As expected, it took no time for Dev’s eyes to adjust. For someone who always had bad eyes and was lazy enough to never bother with corrective surgery, any kind of immediate clarity was a bit alarming.
Dev already knew she was dead, intellectually. It was the rest of her that needed to catch up, nanobody included.
Stepping into the light, Devorah found herself in a musty old parlor right out of the era she had spent years studying as a historian. Even still, it was unfamiliar to her, though the style of the anachronisms was very familiar.
The space was as open as a room made to look antiquated could be. Artificial light shone in through a window, mimicking a warm afternoon. The furniture was sumptuous, a mix of styles popular through the eighteenth through twenty first centuries on Earth. A chinoiserie cabinet flanked a patterned, velvet couch. Rococo and Neo-Romantic chairs were spread around the room, some circling an early piano. The wallpaper matched the couch- an eerie design more in line with a haunted attraction at a theme planet than what Dev would guess was meant to be a nineteenth century living room.
Yet it was not the room itself that wracked Devorah with a deep dread- it was the simulacrums of the people who were with her. She half expected it, after the end of the video, but it was still a shock. Much like herself, all of them looked as they did at their moment of death. They seemed to have memories and some kind of self control as well, based on the groups people stood in as well as the frankly kind of obnoxious sounds of Amina and Sophitty getting reacquainted with each other’s tonsils.
It was a farcical re-invention of the beginning of the other game she had been forced to participate in. The first time she had been alone, then suddenly with strangers. This time, those surrounding Dev were the furthest thing from strangers people could be.
Devorah did a quick scan of the ghosts surrounding her. And locked eyes with Henry. Mostly. He only really had one eye left. It seemed that whatever killed him had crushed his head.
The pit of dread within Devorah eased ever so slightly. She could breathe, though there was no longer any need for it. But the fact that she could again brought her relief.
Henry was dead. He had been caught, and Anna wasn’t here. Though, Devorah thought, growing sad again, Anna wasn’t here. It wasn’t Anna who bought time with her. What if Anna was still in the game? What if it hadn’t ended? And what if-
Once again, Devorah was broken out of her thoughts. This time from the feeling of someone barreling into her.
“Devorah!” Arms wrapped around Dev, strong enough that they lifted her off her feet. In a detached manner, she acknowledged that certain things could indeed touch her. Dev was glad to note she felt no lingering pain from her stab wound, even with the immense pressure. “I’m so happy to see you! And so sad to see you!”
There was only one person that could be, and looking down confirmed it. Bellone, half human and half ostian, had skin streaked with orange and blue, like veins of precious gems in stone. In the short sleeve uniform shirt and shorts Bell favored, swathes of skin were visible.
Devorah wriggled in the grip and turned to embrace her dead friend. Like Bell had said, it was both a joyous reunion and a time of deep mourning. If only Dev could feel the depths of those emotions as she used to. Was that an effect of becoming an AI? That had to be it.
Bell gave her one last squeeze, then dropped Devorah back down. From there, she could see poor Albert and Eugenia flanking Bell. They made a funny group. Bell was taller than the average human and wore confidence like it was as easy. She had short blue hair and warm orange eyes, and one of her arms was slung across Albert’s shoulders. As a man of average size, he looked quite small on Bell’s arm. He seemed like he was trying to hide behind Bell, which Dev understood due to his current lack of dress. Usually in a full suit and hat, mustache groomed carefully, he was a mess in just his trousers. An autopsy “Y’ graced his chest like a tattoo.
Then there was Eugenia. She wore the rope around her neck like it was the latest fashion. Her nightdress was clean, and thankfully Eugenia had been allowed to carry her Lenape cloak of iridescent turkey feathers even with her in death. Her long hair was tied back, and she watched Devorah with dark, sad eyes.
“Devorah.” She held out a hand, which Devorah took in two of her own. “I had hoped I wouldn’t see you here.”
Devorah squeezed Eugenia’s hand. “You’re lucky I’m feeling very emotional right now otherwise I’d be yelling at you like hell.” It wasn't warm, not exactly, but the pulse of movement was like a balm on Dev's soul. The last time she held Eugenia's hand, it had been hard with the cold of death.
Eugenia’s lip quirked up. “That should be my line.”
“Have you been here long?”
Albert shook his head. “We just got here. Er, wherever here is. And did you notice that you came from the wall? Did we also come from the wall?”
“Enough of that for now!” Bell dragged Albert closer and pulled the group into a big hug. Devorah could feel a few sets of arms around her, and she felt her own hands brush Albert’s back and the feathers of Eugenia’s cloak. No physical warmth resulted from their closeness. But like breathing, it warmed Devorah anyway. “We can figure out what’s going on later. For now, I’m just happy to be reunited with my friends.”
Bell gripped them all tighter with a sniff, and Albert let out a soft “oof.” Devorah allowed herself to be hugged. It was grounding, this kind physicality. More than anything, it made her feel like a person.
After a few minutes, Bell released them. “Wait!” Bell grabbed Devorah by the shoulder again and shook her like a doll. Dev allowed herself to be shaken. “Dev? Where’s your other half?”
Devorah put her hand on top of Bell’s, putting an end to the shaking. “Hopefully far away from this hell.” Though her emotions were still calibrating, Devorah couldn't let herself feel otherwise. Anna had to have made it. She had been sad when Eugenia, Albert, and Bell had died. But Anna? If anything happened to Anna...
“So she made it?” Albert offered a nervous smile. "I didn't see her at the end of the film."
Devorah’s eyes wander towards Henry, alone in the corner. She didn't want to think about that yet. She forced herself to meet Albert’s eyes again. “I think so. You guys just got here too, right? To this place, this… room? And you saw the training video.”
“We did,” Eugenia confirmed.
“Then it’s probably over and-” Devorah paused. “Eugenia? Albert? Where do you think we are?”
“H-Heaven?” Albert said, mustache twitching with the effort.
Bell cringed. Devorah did not relish being the one to amend this falsehood and was about to explain when once again, a new figure entered the room.
When Bell moved to embrace Devorah, there was no sound as her boots met the floor. They had a presence, but there was no weight to their bodies. When this new figure entered the room and stood under one of the yellowing light fixtures, their steps made soft sounds. They cast a shadow.
They were closer to a person than whatever Devorah had become.
Even still, they were strange. This person looked like a young woman, both younger looking and shorter than Devorah. They were dressed similarly to a porcelain doll, awash in red fabrics, complete with ruffles and a bonnet. Puff sleeves connected to a bowed blouse, and the skirt could only keep its shape with the help of several petticoats. Her white hair was curled- not curly in the untamed way Devorah’s hair grew naturally, but like straight hair forced to make perfect corkscrews all down her back.
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Devorah felt a strange urge to turn away, but she looked at the girl head on. The girl’s face was a perfect, painted mask of pale porcelain. One blue beaded tear rested permanently under her left eye.
Suddenly, it felt like Devorah’s world was about to collapse. The anachronistic setting, the doll woman. That's why Barracuda was familiar. It was a media corporation, a parent company. There was only one explanation for what was happening, and she couldn’t do it a second time. Not again.
Not without Anna.
Devorah waited for the pain of a too quickly beating heart, or a disorienting dizziness, but nothing came. This lack of physicality made her thoughts run even faster- would she be forced to kill these versions of her friends? Find revenge? Kill people that still lived, to take their place?
“God?” Albert asked.
Bell tucked Albert behind her as the doll-thing laughed. It was high pitched and reverberated through the room, like a sweet little bell in a schoolyard. It lasted exactly five seconds, then cut off with no frills or lace attached. Just sudden silence.
“How sweet you are, Albert! Did you not ask this exact question last time?” The doll giggled again. And again, it lasted for a perfect five seconds.
“And once again, he is forced to be disappointed,” Devorah said. “Though I must say, you’re much less magnificent than the last one.”
The doll did not move, but its eyes began to track Devorah. “How cruel! Don’t you think I’m cute?”
Devorah did not bother to answer. The doll continued. “I am very cute. And I am much more helpful than the last one. I have hands, not hooves, see!” It held up porcelain hands ensconced in white lace.
“How do you plan to help?” A new voice from another corner of the room- Henry. Devorah allowed herself to close her eyes for a brief moment and look away. “Will you place the knives in our hands?”
“Can ghosts even hold knives?” Devorah heard Albert mutter.
If Devorah had any control over the situation, ghosts would hold knives. Ghosts would hold knives and be able to stab other ghosts. Perhaps right in between the folds where Henry’s waistcoat buttoned up. Pushed up from the floorboards and into his fashionable dandy shoes. Even through bright brown eyes or carefully styled blond hair wrecked by his death.
Devorah wasn’t picky when it came to the idea of never having to see her murderer again.
Had it been a knife that night? Devorah couldn’t recall. She remembered pain, and running, but everything was so jumbled up in her head. Still, she forced herself to remember one thing- the doll knew about their previous situation.
More importantly, how much did it know? And how did it become acquainted with that knowledge? Devorah had her suspicions, but knew that it wasn’t the time to come to conclusions, nor to indulge in fantasies of violence that could never be. Now was the time for gathering information.
Devorah took a few steps back, edging close to a wooden side table with a telephone made of cool metal and brass art deco lines. She reached out for the handle of the phone. As expected, her hand phased through.
Centering herself, she dialed back into the conversation just as Eugenia joined in.
“I have no intention to kill, nor do I have any intention to be killed. Peacefully, I will refrain from competition.” Eugenia neatly tucked in her skirt and took a seat on one of the ornately patterned velvet chairs.
“You think you have a choice? Oh, that’s cute!” The doll squeaked.
Eugenia inclined her head. “I cannot control what others do, but I can control my own actions.”
Behind Devorah's eyes was a flash of memory, of the body of Eugenia hanging from the rafters.
There was a choking sound. As Bell turned to look at her with concern, Devorah realized it came from her own throat.
“Genie’s right!” With that nickname, there was only one person that voice could belong to- Sophitty. Her girlfriend Amina hadn’t lasted long after Sophitty’s death, but even still it had felt wrong to see Amina listlessly wandering without her, a half unable to become whole.
Dev was rather fond of Amina, in her own way. She was one of the few players from Dev’s own time that Dev would have found herself befriending outside any circumstance that forced trauma bonding. Amina was a documentarian. Viciously, she documented the world around them as if the order to do so came from a higher power.
While Devorah tried to analyze the world through what the dead left behind, Amina sought to find answers in real time. Devorah had a feeling that Amina was here for the exact same reason Devorah was. Which was…
The headache again. Devorah was suddenly glad she no longer had a stomach. If she had, the pain would have been brutal enough to make her vomit. Even beyond that, her frustration with it was coming close enough to do the same.
Either way, Sophitty was crossing the room to join Eugenia, dragging Amina behind her by the hand.
Bell tucked Albert a little further behind her at their approach.
Sophitty stood behind the chair and crossed her arms. Even with Eugenia sitting, Sophitty still barely crested over the top of Eugenia’s head. Still, Devorah wished she was just a bit shorter, enough to hide what Devorah was quickly realizing would now be the sharp angle at which Sophitty’s head rested.
Even in this approximation of death, no one cared to clean up the mess that was once Sophitty’s neck. It was upsetting to look at as she came close- masses of uneven flesh and frozen rivulets of blood barely held together by a few small sutures. The back of her ginger hair was matted together with blood, and her fashionable dress had its neon streaks similarly muted under dried blood.
Softly, Amina supported Sophitty’s head up with her own free hand. Where Sophitty was small, Amina was tall. Where Sophitty was soft and feminine, Amina was hard and butch. Dev thought they were very sweet together.
“This time, I’ll protect you, Soph,” Amina said.
The doll’s head tilted. “Will you? As well as you did last time?”
The mood, already tense, worsened considerably. Devorah could feel the air being sucked out of the room.
Amina grit her teeth. They were still wet with phantom blood set at the time of her death.
“Not to worry.” The doll waved a dainty, lily-white hand. “It is not as if you will be seeing much of your paramour. I will be separating you two, of course.”
This caught Devorah’s interest. From the moment the game had started until Sophitty’s death, Sophitty and Amina rarely left each other’s side. In a normal game, movement was typically unrestricted. You could go where you liked, with whoever you liked.
Was this to be a game centered on isolation? No. That would be boring. Teams, maybe? Unless…
“No!” Someone screamed, breaking Devorah from her nervous reverie. It was Sophitty, and she was doing her best to hold back Amina, who had grabbed a table lamp and was attempting to charge the doll with it.
Amina's face had warped. No longer the soft thing from when she looked at Sophitty, hers was the face of a wild beast that knew it was cornered. Amina was fast and strong, used to carrying heavy equipment and traversing dangerous environments. She broke from Sophitty's grip and charged, the base of the lamp creaking under her grip.
Yet once Amina was within three feet of the doll, she froze as if turned to stone. As if someone had pressed pause. Gasps and muttered confusion sounded, but Devorah turned her attention to the doll. The doll’s eyes, which had previously been black, looked different. There was a ring around her pupils in the shape of a gear. Every few seconds, the gears turned like clockwork.
Then they reversed. With them, Amina moved backwards. It was as if someone was rewinding an old film. From leaning forwards to straightening her back to sliding backwards like a dance, Amina was being sent back in time until she eventually put the lamp back on the table and froze again.
Sophitty watched in undisguised horror, hand pressed to her mouth.
Devorah’s head pounded.
“Do not worry,” the doll said. Her voice was high and soft. It called for attention in a manner that should have been impossible. “Amina can still hear me, as well as the others who have temporarily been paused.”
Others? Sure enough, when Dev looked around the room there was a whole host of frozen people. Eugenia in the process of standing, Henry looking for his own makeshift weapon. Even sweet, protective Bell looked ready to pounce.
Devorah forced herself to breathe in, out. The headache was growing stronger, but the movement grounded her.
“This meeting will be brief. I am very busy, you know,” the doll said. She paused, almost as if assuming there would be some response. Devorah herself did nothing, trying to focus on listening while her head pounded.
“As you likely already know, you are dead.”
The start of a very familiar speech once given by a very different figure echoed in Devorah’s head. As some of you may know, you should be dead.
“This is not a second chance.”
This is your second chance.
“The theme is haunted house. Late nineteenth century, early twentieth century Earth. Just like your first game!”
The place? London. The year? 1900.
“Your role will be as ghosts- you’ll likely be released after the third murder or so to keep things interesting. Depending on audience and sponsor reaction, your roles will be supplemented or reduced from there.”
You have been cast as detectives, each with a foil. There are killers among you. Your role will be to investigate and discover them after the deed is committed.
After the deed is committed? Anna asked.
“But for now, you’ll all be set on sleep mode until we’re ready for you! There will be more instructions when you’re turned on again. Sweet dreams!”
We can’t give away the game just yet. Be patient, darling. The show is just getting started.