Elysium Falling (ONC 2024 Long List)

Chapter 7 Stop Flirting

Sliding into the digital realm was always discomfiting for Rowan. The familiar sensation of detachment washed over him, his physical body fading away as he delved deeper into the recesses of cyberspace. No matter how much he'd trained for it - the sensation was akin to pin pricks across the entirety of his skin as a new reality slid into cold focus.

His first sensation to hit his body was the contact with the cold metal chair. His eyes opened. He was sitting in a chair across from Dana Margrave. Except this time she was wearing Miranda's face.

Miranda had never looked so haughty. The digital environment was austere, clinical almost, designed to unnerve and unsettle. The walls were a blank, seamless gray, illuminated by an unnatural light that cast no shadows. Across from him, Dana fixed him with a cold calculated stare.

"Stop flirting with me."

Dana, inhaled sharply. "This isn't a game Rowan."

"Isn't it?" His expression hardened as he took in the room. His mind unfurled as he lashed out, old skills coming to the front. Learning the binary code was the most significant language anyone could learn in this day and age. Forget a smattering of language vernacular, those zeroes and ones could make or break a person's livelihood, reputation, or life.

"This is being recorded for quality purposes," Dana said with Miranda's voice.

Rowan's jaw dropped before a bubble of laughter burst out of him. "Jesus, you are serious."

"Rowan, I'm going to tell you what happens next."

Straps wrapped around his arms, lashing him tightly to the chair.

Rowan laughed. "I told you a few things. I said I wanted Miranda back alive and whole. If you'd done anything to harm her I'd tear this order apart."

"Rowan--"

"So far I haven't seen you act in good faith, Dana."

She hesitated then stood, now dressed in cool gray nurses scrubs, scalpel in one hand, the simulation changing with just a thought from her. In here she felt in control. He could see it on her face.

He on the other hand was stretched unceremoniously across a table, strapped down wearing shorts but little else. There was a mirror above him where he could make out every detail of his own body.

He sighed. The pain he knew he was about to endure was going to be agonizing. That was the problem with this level of tech. It was all too real. It did not damage to the outside, but they could carve out your brains like sushi and leave you drooling for the rest of your life, without a mark on you. He would know, he'd put a few people in the ground that way.

He ground his teeth as he watched Miranda lower the scalpel to his chest. Every detail, from the curve of her smile to the slight furrow of her brow, was replicated to provoke a response, to throw him off his game. He didn't want to admit how much it was working. He should have been looking for an escape route, instead he was taking in the sight of her even as she carved him up.

The pain hit as the scalpel bit through the skin on his chest.

He screamed when she pulled a layer back, the pain laced out from the center point. He convulsed as the pain continued in rushing waves. Somewhere in his consciousness he felt liquid running down his ribs, he knew it was his own blood but he couldn't quite comprehend it. His eyes squeezed shut, unable to take in the fact that Miranda was the one fileting the skin off his chest.

He forced his eyes open again, grappling with the agony, he saw Miranda pause momentarily. The hesitation was subtle, almost imperceptible to an untrained eye, but it was there. It was a crack in her façade, a sign that the emotional play was a double-edged sword, affecting not only the victim but the perpetrator as well. She wasn't completely a cold bitch.

--and then--

Rowan blinked. The pain was gone. It had been too real, he was still heaving. He slowed his breathing, trying to pull it together.

"Rowan, listen to me," Miranda's voice came through, tinged with a cold formality that tried to mask any underlying emotion. "This isn't necessary. We can stop this now. You know what I need from you."

Rowan, gasping through the pain, gritted his teeth and managed to muster a defiant tone. "I've had worse."

He leaned back and sighed. Worse was coming - he marveled at his own stupidity for inviting it. His woman was right here ready to cut into his skin. He stared up at the mirror reflecting what a broken man he was. Every scar he had arrayed in perfect digital. A splash of cold liquid brought him back to his senses.

He turned his head to the side to stare at Miranda as she set a canister down. Her expression was sorrowful. "We don't have to keep going, Rowan."

"Don't we?" He whispered. "We're playing chess, right?"

A tear slid down her cheek, he wasn't sure he'd actually seen the tear or not. If it was real. If up was down or left was right. She held up a lighter, an old earth style flicker which she flicked on and off. 

"Miranda is gone," she whispered. "Just you, me, and the flame."

"Fuck," he said as the flame came close to face. He tensed up, his body betraying his fear. He didn't want to burn, even knowing it wasn't real wasn't going to help him.

The lighter made contact with his body. The pain was exponentially worse this time around. His skin crackled and popped and he could no longer see as his eyes burned out. He didn't die right away, the screaming was endless - the pain would have put most people in a coma. There was no end to it, he opened his mouth to scream until he had no voice to do so... Just the haunting visions of Miranda killing him repeatedly.

--and again--

He opened his eyes. His reflection gaped at him, surprisingly whole and uncharred.

Ok, enough.

He heard Miranda's voice wafting from somewhere in the room but he was no longer listening. Even the best would break eventually and he was done imagining what it could be. He wriggled on the table feeling the briefest twinges of panic. 

Take control of the system.

A brief flash from his early training days, he'd been in this room again and again pushing his limits. But also learning how to take over the room. You didn't have to be just a player in the game. Tweak the right codes and you were the damn architect. He tested the bonds on his wrists. They held... and then they simply weren't there. He sat up silently sitting on the edge of the table. Miranda's back was to him and she was gathering up another canister of gasoline.

Hardly original, he thought bemusedly.

He stood, clothed in jeans and a t-shirt. The simulation consisted of this room but that didn't mean the room wasn't connected outside. To make the sensations this real there had to be some very powerful conduits nearby and he meant to exploit every single one of them of them.

Time slowed. Another brilliant piece of the digital realm. You could fit days into seconds. Miranda just started to turn.

Rowan watched her eyes start to go wide in shock as he faded from the room.

WC 1233