Chapter 21
TWENTY-ONE
When the blue and orange light particles left behind by the two scenes died out, the chamber became pitch black again. I gazed around, waiting for the dim reddish lights to return, but they didn’t.
I brushed at the sweat on my forehead with the back of my hand, then wiped my clammy hands down over my pants. I hoped Anna would step through the door at any moment, but the fact that the lights hadn’t returned didn’t feel like a good sign.
I didn’t know if my mind or emotions could take another ordeal.
A glimmer of light drew my attention to the ceiling. More light particles had appeared there and were forming an image. Dark storm clouds, spitting down streaks of rain.
Drops of icy water hit my face and I jumped as a clap of thunder reverberated through the chamber. A strong gust of wind whipped past me, catching my frazzled hair.
Soon, the whole ceiling had transformed into a murderous sky, the blackish cloud formation extending, and then the light particles ran downward, creating a choppy ocean out of the floor, its color mirroring the dark sky.
A large boat appeared around me, a sturdy wooden deck lighting up beneath my feet. Opposite me, a second boat materialized—a much smaller one, with peeling paint and a battered body. It tilted perilously to one side, as if on the verge of sinking.
A man sat perched on its deck, his back to me, his shoulders hunched over. He wore a tattered white shirt and ripped dark pants. He was already drenched from the rain, his short black hair dripping and clinging to his skull.
The wind blew harder, and the light particles shifted, making it seem as though both boats rocked on the water.
A bout of nausea overcame me from the motion, and I staggered, instinctively reaching to grab hold of the side of my boat—but of course, was met only with thin air.
Steadying my feet, I fixed my eyes on the man straight ahead to combat the sensation, squinting through the rain.
I supposed this was what seasickness felt like, and it was not pleasant in the slightest.
The rocking continued, the waves growing stronger and rougher around us, though my boat stayed steady, while the man’s canted dangerously.
“A hurricane is on its way,” the computerized voice suddenly announced, cutting through the thunder and the wind. “These waters will be ravaged, and the man will die. Convince him to board your boat and he will be saved.”
With that, the voice disappeared.
I frowned, the task frankly confusing me. The man was on a sinking boat. I had a big, sturdy one. There was no convincing to be done.
“Hey, sir!” I called out, realizing only now just how scratchy my voice had become. “Turn around. I’ve come to save you.”
Five seconds passed and he didn’t turn. Didn’t even budge.
I frowned. Maybe he hadn’t heard me through all the noise?
I cleared my throat and tried again, this time as loud as I could. “Hey, SIR—I’ve come to save you! A hurricane’s coming. You just need to jump onto my boat!”
Ten seconds went by and he still didn’t budge.
I exhaled in frustration, then strode right toward him. But as soon as my foot crossed my boat’s threshold, the entire simulation distorted and sputtered. Apparently, I wasn’t supposed to do that.
I moved back to the center of my boat, and the simulation resumed its former strength.
I was supposed to stay where I was, and the only way I could save the man was with my words.
“Sir!” I tried again, my vocal cords straining. “Please! You’re going to drown if you stay there! The storm is picking up. I’ve got a big, strong boat and I’ve come to save you!”
Finally, he stirred. His torso twisted and he turned slowly around, giving me a view of his face for the first time.
He was young and attractive, probably no older than twenty-five, and yet…
he looked about as battered as his boat, and there was a weariness to his features that aged him.
His mouth was downturned, a cut splitting his lower lip, and his jaw was slack, his skin holding a bruised, purple-grayish hue.
His blue eyes were dull, jaded, as though he had seen too much in his short lifetime.
His lips parted slowly, and as he replied, his voice was deep and somber. It resonated around the chamber, reminding me of a whale’s mourning: “I’m okay on my own.”
I stared back at him, bewildered.
Nobody in real life would respond in that way. Which made me wonder what on earth the point of this simulation was.
Maybe the man was delusional?
“Sir, you are clearly not okay,” I replied. “Just get on my boat.”
He shook his head, his face becoming a stubborn mask.
“Did you not hear when I said a hurricane is coming?!” I asked.
He snorted, his expression suddenly derisive. “My boat is strong enough to withstand it!”
“It’s already almost capsizing in these waves!”
“I will strengthen it in time,” he retorted.
Three objects appeared in his hands—a hammer, a bag of nails and a plank of wood—and he bent down and began fixing the plank to his deck.
I could have torn my hair out.
“Okay, well, if you want to commit suicide then that’s on you,” I said irritably, fed up of arguing with him.
I crossed my arms with a scowl, then looked around the rest of the chamber, expecting the simulation to end. I’d given up. The man was impossible. And it was a stupid test anyway. I didn’t even know what the point of it was.
A loud crash of waves drew my attention back to the man’s boat. A large one had rolled right over it, dousing him with water and dragging the boat’s already wavering body deeper beneath the surface.
Still, the man wore that fixed, impossibly determined expression. He set down his tools, and a bucket appeared in his hands. He dipped down and started emptying the boat of water.
When another wave rolled over him, I couldn’t help but try again. His boat was collecting more water than he could ever expel, and I didn’t want to watch another person die today.
“Please, sir!” I shouted. “Please. Come on! Everything will be alright if you just jump!”
Another wave crashed over him, filling the boat up more, and he continued to throw water out with his bucket. Though, this time, I could’ve sworn a flicker of doubt crossed his translucent face.
“Don’t you have a family?” I pressed, sensing I might be on the edge of something. “Parents or grandparents? A brother or a sister? If not for yourself—jump for them! Don’t you think they’d want you to?”
Another wave rolled over him, and this time he straightened his back, his legs now fully submerged in water, and he glanced at me uncertainly.
I immediately gave him a warm, encouraging smile. “They’d want you to jump, wouldn’t they?”
It took him a moment, but then he nodded slowly. “They would,” he croaked.
As a fifth wave hit his boat, I knew we’d run out of time. Neither he nor the boat were going to survive another one.
“So jump then! Now!” I screamed.
Still, he hesitated, eyeing the gap between his vessel and mine nervously.
A final wave rolled over him and swallowed the boat. It sunk beneath the water, dragging him down with it. The stunned expression on his young face stole my breath.
He’d wanted to live. I’d seen it in his eyes. And yet, he hadn’t jumped. His stubbornness and hesitation had cost him his life.
His blue eyes glowed wide beneath the water, his lips mouthing his last, silent words as the waves pulled him under, and then he was gone.
And I once more felt perturbed.
I hadn’t wanted to witness another death. The little girl’s had been enough.
Why had they both been shown to me? I didn’t understand.
The water and the storm faded, plunging me into darkness again. But, this time, the wall and ceiling lights switched on barely three seconds later. And not the reddish ones. The white lights that had shone when I first entered the room.
Which I guessed meant the screening was over.
I glanced down to see my hands trembling, the shock of the past however many minutes this test had lasted—I’d lost track of how long I’d been in here—finally catching up with me. My knees gave way and I sank to the floor, my chest heaving.
A nausea then rolled through me that had nothing to do with the rocky waves I’d just been surrounded by.
It rose up from the depths of my gut, birthing from my tightly wound emotions, and for almost a minute, I wanted nothing more than to vomit.
I probably would have, had I not taken Anna’s advice and begun the screening on an empty stomach.
The simulations hadn’t been real, and yet, in the heat of the moment, they had felt real. I had felt the loss of two lives, both young, and run a gamut of emotions in less than an hour, emotions that some might not experience in their entire lifetime.
Now that I was out the other side, I needed to take a moment to breathe and… think.
Anna was considering me for a career in outreach, leading up to some kind of leadership position. Was all of that required just for preliminary screening? I hadn’t even started training under her mentorship yet.
What was the eventual job going to be like?
My stomach knotted tighter, and then a twist of the door’s handle dragged my attention across the room. Anna strode in, carrying the cloth bag that contained my food and wearing a mildly apologetic look on her face.
When she reached me, however, she gave a high-pitched laugh. “I’m sorry,” she said, eyeing me over. “It’s just… your hair.”
I grimaced, imagining the state it was in. Well, I didn’t need to imagine it. I could feel it sticking out like a mane. I was unable to find humor in the situation, though. Nor did I exactly appreciate being laughed at after what she had just put me through.
“Yes, it tends to do that,” I replied, my tone clipped.
“I apologize,” she said, trying to suppress her smirk. “The screening was stressful, going into it blind. I should know, given that I designed the modules for you. But, as I said, it wouldn’t have been much of a test if you knew what to exp—”