really what you want to talk about right now? Do you want me to explain how I reversed the I/O protocols of the tower nanomachine scanners so that instead of a read-only format they can send write commands? Or do you want to follow that arrow I'm displaying on the floor and log back into NextWorld?”
I glance at the door when the words disappear. “Why should I do anything that you're saying?”
“Because,” the words type, slower and more thoughtful this time, “Cyren hasn't been deleted yet.”
I stand up. The words floating in the air are burning into my eyes. They remain in the same position, almost mocking me with their simplicity. I want to reach out and hold them, to pull them closer so they can make me safe again.
I try to reply, to form words when my thoughts are nothing but a whirlwind, but I only manage to stammer, “Who-who... who are you?”
The answer appears in front of me: “A friend.”
00111111
As soon as I step out the door, a sense of freedom washes over me. It isn't a singular sensation. The openness of possibilities mixes with my extreme loneliness. The empty hallway shatters the safety that the monotony of my disconnected tower room brought me. I'm exposed. At any moment a camera or a sensor or a real person could see me and bring this all to a tragic end. Then I think of what the words said.
“Cyren hasn't been deleted yet.”
It's all I need to press on. I follow the glowing arrow toward my goal. When I reach the end of the hall, I hear the door of one of the tower rooms open behind me.
“Quick! Open the hatch!” appears in the air.
On the wall there is a label on a small door that reads: Waste Disposal. I cringe at the thought of what's inside, but when I hear a voice coming from the open doorway of the tower room behind me, the sound forces my hand. The hatch lets out a gaseous release of air when it unseals and the smell almost knocks me from my feet.
“Get inside.”
I reread the words and wait for the sender to retype them, assuming there must be a mistake.
When the arrow points at the opening, I whisper, “Are you serious?”
“This is the only way. Go. Now.”
I glance back at the doorway and see a figure emerge. My instinctual need to hide pushes me through the small opening. I have to stop my body from sliding down the chamber, the walls slick with an unknown slime. There's a trickling stream of liquid constantly running between my fingertips. I press my hands firmly against the metal, trying to keep myself from falling through the angled shaft. The glowing arrow points upward.
“You need to climb.”
I let out an already-exhausted gasp of air and push myself upward. My fingers and toes press hard against one wall, with my back shoved against the other. Loose screws and bolts scrape against me, tearing my flesh. Combined with the foul smell of the vapors inside the chamber, I'm reminded of how awful reality can be.
I'm not sure how far I make it before my arms shake, threatening to give out and drop me down the metal shaft.
“You can do this.”
“No,” I say through gritted teeth. “I can't.”
“You have to.”
I want to argue. I want to give up. I want to crawl back out of the hatch and hide inside my room, but I think of Cyren. I think of her rippling muscles, and her black lips, and her defiance that would never allow her to give up if I were the one in danger. My arms stiffen with a new resolve and I inch myself upward.
It feels like hours pass. The words in front of me intermittently provide messages of encouragement. When I shut my eyes, the arrow and the text appear inside my eyelids, streaming straight to my retinas.
“You're almost there. You should see a mesh wire covering the opening to a horizontal shaft just above you.”
Sure enough, a few feet above me the glowing arrow points at a ventilation shaft. Warm air blows across the sewage drain. My legs shove upward and I'm looking into the blowing breeze, enjoying the heated air as it
I glance at the door when the words disappear. “Why should I do anything that you're saying?”
“Because,” the words type, slower and more thoughtful this time, “Cyren hasn't been deleted yet.”
I stand up. The words floating in the air are burning into my eyes. They remain in the same position, almost mocking me with their simplicity. I want to reach out and hold them, to pull them closer so they can make me safe again.
I try to reply, to form words when my thoughts are nothing but a whirlwind, but I only manage to stammer, “Who-who... who are you?”
The answer appears in front of me: “A friend.”
00111111
As soon as I step out the door, a sense of freedom washes over me. It isn't a singular sensation. The openness of possibilities mixes with my extreme loneliness. The empty hallway shatters the safety that the monotony of my disconnected tower room brought me. I'm exposed. At any moment a camera or a sensor or a real person could see me and bring this all to a tragic end. Then I think of what the words said.
“Cyren hasn't been deleted yet.”
It's all I need to press on. I follow the glowing arrow toward my goal. When I reach the end of the hall, I hear the door of one of the tower rooms open behind me.
“Quick! Open the hatch!” appears in the air.
On the wall there is a label on a small door that reads: Waste Disposal. I cringe at the thought of what's inside, but when I hear a voice coming from the open doorway of the tower room behind me, the sound forces my hand. The hatch lets out a gaseous release of air when it unseals and the smell almost knocks me from my feet.
“Get inside.”
I reread the words and wait for the sender to retype them, assuming there must be a mistake.
When the arrow points at the opening, I whisper, “Are you serious?”
“This is the only way. Go. Now.”
I glance back at the doorway and see a figure emerge. My instinctual need to hide pushes me through the small opening. I have to stop my body from sliding down the chamber, the walls slick with an unknown slime. There's a trickling stream of liquid constantly running between my fingertips. I press my hands firmly against the metal, trying to keep myself from falling through the angled shaft. The glowing arrow points upward.
“You need to climb.”
I let out an already-exhausted gasp of air and push myself upward. My fingers and toes press hard against one wall, with my back shoved against the other. Loose screws and bolts scrape against me, tearing my flesh. Combined with the foul smell of the vapors inside the chamber, I'm reminded of how awful reality can be.
I'm not sure how far I make it before my arms shake, threatening to give out and drop me down the metal shaft.
“You can do this.”
“No,” I say through gritted teeth. “I can't.”
“You have to.”
I want to argue. I want to give up. I want to crawl back out of the hatch and hide inside my room, but I think of Cyren. I think of her rippling muscles, and her black lips, and her defiance that would never allow her to give up if I were the one in danger. My arms stiffen with a new resolve and I inch myself upward.
It feels like hours pass. The words in front of me intermittently provide messages of encouragement. When I shut my eyes, the arrow and the text appear inside my eyelids, streaming straight to my retinas.
“You're almost there. You should see a mesh wire covering the opening to a horizontal shaft just above you.”
Sure enough, a few feet above me the glowing arrow points at a ventilation shaft. Warm air blows across the sewage drain. My legs shove upward and I'm looking into the blowing breeze, enjoying the heated air as it
Similar Books
