I angle my neck back, staring upward. Oscar is calmly staring back, hands in his pockets, feet firmly planted on the side of the Opus Tower. He watches me, patiently. Expectantly.

Despite everything, it’s so ridiculous, I almost burst out laughing. You’d think at this point, nothing would surprise me. But it does. Because games are supposed to have rules. They are simulations. They have a connective thread to reality.

There is nothing real about this. No in-game reason or mechanic explaining why or how this could be happening. This is true of Furling as well, but for some reason, this just hits different. The visual of it. Like seeing someone suddenly take advantage of an over-the-top glitch or cheat code.

“If you’re really expecting me to join you up there,” I say, “I think you’re about to be disappointed.”

Oscar cocks his head. “Hardly seems fair. For me to be defying the laws of physics while you’re stuck on the ground, there.”

“That’s what I’m saying. I don’t...remember how to do that.”

“Oh.” Oscar says. “Right. I keep forgetting. There’s all these versions of you. Like layers. Timelines. But when I look at you, I just see...you.”

My muscles are tight. I’m ready to draw at any second. Because this needs to be over. But at the same time, I have to ask.

“How did they do this?” I ask. “How did they make me forget?”

Oscar shrugs. “Does it matter? Do you really even want to know?”

I don’t answer. He knows I do.

“Drugs.” Oscars says. “Brainwashing. Bogus therapy sessions. And who knows what else. What do you think those facilities are all about? They lay the groundwork. They plant...triggers. Then, when it’s time, they execute. Making people forget is just part of it. A way to cover their tracks.”

It makes so much sense. But at the same time, it seems...wrong. Impossible.

“That’s impossible.” I say. “How could so many people—”

“Nobody knows anything.” Oscar says. “God, we’ve had this conversation so many times before— It’s all isolated. Cogs making other cogs turn, not having a full grasp of the nature of the machine. Engineers build the technology, without knowing what it’s for. Workers administer pills based on what flower has been left in the room, whether it’s a sunflower, or a rose. Therapists say what they’re told to say, never clear on the full effects of what they’re doing. Most patients don’t really remember the sessions anyway, they’re all so drugged up—”

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“Except you.” I say. “Somehow, you seem to know how this entire thing works. They don’t erase your memory, because you’re one of them. You’re their lapdog—”

Suddenly, Oscar bursts out laughing. It’s a harsh laugh, laced with dark humor, and contempt. “You’re more right than you know. But not for the reasons you think.”

I have no idea what he’s talking about.

“They’ve tried.” He says. “Some people are more prone to manipulation, because they manipulate themselves. You live in a world of your own making, Kit. You always have. You think it protects you, but it doesn’t.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Oscar shrugs. “Whatever. All you need to know is that the techniques don’t work on me, for some reason. Maybe that’s why I’m able to see how it works in the system. Whatever it is that blocks people from seeing it doesn’t seem to work on me.”

“What do you mean?” I say. “What do you mean, ‘in the system’?”

Oscar lifts up the Dart at the end of his necklace, shakes it. “Why stop at hacking the game when you can hack the people, too.”

I shake my head. “That doesn’t make any sense.”

“Look,” Oscar says. “You’re the one with massive gaps in his memory, asking me what’s really going on.” Then, “Not that I couldn’t...reverse that. If it’s really what you want. It would save us a lot of time.”

It takes me a second to absorb what he’s saying. What he’s implying.

He wants a real fight. The last game we ever play, the two of us.

Or maybe he just wants his old, whole friend back. Even if it’s just for a few minutes.

Assuming it’s even possible. Assuming he’s not trying to trick me, psyche me out.

“If that was actually possible,” I say, “You would’ve already done it. If it’s such a time-saver.”

“I could have.” Oscar says. “Plenty of times. I chose not to. Soon enough, you’ll know why.”

“How ominous.”

“I was trying to protect you.” I can see his throat bob as he swallows, hard. “But it looks like we’re past that, now.”

He flips forward, away from the tower, rolling his body.

I take a step back, drawing both my revolvers.

I should take the shot. He’s vulnerable. Mid-trajectory. Perhaps even unsuspecting.

“Not that I couldn’t...reverse that.”

Since the beginning of this, all I’ve wanted is to remember. To understand. Instead, all I have are these vague shapes. Secondhand accounts of theories of my life. Stories I’m supposed to trust without ever really knowing for myself.

Oscar lands directly in front of me, close enough to touch. He frowns.

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” He says.

Then, he reaches out and touches my forehead with the tip of his finger.