“You’re… you’re not going to leave us, right? Ash?”
I stare at him, trying to understand. Why would Brand ask… Oh yeah. He’s probably still in shock. Not used to this kind of endgame shit.
“No, stupid. We’re not going to leave you. We’re all getting off this stupid rig. Together.”
Jase nods, lower lip tucked between his teeth, Wind’s head lolling against his shoulder. I grab his hand and squeeze.
“Together. I promise. Just keep breathing, Brand. Slend, let’s find the doors.”
We creep away from the hapsphere, scuttling from shadow to shadow, listening to the gunfire grow louder. Screams start adding their counterpoint, quickly silenced by kinetic teeth, and I wish this was just a psych-sec, another test in the Game, not real not final not like Mikelas on the bridge that was just everyday life in Ditchtown but this is something that might snuff out every last one of us kill me and Wind and Slend and Jase and Johnny and Mom just like I killed Brand and—
Just another encounter.
I force air through my nose and mouth, force my panicky mind back under control, following the advice I gave Jase scant minutes ago. More echoing shots, more screams, more tight silences, drawing closer every time. A rough beast slouching our direction with the ponderous inevitability of a gummie Preacher, a swarm of wardrones, a cat-six supercell, nothing left but to find a corner and pray that terrible gaze sweeps by uninterested. All I can do is trust my instincts, carrying me through the shadows like a second skin, a dance I’ve done in so many terrifying slices of make-believe but never like this, never in the real.
Just another encounter.
Finally, we reach the blank metal door leading out of the sphere chamber, a red emergency light glowing fitfully atop it. I point my finger to the other side and Slend glides over, the two of us flanking the archway, our nostrils flaring, our eyes wide. My skin feels stretched too tight, numb, tingling, some primordial part of the brain stem flaring chemical surges my body cannot avoid. I see everything. I see nothing. The seconds fall with heartbeat crashes.
Just another encounter.
An eruption of noise, harsh cracks sounding like a devil’s whip.
Just another encounter.
A gurgling moan.
Just another encounter.
Fingers claw at the other side of the door, scraping down the paint-flaked surface. The barest tremor of feet kicking on iron, tiny vibrations the last ordered energy a life will ever construct. Silence.
Just another encounter.
A gentle creak, the door swinging back into the corridor. A beast at the threshold, pawing its way in with talons of lead. Nothing moves.
Just another encounter.
The thin barrel of a rifle pokes through, malignant matte black snout yawning wide. My heart hammers a war rhythm in my chest.
Just another encounter.
I wait for a few more inches to clear, then wrap my hands around the metal and pull. Thunder erupts next to my face, bullets spraying off the floor and into the distance, a pale finger clenched on the trigger, off-balance body following behind. Heat sears my palms, but letting go means death, so I ride the pain, pushing it to the back of my mind, all my attention on keeping the gun pointed away from those of us still living. A meaty thunk, then silence. The hand falls limp, flopping to the ground, and I pull the weapon free, immediately swinging it into a ready position to cover the corridor.
Nothing moves.
“Ash. Look.”
I glance over at Slend, searching the sprawled body she knocked senseless, confiscated pistol in one hand. She toggles the pistol’s underbarrel light and aims it at our assailant’s head. Wisps of blond hair frame elfin features, peeking out from beneath a thin gray covering.
“Shit. That’s one of those hoods.”
A momentary surge of vile nausea, Brand’s face floating in front of me. I clear the sour spit from my mouth, hearing it splat against the deck in a phlegmy lump. The Gamer’s chest slowly rises and falls below, his breathing ragged.
“Plan?”
“Go back and get the others,” I respond. “We can’t afford to let someone stumble over them.”
Slend nods and hurries off, one more shadow amidst the red. I keep an eye on the corridor and rummage through the Gamer’s odd mix of clothing—a web of tactical harnesses overlaying rumpled casual wear, hapsuit underneath, like he tried to dress himself while still in the Game. Not much useful on him, just some extra ammo magazines in curved metal shells. I pocket them, their weight heavy against my legs.
A quick check of my appropriated rifle shows it’s a gummie top-of-the-line riot response model, capable of semiauto, burst, and full-auto modes of fire. I would have preferred one of the stubbier Han bullpup variants, but in the Game you learn to use whatever’s available. Current magazine at half, fifteen shots remaining, normally fires rubber rounds but not today. I flick the fire selector to “burst” with a chipped thumbnail.
Slend whistles behind me, letting me know that she’s approaching. I keep my sights trained on the passageway out, not relaxing for an instant. A light tap on my shoulder, Jase and Wind’s ragged breathing nearby.
“I’ll take point.” A thought occurs to me. It should have occurred five minutes ago. Still not fully functional yet. “Jase, are you hooked in to the rig’s cloud?”
“Uh, lemme check… yeah, but barely anything’s active.”
“Can you pull up a schematic?”
“If that was an option, I’d have done it when we first got here. All I’ve got are local data transfer protocols, and even if there was something to transfer, none of you have working glasses.”
“Damn. Guess we’re going in blind. I know Sawyer’s office is a couple flights above us. Slend, standard leapfrog. Jase, stay behind us, stay in cover. Let’s go.”
Just another encounter.
I slip into the corridor, stepping over the corpse of one of the sphere techs, blood inching away from her in a slowly expanding pool. My boots squelch lightly as I pass through. Psych-sec. Ignore it. I try to make my senses expand, take in the entirety of this unfamiliar environment, breathe in the threat vectors and exhale our counters. Water drips fitfully from a ruptured pipe, and the low whoop of alarms strobes monotonously. Half-heard, half-felt gunfire tattoos its presence in intermittent bursts. The rifle’s sights feel like an extension of my own eyes, tracking everywhere I look.
The door at the end of corridor hangs open, a large space beyond. I duck my head through for a quick look. A food printer sparks in the corner, highlighting toppled chairs and several overturned tables. Bodies litter the floor, all but one in the dull camo of the Border Patrol. I make three quick hand gestures at Slend—moving in to the right, come in after and clear left. Deep breath. Inhale. Exhale.
I dash through the doorway, staying low, neck crawling with the anticipation of incoming shots tearing me apart, scanning the right side of the room, corners first, watching for movement, sights smoothly circling until I’m crouched behind a table, bullet holes dotting its thin metal length, a woefully insufficient barricade.
Silence.
“Clear.”
“Clear.”
I motion Jase and Wind into the room, and move up to a doorway on the far wall—if I remember correctly, it should lead us to a stairwell. Pause on the way there to check the bodies for ammo—nothing. Bad luck. The sounds of shooting grow louder. Slend takes position across from me and raises an eyebrow, red light painting her face. I nod and kick open the door. A dark shape at the end of the hallway, gun already rising, finger pulling back. Three quick kicks against my shoulder, and the shadow falls, my ears ringing once more.