HE AWOKE IN A room that was hazy white in muffled silence. He was strapped by is upper arms in a white hospital bed. The room was bathed in dazzling, diffuse light. Six spindly robotic arms rose from the sides of the bed, all craning to poke, probe, and puncture him.

His arms, stomach and neck were pierced with fine needles. Blood and fluids were extracted. He was injected. For what seemed like a long time he was left, fastened in the bed before another batch of invasive probes. Sharp electrode needles jabbed his skull. Pins pricked the soft arches in the bottoms of his feet. Tiny hammers made sharp taps on his knees and elbows.

When the arms and probes finally withdrew, a screen in front of the bed lit up and told him, “This way” with an arrow that pointed out to a door on his left. The restraints on his arms opened and released him. .

Baffled, hesitating, Joel looked around him before he pulled himself up. When he lifted himself onto his elbows, he expected to be disoriented. Groggy. Instead he felt fit and alert. Refreshed. He swung his legs out of the covers. He was naked. Hanging on a stand by the side of the bed was a gray jumpsuit. Beneath were it a pair of soft gray slip on shoes with elaborate white rubber soles.

The sign over the door read, Admission and preparation.

He couldn’t see his pack or his board.

As he dressed a rumble of male voices came from the Admission and Preparation room.

~~

Through the double doors Joel came into a large, airy room with no windows but a frosted glass roof. In the middle of the room five males about his own age hunched around a white table. All of them wore jumpsuits like the one he’d just climbed into. Their faces turned as he stepped in. At the far end of the room were wide double doors with a sign above. Games Arena.

The back of a big guy was nearest to Joel. He barely turned his head and he spoke, still without completely looking round. “The sleeper awakes.” His voice was like a rusty saw. Almost bald, he was heavy, muscled and had elaborate ink in swirls on his face and neck. The tatts looked expensive, like fashionable takes on tribal graphics. He said, “We’d given you up for dead.” And he turned back to the table.

A short, stocky, guy with a deep voice said, “That’s just you hoping, Carter,” and he scraped his chair as he stood. His head was shaved but for two tight black braided rows. Neat, twin-tracked twists. His quick brown eyes shone and he smiled as he held a hand out to Joel. “Angelo.” he said, “Angelo Varofakis.

Joel took his hand. The shake was firm and strong. Joel felt reassured. “Joel Tristan.”

Carter snarled as he rolled his colorful shoulders and shrugged, , “Would have been one less loser to beat. Would have moved all of us one step nearer.” And he leered around the room. “Nearer to the great moment when I win.”

Angelo smiled. “Carter’s bark is worse than his bite.” Looking at Carter, Joel doubted it. “We may all be competing, but we’re all in this together.”

The biggest of the group narrowed his eyes as he stood, noisily. “That’s all a bit complicated for me, Angelo.” He moved toward Joel. Athletic and bright-faced, his smile was easy and bright, although it didn’t reach as far as his eyes.. “I’m not a fan of complication.” he approached with a hand extended, “I’m Molson. Molson Tarn. I’m sure you’ll be a good teammate.” His short mop of black hair bobbed as he looked Joel up and down. Joel was pretty sure what he meant was, ‘You look easy to beat.’ Molson’s big hand nearly crushed Joel’s as they shook.

Sat at the far corner of the table, a redheaded guy drawled, “Molson will take good care of you. Show you around.” A low chuckle went around the room, “Tuck you in at night.”

Molson blinked slowly, “The friendly, frizzy hunk at the back there is Hacker Guernsey.” The redheaded guy’s sleepy eyelids drooped as he nodded. “This,” he swept a hand out to pat Carter’s shoulder. Carter shrugged. “The lovely fellow who’s sorry you didn’t die on the way here is Carter Dane. I’m sure he doesn’t mean it.” Carter’s face barely registered.

The last man, still sat at the side of the table was dark and broody. Or maybe just quiet. Perhaps Joel was over-reacting. Trying too hard for detail. He nodded as Molson introduced him, “This is Ben Huggert.”

Joel felt that he ought to try and establish his presence. If there was going to be competition, he wanted to know as much about the others as he could, so he wanted as much interaction as possible.

Instinctively planting his feet apart and looking around the room he said, “I’m Joel Tristan. Whatever is is we’re all here for, I’m glad to know you.”

Carter still didn’t completely look around. He didn’t completely open his moth to speak, either. “You win a competition to get here?” Joel saw the low flash in Carter’s eyes. He was baiting a trap. Still, he’d already seen how eager Carter was to display dominance. He wasn’t the biggest guy in the room. That was either Molson or Ben. And neither of them rose to Carter’s bait.

Joel had been ripped out of his world, catapulted into an alien environment and landed with what looked like a pack of hostile beasts. Keeping cool was taking Joel some effort. But, Joel reasoned, we probably are all in the same situation.

Brightly Joel threw back, “Why, Carter, is this what you’ve been dreaming of for all of your life?”

“No. But I wasn’t just freighted in fresh from the wetlands. They find you in some kind of a swamp, boy?”

“Well, I’ve not been sheltered and pampered in an enclave like I guess you must have been.” Carter’s voice was the least cultured of the group. Joel was showing that he would stand up for himself. in spite of the expensive ink, Joel figured Carter for a Survivor city kid. Probably one in the North, going by the voice.

Joel’s chest felt hollow as he said it, but his voice sounded strong. To him, at least. “Yeah,” he said, “You’re right. I’m from the outlands.”

Looking around he saw that as well as Angelo’s sculpted hair, they were all groomed or adorned in a modern style. To Joel they looked like characters in virtus. Maybe that was the idea.

Hacker had small jeweled studs over his eyebrows and down the sides of his nose. his jawline and his cheeks were outlined with studs under the skin. Molson’s cheekbones were artificially sharp and his eyes were faintly luminous.

Ben was the only one who didn’t show enhancements.

Joel raised his chin. “Yup, Carter,” he smiled, “You got me. I’m from the outlands.” he left a pause. “That’s here we make the juice for your cozy little lives. We haul kites and grease windharvesters. Grids and celltrucks take the juice for you folks. And we’re damn proud of it.”

Carter grinned, turning round at last and into Joel’s eyes. ”Is it true you all got webbed toes?”

Joel grinned. “Is it true that folks in Survivor cities still scare their kids with stories of The Gabriel?”

Hacker called from the far end of the table, “Hey, do a lot of the girls in the wetlands have tails?”

Carter laughed, “Like mermaids?”

“I heard More like alligators.” Hacker leered, “Aint that right?” he looked at Joel. Challenging. “A wetlands blowjob is when you get your dick bitten off.”

Joel thought he should counter Hacker with something like, Why, that happen to you? But he didn’t feel like he wanted to tangle with Hacker just yet.

Joel wondered if all the others knew why they were here, but he realized that asking about it right now would put him into a corner. More so if they didn’t know any more than him. A kid like Carter would jump straight to the defensive offense if you gave him a question and he didn’t have a ready answer. Still maybe there was another way to get a clue or two.

“I’ll forget all of your names, I expect. I’m sure you sophisticated Survivor city kids won’t have that kind of a problem.” he looked around. “How did you all get here?” He looked at Ben first, because Ben had said the least so far.

“I was just on my way out of school. A bottruck was waiting at the gates. As I came out, the back of it opened, two droids took me inside. It drove me here. Took maybe three hours drive.” He took a breath and his eyebrows raised. Joel felt better, seeing this was hard for Ben, too. He was more convinced of his instinct that they were all in the same situation. Ben said, “I wanted to tell them, ‘You’ve got the wrong guy’ or ‘There’s been some mistake,’ but they had my name and my TruID code.”

At the far end of the room a sign lit up over the double doors. A synthetic voice announced. ‘Interns, move to the games room.’

Interns. They all looked at each other. Was that what they were? Joel watched all of their faces, trying to guess whether any of them knew any more than he did about whatever was coming. He guessed they didn’t.

“Damnit,” Carter said, rising slowly. “Is this going to be all of us? We’re all guys? I was hoping there would at least be some tushy tail, if only for purposes of relaxation.”

“This, my fated friend,” Molson announced, “Is the Gabriel’s lair. His evil villain’s secret hideout. This is not a place for fun.”

As he got up, Ben said seriously, “The Gabriel is a myth.” Joel wondered if Ben might be a New Dawn follower. A biobit believer.

~~

The games room was lined with blue tiles on all surfaces. Inside they found six sim-stim suits, one each with their names on. Joel’s fit him perfectly.

Hacker shouted, “This is too small in the crotch,” and everybody laughed.

Carter said, “Maybe don’t put the sock in?”

Hacker called back, “Not a sock, man. There wouldn’t be enough room for one of your lacy hankies in here.”

Angelo was nearest. Joel asked him, “Have you been in games in here already?”

“This is the first.” He said, “I guess Carter was right about that part. We’ve all been waiting for you.”

“You wait long?”

“I was brought this morning. Hacker and Molson were here before me, yesterday night, I think.”

As they examined their headsets, Angelo said, “Then Ben came out about an hour before you did.”

Joel looked over the hood of the headgear and he felt around the tiny prongs in the lining. It was like an inside out hedgehog with tiny, metal quills. The visor was huge and curved. It attached to a responsive headband. “Carter got here after you?”

“Carter came a while before Ben.”

Joel was about to ask if Angelo had any idea why they were there when the suits began to power up and sound started in the headsets.

Joel heard instructions from a silky smooth female bot voice. “Ensure that your helmet piece is snugly fitted for calibration.”

Joe; slipped the hood over his head with a mix of excitement and apprehension. He’d never used a sim-stim setup anywhere near as slick as this rig. Inside the hood though, the minute forest of neuro connectors could have a lot of uses beyond immersive VR and AR.

The tiny spikes settled into his scalp, the hood tightened and flexed, forming and adjusting to the shape of his head.

In the visor, the image of the room transformed. The six of them were now underwater in a circular, tournament pool. Eight feet up, on opposite sides of the pool, trophies stood in recesses. The nearer one glowed blue, and the other was red.

‘A simple task,’ the instructor bot told them, as all six players lifted off the tiled floor with bouyancy. ‘Take a trophy from one side, put it in the space on the other side. Who puts the trophy in the space wins the round.