This was it. This was the moment.

Despite the strong smell of iodine, and the tight binds holding his arms and legs in place, Arron took a deep breath, steeling himself.

He looked over at Bella’s bed. The hospital staff hadn’t even asked about separating them, and his chest tightened at the sight of her.

Memories flashed.

Her mischievous smile the night they met. She’d informed him, with no sense of negotiation, that she wanted to dance, and to do it properly, she needed a partner. She chose him and expected him not to step on her feet.

By the grace of some higher power, he hadn’t.

“Alright, Arron,” Franklin muttered, notebook in hand, pulling Arron back to reality. “Let’s go through this one more time. You have already signed the paperwork, the release of liability, and the NDA, but I want to be sure we’re clear.”

Arron rolled his eyes. This guy had droned on for like four hours about the various liability releases he’d signed. Liability was for lawyers as far as he was concerned. He was in this for Bella.

“You will be in virtual suspension for three months real time, and be unable to log out during that period.”

That was all the time they could give him.

It sounded crazy. The docs were going to inject him with a metric ton of nanobots, programmed to intercept his brain waves and relay them to the Interius servers. The nanobots would work their way out of his system within three months.

He wasn’t worried about not logging out, how bad could it be? A few months was nothing considering how big Interius was, and they didn’t know where Bella would enter the world. And he’d have to find her before he could help her.

Nobody was exactly sure how he could help once he found her. Their connection was the leading theory. A hope that he could remind her of real life and assist her subconscious with reconnecting to reality, and eventually waking.

It was too complex for Arron, but he didn’t need to know the science. He just needed to find her. After that, there was no doubt in his mind he would help her. Period.

“However, while three months will pass here, the in-game time will feel considerably longer,” Franklin continued. “The game is played at the speed of thought, at a steady ratio of 1:12. For every day in real world time, you will feel as if you have been playing for twelve days. Does that make sense?”

Arron nodded. He’d read about that somewhere. It was the main reason people chose to live in the game. Why not live twelve times longer?

“Good. Keep in mind, this dilation is in effect for Bella too. There is that much longer for her to lose herself, that much longer for her to become convinced that Interius is the real world. By transferring her consciousness to Interius, we’ve given it a solid platform to interact with, instead of the ethereal void of her mind. Like standing on the ground versus floating in space. However, over time she will gradually attach to that platform, believing it’s real. She may, eventually, become unable to detach from Interius entirely. This is part of why we selected three months. If thirty-six months of perceived time has gone by for Bella, and she hasn’t come out of it, it’s unlikely we will be able to wake her without breaking her psyche. I need you to state again that you understand this potential consequence.”

“Jesus, Franklin, I get it!” Arron said.

After a moment, Franklin nodded and returned to his notes. “You will go through the standard character creation, and will interact with other players. However, as per the NDA, you cannot inform them of Bella’s condition, or Interius’s attempted movement into the medical equipment field. Understood?” Franklin pegged Arron with an uncomfortable, unblinking stare, making sure his point was driven home.

Arron waved away the dramatics. “Look, Franky, I said I’m in. I signed the papers. Let’s just do this before I lose my nerve.”

Franklin refused to budge for another long moment. When he was finally satisfied, he snapped his notebook closed and gave a quick nod to the doctor. “Very well, Arron.”

Dr. Montagaugh came over with a large syringe filled with a dark grey liquid. The nano bots, Arron assumed.

“This might hurt a little,” warned the doc.

Arron smiled dismissively. Needles didn’t bother him. That was until the doc held up the tent spike of a needle. His smile immediately turned upside down. Man, that thing was huge!

The doc shoved the not-so-much-a-needle into his neck. He gritted his teeth against the pain and his breathing quickened as it intensified. Every atom in his body hated the way the dark liquid coated his veins.

A thousand little pinpricks under and across his skin, in his ears, behind his eyes, it washed over his body. The pinpricks turned to rapid stabs and he clenched his fists, arms and legs straining against his restraints.

His vision began to swim, and black and white spots flared as the stabbing pinpricks turned to knives, and he lost consciousness.

“Good Luck, Mr. Sortin,” whispered Franklin. “I truly hope you are successful.”