So, I was standing there trying to figure out how to kill a black bear with a pocket knife.
The game is usually fair, and in a combat round you tend to be given weapons equal to the task at hand. The knife was part of a multi-tool, and though the blade was sharp, it was also short, and the odd shape of it felt uncomfortable in my hand.
I suppose I should have felt lucky to be holding the knife at all. When this round began, I thought there was nothing. The ground was a coarse yellow sand, and only half an inch of the stainless steel contraption was unburied. If the sun hadn’t glinted off the metal just so, I never would have seen it. Of course, even the position of the sun was precisely controlled, so in all likelihood the reflection was designed to find my eyes.
The bear made a noise that sounded somewhere between a roar and a sneeze. It didn’t seem particularly aggressive to me, but, then, I didn’t have much experience with bears.
I took a moment to glance down and find out what they had me in. The fabric had felt light and breezy, so I wasn’t surprised to see that it was a fine white linen. It seemed like it might have been a toga, but I didn’t want to take my eyes off the bear long enough to figure out the mechanics of the outfit. I could see that I had a snug leather belt around my waist, though, and the fabric draped skirt-like well above the ankles, so I didn’t have to worry about tripping over it.
I still had canvas sneakers on, which was nice. Sandals would have been better suited to the outfit, but generally the game let me keep whatever footwear I brought with me from the previous level. I’d acquired the canvas sneakers in an earlier round, when in a moment of desperation I’d knocked a teenage kid off his bicycle and bludgeoned him with a rock. It was horribly traumatic for both of us, but probably more so for me, since I was the only one that actually existed.
That was one of the only rules I knew for sure: no matter how lifelike the characters seemed, they weren’t real.
They had done little work on the scenery, this time. I seemed to be in a tiny oval arena, but they hadn’t bothered to create any seating. Outside the low walls of the sandy pit was just the dull white color of empty space, which seamlessly blended into a blue, sunny sky.
The bear seemed to be losing interest in me, if it had had any to begin with. It backed away slowly and started sniffing the wall at the perimeter of the sand pit. From the way the wall caught the sun, it seemed to be made of some sort of painted sheet metal or plastic, and something about it reminded me of a hockey rink.
I slowly moved backwards to the opposite side of the sand pit until I could feel the wall at my back. It was smooth and warm to the touch. I let my fingers drag along the surface while I walked a few feet, feeling for a seam. There was none. Without a seam, there was no panel to ply loose, and no easy exit- unless I found a hidden door. But I had a feeling I wasn’t meant to leave this space.
I was finally far enough away from the bear to examine the pocket knife. It was the sort that unfolded into a pair of pliers. I could see a can opener attachment and small Philips head screwdriver. Nestled in the handle next to the knife blade was a file that looked like it might work on metal.
I wondered which of the tools I would be expected to use. If this was puzzle challenge instead of a combat round, then any or all of the pocket knife extensions could come in to play. The game always gave you the tool you needed for the job. At least, that’s the way it had worked so far. But it was always getting more difficult- physically, mentally… and in other ways, too.
The first round of the game had been just a hammer and a nail.
The second round had been a hammer and a baby.
The bear made a loud snort on the far side of the arena, and stood on its hind legs. It sniffed the air for a moment then returned to all fours. I eyed it careful for a minute while it wandered about slowly. It seemed almost bored. Bored was better than angry.
The wall was only about four feet high. I estimated that I could probably climb over it without too much trouble, if the game would allow it. But the game did not usually allow for such things. There were an inexhaustible number of ways it could stop me. The wall might have a top edge that was razor sharp, or perhaps there was some sort of invisible force field above it. That would be a lazy solution to keep me in place, but it wouldn’t be the first time.
I considered taking a running leap to vault out of the arena, but it occurred to me that such a move might trigger the bear to charge, whether out of its natural instincts, or some hardwired condition of the game.
Escaping the arena was futile anyway. Even if I could get out, there was likely just an infinite ocean of sand on the outside. I might wander around until I died of dehydration, if they let me. Most likely they’d just let me stumble about for a while and then put the bear pit right in front of me. This would go on for weeks or months until I finally fought the thing. That’s assuming I was supposed to be fighting it. I still couldn’t be sure.
The bear sauntered around the pit, less concerned about keeping his distance than I was. I circled the pit and kept as far from the animal as possible. Gripping the knife hard, I felt the awkward metal hilt dig into my flesh. The rough sand made for unsure footing, and the muscles in my legs were fatiguing quickly.
If I was supposed to kill the bear, I figured I should do it now, before my legs got too tired, and before I had the chance to think about it too much. Still, the mechanics of the attack had to be worked out. I figured my best shot was to lodge the small blade in the bear’s throat- it was the only vulnerable spot I could think of. But just now, it was not looking particularly vulnerable.
I took a step forward, and even though the bear remained relatively placid, I found that my feet did not want to carry me any closer. What if I did lodge the knife in the bear’s throat? Would that be enough? I imagined that even if I got a good strike in, the bear could still tear me apart before it bled out. Then I tried hard to stop imagining that.
I noticed that I had started shaking. I hadn’t realized how afraid I was. As an abstract concept, bears had never scared me. Even seeing one up close in a zoo hadn’t even aroused the faintest stirrings of fear. But now, mere feet away from the thing, I felt raw terror creeping in.
It had been the same with the wolves in an early level. But I’d had a samurai sword then, and some sort of plate armor. Now I felt naked, and the blade I was holding might as well have been made of plastic for all the good I thought it would do.
I closed my eyes and silently repeated my mantra: “It isn’t real. It isn’t real. It isn’t real.”
I opened my eyes and took another step forward. It sure felt real.
The bear wasn’t looking at me, even though I was only two large strides away from it. It occurred to me that perhaps they’d given me a blind bear, or maybe just an extraordinarily stupid one. That would have made it fair, right? The game is usually fair.
I took another step. My canvas shoes sank strangely in the sand. This was not good footing for a fight.
Before I could think about anything, I stepped again, closing the distance between me and the bear. Still, it didn’t even acknowledge me.
I was close enough to touch it now. The funky smell of it, and the odd noise of its heavy breathing were all that I could think about.
Its head was down, and now that I was here, I couldn’t figure out the mechanics of actually stabbing it in the throat. I just didn’t have the leverage or the angle to get a good thrust there.
The fur on the bear’s head was a bit thin, and through it I could see the dark skin covering its skull. If the bear remained still and calm, I would be able to land a spectacular downward thrust right there in the crown of its head. If the blade punctured the skull, it would almost certainly mean instant death for the bear.
The game had taught me that when I needed to kill, it was best not to over think things. I had my target. I had my weapon. I had my plan of attack. Best to make quick work of it.
I rotated the knife so the blade pointed downward, then I raised it above my head with both hands.
I took a slow, deep breath, and said my silent prayer. “It isn’t real. It isn’t real. It isn’t real.”
I plunged the knife down with the full force of my weight, and instantly I realized I had made a terrible mistake.
The tip of the blade found its mark, but rather than crashing through the bone, it slid downward, following the curvature of the bear’s skull, opening a deep cut. The wound would not be fatal, at least not instantly so. But that was not the most pressing problem.
The real horror of my situation became clear moments later when I felt the excruciating sting on the crown of my own head, and felt every nerve scream as a gash opened all the way down to the flesh behind my ear. It was a mirror to the cut I’d given the bear, though the pain was so intense that it took me several seconds to recognize it.
The bear had made an odd sort of yelp when my blade struck. It sounded more surprised than hurt. The animal had stumbled away in fear and confusion, which had been somewhat of a relief until my own wound had appeared. Now my pain was so severe that it was difficult to think at all. But I did have wits enough to command my legs to take me as far from the bear as possible.
My hand went up to my head. There was too much blood. The wound was so raw and painful that touching it hardly made a difference. I felt skin torn loose from the bone beneath, warm matted hair, and blood, and blood, and blood.
I felt light-headed, and wondered if I was going to pass out- but surely the game would not allow such a thing. Death was a possibility. Though what death meant in the game was a mystery to me. Perhaps it would mean waking to the real world, whatever that was.
My hands were shaking so much that I wondered if it was simply adrenaline, or if it was a symptom of some kind of brain damage from the head wound.
“It isn’t real. It isn’t real. It isn’t real.”
I noticed with a mixture of relief and surprise that I was still holding the knife in my hand. My first thought was to charge the bear and stab it until it died. My pain had made me fearless. I needed this round to be over. In the next level I would be healed. The game always gave you a fresh start.
I stumbled towards the bear, but my legs were wobbly and gave out beneath me after a few strides. I jumped to my feet again, throwing sand everywhere. My movements were spastic and sluggish. My body was failing. I would not have much time.
I stumbled closer to the bear and wondered if it was in as much pain as I was. I took a moment to be thankful that it was still passive and calm in spite of everything. In fact, even now it seemed not to see me.
I felt dizzy, and as I moved again I lost my balance, falling face first in the sand. I landed strangely and twisted my arm. I felt it bend, then snap. I expected a shot of pain to course through me, but by some miracle there was none. Perhaps the wound on my head had exhausted my ability to feel any other pain, for the torrent of agony that streamed from my scalp was unrelenting.
As I was getting to my knees, a peculiar thing happened. One of bear’s front paws gave out from under the beast, and it fell into the sand roaring and whimpering. A mirror of my own broken arm… but where I held felt no pain, the bear clearly did.
I gazed down at my own arm to look at the break and marvel at the lack of pain, but upon examination, I could see no injury at all. Where I had felt it twist and crack, the arm now looked completely healthy, and was not even the slightest bit tender to the touch.
The rules of this round were starting to become clear. I stood up slowly and made my way over to where the bear making a sad and disturbing sound- somewhat like a howl. The bear did not acknowledge me, and somehow I was confident that he would not, or could not become aware of my presence.
I did not want to press my luck, though, so I only got close enough to confirm the theory that was forming in my foggy mind. I looked at the bear’s head where I had so violently lacerated it. The fur there was wet with blood, but the gash itself was gone.
Suspicions confirmed, I knew what I had to do next. Looking down, I saw that the knife was gone. For a moment, I thought it was a cruel twist in the game, but then I realized that I’d simply dropped it when I had stumbled.
In moments, I had fished the blade out of the sand, and was holding it loosely in my hand. I was fairly certain about what I needed to do, but I thought I better perform one last test, just to be sure. Also, I wanted to find out if it was going to hurt.
I held the blade against the palm of my hand, and I was about to give it a healthy slice, but at the last moment I realized that I wouldn’t be able to be certain if it worked or not. I moved to knife to the bridge of my nose, and, staring at the bear, I cut.
The cut wasn’t too deep, but I should have been in agony… well, more agony than the head gash was accounting for. Instead I felt nothing, even as the blood gushed from the wound. But few seconds later the bear bellowed pathetically as a mirror cut appeared on its face, as if carved out by some invisible knife.
I moved my hand up to my nose. There was blood, wet and sticky, but the cut I had just made was gone. That was it then. The results were in.
I took a moment to consider the poor bear, confused and in pain. I was likewise suffering, but knowing that my torment (this torment, anyway) was almost at an end gave me a sense of tranquility. What was the kindest way to end the bear? The neck or the heart?
I considered the knife for a long while and decided that I probably couldn’t thrust it into my breast with any great ease. Was there bone or merely cartilage over the heart? If I ever knew the finer points of anatomy, the game wasn’t letting me remember them- or perhaps it was just the pain from my head that was dulling my mind.
The neck would have to do, I supposed. I raised the blade slowly, trying not to think about the insanity of what I was doing. As the steel touched my throat, I felt warmth of the metal, and its hardness. But even as its tip punctured my skin, I felt no pain.
I made quick work of it- cutting deeply and opening the arteries in my throat. The sheer volume of blood was shocking, but even as it found its way into my lungs, and caused me to choke, I felt no pain except from the cut on my head- the cut I had intended for the bear.
Some few seconds later I felt the flesh of my neck mend itself, while simultaneously the bear began to roar and squeal and gurgle. I did not enjoy watching it thrash about and die. I regretted that I had not thought of a quicker and less painful way to dispose of it.
It was still twitching a making gargling noises a minute later, and I was wishing it dead now for selfish reasons. The pain from my head wound was unbearable, and I needed this round to be over. I was contemplating stabbing myself in the heart to speed the process, when finally the animal was still.
There was as sudden and absolute silence as all the ambient noise from the level suddenly ceased. When the game was resetting between levels, you couldn’t even hear the blood flowing through your ears.
The world dissolved away, as it always did, leaving me in an ocean of white, while the game conjured up some new horror for me.
“Fourty-Four” said a voice from no place in particular. There was always a voice announcing the beginning of a new round. I was trying to figure out if it was the same voice every time, but no matter how much I focused, I couldn’t actually discern any characteristics of the voice at all. I couldn’t even tell you if it was male or female. It was a soundless voice, like when you’re thinking words in your own head.
I was waiting for the next level to solidify around me, but many long seconds went by with no sign of scenery. I was standing in an empty, infinite white space.
I wondered if there was a glitch in the game. A moment of panic seized me. What if no one was monitoring the game? I could be stuck in this limbo for years- centuries even! My pulse was raising, and I started running aimlessly in a misguided attempt to jar the game back into a working state.
I only made it three steps before I slammed into something solid. Pain shot through my face, which had taken a good share of the impact, but after a moment, the mild throbbing injury reminded me that my bleeding head gash was now a thing of the past.
I ran a trembling hand through my hair and felt not even a trace of dried blood. I looked down to see if my clothes were still soaked in blood, and was momentarily surprised when I realized that I was no longer wearing the white linen toga.
My outfit was a simple white t-shirt and a pair of green shorts. My grey canvas sneakers were still with me, and they didn’t even have a trace of sand on them. The new outfit and the solid object in front of me renewed my faith that the game was still functioning properly.
I reached an unsure hand in front of me to feel what I’d run into. It was solid and flat. As I ran my hand along its surface, I suddenly became aware that it was a solid white wall that started at the floor and went up higher than I could tell.
I followed the wall for several paces until it intersected a second wall at a right angle. I traced the second wall in a similar fashion until I hit a third, and then a forth.
A room. I was trapped in a featureless white room… or a deep, featureless white pit depending on whether there was any kind of ceiling over my head.
The walls were a perfect white color, and the game had conjured no defined light source. There was no hint of shadow, or glare or anything to give a clue about depth or shape or texture. Even where the walls met, there was no visual queue at all.
The absence of any other living presence made me think that this was a puzzle round. I hated puzzle rounds- they could last for weeks- even months.
The worst part of a puzzle round was figuring out what the puzzle actually was. And this time the game had really started me with nothing. How does one answer when there is no question? I leaned against a wall and sank to the floor sullenly.
As I sat, there was noise beneath me. Startled, I scooted aside. There was nothing where I had been except the featureless white floor. Then I realized that the sound had come from me, or rather from my pocket as it had hit the floor.
I reached a hand into the deep pocket of my shorts and was surprised to find my hand grasping the multi-tool from the previous level. The blade had been folded down, and there was no blood or sand to be seen, but I was certain that it was the knife I had just used to slit my own throat.
This was an interesting turn of events. The game did not often let me keep anything but footwear from one round to the next. I wondered if there was a reason. There wasn’t always a reason for things. That’s how the game kept you on your toes.
“Fourty-four,” I said aloud. I wondered how many more levels there were to go, and whether the game would outlast my sanity.
—
To be continued in: “Everything’s Going to be All White”
