Lugubrious Vol. 2

Towards the Depths - 04 - Stage the First

         The beginning of the journey did not merit much mention aside from the peculiar glass pyramid marking the insertion. From there came the hall entrance of ten feet high and several wide. The effluvial walls are made of wax or some other sticky yellow substance. The two of us said little, our footsteps unified in quick repetition while we enjoyed the light produced from a fungus growing along the level floor. The stuff is inedible, as I myself had the pleasure of testing. Inedible, that is, unless you somehow manage to prevent the copious frequency of vomiting and other bodily functions usually involving a toilet seat.
         Two weeks (our best guess) has gone and the only difference from the mundane trek is the safe rooms. Such did Miranda name them. These rooms that branch from the main hall provide every want. Dried food and water in clay containers scatter across bowing wood shelves. Bright rays shine from square bulbs screwed below a stony ceiling. Some of these rooms even had leather couches, padded chairs and bed mattresses. It's now been some time since the last safe room. I take the helm and notice my companion falling farther behind. I find it irritating how often she flags and reluctantly stop to turn around. She approaches and her eyes meet mine. Both of us observe the other in a sort of soporific trace. Neither of us has found sleep more than a few hours at a time.
         It hit me how shabby her appearance has become. Her purple clothes now hold a gaudy yellow hue picked up from the waxy substance of the wall. Dark rings frame her drooping eyelids and the once maintained raven hair now tangles and sticks to her skin from sweat. Her skin is pale and sickly, her calloused feet and bruised legs visible below tattered jeans and busted white shoes. Those chapped lips of hers now press together while the slightest hint of premature wrinkles along the cheeks signifying some deep brooding thought, or so I considered on seeing the expression countless times before.
         What exactly did she think about during those long hours spent in silence? I did ask this question, once, only to receive a curt "nothing really". In truth I didn't want to know what went on inside that head. I had enough trouble keeping my own dark thoughts in check. Right now I couldn't help from thinking how I wanted to yell out at this frail woman: how she always insisted on yielding to rest, always needy, weak and on the verge of tears.
         "Something wrong?" My arms cross over a bare chest. Miranda shakes her head slow and averts her attention towards her own interlocked fingers.
         I sigh and say "Should we stop for a bit?"
         "It’s been an awfully long time since the last room," she observes in a whisper. "I think they're getting farther apart."
         I nod and begin to untie one of the three sacks knotted around my belt. It contains the last bit of food and water remaining. Knowing well I have no use for the stuff I gently toss it her way. I veer for the left wall to sit where my back is just an inch from contact. As usual my anger assuages quick as it came and a subtle peace settles upon me, the glow giving our surroundings an almost magical property. My faint smile is lost on the girl who refuses to look my way, preoccupied as she is in finding a suitable spot to rest.
         She begins nibbling on a rotten apple in silence. I stretch my legs out and take in the road ahead. The orange-blue shine of the fungus lights everything just below the ceiling, leaving it in complete darkness. I imagine the trail stretching out for an eternity and grow dizzy at the very thought of how far we've traveled so far.
         "Do you hear something?" Miranda asks after a few minutes.
         Clattering footsteps approach from behind like the sound of boots stomping hard on the ground. The noise echoes. A dread overcomes me as I picture every scenario associated with the unidentified percussion. It takes Miranda's sharp point towards my belt before I overcome my nervous trance and shoot to a stand glancing in both directions. I untie another sack, this one by my back pocket, and withdraw an onyx-colored pistol that Orca had lovingly prepared for my purposes. Closing one eye I train the barrel above Miranda's head and take in a deep breath.
         "Identify yourself," I say in a booming voice.
         There is a click and a soft purr of electrical currents before a man materializes ten paces before me. It is Aku—the game master—his hands resting in his pockets with a slight slouch to his posture. He flashes a wry smirk and dons his head ever so slightly forward. I can tell he's staring at my gun and, remembering the rules imparted to us, lower the piece to my side. Miranda moves by my flank. I feel her soft arm against mine and note that she is shivering despite the heat of our surroundings.
         "You all thought me impatient before," the young man says as his smile widens. "Now perhaps you'll believe me when I say this really sucks."
         "You've been following us the whole time?" I say.
         "Naturally."
         "Why? You could have been visible and it wouldn't really change anything."
         "Then I'd have to interact and all that boring stuff," Aku waves a hand in the air. "You know I'm very rarely in the mood to do so."
         "Whatever. Can't say I care. But seriously, why are you here? Got something to tell us?"
         Aku shrugs and takes the two of us in for a moment. I slip my way in front of Miranda and act a stonewall covering her. My jaw clamps tight and my palm squeezes at the coarse texture of the gun's handle. To my surprise his smug lips relax, his face draining of its former joviality in place of a blank, emotionless face.
         "I'm sure by now you've got me summed up as a sadist. That's not entirely true."
         "Save the self-justifications," I say
         "Spare me for a moment, Mr. Coner. You've done your fair share of self-justifying." His grin returns. "My cousin was killed in here. Not that I was particularly fond of her. She could hardly utter anything coherent, after all. Spent her childhood with needles in her arms and treated much like myself while in training. No, far worse. I at least got looked on as a human of sorts."
         Miranda places her tender hand on one of my shoulders and looks to the man over the other. She says nothing, but I imagine the curiosity etched on her eyes. I didn't much care to hear more of Aku's grating voice. Well, short of getting details to an exit. For the moment I hold my tongue and let him finish.
         "This," he gave a wide arm motion "is an entirely separate spatial plane from our previous haunt. There I merely enacted the ancient spell of the limestone chip, becoming an overseer as the caster. Really quite a lucky break finding you all huddled so close together—"
         "Get to the point," I snap.
         "I was, actually," Aku frowns. "Your new locale is considerably more renovated. It has been prepared by Vann for a very specific purpose. My cousin was also Vann's daughter, born from my father's sister."
         "Vanhorne has children?" I say in shock at the inconceivable. I'm not sure why I never considered the possibility before. It seemed such a monstrous thing for the worst dictator in history to procreate; much less from a being that, while possessing the key characteristics of humankind, may well evade the human category from his power, machine-like knowledge and immortality.
         "Children, yes. Viable children, no. Each seems to have the same curious genetic malady. They have impaired mental facilities and fail to exhibit any of the important traits from the father. Cloning yields no better results. Meanwhile, cloning you seems to have passed on your latent abilities as well as some new ones from whatever tampering was performed. He's more than a little frustrated…"
         "But," it was Miranda who spoke this time. "We did see him die."
         Turning his side to us Aku replaces both hands in his pockets and looks up at the darkness. "I told you before that he's still alive. I don't know how he did it either." He returns his eyes to us. "The point of all this is to better explain your situation. This 'gauntlet' doubles as both laboratory and training ground separated from prying eyes that might cause yet another uprising against our leader. That's why your surprise at his children is understandable. It's a closely guarded secret. It's also been going on for centuries. It's really rather complicated, but it seems Vann has some use for a son or daughter with his own formidable attributes. If they were unable to survive the very journey you are now forced to take then they were not sufficient for his purposes. That's my take on it."
         My head began to buzz furiously with questions. I took the opportunity to probe further.
         "You're not really a game-master anymore, are you?" My mind clicks from a sudden revelation. "That's why you dreaded coming here. You've lost the advantage."
         With a nervous twitch of the arms Aku slips out a compact silver gun from one pocket and trains the wide oval barrel on my heart. Targeted thus I feel dread wash down every fiber of my being. Even as a regenerator I know little of the curious weapon that looks neither like a pistol or revolver. If it's some Apian-model "cannon" it could very well annihilate my entire middle half, tare through Miranda and still retain enough velocity to travel a couple miles further.
         "Wrong," Aku says. "Even beforehand you could have technically killed me. It wasn't in the rules that I had to stay alive."
         "Bastard," I rise my gun to his torso and cock it.
         "Careful now. If I die who's going to recover your little girlfriend's wounds?"
         "What are you talking about?"
         His other hand comes out and he raises a finger skyward like some professor about to make an important point.
         "The training area is divided into three distinct stages that increase drastically in danger. Ending each of these stages is a little surprise. Usually quite fatal. If you survive that, regardless of how close to death you may find yourselves, I will use my particular abilities to restore you to life."
         My trigger finger relaxes a little.
         "You have healing abilities? You expect me to trust you on your word? I mean, hell, why bother? I assume your orders are to see me to my death."
         "New rules, Coner. Why do you think I was so certain of arriving here? We're still under the ancient spell's effects. It's just that this new area has been modified from what it used to be. The training area is actually a Sol-created construct that Vann seized for the aforementioned project. Therefore, my hands are still tied until the completion of this spectacle in its entirety."
         Miranda (who still has her hand on me) asks in a meek tone what these new rules are.
         "The first is that I must help you after each stage so long as your heart still beats. The second, retained from before, is that I may not kill you unless threatened… meaning I could fire right now if it wouldn't pop both of you. Such is life." Aku chuckles to himself and shrugs. "I suppose I could aim higher…"
         I make an angry grunt and lower the pistol a second time.
         "I should append that," Aku continues, "Saying I am allowed to kill a player if threatened over the last forty-five seconds. I could still shoot you now if I wanted. But, hey, I won't." He pauses for complete dramatic effect on this absurdity. "What, no 'Thank you' or 'You're such a nice guy'?"
         "Tell me the next rule," I say taking all my effort to refrain from making a quick shot for his skull.
         "Third, you must complete all the stages before leaving or the spell will destroy you from within. There are exits leading away from the proper path of the stages. These are usually well hidden and marked with a black circle. This is for good reason since going through them spells death. What else?" He rubs his chin in surely an exaggerated motion. "Oh, yes! You might just run into other people here. They're not bound by the game's rules unless intentionally aiding your quest. In that case the spell spreads and they become a player. You are not under an obligation to explain this when asking for help. That's it. I hope everything is aptly explained."
         Aku turns from us and takes a firm step forward.
         "How silly of me. Of course, if you murder a fellow player you'll be released to freedom. My mind must be slipping."
         The electric noise returns and I witness him fade from existence. Yes, of course he just happened to forget the most gruesome detail of this entire debacle. It means nothing. Actually, I take it back, it does mean one thing: it's possible to free Miranda. Without me she would hardly gain the notice of the divine army once setting foot on Mukian soil. She might find some respite in the city of Helm where we had been camping and, over the course of time, acquire some happiness in the caress of a normal life. I feel ashamed at my earlier annoyance. How easily my old temper flares when I should be overjoyed that she's survived to this point.
         I know deep down I should abandon all irritation over the pylon incident. She had loved Vorque. In such an irrational and powerful a torrent as love one could easily be deceived. Wasn't it true that a shot from a green pistol indeed left me breathing? She had said Aku commissioned her to shoot once, but since then no word of Vorque's resurrection has been given. Did he lie? Or did Miranda overlook the condition that her act must lead to my death?
         Enough. I've gone over the details in my mind thousands of times during our walk. More time, I think. I simply need more time to forgive her completely.
         My mind returns to present matters, swinging around to face the woman who has since moved ahead some distance. Her back is turned. She remains planted in place with a crooked posture. Quiet. She is so incredibly quiet lately, both in the peaceful and tumultuous. If we had managed even the most rudimentary conversation the time would have passed well enough. Instead it seems like a year has gone by in this dull pathway and not a word I speak will incite new vitality into her deadened state. We have enough worries without being closed to each other, and I resolve from now on to try and fix the distance that separates us. Even should my heart not fully forget the incident in that sunny field, my rational faculties understand. It will have to do for now.
         "Are you okay?" I say
         "Fine."
         I move in close and, placing the gun to the ground as quiet as possible, wrap my arms around her in a light embrace. I feel the cool waxy substance from her shirt impress upon my chest and forearms.
         "We knew this was coming. Nothing he says changes anything."
         She straightens herself and touches my wrist with her fingers. They, too, are cold.
         "I know."
         "If anything ever bothers you, feel free to let it out. I'm scared, and I'm almost never scared. I still feel terrible inside." She nods but says nothing. "Let's go. Everything will be fine."
         Retracing my steps I gather the dropped belongings and then stuff both pistol and apple into the appropriate bags. I tie the sack with the gun to my belt and pass by Miranda returning the container with the victuals.
         Thus we continue like before as if Aku had never appeared at all, though his visit must signify some important milestone to be found in the near distance. Sure enough after four hours of grueling labor we come in sight of a light. It's impossible to judge how far we must go before meeting the shining object. Miranda estimates fourteen miles being the distance one can see a candle with the naked eye. I say it really depends on the brightness of the object, and that the luminous thing certainly seems tiers above a mere candle. I'm no expert in science, but I fear we have many more days or possibly weeks yet in this hellish tube.
         After travelling to exhaustion and sleeping we continue. Another period of immeasurable time and we sleep again. The object did not change: it seems much the same distance away as when we first spied the thing. On waking this second time Miranda is standing over me with something like a scowl on her face.
         "This is hopeless," she says.
         I take a moment to rouse and remain seated, rubbing my eyes until they hurt.
         "I have to admit," I say, "I expected a safe room by now."
         "Just leave me here, damn it."
         I look up at this unexpected harsh tone.
         "I'm hungry too, actually. We really have been in here a long time."
         "It's not about that," Miranda says with venom. "This is just so pointless. I can't assist you in any way. I'm not going to be a little puppy following you around always needing help."
             I rise up and say: "First, you haven't really needed help yet. I'm amazed how well and far you walk. Second, you really think I'd just leave you behind?"
         "I wish you would."
         I take her by the shoulders.
         "Do you realize how much I need you?"
         "What are you talking about?"
         "Do you honestly think I could take this alone, all by myself?"
         "Kill me or whatever. I won't—"
         "Shut it. That's not the point. I see you as my friend. It doesn't matter what happened in the past, or if you see me the same way. That's just the way it is."
         "But," she says in a softer voice. "But I don't…I'm not worth it."
         I let go of her before saying, "Don't say that. No more of this, you aren't thinking right." I step to her flank towards the direction of the bright light. "Climb on."
         "What?"
         I laugh. "We can move faster than we've been going. I didn't want to do it because of the toll it would take. We could be in trouble if we run into anything too challenging. But you're going to die and I might well be driven insane with any more of this." I turn and motion for my back. "Hold tight, we'll sprint."
         By her sighs I can tell she doesn't like the idea. But honestly I've considered it multiple occasions before. The problem is the very same energies used to churn my legs can also be kept in reserve for fighting and, if spent with a day's run, would prevent me from regenerating even minor wounds. I can only hope a time of rest presents itself before a serious fight is required.
         "Come on," I prod. "Just hold your arms around my shoulders and press your knees on my sides. This is no time to worry about appearances. I think this stage was designed to test endurance, and it's only a matter of course that they expected great speed from their experiments. We could have a month left if we keep walking like we have, there's no way to tell."
         Miranda is convinced and awkwardly begins the mount. She reminds me that this is exactly what she meant by being helpless. Her load is by no means heavy, though despite her malnutrition she does seem more muscular than I recall. Delegating all energy to my lower half then invokes a jolt of bubbling energy. My legs tingle and go partially numb before my vision dulls, causing the former shimmer of the road to appear a colorless bore. Barely am I able to further warn Miranda when I lurch forward at a most unnatural and rapid step such that I barely touch the ground at all. She yells out but holds fast as I find myself laughing from the infusion of euphoria. It doesn't take long before my basest consciousness grows muddy-the blur of the surroundings drop my mind to the lowest of animals. It's impossible to say how long I continue on like this (and poor Miranda all but forgotten) though when I next take notice a sizable metallic door bars further passage.
         Unable to stop in time—the very skin tarring away from skidding feet—my body smashes against the solid barricade. The dream that follows is hectic and static-like complete with haunting moans and the whisper of far away voices. Momentary lapses into wakefulness yield no beneficial effect. My mind is incapable of grasping the surroundings in a meaningful way before returning to slumber. I fail to notice waking in earnest until perceiving Miranda's motion in the corner of the narrow chamber, lit from the odd square bulbs. She does not notice me and stares a blank towards an ancient chest made of termite-eaten wood partially covered by a faded blanket. It doesn't take too long to discover my place of rest as a recliner. The thing may as well be a prison. I couldn't summon energy enough to raise a finger. Another rest and horrific nightmare later, involving nothing short of fifty foot long needles, a rocking horse and an abandon circus at night, signals the point where I regain control of my autonomy. The cold sweat and clammy palms make me wish the sleep lasted longer. That is until my companion suddenly stands, comes over and swings her arms around me.
         "I thought you died there," she says. "I could swear you stopped breathing at times."
         "How long?" I say stroking some of her tangled hair.
         "I don't know. I've been to sleep probably a dozen times. Walked out in the hall just to stretch my legs. Then Aku came in once."
         "He did?"
         "Said a 'master's gotta eat' and took one of those clay cup thingies. I did save one for you, you know."
         "That's considerate."
         She withdraws enough so I can stand and sure enough my feet along with the rest of my body are good as new. She hands me the clay container. In it is a bottle of water and bread stale enough to double as a boulder. I begin eating and drinking, listening to her explanation of the sparse events since my crash, including her own injuries that were thankfully minor ("I think your body acted like a shield!") and the door with a seventeen painted on its left side in red paint. The thing is massive, at least ten yards across, with a seam in the middle signifying it parted from that center line. She finishes by mentioning the lever installed by a bulky strobe light confessing a belief that the lever would open to the next area.
         "What could be on the other end?" I muse. "Nothing good I'm sure."
          "I try not to think about it. I hope it's a bunch of pillows."
         "Pillows?"
         "Well, yeah. Or maybe a pretty garden."
         "Uh huh…"
         Not convinced from Miranda's suppositions I feel a tense anxiety. I finish the meal, approach the pathway leading out of the safe room and turn to declare that we should finish this unpleasant business quick as possible. Miranda tells me to go ahead and open the metal gate while she collects whatever sparse supplies remain for future use.
         I enter the familiar hallway to find an unfamiliar sight. The walls are much farther apart, the door not simply wide but spanning up multiple stories dwarfing all spectators of the colossal barrier. The light Miranda mentioned has been installed in the ground a ways in front of the door, a cone-shaped object of rusty iron mounted on a tripod. The beam it projects faces away from the door and, of course, acts as the light we had seen before. I circle around the thing, taking care to step over a few coiled wires cutting across the floor, and find the tall lever with its rubber handle and clamp. I squeeze the clamp and pull the lever until it gives way immediately covering my ears from a screeching mechanical howl. The door inches open like some twisted alien maw. It stops almost as soon as it starts allowing only enough space for a single person of considerably lean stature to slip in the crack sideways.
         "Hey," Miranda says to me having come out during the commotion.
         "You ready?"
         She comes to me on the other side of the conical light and keeps her head in the direction of the opening.
         "I know it's probably obvious," she says. "But I have a really bad feeling about this."
         "So do I." Once more I untangle the onyx pistol and grip it in both hands. I blink a few times and remember the other tool Orca had prepared for us. With this in mind I hold out the gun towards my friend and allow a confused little smile.
         "You've been trained to use this, I'm sure," I say.
         "I was afraid you'd offer me something like that." She reluctantly takes the weapon. She makes it clear through an aggravated gesture that she'd rather not have such responsibility befall her. "I don't want to accidentally shoot you, so no sudden movements in front of me, okay?"
         "Got it," I say taking a sack tied around the left side of my hip. It is the final bag and from it I produce an Uzi with a full magazine. "I'll ask the same of you."
         "I really don't want to do this. Let's go, I can't stand waiting. It's too much."
         "It'll be fine. We'll protect each other. Just stay close."
         We advance. I slip in first to a temporary state of blindness and emerge in a dark stairway leading down. It ends with an opening into a bright square room. The floor is made of some sort of brown padding segmented into tiles. Each tile holds an orange plus-sign pattern. In every corner of the arena stand a marble column connecting up to the wood ceiling. The overhead lamps are more concentrated close to the most peculiar sight within the space: a silver cylinder in the back corner connected to several thick tubes and thin copper wires that vanish into a compartment above.
         The pod has a triangular window on the door. I can't make out much through this window other than a shadowy form like an enlarged head surrounded by a light blue boarder.
         "Is a person in there?" Miranda says.
         "Something bent on killing us," I reply with a sarcastic tone, though I know I'm quite serious.
         As if the thing inside the capsule heard our words the silhouette behind the glass stirs left and then right. A loud pop later and the hatch of the mechanical egg drops down. A rush of the liquid, black like the ink of an octopus, sweeps across the brown mat. I am quick to forget this when faced with the creature stumbling forth on taloned feet. The beast stands like a ghastly sentinel a good eight feet high. Its muscular abdomen, arms and legs inspires unease just imaging at the havoc such prowess might cause. Its skin holds an odd texture like bark and its jaw is strong and sharp. Still it has most human facial features. Clearly its oval eyes are a crystal blue, the nose and mouth natural, like one seen on any casual passer-by.
         The beast casts its head back and releases a guttural cry. The reverberations act as an invisible net closing around us as the beast lunges forward ramming its steel-worthy skull into my chest. Rolling across the damp floor I get up with new aches and bruises. I try to stay focused long enough to release a few accurate barrages its way. No good: its long spiny fingers seize around my neck to lift me up. It punches at my ribs producing a snapping sound with each fresh blow. The speed of these slugs increases until I drop the Uzi and cough up a glob of blood. It releases me. My knees buckle and I collapse to a lying position too hurt and dazed to further act.
         It turns and arrests Miranda. She squirms in its grip and screams as it begins to rip her dominant arm right out of its socket. I could do nothing but watch bones snap and muscles rip. The arm in question is removed still clamping the pistol. It starts work on her other arm when I finally find the energy to inch over to reclaim the Uzi. I take only a moment to aim and hold down the trigger. The recoil is intense, the flashes blinding and sound deafening. I expend the ammunition in that one attack and wait for my senses to return.
         The monster's torso is riddled with holes, wires and more of the black liquid pouring down. Its skeleton seems to be made of metal and reveals that it is mechanical. To my great relief Miranda has been released. She cradles her new injury with a look of utter horror. Meanwhile, the robot turns its blue eyes on me. I set into motion around the room hoping to lure it away from my companion. It takes a few screeching steps towards me before speeding up with the help of two thrusters that it produced from its back. It flies into me, pushing me back into the wall and, to my surprise, breaking through it with the ease of punching past paper. We enter a new compartment decorated much the same as the first. It's considerably longer and more spacious. The machine allows me to fall to the ground keeping itself suspended above me. I regain my footing and begin summoning all my energy for a frontal assault.
         "Exterminate," the humanoid says to no one in particular before holding out its arms. I gasp on seeing a dozen barrels and cannons peeking out that were not there before. Bullets and red-tipped missiles shoot out covering the arena with holes and explosions. I try with great effort to dodge, running around the stage like a poor ant trying to avoid being crushed, but as each missile detonates another is there to replace it. One such missile sticks my left leg and blows out my entire lower half in a sickening red mist. Before I have the chance to hit the ground the droid lands before me and catches my body. It proceeds with the delicate operation of removing my internal organs with its hands like a shovel digging through dirt.
         I would have died there in that helpless state except for Miranda's meddling. She slips into the new arena and shoots hitting the robot's back and head. It discards me and blitzes for the woman. I am not entirely sure what happens though I hear Miranda let out a very painful scream. What can I do? I'm hardly more than a head, praying to anything that I have enough in me to regenerate and to do so without the tremendous urge to fall asleep. Internally calling for the energy seems to work and the reforming process initiates.
         I cannot estimate the time that passes until I again stand on my two feet, naked. My adversary has its back turned on the far side of the room. I call out to it. Sure enough, it lumbers around to face me. I see the hint of Miranda at its feet: a little bloody mass on the tiles, partially obscured in shadow. I feel sick for the first time. Did I really just allow her to die? Did it happen just like that?
         Terrified at the possible scenario I take the initiative and charge full on the abomination, tears slipping from my eyes as I yell at the top of my lungs. The machine mirrors my run and jabs a fist towards the padding at my feet. I sidestep and release a punch charged with electric energy for its elbow. The elbow makes a pop and the exoskeleton punctures through the artificial skin. Continuing with this momentum I circle to its back and jump on between the exposed boosters, smashing into its cranium with my full might. The skull caves but the behemoth still staggers up with me on top. The boosters flare on and the thing begins to take me into flight. I wrap my arms around its torso and squeeze with every bit of energy. I hear things inside it shatter and crack. Heavy smoke emits from the head.
         "Exterminate" I hear it say through the masking smog. The sharp pain of being pierced by thin and long cartridges follows. I know it has returned to filling the area with a shower of projectiles and come up instantly with an idea. I feel around until identifying one of the many barrels that protrudes from its skin and seize a red missile before it’s able to get free. I try my best to prevent its escape despite a powerful propulsion and wait anxiously for it to blow. The explosion comes—again removing a large part of my body in the process—hopefully doing the same for my enemy. After the fall I pull myself along with one arm and half a face leaving behind blood like a slug might leave a trail of slime. The machine is a smoldering heap on the ground, engulfed in flames.
         “Miranda,” I try saying with limited success. The entire room reflects the light of the fire. The walls are either smeared with soot or shredded apart. I try the name again but realize then I never said anything at all. Indeed, I feel my neck torn open and my very vocal cords missing. It isn’t long after this that I lose consciousness.
         I wake with my head next to the iron cylinder where the heinous robot had first been spotted. Aku stands at my feet with his hands in his pockets and his iconic smile painted over his boyish lips. I sit up in a rush and demand to know about Miranda.
         “She’s dead,” he says with a shrug.
         “No!”
         “That’s what I should say, mind you. She’s really over there in that other room,” he points leftward at the giant gash in the wall. “I healed her in time. Lucky you.”
         “Oh, thank God!”
         “Don’t thank God. Thank me. It really is irresponsible how many times you left her wide open. And you pretend to love her. Hah!”
         “Thank you, then!” I get up and head in the indicated direction. Looking through the hole I observe the still-burning mechanical fighter about midway across. Miranda is sitting below me, for it’s a good two foot drop into the elongated compartment. She looks up and says “Hey.”
         “Hey to you,” I say. “I was so worried for a second there.”
         “Me too. It’s really over?”
         “That part, anyway. Let me help you up.”
         We return to the main chamber and face Aku. He takes us in a moment like before and then points in the direction of the cylinder.
         “The walls, as you may have guessed, are very flimsy. Behind that one there you’ll find entrance into the second stage. No one who has undergone this trial has ever passed it, and even I don’t know what to expect far enough in.”
         “Hey Aku,” I say.
         “What is it? Why are you looking at me like a fag?”
         “Really, thank you.”
         The game master rolls his eyes and waves a hand.
         “Maybe you look like a fag since you’re naked.”
         “Oh!”
         “Yeah, so I got you some clothes, see there?” He indicates a large pile of garments by his feet. “You left it there at the last safe room. There was a pair for the girl, too. I can’t promise how they fit.”
         They fit well enough. Mine is white below a grey collared shirt and black pants. Miranda’s had much the same color scheme: a grey top and black bottom that made the two of us look more of a team than before. Both of us shower our thanks on Aku. He always retorts with some sarcastic remark or remonstrance of our performance for each occasion.
         “You bozos can stop thanking me for sweeping up your failure,” he says after the latest comment, moving behind the cylinder. He begins to tare the cream colored wall down with his bare hands. This reveals a dark elevator door in wait on the other side. “If I followed the rules exactly I could have waited those extra few seconds for the woman’s heart to stop beating, but alas my pity at such pathetic creatures is too much!”
         “You’re just putting on a tough guy act,” Miranda says. “You’re starting to like us.”
         “If an insane man can love a pile of dirt, then I suppose anything is possible. But I really don’t like anyone, least of all people I’m trapped with when I’d much rather be sitting at home sipping some lemonade.”
         The wall is effectively removed. Aku pushes the only button by the sleek elevator and the doors immediately part open. He enters the cramped interior and motions for us. We obey without protest and before long the doors close blocking our first trial out of sight for eternity.