1

January 19th, 2073

Damon stood peering out the window from the twenty-second floor. It was a cloudless morning and, despite the wintry weather outside, he could feel the sun’s warm rays coming through the double-paned glass. It felt nice… normal. He suspected he wouldn’t experience “normal” again for a long time.

He returned his gaze to the people at the table. Two company reps, Harris’ two entitled sons, and the chairperson of the Democratic National Committee. They’d gathered ahead of the nine a.m. briefing.

The briefing before the briefing, Damon mused.

“What makes you so certain Harris is in this game world?” he asked.

The Cloud Nine operations director, a thin and balding man, groaned impatiently. “Because there is a digital trail,” he spoke in a British accent, “that leads to Noel McLoughlin, one of our engineers. Noel received a considerable bank deposit and has since disappeared. We think he’s the one who started up the infrastructure and sent Harris in.”

Damon rubbed the stubble on his chin. “And you don’t know where he’s located in this world?”

Oliver Baker, the other company rep, grew restless now. “No, as Mr. Walker pointed out, that was part of the breakdown. We can’t control what happens outside the landing zone and as such, he can’t be detected.”

“Then why don’t we just wait until he turns up at the landing zone?”

A frustrated growl rose from the far side of the table. It was Ethan, one of Harris’ sons. “Because he could die in there, you idiot!”

Damon just smiled. He didn’t want the sons on this mission, but that was out of his hands.

“Will Harris is a very important figure globally,” Carolyn Lindholm, the DNC chair, interjected. “He’s also in grave danger. Not only from the creatures in the world but from the glitches and mutations.”

Damon smirked. He knew her answer was an attempt at misdirection. Even the most basic research would show that Harris was a massive DNC donor. In the center of the boardroom table, a metal device buzzed and the image of a man’s face appeared above it. “Mr. Walker, the rest of the team has arrived. They’re waiting in room one.”

“We’ll be right in,” the operations director replied. He looked at the group assembled. “Let’s put a good face on this, people.”

2

When Harper arrived at the Cloud Nine tower, she was still unsure about her decision. She’d spent most of the night tossing and turning. Harper needed the money, but she didn’t want to die, and she didn’t want to come back mutated.

Turn around. Turn around and go back home now, she urged herself. That was a laugh. Yeah, back home to what? Home was a one-way ticket to nowhere. She had zero prospects and too much debt. What Cloud Nine was offering would solve all of her problems. She craned her neck to gaze at the top of the tower. Harper could barely make it out. Still undecided, she entered the building.

“Stop! Who are you?” a harsh voice roared at her.

Harper looked around and saw two armed security guards glaring at her from behind protective glass. Holy Fort Knox, she thought. “I’m very well, thanks, and how are you?” she smirked. “I’m Harper Benson.”

“Walk forward and insert those two IIDs.”

Harper sighed. She stepped ahead into a glass gauntlet in the center of the lobby. Steel bars blocked her from entering the foyer. On her right, two wires were cradled in a black container. She pulled the wires and plugged the pins into her forehead IID inputs. “Harper Benson. Bio-signature 753224928051,” a computerized voice emitted. She yanked the pins from her head. “Happy now?”

The steel bars receded with a heavy clang, and the same security guard scooted over to greet her. “Hi there, Harper. I’m Chad,” he said musically. “I am so very pleased to meet you. I’m a big fan of your work.”

The guard’s wild transformation stunned Harper. One moment he was eating nails, the next he was fawning over her. “Um, thanks, Chad. I thought you were going to kill me back there.”

Chad laughed excitedly. “Oh, that’s just our fierce facade.” He gestured to the other guard, who was sporting an enormous smile and waving his hand energetically from behind his glass cubicle.

Harper waved back.

“We’re both big fans,” Chad giggled.

Okay, this is getting surreal now, she thought. “Chad, I’m here for a nine o’clock meeting.”

“Oh, yes, yes. Right this way, Hasta!”

Harper groaned.

Chad escorted her to a bank of elevators and swiped his key card across a screen embedded in the wall. As she stepped into the elevator, Harper glanced back outside at the brightening day. At that moment, she decided. For better or for worse, Chad had actually helped her. His silly display of admiration had lifted her mood. Her fears about the dangers involved in transferring into an unstable game world had subsided. It’s time to move forward, she thought. It’s time to improve my life. Harper felt strong, in control, and she would accept their offer.

3

Damon entered the second boardroom for the nine a.m. briefing and was astonished by the difference. Unlike the first boardroom, this room was larger and fitted with the latest advanced technologies. He recognized the Smart Glass windows that encompassed two sides of the room. They had a blue tint that adjusted in opacity to correspond with the sun’s position, keeping the room temperature well-regulated. A translucent glass table sat in the center of the room. Corporate symbols glided across its dark blue surface.

Damon spotted Angie at the end of the table. She was sitting beside Zack, who was wearing his full military fatigues. Damon smiled and shook his head. “Hey, Zack. You can’t bring clothes with you on this trip.”

Zack grinned and shrugged. “Hey bro, just representing the team.”

Angie suppressed a laugh. She had a book opened in front of her. Angie was the only person Damon knew who still used tactile books.

“Watchya reading?” he asked.

“Yeats.”

“Trying to memorize that stuff before we get shipped off?”

She laughed. “You know it, Damo.”

The rest of the Cloud Nine group shuffled into the room. “You’re at the head of the table with me,” Walker whispered to Damon. The operations director tapped the table to turn off the video display, then stared at the twelve people gathered before him. “Clockwise, starting with me,” he announced loudly. “I am Paul Walker and the reason you are here. The man to my left is Damon Williams, a special operations commander. He will be the team leader for this mission. “To his left, Janna Bauman and Brett Miller. They are nurses from the New York General—”

“Nurses? Why the hell do we need nurses?” someone asked derisively.

Damon saw that it was Zack and his muscles clenched. Walker glanced at Damon impatiently. “Zack,” Damon growled, “shut up and listen. You’ll understand soon enough.”

Zack settled back in his chair. “Awright, awright.”

Walker thanked Damon and continued with the crew list: Emma Taylor, a programmer from New York. Harper Benson, a gaming champion. Also from New York. Miguel Lopez, another gaming champ, from San Jose.

Angie, Zack, Ethan, Jordan, Oliver Baker, and Carolyn Lindholm, the DNC chair, filled out the right side of the table.

Walker tapped the table once more, and old video footage of Epiphany16 displayed across its surface. “You will be entering Epiphany16,” he said, “a first-generation quantum MMORPG. Designed as a theme park for families and game enthusiasts, Epiphany was shut down eight years ago after it developed…” He searched for the right word. “After it started developing complications. These complications will affect your mission.” Walker got up and walked to the window. Damon followed and stood rigidly beside him. The operations director touched the Smart Glass, which darkened, leaving the room with minimal lighting. Text appeared on the glass surface:

1 - No respawns: The dangers are real. You can die on Epiphany16.

2 - Intensified emotional response: Due to Epiphany’s systemic breakdown, your emotional reactions will be heightened. Each recruit has undergone a full psychological evaluation.

3 - Pain filtering: Due to the same breakdown, pain is at 100%.

4 - Temporal mutation: Incursions must be limited to 20 days, followed by 2 days back at the campus for observation.

5 - IID Retrofit: Damon, Zack, and Angie are scheduled for 11 a.m. insertion.

6 - Race, class, and stat selections: Performed during the setup phase. You will receive digital and print handouts detailing your choices.

7 - Epiphany16 Realms: You may find Harris in any of these realms, but you must complete them in order: Earth, Water, Fire, Ice, Sky, Horror, Divine, Time.

“Hey, that’s not right,” Harper protested. “The limit is ten days, not twenty.”

Walker glanced at her, visibly annoyed. “Ms. Harper. Not everything you hear on your message board is true. I assure you will be fine if you stay within the twenty-day allowance.”

Miguel raised his hand. “I’ve heard it’s ten days, too, and I’ve seen the videos of the mutated people. Why should we trust you?”

Walker regarded Miguel with a vulpine smile. “You don’t have to,” he responded coldly. “If you’re unsure of the facts, you may leave now. Your replacements are waiting in the wings and they will receive your money.”

Miguel slumped in his chair.

“Are there any other questions?” the operations director asked. No one responded. Walker smiled. “And finally, to answer Zachary’s earlier query, we have Janna and Brett because as nurses. They will be assigned to the healer class.”

Damon stepped forward. “So because of the temporal mutation, we now have fourteen days to find Harris before he begins to mutate.”

4

As the recruits left the boardroom for their designated quarters, Harper rushed to Damon and Walker, who were standing by the door. “Can we overpower our base stats?” she asked.

Damon turned to the operations director. “Overpower?”

Walker shifted uncomfortably and loosened his silk tie. “Because of the glitches, we can’t go above base level,” he replied. “Your stats start at level 1 and your hit points will vary from 31 to 87, depending on your race selection.”

“Although, to accommodate non-gamers,” Walker continued, “leveling up on Epiphany is relatively quick and easy. You will gain a level for every 25 experience points.” He glanced at Damon, who was struggling to follow the conversation. “Once you reach level 50, the process changes, requiring more experience to gain levels. Starting at level 51, you will need ten percent more XP for each level.”

Harper groaned.

“However, different metrics govern the creatures you will encounter,” Walker said. “Their health and mana totals are one tenth of their constitution and intelligence stats.” The operations director turned to Damon. “You and Ms. Benson should have a discussion.” Walker quickly exited the room.

Damon glanced at Harper and was struck by her fierce blue eyes.

“Let’s sit for a minute,” she said, and motioned toward the boardroom table. They returned to the table. “As with many role-playing games,” Harper said, “we have to gain experience points to improve our stats. Right now, our numbers are going to be awfully low, putting us at a big disadvantage.” Harper paused. “Our race and class choices affect the character metrics. The most important metric will be hit points, or HP, meaning our life energy.”

“So can we just pick the character with the most hit points?” Damon asked.

She shook her head. “No, it’s not that simple. Other metrics will affect our success as well. Staying alive will depend on the individual strengths of the group.” She hesitated. “Can I make a proposal?”

“Yes, please do.”

“Miguel and I can decide the class and race selections for the team. If the members agree with our choices, Cloud Nine can start assigning those metrics.”

Damon smiled. For such a young person, you sure know how to take charge, he thought. “How long do you need?”

“Well, assuming I can find Miguel in his quarters, we’ll have the selections ready after your surgery.”

5

Ethan sat at the table with Jordan surveying the empty cafeteria. It was a dingy place. I guess Cloud Nine only spends the big bucks on rooms that are intended to impress, Ethan thought. At the cafeteria’s far corner, he noticed a pair of mice skittering across a table, searching for a morsel of food. He glanced at the mound of congealed mush on Jordan’s plate. “How’s your beef bourguignon?”

Jordan looked up with a sardonic smile. “I miss France.”

Ethan laughed. Things were better between them now. They’d had the chance to talk through some of their issues.

It hadn’t always been that way. From early on, Jordan had considered Ethan his rival. Jordan had been the only child. The center of attention, basking in his parents’ love. Then along came Ethan, stealing attention away. Ethan had flourished, becoming intelligent and gifted as an athlete. Meanwhile, Jordan’s development plateaued.

The low point had come in their early teens when their father, Will, insisted they sign up for organized hockey, expecting it would help the brothers bond. To spite his father, Jordan signed with a different team. A couple of months later, during an exhibition game, Jordan cross-checked his brother into the boards. Ethan got up and punched Jordan in the face. They fought. It was brief but fierce. Jordan knocked out one of Ethan’s teeth, and that seemed to be the start of a growing divide between Jordan and Will.

A few years later, Will endorsed the brothers for admission into the USNA. But the Naval Academy rejected Jordan’s application while accepting Ethan’s. Will was furious, but the academy wouldn’t budge. Soon afterward, Jordan met with a recruiter and signed up for the army instead. After basic training ended, they stationed him in Nigeria, where he excelled and fell in love with a local woman named Abebe. He had added structure to his life and escaped the relentless gaze of his father. Within a few years, Jordan rose to specialist rank.

Then, on an October night, he was assigned to a team ordered to take out a Boko Haram stronghold in Sokoto. But the terrorist group had been waiting for them. They shot down two helicopters and killed thirteen team members. The army concluded that Abebe was an informant and blamed Jordan for the ambush. Ethan pulled enough strings to keep Jordan out of prison, but his military career was over.

Meanwhile, Abebe terminated contact with Jordan.

Later, Jordan would learn from a Nigerian friend that the Boko Haram killed Abebe. At that time, Jordan was back in the States and in therapy for severe depression and post-traumatic stress disorder. After a few months, he flew to Europe, vowing never to speak to the family again.

Ethan saw that the mice had found their food. They jumped off the table and dashed across the dirty floor. He reached across the table and grabbed his brother’s arm. “Jordan, I’m sorry for everything you’ve been through. Command should’ve stood behind you. Fuck it, Dad should have stood behind you. That wasn’t right. If Mom was still around, she would’ve set him straight.” Ethan scoffed. “You know,” he continued, “Dad’s been weird since we lost her, and now this. Just sheer stupidity.”

Jordan’s eyes were watering. “Thanks, Ethan,” he choked.

They ate in silence for several minutes under the heavy cloud of their shared history. Ethan knew his brother had suffered, and he could feel the weight of it now. A janitor strolled by, cleaning the cafeteria floor with a gray mop.

“Do you think we’ll find Dad?” Jordan asked.

“We’ll find him.”

“Do you think we’ll find him before the end of his twenty days?”

Ethan regarded his brother. “We have to, Jordan.”

Jordan nodded and started fiddling with his food. “Have you seen the videos that gamer kid was talking about?” he asked quietly.

Ethan turned and gazed out the cafeteria’s dusty window. “Yes, I have. And they make me sick.”

6

In the faint light of his room, Miguel lay on the bed staring at his old tablet. The lava lamp he’d brought with him sat on a computer desk. The red blobs circled within its glass casing. Cloud Nine wouldn’t allow their ear devices, so he couldn’t view the stat sheets through his visual display.

Miguel studied the files on the tablet, trying to decide between going in as a mage or a hunter. He suspected the military members would lock up the warrior classes. That made sense.

The military members are a problem, he thought. They were not game players. In fact, most of the team wasn’t. They’d need to be brought up to speed and, even then, they were going to be liabilities. If it was his choice, which it wasn’t, he’d fill the team with veteran gamers. A tap on his door interrupted his thoughts. Miguel stood and opened it.

“We need to talk,” Harper said. She stood in his doorway, her eyes reflecting red from the lamp’s glow.

Miguel couldn’t help himself. “Hasta la vista, Baby!”

She snickered. “Nice to meet you, MasterMiguel#39.”

Miguel laughed, pleasantly surprised that she knew his avatar name. He noticed her tablet and nodded toward it. “Great minds think alike.”

She peered over his shoulder and saw his tablet lying on the bed. “Fools seldom differ,” she said, grinning.

Miguel chuckled. “After you, Hasta,” he replied, gesturing ceremoniously to his room. The living quarters for each recruit were the same. One bed, a small fridge, a bathroom on the right, a sink counter at the end, and a venerable bit-based computer balancing on a desk by the sink.

Harper saw the lava lamp. “Nice touch.” She entered the room, sat on the bed, and picked up his tablet. “Going through the specs?”

“Uh-huh, have you heard what the other members are choosing?”

“That, my friend, will be up to us.” She patted the space beside her.

Miguel remained at the door for a moment, stunned by Harper’s beauty. He walked to the bed and sat next to her. He could smell a sweet perfume rising from her. This close, he could see each strand of her shoulder-length brown hair. The lava lamp’s red light gave her skin a warm glow. His knees wanted to jackhammer, but he was determined to keep them still.

“Based on our game-playing experience,” she said, “Damon wants us to make the selections. Let’s use your tablet.” Reaching for his tablet, her arm brushed against his. Miguel felt the soft hairs on her forearm flutter over his skin. “We have three races and four classes to choose from,” she said, scrolling through his tablet, “with ten people to assign. I think three of the military members should be warriors. They’re best suited to it. What do you think?”

Miguel caught himself gazing at her. He cleared his throat and agreed.

“Let’s assign Damon, Zack, and Ethan to the Valhallan race and the warrior class,” she suggested. “I’ve talked to Angie, and she’s agreed to be a hunter. I’m hoping to convince Jordan to do the same. They’re both on the smaller side and are less suitable for tanking. Angie told me she does yoga and…” Harper noticed Miguel staring at her, glassy-eyed. “Are you alright?” She placed her palm on his thigh, and electricity surged through Miguel’s body.

Oh, your fingers are so warm, he thought. He tried to smile casually. “Yeah, I’m just following along. You’ve put a lot of thought into this.”

She smiled at him, removed her hand, and continued.

“Emma Taylor, the programmer, has gaming experience, so let’s make her a hunter.” She placed his tablet on the bed and glanced at him. “That leaves the mage class to you and me. What do you think?”

Miguel took a breath. “I think that’s great. The hunters should be the Grimalkin race.”

Harper shook her head. “Angie doesn’t want to be a cat.”

Miguel chuckled. “She won’t be a cat, she’ll be, um, a cat-like humanoid,” he replied indignantly.

She shook her head again. “Uh-uh, she can’t get over the cat thing.”

He sighed. “Wow, these are not gamers. We’re going to have our hands full.”

She nodded and looked around the room. “So, where did you find the lava lamp?”

“I found it at a second-hand store. It was broken, but I patched it back together.” He peeked at her sheepishly. “Fixing things is sort of a hobby of mine.”

She nodded reassuringly.

“What about you?” he asked. “What are you into?”

She laughed. “Well, it’s not fixing things. I suppose my hobby is paying off my student debt.” She glanced at Miguel and bit her lip sheepishly. “That and, uh, disco music…”

Miguel exploded with laughter. “Disco? You’re into disco? Oh my god…” He fell over on the bed, trailing off.

Harper nodded and grumbled, “Yeah, yeah, yeah, have your fun, have your fun.” When he stopped laughing, she poked him with her finger. “Alright, Mr. Music Critic, what are you into?”

Miguel grinned mischievously. “Boy bands,” he whispered.

Harper erupted. “Oh, you fucker!” she howled, slapping his shoulder. “Why, you little—you mean like the Newer Kids on the Block and The Millennial Boys?”

He nodded, still grinning.

“You fucker!”

“I think you already said that,” Miguel quipped. “Yeah, I love all that sappy shit,” he said excitedly. “I even listen to the older music like The Pear Tree Family.”

“The what family?” she asked, laughing.

He looked at her with mock disdain. “Never mind, you’re obviously much too young for my cultured tastes.”

Harper belly-laughed and leaned against him. She looked up at him sweetly, and he wondered if she was feeling something too.

Please, please, please…

“Too young, eh? I’m older than you, wise guy,” she said.

Miguel gazed down at her but didn’t answer. She was right, of course. Harper was five years his senior. As she leaned against him, he wondered why he found her so alluring. There’s something about you, an energy, an aura, he thought.

She sat up straight. “Okay, wise guy, back to the task at hand. Point allocation. What are your views on min-max?”

They continued for another thirty minutes, discussing the twenty extra stat points each member received. Miguel was an active participant in the conversation, but his mind was elsewhere. Later, she would rest her hand on his leg again and send him back into an infatuated swoon. As they wrapped up, Harper grabbed her tablet and strolled to the door. They chatted, exchanging pleasantries, but for Miguel, the discussion seemed distant, almost muted, like they were underwater. She smiled at him and he watched as her cheek dimpled. He faintly heard them say goodbye, but he was lost in the visceral moment, his mind inundated with one singular thought. I want you.

7

Walker heard the knock on his open door and knew it was her. He looked up. Carolyn Lindholm, the DNC chair, stood in his doorway.

“How did the grunt surgery go, Paul?” she asked.

Walker smirked and asked her to close the door. She obliged and sat at Walker’s desk. “Flying colors, my dear lady,” Walker answered. “They were in and out within forty minutes, which leaves us on track for the two p.m. transfer.”

Carolyn exhaled. “That’s good, Paul. Have they discussed strategy with you?”

“No. And I am not interested. I’ve told them what they’re required to know—that they will need to hunt for food and must take the realms consecutively.” Walker flashed a predatory smile. “After that… well, as the saying goes, that is why they get paid the big bucks.”

Carolyn glared at the operations director. She knew Walker disliked her, and he didn’t hide it. She felt the same about him but kept her feelings to herself. She had bigger issues at hand. “Paul, we need to get Will out of there.”

He nodded. “I know, Carolyn.” Walker didn’t care about the DNC donor. He was a Republican, after all. What he did care about was the money that started pouring in once the party learned of Harris’ whereabouts.

Carolyn stood and walked to the door, then hesitated, glancing back at Walker. “Are you sure you don’t want to send in the second team?”

Walker shook his head. “No, Carolyn. As I have already explained,” he replied derisively, “the second team will only get in the way, and besides…” He flashed his vulpine smile. His pale eyes shimmered coldly. “We need the second team to fill in for casualties.”