A Fold in the Rift, Part VI

Let's see if I can't wrap up this tale today. After this week I'll restart from the beginning, running through the editing process.

Zeke floated on waves of searing pain, up and down he bobbed, a terrible burning in his chest. Through a sensation of falling, the pinpoint of light that had dominated his black and white vision had expanded to fill his entire world, a land of perfect white. It was impossible for him to orient himself, so he instead continued to ride the waves of agony. There was no logical progression to time, only the frequency laid out by the terrible throbbing in his chest.

"It's just a game," he heard himself say. "It's just a game. It can't control you. You control it. It's just a game."

Slowly, and with great effort, he pulled the fragments of his consciousness back together, forcing them into a coherent and working structure. Screwing his eyes shut, he breathed deeply, letting the pain bleed out of his chest cavity. When peace finally overcame him, he opened his brown eyes. He found himself on the floor of his apartment, a resident of the empty pizza boxes and soda bottles. From his position flat on his back, he rolled onto his side, from which he saw that his Temporal Rift interface had wound up next to him, dangling down from the wires that ran to his rig. The unit had gone into a standby mode, having lost the input from its master.

"God dammit," Zeke cursed, sitting up and rubbing the back of his head. "Why didn't I spend time setting up that thing right?"

Then Zeke had a flash of realization that he had dropped from the game just before completing the match of his life, and he had likely forfeited everything he had worked so hard for. He felt that he was going to vomit as a creeping iciness slithered over his arms and legs.

"No," he said in disbelief. "No, no, no. I'm not going back down the ladder. No."

Zeke grabbed the dangling interface and stood up, setting the unit on the desk and double checking the connections.

"I need to get back in there," he said. "Maybe I wasn't out that long."

Zeke's hands froze as a strange buzzing filled his head, forcing him to blink hard. When he opened his eyes again, a blue light danced across his vision, like a darting insect, dazzling him with bioluminescence.

"What the hell was that?" Zeke wondered aloud.

Pausing, he suddenly realized how still the world was. Though he lived in the ghetto, he heard none of the usual loud music, the domestic disturbances, the polluted traffic. He didn't even hear his freaky, nyphomaniac neighbor getting plowed by yet another biosculpted meat slab.

Another buzz ran through the back of his skull, but this time he caught himself in the middle of his wince and forced himself to see what was happening. Though it was difficult to focus on, it looked like a command interface had flashed through his vision, but that was impossible.

"Zeke?" a distant voice came to him, tiny and full of static.

Panicked, Zeke's vision darted around the room.

"Who's there? What do you want?" he croaked, fear tightening his throat.

"Zeke, can you hear me?" the voice came through a little more clearly, but was still laced with artifacts, hissing and popping.

"Tyrin?" Zeke asked, praying this was all some sort of dream.

"Yeah, I can year you, man," Tyrin said, his voice now stronger as Zeke focused on it.

"How?" he asked, now very scared and disoriented.

"What do you mean, how? You're showing online. You dropped from the match, but you're idle in the lobby," Tyrin explained matter-of-factly.

"Okay, you got me, man," Zeke said, trying to laugh. "How did you do it? Holoprojectors? Nanobots? Pretty expensive prank if you ask me."

"What prank, man?" Tyrin said. "One minute you're screaming and I swear that somehow you're dying, the next you drop from the match."

Zeke felt a pang of pain in his chest as he remembered the agony he had suffered, then thought back on the other weird jolts and judders he had experienced while using his bleeding-edge interface.

"Tyrin, I know this is going to sound crazy, but I don't have my interface on," Zeke said.

"What do you mean? Are you patched in somewhere else?" Tyrin asked.

"No, I'm not patched in at all. I'm standing in the middle of my apartment and somehow I'm still talking to you. Even though my rig is off I can talk to you," Zeke explained, disbelief in his voice.

"You're no Neo. What the hell did you do?" his friend questioned him.

"Nothing, man! I'm freaking out here, this is crazy," Zeke said.

"Okay, calm down. It's probably just some weird psychological effect," Tyrin said, trying to remain steady. "Just walk over to the door of your apartment and open it. Just take a peek outside."

"Peek outside," Zeke said, forcing himself to breath. "Yeah, I'll do that."

With leaden feet, Zeke forced himself to walk to the door. The gap of a few strides took over a minute as he continually steadied himself. Reaching out, he placed his hand on the round, metal door knob. The cool surface of the metal, resplendent with its machined texture, startled him.

"This is real," he said. "This has to be real. It is real."

So saying, he flung open the door and screamed.

"What? What is it?" Tyrin shouted in his ear.

Collapsing to his knees, Zeke looked through the door frame, outside of which was a gray, bleak expanse of emptiness, a world without horizon, devoid of form.

"It's gone," Zeke sobbed. "No, I'm gone."

"What the hell do you mean, 'gone?'" Tyrin said angrily.

"I can't get out," Zeke said with finality.

He reached up with his virtual hands and placed them on the sides of his head where an interface unit sat in the real world. He pulled up on the air, hoping that somehow he would emerge into reality. Nothing happened.

"My brain, my consciousness, it's...gone," he said.

"Okay, hold on," Tyrin said. "We can get you out. Let's just get someone over there and unplug you."

"How?" Zeke said. "If I'm not in my body, what's going to happen when you unplug my rig?"

"I don't know, but we have to try," Tyrin said. "I can hop on the maglev and come help. Uh, where do you live again?"

Zeke shook his head. "Not going to happen. I know neither of us has the cash to get you over here, and I'm not going to risk unplugging."

"Okay, someone we game with has to be closer to you," Tyrin suggested. "Someone with their own transport? Maybe?"

Zeke couldn't help but chuckle. "I guess I've been an asshole. I don't know anyone who would help. Besides, I told you that I'm not going to disconnect. It's too dangerous."

"Can't we call the police?" Tyrin said, grasping at anything. "I know it's a long shot, but we have to try."

"Thank you, Tyrin, for sticking with me," Zeke said. "I know I was a pain in the ass, but you're a good friend."

"What the hell are you talking about, Zeke?" his friend said softly.

"Goodbye, Tyrin. Take care of yourself," Zeke said.

"Zeke, no. Zeke, don't--"

It made sense once he gave in. Reaching out as if he had his normal console, he terminated his communications link with Tyrin, then deleted the contact from his records. Walking back to his desk, he sat down in the chair that occupied his reality. He paused, looking at the dark force that was resting silently atop the desk. Reaching out, he snatched up the Temporal Rift interface and donned it. Inside, he saw that the game was already running, waiting for him. A grim, toothless smile crossed Zeke's face, and then he stepped into the game.

Time held no meaning for him. Existence was defined by artificial universes that coalesced and collapsed. He died ten thousand deaths, each more painful than the last. Eventually he felt his physical body, the one he had left behind, slipping away from malnourishment, the automated hydration and feeder systems at his desk no longer containing anything of use. He was at his lowest point, trampled and beaten, his life defined by suffering, his physical body wasting away. He tried to picture his real face, his real features, but found that he could not. Putting down the false interface, he stood and moved to the middle of his apartment--the cell inside his mind. With hope extinguished, he prepared to die quietly, sitting cross legged on the floor of the apartment.

He closed his eyes and surrendered to time, knowing it would not be long before death came to claim him. Without warning, a hard knock came at his door.

Thunk thunk.

Zeke's eyes shot open and he jumped to his feet, then froze.

"I'm going to go crazy before I die," he said, shaking his head.

Getting ready to sit back down, the knock came again.

Thunk thunk.

Zeke stopped and stared, his eyes boring holes into the door. Cautiously he crept, moving like prey, until he reached the door. Extending his hand, he rotated the knob and pulled. Bright, piercing white light flooded the room, forcing him to cover his eyes and step back. Into the apartment stepped a man, his face rendered as a blank ball of flesh, defined only by a set of square lens sunglasses.

"You are Zeke," the thing said inside his head with a hard, mechanical voice.

Zeke only nodded.

"Come with me," it ordered.

"Who are you?" Zeke stammered, finding his voice.

"I am a computing unit from the U.S. Government," the thing said. "You stole from us, so we punished you. Now we have come to take you."

"Take me where?" Zeke said, still backing away.

"We will take your mind to a place where it will be useful. Your body can no longer be saved," it said flatly.

Zeke nodded. "And if I don't want to come?"

"You have no choice. This construct is maintained on a government server. It will collapse and your consciousness will be lost."

"I see," Zeke said. "Then the game?"

"A training system."

"What will my mind be used for?"" Zeke asked with morbid curiosity.

"Your consciousness can be used for a variety of roles, including combat automatons, surveillance systems, or simple data processing."

"I'm a slave," Zeke said.

"Weren't you before?"

Zeke closed his eyes and cringed. Surrendering, he stepped forward, the thing leading him out of the door of his apartment. In life he had craved the virtual world. As a slave to it, he had accepted death. Fate, though, had ultimately saddled him with an eternal, digital hell. Exiting the construct, the door shut behind him, leaving behind the dark and fetid remains of his last link to his human existence.

Mwuahaha. I don't know if I want the whole long ending, or to cut it off right when he leaves Tyrin and goes back into the game. We will see what editing turns up.

A.C. Harrison
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