By Morgan J. Manns

Amy steeled herself at the base of the wall, tucked just out of sight at the perfect sniping point. Below her, a labyrinth of platforms and staircases sprawled outward in a confusing maze.

If only she had ammo.

She swallowed hard and scanned for movement. Above her, the strip of neon yellow lining the ceiling pulsed, then finally shifted to orange. The change was subtle but enough to tell her the reload stations would unlock soon.

“Gotchya, noob.”

Her pulse skyrocketed, but Amy was no noob.

She slid beneath a shadowed staircase just as the course’s orange lights flashed red. “Too slow, dweeb,” she muttered as a faint light appeared under the treads.

“Where’d she go?” a boy shouted.

Did the two of them not realize how massive a target they were, standing there in the open? She was honestly surprised they’d lasted this long.

She pressed her empty gun to the hidden reload box.

A green glow rippled through their suits as they stared dumbfounded at her old position. Meanwhile, the ammo bar on her gun zipped from zero to twenty.

She grinned and flicked her blonde braid over her shoulder before sprinting to the next alcove. With a high-pitched whine from her gun, she pinged off a trio of well-aimed shots. The two boys barely had their weapons raised before her blue lasers struck them square in the chest.

Who were they calling “noob”?

They groaned and raised their hands in surrender as each of their chest plates flashed a red X. Defeated.

Lights through the maze flickered from red to bright white. Amy blinked at the sudden change.

“Game ended,” a crackly AI voice said over the intercom. “Blue team wins.”

She checked her wrist. Sixteen kills. Nice. A new course record.

The boys barely spared her a glance as they trudged off, following the glowing green arrows back to their base.

Amy slung her gun over her shoulder. The blue arrows that should’ve guided her back to her own still hadn’t appeared. Typical low-tech.

This was the last course in Chicago she had yet to defeat, and it was too easy. She sighed and crossed her arms. Where was the challenge? Maybe she needed to go national. Were worldwide laser-tag tournaments a thing?

Where were those arrows?

Her team today, blue, had been useless. Taken out in a predictable ambush within ten minutes. This was why she preferred solo.

Always solo.

Suddenly, everything went black.

She froze, breath caught in her throat. “Hey!” she shouted. “I’m still in here!”

A second passed. Two. Three.

She tightened her grip on her dead gun. “I said I’m—”

The speakers crackled, the voice inside completely garbled.

She grit her teeth. Stupid. Low. Tech.

Then purple neon arrows, not blue, lit up on the floor, and her gun hummed back to life. She stared at the glowing trail stretching into the darkness.

“Wrong color!” she shouted upward.

Silence.

Fine. It would lead her somewhere.

She followed the arrows, finger poised above the trigger. Minutes passed. Still no exit. The darkness pressed in, the only light coming from the floor and her recharged gun. Her suit, she realized, now pulsed with a deep violet instead of bright blue.

She shot another glare at the intercom. Had she been queued into the next simulation by mistake? The hairs on her neck prickled.

Then, the arrows winked out one by one.

A solitary violet glow pulsed ahead.

She raised her gun and edged around the corner. An archway thrummed with dark-purple energy, perfectly matched to the circuitry woven through her suit. Beyond it, the air distorted, translucent and unstable.

She leaned forward. She could’ve sworn something was moving on the other side.

The intercom crackled, clear this time. “Advance in three, two…”

Was this a new level?

Amy didn’t wait for “one.” She sprinted through.

She emerged in a vast cityscape. Her eyes widened as she took in towering skyscrapers, a star-filled sky, and a huge blood-red moon that felt close enough to touch.

“Get down!”

She jerked toward the voice. A bulky figure in a black and purple suit like hers tackled her behind a rusted-out car.

“Hey!” she gasped, sucking in air. “What do you think you’re—”

“You’re Braids_17, right?” the guy said, peering over the vehicle’s frame.

A dozen laser lights streaked overhead. He ducked, covering her again. A helicopter banked between buildings, kicking grit across the street.

She covered her ears. This looked, and sounded, way too real.

“Uh, Amy is fine,” she said, baffled he knew her gamer tag.

“Brian,” he grunted, firing back with practiced precision. Unhuman shrieks echoed across the street.

“Where are we?” she yelled over the chaos. “What sim is this?”

“This is no sim,” he said. “Only those who defeat every course in their city get pulled here. They’re meant to evaluate you.”

The helicopter hovered near the top of a skyscraper until a massive blast of energy lit up the sky. Amy shielded her eyes. Glass exploded outward like silver daggers. Brian pulled her close as debris rained down.

Nobody had ever protected her like that before. Who was this guy?

“Invaders are attacking the city,” he said, standing. “And we need shooters like you.”

“They’re taking over Chicago?” she asked skeptically, instinctively swinging her gun around. It felt heavier, somehow.

He shook his head. “No. This isn’t Earth. You’re on Creon, a planet on the far reaches of our solar system.”

A burst of laser fire shredded the air. Brian cried out, clutching his arm before firing back. Blood seeped between his fingers.

Real blood.

Amy didn’t hesitate. She raised her gun and fired, gasping at the intense recoil. Sim or not, this guy was the first teammate who’d ever had her back, and she wasn’t about to let him die.

A squirming mass of tentacles fell under her fire.

“Cover me,” she said, sprinting toward the next vantage point.

And she knew, somehow, that he would.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Morgan J. Manns is a speculative fiction author with a soft spot for the fantastical. She’s a mom to two little hobbits, wife to a man who listens patiently to all her wild ideas, and a lover of all things nature. By day, she’s a school teacher; by heart, a dragon rider in waiting. You’ll most likely find her writing her next adventure while basking in a patch of sunlight.

---

More Stories | Instagram