In an instant, the world sharpened and there was a graphical overlay, much like every video game ever. In the top-left corner of my vision, glowing yellow was my name: “Ethan Jones” with a headshot of me glaring menacingly.
As I looked at my name, more information unfurled below:
Race: Human
Level: 5
Class: Emergency Medical Technician / Pizza Delivery Driver
Age: 23 Years Old
Team: Sidekick
A health bar, bright green and steady, spanned horizontally just below my name, and it showed me at 99% health.
The health bar expanded as I looked at it and I saw an outline of my body with a pulsing red spot on my calf and I suddenly realized I was down 1% health.
The stupid boomerang that had bounced off the wall and attacked me had taken one percent of my health, so that meant I must be pretty squishy.
At the bottom right was a miniature backpack icon. I focused on it and an inventory screen popped up, showing my wallet, keys, paycheck, pocketknife and the boomerang.
“Sir?” Abe’s voice broke through my focus and as I looked at him, the inventory screen disappeared and a box popped up:
Feature Description
Name Abraham Lincoln
Title The Emancipator
Class/Race Statesman/Logician - Human
Alignment Lawful Good
Appearance Tall, rugged, stovepipe hat, 19th-century attire, beard.
Version 3.0 - Restrictions apply
Background 16th US President; Led nation through Civil War; Abolished slavery.
It all made sense, except for the “Version 3.0” and I figured I’d ask about it later.
I turned back to the wall that had all the headshots on it and Abe’s statistics disappeared. Immediately descriptive boxes popped up, information on the people who were apparently important enough to take pictures of.
I walked over to the wall and my eyes were drawn to the image of an intense looking man, his eyes staring beneath thick eyebrows. "Harry Houdini," the popup noted.
"Hungarian-born illusionist, magician, and stunt performer," the text continued. "Known for sensational escape acts. He defied chains, handcuffs, and prison cells. Often dubbed 'The Handcuff King'. GT 216 - Failure to Progress"
“Damn,” I murmured. I knew the name Houdini, like everyone else, but I had no idea what he looked like or what GT 216 meant.
Next to Houdini was the portrait of a woman with short, wavy hair and a determined glint in her eyes, wearing an old-fashioned flier’s helmet, complete with goggles.
"Amelia Earhart," the helpful popup said. "First female aviator to fly solo across the Atlantic Ocean. Disappeared during an attempt to circumnavigate the globe in 1937. Her final flight remains one of the greatest unsolved mysteries. GT 216 - Failure to Progress"
Moving along, I noted a young woman with sunburned skin, short hair, and intense eyes, the French flag behind her.
Joan of Arc,” the popup informed me. "A heroine of France during the Hundred Years' War. Claimed divine guidance. Burned at the stake at the tender age of nineteen in the year 1431. “GT 155 - Failure to Progress
Abe cleared his throat. “Sir, we should probably get going.”
“Right,” I responded, “just a sec.”
Further down the wall, I finally recognized someone, Johnny Cash. His weathered face and slicked-back hair were unforgettable.
American singer-songwriter, known for hits like 'Ring of Fire' and 'Walk the Line'. His deep, calm voice and distinctive sound earned him the nickname 'The Man in Black'. GT 219 - Failure to Progress
I would have thought it was the black clothes that earned him the nickname, but whatever. Beside Cash was an older man, spectacles resting on his nose, with a contemplative look. The now-expected box popped up.
J.R.R. Tolkien. English writer, poet, and professor. Best known for penning 'The Lord of the Rings' and 'The Hobbit'. His works reshaped fantasy literature. GT 216 - Failure to Progress
“Sir,” Abe said hesitantly again.
The final picture in the row was of a striking African queen, regal and authoritative. "Nzinga Mbande," the popup box informed me.
17th-century African queen of the Ndongo and Matamba Kingdoms, in present-day Angola. A diplomat, cunning military strategist, and unyielding ruler. Resisted Portuguese colonization. GT 162 - Failure to Progress
I looked back over at Abe and noted his informational boxes had disappeared. I was starting to get the hang of the system.
He was smiling broadly.
“What?” I asked, not sure why he was beaming.
“Pretty cool, right?” he said instead of answering my question.
“It’s amazing,” I said. “Google tried this with a pair of glasses but it never caught on. I think it was called ‘Augmented Reality’. There was a Pokemon game that used it too.”
“I’m familiar with it,” said the man who’d been the President during the Civil War and couldn’t possibly have known what a Pokemon game was.
“How?” I blurted out and instantly regretted it. Some threads shouldn’t be pulled and with everything that had happened, I was barely holding it together.
“One of your team members told me about it, I think,” he said thoughtfully.
“Team members?” I asked. “What team?”
“Aren’t you supposed to be on the American team?” Abe asked, frowning. “Pull up the team rosters.”
“Rosters?” I asked and suddenly there was a list of countries in front of my face, starting with Afghanistan, with a little plus sign next to it that looked like it might expand the entry. I wondered how to click on it but without me doing anything else, the Afghan entry opened up into a box with a long list of names I couldn’t easily pronounce.
Primary:
Ahmad Safi - Role: Tank | MS: Tank | OS: Caster DPS
Zahir Azimi - Role: Healer | MS: Healer | OS: Hybrid DPS
Farid Noori - Role: Caster DPS | MS: Caster DPS | OS: Melee DPS
Nasir Amani - Role: Melee DPS | MS: Melee DPS | OS: Tank
Omar Fazli - Role: Hybrid DPS | MS: Hybrid DPS | OS: Healer
Backup:
Karim Ehsan - Role: Tank
Samir Jafari - Role: Healer
Hamid Rahimi - Role: Caster DPS
Malik Hassani - Role: Melee DPS
A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.
Tariq Hashemi - Role: Hybrid DPS
Support
Yasin Mohammadi - Job: Logistics Coordinator
Sadiq Akbari - Job: Medical Officer
Faisal Qureshi - Job: Technical Support
Idris Karzai - Job: Intelligence Analyst
Rahim Babak - Job: Communications Specialist
Bilal Shirzad - Job: Equipment Manager
Naveed Ghani - Job: Strategy Consultant
Jawid Hayat - Job: Psychologist
Ismat Farooqi - Job: Nutritionist
Asef Zadran - Job: Legal Advisor
“Who are these people?” I asked him.
“Share with me,” he said.
Share with Abe? I thought but again, without any specific direction, the system did what it was supposed to. In the upper right corner of my view, there was a bouncing Lincoln head.
“Oh, that’s the Afghan team. You’ll want the one from the US. You are American right? The system has been flakey lately.”
“Yes,” I said firmly, starting to get over the language and slang this person was using.
“Bring up the American team,” he said, and suddenly, floating in front of me was another list, but the names were much easier for me to pronounce.
“If you read from the top, you can see that Mr. O’Brien is your main tank, Ms. Rodriguez is the healer and so on,” Lincoln said helpfully. “They’re already assembled below.”
Primary:
Michael O'Brien - Role: Tank | MS: Tank | OS: Caster DPS
Maria Rodriguez - Role: Healer | MS: Healer | OS: Hybrid DPS
Jamal Washington - Role: Caster DPS | MS: Caster DPS | OS: Melee DPS
Hannah Jones - Role: Hybrid DPS | MS: Hybrid DPS | OS: Healer
I’d stopped listening to him when my eyes reached the fourth name on the list.
It was my sister’s name.
A wild, furious hope exploded inside me and then the last thing he had just said finally made it through to my overwhelmed brain.
“Assembled below”
“Abe, where exactly are these teams?” I said, my heart pounding.
“We passed them coming in,” he explained, looking a little confused. “In the Quantum Departure Hall below. They’re the people in formation.”
With a surging hope in my heart I ran toward the doors but when they hissed open, a familiar smell reached me. It was the stench of death and it reached my nose the same time the screams reached my ears.
I steadied myself on the catwalk railing and leaned over, a sick feeling in my stomach.
Where the people in the front row had stood just moments earlier was utter carnage. The floor was covered with dark, thick, irregular puddles of things that used to be human. Flattened limbs lay haphazardly, some still clad in torn clothing. Shards of bone jutted out at odd angles, glistening wetly, accompanied by fragments of flesh, hair, and fabric. Even worse were the things I couldn’t identify: crushed pulp that was once vital organs, clumps of skin, and tissue.
I couldn’t see any indication of what had killed them but it looked like an entire row of the formation had been obliterated. The metal floor of the large hall, once orderly with teams lined up in neat rows, was a scene from a nightmare. The air was thick with the acrid smell of burnt flesh and the coppery tang of blood. Many of those who had survived the initial blast or attack were milling in shock.
I scanned the sea of panicked faces, trying to locate Hannah, or at least the American team but it was impossible to pick them out of the mob below. My stomach churned, and I felt a bead of cold sweat trickle down my back.
My sister was down there.
Soccer ball, soccer ball, soccer ball
At the far side of the room I saw Sarge talking animatedly to a tall man in shimmering robes who shook his head and then finally nodded. He waved his hand and the portals at the edge of the room blinked on, each with a whirling silvery surface that resolved into a seamless mirror.
Immediately, some of the people started charging through the portals and as soon as they did, all the station lights went red and an alarm went off that sounded like the old incoming missile alarms from the movies.
STATION SELF-DESTRUCT - 2 MINUTES - EVACUATION MANDATORY
This instantly galvanized the rest of the people below and they began to reform into their original groups, with people in similar uniforms clustering together as before.
One of the closest columns to me wore red jumpsuits with a large white and blue stripe across the front, white cowboy hats, and white boots. If I had to lay odds, I’d put all my money on that being the team from the USA.
I leaned over the railing and yelled, “HANNAH!” but was drowned out by the BWAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA of the alarm.
The teams moved forward, one person at a time, and before the horn could go off again, I screamed “HANNAH!”
One of the Cowboy Hat Team turned around.
She looked up at me and I almost couldn’t believe it was her. “HANNAH!” I yelled.
BWAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA
A look of shock, disbelief, and relief came over her face and she mouthed, “Jonesy?”
I gave her a triumphant grin and a thumbs-up.
A guy I guessed was their leader tried to push her forward but she turned him around and pointed up at me, and I was pretty sure she said, “That’s my brother!”
He shook his head and tried to guide her to the portal. She shook his arm off impatiently and over the blasts of the alarm, yelled, “FIND ME!”
BWAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA
This time, Hannah waited until the siren had stopped, then shouted, “I AM INEVITABLE!” and leapt through the portal, followed by the rest of her team.
“Noooooooooooooooooooo!” I screamed but like water draining out of the tub, the rest of the people in the hanger siphoned through the open portals until only Sarge and the other man were left.
He was standing in front of a long console, furiously hitting buttons. He pulled something out, then turned and handed it to the man he’d been talking to before.
The other guy took the object and put it in his pocket, then grasped Sarge by both shoulders and pulled him closer. They both bowed slightly until their foreheads touched. Sarge grasped the other man’s shoulders and they held that pose for 5, maybe 6 seconds, then both stood up straight.
Sarge saluted the other man, who returned it with precision.
The stranger adjusted something on his wrist and a bright light began to envelop him in a swirling mist of colors that intensified, illuminating the surrounding area. Before it became so bright I had to look away, the stranger just... disappeared. There wasn't any dramatic sound, no boom or flash, just a faint trace of that strange light fading away.
The spot where he’d stood moments ago was now empty. Sarge turned and inserted something into the same spot he’d pulled the other thing from then punched a few keys.
I felt a hand on my shoulder. It was an oddly unaffected Abe.
“It’s probably best if we get you down below,” he said with a broad smile. “Wouldn’t want to keep them waiting.”
“Abe,” I asked cautiously, “What happened down there?”
He stepped forward and looked over the railing.“No idea!” he said brightly, “It sure is colorful though! Looks like you and Gabriel are the only two left! Better hurry!”
Ok, Abe was insane, or incredibly stupid.
“One Minute to Self-Destruct” the voice announced calmly.
Abe stopped for a moment, then turned and looked at me, his face wrinkled in confusion, looked back at the gore all over the floor of the hanger, then back at me. His face cleared.
“Well then,” he said brightly. “If the station is going to be destroyed, you won’t be coming back here!”
That was ominous.
He continued, “If you aren’t coming back here, then I won’t be able to give you your gift basket!”
Gift Basket?
Triumphantly, and with a flourish, he produced two bags, each the size of a large purse with two loops on top to carry it.
One said “Better Luck Next Time!” and the other said, “Congratulations Champion!”
They were big enough to hold a tablet, maybe a couple of small gifts and were shiny like they were made of some sort of silk, although they kept their shape when he handed them over.
“Take one of each and then open the one that fits when the test is over!” he said happily, as if he’d just solved the Unified Field theory, clearly proud of his leaps of logic.
I took them. The handles were tied together but there was a gap on the sides. I could see things glinting inside and began to open one to look inside when Abe stopped me. “Not until you finish,” he warned with mock seriousness, waggling his finger at me.
“Ok,” I said, deciding that a fancy gift basket was a fine way to distract me from the Earth’s destruction and my personal impending doom. I looped them both over my left arm like some Beverly Hills socialite after a day of shopping and followed him.
Abe led me to a round spot on the floor and on the handrail of the catwalk were two buttons. He pressed one of them and we began to sink downward, very slowly. As we descended below the catwalk, I noted that Abe was correct, only two people were left, me and Sarge.
“Fifteen Seconds to Self-Destruct” the voice announced calmly.
“Sarge?” I asked, the entirety of my confusion implicit in the single word.
“Go through the portal, I’ll be right behind you,” he said.
“Which one?” I asked.
“Doesn’t matter,” he said, “Now GO!”
I did as he’d instructed, choosing to run to the portal my sister had gone through, figuring that would help me find her. Before entering, I turned to wait for Sarge. I could see some sort of progress bar on the screen in front of him, a bright yellow, nearly complete. His gaze oscillated back and forth between me and the task in front of him.
“TEN” the voice counted down
“NINE”
“EIGHT”
“SEVEN”
Sarge pulled something from the console and turned, barely enough time to get to me.
“HURRY!” I screamed. He jumped over the console and began to sprint to me.
“SIX”
“FIVE”
He slipped as his feet hit a puddle of blood and he fell heavily to the ground.
“FOUR”
Sarge looked up at me, his expression grim. There was no way he’d make it, he was just too far away.
“THREE”
“Find the Gem Merchant!” he yelled and threw something at me.
“TWO”
“ONE”
I tried to catch what he’d thrown but it slipped out of my hand and there was no more time. As I stepped through the portal, the counter hit zero and the room was engulfed in flames.