Too deep in despair, I couldn’t bring myself to move. Unknown minutes—or hours—elapsed, and I drifted in and out of sleep. Nobody new appeared in the room. My solitude seemed to fill the room, as if a toxic miasma of self-loathing. And in that emptiness, my stomach growled. It echoed. My mouth had dried, and I felt light-headed. I needed food and water, but recalling the javelins made me sick. I wasn’t even sure I could make it past the javelins. A lack of food and water weakened me. I wished there’d be a knock at my door, and my brother would walk in and hand me Mum’s pasta-and-tuna. Back at home I subsisted on frozen food or snacks, and water was more like a last resort.
My Vambrace vibrated again, and the screen began to pulse. Fine, fine. Now intrigued, I forced myself to rise. The Vambrace’s battery had increased since last I checked, though it hadn’t absorbed more nectar. I put the thought aside and swung my arm here-and-there. The Vambrace’s pulse changed according to direction. I aligned it with various wall panels and got a feeling for which were responsive. The wall behind where everyone woke up caused a particularly strong pulse.
As I neared the wall, I lingered for a quiet moment over where the eight had laid. Their names flashed through my mind. Mathias, Brad, Otto, Heath, Nona, Ashlyn, Chloe, and Daniella. Nobody but Nona and I knew they’d died. It was like I, alone, was capable of knowing – and remembering. If they went missing for long enough, their loved ones might assume, but they couldn’t truly know. That was my responsibility. My burden. I wish I’d known more about them, but maybe it was for the best. It already took a decent effort to hold onto their eight names.
I strolled to where Nona woke up. The Vambrace pulsed like a panic-afflicted heart. Mournful, I brushed a hand against the wall. A panel slid open! I leapt backward and tripped, but enemies didn’t come through. Instead dozens of shelves greeted me. A walk-in pantry. Long-lasting food filled it, the sort of supply you’d see in an underground bunker: canned fruits, vegetables, and soups, and deeper inside I found powdered milk and instant coffee, various jars of preserves, hard crackers, and more. My mouth hung open. The Vambrace chimed:
‘Location registered: pantry.’
When I’d recovered, I inspected the contents thoroughly. Though amazed, most of the items implied certain things. The cans, for example. How were we supposed to open them? Some had tabs, but others were sealed. And the instant coffee, surely it required a percolator or similar. On this basis, I checked the other walls where the Vambrace pulsed. I found two more compartments, which the Vambrace designated as:
‘Location registered: waterway.’
And…
‘Location registered: workshop.’
The waterway contained a circular pool made of grey bricks, like a medieval well. Clean water came from a narrow pipe in the corner. Leaned against it were ladles, buckets, and bottles of various volumes. A smaller pool that contained salt water; I didn’t understand the need, but the option was nice. I had a quick drink before checking the workshop, which contained all manner of tools, equipment, and machinery. Including a can opener. I went ahead and opened a can of peaches, eating them with my hands until discovering shelves lining the pantry’s entryway that held cutlery and crockery.
Next I found a bathroom with triple-ply paper (though I hated the people who put me in the white room, I appreciated their views on toilet paper). Then I found a closet filled with mobile bedding like sleeping bags, inflatable mattresses, blankets, and compact pillows.
The discoveries implied certain things, both good and bad, such as how long I was expected to stay in the room. Then again, it might have implied I was supposed to escape, and there would be another person to continue using the supplies. Would they be restocked? Of the sleeping bags, was I expected to bring one with me during an escape attempt? This alone implied that an attempt could take far longer than I expected (and hoped).
But I didn’t let these depressing thoughts weigh on me. Instead I swelled with pride and relief at having discovered such a stockpile. I patted and thanked the Vambrace, which returned a sound. I doubted the short span of solitude and witnessing deaths made me hallucinate, but I could’ve sworn it was a deliberate sound, a trilled response, like a quick set of three digital notes. Beep-beep-bip! I tried again, but it remained silent. Keep it together, I warned. The situation was dangerous enough already; I didn’t want my mind fraying.
Just in case, I checked the Vambrace by clicking through the icons. Identity inputted, check. Journal, check. Archive, check. Nothing new except—What’s that? A tiny switch, an analogue feature, peeked out from the screen’s corner. I flipped it, and the screen changed. It was like I’d gone to another channel, or another menu. The two headings were “Stats” and “Health”. It made it impossible not to think of video games. Though, the system didn’t use numbers. For health, it said nothing more than that I wasn’t injured. As for stats, there were seven categories:
- Ingenuity
- Strength
- Endurance
- Intellect
- Poise
- Luck
In place of numbers, it gave worded assessments, with things like, ‘Strength is lacking. Intellect is moderate. Luck is superb and abysmal.’ How can it be both? Superb and abysmal were way opposite each other, so I didn’t understand. Was it a language thing? Did luck, in this case, refer to fate or fortune, like I had superb luck in the sense that my fate was significant but not necessarily good? The Vambrace didn’t respond when I asked, though I could click on the categories for a longer assessment. ‘Strength is lacking,’ I read. ‘Participant is an adult in an overweight child’s body. Muscle tissue is like tissue paper. With well-placed holes, the participant might whistle, for their bone density is terrible, as if hollow.’
Okay. Wow. I didn’t expect a machine to have creative analogies, particularly insulting ones. Or, well, insulting because my stats were bad. Still, low numbers wouldn’t have hurt as much. And they’d be objective. And they wouldn’t hurt so much. Why did a machine need insults, anyway?
I flipped the switch and went back to the first menu. I wanted to check the journal, as I could use it to note down the eight names. ‘Mathias, Brad, Otto, Heath, Nona, Ashlyn, Chloe, Daniella,’ I typed. ‘Mathias, killed by javelin. Brad, killed by Guardian. Otto…’ I went through and typed up a brief summary for each of the group. It ended with, ‘Nona, escaped through the gracious sacrifice of Aldo Duvall.’ I re-typed it as, ‘Nona, escaped,’ and sighed with mixed emotions. As I raised my Vambrace-arm in mock salute, I felt stupid about the whole effort and went to erase the summaries, but my finger slipped on the glass surface. Instead of selecting anything, it moved the text. My finger slipped from the middle of the screen to the edge, and the text followed, flicking like an ice puck, going straight off the screen and onto – the wall. The eight names appeared as an azure hologram on the white surface. From there, I could move and re-size them. Laughter burst from me, a sick feeling: a mix of melancholy over their deaths and abstract, childlike joy at discovering a fun new feature of the Vambrace. I moved the names to the wall without compartments, which was to the left of where we’d woken up, and aligned them to the top left. With some trial-and-error, I made it so clicking on the names expanded the text into the full description. For example, I tapped Brad’s name, and the text expanded to show, ‘Brad, killed by Guardian.’
It wasn’t grand like a statue, but it made a decent memorial.
Well, I thought, I’ve screwed around long enough. I figured trying to escape again was the next logical step, but I faltered upon reaching the door. A phantom whistle of javelins ran through my mind, and I reflexively retreated. I didn’t need to escape now now, I decided. I could take a nap instead. Sleep was good for thinking. Yeah. I’d have a quick rest, figure out a plan, and then go.
#
I woke to a disturbing sight.
Over a dozen Custodians scuttled from holes in the walls. Their spindly, nightmarish figures carried eight wrapped figures and arranged them neatly at spaced intervals alongside me. Lying on my side, fear held me motionless. My mouth parted, and I intook shallow breaths. With the eight arranged, the Custodians set about removing the web-like wrapping. Then they scuttled away, silent and haunting.
It’s happening again, I thought with mingling terror and hopefulness.
Eight people. Eight holographic names above them. I didn’t look this time, in case I screwed up again. After all, this was another chance. There was hope, I decided, and resolved to not repeat the last escape attempt. I knew the rooms. I could lead them. Yes, there was hope. I could prove more than that I wasn’t being weak; I could prove I was strong. In that moment the revelation washed over me. Not being something didn’t mean you were the opposite; if I wasn’t careful, I could end up as a tepid, bland “thing” in the boring middle. That was better than being worse, but I wanted more. I wanted to be more. There in the white room, the white cube, there was no night or day. Promises I made before bed wouldn’t necessarily result in broken resolve at dawn. I could be bright every second, minute, and hour. When the group began to stir, I wouldn’t pretend. I’d be their light. Their hope.
