Chapter 37: The
Proxy immediately knew something was wrong.
The silence where the broadcasts should have been.
The repetition had been exact, almost disciplined in its consistency. Every four hours their location would be broadcasted, uninterrupted. Jungle, cabin, bunker, the environment wasn’t important. The host’s voice had always arrived on schedule and done its sarcastic task with reliability.
Since reaching the communication tower, it had not come once. Proxy didn’t need to check a record, the absence was a deviation.
And a deviation implied a reason for it.
Even then, he did not wake Nyx. She was asleep against his left side, her breathing already steady and comfortable, as though she could enter sleep anywhere, at anytime.
He continued watching the horizon, which was functionally equivalent to waiting.
The broadcast finally arrived when morning had taken over the skies.
"What a run it has been."
It came through every speaker on the island simultaneously, as expected, but it was different from the first word, which was to say it broke its own rules. Only the warmth, increased slightly, as if the system believed emphasis could be achieved through tone alone. Then the host’s voice, addressing all twenty-four remaining contestants at once.
"Four days, twenty-four of you remaining, and our audience numbers that have genuinely surprised us in the best possible way. We are not often surprised. We want you to know that this is a compliment."
Nyx woke the way she always woke to unexpected stimuli, without transition. One moment absent, the next fully present, the softness of sleep replaced immediately by attention.
She looked at him. He was already looking at the sky.
"We have been watching this particular phase of the game with a great deal of personal interest."
"The bunker incident especially. The audience loved it. If you are wondering whether blowing up a bunker from the nuclear era with two contestants inside qualifies as compelling television, we can confirm that it does."
"Proxy. Nyx. You have been excellent. Genuinely. The audience’s feelings about the two of you remain the kind of ratings we consider irreplaceable."
"Stars of the show..." Proxy snorted in anoyance.
"But this phase is complete,"
The host continued, as though completion were inherently pleasant.
"The games requires what all good entertainment requires, which is evolution. Something new is introduced today. All twenty-four remaining contestants will experience it simultaneously. We ask that you do not resist, because the process is brief, and because the alternative is not particularly interesting."
Proxy had approximately two seconds to catch up with the implications when it began.
The compliance device activated, like background noise becoming foreground, the hardware that had existed inside his brain redefining itself as something more complex than a kill switch.
He reached for the work instinctively and confirmed its interference.
Nyx moved before analysis could complete.
Her arms closed around him with immediacy.
She didn’t know what was happening, but her reflexive reaction was to hold onto Proxy before it did. She was doing so when the tower ceased to exist.
The surface beneath his feet was polished and dark, reflective with unnatural precision, as though designed to resemble a floor without being one.
The air lacked temperature entirely. That absence was what made Proxy realize. The environment had achieved visual accuracy but had neglected something as incidental as thermal sensation, which made the omission more noticeable than any flaw in the rendering.
He looked down at himself.
He was wearing a suit. Dark, precisely cut, with minimal detailing at the lapel and cuffs, the design that communicated expense by refusing to advertise it. He owned nothing comparable. His actual clothing had been the same for years.
He allowed the mild curiosity one unit of attention.
Then he checked left, because he always checked left first in an unfamiliar environment.
Nyx was there, positioned slightly to his left as usual, though seated rather than standing. Her eyes had a trace of amber, the signature of her implants activating reflexively, interpreting their situation as a threat before she could really realize what had happened.
Then she saw him.
The amber disappeared.
Her expression changed in a visible way, as though she had finally encountered something she hadn’t expected. The reaction reached her face before any decision about whether it should.
The heat followed immediately, a visible, reddish warmth rising along her collarbones, involuntary. She was aware of it, which made it worse.
She redirected her attention to the environment with hard focus, the behavior of someone trying their best to hide their embarrassment.
Proxy averted his gaze as well, partly because it was part of his priorities and partly because he wasn’t sure what sort of reaction Nyx would have if he kept staring at her becoming a blushing mess.
The virtual space was a theater, although only methaporically.
Floating platforms formed a loose ellipse, each holding a table and five chairs. Ambient light originated from below.
At the center, there was a lowered stage area, visible from every platform.
He observed the other platforms.
Some were occupied by a singular individuals. Others by pairs. Others by small groups of three and more.
It was obvious the corporation had mapped alliances and put them together in this virtual reality. It was also the reason he and Nyx were together.
He counted what was visible. He did not isolate any specific individual yet. A complete picture had higher priority than a partial one.
Meanwhile, a service bot approached their table. A floating orb carrying similarly floating objects in an orbit.
It placed two glasses on the table with precise motion. The champagne reminded Proxy of the pale coloration of what he had opened in the suite.
He watched as the bot withdrew.
Then he picked up the glass. The action was conventional, which gave it utility in a space defined by the absence of normal parameters.
"What just happened," Nyx said.
"The device in our brains," he said. "It’s not only a kill switch. It has broader capability."
He set the glass down, maintaining a neutral expression. "Forced neural immersion, initiated remotely. They basically uploaded our consciousness in this ."
She stopped to think of what really mattered. "If I hit someone here," she said, "what happens?"
"I don’t know," he sighed. "That’s whatever they decide."
He kept his expression unchanged and looked toward the stage.
She picked up the second glass.
"I see," she said, in a tone that indicated comprehension beyond the explicit statement.
There was someone at the center.
The host appeared at the stage without transition, more rendered into existence there.
She descended from above, an unnecessary gesture that suggested preference rather than requirement. Her appearance was consistent with corporation’s aesthetic, with visible augmentations, a carmine dress that was more than simply revealing from multiple directions and subdermal lighting at the collarbone emitting a blue pulse.
Proxy observed her.
She occupied the center of the stage with authority, performing ease rather than experiencing it.
She looked up at the platforms with a wide, coquettish smile, and allowed the silence to establish itself before speaking.
"Welcome, everyone, to The Pantheon."
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