Nightmare: Imogen

The lasagna was not burnt, but it was not good for my delicate stomach, either. Perhaps that was why I had such viciously vivid dreams that night.

***

Unfortunately, I dreamed of the day that we first descended into the torture chamber that existed within the Cleanse Camp; the game that the Cleansers simply referred to as “The Trial.”

Zeke allowed us almost an hour of sleep in our cells before waking us and marching us outside to a cliff which looked out over a desert of red rock. It was the opposite of aesthetically pleasing; it was bleak, and it gave me the chills.

I reached for Alex’s hand, and he squeezed mine softly before we both let go.

“It starts down there,” muttered Zeke, pointing at a titanium platform that sat above a glistening white staircase at the edge of the cliff.

“You’re coming with us?” asked Alex, frowning. “Why? It can’t be that easy for us to get away.”

“It’s impossible to get away,” Zeke retorted, “but I’m coming, just the same. I won’t be participating in the game; I’m just there to keep an eye on you.”

“This entire thing is fucking stupid,” Alex went on. He was rubbing his hands together the way he always did when he was at his most nervous; trying to contain the feeling within his body rather than to demonstrate “unmanly emotions” or whatever sexist nonsense human men are always mired in. “I figured you were going to separate us to make us as miserable as possible,but apparently we get to work as a team. And what’s the point of this ’game’ shit, anyway? Why not just stab me in the gut a few times until I start bleeding out? Seems like a more efficient way to get me to talk.”

Zeke opened his mouth, but I didn’t wait for his explanation. It was perfectly clear to me what was going on here, and it was beyond disgusting. It was the product of a very disturbed, psychotic mind, and I was just as frightened of it as Alex was.

“It’s actually all very sound from a psychological standpoint, darling,” I informed him. “You’re an experienced member of the resistance, and therefore no one expects you to simply burst into tears and to give away all the juicy secrets under boring, traditional torture. Instead, they intend to utterly mentally break us by allowing us to play a ‘game,’ which gives us the mistaken impression that our actions will have some consequence as to whether we ‘win,’. That’s the nature of a game; it provides ‘win conditions.’ This will lure us into a false sense of potential, a false optimism, if you will, which will make our ultimate defeat and destruction even more painful and devastating. Multiple repeated instances of this will demoralize and destroy us, which will be far more effective than a simple stab to the stomach.”

Zeke just blinked at me.

“Aren’t you some kind of beauty queen?” he asked.

I flipped my hair at him and winked.

“Yeah,” agreed Alex, “and she’s also an award-winning advertising executive. Or at least, she was, back when we had a planet. You ever heard of ‘Drookie’s Cookies?’”

Zeke nodded in surprise.

“‘Course I have,” he said. “Those commercials always have this stupidly cute wombat in them with chocolate all over its face. Makes me laugh every time.”

I had rather a hard time imagining Zeke laughing, but of course he must have done so, once. Once, he must have been a person just like us.

“Well,” finished Alex, shrugging, “Drookies was Imogen’s contract, and all those commercials are her work.”

Zeke looked impressed.

“No shit,” he muttered.

“She’s pretty,” added Alex, grinning at me, “but she’s nowhere near stupid.”

“”You say the sweetest things, Alex,” I murmured, kissing him on the cheek.

Zeke nodded, apparently accepting that.

“How exactly,” he went on, “did you two meet, anyway?”

“I was working as a waiter at a cocktail bar,” said Alex.
“That much is true,” I agreed, “but what he hasn’t told you is that he made the most delicious Red Headed Sluts the universe has ever known. Shame you’ll never get to taste one; it would change your life. They certainly changed mine.”

“And … then you started hooking up?” Zeke seemed strangely fascinated by Alex and my relationship, which I suppose wasn’t too surprising. People often found it odd.

“No,” I insisted. “Ew. Sex is repulsive. We would never.”

Zeke looked confused.

“Now,” I went on swiftly, “are you going to torture us, or not?”

“I’ve got a question.” Alex gazed down the stairs.

“So do I,” Zeke mumbled, but we both ignored him.

“What happens,” demanded Alex, “if I refuse to play?”

“Don’t refuse,” muttered Zeke. “Please.”

“Yeah? I think I’m gonna.” Alex met my eyes, and I shook my head

“Alex,” I began, “I don’t think-!”

He sat firmly down on the ground and tucked his knees into his chest.

“So?” He raised an eyebrow at Zeke. “Show me what happens to the kids who misbehave.”

Zeke shut his eyes and whispered something under his breath. Unfortunately, I am not proficient in reading dinosaur snouts, so to this day I’ve no idea what it was.

“Just…remember that I asked you not to make me do this,” he choked out, and then his fingers twitched.

A scalding, electric bolt of pain shot through my body, followed quickly by another, and another. I screamed and collapsed, writhing and convulsing on the ground. There was nothing in my world except for that awful, searing pain.

For a moment, I wanted to die. Then, I wasn’t able to want anything; the pain was everything; there was no room for thought or feeling.

The world went strangely white.

“HOLY FUCK,” bellowed Alex, and I could hear the sheer terror in his voice. “STOP! I’m the one who resisted, not Imogen! Leave her alone!”

“I didn’t want to do it,” Zeke whispered in a strange, distant voice that I could just barely hear. “Please just play the game, Alex. Please.” He was begging, now.

“OKAY! Fuck, I’ll play your gods-damned game,” Alex shouted, and the shocks instantly stopped. I fell on my face in the dirt, sucking in air and sobbing. My body felt burnt and heavy, and it hurt so badly even to breathe. I gasped and coughed over and over again before I realized that I could, in fact, feel a healthy sensation returning in some parts of my body.

Alex reared back and punched Zeke in the face. The Inrai just took the blow in silence, staggering back and clutching at the blood now gushing from his snout.

“Imogen,” gasped Alex, kneeling beside me and gathering me to his chest. “I’m sorry; I’m so sorry. I thought it would happen to ME, not to you. It’s gonna be okay; you’re gonna be okay. Stay with me; I won’t pull that shit again. Not until we kill.this slave driver, anyway.” He glowered up at Zeke, who just gazed back, eyes blank, shoulders shaking.

“That’d be just fine with me,”he mumbled. “Be my gods-damned guest.”

And finally, I understood. I realized how it was that this place destroyed everyone it touched, no matter how fierce or formidable they might once have appeared.

“Zeke,” I rasped, propping myself up on my elbows, reveling in the merciful absence of the shocks. “Is that what happens to you if you disobey? If you hadn’t shocked me, would the system have shocked you?”

Zeke shook his head.

“Nah,” he muttered, turning away. “If I had disobeyed, they would have instantly zapped Gabriel. At least they don’t make me watch them do it to him anymore.”

He cleared his throat, straightened his shoulders, then produced a bottle of water and sat down at my side.

I wasn’t angry with him.

Well, no; that isn’t true. I was furious with him, but it was the same sort of quick, irrational, raging anger that had prompted Alex to hit him first and think second.

At the same time, however, I thought of what I would do to literally anyone else in the universe if I thought that Alex was at risk of receiving the pain I’d just endured.

I realized that if I had to, I would kill Zeke in a moment to protect Alex, not out of anger, but out of simple necessity. I felt dehumanized and yet energized in one simultaneous instant.

We had yet to even begin the game.

“Drink,” Zeke told me, and there was a new gentleness in his voice that I had not been prepared for. “We won’t go down to the game today; you’re in no shape, and you’re no use to anyone dead. Alex?” Damnit, look at me. Just … look at me.”

Alex didn’t say anything. He just held on tight to my hand and stared straight ahead.

“Alex,” I whispered, but he didn’t respond. “I’m okay, sweetheart. I’m going to be fine.”

I wasn’t, and we both knew it. Neither was he, and the true horror of our situation had finally begun to set in.

“Drink,” insisted Zeke, taking my hands and pressing them around the bottle. “It’ll cool your throat. I’ve got plenty of water, for now at least. We don’t have to start rationing that until the third or fourth level.”

I drank.

Chapter Four: Imogen

The next morning, Alex left far too early, as usual, to go to work at the repair yard. As soon as he was out the door, I crept upstairs to Zeke’s bedroom and perched on the end of his bed. He didn’t have to return to work for another month; the school at which he taught was out on break. I never really understood the point of a three-month school break, since it left the children to their own devices and allowed them to get into far too much trouble, but it was a tradition on most human planets, and so, Exodus had adopted it early on.

Zeke was awake when I found him, but he seemed to be trying hard to get back to sleep.

“Good morning, Imogen,” he grunted, as I made myself comfortable.

“Good morning,” I returned. “Although, it looks as though you’ve had rather a rough night. Alex told me that you met a man at the bar!”

He snorted a laugh, shook his head, and propped himself up on his elbows. For a moment, his human arms were covered in bright blue scales before the color disappeared, smoothing back into the rest of his pale pink skin.

“I wish you wouldn’t do that,” I pouted. “Your natural form is very handsome, you know. There’s certainly no reason to hide it from us.”

“I’m not hiding it from you, or from anybody,” he said, swinging his legs over the side of the bed and chugging a glass of water that he kept on the side table. “The stares just piss me off. I don’t feel like dealing with them, so I don’t.”

That sounded to me as though he absolutely was hiding his true form, but it wasn’t worth the argument; not today, at least. We had much more important things to discuss.

“Nevermind that,” I went on. “Tell me more about this man.”

“Nope. Not happening,” Zeke assured me. “Turn around; I’m not wearing pants.”

I quickly turned around, and soon I heard the sounds of rustling fabric, zippers, and soft cursing.

“Today,” he said, “I’ve got a job to do, and if you’re bored, you can come along. Alright, I’m decent.”

I turned back to find him still wearing the same purple shirt and grey dress pants he’d inexplicably manifested for the ceremony yesterday. After so much wear, the outfit was significantly rumpled.

“No,” I informed him. “If we are going somewhere together, in public, then you are going to shower and put on clean clothes. You will also brush your teeth.”

“Say ‘please,’” he sighed.

I raised an eyebrow.

“Do I really need to ask you to ‘please’ exhibit basic personal hygiene?” I inquired, batting my eyelashes.

Zeke just gave me a distracted half-smile, shook his head, and wandered off to the bathroom.

***

“I’m simply wondering where this Mateo’s parents are,” I exclaimed half an hour later, as Zeke and I made our way through the jungle. “Isn’t a parent’s job to make sure that their child doesn’t run off and get involved in dangerous police investigations?”

“The kid might not have parents.” Zeke shrugged. “Lots of them don’t. A lot of the kids who live in the Unbearable stayed behind in the on-world detention centers when their parents got picked up by the Cleanse. He’s probably one of those.”

“Oh.” I might possibly not have considered that. “Well that’s … that’s very sad.”

We were approaching the portal that led to the Odds of Olympus reality, and I finally voiced the concern that I’d been feeling ever since Zeke had first explained to me his plan.

“Please understand that I’m not trying to be rude when I say this,” I told him, “but I really must remind you that you haven’t been anywhere near a game since our triumphant prison break. Are you sure that you want to do this? We could just wait for Alex-!”

“We don’t need to wait for Alex.” Zeke was pressing the activation switch on the portal before I’d even finished my sentence. “This is an easy game, and I’m drunk, not dead. We can handle this search and rescue just fine without him.”

There was something strange about that statement that drew my attention, but before I had time to consider what it might be, we were standing on the other side of the portal in a beautiful, sunny meadow, gazing up at a massive, golden mountain peak in the distance.

WELCOME, came the introductory message, this one in a deep, booming male voice, TO ODDS OF OLYMPUS. DO YOU WISH TO ENTER THE ARENA?

Zeke selected “yes,” from the cloud-shaped menu box that appeared before us.

HEROES OF THE MORTAL REALM, continued the voice, A CHOICE LIES BEFORE YOU. WILL YOU DESCEND TO THE GRAVE OBLIVION OF THE UNDERWORLD, OR ASCEND TO THE MAJESTIC REALM OF THE THUNDER KING?

At that moment, the ground split open right in front of us. We could now see a winding staircase of tangled black branches stretching down into a chasm that seemed to go on for far too long.

Simultaneously, a bright bolt of lightning struck the mountain that loomed ahead of us, and thunder clapped perhaps three or four times; far more times than was really necessary to get the point across.

“...tits,” said Zeke, chewing unhappily on his lip. “I didn’t realize there’d be a split path.”

“You said he’s a teenage boy, correct?” I sighed. “He’ll have gone down into the Underworld. I’m certain.”

“You’re probably right,” agreed Zeke. “And if we don’t find him down there, we can just go back up and try the mountain path next.”

I was rather hoping that we found the child on our first attempt, but I supposed that doing a little extra training wouldn’t be quite so bad.

Zeke selected “Underworld” from the pop-up menu.

A COURAGEOUS CHOICE, announced the game. YOUR BRAVERY IS COMMENDABLE. ZEKE, PLEASE SELECT A CLASS WORTHY OF A GREAT HERO.

A new menu appeared, this one presenting a series of starting classes that were available to Zeke. He flinched away from it as it materialized, and I frowned. That was not a good sign, but I wasn’t really surprised; he hadn’t exactly been making excellent progress on his recovery plan.

Honestly, he barely seemed to be trying.

“We should wait for Alex,” I repeated, but Zeke muttered something under his breath and began reading through the class descriptions, completely ignoring me.

I did not yet receive a class selection menu, indicating that I would not get to choose until Zeke did. This was particularly frustrating, because there was no question that Zeke would take absolutely forever to read through every single option before making a selection. Considering the number of available choices, this could therefore take hours.

I yawned and watched over his shoulder as he perused. A few of the classes were immediately interesting; there was one called “Love Nymph,” and another called “Muse of Fire.”

Zeke selected the description for “Fate-Touched Vessel,” which provided the mysterious”Threads of Tomorrow” spell. He frowned, and finally turned to me.

“Genie,” he asked, “what kind of class do you want? You wanna try out being a tank?”

I clapped my hands in delight. ‘May I?? Oh, please!!”

He nodded.

“Alright,” he said. “Then I’m choosing a support class with a couple of long-range attacks. I’ll be a ‘Sun Worshipper.’”

Considering how often Zeke didn’t wake up until mid-afternoon, I thought that was rather amusing.

He made his selection, and his body began to glow. A shimmering cream and lavender robe settled itself over his shoulders, and a crown of laurels appeared upon his head. He also received a slim, golden bow and a quiver of fine-tipped arrows.

“For fuck’s sake,” he muttered, glaring down at his new outfit. “That’s heavy-handed. Um, okay, Genie. Go ahead.”

IMOGEN, bellowed the game. PLEASE CHOOSE A CLASS WORTHY OF A GREAT HERO.

By now, I knew exactly which class I wanted.

“I choose ‘Poet’s Muse,’” I declared. “After all, I’ve always been Alex’s inspiration. He’s no poet, but I suppose there’s something artistic about his chaotic heart.”

“That’s one way to put it,” snorted Zeke, as my body glowed gold, just like his had. I was soon wearing a set of pleasantly form-fitting white-gold armor, and some very stylish strappy sandals.

Unfortunately the sandals did not match the breastplate at all. At least I received a sword, which was a weapon I’d never had the privilege of wielding before. I’d always wanted to try out a sword.

I swished it excitedly through the air as Zeke grinned at me.

“Lemme guess,” he said. “Is the armor you’ve got on called ‘plot armor,’ by any chance?”

I raised an eyebrow at him.

“Yes,” I replied. “And I think it’s a rather clever pun. This is a charming game, so far.”

He just laughed under his breath, hoisted his bow a bit higher on his shoulder, and stepped onto the staircase.

***

“How many levels does this one have?” I asked.

Our shining weapons and armor created a faint halo of light all around us as we descended into the darkness of the Underworld. I could hear small skittering sounds coming from every direction, as though we were about to be beset by unreasonably large rats.

Zeke paused a moment, probably consulting the in-game guide, and then winced.

“More than I’d expected,” he admitted. “Looks like there are 99 in total; I’m guessing that half of them are down here, and that the other half go in the opposite direction.”

I gaped at him.

“Are we really going to search 99 levels for a foolish child who ran off to seek adventure?” I demanded. “That’s … I do understand that you want to impress this gentleman, Zeke, but this, I think, is a bit above and beyond. What did you say the man’s name was, by the way?”

“I didn’t.” Zeke stopped and frowned around at the muddy, dripping walls of the cavern that we found ourselves in. “Stay away from the walls; the slime crawling down them isn’t exactly the same color as the walls themselves, so I think it might be a creature, or, at the very least, a trap.”

Even as he said that, one of the muddy droplets hit the ground with a squelch, shuddered, and then made its way over towards us, gaining in size with every inch of ground that it covered.

“I … believe it heard you,” I whispered.

“Tits,” said Zeke. “Imogen-!”

“I know.” I already had my sword in both hands, and was enjoying the feeling of power that I got from wielding such an elegant, classical weapon.

I turned and pointed it straight at the tiny ooze thing, and a notification appeared. The voice of the game read it aloud at the same time.

KIRI SLAVE, announced the game. LEVEL 2 BLOOD GOLEM.

“I thought golems had to be made of something solid,” I remarked. “Are blood golems allowed?”

“Genie,” snapped Zeke.

“I know, I know.” I swung my sword at it, cleaving it neatly in two.

The two halves immediately oozed back together, reforming the creature.

IRRITATED KIRI SLAVE, the game declared. LEVEL 3 BLOOD GOLEM.

“TITS,” repeated Zeke, with much more emphasis this time.

“What?” I glared at it. “This is only the first level of the Underworld, and already we’re dealing with this sort of nonsense?”

And then, Zeke did something that I’d never witnessed him do before. He rushed forward, placing his body in between me and the monster, essentially shielding me.

“Zeke, this is absurd,” I shouted. “I’m the tank, remember?”

He didn’t seem to hear me.

Instead, he fired several shiny blasts of what appeared to be targeted sunlight at each of the two blood golems. They evaporated … and Zeke kept firing.

“Zeke,” I cried. “Enough! It’s over.”

Again, he wasn’t listening. Sweat dripped down his brow, mixing with the blood that lay pooled on the floor; the remains of the dead golems.

“Oh dear,” I murmured, as the golems began to rematerialize. “Zeke!” I grabbed his harm. “Calm down, for the gods’ sake! You’re making it worse!”’

I trod gently but firmly on his toe, and he winced.

“Aw, shit,” he finally said, shaking his head as though something in him had snapped awake again. “Fuck. We…we gotta run.” He desperately tried to wipe the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand, but the damage was already done.

“It’s really alright,” I began, but he wasn’t to be soothed. Grabbing me by the arm, he turned and ran, and I ran with him, mostly to avoid having my shoulder dislocated.

Luckily for us, the knotted black staircase that led down presumably to the next level was mere feet away from us, and we were able to reach it before the newly revitalized creatures could “attack.”

It was only when we reached the floor below that he finally stopped and turned around to ensure that nothing had followed us down.

“It’s alright,” he gasped. “We made it.”

I took a quick breath, placed my hands on my hips, and met Zeke’s bloodshot eyes.

His whole body was shaking, his teeth gritted in … no, it wasn’t fear. Well, perhaps it was partially fear, but there was something else in his eyes, as well.

In his gaze, I also saw pure, panicked rage.

“Sit down,” I ordered him, and, unexpectedly, he did as I asked. He then pulled his ever-present flask out of his back pocket and took a long swig. I rolled my eyes and tried to choke down the spike of fear that shot through me every time I saw that stupid thing.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered, shaking his head. “Sorry, Genie, that was … I dunno what happened. Something just came over me, and I couldn’t … I couldn’t. I’m sorry. Fuck. I’m sorry.”

“It’s quite alright.” I seated myself beside him and took his hand in mine. “We’re safe. Do you understand me? You’re safe, Ezekiah Survice. Nothing is going to harm you. Even if it did, you know I would do whatever it took to protect you.”

I smiled at him, and he grabbed me by both shoulders and glared me straight in the eyes with an intensity that took me aback.

“Don’t you ever say that again,” he growled. “Don’t you ever make that damn threat again.”

Instead of replying, I leaned in and kissed the top of his head, and he began to shake.

I was vaguely aware of one of the blood golems off to my right, but we seemed to be out of its line of vision, which was lucky. It didn’t approach us.

“I feel I must insist,” I said quietly, “that we return home and get Alex. I’m quite serious.”
“I know.” Zeke took a deep breath. “Okay. You’re right. I’m … I’m sorry.”

He was completely silent as we got up and prepared to climb the stairs back to the beginning level. I kept my hand resting on his wrist the whole time, and he seemed to draw some strength from the contact.

I did, however, allow him to take the lead, since his sun spells were obviously more effective against the blood golems.

I’m not an idiot.

Nightmare: Alex

I coped with the nightmares by looking them right in the eyes and by making space for them in my mind. I was stronger than the trauma. I was bigger and more powerful than whatever shit my brain could throw at me.

I…had to be.

***

That night, I dreamed of my first day at Cleanse Camp 7. My cell was at the far end of a long, bare hall built out of titanium and red rock from the planet’s core

There were no windows, only screens, and the screens were all blacked out. The cell wasn’t soundproof, though; I could hear footsteps on the other side of the door. That was a relief, until I remembered the rumors I’d heard about this place, and about the specific forms of auditory torture they’d used on a blind woman who’d once been an award-winning biochemist.

Now, apparently she couldn’t even remember her own name.

“Imogen,” I rasped, discovering my throat hurt like hell.

What was the last thing I remembered? I couldn’t form any clear image of who had come for me or of how I’d been taken, but the feeling of knives in my throat was a solid clue. I’d probably been drugged or poisoned, and then teleported.

Where would I have felt safe enough to eat or drink that also had a teleportation capsule ready to go? We didn’t keep one in the apartment for exactly this reason.

“Imogen,” I yelled, louder this time. “Where the hell are you?”

“Alex?” Her voice was faint, but definitely nearby, and when I heard it, something twisted hard inside me. So, we were here together, which meant she was alive. That was everything.

I’d been hoping, though, that maybe they hadn’t found her; that maybe she’d escaped.

No such luck.

“Alex,” hissed Imogen, “what did they do to us? My voice aches, and my head aches. Everything aches! I’ve been brutalized!”

“Yeah,” I said. “Me too. How bad is it? Can you move? Try banging on the wall of your cell; let’s see if I can find you.”

“I, uh, wouldn’t try that,” came an unfamiliar voice from the other side of the door, and then my screen switched on, displaying the image of an exhausted male Inrai in his base form, his bright, green and blue scales flecked with grime and some kind of bright red dust. He wore a black and blue prison guard’s uniform, complete with bullet -proof vest and thick, metal-heeled boots.

“You’ll get zapped if you touch the walls,” he continued, shaking his head. “You’ve got implants in your arms, legs, and head, now, that activate if you act out. The electric pulse they start with isn’t too strong, but it’ll get worse the more shit you try to pull, so…save your big moves for emergencies.”

“Who in the hell are you?” I snarled. “Are you the fucker who put us in here? Why don’t you come on over and see how well that costume protects you from my fists, huh?”

It was a stupid thing to say; I was trying not to panic.

I wasn’t succeeding.

The Inrai sighed.

“Save it,” he muttered. “I had nothing to do with bringing you in. I’m this block’s warden, and I’m…I’m gonna be your interrogator. That’s all.”

“Do you have a name, traitor?” Imogen spat the words at him. “Goodness, you should be ashamed of yourself; you’re Inrai, aren’t you? The Cleansers hate your people almost as much as they hate mine. I imagine that this prison is full of Inrai. What gives you the right to -?”

“They have my … my best friend, ma’am,” said the warden, so quietly that I almost couldn’t make out the words. “Best friend isn’t the right word, but … there’s no word in any of your languages for what he really is. He’s more like … like my brother, I guess. They’ve got him locked up six floors down.”

We all spent a moment digesting that.

“As a matter of fact,” murmured Imogen, “Alex and I do understand what that means. I’m … sorry to hear it.”

“Right.” He shook his head. “So understand this, then; I don’t got a choice when it comes to what I’m gonna do to you.”

He twitched suddenly, grimacing and pulling in a sharp breath.

“Wait,” I demanded. “Do you have one of those implants, too?”

This time, he said nothing, probably because he didn’t want to be electrocuted again.

“Okay.” I took a quick breath, and lowered my voice a little. “Okay, I get what’s happening here. I’m Alex, and that’s Imogen. Who are you?”

The Inrai cleared his throat.

“My name’s Zeke,” he told us. “My job is to torture the living shit out of you until you give me names. We’re going to, uh …” He coughed, looking miserable. “We’re gonna play some games.”

He wasn’t even looking directly at the screen when he said that. Instead, he gazed down at his own claws, gritting his teeth.

“Names?” Imogen scoffed. “What names? We do not know any names!”

We absolutely did know names; names of some other members of the Dirty Resistance who were camped out on the planet Townshend, where we’d been picked up. Unfortunately, we know a LOT of names, as we’d recently been having dinner at the home of the woman who was responsible for the planet-wide student rebellions that had been taking place across Townshend for months, and the Cleansers probably knew that.

We were pretty fucked.

“We aren’t gonna give you any names,” I said quietly.

“That’s what they always say at the beginning,” Zeke returned, shaking his head. “But we’ll see. It’ll go easier for both of you if you cooperate, but…I guess I’ll have to prove that.”

“Good luck,” snorted Imogen, although I could hear the edge to her voice that meant she was holding down a lot of big feelings. “Alex and I are, in fact, quite good at games. We once won a Ardenian Battle Chess tournament against some of the planet’s masters. You may as well give up now on getting any information out of us through gamified torture.”

She was making a solid effort to intimidate Zeke, but I knew it wouldn’t matter. I could see in this guy’s eyes how desperate he was. He’d already come to terms with the devastating truth of what he was going to do here, and we had no chance of talking our way out of it.

“We’ll see about that soon enough,” he repeated, shaking his head. His swirling green eyes were clouded and distant now, as though he was disassociating. In his mind, he’d gone somewhere far away, or at least, he was trying to.

“Zeke,” I asked, “what’s your brother’s name?”

He blinked, refocused, and looked directly at me ..sort of.

“Gabriel,” he finally managed. “His name’s Gabriel.”

Again, he flinched, this time clutching his head and swaying for a second before regaining his composure. It looked like any time he mentioned his brother, he got zapped. That might be useful.

I felt bad for the guy, truly. If he was telling the truth, then he was just as much a prisoner here as we were

Still, I was going to get me and Imogen out of this place alive, and if that meant going through this poor fucker, then so be it. I wouldn’t enjoy it, but I wouldn’t think twice.

“Okay,” I said. “Let’s get it over with, then. This one’s for Gabriel.”

Chapter Three: Zeke

The only bar in the Unbearable was called Scavenger’s, and most of the patrons were non-humans. There was no rule against humans coming in, but the owner was this ancient Vorician former college professor, and the drinks were inspired by classic Vorician folktales that most humans had never heard of, so they tended not to bother with it.

It was, therefore, pretty easy for me to spot my guy, as he was the only human in the whole place.

He was about forty-five, with all of his own grey-black hair and chiseled, rugged features like something out of a noir detective story. He also happened to be a cop, although he was in plain clothes tonight; a wrinkled button-up shirt that Imogen would have stuck her nose up at, and a pair of loose-fitting jeans.

“Ryce!” I held up my hand, and he saw me and gave a little wave before striding over and slamming down onto the stool beside mine.

“Zeke,” he said. “Thanks for coming.”

The look he gave me was one I’d seen a thousand times on a thousand faces, and I knew right then that he hadn’t just invited me out for a friendly drink. Detective Ryce needed something from me.

I sighed. Of course he did.

“Okay,” I said. “Go on. Ask.”

Ryce looked instantly relieved.

“Sorry” he muttered. My kid’s babysitter is missing.”

I just stared at him.

“That’s, uh, too bad,” I said, “but I’m not sure what the hell I can do about it. You’re the detective; I’m just a-!”

“You know about games,” he interrupted, “and I don’t. All this virtual combat stuff is beyond me; I’m a cop, not a ‘dungeon crawler,’ or whatever the kids are calling the whole virtual battle party thing. But you…you are one of those. You understand how this stuff works.”

I’d never heard myself referred to as a “dungeon crawler;” that was a little off the mark, in my case, but I took his point.

“You think this kid is stuck in a game?” I asked.

Ryce frowned. “Maybe.”

I turned to the bar and raised a finger.

“What’s your pleasure, Zeke?” Brindie, the pink-eyed Mayurian humanoid behind the bar flashed me a weary smile. “And who’s your sexy friend?”

Ryce gave her a startled look, and I swallowed a laugh.

“Two Sunken and Sultrys for me and Detective Roger Ryce, please,” I said, and Brindie made a disgusted face, then turned around and began preparing our drinks.

“Cops aren’t too popular around here, huh?” asked Ryce, looking sheepishly at Brindie’s back.

I shrugged.

“They aren’t as unpopular as cleanse camp guards,” I said.

“Yeah?” Ryce plunked a credit down on the counter for the drink, but I pushed it back at him. “She seems to like you just fine,” he said. “Everybody does.”

“I’m a good customer,” I told him, shrugging.

I didn’t tell him about the glares that I could feel from half the patrons sitting around me, or that the reason I always sat with my back to the wall was that I’d once been hit over the head here with a full bottle of Silken Smog … and that guy must have been pissed, because that shit is expensive.

Ryce, however, was no dumbass. .

He took a look over his shoulder, assessed the atmosphere, and then scowled.

“They’re ignorant idiots,” he muttered. “You’re a gods-damned hero. And that statue is just insulting. You should have been -!”

“How about you tell me why you think your babysitter is trapped in a game,” I said, clearing my throat.

Brindie passed two bubbly, purple drinks over to us and I saluted Ryce with mine before pounding it down and placing my glass back on the counter.

“Right,” muttered Ryce, frowning at me. “Sure thing. Uh…we have to start a little ways back; do you know about the three dead bodies that showed up on the final level of that Olympus reality?”

I did. “Odds of Olympus” was an ICRR with a game built in that was inspired by legendary Earth pantheons. It was known for being a particularly easy game designed for busy, overworked fucks who wanted a little excitement in their limited downtime. Lots of people played it, especially kids. Actually a bunch of the high schoolers in the classes I taught had skipped out of school to go and play it a couple of weeks ago, and I’d ended up having to emet with all of their damn parents, which had been torture.

“There’s no reason why anybody should be dead up there,” Ryce continued, “but a player discovered the bodies of three developers from a totally different game lying in a heap in front of the door to the ‘loot room,’ which I understand is where people get the prizes for beating the final boss.”

I hadn’t realized that the dead guys had been developers. That probably meant something important in terms of the case, but it wasn’t my problem, and I wasn’t interested in making it my problem, so I didn’t comment.

A kid trapped in a game in the midst of some kind of mass death situation, though … that didn’t sit right with me. That kind of shit was everybody’s problem.

“The other night,” Ryce went on, “I was on the holo-chat for hours with another guy from work, and we were talking about the dead developers. Apparently my six-year-old, Macy, was sitting on the staircase landing, listening the whole time, and when Mateo, her sitter, came over the next night, she told him everything she’d heard. Mateo’s a nice kid; eighteen, gets good grades, has nice friends, keeps himself out of trouble, most of the time … but at the end of the day, he’s a teenager, and I guess the idea of doing some detective work of his own must have excited him, because the next night, he didn’t show up to watch Macy. He has NEVER skipped out on Macy before, so that was a bad sign. Around the same time, two of his friends disappeared, too. It’s been three days now, and nobody’s heard from any of them. I think the three of them went into the game to try and ‘solve the case’ and ended up trapped … or, gods forbid, worse.”

This Mateo kid sounded a little bit like my Alex. I empathized, and I bought us another round of drinks in solidarity.

“What is this purple thing?” asked Ryce, when his second one arrived. “Do you always order your drinks to match your shirt? That’s a good shirt, by the way; the color, uh, works for you.” Then he coughed and drummed his fingers on the counter, looking very slightly uncomfortable. “Anyway.”

I blinked at him, and he did not meet my eyes.

“What makes you think that Mateo decided to go sleuthing?” I asked.

I should probably have said something else; something flirty, or at least receptive. Trouble was, it had been a really, really long time for me, and I had no idea how to react to a good-looking guy complimenting my borrowed clothes.

Ryce just nodded, and the moment, if it had been a moment, was over. I was the tiniest bit disappointed, but more than that, I was freaked out. This human body reacted a little more intensely to, uh, excitement than I was used to, and there were some things happening inside me that I had NOT been prepared for.

I cleared my throat, and we both looked down at our drinks.

“Apparently,” he eventually continued, “Mateo told Macy that he was going to ‘make it okay,’ so ‘she didn’t have to worry.’ She told me all about it last night when Mateo again didn’t show up to look after her; she was sobbing, and said she’d waited all this time to tell me because she didn’t want to get Mateo in trouble. She loves that boy; thinks of him like family, and for the past couple of years, he’s frankly helped raise her. I don’t know what she or I would have done without him. I can’t just leave him lost in a game that might or might not be killing people.”

Again, I felt like I understood. There wasn’t anything more important than family.

“So, obviously this sounds like a job for the police,” I began, “not for some old game guy. I don’t really get-!”

Ryce glared into his drink.

“The Chief says the kids are probably just runaways,” he muttered bitterly, “and that they aren’t a priority. He says that the games aren’t killing people, and that I’m acting like a rookie. Says I need some time off to remember how the job works.”

Now, it was Ryce’s turn to drank his drink in a single swig.

“Bullshit,” I muttered. “Your boss sounds like a moron.”

I also didn’t believe that it was the game that was killing people; other over-stimulated, violence-crazed residents of Exodus were more likely to have murdered those poor fucks, but that didn’t change the fact that if this kid and his friends were trapped in a game that they couldn’t break out of, they’d ultimately starve to death, or go nuts. Even if they had originally run away, they now probably needed help. The fact that they couldn’t rely on the police for that didn’t actually shock me.

“Okay,” I told Ryce. “I’ll see if I can find them. No promises, though; they might not even be in Odds of Olympus.”

Ryce reached out and clasped me by the arm, and I realized with some surprise how rare it was for anyone other than Alex and Imogen to voluntarily touch me. Again ,my human body did … things.

Was this what it felt like all the time, as a human? How the hell did Alex even cope?

“Thank you, Zeke,” he mumbled. “I really appreciate it. My Macy is worried sick. She’ll be so happy when I tell her that the great hero of the Dirty Rebellion is on her side.”

I snorted a laugh and plunked a few credits on the counter.

“The great heroes are Alex and Imogen,” I reminded him. “I’m just the controversial sidekick.”

Ryce looked me straight in the eyes, his arm lingering on mine for a weirdly long moment before he pushed himself to his feet.

“That’s crap, and you know it,” he said, “Thanks for the drink. Keep me posted.”

Then he turned around and walked out of the bar, and I stood watching him with a dangerous, tingly feeling in my chest and my mouth slightly open.

“He sure is cute,” sighed Brindie behind me, gathering up her payment. “Shame he’s one of them. You closing out, or you got time for around with me? I’ll be off shift in five minutes.”

***

I don’t know exactly when, but at some point, Alex showed up to drag me home.

I’d … had a few drinks. Once Brindie had gotten off work, we’d moved on from the Sunken and Sultrys to a much stronger bottle of Vorician Beige, and by the time Alex arrived, I was blissfully half-blind.

“Come on, Zeke,” he grunted, throwing one of my arms over his shoulders.

“You’re not losing any muscle mass,” I mumbled as we made our way through the front door, Alex stubbing his toe as he tried not to bang my head into the wall. “You keeping up with your training? You are; I knew it. You’re still-!”

“Don’t body shame,” he interrupted.” Hey, at least you smell okay tonight. Been drinking fruity drinks with Brindie again?”

He waved at Brindie, but I don’t know if she noticed him. For some reason, she’d never taken to Alex. He was kind of intimidating-looking, but he was a big ol’ softie. I kept trying to tell her that.

“A hot-ass cop told me that he liked my shirt,” I muttered.

“Yeah?” Alex sounded interested. “You get his number?”

I already had Ryce’s number, but not for those reasons, and suddenly I didn’t want to talk about it anymore. My stomach felt weird.

“I’m supposed to rescue his babysitter,” I explained.

Alex seemed to think about that as we stumbled back together through the portal that led towards home.

“Huh.” He snorted a laugh. “Okay. Well, my ex always did say that I didn’t understand romance. Maybe she was right. I don’t get it.”

I laughed too, but the laugh soon turned into a cough, and it felt for a second like I was choking on my own spit.

Alex sighed.

“You ever think about not doing this to yourself?” he asked.

The virtual jungle was full of hoots, cries, and clicking sounds at night, and it reminded me of my childhood home. I stopped to listen, forcing Alex up short.

“Yeah,” I whispered. “Yeah, I’ve thought about it. But this is the only way to ward off the nightmares. Don’t have to watch you and Imogen die tonight if I’m too fucked up to dream. You understand?”

Alex was silent for a long moment, and then he nodded.

“Yeah,” he said quietly. “Yeah … I get it.”

I forced my feet to keep moving forward, hanging onto Alex’s massive arm for support.

“Kid,” I finally asked him, “how do you fight the nightmares?”

“Let’s just focus on getting you home,” he said. “Imogen’s worried, and you know how she gets.”

Chapter Two: Imogen

The dedication ceremony was surprisingly lovely, even in that awful, arid wasteland. I, of course, made a magnificent speech, and the audience loved it. Even Alex spoke a few words; he pretends to hate all the attention we get, but I know that he appreciates a bit of heartfelt admiration. Who doesn’t?

And speaking of admiration, I do feel that Zeke wasn’t given quite enough. Oh, they were pleased to have him there, of course…or so they all claimed. The statue itself, however, only depicted Alex and myself striking dramatic, heroic poses; Zeke wasn’t shown at all.

He, at least, did not seem to mind, but I was offended on his behalf.

“It isn’t fair,” I complained as we sat on a bench at the edge of the Unbearable after the ceremony had finished and the audience had dispersed.

“It’s exactly how I like it,” returned Zeke, shrugging.

“Well, I don’t think it’s right.” I tapped him on the knee. “I don’t think the people truly understand how instrumental … no, how irreplaceable you were, but I have an idea as to how to fix that problem. I think we should write a book! And by we, I mean-!”

“No,” said Alex and Zeke at almost the same moment.

I huffed at them.

“My literary talents are going to waste,” I mumbled.

Alex raised an eyebrow at me.

“Literary talents?” he asked. “Since when are you a writer?’
“Since I discovered that it may be my true calling, Alex.” I shot him a serious look. “Did you not hear my masterful speech, just now? I’ve always had a way with words, and it becomes more and more apparent by the day; I really should do what all great retired heroes do and write my memoirs. I promise to paint you kindly in it; you as well, Zeke. There are, of a course, a few things we’ll want to go over before I begin, and a few moments might be best left to the imagination, but-!”

“Okay,” interrupted Alex. “As long as we’re out here, I think I’m gonna go to the dragon cages. Might not be a bad idea to let off some steam, after all that.”

Zeke nodded.

“You kids have fun,” he said, standing up. “I promised I’d head over to the bar to meet Ryce.”

“Oh yeah?” Alex frowned. “Alright, fair enough. Just … take it easy, would you?”

“We have plenty of ‘drunk,’ at home.” I added.

Zeke snorted a laugh, then, infuriatingly, patted me on the head and clapped Alex on the shoulder. He started down the only road that existed in the Unbearable, which led to the only strip of establishments available outside of the ICRRs. There was a bar there that I knew he often patronized, but I didn’t remember who this ‘Ryce,’ was. In fact, I’m not sure Zeke had ever mentioned the man before. I suppose I was just pleased to discover that our rather grumpy bit of sunshine had any friends to speak of other than Alex and myself.

“Come on, Imogen,” said Alex. “Let’s go work out.”

I stood up, stretched, and then hurried to fall into step alongside him as he strode through a nearby portal.

***

We emerged on the other side in a bold, colorful, blue-skyed land where rainbows arced overhead, and the hills beyond our vantage point were dotted with castles and cottages. This was all virtual, of course, but it looked, felt, and even smelled real. I could almost taste the bread baking in the town below, and, unfortunately, the stink of dragon breath on the wind.

Modern technomancy was an incredible luxury, and I always delighted in the sensual marvels that science had brought us.

At least … I did now that we were allowed to access them on our own terms, and in our own time. And these particular delicious sensations couldn’t harm us; they weren’t as sophisticated or as wicked as the ones designed for torture and subjugation, naturally. We could easily turn them off and on with menu panels that appeared before us when we entered the ICRR, and all we had to do to operate those manuals was to think at them.

Science truly is remarkable!

A woman’s bright, melodic soprano voice rang out, and at the same time, a notification appeared before our eyes, this one shaped like a half-furled scroll edged with silver,

WELCOME, ADVENTURER, was the announcement, TO THE KINGDOM OF EDGELIGHT. PLEASE REST A MOMENT WHILE I EXAMINE YOUR SAVED DATA.

We received this message every time we entered the Kingdom of Edgelight; it conveniently saved any progress we’d made on previous visits so that our stats and weapons remained available to us even if we left and returned.

There was a pause as the ICRR scanned Alex and I, and then it spoke/messaged again.

ALL HAIL, LADY IMOGEN, LEVEL 67 SIREN QUEEN. ALL HAIL SIR ALEX, LEVEL 65 BLESSED BERSERKER. DO YOU WISH TO UNDERTAKE A NEW QUEST, OR TO BATTLE THE VIZIER’S DRAGON ARMY?

“We’ll fight the dragons,” said Alex, selecting “Dragon Army” from the menu that presented itself.

UNDERSTOOD. Again, the world paused for just a moment as it processed Alex’s request. THE DRAGONS WILL BEGIN TO DESCEND IN THIRTY SECONDS. FARE THEE WELL, ADVENTURERS. FIGHT HONORABLY.

Alex cracked his neck and then his knuckles as a huge two-handed axe appeared, hovering in the air before him. This was the Axe of the Elder, a weapon he’d purchased with the points he’d won from his last several battles against the dragons. I made endless fun of him about the name, since he was, after all, the elder of the two of us and well into what we humans think of as middle-age. Unfortunately he seemed to have grown used to my teasing, and recently, had stopped reacting entirely. I’d have to find something new to needle him about as soon as possible.

He grasped it, then took up a fighting stance, glaring up at the “sky” from whence the dragons would soon be falling.

I always got a little thrill, seeing him like this again. Most of our lives were relaxed and mundane, on Exodus, and although I was a bit ashamed to admit this, I did get bored. There were parts of me that missed being a powerful, beautiful battle mage, racing through dangers and sniping any enemies who got too close to my beloved berserker.

I knew it was wrong to feel like that, but what was a girl to do? I had needs, and after everything that we’d been through, those needs included an opportunity to battle and overcome in the most stylish and triumphant possible way. Here on Exodus, I could do so without any real risk to my or Alex’s safety.

Here, unlike in that disgusting prison, it really was all just a game.

This particular reality, rather fancifully named “The Kingdom of Everlight,” was a community of recently wealthy former refugees who also had heroic dreams. Their world was one of swords, sorcery, princesses, faeries, and elves, not unlike the popular holo-sensory program All’s Fair in Love and Gore. Like most of the planet’s ICRRs, this one allowed for thousands of people to live within a bloody fairytale; each resident could, at any time, turn on various fantastical simulations, which would allow them to battle, trade, hunt, and even romance royal characters from the safe confines of their bedrooms. Whenever they wished to return to a peaceful, uninterrupted day, they could simply turn the simulation off, and they would go back to living in a quaint, classical realm which resembled Earth’s medieval England, but which provided no dangers or adventurous opportunities.

There were, of course, many real things in the virtual realm. The food provided was real, as were the beds and facilities that we all require to stay clean and alive. The local color, the trappings, the decor, and the fun were all virtual, however. I won’t pretend to understand exactly how it worked, and I never really had to, because there are people whose job it is to do exactly that sort of thing, thank goodness.

For the last several months, the quest “Defeat the Vizier’s Dragons” had been available in Everlight. I wasn’t clear on what the full storyline was; presumably, there was some sort of evil vizier attempting to take over the world with dragons. Alex and I had been coming here with some frequency to train against the virtual horde. I think he rather fancied himself a brave knight, which was silly, and charming, and very like him.

It helped calm him down when the nightmares about the Planet 7 became too vivid and horrific. Even I occasionally found the memories a bit too real and alarming to turn away from. I know that Zeke experienced something similar when he was sober enough to feel anything, and his tolerance was now so high that he was acutely aware more often than not, poor creature.

There was a name for that post-incarceration horror, of course. It was colloquially referred to as “cleansing sickness,” and most of the escaped prisoners had it, to some degree.

We aren’t here, however, to talk about the nights that Alex and I lay awake, shaking in each other’s arms and trying to push away the nightmares. We’re here to talk about dragons.

The dragons, at that moment, began to plummet down from the sky in sets of two and three, flaming as they descended.

Months ago, when we had first entered this simulation, Alex and I had selected classes that worked well in concert. I, as a Siren Queen, could sing dramatic songs that summoned magical waves with various charming results. Alex’s Blessed Berserker class awarded him enchanted weapons that offered impressive amounts of radiant damage to the enemy.

As the first wave of dragons fell, I cast “Tsunami Sonata,” summoning a giant wave to wash the dragons out of the sky. Drenched and disoriented, they collapsed on the ground, conscious, still dangerous, but with their long, golden health bars half-depleted.Alex wasted no time, stepping forward and decapitating each of them with one quick, downward strike of the axe, sending out a pulse of radiant energy with each strike. Each radiant pulse shot up and grounded another dragon, and I cast “Wicked Waves,” which encased each newly-downed dragon in a column of rushing water, soon drowning them.

We continued our battle for several minutes, until the last dragon was vanquished. It was, unfortunately, far too easy.

WAVE ONE DEFEATED, announced the voice of the Everlight kingdom. THE VIZIER IS ENRAGED. CONTINUE?

“We didn’t level up?” I frowned. “That’s unfair. We did a very clean job on those vile lizards!”

Alex shrugged.

“We’re too high level for this quest already,” he told me. “It’ll take days of doing this to gain another level. We’re gonna need to either commit more regularly, or find somewhere else to train at a higher level.”

CONTINUE?

The way Alex was speaking of our playtime didn’t make it sound very much fun, and that worried me more than a little bit.

“Alex,” I asked, gazing up into his red-rimmed eyes and laying a hand on his arm. “We…don’t actually need to train for anything…do we? Not anymore.”

The look on Alex’s face became…well, I can only describe it as complicated. It was some strange combination of frustrated, tired, and grateful

“Yeah,” he sighed. “Yeah, you’re right, Imogen. We can relax. We’re not actually training, it’s …just a game.”

I said nothing, because I understood. Alex gave me an uncomfortable smile, and squeezed my hand.

“We should probably go check and make sure Zeke makes it home alive,” he sighed. “Come on.”

He tried to release my hand, but I grabbed his and held for just a second longer, and his smile deepened.

CONTINUE???!!

“Oh dear,” I said, as the voice of Everlight began to strain.

“Uh, no,” Alex muttered. “No, thanks. We’re done.”

Chapter One: Zeke

I don’t sleep much anymore; nobody who escaped the prison planet really does. It doesn’t matter where we live now or what we take to forget; the nightmares still always get in.

Luckily for me, I have a couple solid years of functional alcoholism to draw from, so I manage. This morning, I was managing by sitting at my bedroom window with a steaming cup of hot tea in one hand and a Jack Daniels in the other, watching the dragon-sized raptors careen through the sky outside, screeching and diving, showing off their bright scales and long feathers.

Today’s weather was supposedly perfect; not too hot, but just warm enough. The weather in this reality was always “perfect,” designed that way by a crack team of human biologists who did a study on what the average human’s ideal weather was.

I, who had never truly been human, preferred a nice soft drizzle like the kind we’d gotten used to on my own home planet. Of course, I hadn’t seen my planet, now destroyed by the Cleansers, for over a decade, so I couldn’t be too nostalgic for it. Sometimes, I barely remembered it at all…and that felt wrong. There were so few of us left; I needed so badly to remember.

“Zeke? Jesus, man, are you serious? It’s nine o’clock in the morning.”

I turned around to see Alex standing on the stairs with Imogen at his side, and neither of them looked too happy with me.

“Mind your gods-damned business,” I told them, waving my teacup in their direction. Alex just rolled his eyes.

“Good morning to you, too, Zeke,” sighed my pretty, thirty-three-year-old human roommate, Imogen, walking over to the table and gently nudging me aside. She raised an eyebrow at my untucked shirt. “Well, at least you’re already showered, although if I were you, I’d go with a different color. Purple, much as it is a personal favorite, is not the best choice for the skin tone you’ve selected.”

“Leave him alone, Genie. The shirt looks great.” Alex, my other human roommate, forty-one and massively built, seated himself opposite me at the table, reached over, and drained the rest of my bottle of Jack.

“What in the tits,” I muttered, and Imogen snorted in disappointment.

“You’re both as bad as the other,” she said. “Do you really want to show up to the dedication ceremony drunk?”

“Zeke’s always drunk,” Alex reminded her. “And I’ll be fine; it was just the last dregs.”

I knew exactly what he was doing. Alex had finished the bottle so that I couldn’t. So much for leaving me alone.

He looked like he hadn’t gotten much sleep either, although that might have been due to anxiety about the ridiculous shit we had to do today. The Exodian Council had decided to erect a statue in our honor, to commemorate the liberation of all those trapped within Cleanse Camp 7 when we’d finally broken out of it two years ago. They’d asked us to speak at the monument’s dedication, and Imogen had, of course, agreed for all of us. She, at least, was delighted by the whole thing, even if Alex and I wanted less than nothing to do with it.

Imogen was wearing her favorite necklace; a lovingly crafted string of the teeth of prison guards she’d taken down during the escape. She was also wearing a low cut pink cocktail dress and a pair of pink stiletto heels.

Alex was wearing a pair of khaki shorts and a black t-shirt with a large, red anarchy symbol on it.

The Council had begged them both to wear their old prison jumpsuits to the event, and Alex had flat-out refused. It had been a stupid, cruel request, and he’d treated it as such.

Good for him.

Luckily for everybody, nobody had asked me to wear my uniform. That might have ended … badly.

Both the Council and the people of Exodus were acting like this whole statue thing would be a big party, but for us, it was a reminder of the most traumatic, torturous years of our lives, and reliving it with props and cosplay wasn’t appealing.

At least, it wasn’t to me and Alex, but Imogen … well, she always had a flair for the dramatic, and she was having a wonderful time getting ready to meet her adoring fans. I’m pretty sure the only reason Alex agreed to do this thing in the first place was that he knew how much it would thrill Imogen, and he’d do just about anything for her.

I was going along with this for a couple of reasons. First of all, Alex had asked me to, and that was more than enough. Secondly, a buddy of mine had invited me out for drinks afterwards, and I hadn’t seen the guy in a bit, so it was worth the trek.

“I am going to use the restroom,” announced Imogen, “and then I will need one of you to please help to tighten my bodice; I feel far too free.”

“Any tighter and you’ll suffocate in there,” remarked Alex, eyeing her. “You look fine.”

Imogen shook her blonde curls at him.

“I need to look better than fine,” she explained. “I need to look magnificent. People will be watching from all over the universe, Alex!”

Imogen, who had apparently once been a famous plus-size pageant queen before her capture, took her beauty routines very seriously.

Instead of arguing, Alex held out his arms, and Imogen backed up against him so that he could mess with her laces. His huge hands were always incredibly gentle with her, and it did me good to see it. It was nice to remember that there was still such a thing as gentleness.

I continued to stare out the window, and as I always did when I watched the raptors, I thought about my brother.

***

Maybe twenty minutes later, the three of us trekked through the lush, green jungle on our way to the exit portal, which would take us into The Unbearable, where the ceremony would be held.

It was rare for anything important to take place in The Unbearable, the place between Realities where only the poorest and most unlucky actually lived. The statue, however, being the property of the Exodian government, couldn’t exist in one single reality, and had to be built in neutral territory, and so they ended up putting it out in that wasteland.

Exodus was a refugee planet, originally settled by those who’d escaped the Cleanse and those who’d fled Associate control across the universe. Dry, windy, and with only a few native plants, it hadn’t been exactly an ideal place to start a brand new community when the first refugees had arrived, but they’d gotten around that in a very unusual way. Two of those first refugees had been technomancers who’d been heavily involved in the creation of some of the original prison planet levels, and they knew their shit. Within years, they’d managed to construct a series of complex, interlocking virtual realities that operated as their own little contained worlds, able to support the basic needs of many different common species. These virtual reality modules became known as Independently Contained Replacement Realities, or ICRRs, and in no time at all, they covered the entirety of the planet’s surface.

By the time Alex, Imogen and I had arrived on Exodus, the ICRRs were all fancy and trendy. They weren’t just biodomes, anymore; now, they were fully operational idle games, inspired by the most popular universal franchises. In some ICRRs, you could live in a swords-and-sorcery fantasy world, while in others you could experience different eras of your home planet’s history and see what life was like in a time before you were born .. still with working toilets, of course.

The possibilities were endless, and many of the ICRRS were gamified, so that life never got boring. You could fight, you could craft, and if you were particularly bad at social cues, you could make “friends” with all sorts of virtual NPCs.

As you can imagine, that shit wasn’t for me.

I wanted absolutely nothing to do with the trendy, gamified crap, although I think Alex and Imogen occasionally dabbled in it. As far as I was concerned, we’d played enough lethal games on Planet 7 to last us more than one lifetime; hell, I didn’t even want to play holo-board games anymore. Instead, the three of us found ourselves a pleasant three-floor townhouse in an ICRR inspired by the rich jungles of a temperate planet that sat somewhere between theirs and mine; a planet that gave each of us a little taste of home without reminding us too vividly of what we’d lost.

At least watching the raptors helped me never to forget.

“Zeke,” said Imogen, turning and tilting her head at me. “You’re making that face again.”

“That’s just his face,” said Alex, patting her. “Have you decided what your ‘opening remarks’ are gonna be?”

As a matter of fact, this wasn’t my face. I’m a Chameleon; at least, that’s what the humans call me. My people used to call ourselves the Inrai, and our forms at birth look more like what humans call the velociraptor, only much more attractive and not quite extinct … not yet, anyway. We’re saddled with the power to morph and mutate; to change form at will.

And yes, it does hurt.

On Exodus, it was easiest and most comfortable for me to live as a human. I’d taken cues from a couple of the humans I’d known before my prison time, and had chosen a tall body, maybe fifty years old, skinny, lanky, with glasses and thinning - but not balding - sandy hair. Imogen had complained when she’d seen my new look, insisting that I should have chosen someone younger and more attractive to portray, but that wasn’t what I wanted. I wanted to look like the kind of guy you’d never notice in a crowd.

I wanted to slip into the background, do my work, and get on with my damn life, and up until this statue thing had happened, that was actually working out great for me.

“Yes,” Imogen told Alex, “I have! I’m going to thank the people of Exodus for their warm, enthusiastic welcome, and I’m going to be gracious; one must always be gracious. I won’t mention the unpleasantness of the Cleanse, but will instead look to the future of this planet and the wonderful possibilities that it offers for all grieving races to live in harmony together. How does that sound?”

“I think it sounds fine.” Alex nodded. “It’s very, uh, you. Very diplomatic.”

“Why do I feel like you’re making fun of me?” She pouted. “I don’t like it when you poke fun at my honest attempts at making life easier for us, Alex. My goodness, you’re barely even dressed. One of us has to make an effort. At least Zeke is wearing pants!”

Alex just grunted in amusement as Imogen continued to harangue him. I took a quiet moment to enjoy their banter, hiding a smile before stepping through the portal into the Unbearable.

Prologue: Mateo

Two Years Ago

“Mateo,” asked little Macy Ryce, pressing the pause button on her tiny virtual train station and carefully placing her favorite pink and silver toy engine down where the tracks had just been. “Everyone at school is talking about the big prison escape, and my teacher, Mrs. Meter, says that we don’t have to worry because all the bad guys who got out of jail aren’t really bad guys, and they’re really good guys, but if they’re good guys, then why were they in jail? Jaime says that her mom says that it’s because of the blenders, but Dad uses a blender to make my breakfast smoothie and I don’t think they have blenders in jail, so I think Jaime’s mom is wrong.”

Sixteen-year-old Mateo Curtis took a breath and looked at the confused, scrunched-up little frown on the face of the four-year-old neighborhood girl he was babysitting.

“That’s definitely a question for your Dad, May,” he told her. “Don’t you want to-?”

“Dad’s never home.” Macy shrugged. “You are. So, I need to ask you.”

Mateo sighed. She had a point; her father, a district cop and a long-time member of the secret “Dirty Police” resistance force, did in fact work more hours in a day than Mateo had once realized was even possible. Macy’s mom had died a couple of years ago in a railway accident and so there actually wasn’t anybody else to talk to Macy about this, and she needed to know. She was a smart enough kid to be able to figure out right from wrong, so … it was time.

“Okay,” he said. “Well, first, let’s get a snack.”

“Dad says no snacks before bedtime,” Macy reminded him.

“Dad’s not here,” returned Mateo, and Macy giggled at him.

They headed into the kitchen, and twenty minutes later they were settled in on the sofa side by side, sipping on chocolate milk and eating starpies out of a bowl.

“Okay,” said Mateo. “So … first of all, is everybody in your preschool class human?”

Macy quickly shook her head.

“Nope,” she announced. “Nope, Ebbie is Ledian, and Marko is from Darynda, and um … um, CJ is a different kind of person, but I don’t remember what kind because one day someone asked him and he started crying, and so I don’t want to ask him again because I don’t want to make him feel bad, but also I don’t remember.” She looked worried.

“That’s okay,” Mateo assured her. “You don’t have to remember, and it’s good that you want to be kind to CJ. I’m gonna ask you another question, now; do you think the people in your class who aren’t human are bad people?”

Macy’s eyes narrowed.
“Ebbie is my best friend,” she said. “Of COURSE she’s good.”

“What about everyone else?” Mateo insisted. “What about all the other kids in the school who aren’t human? Are they bad, or mean, or dirty just because they aren’t human?”

“No!” Macy looked appalled. Then, she thought for a moment, and sat up straighter on the sofa. “Everyone is GOOD. Mrs. Meter always says that ‘what you look like doesn’t matter; it matters what you DO.’ And everyone is good, even if they look a little slimy, like Jimmy, my Dad’s friend with the weird fish thing on his face.”

Mateo stifled a laugh, and gave Macy’s hand a little squeeze. “That’s right. Your teacher sounds like a smart lady.”

“Mrs. Meter is very nice, and very funny, and she likes me a lot, and she likes unicorns, and sometimes she looks very tired,” murmured Macy.

Yeah, thought Mateo. I’m sure she is tired.

Macy had finished her chocolate milk, and she kept holding it to her mouth and tilting her whole head back, like she might be able to get a few more drops out of it with sheer force of will. Mateo took the cup and poured her a little more milk, and Macy looked delighted.

“Do you want some?” she asked, offering him her cup. “Sharing is caring.”

“I’m okay,” said Mateo, “but thanks, May. Anyway, this part is kind of hard. What would you say if I told you that some people think humans are bad just because we’re humans? Some people in the universe think that humans are bad and dirty and evil just because we don’t look like they do.”

Macy’s eyes went wide.

“No,” she said simply, and Mateo nodded.

“Well, they do,” he sighed. “Actually, LOTS of people think that, and some of those people are very powerful, and very important, and they get to do what they want because they’re so important. Those people decided that humans and a few other species of people that they think are bad shouldn’t be allowed to live in the universe anymore.”

Macy didn’t say anything. She was starting to look frightened, and Mateo wondered if maybe he should stop.

She’s just a little kid, he thought. And her best friend is a Ledian. This is going to really freak her out.

“Why are they mean?” Macy asked. “Why don’t they like humans? Did we do something mean to them?”

That was a tricky one that Mateo wasn’t sure how to answer.

“Some humans have done some mean things before,” he finally said, “but that doesn’t mean all humans are bad, right?”

Macy shook her head.

“You’re good,” she replied. “I’m good. Dad is good. Mrs. Meter-!”

“That’s right,” agreed Mateo. “Lots of humans are good. But the powerful people who make all the big decisions don’t agree with you. They think all the humans are bad, and they started something called ‘The Cleanse.’”

“Blend,” muttered Macy.

“No,” insisted Mateo, “your friend didn’t have it quite right. The people she was talking about are called the ‘Cleansers,’ not the blenders. They’ve been going through the galaxy to … to try and make all the humans, and all the other ‘bad’ people go away.”

Mateo wasn’t sure if she would even have understood what the word “murder” meant, but he certainly wasn’t going to explain it. It. The concept of murder was probably too much for a four year old to wrap her head around.

“So,” he continued instead, “the Cleansers like to take the humans and the other people they don’t like, and they like to put them in big jails. Sometimes, those jails are so big that they cover entire planets.”

“That’s too big,” said Macy, matter of factly. She offered no further explanation.

“And the reason everyone is very excited right now,” finished Mateo, “is that some very brave people, Mr. Alex, and Ms. Jolene, and Mr. Zeke all escaped from one of those big prisons, and then they made the prison go away and set all the other people in the prison free, too, so now everyone who was trapped there is safe and happy again.”

Macy brightened up instantly.

“Yay!” She cried. “That’s very good! I want to be a hero too! I want to save the people!”

She rushed over to her virtual train set, switched it on, and grabbed her pink engine just as the entire scenario flared to life in vivid color, complete with life-accurate train noises. “I’m Jolene,” she shouted, “and I will save you all! Bam, whoosh, bang, blat! Go away, prison! Yaaaaaaay!”

She bashed the train into the virtual walls a few times, and Mateo watched her, smiling to himself.

His smile faded as he thought about all the parts of the story he hadn’t told her; the ones that she really couldn’t understand. Hopefully, she’d never understand the concept of torture, which was what the cleanse camps were really for. He’d heard terrible stories about people who’d actually been released from those places, and who could tell their own tales; people who’d been forced to play days and days of brutal, mind-warping games inside machines and virtual reality modules designed to break their spirits, their minds, and their limbs. According to the survivors, the captors and wardens at the prison had sat back, watched them beat their brains out in these gamified torture chambers and had just laughed.

Mateo had been so busy with his explanation and his own thoughts that he hadn’t noticed Macy’s dad, Detective Ryce, come in through the back door. It was only when the man sat down heavily beside him on the sofa that Mateo realized he and Macy weren’t alone.

“That was a pretty good explanation,” said Ryce, nodding slowly to himself as they both watched Macy shriek enthusiastically at her trains. “Thanks for doing that for her. You’re a smart guy.”

He turned and gave Mateo one of his rare half-smiles, then handed over his wallet.

“Take what you need,” he said. “You’ve earned it. Same time tomorrow night?”