Play of Shadows

3.10: Old Ghosts

The night sky hung over the sea like a cupped palm. The players looked out at crashing waves crested with sparkling foam. The longer they gazed into the dark waters, the more they felt as if something watched them back.

"We need to find weapons," Frances said, breaking the uneasy silence.

"We need to find you some pants," Vernon grunted.

Ann turned away from the treacherous sea in time to see Frances duck behind Michael, his entire face red. The other players smothered snickers. Vernon laughed openly, slapping a heavy palm against Frances' back.

"A hero doesn't falter in the face of adversary!" the man chortled.

"We could all use some gear," Lieutenant Arendse said diplomatically.

VR suits were not meant to be visible in-game. The fact that the players' avatars appeared as they did in the real world was a concern the group consciously ignored. There was no point in stewing over matters they could not control.

The fact that the suits could be damaged was however troubling.

Sasha scratched at her upper arm. Her nails racked down her own skin mindlessly, over and over again.

Ann grabbed her hand at the wrist. Sasha turned to her, startled.

"Does it hurt?" Ann asked.

Sasha moved her eyes from Ann's masked face to the gloved hand holding her hostage and then down, to her own arm. Her skin gleamed under the torn fabric. It looked scalded, as if missing a layer of flesh.

"No," Sasha replied. Her voice shook. "It doesn't hurt."

"That..." the false Ann trailed off.

Vernon swore.

Ann let the woman go. Voices rose around her as the players attempted to make sense of the situation. Ann glanced at her twin and, upon finding the woman examining her own damaged suit with a frown, moved a step closer to the sea.

"Here."

The conversation stalled, as if cut with a knife.

Ann held out the square board inscribed with the BEACH CLOSED notice. The nail still stuck out where she had torn the plank off its post.

The players stared at her like she had grown another head.

Ann waved her prize Michael's way. The man took a step back, eyeing the crooked nail with some vigilance, and promptly bumped into Frances.

"Are you planning tag behind your friend for the rest of the play?" Ann huffed impatiently. The metallic whirr that ground her voice to flat, machine cadence lent a tone of irony to the question.

Frances reacted quickly, once he caught on. He accepted the plank with a grunt of thanks and put it to use as a makeshift censor bar. Vernon laughed so hard he had to brush tears from his eyes.

"Was the man in the armor our target?" Arendse asked.

The mood grew somber. The players looked to Ann, but found no answers in her masked face.

Arendse's expression tightened. "We will split. Smaller teams can cover more ground and locate the target faster."

"And then, what? We ask him to come with us, pretty please?" Vernon snorted. His grin had long faded, his expression sobering under the weight of their predicament.

"We're no match for that man," Michael agreed.

"We have to try. Besides, who said he's an enemy?" Frances argued.