Endgame (Voluntary Eradicators) by Nenia Campbell

for the high scorers. It's now safe to disengage from the program.”
    And at his words Vol's relief at surviving and disappointment at not placing merge seamlessly into fear.

7.
    When she opens her eyes, the God Mod — Catan Vareth — is disconnecting her from the sensory equipment. Vol knocks his hand away. “I can do it myself. Don't touch me.”
    He looks at her with feigned surprise. “I'm sorry. Is there a problem?”
    There is , she thinks. You . “What safety or protocol infraction was I in danger of committing?”
    Catan blinks. His surprise seems genuine enough now. “I beg your pardon?”
    “ What you said. Earlier.”
    “ I don't recall saying you had one.”
    Vol swings her legs out of the chair, measuring the distance. He is still standing close to her, but not so close that she won't be able to squeeze by. “You said that's why we saw you before the game.”
    “ Ah, yes.” He walks past her and begins to tidy up the various cables and wires, restoring the machines to default settings. Vol wastes no time scrambling out of the chair, and he turns around, just in time to catch her in the middle of her graceless flight, and smiles. “But if you'll recall, I never said that was the only reason, did I?”
    “ Then what was your reason? I doubt it was because of incorrectly fastened electrodes.” She spits the excuse he gave her earlier as if it tastes bad in her mouth.
    “ My, but you're very defensive.”
    “ You know nothing about me, or what I'm like, Catan Vareth.”
    “ Perhaps I know more than you think.” His response is quiet and mocking. He bundles up the cords with a pointed fastidiousness that makes her even angrier than she already is.
    “ I think you enjoy messing with people.”
    “ That's a purely hypothetical supposition on your part,” the bastard says. “I'm very particular about who I mess with, why,” — a strange light passes through his dark eyes — “and where.”
    She sets her teeth. “You made me lose the game.”
    “ Now that,” he says, “is a very serious allegation indeed.”
    Vol forces herself to hold her ground as he walks back in her direction. Her head is throbbing, blood pulsing behind her eyeballs and at her temples, and she feels as if she might faint. Behind the tinted lenses, her eyes are parched and sore. “I know.”
    “ Then I'd like to know,” he says, walking closer still, “what makes you so certain? Do you have proof?”
    “ I notice things.”
    “ Oh?”
    He's so close now she can make out the scent of his aftershave. “You smell like sage,” she says, without thinking about how intimate this sounds. “I think you were watching me in the desert.” She looks at him, giving him time to respond, but he stays silent. “There was sage there, too,” she says lamely. “The smell of it. But I don't understand why.” Or how.
    Odors shouldn't carry over to the gamescape.
    “ Even if that were the case, nobody would believe you. Not with such thin evidence.” His smile returns — the warm, engaging smile he used on the Marks — and if she weren't so frightened she could convince herself that she's imagining the ice in his gaze. “Fortunately for you, my darling, that isn't the case.”
    Vol stares at him. Her heart is a hummingbird in her ribs, fighting to break free from its cage. He doesn't know. He doesn't know about the algorithm Ariel added to the game.
    She has an ace up her sleeve — but it might not be enough.
    “ Is it?”
    His face is inches away. She finds herself pressed against the wall like a flower, wishing she could melt right through it. Another inch and he will be close enough to kiss. The thought terrifies her, especially because a part of her seems to want him to. Slowly, she shakes her head.
    “ Why do you fight me?” His voice is soft again, as textured as velvet. “Can't you see I'm doing everything I can to help you?”
    “ Help yourself off the edge of a cliff,” she growls. “I don't need your brand