| Generated by Google Flow text-to-video AI software, powered by Omni Flash 1.1 |
As people are activated in their pods one by one, Jande steps up and takes
charge. He asks about everyone’s experience. They all had the same one—the
exact same one. The room looked the same, the executioners were the same,
even the audience sounded identical, save for their loved ones, who were
swapped out respectively. Even the loners saw their parents, or someone else
they once cared about. It’s unlikely that some were brought here on such
short notice. Quantum casting is relatively easy, but people have their own
lives, and the real slowdown would be explaining that this was a
performative execution, and they should remain stoic the whole time while
they watched.
For the most part, the contestants are fine with Jande playing the leader
for now. They still think he was part of the operation from minute one, and
they’re hoping he will share what he knows. It’s a fine line he’s walking
here, letting them think that just enough to keep them cooperative, but not
so much that it paints a target on his back.
They’re all wearing their birthday suits, and it’s rather cold in this room.
It’s not until the last pod opens that a wall parts in half, revealing a
hidden doorway. The other side is a locker room. It’s even colder, but they
find clothes. They are t-shirts, shorts, and skirts, but they’re better than
nothing. They get dressed, then start to look around for clues. There is
nowhere to sit, which is weird for a locker room, and also frustrating
because they’re still wobbly from the mind transference process.
Even the pros say it’s hard on them, probably because this is the weakest
they have ever been. Jande spent all that time working out because he didn’t
know this would happen. He already was in a baseline model. He should
have realized that the coordinators don’t just want them to be unenhanced;
they want them to be evenly matched. They’re all slender and lanky, but also
short now. Everyone is pushing each other to get to the one mirror, but
Jande doesn’t spend too much time in front of it. He’s uncomfortable, seeing
himself with the same face but a wildly different body.
Ersence is running her fingers along the walls, looking for another seam for
a door. She’s doing it carefully and methodically, and hasn’t used the
mirror even once.
“What does it matter?” Jande asks her. “Whatever will happen will happen,
and we won’t be able to control it. I think we have all seen that by now.”
Ersence doesn’t look away from her work. “We just died, I recall. I don’t
like the feeling of being trapped. Everything my people want could be
achieved with a rotating habitat. We could plant trees, and fill lakes. We
could even have mountains. But a planet just hits harder. I don’t like
enclosed spaces. If I can find a way out before these people let me
out, then that’s what I’m gonna do, if you don’t mind...husband.”
“You two are married?” It’s the hermit who should not have even known that
this competition was happening. “Forgive me, but, what’s the point? Are you
just trying to maximize your chances? You have an 18% chance of winning,
compared to my 9%?”
“Marriage is different for us,” Jande explains to the hermit. “It can be for
love and partnership, but it doesn’t have to be. I mostly needed an
employee.”
Ersence is not offended by this, but the hermit looks over as if in
anticipation of her sadness. “Well, then I suppose my odds haven’t gone
down, so that’s good.”
“Actually, they have,” an Eyrenlander jumps in. “Their odds are not only
18%. Working together gives them an advantage over whatever is coming to us.
If we’re asked to push boulders up a hill, each of us is stuck alone, and it
may be physically impossible in these raggedy bodies. But if you team up...
Same number of people, same number of boulders, but two of us can actually
get both of theirs done.”
“I just said, we are not a team,” Jande reminds the asshole Eyrenlander.
“Yeah, you did say that,” the Eyrenlander replies. “The other day, I was in
a virtual construct where I told people I was a zookeeper.” He drops down to
a whisper. “Wanna know a secret? I’m not really. Zoos don’t exist anymore.”
They stand in silence for a moment before the hermit breathes in and extends
his hand towards Ersence. “Anyway, it’s nice to meet you. I’m Dare Finnian,
but you can call me Dare.” He shakes Jande’s hand after hers. “Dare Finnian,
call me Dare.” He starts going around the room, repeatedly saying the same
thing in slightly different ways.
His ice-breaking triggers a massive wave of introductions. They don’t all
shake hands, and they definitely don’t provide their life stories, but
everyone gets a say. Except for one man. He’s standing off to the side,
looking smug, but not making any reaction to anyone else’s words. He’s just
standing there like he knows something no one else does.
Jande walks up to the mysterious stranger, who must be the last guy to
register for this. “You’ve been quiet, cowboy. You got a name, or what?”
“Or what,” the man responds without blinking.
Jande looks him up and down. “You look a little familiar. Is that your real
face?”
“What is real anyway?” Oh, he’s so mysterious and intriguing.
“I’m gonna need a name, sir,” Jande insists. “It’s a safety thing. No one
here is anonymous, and I won’t let you be the exception, so out with it.”
“Found it!” Ersence has her hand behind a corner locker. “Here, help me.” A
Bidan woman goes over and helps her remove the entire locker from its
socket. Without hesitation, Ersence reaches for the recessed toggle and
pulls it down.
The entire ceiling cracks in the center. The two halves lift up and away
from each other. Simultaneously, the floor pushes the contestants up like an
elevator, leaving the walls and lockers behind. The coordinators are truly
leaning into the tropes with this thing; it happens in every movie about
challengers in a deadly competition.
The floor reaches the surface, but it doesn’t stop. It keeps ascending
towards the sky as a crowd of tens of thousands cheer from the stands. Jande
just thought this was going to be a low-key, private matter, but it’s a
spectacle. Cameras imply that they’re being watched by people all over the
world, and maybe beyond. They really are taking a page out of the classics,
like Gladiator and The Hunger Games series.
Not too far from their platform, a smaller one rises in tandem. Vantu
Hidayat is on it alone, which is who Jande figured would serve as the
third-party judge. “Assembled minds and remote viewers, thank you for
bearing witness to this occasion! We have been working on this program for
the last four months, and have finally reintegrated our candidates into new
substrates!”
It’s been four months? It’s already spring, that’s not good.
“I know you’re all anxious to get going, but first, we have to inform the
candidates of something we discovered while we were researching the
charter!” Van looks over at the larger platform, and lowers his voice. “You
believe that you will be competing for the fate of Quiratan, but centuries
ago, it served as the first settlement on this planet. The Superintendent
position would not oversee only one community. Winning this will place you
in a supervisory role over all of Thālith al Naʽāmāt Bida.”
