Ebony and I are sprinting in the same direction. "Scram!" she orders me. "I'll go to the ground floor. You go up."
She doesn't hesitate to take the lift and I assume we're doing everything opposite so I head for the stairwell. Three flights later, I regret my decision, spluttering what might be blood so I had for the lifts.
I reach the penultimate floor, greeted by a ghastly empty corridor. It's terrifying, but the thought that someone might be here without my notice is scarier. I glide past the dorms until the three-figure codes are exchanged for more important words. There are a few choices left for me—hide in Theatre Eleven, the seemingly obvious choice, or risk the unfamiliar terrain of the restricted VR training area.
The Rec bell rings. Time's up. The lift at the end of the corridor churns to life and in a split second, I make the worst possible choice.
Ebony, Johnny and tom have each described VR training to me. For Ebony, it's a 'work in progress', exactly as its name suggests, but a little underdeveloped. To Tom, it's a world inside a headset that gives you a fractional taste of reality. And to Johnny, VR training isn't training at all, but a means to compete against his peers as if he is playing a video game.
I think VR training is a dark room with flashing panels and a million different screens. I think it is scary even though I've never put a headset on—not yet, at least. And I think I've made the terrible mistake of trying to hide here, considering there are only a couple of places to hide. And if Tom is smart, and I know he is, he'll know exactly where I'll be.
Behind the door, someone's determined pacing sends me scrambling into the closest and most uncomfortable hiding spot. A cupboard. I slam the door shut and pretend that the complete absence of light does not frighten me. I fight my natural responses to scratch or sneeze or scream or punch the walls. In my long history of being locked up in things, I'd say this has been my most calm reaction yet.
And as I anticipate, someone bursts into the VR training room. I clasp a hand over my mouth and nose trying to silence my breathing. The intruder continues deeper into the room slowly. Slowly and cautiously. I can't explain why, but I don't think it's Tom. But I want it to be.
He paces the entire room once, twice, and a third time. I don't think he's going to leave. And with each tread, I'm less convinced that it is Tom, worried that it's a real authority. The lurking stops, but not the other intermittent noises, Little scratches, scuffing of rubber soles, the swish of material. Sometimes I convince myself that I can hear their breathing lining up with mine. One thing is clear: they aren't Tom. They might not even be an authority. I think it's Johnny.
Before I can explore the possibility, a second intruder arrives, more confident in their stride as if they know exactly why and where they're headed. The paces are frighteningly quick. Clip, clip, clip and an aw man in Johnny's tone. "How'd you find me so fast?"
"You chose such an obvious place to hide," Tom says.
WHAT ARE YOU DOING, ADDI? GO GO GO!!
I press the cupboard door open, trying to locate the boys. They're standing on the other side of a green screen. One foot, two feet meet the concrete floor and I'm pulling myself out slowly, slowly does it—
"Addi!"
And I'm sprinting down the buzzing corridor like my life is on fire. I smash the lift button. Take me down. Take me down. It lazily opens. I smash the shut button CLOSE DAMMIT. Down the hall, Johnny is gaining on me. Tom is half a metre behind. The doors slide shut. Tom slows. Johnny doesn't stop.
He accelerates.
He's going to break his head on the door and it's gonna be my fault forever. I can't kill Johnny. Not yet. Not ready for that.
