The ZPOCALYPTO Book Bundle (#4 of 4): ZPOCALYPTO Series Boxsets and Bundles from THE WORLD OF GAMELAND, #4

By Saul Tanpepper

THIS BOOK BUNDLE FROM THE THRILLING SURVIVAL SERIES ZPOCALYPTO INCLUDES

 

Episode 11: Augmented Zeality

Episode 12: Reckoning the Dead

Episode 13: Glitch in the Script

Episode 14: Open World Spawn

 

Bonus content: Infected: Hacked Files from the GAMELAND Archive (Part 2)

 

LOOK FOR BOOK BUNDLES IN YOU OTHER FAVORITE TANPEPPER SERIES. GET THE BUNDLE, SAVE A BUNDLE.

 

Saul Tanpepper is the author of the post-apocalyptic survival series BUNKER 12 and the companion pre-apocalyptic series THE FLENSE. Check out his latest series, SCORCHED EARTH, a climate collapse disaster survival thriller series set in the Pacific Northwest of North America.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Brinestone Press
• Release date: Nov 7, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223905912

Saul Tanpepper

Subscribe for new releases & exclusive deals/giveaways: tinyletter.com/SWTanpepper Saul Tanpepper is the specfic pen name of author Ken J. Howe, a PhD molecular biologist and former Army medic and trauma specialist.  Titles include: The post-apocalyptic series GAMELAND (recommended reading order): - Golgotha (prequel, optional) - Episodes 1-4 - Velveteen (standalone novella, optional) - Episodes 5-8 - Infected: Hacked Files From the Gameland Archive (insights for the avid GAMELAND fan) - Jessie's Game #1: Signs of Life - A Dark and Sure Descent - Jessie's Game #2: Dead Reckoning Post-apocalyptic series BUNKER 12 - Contain - Books 2-4 (coming soon) International medical thriller serial THE FLENSE (a BUNKER 12 companion series) - CHINA: Books 1-3 - ICELAND: Book 1-3 - AFRICA: Books 1-3 - TBA Short story collections: Shorting the Undead & Other Horrors Insomnia: Paranormal Tales, Science Fiction, and Horror Visit him at tanpepperwrites.com

Book preview

⁍ CONTENTS ⁌

AUGMENTED ZEALITY

Episode 11 the ZPOCALYPTO series

RECKONING THE DEAD

Episode 12 of the ZPOCALYPTO series

GLITCH IN THE SCRIPT

Episode 13 of the ZPOCALYPTO series

OPEN WORLD SPAWN

Episode 14 of the ZPOCALYPTO series

INFECTED (Pt 2)

A companion to the ZPOCALYPTO series

For more about the series,

and to get your own Tanpepper starter library,

as well as receive news about exclusive offers and giveaways,

visit:

Tanpepperwrites.com

Copyright

Acknowledgments

About the Author

BrinestonePressIconInvert_sm

Brinestone Press

(rv.231107)

THE WORLD OF GAMELAND

A Dark and Sure Descent (prequel to ZPOCALYPTO)

Golgotha (prequel to ZPOCALYPTO)

Velveteen (companion to ZPOCALYPTO)

Infected (companion to ZPOCALYPTO)

The Good Kill (a GAMELAND short story)

⁍ THE ZPOCALYPTO SERIES ⁌

EP01: Hacked Into the Game

EP02: Failsafe Codex

EP03: Deadman’s Gambit

EP04: Sunder the Hollowmen

EP05: Prometheus Mode

EP06: Every Dead Player

EP07: Cheat Protocol

EP08: Jacker’s Exploit

EP09: Live Another Play

EP10: Return To The Arcade

EP11: Augmented Zeality

EP12: Reckoning The Dead

EP13: Glitch In The Script

EP14: Open-World Spawn

FIND THEM ALL AT YOUR FAVORITE EBOOK SELLER AT

BOOKS2BUY

http://www.tanpepperwrites.com/gameland

⁍ CONTENTS ⁌

EPISODE 11

AUGMENTED ZEALITY

CHAPTERS

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10

11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20

21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30

31 32 33 34

Epilog

Episode 11

AUGMENTED ZEALITY

Chapter 1

The Evans home has stood empty barely three weeks, and yet it’s already begun to acquire that characteristic look of neglect so common among abandoned houses. Mister Evans’ well-tended tiny postcard patch of grass — barely large enough to host a lounge chair — is wilted and crumbly from lack of water. The nasturtiums standing guard to either side of the front door have long since shriveled down to mud-colored skeletons. Their leaves have all fallen off, shed like dandruff onto the shoulders of their terra cotta pots. A thin film of dust has begun to adhere to the front windows of the house.

Eric stands on the walk and regards the scene with a sense of foreboding. He’d come here expecting to find answers, so everything feels suspicious. There’s the screen door hanging slightly open. It’s probably been broken forever. Like every other house on the block, this one, when you look closely enough beneath the picture-perfect surface, has actually been falling apart for years.

A pair of elementary school age girls walk past on the sidewalk behind him, their heads bowed together and their quiet giggles drawing his attention. They don’t seem to notice him standing there on the burnt lawn.

Excuse me, he calls over. He makes sure not to approach them out of fear he’ll frighten them away. It’s the type of neighborhood where random men are viewed with caution.

The girls glance warily over and keep walking.

Do you live on this street?

We’re not supposed to talk to strangers, one of them says. The declaration hangs in the air, both warning and acknowledgment. She says it loud enough to draw the attention of anyone who might happen to be out and about within a three-house radius.

It’s okay, he says, and pulls out his badge. I’m a police officer. Here, see?

My mom says anybody can get one of those easily on the black streams.

The other girl urgently shushes her. Familiarity with the black streams might be considered in certain circles to be an admission to using them.

Eric doesn’t respond to the assertion. To deny it would only make him all the more sketchy. He knows that fake badges are easily obtained. Carrying one gives him no legitimacy.

He puts the shield away. I just have a question about the people who live here.

The girls stop. They’re right at the edge of the property, as if a single step over that invisible line will secure their escape, should they need it. They’re clearly torn between wanting to walk away and the worry of what he might do if they ignore him.

Did you know them?

They’re gone, one of the girls bravely replies.

The other nervously whispers her friend’s name — Gemma, Eric thinks — and Gemma whispers back that it’s okay to talk about it. The second girl reaches for her friend’s hand for reassurance.

Have you seen anyone around since then? Anyone who didn’t seem to belong?

Like you?

He smiles. Sure, like me.

The police came a bunch of days ago, Gemma replies. She’s braver now, now that Eric has remained on the lawn and not tried to come any closer.

The police?

"Only they looked like police. You don’t."

He glances down at himself. He’s not in uniform and isn’t carrying his EM pistol.

Both also obtainable on the black streams.

Have you seen anyone else besides the police? he asks.

Gemma shrugs. No.

And how about you? Eric asks the other girl. She still refuses to make eye contact and instead stares toward the adjacent property. She’s one step away. That’s all she needs and she’ll be safe from this stranger who says he’s a cop but doesn’t look like one and is asking about the creepy empty house. Anxiety is written all over her face and infused into her posture. She anxiously elbows Gemma. Eric suppresses a sad smile.

She hasn’t seen anything, either, Gemma says. Isn’t that right, Nina?

It’s empty, Nina mumbles.

We haven’t seen anyone Gemma adds, with finality.

He watches them go. They look back only once, upon reaching the corner several houses away. Then, satisfied that he’s not going to come after them, they hurry on across the street. When they turn the next corner, they’re still clutching each other’s hand and haven’t resumed their chitchat.

He’s not surprised to find the Evanses’ front door locked tight. He swings the screen door shut and tries to make it stick. But it just pops open again. He steps off the porch and begins to make his way toward the backyard by way of the narrow driveway. His shoes crunch on the gravel. It sounds unnaturally loud in the hot, still, expectant air.

A freestanding garage occupies the back corner. He makes a mental note to check it afterward.

The Evanses sudden disappearance from Greenwich within hours of the kids’ return without Ashley had been more than suspicious, like they had something more to fear than the possible legal consequences of their daughter’s involvement. Eric knows it’s possible they’d simply fled out of grief and a desire to get away before the story seekers and gossipmongers flocked to their door. It seemed inevitable that the break-in would eventually become public knowledge.

But it hadn’t. Outside of his law-enforcement circle, he hadn’t heard a single peep anywhere, certainly nothing on the black streams. Arc’s lawyers and the spin doctors must’ve worked overtime to suppress the story. They own Media and use it to great effect to achieve whatever their need happens to be at the moment. They had apparently decided that there’s nothing to be gained by word of a breach getting out. No charges were filed. And his own department had been ordered to pretend it never happened. The whole break-in and all that had come of it, including some of NCD’s ongoing investigations into spies within Arc’s employ, were mothballed. Ashley’s and Jake’s deaths were swept under the rug.

Even though it was a relief to him personally, given his sister’s involvement, it was also professionally frustrating. Under threat of discharge from the force, Harrick had instructed anyone who knew anything about any of it to keep mum and to carry on as if nothing had happened. She even hinted that the consequences would go beyond losing one’s job. They were not to speak to anyone about the deaths of two teenagers inside the arcade, nor were they to even speculate as to whether there might be any connection between them and what was happening in South Manhattan and elsewhere. Orders that Eric had no doubt came from Arc by way of Mayor Davenport.

Jessie would not have to explain her part in the break-in and the deaths of her two friends, and he wouldn’t be made to answer for the deaths of his grandfather and the Marines whom he had accompanied in his disastrous failed attempt to rescue the kids.

But it doesn’t mean it’s all just gone. He knows it’ll forever hang over their heads, like Damocles’ sword.

He tests each of the windows he can reach, but finds them all locked tight.

Where have the Evanses gone to? Why did they leave?

A tall wooden fence wraps around the backyard. The driveway gate is latched shut from the inside. A wire had once poked through a hole drilled in one panel to permit a person to release it from the outside, but it’s missing. He sticks his eye to the hole and peeks through.

The grass here is considerably greener than in the front yard, undoubtedly the beneficiary of an illegal automatic watering system. He can only glimpse a narrow slice of the yard and a section of the walkway. The back porch is too far around the corner for him to see.

He jiggles the gate, hoping it’ll pop free, but it doesn’t, and he’s not tall enough to reach over and undo the latch. From here, there’s a narrow view to the street, which is empty at the moment. He could climb over and no one would see him, but he’s not about to do anything that physical, not with a cracked rib. He needs a more creative solution. He spies an old tire leaning against the garage and figures it’ll do the trick, so he rolls it over.

Standing atop the tire and leaning over the fence to reach the latch, he spots evidence that someone has been here recently— the grass is trodden down in places. The trail leads from the far corner of the yard and heads toward the house. He’s lucky to catch it in just the right light. If he had come earlier, the shadows would be different, and he might not have noticed it at all. He releases the latch and climbs back down off the tire.

After letting himself into the yard, he tracks to where the trail starts. A section of the fence in the back corner has been pried away. The opening is hidden from sight behind a curtain of ivy. He shoulders his way through the growth and finds the boards tossed haphazardly down the slope. Eight feet below is the trail that runs parallel to this arm of Rockwood Creek. Peeking over the tops of the trees to the right are the highest girders of the iron bridge spanning Yale Drive, a block and a half away. He turns back toward the house.

The sun is behind him now, and it reflects off the windows so that the rooms inside appear to be burning. The steps and railing of the back porch are awash in light, but everything deeper in is cast in shadow. An involuntary chills passes through him.

Even more than his four years of experience on the job, the two he spent in the Marines have honed his instinct for sensing when something’s amiss. And right now, alarm bells are ringing inside his head. Safely securing a site requires patience and caution, discipline and diligence. He’d done combat stints in China and Mexico, where the local armies relied heavily on buried mines to take out Omegas. He’s confident there are no tripwires here or buried ordnance. Nevertheless, he scans the yard with an eye trained to picked out booby traps. He spots something halfway across the lawn, something that doesn’t look right.

Without blinking or looking away from that one particular swatch of grass, he makes his way to it. The object is nestled inches down in the growth. It’s a small baggie. Zoners, he mutters to himself, identifying them by their color. The bag is open, and the pills have soaked up the dew and grown fat and misshapen.

He doesn’t know what it means, if anything. Maybe it’s nothing. Then again, they had to have been dropped recently, at least after the last rain a couple days before and long after the Evanses left.

Just kids, he concludes, tossing it back to the ground. Kids looking for a place to party.

They must be the ones who pried the fence apart and left the footprints in the grass.

He turns back toward the house, his forehead wrinkling with concern. He quickly and quietly makes his way up the back steps.

There’s a window beside the door and he approaches it from the side. He glances quickly in, then rolls past it. He comes to a stop with his opposite shoulder pressed against the doorjamb beside the knob. Another quick glance and his brain processes an empty hallway. No lights on inside. Barren walls, bare floor. Not even an area rug to protect the soft wood.

The door yields against his push and slips open with the faintest of creaks. The part of the jamb around the deadbolt is splintered. Bits of the old, dry wood have fallen to the floor, where there are dried muddy footprints. His nerves are firing on all cylinders now. Several feet in, he sees a small, dark spot on the bare tile. There’s another farther on, and more beyond that. Blood trail, he thinks. He scrapes a little of it away with a splinter of wood. Then he wets his finger and rubs it. The shavings turn red. He estimates the blood is at least a couple days old.

But he still doesn’t know what any of this means.

The next dark spot he sees isn’t blood, but a small brown button. It appears to be from a shirt. But who’s?

Nobody’s. Buttons are common. And brown is a common color.

He searches the downstairs room by room, his every sense sharpened. His eyes scan for the slightest movement, his ears pricked for the faintest sound. The air is cool and stale. It smells... unspent. He clears the upstairs next. Most of the rooms are completely empty. One bedroom — Ashley’s, he guesses — contains a couple boxes. They appear to have been hastily and haphazardly packed. They’re filled with the trinkets of the girl’s youth— childish knickknacks and, oddly, a ceramic bowl with the ashy remains of old photographs and papers.

He sets this to one side and continues searching. He finds nothing to suggest the house is being used by kids seeking a little privacy.

He locates the basement door in the kitchen and, after steeling himself, pops it open. A cool draft wafts up into his face. The air is even staler than the rest of the house. It smells heavily of old packed dirt and mold and moisture, the age-old tincture of eau-de-cellar. But there’s something else underneath it, something that doesn’t belong. It smells of something dying or already dead.

He locates the light switch and flicks it on and sees that he’s not alone.

There’s a body at the bottom of the stairs.

Chapter 2

The car rolls to a stop beside me and the door pops open.

Excuse me, Miss Daniels?

I look over, blinking numbly and barely registering that it’s the cops. I’ve been in a daze since leaving school a half hour before, when I got notice that I’ve been invited to The Game. So now, the first thing that comes to mind seeing who’s following me is that Siennah Davenport called her father, who then called Eric’s boss, and now the police want to arrest me for assaulting Greenwich’s precious little princess.

I keep walking.

Miss Daniels, can you stop for a moment?

One of the officers gets out, even as the car keeps rolling to stay with me. I recognize him as one of the two men who apparently have made it their life’s purpose to harass me. They’ve dropped by the house multiple times, both before the Gameland fiasco and after.

Hank, I remember. That’s the name of the younger, thinner one. Hank Gilfoy.

The older, fatter cop, the one driving the patrol car, his name’s Al Castle. They’re both dickheads.

Can you come with us, please?

What’s this about?

You know what this is about. And they know you know.

Gilfoy opens the back door of the sedan and gestures for me to get in.

I’m not going anywhere with you, I say, feigning bravado. Not until you tell me why and where you’re taking me.

A new thought crosses my mind: What if this isn’t about Siennah? What if it’s Citizen Registration and they’ve come to put me into isolation?

We’ll explain on the way.

No! Absolutely not!

Gilfoy rolls his eyes. We need to take you to the hospital. Your brother is waiting for you there.

Eric? Why is he at the hospital?

Please, Miss Daniels, just get in the car.

I’m not going into isolation! I still have time!

Gilfoy’s face tightens with confusion.

I consider running. Will they shoot me if I try? I don’t want to test that theory.

Leave her! Castle shouts out the window. We’re not ArcGig drivers, for crissake. Let her find her own way to the hospital then.

Please, Gilfoy says to me, and gestures again to the back seat.

After a moment’s hesitation, I get in. Castle’s willingness to let me go is what convinces me I’m not going to be taken into custody. I slide over onto the hard, plastic seat. It smells of body odor and disinfectant spray.

You okay back there? Gilfoy asks through the wire grill.

I’m surprised to hear what sounds like concern in his voice. I tell myself he could be faking it. Just another twist on the good cop, bad cop motif: uncaring cop, sympathetic cop. I’m fine. Is my brother hurt?

Gilfoy shakes the back of his head at me. Our boss asked us to find you — as a courtesy to him — and bring you to him.

Courtesy, Castle chuffs. So we’re a fucking taxi service now.

It’s about your mother, Gilfoy says, ignoring his partner’s jibe.

I jerk upright in surprise. Mom? What about her? Did you find her?

Your brother did. She’s—

He stops himself and glances over at Castle, who doesn’t offer his partner any guidance. His eyes are glued to the road. His face is stoic. He’s chewing on something — gum, I assume — and is pretending to be focused only on driving.

Your brother asked that we take you straight to see her, Gilfoy finishes. And before you ask about her, let me just say that we don’t know anything.

So don’t waste your breath, Castle firmly adds.

The two men exchange looks then, and I get the feeling they’re lying. I could try to wheedle more information out of them, but I already know they’re not going to budge.

I try to ping Eric, but he doesn’t connect.

We pull into the NO PARKING zone at the emergency entrance fifteen minutes later. Officer Gilfoy gets out to open my door. He then accompanies me into the hospital, telling Castle he’ll just be a second. Take your time, Castle replies. And grab me a coffee while you’re in there.

They’re up in ICU, Gilfoy tells me, once the hospital doors swish shut behind us. Do you know where that is?"

I nod stiffly, and realize I’m trembling. I’m terrified. I don’t want him to leave. I feel like I might suddenly collapse, or my terror will make me run away, and I need him there to keep me on track. But when the elevator car finally arrives, he gives me a solemn nod and wishes me good luck.

Good luck? Why? I want to scream. I step into the elevator and turn around, hoping he’s right behind me. But as the doors shut, I’m actually disappointed to see him walking away.

The ride up feels never-ending. As soon as the doors begin to slide open on the fourth floor, I squeeze through and hurry over to the reception desk. A different nurse than I’d spoken with the last time I was here a few days ago eyes me expectantly.

I’m Jessie Daniels, I manage to get out. My throat’s dry, and my voice cracks. My brother is— I think my mother’s here?

Lana Daniels, room seven, she confirms, and points down the hall. Wait! You need a visitor’s pass, and I need to scan your Link.

Eric’s sitting in a chair beside the bed, his eyes closed and his hands wrapped around what looks like a broomstick. I realize with a jolt that it’s our mother’s arm.

Oh my god! She’s a skeleton!

Eric?

He jumps up, startled, and comes right over to me. He stops me before I can reach the bed. Jess, he says in a murmur. Wait.

Is she sleeping?

I struggle against him for a moment before relenting. IV bags hang on both sides of the bed, and a monitor on the wall above displays her vitals. Her heart is beating rapidly. The rhythm looks chaotic. She’s also breathing quickly, shallowly. Her temperature registers low. So does her blood pressure.

They think she has kidney damage, Eric says.

Whuh— what happened to her?

I found her in Ashley Evans’ house. In the cellar.

I draw back, confused and alarmed. A dozen different images flash through my mind. The cellar?

He nods.

No no no! I want to say. I want to deny it, because if it’s true, then I knew. I knew and I didn’t find her. She’s hurt badly now because of me!

Do you— What was she doing there? I ask. And then: "What were you doing there? Are the Evanses back?"

He shakes his head. The house was empty. The people who kidnapped her knew that.

People? What people Why?

Another shake of the head. I don’t know why. Jessie, she’s... He places his hands on my shoulders. The doctors say she might not make it. She’s extremely dehydrated. Her kidneys have shut down. Her other organs are in crisis and could fail. She’s unconscious and may not even wake up.

Wh- who did this to her?

Eric’s cheeks puff out as he exhales. He tries to tell me to sit down, but I can’t.

I demand to know why he thinks she was kidnapped, and by whom. What aren’t you telling me?

The blood, he begins. I think you should sit.

I don’t want to sit!

Shh! You need to keep it down, he hisses.

What blood? I growl.

On the wall at Micah’s. I had it tested.

What does this have to do with—? I thought you said it was paint.

He gives me an impatient look, the one that tells me now is not the time for who’s right and who was wrong. We matched it to blood we obtained from Reggie, he says.

Reg? You found him?

He nods. With Mom. Reggie was the one who wrote that message on Micah’s wall. It seems it was meant for Mom, not you.

A low moan escapes my throat. I try to push him away, but he resists. It doesn’t make any sense. Why would—

Not Reggie, but Micah! It’s just as you thought. Micah hijacked Reggie’s body and made him do those things!

Where is he? I demand. I need to see him!

Jessie, calm down.

No! Where’s Reggie? Is he here?

Jessie, stop! Eric snaps. He shakes me. I need you to listen! He’s in custody. His parents are on their way over there right now. Harrick — my boss — is personally handling the investigation. His face tightens. Don’t worry. She’ll make sure he gets what’s coming to him. He won’t get away with—

No, Eric! You need to stop and listen! He didn’t do this! He couldn’t!

You don’t know what he’s capable of—

I don’t know why he would say such a terrible thing. My little Reggie would never hurt anyone.

A mother knows her own child! I scream back at him.

What?

That’s what she said, his mom, and I believe her! It’s not him. I mean, yes, it’s his blood if you say it is, but he’s not in control of himself anymore.

He knew exactly what he was doing, Jessie. He was there, guarding her.

I frown, and all I can do is picture Missus Casey insisting he would never hurt anyone, and I know she’s right. He wouldn’t — couldn’t — do something as sadistic as this, not to anyone he cares about. And not to anyone they care about, either.

What did he say? Did he resist?

What?

What did Reggie do when you found him? Did he try to hide it? Did he fight? You said you found him guarding her. What if he was protecting her instead?

He shakes his head firmly. No. He wasn’t protecting her, Jess. He wouldn’t let me get near her. I told him to step aside, and he wouldn’t. He wouldn’t answer any of my questions or do what I said. I had to hit him with an EM pulse.

You shocked him?

I had to do something. I could see her on the floor. She was all tied up. And Reggie was—

He’s not himself, Eric. You have to believe me. He didn’t do this by himself. He probably isn’t even aware he was doing this, and even if he is, I promise you he didn’t want to do it.

But he did do it. He admitted to it, Jessie. All of it.

He did?

Well, he nodded when I asked. But I know he didn’t do it alone.

So, you believe me that it was Micah?

It’s not Micah. He pauses, then adds, Mom told me. She was still conscious when I finally got to her, although just barely. She was trying to speak. I ran upstairs to get her some water and to ping for an ambulance. Right before the medics arrived, she told me it wasn’t Reggie who brought her there.

Not him? I ask, confused. But...

No, it was him. You were inside his head.

Was I?

Did she say who? I ask.

No. I was hoping Reggie would tell us, but he hasn’t said a word since. Harrick says he’s not cooperating, and his parents have lawyered him up.

I look over at my mom and try to imagine why anyone would do this to her. I just can’t think of a reason. I just keep thinking over and over again about Missus Casey telling me how her little Reggie would never hurt anyone.

Not willingly.

If she didn’t say who took her to the Evanses, then how do you know it wasn’t Micah?

He doesn’t answer. Instead, he advises me to ping Kelly. Tell him to meet us here. And Jessie, don’t say why.

Chapter 3

Drink this.

I wrap my hands around the paper cup Eric hands me, but I don’t lift it to my lips. I stare down into the tarry liquid, at my distorted reflection on the surface, and try to make sense of it all.

Okay, I just spoke with my captain, he says, pulling another chair over to mine and sitting down. Reggie’s still not responding to any of their questions. In fact, he’s gone into some sort of catatonic state. They’re waiting for medical and psych evals now. I’ve asked to have him checked for drugs.

I can’t do this anymore, I mumble. I’m so tired. I just want to...

He waits for me to finish, but I can’t.

Yeah, me too, Jess. He stands up again and takes the cup away from me and sets it onto the bedside table. He kneels down and holds my hands. His skin is cold and dry. We’ll know soon enough what happened and why.

My eyes keep gravitating to the little brown shirt button Eric says he found inside the house. It’s the most innocuous thing, and yet it screams accusations at me that I refuse to believe.

He’ll deny it, too, I whisper.

Jessie, he’s not who you think he is. Neither of them is.

No, you’re wrong, Eric. Kelly’s exactly who I think he is. And so is Reggie. They’re not responsible for any of this. I turn back to him. You can’t report this, Eric. It’s all speculation. That button proves nothing.

And if it is his?

So what if it is? It doesn’t prove he was there! It doesn’t mean he kidnapped her!

Eric looks at me with utter disbelief. Why are you defending them now? Don’t you want to help Mom?

Of course I do! But not if it means making Kelly and Reggie responsible for—

"You’re not making them responsible for anything. They’re either involved or they aren’t! Look, Jessie, if I hadn’t seen Reggie down there in that basement with my own eyes, I would never have believed he could do something like this. But he was there. And Kelly?"

He throws his hands into the air in resignation. It is what it is.

"It is what you think it is!" I yell.

I can see it in your eyes, Jess. You know it’s his button.

And I told you it doesn’t prove anything!

I’ve been keeping my mouth shut about things out of respect for you, but I can’t keep quiet any longer, Jessie. After what Kelly did to you? How can you continue to defend him?

Because, he loves me and I love him!

And you don’t love Mom? Because I know for a fact that she loves you!

I stare at him in disbelief. How can he make me choose sides? Doesn’t he know that if I did, Kelly would win? Or has he already forgotten all the bullshit Mom put us both through?

Help me to understand, Eric begs. Why do you believe they’re not responsible?

I get up. I can’t sit still anymore. I go over to the window and look down. There are bars on the outside to keep people from breaking through and jumping out. The glass is filthy enough to turn the clear, sunny afternoon into a foggy day. But the view isn’t exactly enviable anyway. The room overlooks the roof of the adjacent building, which is dominated by ductwork and steam rising from a vent.

When we were first abducted, I say, speaking slowly to the glass, after the Coalition took us from New York Medical to LaGuardia, there was a girl with us. Her name was Tanya.

Eric nods. The actress, the one who died shortly after you entered the arcade, right?

She was actually a filing clerk for Arc. She was trying to become an actress, and they used that to trick her into getting into a car with them. Anyway, after I woke up and found the others, she kept acting strangely, like she was in some kind of trance. There would be moments when she’d suddenly just snap out of it. We suspected the SSC had somehow taken control of her implant and were using her to listen in and watch us. But I think they were also trying to figure out if they could control her. It sure seemed like they succeeded, although I don’t know, because she never actually did anything to us. She was just kind of... catatonic. Like Reggie is now.

Are you saying the Coalition took control of Reggie’s implant?

And Kelly’s. Maybe the Coalition isn’t behind this, but Micah definitely is.

He shakes his head. You want me to believe a dead man made your friends kidnap our mother based on something you suspect but can’t prove? You said this girl worked for Arc. And she wanted to become an actress. Maybe she was just acting like she was—

"She wasn’t acting!"

Jessie, the government mandated that Arc design the implants with internal safeties to prevent anyone from taking control while a person is still alive. Activation of the device will render the individual completely incapacitated and—

Result in death if left long enough, I finish. I know, Eric. I experienced it myself. Remember? But you’re wrong about one thing: the implants aren’t entirely hardwired. The safety is actually a program. Stephen told me as much. He was working on a program to hack into the implants without fully activating them.

Eric frowns at me, his face full of skepticism.

I think whoever’s been doing it got access through Kelly’s gaming rig. All of Reggie’s blackouts happened only after they went back inside.

But Reggie wasn’t hooked up when I apprehended him.

I don’t think that matters anymore. I think the gear gave someone the initial access they needed to reprogram something. After that, all it would take is a connection to a game stream.

And what about Kelly? Has he had any of these blackouts?

No, I concede. He hasn’t mentioned any.

Eric leans away from me. Nobody is hacking implants, Jessie. It’s... It’s impossible.

Why won’t you believe me? It’s not impossible!

But why target Mom? What could he possibly hope to achieve by taking her? There’s been no ransom demand, no attempt to make contact with either of us at all.

I don’t know. But I feel like it’s something I have to figure out.

You?

I nod. Because it’s been happening to me, too. I’ve been having these... these episodes, too, where I feel like I’m no longer in control.

"Episodes, plural? What the— Why am I just hearing about this now?"

I lean my head against the glass. My exhale forms a ghost on the pane that quickly vanishes again. "Hartford wasn’t the first time it happened. There were at least two other instances. I think the first was the day before the marriage filing. I was at home on the couch watching Survivalist. I thought I’d fallen asleep and was dreaming. At first, I thought I was inside Gameland. But then I realized I was walking down along the creek in the Greenbelt."

And had you? When you woke up later—

No. I woke up on the couch. I hadn’t moved.

Okay, so...

So, when I went down there days later, there were things that were exactly the same as what I’d seen in my vision. I haven’t been physically down there in years.

Things don’t change that much. It’s not like the trees can change their locations.

Little things, I tell him, like bits of trash. And fungus. Temporary things And trees that recently fell.

Is it possible you fooled yourself after the fact into thinking you remembered these details?

You’re missing the point.

And what exactly is the point, Jessie?

When I was dreaming this, I was carrying a body. Or the person I was in was.

The person you were in? What’s that supposed to mean?

Like I was in someone else’s body.

Controlling them?

No, just... observing.

And who were you— Who was this other person carrying?

I couldn’t see, but I had this really strong feeling it was Mom.

Mom? He mulls this over for a moment before asking, Is that why you’ve been searching down along the creek for Reggie?

I nod.

Why didn’t you tell me about this before? We might’ve found Mom sooner.

What do you mean?

There was a hole in the Evans’s back fence. You couldn’t see it from below because it was covered in ivy. And it looked like someone had used it recently.

I think back to my searches down there and remember glancing up toward Ashley’s house when I passed it. If I had seen the hole in the fence, I would’ve checked.

You should’ve told me about these episodes, Jess.

And tell you what exactly, that I daydreamed someone had kidnapped Mom and that I was inside their head when they did it? You were so goddamn adamant that she’d just decided to take a little vacation from me! I believed you!

I never said—

You said it was my fault she ran away!

I may have said some things that could be interpreted that way, he admits. But I never said the word vacation.

I chuff at his weak attempt to defend his words, when his intention was clear. He knows exactly what he said and meant. But it’s not worth arguing about now. So, do you believe me now?

The way his face twists, I can tell he doesn’t. Or that he doesn’t want to believe. But he slowly nods. "Okay, you had this dream. Or vision. Or whatever you want to call it. It doesn’t mean anything. You were worried about Mom and after what you endured in Gameland, your mind automatically went to the darkest place. It doesn’t prove anyone’s implant was somehow hijacked. And even if it were possible, you weren’t playing The Game when you had this Greenbelt dream. You weren’t connected to any stream."

"My Link was in the TV console. I was streaming Survivalist."

His face twists in frustration.

The moment I woke up, the moment that vision stopped, was the moment you pinged me. I remember distinctly when it happened, because it felt like I was being physically wrenched out of my sleep, like I was being thrown out a window.

Okay? he asks, confused. Meaning?

When you pinged, it must’ve interrupted the hack, or whatever it was, because it forced my Link to switch streams from Media to Communications.

So, now you think Micah’s hacked your implant via the Media streams?

I don’t know!

You said it’s happened more than once. What were the other times?

I think the next time when I was on the bus coming back from Hartford. That’s why I missed my stop and didn’t get off until the driver kicked me off. I can remember feeling like I was in two different places at the same time. It’s why I ended up in the quarantine zone down in Manhattan.

But you weren’t connected to a stream then.

But I was. They were synchronizing my devices.

I can see he’s getting more and more annoyed with my responses, because he doesn’t have a way to counter them. While we’re on the subject of how, he says, instead, did this happen before or after you started using that gaming gear?

I frown, because I immediately see where he’s going with this. I just told him that the hacker must’ve gained access to Reggie after he connected in The Game, but all of my episodes started before I did.

Okay, maybe I’m wrong about the gaming gear, I say. Maybe they just need to be connected to a stream is all. I don’t know. I’m still trying to figure this out.

It really sounds like you want this to be something other than what it is, Jessie. No one’s hacked your implant. Or Reggie’s. Or Kelly’s. What they did, they did because they’re—

There was carpet, I say, interrupting him.

Excuse me?

You want proof? Mom lying on a piece of carpet.

It’s not proof if you’ve been down in the Evanses’ basement before.

But I haven’t. We never had any reason to go down there when she was alive. Just like nobody ever had a reason to go down into ours.

Well, they didn’t have any carpet anyway, he says. It’s bare earth.

I shake my head. No, I distinctly remember seeing her lying on carpet. Are you sure?

He nods. No carpet.

But I remember thinking it was grass at first, and that she was still outside. I remember the green. And the low ceiling.

Green, did you say?

Yeah, why?

Eric’s eyes widen. There was no carpet. But she was lying on a shaggy wool blanket. And it was green, like grass.

Chapter 4

Kelly bursts through the front doors of the hospital and hurries over to the elevator. An advertisement for The Game is playing on the television in the crowded lobby, and people are standing about, buzzing over it, pointing at the screen. For weeks now, Arc’s been touting that they’ve come up with a new twist on the way people can play, and they’re days away from announcing what that is. Nobody knows for certain what it might be. Arc’s been tightlipped about it, but that hasn’t stopped the speculation. And it’s only ratcheted up the excitement.

Kelly rolls his eyes as he listens to them talking. He doesn’t understand how anyone could possibly devote so much time and attention to entertainment, especially with everything going on in the country right now.

He checks his Link again. He’d been home when Jessie had pinged him, just getting ready to sit down with Kyle to play a board game. He could tell right away that there was something off. She was acting just like she had when she first started to suspect he was hiding something from her. But he wasn’t. And when he asked what was the matter, she wouldn’t say.

Do you have a button-down shirt with brown buttons? she’d asked.

I beg your pardon? It was a really strange thing to ask.

Do you have a—

Probably, Jessie. I don’t know. It wasn’t the question he hadn’t understood but the intent behind it.

Can you go look?

Okay... sure.

He found one that fit the description and showed it to her. It was the shirt Avery Constable had torn several days before. The button was actually missing from the collar.

What’s this about, Jessie?

Just meet me at Sisters of Mercy Hospital.

Is this about Reggie? he’d asked. Did they find him? Is he okay?

But she didn’t answer, just repeated her request to come to the hospital immediately and then disconnected.

Maybe it was some sort of psychic Doppler effect, the echo of his love speeding away from him for the second time in days, but that ping had scared the crap out of him for some reason that he couldn’t explain.

Of course, it hadn’t helped that Kyle had pleaded with him not to leave.

I promise we’ll play when I get back, but I have to go see Auntie Jessie at the hospital.

No, no! Please. I’m scared.

You don’t need to be scared. This isn’t about you.

But the truth of the matter is, Kelly’s not so sure about that. He knows something bad has happened. The fact that she wouldn’t tell him over the stream said as much. But worse than that, he feels like he’s to blame for it somehow.

He pings to let her know he’s arrived. He gets her reply seconds later:

<< ICU >>

As he jostles his way to the elevator, panting from the exertion of having run all the way from home, he catches the attention of the people around him. But they see nothing remarkable, certainly nothing memorable. As soon as they turn away again, they’ve forgotten he’s even there. It’s as if they can’t see him except under the most extraordinary of circumstances, or only very briefly. All his life he’s been invisible, and the only person who has ever really seen him now seems to be fading away before his very eyes.

He checks the elevator status over the door and sees that the car is on the second floor and heading up instead of down, so he turns around and elbows his way out of the lobby again.

He slams into the stairwell and runs up all three flights, taking the stairs two and three at a time.

Now he’s drenched in his own sweat and his clothes are sticking to him. The cramp in his left side matches the ache on his right from the wound he incurred in Gameland.

He finds Eric at the reception desk, who quickly grabs his arm and, over the protests of the nurse he’s speaking with, pulls him to one of the rooms. But the nurse doesn’t come after them. She probably considers the shout sufficient effort and the limit of her accountability. Or she knows Eric’s a policeman, and she doesn’t want to deal with the hassle.

At first, Kelly thinks the room is empty. There’s a pile of used bedclothes on the bed. But then he sees that it’s a person and he gasps. What happened?

He can feel his brother-in-law looking at him, studying him, as if gauging his reaction.

Eric? What happened to your mother? And where’s Jessie? She pinged—

I know. She’ll be right back.

Are you going to tell me what happened?"

I found her over at the Evanses’ place, Eric replies. There’s an odd, expectant look in his eyes.

Ashley’s house? What was she doing there?

Maybe you want to tell me.

Me? How would I know?

Eric’s eyes narrow. He continues to stare at Kelly’s face for several seconds. Her organs are in crisis. She’s dehydrated. The doctors think she hasn’t had anything to drink in days, and nothing to eat in close to a week. The good news is, she doesn’t appear to have any serious physical injuries.

Jesus, Eric. I’m so sorry. How did this happen? Why was she over there?

He can see the struggle in Eric’s eyes, and he senses that Eric’s trying to decide what to tell him. He can’t understand why he’d be hiding anything from him. It’s almost as if he suspects he’s responsible.

Did Jessie say something? Kelly asks, warily.

His brother-in-law moves around to the opposite side of the bed. He takes a few breaths, tells him how he found her. And with whom.

Reggie? Kelly exclaims. No. I can’t believe he’d do this. Not to your mom. Not to anyone. I just can’t see why he would.

Jessie believes he was being... manipulated.

Kelly slowly takes in a deep breath. Now he’s beginning to understand. After Micah’s betrayal, she’d begun to suspect him of betraying her, too. And while it’s true that he kept some things from her, even did some things that he shouldn’t have, none of it was as bad as she’d imagined. And now she’s blaming what happened to her mother on Reggie? He’s starting to wonder if maybe it’s time she saw someone professionally, because she’s getting more and more paranoid.

Manipulate Reggie? No, he tells Eric. And if anyone knows a thing or two about being manipulated, it’s Kelly. Not him. I don’t believe it. He’s far too stubborn to let anyone tell him to do something he’s ethically and morally opposed to. And he’s too smart to be tricked.

Eric tosses something onto the bed. Kelly squints down at it, then reaches over and picks it up.

I found it inside the Evanses’ house. Jessie says it a match to the one you’re missing on that shirt she asked about.

It... looks like it might be, he says. If you found it at the Evanses, I don’t know how it got there. I think it might’ve gotten pulled off at school.

Eric stares hard at him for a long time, not saying anything. Then he goes over and shuts the door and stands in front of it. I need to know something, Kelly. And I need you to be honest with me?

Sure, he says. His heart’s racing, and he doesn’t know why. What is it?

That gear you got. Did you ever experience anything... strange, while using it?

Strange in what way? he asks. But he knows what Eric’s asking, or thinks he does. He also knows he should’ve said something the other day, when Jessie made those claims about what had happened to Reggie. What exactly do you mean?

Anything like what happened to Reggie, Eric responds. The blackouts, showing up somewhere else and you can’t remember how you got there. Has anything like that happen to you?

Kelly’s knees go weak. He tries to answer, and has to clear his throat before he can make any sound. Yes. Twice.

Something comes over Eric then. His eyes widen and the low undercurrent of anger that’s been coursing through him suddenly dissipates. It’s not the reaction Kelly had expected.

Shit, Eric whispers. He makes his way over to one of the two chairs in the room and collapses into it. Jessie might be right.

Chapter 5

It feels like an iron band is encircling his heart and pulling tighter. Please, god, tell me I had nothing to do with this, Kelly silently pleads. He collapses into the other chair. Are you saying we did this to her, Reggie and me?

The last words out of my mother’s mouth was that someone brought her to the Evanses’. She said it wasn’t Reggie. That was all I managed to get out of her before she fell unconscious.

Kelly lowers his face to his hands. I don’t remember anything, he says.

"And you don’t remember what you did or where you were either of the two times it happened when you were in The Game?"

No, Kelly says.

Eric gets up again and begins to pace. He mutters to himself, thinking out loud. "But why would she remember? What’s the difference?"

Who? Jessie? Kelly asks. It happened to her, too?

Eric shakes his head. "Yes. But not while she was in The Game."

Kelly looks on, confused. Wait. Are you saying it happened to her when she wasn’t wearing the gear? Because that’s never happened to me.

She thinks Micah’s figured out a way to do it outside the gaming streams.

Micah? But he’s dead.

She thinks he faked his conscription.

No. That’s impossible. He pauses. Isn’t it?

I don’t know.

But you don’t believe it, do you?

Eric raises his arms in a gesture of defeat. You were there at his hearing. You watched it happen. You tell me.

Kelly doesn’t know how to respond. If he admits he couldn’t watch, how will Eric take that? He’s not afraid of being outed as a coward, but what if he takes it as a sign of foreknowledge? Or guilt? What if Eric thinks he’s complicit?

Where did you say Jessie went?

Bathroom. But that was— He checks the time on his Link, and worry creases his face. That was almost a half hour ago. Where the hell could she have disappeared to again?

I think I know, Kelly says.

She’s with White. Jessie thinks she’s somehow wrapped up in this.

I’m pinging her, Eric says. You stay put.

But—

Jessie answers almost immediately. She sounds out of breath.

Where are you? Eric demands. Are you outside?

Is Kelly there? she asks.

Yes, but he—

Is the button his?

Yes.

Did you ask him about the gaming gear?

Eric nods. "You were right. He said it happened twice, both times while he was in The Game."

I knew it. See, Eric? It’s not their fault. Someone’s hacked their implants.

Where are you going? Kelly asks, glancing over Eric’s shoulder.

Just stay there with Mom. Both of you. I have something to do.

But wait! Jessie, where are you going? Eric demands.

She ignores him. Let me talk with Kelly. I need to ask him about Micah.

He already did, Jessie, Kelly tells her. Micah’s dead. He didn’t fake—

I don’t care if you don’t believe it’s possible, but I know he did it.

It’s not that I don’t believe it’s possible, it’s that—

Look, I’m not going to argue with you. He’s not dead. I know it for a fact. I saw him.

We don’t know what we saw. Kelly sighs. Besides, there’s no way he could’ve faked it, Jessie.

You don’t know that.

And you’re basing this on what? A gut feeling? Wishful thinking? How would you even know what a normal conscription even looks like?

Because I’ve seen one before.

Eric nods. The guy who stole her Link in Seattle, he explains to Kelly. But that was—

A long time ago, Jessie says. I didn’t realize it at the time, but there were things at Micah’s conscription that were just a little bit... off.

Off how?

Do you remember, Kelly, right before the injection, the nurse had to leave the room?

Kelly shakes his head. His cheeks flush red. You know I’d already stopped watching by then. He glances over at Eric, but his brother-in-law is intent on the image on his Link.

There was something missing from the cart that she needed. I forget what it was. She left those attendants alone, the ones who brought Micah into the room. It was only for a couple minutes, but maybe that’s all they needed.

Those two jokers? I don’t think they had the brains to pull off a fake conscription.

I agree. But they’re not the only ones who were there. There was a third guy, an Arc engineer or something. He came in because of a problem with Micah’s Link, remember?

Kelly nods. Something about it blocking the network from querying his implant. They thought he didn’t have one at first.

Blocking the network? Doesn’t that sound familiar? Like the firewall on my Link?

Eric turns and frowns at Kelly.

Yeah, Kelly answers, cautiously. I remember that. They needed an x-ray to confirm the implant was present.

Jessie impatiently shushes him. That third guy, he spent a lot of time up near Micah’s head, which is where the conscription machine was situated. Those attendants weren’t paying attention. He could’ve switched out the syringes without anyone noticing, replaced the virus with water or something. Maybe even a drug that would make him act like he’d died and come back.

Kelly’s quiet for a moment. Now he wishes he hadn’t been too chickenshit to watch the conscription.

Okay, assuming he did do that — and I’m not saying I believe it — then how did Micah get away? Eric asks. And where is he now? His house is empty. And I searched through the Evans’ place and found no sign that anyone was staying there. Wouldn’t he need a base of operations for something like what you say he’s doing?

Not if he’s in Gameland, she replies. The other day when we were checking the gear, Kelly and I saw something inside the compound on Jayne’s Hill. It was him, I’m sure of it.

We saw something, Kelly agrees. But we couldn’t see a face. It could’ve been anything— another Player, an Arc employee.

It was Micah.

Jessie, where are you going? We’re worried about you.

I’m okay, she tells them. She appears to be climbing a set of steps and fiddling with some keys. Now she’s unlocking a door and going inside. They immediately recognize the framed pictures on the wall in the front hallway.

What are you doing at home, Jessie?

I have to go after him.

After who?

Micah. I’m going to find him, and I’m going to stop him.

Wait a sec! How are you going to do that? If he’s in Gameland—

And our Player’s dead, Kelly interrupts Eric.

"Your Player is dead. But not mine."

There’s a moment of silence. The two men exchange confused glances. What are you talking about? Kelly asks.

I’ve been sponsored. Just found out today.

What? Since when? And by who?

She doesn’t answer.

Damn it, Jessie! Eric shouts. Stop right now! Let Arc deal with this. Let the police handle it. You need to think about—

I have to stop him, Eric. It’s why he’s doing this. It’s why he used you guys to take Mom. And why he tried to use me. He wants to get back at all of us. Micah won’t stop until somebody stops him first. Or we’re all dead.

Jessie, Kelly begs. Do not put on that gear! You said it yourself: it’s dangerous!

I’ll ping you once I’m inside.

What? Jess? Eric demands. But she’s cut the connection.

Jess? Damn it! Kelly reaches into his pocket for his own Link and punches in her Link identifier. She’s not connecting.

Ping her back!

I’m trying, but she’s not letting me. I think she’s blocked me.

Chapter 6

The Arc technician is in the middle of a lecture about the state-of-the-art VR setup when I hear the whisper:

jessie.

And so it comes complete with—

"Shh!" The urgency in my voice cuts him off like a scythe through dry grass.

He gives me a bemused look. You know, if this is too much to take in all at once, we can—

Quiet! I hold up a hand and glance around us. Are these rooms soundproof?

He nods. Soundproof and sound deadening. Some of our clients can get a little, shall we say, excited?

I had noticed how it seemed to swallow up our voices. There isn’t even a trace of an echo in here.

What about speakers? I ask.

What do you mean?

Can people outside the room talk to us in here?

He smiles and nods with understanding. Oh, yes, of course. But there’s no one talking to us now. He points toward the door. That light would be on to signify an open channel, and a chime sounds whenever anyone wants to speak with us.

I stare at the unlit sign. And you didn’t hear anything?

Like what?

I cock my head to one side and concentrate. But the whisper doesn’t repeat.

Several seconds pass. The tech — I glance at the tag on his ArcTech shirt and remind myself for the third time that his name’s Tony — raises an eyebrow. He fidgets with the snaps on his uniform but waits for me to tell him I’m ready to proceed.

He probably thinks I’m some kind of nutcase, hearing things that aren’t there. Hearing the voices of people who are supposed to be dead.

Actually, considering the type of clientele he’s probably used to dealing with — rich, eccentric, and in all likelihood, somewhere high up on the sociopathic spectrum — I suspect he thinks I fit right in with the typical Game Operator.

So...? he finally asks. We good?

I take another look toward the door. I half expect to see it open and Micah to step through it, smiling his devilish grin. Just fucking with you, J, he’d say. I’m going to keep right on fucking with you until you really do think you’re crazy.

I guess I’m just hearing things...

Damn it, what’s his name again? Tony. That’s right. Why can’t I remember that?

Tony, he says, too late to be helpful.

Tony-the-Tech.

He’s got to be tired of catching me glancing at his name badge.

I guess I’m just a little overwhelmed by everything.

Tony-the-Tech clears his throat and nods. I work with a lot of first-timers. They usually start with an entry-level set of gear and Player, but I can certainly appreciate you wanting to jump right to our premier line.

He makes a show of looking around the room, at the blank sound-deadening walls, as if to drive home the point that we’re completely alone in here and safe. Sure, there are cameras everywhere and people monitoring us on the other ends of them, so we’re not alone at all. But he wants me to feel like I can trust him, that he’s got my back. That’s his job, after all. Nobody’s going to spend millions on a company that doesn’t coddle their clients.

We can take a break, if you’d like, he offers.

No, I’m okay. Sorry.

He checks the system’s mic in his ear and makes a small adjustment. Might just have been a little electronic echo or something. That sometimes happens, we get a little reverb or cross-feed if the transmission frequencies aren’t properly allocated. It can be distracting. You just let me know if you hear it again.

I watch him with a mix