Play of Shadows

Chapter 23: Voluntary Victim

The ceiling had eyes.

Ann squinted, bemused. The eyes narrowed and dipped out of view. Another pair took their place, wide and worried.

"Miss Sufort? This is Maya Barton, I was your onboarding guide. Do you remember me?"

Ann grunted in vague agreement.

"You are out of the instance. You are safe," Barton continued, each word carefully enunciated. "How do you feel?"

"'m fine," Ann told her. The words got jumbled somewhere along the way, but the sentiment seemed to carry through.

"Good, that's good," Barton said in that same measured tone. "How many fingers am I holding?"

An unknown number of digits wiggled in front of Ann's face. Ann turned away, stomach lurching.

"Stopit, 'm gonna be sick," she groaned.

"Water," someone said.

Ann was helped up, then a glass was pressed to her lips. It hurt to drink. The water hit her stomach like a punch, not helping with her rising nausea. She still drank like she was dying of thirst – it felt like she might be, her lips so dry they cracked unpleasantly at the slightest stretch.

"How long was I under?" she gasped when the glass was empty.

Barton shared a look with whoever it was that was standing at the side of the bed, rudely out of view. Ann had to turn bodily to get a full view of the room, an action that tugged terribly at the IV line attached to her arm, which she only just noticed then. The IV was not the only thing she was hooked up on, either. Ann took in the expensive-looking medical equipment and railed bed.

"Longer than a few hours, I'd bet," she said.

"Just over forty-four," Barton told her.

Ann stared. Barton smiled back grimly.

"You have been asleep for nearly six hours. The intravenous treatment has brought your vital readings up to norm, but you will likely experience some discomfort and lingering weakness for the next few days –"

"I should be dead," Ann interrupted.

Forty-four hours of active gameplay. The longest anyone'd gone under was a full day and the guy had a massive stroke right afterward, his heart unable to cope with the sudden drop in stress or adrenaline or whatever it was that kept the mind active and thinking while days were passing in minutes within an instance. Ann looked at the machines that besieged the sickbed with curdling apprehension.

"How bad is it?" she asked.

"Miss Sufort – Ann," Barton corrected herself, possibly thinking a more familiar address would get Ann to stop hyperventilating. It didn't. "You are fine. Dehydrated and in need of at least ten hours of sleep, but medically fine. Here, your test results – see these numbers? All within normal range."

Ann stared at the data scrolling by on the screen in Barton's hands. Her breathing gradually slowed, losing the hitched edge of rising panic.

"Our safety measures are first-class, Miss Sufort," Barton reminded, a touch of pride in her voice. "You could have gone on for much longer without an issue."

"I'd rather not, thanks," Ann said dryly.

"Is she fit to talk?"

Ann frowned, reminded of the rude visitor again. She leaned to one side, mindful of the needle in her arm, and glared up at the man.

A familiar face looked down at her. Ann wished that she was surprised.

"I'm right here, you know," she told the handsome man in a three-piece suit with the personality of a marble block, "You could try asking me."