I rushed into room four. Blue flames jetted from the walls. Most of the group huddled in the middle, out of the fire’s range. Two figures laid on the floor, their upper bodies charred black. Judging from who remained in the group, the two on the ground were Chloe and Heath.
Brad and the others yelled something to me, but I couldn’t hear over the flames. Then pain shot up my leg. I instinctually fell forward and glanced back. A stray, revolving jet of fire had caught my calf, turning it bright red. It felt like heated needles coursed through my veins. I gritted my teeth and hobbled toward the group, who pulled me into their midst.
After this, we shuffled along as a group, avoiding the moving flames. The greatest danger came from when we needed to jump and then duck under consecutive flames. The rest posed no trouble. We found the door, but it didn’t open. We continued to avoid the flames, staying alert to each direction until they subsided.
In the silence to follow, someone vomited.
Nona checked the door and found it unlocked, but we didn’t go through. The others went to Chloe and Heath. It was the suddenness that had caught them. Yet, I couldn’t bring myself to feel much. I didn’t think about the loss, as they didn’t leave much of an impression. Chloe and Heath’s deaths were that of background characters. Yet, this line of thinking plunged me into guilty despair. They were real people, and I shouldn’t have viewed the situation with such detachment. So, I resolved not to use video game logic. I feared I’d end up viewing the rooms—and the group’s lives—like a piece of cheap fiction.
As we started to leave, two wall panels slid open, and as many mantis-droids scuttled from the openings. They wrapped the corpses and prepared to drag them away. But Brad charged. He used his shield to slap the faceplate of the first mantis-droid, and then plunged the dagger into the second’s exposed neck wiring. I wasn’t sure whether he wanted to honour the dead or get some salvage. Or he was furious.
As Brad fought, my Vambrace flashed. Holographic names appeared in my vision above the mantis-droids, labelling them:
‘Custodians.’
Both were dead, ruined chunks of metal at Brad’s feet. He spat. Shoulders hunched, he panted. ‘They deserve better,’ he said, and kneeled alongside the corpses. ‘We’ll bring them along and return them to their families when we get out.’
Nona crossed her arms. ‘They’ll weigh us down.’
‘Fine. I’ll carry them.’
‘They’re dead, dude. And later on what’re you gonna do, drag us all out?’
‘If need be,’ he mumbled. ‘I never—a lot of people care about really knowing what happened to their loved ones.’
Though moved by Brad’s impassioned actions, I couldn’t stop looking at the Vambrace. A new holographic name had appeared, but I couldn’t see who it belonged to. The name was…in the wall?
‘Guardian,’ I uttered, as the name approached.
A huge chunk of the wall slid away. Another robot emerged. It was twice my height, yet it walked on four legs. Its width filled the opening. It reminded me of a black bear. Instead of fur it had interlinked scales of black metal, somewhere between chainmail and a reptile’s skin. The name “Guardian” hovered over it.
The group retreated a few steps, except for Brad, who raised his dagger and shield. The Guardian’s eyes glowed blue. Then it sniffed the ruined Custodians. Its eyes went red. You didn’t need to watch a film to know what it meant; a visceral, primal fear told me to get as far away as possible. The Guardian’s scales bristled, making it look even larger. It reared back. Brad roared and charged and plunged his dagger into the Guardian’s side.
Tried to plunge the dagger. It shattered like glass thrown under a bus.
The Guardian cocked its head, and then flung a paw to the side. Not even like swatting a fly; more like casually warding one away. But the damage was absolute. Brad’s head slapped against the wall, squished by the impact, leaving a grotesque smear. His body flopped backward. My stomach churned. I threatened to be sick. Otto and Ashlyn beside me did vomit.
The Guardian’s eyes went back to blue, and it departed. Three more Custodians came to collect the original pair, along with cleaning up what happened…
Nona trembled. I wasn’t sure if I should’ve comforted her, but I didn’t try. It might’ve been the time to step up and lead the group, but I didn’t dare try. Daniella, a girl with long legs, wearing jogging clothes, cried behind me.
Minutes passed. Nona squared her shoulders, strode across the now-clean floor, and retrieved the shield. She didn’t speak, didn’t try to lead, but we followed her through the next door.
Looking closer, Nona reminded me a lot of Nicole, my high school crush. Her personality differed, but her strong jaw and dark blonde hair were similar. I didn’t hope for anything, and I’d already resolved to reject fictional logic, but at the same time—well, there was always a chance.
#
Things only got worse…
Room five didn’t have any rewards. Instead, the walls turned into treadmills, and we needed to reach the door on the far side. Nona and I had the easiest time, as we’d started closest to the door, but my burned arm throbbed, painful with the extra exertion. Daniella ran well, and Otto forced his way ahead. But Ashlyn couldn’t keep up. She fell down a pit that opened behind the treadmills.
Room six had a chest. It contained food, water, and more nectar. The group watched my Vambrace absorb the nectar, but none of us could figure out if the Vambrace had more functions that a journal and archive.
Room seven had a series of ladders and doors on the ceiling. The ground gradually fell away. We jumped between ladders, searching for the real door. But the ladders fell too fast. Daniella dropped with a receding scream. Otto found the real door in the corner, with Nona nearby. My burned arm ached too much, and it’d gone limp. Otto noticed, climbed down, and helped me to the door. Nona made it up first, and then she helped me cross the upper threshold. We spun around to help Otto, but…
The ladder was gone. He’d vanished without a sound. The door sealed. Nona and I had escaped. Useless, I thought of myself. Nona steadied her breathing, stared at me, and said:
‘If it comes down to it, I’m saving myself. I’ll apologise now, in case that happens.’
Part of me felt that it was my duty to sacrifice myself, but another part felt that to do so was pathetic. I didn’t owe her anything, and it shouldn’t have mattered that she was attractive. But another issue affected me: How much she looked like Nicole. The chance to save Nona felt like saving Nicole. But if I sacrificed Nona, there was a chance I’d make it out, reach the high school reunion, and see the real Nicole again.
The room we’d climbed into saw my issue resolved.
Room eight was the size of a modest bedroom. The far wall slid away to reveal a wooden coffee table, two matching stools, and two ceramic dining plates. On the table was a sheet of paper with instructions, which detailed:
- Sit opposite each other.
- Place hand closest to the wall on the designated plate.
- With opposite hand, when instructed, select the appropriate button on the table’s underside.
Once Nona and I sat, mechanisms within the walls rumbled. Another piece of paper gradually pushed from the black line in the wall, as if from a printer. It detailed how there were two buttons underneath the table. It permitted us to look, but the next few lines confounded us: The green button represented “escape”, and pressing it freed you. The red button represented “survival”, and pressing it meant you wanted to find another way to escape. The instructions went on to outline the various results:
- If both participants press escape, neither will be freed.
- If both participants press survival, a tool shall be granted to assist.
- If one participant presses escape, they will be freed. The other participant will be alone to find another method of escape.
Nona sighed. ‘Well, you already know my answer.’
‘You’re choosing escape?’
‘Yeah, and I need you to choose the other one.’
‘…Just like that?’ I said, voice lowered.
‘If you don’t, we’re both screwed.’
‘It says we’ll be given a tool to—’
‘It could give us a screwdriver and that’d technically count, but then we’d get killed in the next room and that’s it, done, all because you wanted to gamble.’ Her jaw clenched. Knee bounced in agitation.
She has a point, I thought. The tool could’ve been a full suit of armour and an automatic rifle, but it wouldn’t change that we didn’t know what dangers were ahead. There could’ve been one or a hundred rooms left. This was our best chance of someone escaping. Cutting our loses, so to speak. And it was my duty to sacrifice. If we were to somehow quantify worth, I’d barely reach double-digits. Yes, I’d go out like a hero. And I’d never reach the reunion. I’d never see my parents or brother again. I’d never do anything else, and nobody would know how I’d vanished.
At the back of my head, I wondered if I’d wake up in the safe room. Could I warrant taking that risk? Even if I were revived, how would I escape alone?
What if Nona was tricking me for our mutual benefit? Like, she said she’d choose escape, so I’d choose survival, but then she’d secretly chosen the same, that way we’d be guaranteed to get a tool. If she tried to convince me outright, she couldn’t be sure I wouldn’t betray her by choosing escape. It was possible.
Either way, sacrifice or going along with her plan, I resolved to choose survival. I wanted to prove myself to everyone, even if they weren’t watching. I wasn’t uptight and selfish. I wasn’t weak and defective. When it came down to life itself, the noble task of helping people, I was capable.
I pressed the red button.
The wall chimed, and two lights appeared. Red over my head. Green over Nona. She exhaled and covered her mouth, breath coming in ragged gasps. ‘Thank you,’ she choked out, tears forming. She mumbled something about remembering me, but it felt trite, like plastic, artificial words. I suddenly wanted her gone, freed, as if she only benefited me in concept, a means of proving myself; as a person, present and tangible, she was annoying, a symbol of my death, a self-inflicted one, which I couldn’t bear to look at. I shut my eyes, but pain pricked my palm on the plate. I checked, and green fluid dripped from the split skin. My Vambrace read:
‘Material registered: Poison.’
Painless, I hope.
A Custodian noiselessly slipped out from the wall, injected Nona with a sedative, I assumed, and lifted her with surprisingly gentle arms. ‘Excuse me,’ I said. The Custodian turned. Mandibles twitched. ‘Is…are…?’ Either the poison had begun to take effect, or I didn’t know what question I wanted to ask. Honestly, I hadn’t expected the Custodian to respond. It revealed a level of intelligence I hadn’t expected from a synthetic entity. The technology appeared entirely too advanced for humans. If a nation’s military possessed it, they likely wouldn’t use it to torment people in these white rooms. Aliens, then? Nah. Well. I was too tired to think further. My muscles relaxed, vision blurred, and heart slowed. I fell off the stool – and died.
#
Whiteness. Again. My mouth was sandpaper-dry. The burn on my arm was gone. My first real thoughts were that I’d missed the reunion, and that the only word in Russian I recalled was “da”, which meant yes, and that wasn’t an achievement since I already knew that before trying to learn, and it may as well have been onomatopoeia or baby-talk for all the good it did me.
Even after my vision cleared, I didn’t move. I continued to imagine I’d reached heaven. I let my thoughts drift. Those eight people I’d tried to escape with—they weren’t what I’d expected. I faced an identity crisis, of sorts, when I realised multiple of them were familiar with video games and, broadly speaking, nerd culture, while also seeming to be well-adjusted adults. For better or worse I’d intimately wrapped my identity in video games and anime, so for them to also know those things—I felt insulted, like they’d taken what was mine. At the time, I only resented them for “ruining” my identity, and indeterminate days passed before I looked beyond this feeling.
Wonder if Nona made it out? She could probably write a book, except people would think it was a sci-fi novel.
Still on the floor, I began to curse whoever or whatever or whichever group put me in the strange white cube. When the disembodied voice in the jail cell asked if I were willing to suffer for my wish, I didn’t mean I was willing to die over and over.
The voice should’ve been more specific. Should’ve had some damn terms and conditions.
My arm vibrated. The Vambrace? I hadn’t needed to put it on again. It felt right, like the leather and metal and glass may as well have been my flesh. The screen pulsed, beckoning me to something in the walls.
