please.â
âIâm calm.â
âYouâre not.â
âWeâre going to argue about how I feel now? Iâm going to take my medical, Iâm going to pass it, and theyâre going to let me play,â says Miguel, trying not to let his face betray the pain in his chest. Itâs harder when heâs angry. âBut first, Iâm going to lie down.â
They donât stop him. They never have, and itâs probably cruel that heâs used this to his advantage for as long as heâs known it would work. They like it when he rests. And this time he actually does, instead of using it as an excuse to escape back to his homemade sim. The pillows crush under his head, and he stares at the ceiling, watching the orange glow of sunset fade and darken across the paint.
LEVEL FOUR
H e doesnât know what time he falls asleep, only that heâs done it in his glasses and when he wakes, statuses are scrolling past, full of mundane crap no one cares about. Why anyone needs to know what even his closest friend eats for breakfast, or that heâs happy itâs not raining, is beyond him. But speaking of closest friends, he blinks quickly, checking for Nick and Anna, who are both tackling the level today. He wishes he could give them hints, but that would destroy his chances, if he has any. Theyâre smart and good at Chimera. Theyâll get it.
He checks that the house is empty before leaving his room by the simple expedient of the geoloc tags on his parentsâ last updates. Dadâs at work, Momâs out shooting halfway across the city. Her last picture is beautiful, a study in angles and contrasts of the skyscrapers downtown. In the far background, blurred by depth of field but identifiable, is a Cube, glowing violet.
Itâs been less than twenty-four hours, but his feet itch to beback in one of those rooms. Another few days and theyâll open up again, the testing complete. Of course some of them will be put into use for the competition, but mostly things will return to normal, the Gamerunners say. Maybe this is all part of the plan: put them all through Chimera withdrawal for a week so theyâre desperate to get back to it.
If the Gamerunners have a plan. When his history classes cover the origins of Chimera, the whys are glossed over. That the Gamerunners thought it was a good idea seems to be as much as anyone knows, and they didnât predict how popular it would get. How it would take over the world. Youâd think there would be better places to use the money, the sheer genius that go into it, like, oh, Miguelâs not sure . . . saving the planet? Maybe the Gamerunners knew it was too late for that, so they might as well give people something fun to do on the way down.
Itâs been a while since he last went a whole day without playing, that because of an unplanned hospital trip. Itâs been five years since he could go wherever he wanted and couldnât choose to spend the time in a Cube. The sim beckons, but itâll just make him more annoyed that he canât do the real thing.
He dresses, leaves the house to walk, his glasses back home on his desk, as disconnected as he feels. This street has been home his entire life, a string of small artificial boxes in the shade of tall artificial trees. His house had always seemed tobe in a slightly darker shadow than the rest, a cloud hanging over it.
But heâs been happy here, especially with nothing else to compare it with. He has friends, family, the school heâs about to walk past on the other side of the road. Funny, he doesnât think about that very often. There are no more roses to smell, havenât been for generations, he only knows the saying as a curiosity, but he wouldnât have stopped anyway. Since his twelfth birthday heâs thought of little but Chimera and getting through every day. And Anna, the past few years, but her not as much as he should have.
âIâm calm.â
âYouâre not.â
âWeâre going to argue about how I feel now? Iâm going to take my medical, Iâm going to pass it, and theyâre going to let me play,â says Miguel, trying not to let his face betray the pain in his chest. Itâs harder when heâs angry. âBut first, Iâm going to lie down.â
They donât stop him. They never have, and itâs probably cruel that heâs used this to his advantage for as long as heâs known it would work. They like it when he rests. And this time he actually does, instead of using it as an excuse to escape back to his homemade sim. The pillows crush under his head, and he stares at the ceiling, watching the orange glow of sunset fade and darken across the paint.
LEVEL FOUR
H e doesnât know what time he falls asleep, only that heâs done it in his glasses and when he wakes, statuses are scrolling past, full of mundane crap no one cares about. Why anyone needs to know what even his closest friend eats for breakfast, or that heâs happy itâs not raining, is beyond him. But speaking of closest friends, he blinks quickly, checking for Nick and Anna, who are both tackling the level today. He wishes he could give them hints, but that would destroy his chances, if he has any. Theyâre smart and good at Chimera. Theyâll get it.
He checks that the house is empty before leaving his room by the simple expedient of the geoloc tags on his parentsâ last updates. Dadâs at work, Momâs out shooting halfway across the city. Her last picture is beautiful, a study in angles and contrasts of the skyscrapers downtown. In the far background, blurred by depth of field but identifiable, is a Cube, glowing violet.
Itâs been less than twenty-four hours, but his feet itch to beback in one of those rooms. Another few days and theyâll open up again, the testing complete. Of course some of them will be put into use for the competition, but mostly things will return to normal, the Gamerunners say. Maybe this is all part of the plan: put them all through Chimera withdrawal for a week so theyâre desperate to get back to it.
If the Gamerunners have a plan. When his history classes cover the origins of Chimera, the whys are glossed over. That the Gamerunners thought it was a good idea seems to be as much as anyone knows, and they didnât predict how popular it would get. How it would take over the world. Youâd think there would be better places to use the money, the sheer genius that go into it, like, oh, Miguelâs not sure . . . saving the planet? Maybe the Gamerunners knew it was too late for that, so they might as well give people something fun to do on the way down.
Itâs been a while since he last went a whole day without playing, that because of an unplanned hospital trip. Itâs been five years since he could go wherever he wanted and couldnât choose to spend the time in a Cube. The sim beckons, but itâll just make him more annoyed that he canât do the real thing.
He dresses, leaves the house to walk, his glasses back home on his desk, as disconnected as he feels. This street has been home his entire life, a string of small artificial boxes in the shade of tall artificial trees. His house had always seemed tobe in a slightly darker shadow than the rest, a cloud hanging over it.
But heâs been happy here, especially with nothing else to compare it with. He has friends, family, the school heâs about to walk past on the other side of the road. Funny, he doesnât think about that very often. There are no more roses to smell, havenât been for generations, he only knows the saying as a curiosity, but he wouldnât have stopped anyway. Since his twelfth birthday heâs thought of little but Chimera and getting through every day. And Anna, the past few years, but her not as much as he should have.
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