Interlude- Brandon (28 page)

Chapter 80

“Hello? Is anybody here?”

The young girl looked first in the kitchen, then in the dining and living rooms. Next she walked to each bedroom and called out, searching for signs of the rest of her family.

She heard sounds coming from the basement, so she walked to the doorway and stopped at the top of the stairs.

“Hello?” she called down, but no one answered. She hesitated a moment. Her brother had played this game before, hiding in the basement to scare her when Mommy and Daddy weren’t home. She shook her head and walked bravely down the stairs. It was better to be scared by her brother downstairs than it was to be alone up here, she decided.

There was no one in the main room, but the door to the storage section was open. She walked over to shut it. Mommy always said to keep it closed so the cold air didn’t get in.

She grabbed the handle and quickly tried to shut it, but it wouldn’t close. Looking down at the ground she saw a shoe… no, it was a foot, sticking out from the storage room.

The little girl pushed the door open and her mind froze in horror. Mommy and Daddy and her brother were all lying in the storage room in a pile, wearing their new VR helmets and not moving. She wondered why their legs and arms were laying in weird directions, and she knew something was wrong.

Before she could move, a hand grabbed her from behind and clamped hard over her mouth. She tried to scream and get away, but the hand was just too strong. The little girl started to cry.

“What have you got there, Hank?” a woman’s voice said from across the room. The little girl was spun around and found herself looking at a woman with black hair and a pale face. She looked like a mean lady, especially her eyes.

“Guess they weren’t all playing,” a rough voice said from behind the girl. The little girl stopped crying; she was now too scared to make a sound.

“What should we do with her?” the man asked. “I don’t much feel like killing anyone, specially a little girl.”

The woman tapped her finger against the side of her head and narrowed her eyes. “Let’s take her with us. Maybe we can sell her before we get sucked into the game.” She walked closer and leaned down in front of the little girl. “Don’t worry, little one, we will take you with us.” Her smile didn’t make the girl feel safe.

“I think you’ll just leave her be,” said a voice from the top of the stairs.

All three heads turned towards the steps.  An old man was slowly walking down them. He was dirty, with long stringy hair and black beady eyes. He was smiling, but his teeth were crooked and yellow. For clothes, the man wore black garbage bags; the tattered and frayed bottoms of the bags ended just above his knees and he wore heavy black boots with thick soles and no laces. His hands were covered with strange looking gloves; the little girl thought they looked like a bunch of red bottle caps all held together somehow. They clanked and made a singsong sound as he swung his hands from side to side.

“Get lost, old man,” the woman said. “This is none of your business. If you come to the bottom of those stairs, you’re gonna get hurt real bad.”

The old man chuckled and shook his head from side to side, his long hair swishing back and forth in a ridiculous wave. “I don’t think so, kids.” He said. “When my foot hits the bottom step, you two are gonna put your hands down by your sides and walk quietly up the stairs and out of this house. If the people in that other room are dead and you killed them, then I’m gonna come looking for you. When I find you… well, now, I’m likely gonna make you hurt real bad. Remember that as you walk out of here in a second.”

“Doddering old fart,” the woman sneered. “You’re really starting to pi…”

Suddenly the woman stopped talking and put her hands to her sides. The little girl felt lighter as the man behind her let her go and walked towards the woman. Both of them quietly walked past the old man, who was now standing on the bottom step, and climbed the stairs as they’d been commanded.

The little girl watched them go. Once they were gone, she turned to look at the old man.

He smiled and winked at her. His teeth were ugly and his face was wrinkled, but the little girl could tell he was a very nice man who wouldn’t hurt her. She smiled and walked towards him, taking his outstretched hand and walking with him up the stairs.

He led her to the kitchen and she sat down at the table.

“You look hungry, Emily,” he said kindly. “Let’s see if we can’t find you some food before we get out of here.”

“Where are we going?” Emily asked. “Are Mommy and Daddy and Cort coming with us?”

The old man shook his head as he reached up into a cupboard and grabbed a loaf of bread and a jar of spread. “I’m afraid not, sweetie,” he said. “They had to go live in the game for a while.”  

Emily said nothing more as the old man made four sandwiches and plopped one down in front of her. He started to eat a sandwich himself, and smiled when she picked hers up and began to eat.

When he was done, he picked up a knife and held it in his palm. Emily continued to eat her sandwich, but she watched him curiously. Slowly the knife rose up into the air a few inches above his hand.

“Wow,” she said. “Can you show me how to do that?”

“Maybe I can, Emily. We’ll have to see.”

“Am I dreaming?” she asked. “Are you somehow inside my dream?”

The old man grinned at her and the knife started to slowly rotate in the air. “Maybe you’re inside my dream, little one,” he said.

Epilogue

One hundred floors above the ground, Brandon looked out into the darkness, gazing at the bright lights of the cityscape as they twinkled far below him. It was 3 AM, but like most nights, Brandon couldn’t sleep.

Always alone, He thought to himself. He used to preface that thought with, after all these years, but he wasn’t always certain how many years it had been. He’d lived thirteen years in the dream, thirty in another simulation, and seven here. It was confusing to think about who he was or how old he should act.

He knew his real body, the fit, gangly, frame of a teenage orphan, lay comatose in the real world on a table deep underground. From what he’d been able to piece together from his Father and Cooper, the odds of returning to that body were very slim.

“Billions of people rely on me to save them from death, but they have no idea that they’re even in danger.” He said aloud to relieve the pressure that seemed to be building with increasing intensity, threatening to overwhelm him.

His teammates were counting on him to lead them to success; it was something he’d always done so well. After years of leading, they followed him with unshakeable belief and faith in his abilities, just as he relied on them for theirs.

Brandon thought of the other Elite leaders and he knew they could never accomplish what was being asked, what was being demanded. Brandon knew it was up to him; this game was his to win or lose, and no one else’s.

“This requires decades of precise moves,” he said. “Each delicate step leads to the next. If enough steps fall out of sync, the entire game crumbles and we all die.”

Everywhere he turned, people saw Brandon Strayne as the leader. The great businessman and inventor, the brilliant strategist who could pull miracles out of the air at will. Thorn believed in him, and his team believed in him.

Tygon believed in him.

Brandon believed in himself… most of the time.

He sat down on the floor and crossed his legs. It was 3 AM, and he was alone. He buried his head in his hands, taking deep breaths in an attempt to allow the stress and pressure to flow out. Hot tears formed in his eyes and began to drip onto his lap. Softly he hummed a tune; a song he could remember someone singing to him when he was very little. Maybe it was his mother who sang it to him; he liked to imagine that it was.

Soon he would stand, and when he did, Brandon knew that he would be strong enough for two worlds to lean on him once again.

For the next couple of minutes, however, he was just a thirteen-year-old boy who was very alone, and very frightened.

Time passed, and Brandon rubbed his eyes to clear the tears away. He stood purposefully, straightened his shoulders, and walked to his desk to get back to work.

===

The screen went blank.

The man didn’t move. He sat staring silently at the monitor, watching the cursor flash purposefully.

Thorn sat behind him, respectfully quiet to let the information sink in.

The man began to lightly chew the inside of his top lip, blinking slowly every few moments as he stared.

Thorn remained motionless. This was an important moment, and he knew that the best thing to do… was nothing.

After a long time had passed, the man slowly raised his hands and removed the headphones and placed them softly on the desk.

Thorn was nervous; he wanted to speak, but he didn’t dare.

Finally, the man looked at Thorn. His eyes were dull; sad, almost.

“Is there more?” he asked, his voice barely more than a whisper.

“Not that I can show you at this time,” Thorn said. “The rest you know. Brandon spent the next twenty-eight years building the Game into what it became. He rose to full power, becoming the most powerful man in the entire world.”

“Yes,” the man nodded. “I guess you’re right. It’s not the real world, though; it’s a simulation. Just like the Game he created.”

“It’s real for those who live in it,” Thorn said. “It’s real for Brandon.”

“Those who live in it are NPCs,” the man shook his head. “They aren’t real at all. Empty shells programmed by the mainframe that runs the simulation.”

Thorn shook his head. “How can you say that? You’ve just sat through hours of video watching Brandon’s entire life story until he reached twenty. You saw numerous NPCs throughout; did they look empty to you? They’re as real as anyone could ever be.”

The man laughed. “Why did you show this to me? How can any of this help?”

“That’s how it was set up,” Thorn said. “When Brandon died, someone was going to have to be brought up to speed to move the plan along.”

“He’s not dead.”

“He should be.”

The man swiveled his head to look again at the blank screen.

“Who’s the shadow?” he asked. “The one near Brandon all the time inside there?”

Thorn shook his head. “I don’t know.”

“What do you know?” the man snapped. “I thought you were the genius who created all of this? It seems you made a terrible mess.”

“Yes,” Thorn said. “That’s usually what happens. We create and implement things before we understand what can go wrong. Then we try to fix the messes we’ve made. That’s what I’m trying to do.”

The man nodded. “So what’s next?”

“That’s up to you.”

“Why?”

“Because that’s what Brandon told me he wanted. He wanted me to search you out when he was finished his part of this simulation. He wanted you to take over from where he left off and continue on.”

The man stood up and walked towards the door with an angry scowl on his face. “That’s ridiculous. You should never have shown me this; now I’ll be of no use to you.”

“You’re our only hope now.”

The man stalked over to Thorn and moved in close. At the top of his lungs he roared, “HOW CAN I DO ANYTHING? I’M JUST A STUPID NPC!”

Thorn said nothing. The man shook his head and strode angrily towards the door and opened it. Before he could exit the room, a soothing woman’s voice stopped him.

“It doesn’t matter what you are, Trew,” Sylvia said gently. “You have to help us save the world.”

Trew turned around and smiled tiredly. “Save which world?” he asked.

Sylvia chuckled softly, the sound of her voice echoing off the walls. “As many as you can, dear boy. As many as you can.”