Ted Lax was a millionaire. His business funded research in multiple emerging fields of commerce and science. If anyone had the technology to develop the cards which had appeared in our hands, it was him. He even had the goodwill of the media - a rare commodity. If four young adults claimed to have been kidnapped by this man, would they be believed?

Ted was smiling at me, waiting for a response.

Again, I skipped the formalities. Discarded the game.

“Mr. Lax. What do you want from us?”

“I would like to hear a sales pitch for your new product. Please proceed.”

Deflecting the question. I cupped a hand around my mouth, hiding my frustration. My forehead became hot with trepidation as I spoke exactly what was on my mind, “No. I’m not playing your game until you tell me what’s going on.”

The words flowed without my control, and I immediately regretted them. The plan had been to play nice and ask for small concessions along the way. Now I had deviated from the plan. Played my entire hand.

Ted’s face was indecipherable, and he said, “This does not sound like a sales pitch,”

More fuckery.

Screw it. I was doubling down.

“I’ll give you your sales pitch if and only if you explain why. Why did you bring us here? Why us?”

Ted looked concerned, “This does not sound like a sales pitch.”

I had to reign myself in. Exploding on this guy would feel so good and accomplish so little. Even so, some of the indignity managed to slip into my voice, “Ignoring the question won’t make it go away! I'm sorry, but you can’t expect me to cooperate when I have no idea what is going on! Were you in control of the events yesterday? Did you hire a sniper to kill Addy? And also Brad? How much of this was you?"

“This does not sound-,”

“Hey!” I shouted, my mouth running ahead of my brain. Shit. Damnit, Alec. In the silence that followed, I looked down at his shoes, doing my best to look stern.

“You have my attention.”

I stared at him, and then switched to looking at the wall beside me.

This guy was unreal.

When I failed to say anything, Ted eventually supplied the conversation with more incredibly stupid words, “This sales pitch has been unremarkable. I will not back your notagun. Please come back with a better idea.”

Like talking to a wall.

It sucked because I really liked Ted Lax. Now I felt as if I could only like him as a concept, not as a person.

Whatever the case, the meeting was over, and it had gone terribly. That was partially on me. Partially.

I spun on my heels and stormed out of the office.

That plan failed. Time for a new tack.

♦

“Maybe he’s not in control?” Addy speculated over the intercom, “It’s possible the Addy Conspiracy got to him and is forcing his hand?”

I lay on the bed, facing the ceiling.

“There isn’t a conspiracy of Addy’s,” I reaffirmed, “But him not being in control? It’s possible. It makes sense. I don’t know. It’s also possible that Ted is just being a dick.”

“Yeah? How about a rich dick with golden pubes? And diamond encrusted nipples. And a shower that sprays him with spring water from a tropical island, one that only the Soviets are aware of. And when he drops the soap, he risks deleting half of Wikipedia because one of his companies found a way to encrypt data into soap bubbles."

“Is this supposed to be relevant?”

“Always. I dunno. Fuck it. I’m just happy to be making mad skrilla over here. Do you think we get to keep the money?”

I frowned, “Your balance is below ten thousand. You have less than all of us.”

“That’s because all of my money has been invested. Wait until I cash out; you’ll see.”

“Right, I get that. But at the moment, you're not making anything," I said.

"Neither are you."

"Yeah, because Ted... he..."

"You..."

"Okay, fine. Because I lost my temper. But you should have been there! He was acting ridiculous!"

"And you weren't? You're always ridiculous. Imagine how I must feel?"

I rolled my eyes and changed topics, "Any idea what Brad is doing?”

“No idea. He’s not in his office. What about Blaine? I can’t see him.”

I rolled onto my side to check the window, “Not in his office. Not in the bedroom.”

“Maybe he’s finally getting his driver’s license?”

“Very unlikely, given our predicament."

Addy cracked up, and his laughter played over the bedroom speaker. I let him have his fun while I turned ideas around in my head.

The more I thought about it, all was not lost. I could return to my previous plan, if I really wanted to. Ted wanted me to play his game and had repeated that desire despite my misconduct.

I just needed to keep a level head.

"Hey, I think I’m going to go talk to Ted again,” I said, coming to the decision.

“Oh! Call me back as soon as you’re done!”

“Yeah, we'll see.”

“Alright. Peace, man, peace!”

Childe ended the call. Apparently, it knew that ‘peace, man, peace’ was a form of farewell. That or Childe wasn’t actually an AI at all. Either notion was creepy.

I forced myself off of the bed and strode into the office. The computer was displaying text that read: ‘Sales pitch failed. Select a new task.’ I started tapping.

Sales, 5 fun, 5 practicality, accept, ‘alsonotagun’, accept.

I picked up the second grappling gun, which mysteriously appeared behind me, and made my way to the elevator, dual wielding. My fingers played with the texture of the devices as I waited for the elevator to descend.

I wanted answers, and they were potentially available to me, so long as I chose the right words and actions. I could have them in a matter of minutes if I made the right plays.

Floor 22, room 22-5. I knocked and then let myself in, catching the door before it could collide with the wall.

“Good morning, Mr. Silver,”

“Uh... good morning,’” I said, brandishing the tool in my right hand, “This is an ‘alsonotagun.' It is lightweight and provides new forms of mobility,” I aimed the gun at the ceiling, fired, and fired again so that I was hanging approximately half a meter off of the ground, “Great for hikers. Great for rock-climbers. Imagine what a construction team could accomplish with this? Imagine the increased effectiveness of our soldiers on the ground? This tool grants a myriad of uses. The world needs this.”

“The world already has this,” Mr. Lax spoke, “This is not a new idea.”

Oh? Well then why the fuck am I being forced to pitch it to you?

Remembering to keep an even temper, I tilted my head and considered the puzzle.

Why am I being forced to pitch this tool? What words can I say to gain favor with this man?

Instinct told me that the puzzle didn't matter. Not until I was given an explanation for our involvement in this thing. But that approach hadn't worked. The plan was to cooperate. I would prove that I was valuable to this... simulation by successfully completing a challenge - the sales pitch. This would provide me with more leverage for getting answers.

As for the grappling gun, which apparently already existed on the market...

What am I expected to say? Childe's rules were too broad.

"My product is better than other similar products." I guessed. It was a shot in the dark, but it was the best I could come up with on the fly.

Next, Ted would ask why my product was better. I began forming guesses.

Perhaps mine is more compact? Or it can pierce through more surfaces? Longer cord?

“This is correct. I am very impressed by your sales pitch. You may return to your office.”

My brain did a double take. I had to stop my mouth from saying something stupid, like, "Aren't you going to ask me why?" Instead, I breathed in confidence and said, "Thank you, but could you answer some of my questions now? I'm willing to keep playing along if you provide some clarity."

"Please return to your office," Ted prompted, his face stoic.

"Mr. Lax, I'm not asking for much," I reasoned, "How about this? You answer one small question for every task I complete. Is that fair? If you cannot answer a specific question, say pass."

"Please return to your office."

"Come on, Mr. Lax, you have to give me something here. You basically kidnapped my friends and me, and yet I'm willing to cooperate! Here, I'll start with a small question. Will we be allowed to keep any of the money we earn here? Yes, no, or pass?"

"Please return to your office."

A furor began in my head and I felt my control slipping. The tempo of my voice slowed, "Is that a 'pass,' then?"

In the same drawl as the previous three times, Ted said, "Please return to your office."

Damn.

“No,” I said, defiantly, “No, hold on. Mr. Lax, are you ok? Are you being held here against your will? Yes, no, or pass?”

Ted said nothing. He was just... staring at me with a pleased smile. After a drawn-out pause, he said, “You do not need to know that answer. Please return to your office.”

Finally, he had acknowledged a question. I congratulated myself for being patient. Well, mostly patient.

My minor victory receded the moment I realized what answer he had just given. I had asked whether he was being held against his will, and he had said the equivalent of 'pass.'

I wasn't sure what to do with that answer. But any answer other than 'yes' was cause for alarm.

Was Ted in danger now? Was I in danger for asking? Would they dispose of me for knowing too much? They certainly had a knack for putting bullets in random young adults.

“Fine,” I said, masking my creeping unease with my previous indignance, "I guess I'll return to my office, then!"

Play it off like you're not concerned. Show anger. Act dumb.

I left the speechless Ted behind me, stomping towards the elevator and huffing audibly. I jammed a finger against the button for '23', then pressed the button to close the doors.

When they didn't close immediately, I tapped the button a few more times, frantic. The guise was dropping. I needed to be alone.

The moment the doors shut and I was sealed inside, I dropped the act and leaned hard against the elevator wall.

"Fuck me," I whispered, voice jittery. I was on the verge of another episode. I had to find a way to calm down.

Perhaps if I thought things through, I'd come to realize I was being silly? I tried it, escaping into the cold comforts of logic.

Ted wasn't in control and he didn't want to be here. That most likely meant that he had been threatened in some way. But by who? And why? Why would someone force a prestigious man like Ted to hear fake sales pitches from the likes of me?

I recognized my own confusion. It seemed rather unlikely that someone would go to the trouble of forcing Ted to perform this role. Therefore, one or more of my assumptions were probably incorrect. But which?

I had assumed that Ted didn't want to be here and was being threatened. If that was false, then why offer a cryptic answer to my question?

I had assumed that I was here to play through a business simulation. If that wasn't true, was the work I was performing here actually real?

No, this is definitely a simulation. I didn't invent the grappling gun; it appeared. And my sales pitch was utter bullshit.

Therefore, was my first assumption the falsehood? Could I intuit that Ted actually did want to participate in this game?

If that were true, then another assumption of mine was true.

Ted Lax was a dick.

Good job. Great application of logic. I'm proud.

I was also losing patience. I had steeled my nerves, played nice, and it had done nothing. Our captors didn't care about providing answers. Therefore, I had no incentive to give them what they wanted.

The elevator door opened. I extended my middle finger and jammed it into the 10th-floor button in the elevator. It was the lowest number available, and even if it didn't take me to the bottom floor, I at least wanted to be as close to the ground as possible.

The elevator ride was smooth. I could barely tell I was moving.

When the digital display read '10,' I exited into a square, carpeted room. Ahead of me was the entryway to a glass tunnel which stretched between my tower and Brad's. To my left was a similar tunnel, which connected to Addy's tower. I walked up to one and looked down through the transparent floor.

City traffic far below, the sun directly above, and glass on all sides. Four glass tunnels running between the four Pillars of Humanity, forming a shimmering square.

I checked the stairwell, but they terminated on the tenth floor. I couldn't descend any lower.

It didn't matter; I had the grappling guns. This would have to do.

My grim vendetta was interrupted when I noticed voices coming from somewhere nearby. I looked up and saw Blaine and Brad standing in the tunnel linking their two towers. They seemed to notice me at the same moment, and their voices went quiet.

I started walking, through the tunnel to Brad's tower. When I reached his landing, I rounded the corner and greeted them with a wave. They reacted just as a person would if someone was waving a gun in their face.

Oh.

“Shit, sorry guys. These aren’t actually guns,” I hurriedly explained, pocketing the devices.

What had they been talking about that they didn’t want me to overhear?

“Hey, buddy,” Blaine greeted casually, “What do you mean they’re not guns? They look like guns.”

“You’ll see in a moment,” I said, returning to my bitter mood, “I’ve decided I'm escaping this place, but I’ll come back with reinforcements and get you out of here. Until then, stay in the towers; don’t let anyone move you elsewhere.”

Blaine raised an eyebrow in doubt. He opened his mouth to express that doubt but was outpaced by Brad.

“Sounds good, man,” Brad said, “Don’t fuck up.”

If I do, you’ll witness it first hand, I thought, it will take the form of a red smear and some body parts.

"Hold up," Blaine said, frowning, "What do you mean 'escaping'? Why? How?"

"Are you saying you don't want to get out of here?" I asked.

Brad answered, "I want to go home, too, believe me. But I don't see how. Childe refuses to call anyone that isn't the four of us, the glass is unbreakable, and the elevators and stairs don't take you to the ground floor."

Wait, the glass is unbreakable? Fuck, that better not be true.

"I think I can break the glass," I said, patting my pockets.

"Oh yeah?" Blaine said, doubtful.

The three of us were standing at the edge of the Brad-Blaine tunnel. I stepped out of the tunnel and into Brad's tenth-floor room. In a careful motion, I aimed one of the guns at the floor of the Brad-Alec tunnel and fired.

The glass failed to shatter. It didn't even crack, and the speeding projectile ricocheted off of glass walls with enough force to bounce it from floor to ceiling twice before coming to a rest.

Blaine and Brad poked their heads around the corner to observe my failure.

“I don’t think your plan worked,” Blaine commented.

“No, it didn’t,” I agreed, picking up the wire instead of sending it back into the gun. The grapple at the end of the wire was made of glossy black metal and looked as if it could open up like a flower. I tried to pull back one of the metal pedals, but it didn’t budge.

"I guess you gotta play along, then," Blaine supposed, shrugging.

"No. Not yet," I said, shaking my head. I turned and walked back through my tunnel, leaving them behind.

"Okay! Good luck!" Brad shouted after me.

Thanks.

When I was far enough away, I heard them resume their private conversation. If they were conspiring or forming an alliance, it didn't matter to me. Not yet.

The 23rd floor contained my office suite. The 24th floor was the highest I could reach on both the elevator and the stairs. Unfortunately, it was not the rooftop terrace I had been hoping for.

A narrow hallway. One end contained two elevators and a door leading to the stairs. The other contained a heavy metal door with a handle on it. Either a walk-in freezer or a vault, by my estimate.

There was no lock on the door, and it swung open automatically when I grabbed the handle. This place may have had bullet-proof glass, grappling guns that spawned from nothing, and prototype artificial intelligences installed in every ceiling, but their security was nonexistant.

In the center of the cold metal room was a collection of about one hundred green cubes stacked in a pyramid. I picked one up, hefting it up and down. Heavy and the size of my fist. Were these supposed to represent money? 100 cubes each representing 1,000 dollars?

There was nothing else in the vault. And it didn’t matter.

I walked back into the hall and fired my notagun at the ceiling of the hall. It bounced off and anchored itself in the floor. I tried again with the alsonotagun. Same result. I shot at a wall, and the grapple danced back and forth until coming to a stop inside the carpet.

Indestructible walls and ceiling, but the floor was fair game. This entire structure had been reinforced to keep us from escaping, it seemed.

Damn. Damn!

Anger began to bubble inside of me, and I strode back into the vault to find an outlet. I hated the violent, irrational feeling, and I needed a release. Two swift kicks sent green cubes flying into the corners of the room.

“Why am I here! What do you want me to do!” I demanded of the room, my voice echoing.

I didn't expect a response. I wasn't asking for one anymore. I just needed to scream. To hear my own voice reverberated.

“Play,” Childe answered from a speaker above.

Play.

I shut my eyes, controlling my breathing. The message was clear, but I didn't want to deal with it. Not right now.

But what choice did I have? If I didn't want to play, what were my options?

I couldn't escape. I could try threatening Ted by taking him hostage at gunpoint. But whoever the game controller was had already proven competent at disabling my items. They had disabled our cell-phones and Addy's steering wheel.

Not playing the game was an option, but I couldn't stand to do nothing all day.

I inhaled through my nose. Exhaled from my mouth. Quick, unproductive breaths.

Fine.

I would play their fucking game.