Bob woke up. Yes Bob woke up. It was hard to tell in the pitch black darkness of the room. But there was no mistaking the sensation. A shame really, it would have been easier if he could have just drifted off. It might have been peaceful, quiet, dignified even. But now he would die awake. In the darkness. Stewing in his regrets and poor life decisions.
Bob tried to piece together the dream he’d been having. It was something to do with that table of figures in his notebook. The one with the graph of deciphered shift numbers. His mind was foggy with lingering sleep. He almost thought, yes, he had a strong impression he’d found something in them and it was that very discovery that had brought him suddenly to consciousness.
But it was dark, so unbelievably, impenetrably dark. Dark like he’d never known in our sleepless cities. Dark to the point of madness. He felt like he was dead. Maybe he was dead. He was trying to remember what it felt like to see. Why he might be anywhere. Somewhere far away, but no, there was the armchair and look here was the side table and that, that must be an apple.
The dream was slipping away. It was fading into that strange, unreachable place where dreams go. And with it what he'd found, or thought he’d found. He struggled, trying to tug back his impressions from that inviting place. But he’d been dreaming, it was only a dream, he almost gave up, and then he remembered a golden face and a little brown nose. George was waiting for him somewhere. He made a great effort (lounging in the brown-leather armchair). There had been a code. A code within the code. Yes, he brought up the table in his mind,
1 2 3 4 5 1 12 x 15 15,11 x 2 2 x 5,8 9 14,4 3 20 8,9 x x 19 4 x 1 x J X
Look what happens if you convert them back to letters (1->A, 2->B, ...).
1 2 3 4 5 1 L x O O,K x 2 B x E,H I N,D 3 T H,I x x S 4 x A x (J) X
Stringing them together and reading left to right, you get: LOOK BEHIND THIS A. This “a”? What was that supposed to mean? Was he remembering the table wrong? Had there been another row? Or was that final number something else? His notebook was right there. He could reach out and touch it, flick through its pages, but he couldn’t read it, couldn’t confirm or deny his guesses.
LOOK BEHIND THIS A. But no, he wasn’t misremembering or forgetting. He’d seared those numbers into his heart. He would be teaching his grandchildren those numbers. It was a clue, a final clue. LOOK BEHIND THIS A. It had to be. It couldn’t be a coincidence, could it? But what did it mean? THIS A. 20-8-9-19 1. Wait a moment, wait a moment. "A" corresponds with 1. 1->A. LOOK BEHIND THIS 1.
Oh my god, oh my god, Bob whispered to himself in the dark, there was a secret door. Bob rose unsteadily to his feet. Easy does it now. His heart was pounding. He felt like his whole body was on fire. But if he got turned around now and lost his way, he might never find it. He took a deep breath. He’d waited this long. No point bungling the thing by rushing.
His first decision was to bring the side table with him. The table was stocked with all his supplies and possessions. If he found a secret passageway, he wanted to make sure they all got through with him. He gently lifted up the table and took a cautious step forward. Directly his knee knocked into one of the remaining stacks of books and he almost toppled over.
No problem, don’t sweat it, he waded forward, starting each step with a low sweeping motion of the knees, designed to clear away any obstacles. He made it to the fireplace. Now all he had to do was follow the wall around the corner and he’d be at the bookshelves. He was looking for a spot on the bottom row of the second bookshelf, four books from the left.
He was close now. His heart seemed deafening loud. With hope or fear or just sheer adrenaline he couldn’t say. He got down on hands and knees. This was his last chance. His only hope. And a part of him couldn’t help thinking the decoded sentence was just a soothing fiction he carried over from the dream world. After all, he’d cleared those bookshelves before and with roaring fire in the grate. If there was a secret door he should have found it already. Here was the spot. His hand trembled. It should be just there.
And yet, there was nothing. But it had to be. A light, he needed a light, couldn’t he get a light somehow? If only, if only, he said the words with bitter sarcasm. There were no matches, no flint, not even two sticks to rub together. He pushed hard against the spot. He set his back against it and shoved. Maybe there was something written there. A message or directions. But no Bob, you think you wouldn’t have noticed a giant communication scrawled across the wall? No, Bob chewed his lip, it would have to be something small, something you’ve just overlook unless you knew exactly what to look for.
Something clicked in Bob's mind. He remembered. Something small, something you’ve just overlook unless you knew exactly what to look for. He groped about for his knife. There she was. Bob pointed the knife at the mysterious patch of the wall. It was hidden there, somewhere, his secret way out. He just had to find it. It would require a little guesswork in the dark. He couldn't see what he was doing after all. Trial and error. The engine behind all scientific progress. But he remembered. He wound up his arm and stabbed hard.
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The knife seemed to fall into a groove and then catch and rebound back. Ouch, had Bob really needed to stab so hard. He waited. No luck? Nobody gets it on the first try. Bob cocked his arm for another thrust. And then the bookcase wall shuddered. No way, no fucking way. The trembling stopped and Bob thought he was going to cry. An endless moment later and the wall dragged apart and natural light poured through. Bob started to weep. He couldn’t believe it. It was some kind of miracle. Divine intervention. He’d been saved.
That little red spot, he’d mistaken it for dried blood, that damned spot, he’d walked pass it a hundred times, ferrying books back and forth, he'd pointed it out, he tried rubbing it off, and and the whole time it had been the switch to a secret door. He'd just to push down into it. Why had he had to suffer some much? He could kill someone. He could kill himself.
But he wasn’t about to stick around waiting to see if the door would stay open. Bob could just imagine the system laughing at him as the gateway jerked shut in front of him. Even the thought of it shook him to his core. Not today. He grabbed the side table with both hands and leaped action-hero style through the opening. Anything was better than staying stuck in that room a minute longer.
He crashed out, bounced painfully off the ground, the side table drawer spilling open and scattering all his worldly possessions around him. He was alive. Bob pulled himself up to hands and knees. He was shaking all over. But there was dirt beneath those fingers. There was a breeze in the air. He was panting and sobbing, a grown man bawling out his soul on the grass. His eyes stung with tears and mud, but he didn’t care. That had been too close. Far too close. What would have happened to him if he hadn’t made it? He didn’t even want to think. He wiped awkwardly at his face a couple times, spat once or twice on the ground, knelt and looked up.
A little girl was standing just over him. The look in her eyes stabbed right through Bob’s heart. Such horror and disgust, such loathing. It was like she thought he was the scum of the earth. She fell back a step when she saw Bob look up at her. She hadn’t just watched all that had she? Oh yes, the look in those eyes, she had seen it all.
Bob felt himself start to blush underneath all the mud. He averted his eyes, came up onto one knee and then to a standing position. He went about, picking up his fallen possessions and gathering them into the side table drawer. The whole while she was openly gaping at him like she was searching for the word capable of describing such an abomination. Mud monster was probably the one she wanted. He was caked in the stuff. And a lucky thing too because his make-shift loincloth did a subpar job of protecting his modesty.
Bob frowned. He'd never been the most socially adept of his peers. He gave it a moment’s thought, chewed on his options and decided he just play it off like nothing had happened. Hell maybe it was all just a work-stress induced nightmare. “Hello there, I’m Bob. I’ve just had the most horrible dream. You couldn’t tell me where I am could you, and maybe what time it is, actually start with the date?”
She giggled. Maybe 12 or 13 years old, Bob guessed. Truly an insufferable age. Where was the respect for her elders? She continued to laugh at the grown man in front of her. “Did you just come from the second challenge? Pretty easy, didn’t you think.”
Drats. So it wasn’t a dream… A man has to hope though no? But even if it had been a dream, he certainly had no plans of describing his adventures, semi-nude, to a bratty twelve year old who looked at him like he was less than dirt. And what had she said, “pretty easy?” Those words cut across Bob’s soul. Somehow he didn’t think the two of them would be friends.
“Well,” brushing his shoulder with a self-conscious smirk, “here I am aren’t I? Nothing to it really, just snagged the wooden key from the fireplace and got through the trapdoor in the ceiling. Maybe five minutes from start to end.”
“Is that so?” She gave a marked look at the side table toppled over on the ground. Somehow he didn’t think she believed a word of it. This girl was too clever for her own good. “I’m Sally by the way.”
“Nice to meet you Sally. I’d shake hands. But got a bit muddy.”
“Yes I noticed.”
“Did you?”
“Are you going to explain?”
“No. No, I don’t think I will.”
“Very well then.” She crossed her arms and continued to stare at him.
“So you know what the next challenge is?” Bob saw a couple notifications flashing in the top right, but didn’t think he had the competency to read through his notifications and converse with the girl in front of him at the same time.
“No I don’t. I’ve only been here a couple minutes.” She spoke the words as though to communicate that he ought to have known as much and why did he ask such stupid questions. She raised a bent finger to her lips. God, she looked insufferably clever.
“I think we are waiting for more players. There’s you, me and that pigeon over there.”
“What?” He was pretty sure he’d misheard what she said. Something about a pigeon.
“The pigeon,” she repeated impatiently, pointedly enunciating each syllable like English was his second or maybe third language (as opposed to his only). She completed the explanation by pointing to a fat, grey but somewhat regal male pigeon perched on a wall nearby.
Bob took a quick survey of his surroundings. It looked like an abandoned village? Crumbling structures encircled them, walls overgrown with green vines and blue moss. Time had rolled through here alright. The two of them were standing in a central square, maybe a marketplace; two main roads seemed to intersect here. Bob could see a good way down one of them and make out where the village faded into untilled fields and little patches of forest.
Bob stating the facts: “But it’s just a pigeon.”
“I’m telling you. It’s a player too. It appeared just like you did. There was a portal and everything.”
Bob raised a skeptical eyebrow, did she really think he'd swallow that horseshit; and that was the moment when space was torn apart in front of them and a massive, black bull straight up pranced out into their midst.
“What the…” Bob jumped back, dragging the girl with him, and slid into one of the ruined buildings bordering the marketplace. The girl glared daggers at him and slapped away his hand.
“What was I supposed to do?” He whispered, as she carefully tried to brush away the dirt and mud he’d left on her shirt. She ignored him.
“Look it’ll charge on sight. Those things are monsters. Have you seen a bull fight before?” Bob remembered he was talking to a twelve year old. But she didn’t answer, just put a good six feet between them. Cold, Bob thought to himself. But that was when the system message finally appeared.
> Challenge Three (3/4):
>
> Choose your side:
>
> Hunter or Hunted
“Did you get the message?” She gave a half-nod. “Look, it’ll be safer if we team up. What side do you want to pick?” A timer appeared in Bob’s vision. 10, 9, 8… She hesitated and then “Hunter.”
“Got it,” Bob just managed to press the button in time. The message disappeared and then flashed back:
> Hunter:
>
> * Bob
>
> Hunted:
>
> * Black Lightning
> * Sally
> * Pigeon 342017
“Bitch,” Bob couldn’t help himself. Even if he had to throw the whole challenge, he was taking that girl down with him.
> Hunter
>
> Win condition:
>
> Find and touch all members of the opposing team before the time runs out.
>
> Remaining time: 06:00:00