated on her way to glory.

  Her eyes flick to the display in the upper corner of her vision. Time is running out. Only eleven players left and the bots are closing in. Their warning growls grow louder. Still she doesn’t shoot.

  Why doesn’t she shoot?

  “You want me to finish him?” OVRshAdo asks, amused. He cocks his weapon, click-clack, and ejects a live round out of the chamber.

  Anika’s head shakes but her eyes don’t move. “No,” she says, speaking slowly, like her lips are heavy.

  Is this when she decides to do it? Or did she intend it all along?

  It’s the first thing people ask her, and she’s been asked dozens of times since, but not even Anika herself claims to know why, instead of pulling the trigger on the easiest shot of her life, in her moment of triumph, she twists the pistol up under her chin and ends her own run.

  I’ve relived this next moment over and over. I’ve watched it from the spectator view. Lived it through OVRshAdo’s perspective. I’ve even played GrUNchuck00’s POV, and the way his mouth drops open as he watches Anika’s Cortex burst out the top of her head in a bright blue flash is never not grotesquely satisfying. But mostly I’ve inhabited her, played through this moment in first-person, watched it through her eyes. I’ve lifted the weapon in my hand, felt the cold cylinder press against my skin, and trembled through the second’s hesitation before I squeezed the trigger. Replayed it a dozen times now, but no matter how many times I relive it, without the benefit of knowing what’s going on inside Anika’s head, it’s impossible to know why she does what she does.

  I can only guess, and there’s only one answer that makes sense.

  After the bullet tears through her head I let the playback run, but the game only lasts another moment before the round ends.

  So why’d she do it?

  The obvious answer is she knew her son was already gone, and what was the point after that? But she’d known that for days by this point. OVRshAdo had already told her two games ago. Why wait until now to give up?

  I consider jumping back and running through it again, but it won’t help. There’s nothing obvious that explains her actions. I don’t feel so bad about not finding anything though, no one else has either—and it’s not for lack of trying. People have cast themselves into this moment by the millions to live it for themselves, hundreds of articles have been written, hours of investigative feed produced, conspiracy theories hatched and discarded and re-litigated with every new scrap of information.

  A convincing rumor took hold claiming that somehow Jefferson Wood himself, the Decimation Island Game Director, overrode Anika’s skyn and forced the suicide at the last second rather than pay out the win. It made sense, and it fit the facts. After all, he had the most to lose. How else to explain the second’s hesitation before Anika ends it? What could it be other than an override? The story trended long enough that Wood made a rare public statement and put the story to rest.

  He stood on the glass balcony of the Decimation Island Live Control Complex, with his thick sandy hair waving in the breeze and the sun shining red in his beard, and promised there had been no interference, then to prove it, he released Anika’s internal Cortical telemetry for this moment to the public. Every biokin examination of Anika’s movements indicates she acted of her own free will, but still there are conspiracy groups who think somehow the island itself was behind it.

  I can’t find any proof though, and neither can anyone else. I think the better explanation for her hesitation is she reconsidered it one last time, then went ahead with it anyway.

  I’ve been through her entire run, and most of her life before that, playing through the archives, going through her thousands of hours of tube feed at 100X normal over the past day and a half. I feel like I know her, and find her low-key brand of tubing oddly charming.

  Even back when she first started playing games for an audience she wasn’t the bubbliest of personalities, but she was clinical, strategic, and had supernatural aim. She won a lot, almost effortlessly, and when she interacted with her fans it was always cordial. And when the trolls came at her, she gut them easily enough, but she never seemed to take it personally.

  Over the years she evolved into a low-key badass in the gamer scene, and she didn’t much care if she was popular, which is probably why she ended up there. Even going reszo didn’t change her. It just made her better at what she was already great at.

  Then she walked away from it all to have a kid, and when she returned to gaming to save his life she came back a different person. Not completely, but enough to be noticeable. She was no longer in it to entertain—even the cutting sarcasm was gone—she was playing to win, and solely to win. She was playing for her son.

  This drive continued into the live game. It started rough, and she nearly lost a bunch of times, but once she got her feet under her she came back to herself a bit. Then she teamed up with OVRshAdo, and that’s when things changed again. I don’t know what caused it, but s
omething in her turned the closer she got to winning. She went sour.

  I’ve been through her entire life, and just like the ludus security team, I’ve come up with nothing. Her early childhood records are spotty. She has no family, and the orphanage she grew up in is long gone. She’s lived her entire life online, everything exposed. There’s no one to track down and interview. No hidden scandals to uncover. Any secrets she’s hiding, somehow she’s kept them buried.

  Which means the only way I’ll find out what they are is if she tells me herself.

  And the only way to do that is to ask her.

  I’d rather not, but I guess that means I’m leaving the house again.

  AniK@

  Post Game 1 Downtime

  A few seconds after the game finished, the jungle went black as you were pulled you from your skyn and you found yourself standing alone in Camp Paradiso, the virtual holding area where the survivors’ rithms are stored between games. It’s styled like a beachfront tropical resort, complete with swaying palms and tiki torches and thatch-roofed huts, always at sunset. There’s a whole banquet table filled with simulated food and alcohol, anything you could want, but you’re not hungry. You’ll have about an hour to recover and compose yourself before the next drop.

  First, though, you need to get through the confessional, and that means talking to Jefferson Wood himself. You turn and he’s behind you, his perfect smile doing its best to put you at ease. You’ve been dreading this. Fragging’s way preferable to the chit-chat part of the game.

  “Congratulations on your performance, AniK@,” he says. “How does it feel to survive your first live game?”

  You won, you should feel great, but your chest hurts and the audience pressure in your head is growing as news of your win spreads. Rather than excited and energized, you’re exhausted, wrung out. Simulated games are one thing, but one hundred hours constantly on edge, fighting to survive, is a long slog and harder than you’d expected. And that was only game one. You still have nine hundred hours before this is over, and each one you manage to survive only makes the next one harder.

  “I did my best,” you reply, keeping your tone light. This is all part of the show. Jefferson Wood always interviews each of the winners himself. It humanizes you for the fans, and performing well with him can be just as important as getting kills. “I hated turning on my teammate, but he left me no other choice.”

  “And no one could fault you for it,” Wood says. “Your play throughout the game was adept, particularly your ploy to eliminate the PaulThe Baker and his squad at Ranger Rick’s Last Stand. Did you expect it to work so effectively?”

  “I hoped it would, but out here nothing’s guaranteed. We got lucky.”

  Wood runs his fingers through his thick hair. “In our opinion, luck had nothing to do with it. You have shown yourself to be a formidable contender.”

  “I’ll try to keep it up,” you say. Humility’s always a good option for the confessional. Makes you relatable.

  The Director pauses, and when he resumes its voice is lower, tinged with concern. “We all know you’re playing for your son, Rael. Is there anything you’d like to say to him?”

  You can’t help it, even though you know Wood is manipulating you, your heart clenches and you bite back a sob. Now that you’re in game seclusion, you won’t get to see him until either you die or win it all, but at least you know he’s still alive. Wood wouldn’t ask otherwise, right?

  “I just—” you start, but choke on your own thoughts and take a moment to compose yourself. “Just that his Mama loves him, and she’ll be home soon.”

  “Perhaps not too soon,” Wood adds. “Until the next round then, AniK@. We’ll be watching.”

  Then the resort shimmers and Wood fades away as the other survivors appear, scattered throughout the dining hall like they’ve been here all along and you’re the one late to the party. The other survivors are congregated together, laughing and toasting each other in celebration. OVRshAdo and his crew—Zara-Zee, HumanBacon, and HuggyJackson—are leading the hours race with four hundred each. They came in together and have done this plenty of times. There’s a surviving threesome who just finished their second games, and this is the first win for the remaining duo, but you expect this isn’t their first time at Camp Paradiso.

  They all seem like they’ve been here before and fall into a loose banter while they crowd around the bar. You know you should join them, playing off the other survivors is part of wooing your aud, but you don’t feel up to it. Instead you head out to the long wooden dock that stretches out into the azure water and stare at the blazing sunset.

  Your chest loosens as you watch the yellow-and-orange light ease into pinks and purples, but for some goddamned reason you still feel bad about turning on Linker. Even though you’ve done it countless times in virt games, even though it was self-defense, and all part of a fucking game, you still don’t like how it ended.

  The salt air tingles your lips as you suck in a breath. Doesn’t matter, you made it. That’s what matters. That’s why you’re here. You’re a survivor, and now the game truly begins.

  “You doin’ okay out here, firstie?” someone says from behind you.

  You spin around and see OVRshAdo on the dock behind you.

  He’s dressed the same as everyone else—just a light linen shirt and pants, and the aspect he’s wearing is as absently attractive as everyone else’s. His hair is light brown, swept up in a wave and shaved to a fade around the sides, his eyes are deep brown, and his face is halfway between angular and chubby, like a fat kid after six months of daily running.

  You were so wrapped up in self-pity you didn’t hear him approach. Lose your head like that in the game and you could lose your head for real.

  He cocks his chin out to the side when you don’t respond, and a grin worms its way across his lips. “You got that look. Real thing’s harder than you expected, huh?”

  You respond with a nod. OVRshAdo’s your biggest competition out here and you don’t want to reveal any weakness in your voice.

  He laughs. “So it’s like that, huh? You gonna play the hard-ass? That’s cool, I’m vibing.” He raises his hands like he’s waiting for something. “Go ahead, ask.”

  “’Bout what?”

  “You gonna make me come out and say it? You want to team, right? But you thought you’d come out here and play hard to get.” His accent’s vaguely British, but also sounds artificial, like he’s putting it on.

  “I don’t want to team with you,” you say flatly.

  His eyes go narrow. “Of course you do,” he says. “I get it, you took down three survivors in the first few hours of the game. You’re a real ‘press W’ kinda girl, am I right? But you’re a solo and you’ll go into the next game with a target on your back. You want to win as bad as anyone, so go ahead—ask.”

  He’s already got a tight four, he doesn’t need you. What’s he on about?

  “Pass,” you say, and he takes a step back, runs his fingers over his chin, and pushes his lips out in a self-satisfied pout.

  “Good,” he says, “’cause I only came out here to tell you we’re full up.” He does a little dance and spins on his toes. “And I know for a fact Zara-Zee wants that Redeemer, so I guess we’ll probably be seeing you soon.”

  “Great,” you say, then turn your back on him and stare out into the ocean.

  This is the real game, the game within the game. Now that you’re a survivor you’re playing against the other nine. The other ninety that’ll drop in fresh next round are dangerous, but not nearly as deadly as the players starting the game already armed and with hundreds of hours to lose. They’ll be coming for you from the jump, and if you want to stay ahead of them, you’ll need to play smart.

  Last game teaming nearly got you killed. This next one you’re gonna be the lone wolf, let the Redeemer be your backup, and take the head off anyone who gets too close.

  Let ’em come. You’ll be waiting.

  GAGE, FINSBURY


  7:03:51 // 8-JUL-2059

  I spent hours behind Anika Reyes’ eyes, but nothing I saw got me any nearer to understanding her. I checked in with Dub and told him I had nothing, but he wouldn’t let me off the hook, said she’d closed right up since the heist, and he’s convinced she was in on it. As far as he’s concerned, our only way forward is for me to get close to her and get her to open up, then find something, anything, to prove him wrong before it’s too late.

  My first reaction was to tell him not a chance in hell and ship him his money back, but spending all this time in Anika’s head’s got me invested. There’s just something about her I can’t let go of. I’m not ready to give up quite yet—not that I’m thrilled about what moving forward requires.

  He suggested I try talking to her again, and even though she rarely leaves the ludus, she does slip out of the building once a week: every Tuesday morning she leaves before training starts and spends ten or fifteen minutes in a nearby park, sitting alone on a bench, watching the sun rise over the playground equipment.

  That’s why I’m standing outside the ludus’ rear entrance at the ass crack of dawn, waiting for her to emerge—so I can pretend to casually run into her. It’s a shitty idea, I know, but it’s the only one we have.

  “I’m excited,” Connie says. She’s waiting with me while I loiter next to the ludus’ mirrored exterior. My Cortex doesn’t have the processing power to render her reflection in the building’s surface or adjust her appearance to account for the early morning light, but it’s nice to have her here all the same. “I’ve never been on a stakeout before.”