He rolled over, pulling the blankets over his head to shield himself from the shrill, repetitive beeping of his alarm clock. Getting out of this comfortable, fuzzy cocoon and ready for school was the last thing he wanted to do. He covered his ears and squeezed his eyes, trying to hold on to that dreamy, relaxed feeling. As he inevitably began to think of which day today was and tried to remember what would be his first class, his mind fully woke up and the warm, content feelings were promptly replaced by a heavy pool of worries.
Earth had been remade. There would be no more school, no more dance classes. All thoughts of exams, studies, hobbies and friendships were just pointless fantasies now, lingering remnants of a dead world. He had to train, to get stronger, just in order to survive. His family would have been out there for four days by now. Every day mattered. He needed to get out of this damn cave as quickly as possible.
He groaned as he pushed the blankets off him and sat up, the pool of worries forming into a dense ball of stress. It was always with him lately, living there in his stomach as an unwanted guest, seeming to get heavier and pull at him from inside whenever he thought of the world outside of his cave. The distraction of training or meditation were the only things that could stop him from focusing on it.
Barry got up with a sunken expression on his face, shuffling over towards his Totem with a deep sigh. He tried not to think about the fact that a chip attached to his brain was processing the order as he chose his breakfast. Basic consumables like food and water were included in the weekly 50 Value subscription fee, so he didn’t have to pay.
He perked up a bit as he looked intently at the device, its thin, circular sheet of dark metal connected to the central rod which was supported by three long claws that were dug firmly into the ground. The soft orange light at the top of the pole started blinking to indicate its activity, then there was a puff of hot air as the bowl appeared on the metal plateau. He couldn’t help but shake his head in disbelief. Five days had not yet been enough to get used to it.
It was his usual breakfast, a large portion of warm oats with fresh fruit, granola and some yogurt. Pokka had said the food came from some advanced storage facility, but wouldn’t share the location nor any more details about the teleportation. He’d wondered if there might be some damaging radiation involved in the process, but if there was, he certainly couldn’t taste it. That would be the least of his worries, anyway.
After breakfast, it was time for his usual training cycle, which took place in the virtual world created by his training goggles. Despite thinking of them as goggles, they were more like an open-topped helmet, covering his face from his upper lip up to his hairline and wrapping around his head with a handy clicking mechanism to close them on the back.
Before putting on the VR helmet, Barry went through the habitual motions of attaching the many straps of the Fixer Upper around his legs, arms and torso. The interaction of those two devices together with his PE node led to a hyper-realistic training experience. The medical device would engage his muscles, the helmet affecting his senses while the PE node tied everything together. As a result, he’d get the full benefits from anything he trained in the virtual environment, including muscle memory and reflexes.
Once he heard the click of the VR helmet closing, there were a few seconds of darkness followed by disorientation as he went from sitting in a cave to standing on his feet in a square white room, the walls about fifteen feet apart. He barely had time to get his bearings before the countdown started, five tones sounding every second, increasing in pitch until the final shrill signal came.
Without delay, small hatches opened at random locations across the walls and sent black marbles flying at him. There was no pattern to the shots, at least none that he’d been able to discern. The goal of the exercise was simply to use his senses and reflexes to dodge as many of the little balls as possible.
He tilted his head to the right to narrowly dodge one that he saw coming straight at him, hearing it zip past his left ear, then stepped back to allow another one to fly right in front of his chest, having come from his left side.
When the marbles reached the opposite side, again a piece of the wall would open and close in a fraction of a second, like a tiny sliding door allowing the marble back in. This added another layer of difficulty, as Barry couldn’t just rely on the sound of the hatches opening and closing to sense if a marble might be launched from a blind spot.
He swerved his head from left to right to scan the room, hopped over a low shot, pivoted on his left foot, bending over with his arms in front and right leg stretched back for balance as a series of marbles flew over him in a neat row.
He tried not to focus on any single point, instead depending on his peripheral vision and trusting his reflexes as he twirled around. Sometimes he would end up too close to one side and had to rush back to the middle to avoid being struck at a short distance.
As he came back down from a high jump, he grunted as a marble hit him in the small of his back, sending a shock of pain up his torso. The frequency was increasing now, and he grit his teeth as another hit him in the calf, pushing down on the anger, trying not to lose his focus.
He had to mind the floor as well now, carefully dancing around the fallen marbles. As he saw a wave of at least a dozen marbles shooting towards him from one side, he managed an impressive jump, bringing his legs forward and up to touch his hands as the black balls passed right underneath him. But then, as he was coming down, he was hit in the ribs from either side. He shouted with pain as he whirled around desperately, but then another one hit him straight between the eyes and it was like a match struck the pool of gasoline that had been quietly building in his chest, igniting it into a wild blaze of rage.
Face contorted with rage, he bared his teeth as he snatched the falling marble out of the air and roared as he flung it toward the wall it had come out of, tanking multiple shots as he did so. He cursed as he realized, through his anger, that he wouldn’t be able to dodge anymore and dropped down to the ground, tucking his knees in and covering his head with his arms against the onslaught of marbles.
After being pelted for ten more seconds, again a loud tone sounded through the room, lower in pitch this time, signaling the end of the exercise. Barry pushed himself up to sit with his arms draped over his knees, groaning in pain.
“You failed to dodge 25 out of 150 projectiles this time.” It was Pokka’s voice, though the old man was nowhere to be seen. He somehow had access to the VR goggles.
Barry nodded to himself with a grimace, the anger having left him as quickly as it grew. The result was slightly better than the last session. Probably because he’d had the clarity to throw himself down to the ground when he lost his focus this time. But that was just a way of doing minor damage control. He knew that what he actually needed to do was to get a grip on his anger.
“I know, I lost my temper again. You don’t need to say it.” He sighed, leaning his forehead on his right hand, staring at the ground.
“You know, the irony is that I actually have plenty of experience with this issue. More than the average person, in any case. I learned a lot about anger management when I was younger.”
He’d been so angry in his teenage years, always raging internally against some perceived injustice, though in that time the anger mostly turned into panic attacks. It had taken years to work through those issues with Dr. Schulz, his old therapist, but he’d made great progress.
“But none of those techniques are working now, at least not in the heat of the moment, you know? They usually involve breathing exercises, or some form of meditation at least. No time for that when I’m dodging marbles or dodging a wolf’s bites. I just can’t get into the right mindset in those situations. The triggers used to be very different, mostly verbal. I guess I’m not adjusted to dealing with the pain and high intensity situations yet.”
Pokka hummed pensively, and Barry could picture him slowly stroking his beard.
“We must find a way to remedy this. I will look into it. Perhaps my new psych module will finally show some use.”
Pokka might just be the last person in the universe he’d turn to for psychological advice, but he didn’t voice his concern. If only he could visit Dr. Schulz again, or just listen to her soothing voice. He missed that calming office, with its comfortable chairs, the feeling of being understood and accepted.
But she was not here to help him. He’d have to figure something out by himself.
With a sigh, he forced himself to get up, knowing it was time for the next session.
With a flash of light, his surroundings changed, and he found himself standing on top of a hill looking out over an obstacle course. The sky was a cloudless, monotone gray expanse. Again, the countdown started without delay, Barry getting into position as the shrill notes sounded around him. The steeply descending dirt path in front of him seemed open, but he knew there was an invisible pane of force that would hold him back until the final signal.
The countdown ended and he sprinted forward, quickly picking up speed as he moved down the path towards the concrete wall in front of him. As he reached it, he spaced his last steps carefully so that his right foot would hit the wall high and he pushed off, transferring his forward momentum upwards.
He was just able to catch the lowest handhold, a rough hole in the gray stone that offered ample resistance. Pulling himself up and then bracing his feet against the concrete to reach the next one, he had to repeat this movement twice until he was at the top.
Sitting atop the wall with one leg on each side, he could now see the rest of the trail. Below, there were a series of poles sticking out of a thick, viscous black fluid, their tops just wide enough for one of his feet. He’d have to leap from pole to pole to get across to the other side, where another wall waited for him. It was slightly higher than the one he was sitting on top of, filled with holes that could be used to climb up, but there were wooden stakes popping out at random times, like a giant game of Whac-A-Mole.
He’d run this particular obstacle course before, so he knew to be careful not to miss his landing here. Once you got covered in the black tar, the rest of the parcours became nigh impossible to finish.
Barry took a few quick breaths as he slung his foot over the wall, then pushed himself over, bracing his heels and hands against the wall to reduce his speed as he slid down. He grabbed blindly behind him, palms pressed against the wall, trying to find a handhold to stop his descent, but he missed. He decided to push off the wall instead, aiming for a cluster of poles. He came down hard, landing in a split with each foot on one of the pillars, his torso bent forward and arms stretched out to grab onto another one with both hands for additional support. The old Barry would have torn a ligament at least, but his body was a lot tougher now, able to withstand the force of the landing.
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It took some awkward gymnastics to climb onto the pillar he was holding onto, but then he was back on his feet, crossing the network of poles with elegant leaps. Without hesitation he climbed up the next wall, careful to dodge the stakes that jabbed out of the holes. The only warning was a slight clicking sound before they came out, which he’d gotten better at reacting to, partly thanks to the marble training. He hung back as far as possible while moving up, keeping his torso far away from the stakes. It was cumbersome and slowed him down, but it paid off as he made his way up with just a few scratches on his hands and feet.
Beyond this wall was a trapeze, the white bar suspended from ropes that went up in the air with no end in sight. Further ahead and down, there was a long set of monkey bars, leading to another wall. Below, the whole area between the two walls was covered in long, metallic spikes.
Barry swallowed dry spit as he looked down at the field of gleaming spikes. He could feel drops of sweat rolling down his temple, the rough concrete against his skin, the way it caught the fabric of his pants. Despite being a virtual world, it was full of vivid details. Pain was only slightly muted here. If he fell, how long would he have to endure the agony of being impaled by the spikes? A mortal wound would cause a reset after a single second, but if the spikes didn’t pierce any vital organs, would the system wait for him to bleed out?
He took deep breaths, fighting against his fear and survival instincts which were screaming at him not to jump. He knew he could do it, he’d made it last time after all, but one small mistake would leave him violently skewered.
There was no space for a running start on top of the wall, so he forced himself to stand up, squatting down a few times in preparation, eyes locked on the distant trapeze. Taking a series of short breaths and then, determined, he jumped with all his might, launching himself several yards up and forward, before falling in an arc towards the white bar. He felt a spike of fear as he realized his trajectory would take him slightly too far, his feet pointed towards the trapeze as he approached. He tried to land on top of it, gripping the ropes to either side, but his momentum was too strong and his feet slipped right off the bar. Desperate, he flipped his hands around so that his palms were facing backward, grabbing at the bar as he slipped over and fell past. With a painful jerk to his shoulders, he came to a stop, holding on with all his strength.
Panic gave way to relief as he swung forward, his sweaty hands feeling slick against the lacquered iron bar, but his grip was unmovable. Still, he took the time to release each hand in turn, wiping it dry against his shirt, then gripping the bar again in a better position, palm facing forward. He built up momentum by swinging his feet until he was far enough, then once again he let himself fly towards the monkey bars below.
He landed well this time and moved on without pause, using his forward momentum to cross the long row of bars towards the wall, legs swinging a dozen feet over the sharp spikes below. His past self would have struggled to move this distance just with the power of his arms and back, but with his increased Strength it was hardly a challenge.
Soon, he was staring up at the next wall, feeling resolved to make it further than he did last time. It was made of what he thought was some kind of marble, deep black with a glossy finish. Without the evenly spaced handholds that stood out on the otherwise flat surface, it would be impossible to climb. The main danger on this wall was that every few seconds, a set of razor thin blades would streak horizontally across. It was possible to fit in between two of them only when he was lying flat, legs and torso stretched out to the side. The set of blades would always maintain the same spacing, but it would move down a few feet in between each trigger, so that he couldn’t just stay in the same place.
As if that wasn’t enough, at certain intervals he had to solve a puzzle before the next set of handholds would appear. He could see the first one already, the bright touch screen embedded about eight yards up, its white light reflecting off the surrounding marble.
After taking a moment to get used to the timing, he jumped up right as the bottom set of long blades silently passed him, their movement nearly too fast to track. After taking three seconds to climb as quickly as he could, he moved his feet up to find purchase on one of the handles to his right, bracing his core so that he was planking sideways on the wall. As soon as the blades passed by again, looking like cruel, oversized box cutters, he scrambled to move up once more.
Barry repeated this three times before he managed to pull himself up to the screen, chest heaving and sweat dripping from his hair. He could only catch a glimpse of the puzzle before he had to move back into a side plank. There were a series of five changing shapes and he had to figure out the pattern and choose the right shape, out of four options, that should be next. It was the kind of exercise that required clear, logical thought, which Barry had found to be quite hard when you were frantically trying not to be cut into pieces.
Every time the blades passed, he had about three seconds to stare at the screen, trying to memorize the shapes, before having to move back down and to the side. The third time, he nearly forgot to take into account the set of blades moving downwards and adjusted his position right at the last second. His left side had dipped just a fraction too low, and the razor sheared a ribbon of fabric and skin clean off his shoulder. Barry let out a long grunt of pain and frustration, the images now gone from his head, and then he had to move again to dodge the next set.
Instead of moving back to the screen, he took some time with minimal movement between cycles, focusing on getting into the right mindset. He got into a rhythm then, of moving slightly down or slightly upwards to keep his body in the right position, which took up less of his attention. Aiming to keep his body moving on autopilot, he moved up again, focusing only on the puzzle in front of him.
After another two cycles, the pattern became clear, it seemed so obvious now, and he moved to select the right answer, forced to press his nose to the screen as both hands were needed to keep him steady. He barked out a short, victorious laugh as the screen lit up in green and the next group of flat, ribbed handles pushed out from the section above.
It was only as he got to climbing again, that he noticed the handles were spaced out further than they had been on the section before. When getting into his side plank position, he could only just barely reach the next handhold over with the tips of his feet. As he moved himself into position to dodge the next set of blades, his foot slipped off so that his legs swung down again. Knowing he was out of time to swing back, he instead pulled himself up and went to tuck his legs to his chest, allowing the blade to pass underneath. He felt light as he pulled himself up, moving up much faster than expected, wondering if the adrenaline was giving him another boost in strength. Then, he felt confused and increasingly light headed as his body didn’t seem to be entirely in the right position. Shouldn’t he be feeling his legs against his chest?
He looked down to see a rope hanging down where his legs were supposed to be, red and white and all bunched up. What was that doing there? Then he noticed the blood streaming down from the sides of his stomach, the gaping absence of his bottom half, which he now noticed lying down next to the wall, bunched up in an unnatural position. Those were his legs, he recognized them now, but they looked so weird, he’d never seen them from a distance. They were surrounded by a growing puddle of blood and gore, but he didn’t feel the horror, could barely process it as he slipped away from the wall and the darkness closed in.
Then he was back on his feet, no trace of pain, as he reappeared in the next room, but the images were fresh in his mind. He felt sick to his stomach as he processed them with full mental clarity, cupping his hand over his mouth, whispering curses in between heavy breaths. He shook his head, rubbed at his eyes, but still he saw his bloody entrails hanging down from his open stomach, his own legs lying broken on the stone floor, and it was all he could do not to break down in tears.
Barry let out an anguished, primal cry, bursting with desperation, as the familiar race track countdown tones began. He was standing in an empty, white space, and only now did he realize he was still in virtual reality, still needed to complete the tests. He tried to focus as the test began, aching for a distraction.
This was a cognitive exercise. The white room would change to an entirely different environment, a frozen picture of some landscape or scenario, which he was meant to study. First he’d be given about a dozen seconds, but the time would get progressively shorter as the exercise progressed. He would then either have to answer questions about details of that environment, or to point out the spots where predators were hidden, waiting to strike.
It did not go well. Barry just wasn’t able to get past the vivid memories of being cut in half, and his bitterness grew with each incorrect answer. None of this was fair. Why did he have to put himself through this torture every day? The exercises felt impossible, like he was just set up to fail. At the very least he should be allowed to add to his Stats. With extra Speed and Perception, he would have been able to avoid that final blade. And what was the point of looking at a picture of a panther hiding in a bush, when what he should be doing is getting stronger? How was any of this actually going to bring him closer to his family?
These thoughts kept roiling in his mind and by the time the exercise finished, Barry was fuming, carrying a deep frown and a hateful look in his eyes. He didn’t even bother to listen to the result of the test. Knowing that the wolf was up next, it was easy to just let his anger grow instead of trying to control it, allowing it to wash away his other feelings. He didn’t care that Pokka wanted him to practice his lunges and footwork, he didn’t have time for all that finesse and detail. Right now, he just wanted to kill the damn beast.
As soon as he was brought to the desert landscape, he spotted the wolf in the distance and headed straight for it, taking off at a jog. His right hand was clenched around a shortspear, the weapon feeling remarkably light as he picked up his speed. The large beast was moving in his direction as well, running along with an elegant, loping gait. It looked exactly the same as before, covered in thick gray fur with streaks of black, the size of a large dog, easily taller than him if it were to stand on its hind paws. Barry ran faster still, accelerating to a mad sprint, arms pumping by his sides.
The wolf hesitated, then stopped, looking at him warily. Barry roared as he closed in, and it decided to avoid a head-on collision, running to the side. He swerved to the left as well, wildly grabbing at it with his left hand, but the wolf was more agile, smoothly changing directions each time he got close.
With a growl of frustration, Barry dived forward, left hand stretched out, and managed to grab the end of its tail as he fell with his stomach to the ground. The wolf snarled as it moved its head around, biting at his hand, but Barry refused to let go, savagely stabbing at it with his shortspear despite his awkward position, but only striking glancing blows at the back of its legs. He moved his knees forward, aiming to get his feet underneath him and lift the wolf up so he could get a good strike in, but then it got its teeth around his wrist and he was forced to let go. It leaped aside to gain some distance, then began to circle him, but he moved towards it without hesitation, knees bent, spear and bloody hand held in front, ready for violence.
It led him on a chase again, moving around him easily, so Barry decided to change tactics. Shifting the grip on his weapon as he ran after it, he waited for the right moment, then stopped and flung the spear at it, hitting it in its hind leg. It yelped and twisted around as he ran at it again. He’d expected it to continue fleeing, but instead it leaped at him, going straight for his throat. His instincts had gotten better after being killed by the wolf several times before, managing to raise his left arm in time to catch the bite as he fell onto his back. Again, he was ready for it and quickly twisted onto his side, shoving at it with all his strength. The wolf flipped to the side and hit the ground, jaws firmly closed around his forearm, but still he crawled on top of it, driving his right arm into its throat and pushing down. Their faces were nearly pushed together then, panting and growling at each other
Barry felt the wolf bite down harder on his arm and pushed down on its throat with more force in response, cutting off its air supply. It pushed and scratched at him, raking its claws across his stomach and thighs. Snarling, Barry bit at its throat, its musky scent filling his nostrils as he tried to push his teeth past its thick fur. It writhed and dug at him more frantically in turn, pushing with its powerful paws, opening its jaw slightly before biting down again.
His left arm shifted as it sunk its teeth into his wrist and tore at it. Barry screamed as he felt his bone break and couldn't help but push away, pulling his arm toward him. The wolf obliged and let go, using the opportunity to push him off balance. He stared at his arm in shock, seeing flaps of skin hanging loose, exposing the flesh underneath, thick sprays of blood pumping from his artery As he fell off, the beast jumped on him again, mercilessly going for his throat. He got his legs up just in time and kicked at it, hitting it in the ribs with enough force that it landed three feet to his left on its side, spear still sticking out of its behind.
Already feeling lightheaded, Barry forced himself up, knowing he didn't have much time left. The wolf was already in position and leapt at him again, but he was ready for it, ducking down just in time, grabbing for the spear with his right hand as it crashed into him. The pain from his arm was excruciating and Barry cried out again as the two tumbled across the ground, but he kept a firm grip on the weapon. They came to a stop in an awkward position, facing each other side to side, Barry trailing a bit behind, but he wasted no time in jerking the spear out of its leg and thrusting it into its underbelly. The wolf yelped and scrambled up to lunge at him, but he fell back and pushed it up with his legs, keeping it at a distance while he drove the weapon deeper into the wolf's body. As it made to get free from him, he clenched his legs around its torso, giving it free range to bite at him, but he knew he would do worse. A splash of blood fell from its stomach as he pulled the spear out, then stabbed again, this time aiming underneath the ribs. It was biting madly at his legs but he could barely feel the pain, his limbs already growing numb. The wolf's strength also seemed to be fading, its movements growing weaker and less furious. It fell to his side, one of his legs caught underneath. He forced himself up, white spots crowding his vision, barely feeling his body but still stabbing at it. He moved slowly, his breathing shallow and mouth hanging open in exhaustion. Still he continued, slowly thrusting the spear once, twice, three times and then he let himself drop back to stare up at the blue sky, spear dropping to the ground.
Barry felt strangely at peace as he lay there, the wolf beside him, both bleeding out like fallen companions.
“Now… you know… what it feels like.” He whispered finally with a faint grin on his pale face, and then his eyes fell shut.