Brendon stood frozen. His heart raced as he processed everything that had just transpired.
Children? She had children?
Confusion and disbelief washed over him.
"Grace," he breathed, stepping closer, desperation starting to line his voice. "You have to come with me. We can figure this out together. I can help you."
Her hazel eyes shimmered with an emotion he couldn't quite decipher. Was it fear, regret, or something else? "Brendon, I can't. You don't understand."
He shook his head vigorously. "No, you don't get it! We're in danger here. Those people," he was gesturing to the outside, "they're dangerous! They've already killed the investigator I paid to find you; they'll hurt you too."
Grace's gaze fell to the floor as if ashamed. "I know what they are capable of," she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.
"Then let me take you away from this!" He reached for her hand, but she pulled back as if burned by his touch.
"Please don't." Her tone hardened, an edge of resolve cutting through the uncertainty that clouded them both. "I've made a life here, many lives in fact." She paused. Brendon pondered her choice of words. "This is my home now."
His chest tightened at her words. The thought of Grace finding solace in this twisted place sent waves of nausea through him. "Home? Grace, this isn't home; it's a prison! You're being used! None of this is real! It's just a fucking computer game."
Her expression softened for just a moment before hardening again like stone. "You don't understand what it means to be here." She glanced over her shoulder toward the two children standing angelically by the door.
"Those aren't your children…" Brendon's voice cracked with emotion as he fought against the tide of despair, which was now starting to creep up and drown him.
"Brendon…" She hesitated, her resolve faltering briefly as memories flickered across her face. But then she steeled herself once more. "I can't leave here." He stepped back as if struck by a physical blow, grappling with the insanity of what he had just heard.
Grace took a deep breath, her expression softening as she searched for the right words. "Brendon, it's different here. After Lucas… I couldn't bear the weight of the world outside. But here, time… it bends. It's a better life than I could have ever hoped to have out there."
His heart ached at the mention of their son. "Better? Grace, how can you say that? This isn't real!"
"It is real," she insisted, her voice firm. "It feels real, except here time passes fast but you don't feel it. Your time perception is different. A day out there, in the real world, is like a year here. I've lived lifetimes here already. Each one filled with love, joy, and happiness." She glanced toward the children.
"Do you even understand what you're saying?" Brendon shot back, desperation clawing at his throat. "You're living a lie! This can't be what you want. That isn't Lucas!" Brendon pointed at the boy, who was now staring blankly at him.
"Here, no child dies," Grace countered forcefully, her tone resolute. "No one suffers. I can create the life I want. I've experienced everything I dreamed of, things I never thought I could have. I've felt the warmth of a family again and again. I can relive those moments over and over in my mind. They are real!"
"They're not fucking real!" Brendon's frustration bubbled to the surface. "You're trapped in a simulation. You're choosing this over reality."
"Reality?" she echoed, her voice dropping to a near whisper. "What reality? The one where I lost our son? The one filled with pain and misery? I can't live in that world anymore. I choose this!"
"Grace," Brendon's words now slow and measured as he composed himself. His medical bedside manner entering the conversation. "If you don't come with me, they are going to kill you. You will die, and all this will be over." His voice was now cracked, raw, and vulnerable. "You can't seriously want that!"
She shook her head slowly, the sadness in her eyes palpable. "I can't go back to that. If this is my last go-around, then…" She drew a breath. "Then that's OK. I've lived more life here than I ever could out there."
The finality in her voice twisted the knife deeper into Brendon's heart.
Just then in walked a man. Similar in height and build to Brendon. There was something unsettling about the way he held himself. Too rigid, too controlled. His dark hair was cropped short, and his sharp jawline seemed to be chiseled from stone. Brendon's heart raced as he took in the stranger.
"Who is that?" Brendon asked, his voice barely a whisper as shock coursed through him.
Grace's expression shifted, a flicker of discomfort crossing her face before she masked it with a neutral demeanor. "That's Evan," she replied softly.
Brendon's brow furrowed as he studied Evan, who now stood at the threshold of the kitchen, eyes darting between the two of them. A sudden tension filled the air like static electricity.
"Is everything alright in here?" Evan asked, his tone calm but edged with a hint of concern that felt insincere to Brendon.
Grace glanced at Brendon, searching for an answer in his expression before turning back to Evan. "Yes, everything's fine," she assured him too quickly. "Just a discussion."
Brendon couldn't shake the feeling of unease crawling up his spine. The resemblance between Evan and himself was uncanny. A mirror image but twisted into something freakish.
"Discussion about what?" Evan pressed, tilting his head slightly as if trying to decipher some hidden meaning behind their interaction.
Brendon clenched his jaw but held back any immediate response. He sensed tension rising in Grace; it felt palpable. The weight of her silence loomed heavy over them.
"Just… memories," Grace finally said, her voice wavering slightly.
Evan raised an eyebrow but nodded slowly, seemingly satisfied with her answer. "Alright then," he said casually, but Brendon detected the flicker of something more behind his eyes. A calculated interest that made him uneasy.
Brendon remained silent, assessing this new dynamic while Grace fidgeted slightly at the counter as if weighing her words carefully. The silence grew more and more awkward.
"You need to come with me," he insisted. "We can work everything out, but it has to be now."
Grace's brow furrowed, and she opened her mouth to respond, but Brendon pressed on before she could find the words.
"This isn't a life, Grace!" He gestured around the kitchen, frustration bubbling beneath his calm facade. "You're surrounded by people…" He paused to scan the room. "No, avatars that don't really care about you. They're using you! You deserve better than this."
Brendon could feel the weight of Evan's gaze on him, a predatory focus that activated Brendon's mercenary instincts.
"Brendon…" Grace's voice trembled, but her determination shone through. "You don't understand what I've built here."
"Built?" He scoffed, disbelief creeping into his tone. "You think this is something worth holding onto? You're playing with your life! You have a chance to leave!"
Her expression faltered for just a moment before hardening again. "It's not that simple," she repeated again.
"Then I'll make it simple!" Brendon's frustration erupted like a dam bursting. He took a step closer, desperation pushing him forward as he reached out and grabbed her by the elbow.
"Brendon!" She protested, pulling back slightly from his grip but unable to break free.
"I won't let you stay here," he said fiercely, locking eyes with her. "I care about you, about us, and I'm not leaving without you."
The air crackled with volatility as Grace's gaze darted toward Evan, searching for reassurance or perhaps an escape route. Brendon noticed her hesitation and tightened his grip instinctively.
"Let go of her," Evan interjected coolly, stepping further into the kitchen with an air of authority that made Brendon bristle.
He met Evan's gaze head-on, refusing to back down even as anger surged through him.
Brendon and Evan faced off, tension crackling like electricity in the air. Grace stood frozen, caught between them. Suddenly, a loud thud echoed through the kitchen as the older boy charged at Brendon, his small fists clenched in determination. His face, completely emotionless. In one swift motion, he lunged for the magnetic knife rack sitting on the island. The metallic clatter of knives reverberated as he yanked off a gleaming cleaver.
"Get away from her!" the boy shouted, his voice high-pitched but fierce.
Brendon barely had time to react before the child swung the cleaver down with all his might. The blade connected with a sickening crunch as it severed Brendon's left arm just below the elbow, as it held Grace. Pain erupted through him like a searing hot explosion.
Brendon screamed, a raw, primal sound that filled the kitchen as he stumbled backward, clutching his bloody stump. Blood spurting out from the severed artery. His vision blurred momentarily from shock and agony.
"NO!" Grace's voice rang out like a siren as she sprang into action, rushing toward her son. "Lucas, no! What have you done?"
The boy's face was totally blank as he stared at Brendon writhing on the floor. "I was protecting you," he said calmly, brandishing the cleaver again.
"Put it down! You don't understand!" Grace pleaded, desperation clawing at her throat. She reached for her son's arm, trying to wrestle the cleaver out of his hand.
Evan stepped forward slightly, observing, not interjecting or participating in any way. He watched Grace struggle with her son while Brendon writhed on the ground in pain.
Brendon's vision was blurred, but he forced himself to focus. He pressed his palm over the top of his mutilated arm, trying to stem the flow of blood that pooled around him on the floor. Each pulse of his heart sent fresh waves of agony shooting through his body, but he couldn't let that stop him.
"You need to listen!" he shouted, voice hoarse as he tried to push himself up with one hand, slipping in the pool of blood at his feet. With a sudden surge of defiance, the child lunged at him again, cleaver raised high. Time slowed for Brendon as instinct took over; he braced himself and kicked out hard with his foot. The impact sent the boy crashing across the room, sprawling against a cabinet door with a thud that echoed through the kitchen.
"Don't!" Grace cried out, panic filling her voice as she turned toward Brendon, but in that moment, Brendon's mind had switched from fight to flight. Grabbing his severed arm off the kitchen floor, Brendon gritted his teeth against the pain and stumbled toward the kitchen window. He used every ounce of willpower to force his legs into motion. With one last look at Grace, her expression torn between fear and anguish, he jumped. His back shattering the large pane of glass.
The world outside rushed up to meet him as he landed hard on a steep bank below. He crumbled as he rolled down the slope, trying desperately to control his fall, tumbling over loose stones and grass until finally coming to a stop at the bottom.
Breathless and disoriented, Brendon lay there for a moment, clutching his left arm in his right hand, and started to push himself up onto unsteady legs. He was beyond the boundary wall on the outside of the compound.
He knew he had to run.
He started to sprint as best he could through the dense jungle. The underbrush clawing at his legs as he navigated the foliage. Adrenaline now starting to course through him for the first time. He beat a path through the foliage, looking for the fastest route, but the going was slow and difficult.
Behind him, the distant hum of helicopter blades started to grow louder until it was a deafening drone. He slowed down and stole a glance up through the thick canopy. Two Black Hawk helicopters hovered above his position. Their dark forms stark against the azure blue sky. His mind raced through the few options that he had.
Heavily armed Sentinels began to abseil down from the helicopters, their matte coated bodies painted in a jungle camo pattern. Then, after the first few exited, a couple of different forms appeared on the ropes. Shit! This time they'd brought dogs! Brendon turned on his heel, instinct kicking in, and he outright fled deeper into the jungle.
The sound of electrical motors whirring grew closer, and Brendon felt the ground start to vibrate beneath his feet. It was the rapid patter of robotic dog paws chasing him down. They didn't growl or bark, but simply bounded through the dense bush, making light work of any obstacle in their path. Brendon had counted at least two. He pushed himself harder, his lungs burning as he navigated the treacherous terrain.
Suddenly, he stumbled. He'd broken through a thick wall of foliage and began to roll down a steep slope, his feet slipping beneath him as he tumbled, cartwheeling over tree trunks and through bushes. Still clutching his detached arm, keeping it tight to his body during the chaotic descent.
Eventually he hit the bottom, landing face down into a shallow stream. The cool water enveloped his face, giving a brief moment of relief from the relentless pain he was feeling. The cold water burning his bloody stump. He gasped as he rolled himself over and laid on his back, the current gently pulling at him. The tranquility, however, was fleeting.
Dredging every ounce of will from his battered body, Brendon sat up in the stream. He glanced at his severed arm and gently laid it down on his knees. With trembling fingers, he activated the console embedded in it.
His heart raced as he navigated the screen, desperately seeking the exit button. The digital interface flickered as it struggled to stay online. Each movement of his finger flickered the screen even more severely. He prayed it would stay online just long enough.
The sound of the Sentinels grew louder. He looked up to see they were throwing themselves down the same hill. Curling themselves into tight balls and rolling down the slope with far greater control and elegance than Brendon just had. Panic surged anew as he tried to rise, but the wet stones beneath him betrayed his footing. He slipped, losing his balance, and with a splash, his severed appendage fell from his grip, carried away by the stream's current.
"Fuck!" he gasped, eyes wide in horror as he watched it start to float downstream. But before he could react, a robotic dog lunged from the shadows, snapping up the arm in its jaws.
Brendon rolled over to find himself encircled by Sentinels, all now fully upright. Their red sensors glowing ominously in the dim light. One of the bots stepped forward, looming over him.
Without warning it grabbed him by the shoulder and raised back its arm as if it was going to land a blow to his face. Brendon braced himself, but the blow didn't come. He watched as the Sentinel's hand and then upper arm began to transform.
He'd seen this happen before.
He'd watched, in the final seconds of the Riley's playback, a Sentinel do exactly the same thing before plunging the two steel rods into his eyes. It was what activated the energy beams in his V.R. headset. The beams that burnt out his eyes and slowly cooked his brain.
Brendon tried to shield his face but all he could draw was his bloody stump. A futile gesture in a situation that required more resolve and determination than he had left to offer. The Sentinel's arm drew back further, like a pitcher on a mound winding up to unleash a thunderous throw.
But then the Sentinel paused.
The bot just stood there frozen. Had it malfunctioned?
Brendon looked around. The other Sentinels seemed frozen too. Six of them just standing around encircling him. What was happening? The Sentinel holding Brendon slowly stepped away. Its arm still cocked as if covering its prisoner. Then one of its colleagues moved in over Brendon. It deftly flipped the rifle it was carrying and struck Brendon hard in the temple with the butt. Brendon felt the blow reverberate through his skull.
Then everything faded to black.