“167th?” Coach chuckled. He chugged down a can of beer. They were back at his place, resting on makeshift, bamboo beach chairs just outside his hut. “Just enough to pay off the entry fee.”

“Ugh…” Val leaned back. Her legs rested up on the edge of the table. “Now what?” The beach view wasn’t all that bad during stressful times like these. “What was the point of blackjack? If I didn’t win Roscoerama, we’d be in the negatives.”

“Well, I thought you’d surely win. Especially with that eye.” He pulled out another can. “Guess you’re more brawn than brain.”

“What? You’re the one who taught me! I’m—I’m smart.”

“Sure ya are.”

“I am!” she insisted. “You see me fighting all the time! You know I don’t just punch without thinking.”

Coach didn’t say a word.

“Say something!”

“I’m just glad I ain’t teaching you to get into college, lass.”

This old man! She viciously guzzled down some fruit punch. The sweetness helped calm her down.

“Here.” Coach threw over an envelope.

“What is this? The 2000s?” She held up the paper with the tips of her fingers as if it were some kind of contaminant. “What’s with the old-fashioned envelope?”

“And this.” He flicked over a gold coin.

“Huh?” She barely caught it between her fingers. “And what’s this supposed to be?”

“A million simuls.”

“What?! From where?”

“Open it.” He directed her attention back to the envelope.

She ripped it open and pulled out a letter. Then she started reading… “We cordially invite you to join us at the developers’ headquarters. Enclosed is a million simuls for Roscoe—Wait. This is for the meetup with the CEO, isn’t it? Can’t I just ignore this? I mean, we already got the money.”

“You did win, lass. Might as well go. Could be a new experience.” He pulled out a stick of beef jerky and started chewing. “Maybe you can cheat him out of some bucks.”

“You know I’m done with that life.”

“Well, I’m not saying to return to that, Val. But sometimes, opportunities present themselves. Better do good not to miss ‘em.”

Opportunities? Was this really an opportunity? It felt more like a hassle. Maybe even a waste of time. She turned to Coach. “Are you coming with?”

“No. I’ll have to stay here and find more tourneys for you to win.”

“Didn’t we just win a mil?”

“It’s only worth ten thousand when you convert it.”

“Oh.” That amount couldn’t even get half decent eyes on the market. Maybe just barely enough to get basic replacements. With this kind of money, she could probably buy Coach some new furniture though. A thought crossed her mind—

Do I really deserve this?

Coach was doing so much for her. It didn’t seem fair. She had lost the match and her eye, but why was he the one to pay for all her mistakes? Maybe she should just stop. Just end it all…

“Coach?” she called out.

“Hmm?”

“Should I… keep boxing?”

“Huh?” Beer spat out of his mouth. “What are ya on about now?!”

“I just… don’t see the point anymore.” She’d already lost once before. Plus, how long would it actually take to get the opportunity to fight again? She didn’t even have enough to replace her broken eye. Maybe she didn’t deserve to take Beady back after all…

“Shut it! I ain’t hearin’ nothing!”

“But—”

“I said shut it!” He cracked another can of beer and chugged it down. “Don’t go soft on me now, lass. I’m seein’ this through ‘til the end. No matter what. I promised, didn’t I?”

“Right… No, you’re right.”

He grunted in response. “Of course I am.”

She couldn’t help but smile. His endless positivity, his resolve. How could she ever betray someone like that? That was disrespectful to all that he’d done for her. Coach was her lifesaver; she had to pay him back.

As the sun fell past the ocean horizon, she muttered something under her breath…

“I’m so glad I met you…”

…

This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

“And this here…” The man started to explain yet another part of Simular’s history through some boring sculpture. But then he turned and looked her up and down. “You look unbecoming. Did you never think of changing attire before coming?”

“Excuse me?” Did this Azan dude really just insult her out of the blue?

“So you’re really her, after all…”

“Who the hell are you talking about?”

“I can tell why you lost. You exude an amateurish atmosphere.” He crossed his arms, staring intently as if trying to examine her. “There’s just no true maturity I feel from you.”

Who does this shitface think he is? Explaining about some stupid antiques in a video game like that and then insulting her, it was so fucking rude. None of this mattered to her anyways. It was just a waste of time, and during this whole tour, she was trying her best to tolerate it all…

The man chuckled. “You should look at your face,” he remarked. “I merely jest. Here, have a look at this—the first object ever made in Simular.” He extravagantly waved his hands over the display.

“You’re really just gonna brush it off?”

“I was joking.” He smiled wide, but it was unnerving. Like he didn’t actually mean it. “Please don’t take it like that.”

“Right.” Alarm bells were ringing in her head. She didn’t like him after all, but how was she supposed to get out of this situation?

“Here. Just enjoy the show.” He gestured towards the display again.

It was just a wooden bucket. And it kept glitching out and flickering like some sort of psychedelic defect.

“My buddy had a weird sense of humor at the time.” He picked up the bucket and handed it over. “Hold it. Let’s make this more interactive, shall we?”

She paused, rethinking her options. Nothing. She couldn’t think of a single way to weasel out of this situation. How was she supposed to end things quick anyways? The guy was the CEO of the entire simulation. With one wrong move, she’d just end up putting a target on her back. The only option she felt like she had was to just get this shit done and over with.

Hesitantly, she reached out and held the bucket in her hands. It was surprisingly lightweight. But something about the texture… It just felt so wrong. It didn’t feel like wood. It felt like she was holding something slimy? No, was it furry?

“Ew!” She dropped the bucket. “What the hell is that?” It fell onto the floor, resonating like she’d dropped a boulder. The bucket then bounced around like some deformed rubber ball. “What… the fuck?”

“Everyone drops it their first time.” The man chuckled. “It’s weird, yeah? The physical properties of that bucket are quite… peculiar.” He picked it up and placed it back on the display counter. “I heard it was hard recreating all those senses in the simulation.”

“Cool.” She rolled her eyes.

The man raised a brow and eyed her as if he were waiting for something.

“What?”

“Anything else you’d like to ask?”

He was that kind of guy. Someone desperate for attention. Okay, fine. Let’s entertain you for a bit. She raised her tone in the most enthusiastic way possible and asked, “You didn’t make it?”

“Heaven’s no!” His voice sounded so fake and sarcastic. “I just manage the business side of things… and well, technically everything else—you’ve heard of the Creator, yeah?”

She shook her head. The Creator? What kind of stupid name was that? It was so tacky.

“Well, aren’t you out of the loop, Ms. Briarwood?”

Briarwood? “How do you know that?” Nobody knew about her family name except Coach. How did this man…

“You didn’t really think I’d have trouble with that, yeah? Your DNA’s already recorded in our database. It’s not that hard to figure out who’s who.” He placed his hand on her shoulder, and an uncanny smile spread across his face. “But no worries. We take privacy very seriously. But it’s more like we don’t really care what happens around here.”

“Uh, right…” She shook away his hand and took a step back. There was no way in hell she was going to finish this tour. “Can I, uh… go to the bathroom?”

“Why, of course. It’s that way.” He pointed to a narrow corridor towards the back of the room. An Employees Only sign hung from the top. “Just follow that. I’m sure you’ll find… something.”

She bolted the moment he finished—out the room and immediately into the hallway. But his last few words worried her. It was the way he’d said it. Something about his tone just gave her the creeps.

But it didn’t matter. None of it mattered. She needed to get out quick—get to Coach and relax on that deserted island of his. Calm her nerves and wash it all away before leaving this stupid simulation. Maybe she could find some turtles to look at. She’d heard they were really cute.

Where the hell’s the exit though? Wait. Don’t tell me… Was there no actual exit? Did she need a specific teleporter to leave? That’s how she’d entered the place the first time. No, there had to be another way. The headquarters was floating above the city. In the worst case scenario, she could find a way out and jump. Just a window or something. It wasn’t like she’d die, right?

Hopefully it wouldn’t be that painful.

She kept walking. Seconds felt like hours, but she kept going. It should’ve been enough distance for her to have found something, but there were only turns and bends. No windows, no doors. What the fuck was this? A maze? If only her teleporter fob could send her back to Coach. That would’ve saved so much stress and time, but she was told it was location specific. The teleporter would only teleport her from the city to Coach. No other locations worked. But maybe if she pushed hard enough…

She pulled out the teleporter fob and readied herself for the cranial whiplash she’d felt every time, but then—

Quiet sobs. Whimpers and sniffling—she could faintly make it out. It sounded like a little kid.

The noise echoed through the corridors, permeating the walls. It was sounding just around the corner. Each step she took, the sound amplified by just a hair. It was all too real, too reminiscent. As she peeked over, she saw on the floor, a boy who looked just like…

“B-Beady?”

No, it wasn’t. It couldn’t have been. This was a simulation. Beady was dead, and the boy didn’t look the same at all. But if he were still alive, he’d have looked…

No, it doesn’t matter.

She rushed closer only to realize clear, visible walls separating her from the boy. He was enclosed in some kind of room completely isolated from the hallway.

“Hey!” she called out. “Hey, kid!” She waved at the glass-like surface of the walls, but there was no visible response from the boy.

The boy kept sobbing, holding onto himself for dear life. He was shivering like he was cold, huddled rigidly in a corner. Then he crawled towards a window and looked over the city below. And he started banging his fists.

“Whoa! Stop, hey!”

But the boy kept punching, again and again. He kept going until red started to dot the floor. Blood soon splattered all over the window, his hands tearing from the force alone.

“Stop it! Fuck!” She banged at the clear walls. “Beady!” she instinctively called out. Then the glass panel swung inwards, and the boy abruptly looked up. The first word out of his mouth—

“D-Dad?”