The others remained quiet, giving Rip a chance to think long and hard about everything the researcher had said. It all seemed so . . . wild.

Picking a class seemed very game-like. Or, if Oggolopoli was to be believed, somehow the system chose for you.

That wasn’t unheard of, Rip thought. Many games were known for characteristics being decided by the roll of a die.

But from what Oggolopoli had said, there was some kind of procedure? Ritual?

He mulled over it all as he sat on the floor of the lift.

If this is a video game, it is by far the most advanced one I’ve ever experienced.

Mentally, he checked over his body. The bruises certainly hurt. But that wasn’t all that out of the ordinary in the metaverse. Pain and other sensations could be felt in real life.

NeuralNet in particular was known for even being able to kill people. The world’s larger nations were all in something of an arms race to code weapons in NeuralNet that could dish out damage to opposing players.

Rip had seen fellow soldiers die online. He knew intellectually that it was possible. In fact, after that last battle he should be dead. But this did not feel like the afterlife.

He reached over and pinched his left arm, feeling the pain from his fingernails.

Blair saw the gesture and smiled at him, bordering on a smirk.

Even the most advanced parts of NeuralNet come nowhere near this level of physical feedback. I always knew I was digitized all the time I was in there. But this . . . this is a level of immersion I’ve never experienced. It feels like I’m really here.

The lift passed another doorway opening to another level, and continued going slowly up.

Blair looked over at him again and smiled. This time, it seemed more as a friendly gesture.

Rip tried to smile back at her.

I think I really am here. This is really my body.

He unhooked the top of his overalls and looked down, finding the scar on his side from a fight back in junior high. Teddy Ferguson brought a knife to school and started something with Jimmy Chen, a nerd and a loner with no friends.

Rip, already big for his age, felt the need to intervene and stepped between them. He received a slash on the ribs for his efforts.

Ferguson, on the other hand, left the fight with a busted nose and two black eyes. And a broken knife.

The scar is still there. My avatars in the metaverse have never looked exactly like my real body. This is real. It has to be.

“Coming to grips with reality?”

He glanced up and met Blair’s dark blue eyes. She was staring down at his exposed chest.

Blushing, he refastened the top of the overalls, leaving only his bare arms exposed.

She smiled at him, meeting his eyes again and seeming to read his thoughts.

He shrugged and said, “I guess so. It’s still a lot to take in.”

He noticed that the exceptionally attractive young woman seemed uncannily able to pick up on things.

Hard to hide stuff around her. Maybe that’s part of her enhancement.

“We’ll ease you into our world soon enough.”

“With all the shooting and dismantling robots and such, I’d hardly call it easing.”

“Just wait ’till we get out of here. I still owe you for freeing me from that cell.”

“You said you had it all under control.”

“I did. You made it easier, though. Faster. And you’ve been useful in other ways, as well.”

They lapsed into silence as the lift made glacially slow progress up the shaft.

In each room they witnessed the same sight: a robot facing the door, watching for unauthorized people coming in. None of the mechanical men looked back as the lift pulled slowly up.

“They should check out sounds from behind,” Rip said as they passed Level 3. “That’s obviously a design flaw.”

“A design flaw,” Oggolopoli said. “Well put.”

He glanced down at the breadboard in his hands. His briefcase remained by his side, all but forgotten.

“I wonder if this design can be improved? And if so, how? Hmm.”

The researcher considered the issue as they passed the second level. It looked the same as all the others.

When they cleared the room, Bixby stirred, stepping away from the wall.

He racked the bolt on his gun and said, “Right. We get off on the next floor. Obviously, that’s where the trouble likely resides. Dr. Oggolopoli, get behind those of us with weapons. Sergeant, ready your enhanced wrench.”

Everybody shuffled into position in the tight space. They waited as the lift crept upwards.

The room came into view, slowly filling up the entire front wall. Their floor bounced as the gears stopped suddenly. Rip noticed someone had painted the number 1 on the side of the wall here. They were in the right place.

Bixby unlatched the collapsible gate and carefully pulled it open, keeping his gun aimed at the back of the robot in the center of the room.

“Do you think,” Blair whispered, “that since we’re coming from behind, it won’t see us as a threat when we move past it?”

“Let me try,” Chance whispered back. “I’m a wee more agile than either of you.”

He slung his submachine gun over his shoulder to look less threatening, and eased his way to the left of the lumbering metal giant.

He stepped into the robot’s field of vision, casting a nervous glance over his shoulder.

“Danger! Intruders!”