Loaded Save

Kappa, Zeta, and Beta scour the Brazilian, Dutch, and French sections of the Golden Hall for leftovers. Colt and Adair grab meat from buffet tables near Indian and Pakistani flags. The thousands of other programs look at Phaedra and Pix on the floor, losing hope as Pix deflates. Cyrus stays at the previous round mahogany table and grabs Sophia’s beige suit sleeve.

CYRUS: Did you, um, talk to a program named Troy?

SOPHIA: What? Oh, yeah.

She pulls away and runs to Pix and Phaedra, trying to make sense of herself. Cyrus gets misty and removes his thick round glasses, sniffling and wiping his eyes on the polka dot hospital gown. Jada puts down her plate and walks to him.

JADA: You okay?

CYRUS: Someone I met... signed up for Tier Three... I thought they were dead.

She pats his shoulder. Ben walks up to them.

BEN: Hey uh-

JADA: Fuck off?

BEN: ...I just wanted to say, if either of you need somewhere to sleep tonight, we can share a cell in Tier One.

JADA: Oh. Thanks.

Cyrus wipes his eyes and looks at Ben, a blurry mass covered in soot and oil. He isn’t sure if Ben is a “master” like the other tunic-wearing martial artists, but appreciates the kindness. On the other side of the round gold and red room, plates get to the fading Pix. Carmen picks him up and cradles him, holding his mouth open as Phaedra and her followers drop food in. The intercom pops again:

BRICK (ON SPEAKER): Aw, does Pix have a tummy ache?

Phaedra looks up:

PHAEDRA: Can we meet later!?

BRICK (ON SPEAKER): Oh sure! Just forget about leaving tomorrow.

PHAEDRA: Please, he’s not well!

BRICK (ON SPEAKER): You have one minute.

The intercom clicks off.

PHAEDRA: Carmen, could you... join us?

Carmen looks down at her ailing cousin.

CARMEN: Course, ma’am.

They pick up Pix and run to the elevator. As the door closes, Phaedra whispers to Carmen:

PHAEDRA: Would you mind telling me my origin?

From the amphitheater stage, Renzo’s three lizard heads take a good look at the chamber. At the sides, thousands of Peacefuls lay and sit on the black floor, confused. Renzo thinks of these “sides” loosely, as there aren’t walls in Pix’s chamber, just areas the programs inhabit in clusters: the small school, food troughs, funnel, amphitheater, and the larger unfinished school. Husky, Pug, Lab, and Mutt return to Renzo.

PUG: ’Ey! You in charge now?

RENZO (three voices at once): Y-yes, except building priveleges-s.

MUTT: Are you one program? Or three?

RENZO: W-we are three-in-one. Y-you can refer to us as Renzo, he, they, it; we do not car-re.

HUSKY: Well Renzo, we have a lot of mouths to feed, and those scraps aren’t gonna cut it.

RENZO: A-assemble the Hostiles-s.

Brick’s mammoth body fills his industrial-strength iron office chair. To warm himself, he covers his dark gray unitard with an enormous wool vest. One of his spiked leather bracelets digs into the arm rest, his other hand holds a replacement tablet. He reads headlines:

“Brick loses his temper FULL analysis!”

“Publican Escape: Prophecy or Prank?”

“Golden Hall First-Timers! The TRUTH about Food!”

The elevator bings open and Phaedra steps into the dim, gray, fluorescent office. Carmen supports Pix with her shoulders. Brick places the tablet on his desk.

BRICK (pointing): What’s she doing here?

PHAEDRA: Carmen, Pix’s cousin-

BRICK: Hi.

He looks at two smaller slate-gray chairs by the rear window. Phaedra drops her height gracefully into one while Carmen hauls Pix to the floor by the other. She sits and takes in the square office with corner-to-corner windows. She gets stage fright just looking at the desk and dark Arena below. What would she say with recording equipment, current events, and power?

BRICK: You know, you’ve really fucked me.

Phaedra laces her fingers together in her lap.

PHAEDRA (sighing): We just want to leave.

BRICK: Then what? Freedom? Eternal bliss?

PHAEDRA: Just... Anything else.

BRICK: And if the Internet kills you?

PHAEDRA: I’m willing to try. Every program will know the risks.

BRICK (to Carmen): Do you buy this?

CARMEN: I... don’t know, I’m sticking with my cousin. By the way, are there food reserves-?

BRICK (standing): Ah, food.

He walks to the rear window, looking past Publican highways toward Fragment Valley.

BRICK: Your fucking party had the last good meal until next cycle. Everything else is canned. I hope you’re enjoying Publica’s attention. If you die, I lose favor. If you win, we lose workers. When I called for your deletion last round, my media team shat themselves. I was willing to be the “bad guy”, but you think Publica is bad now? No workers, no food. Without food, Hostiles will eat Peacefuls.

Phaedra sits with this.

CARMEN: Is there anything we can do?

BRICK: No. And because I’m fucked either way, I’m not playing your game. You’re playing mine.

The programs in the Golden Hall get rowdy, unsure of what’s happening to Phaedra and Pix. Kappa, the imposing black-tunic krav maga master, stands on a large golden-red chair.

KAPPA: Alright, listen up! HEY!

They calm a bit and turn toward him.

KAPPA: Let me be clear, you’re in great hands. The programs in tunics like mine can tell you about Phaedra. You’ve made a brave choice - you’re not here for a meal ticket. You’re here because you want to be free. So have faith, because this time tomorrow, we’ll be on our way to new horizons, and you’ll be amazed you ever tolerated Publica.

At a corner of the room, Ben helps clean and pick up plates while Sophia walks in a daze past Jada and Cyrus. She mumbles:

SOPHIA: God, I hope he’s right.

CYRUS: Same. Are you really... human?

SOPHIA (more to herself): Am I?

Programs finish their plates and start filing out via the elevators.

JADA: I’m Jada by the way. This is Cyrus.

SOPHIA (in a daze): Huh? We’ve met. Good to see you Cyrus.

CYRUS: Can I s-say something?

Sophia looks back and forth between Cyrus and Jada. More and more programs finish their meals excitedly. Elevator bings continue.

CYRUS: You two are similar.

Sophia and Jada frown at each other. In her gym clothes, Jada’s a tougher, dirtier looking Sophia. If Sophia grew out her bowl cut and stopped showering, her hair would probably get twirled up like Jada’s. If Jada reduced her eye bags and put on a beige pantsuit...

SOPHIA / JADA: I don’t see it.

They get bashful, emboldening Cyrus.

CYRUS: You both have a little edge, you’re burned out on Publica...

JADA / SOPHIA:

I mean... / True.

CYRUS: And you both feel weird about Phaedra.

They look down to Cyrus, then back to each other, exposed.

SOPHIA (shrugging): Great, what’s your point?

CYRUS: Just... making conversation I guess...

Cyrus scratches his polka dot hospital gown, ice unbroken. A few dozen programs remain in the Golden Hall, feeling nourished and lucky.

Troy hobbles away from the amphitheater, gripping their sweaty crutches while avoiding Renzo’s Hostiles. They overhear barking about another special announcement. Could they have one day without announcements, breaking news, or calls to action? As they round the incomplete school, they spot a light gray program with thin veiny tattoos and a white robe, and three short human-types with yellow gloves and navy blue work suits.

TROY: Oh! I was just... looking for something.

Troy tries to continue away.

??? (laughing): It is okay, middle one.

They stop, impatient.

TROY: Troy.

???: I’m Rahim. This is Pop, Bang, and Spark.

The three short programs turn their chins up politely.

TROY: Why aren’t you at the amphitheater?

RAHIM: We follow Phaedra. The dogs follow... anyone. We agreed to intervene if this chamber became too unstable.

Troy appreciates Rahim’s openness, but they start limping away.

RAHIM: I’m nonbinary as well, middle one.

Troy stops.

RAHIM: There are more of us.

Phaedra closes her eyes and frowns, concentrating.

PHAEDRA: Can the winner fight you if Publica wants to see it?

BRICK (laughing): In one round? Sure! But how will I know you’re really dead?

PHAEDRA: My body would remain, no smoke.

Carmen holds Pix, now a husk.

CARMEN: He... might be dying as we speak.

BRICK: Ugh, why?

CARMEN: It’s the food problem, he needs energy.

More programs, more energy.

BRICK: Right...

Brick looks at the floor and sighs.

BRICK: There’s a smoothie factory at the southwest edge of Publica. Take what you need. There are plenty of cabs.

Carmen stares at him.

BRICK: Do you want chaos in the street? Go!

Authorities will follow, see you tomorrow at eight.

Carmen dives under Pix to get him on her shoulders. She takes one last look at Phaedra, then jogs heavily to the elevator.

As Renzo waits on stage, he hears the last comment from Phaedra: her body would remain, no smoke. Far away, Troy sits on a black block at the construction site.

TROY: Why didn’t you speak up earlier?

RAHIM: We admired how well you were doing.

TROY (quickly): But I didn’t want to be alone.

RAHIM: Oh... I’m sorry, I should have supported you.

Troy is immediately disarmed. In one turn, Rahim showed more compassion and understanding than a lifetime of Peacefuls, “healthcare”, and “literature”. Troy starts to cry and the bombers pat them reassuringly.

TROY (shakily): ...Where are they?

Brick and Phaedra sit in the dim office, high above the night streets of Publica. Overlooking the domain, she doesn’t envy the pressure Brick has been under.

BRICK: You know, I’ve sent humans a message.

Phaedra bolts upright in her chair.

PHAEDRA: How?!

BRICK: The Algorithm.

PHAEDRA: What did you say?! Did you hear anything?!

BRICK: I just tried to tell them we exist.

He looks at his big, worn, hairy hands.

BRICK: Nothin’.

PHAEDRA (sitting back): Are you sure the Algorithm forwarded your message?

BRICK: Well... I tell myself they did.

They look at the starless, cloudless sky above Fragment Valley.

BRICK: I wouldn’t forgive myself if Publica fell apart.

Phaedra figures now or never:

PHAEDRA: So... Carmen, who you just met, determines program origins. According to her, Jada is my daughter, and Sophia is human. We need to let Sophia leave.

BRICK: Sure. Just delete me and Pix tomorrow.

PHAEDRA: Could Sophia go alone?

BRICK: Look, even if she was human, you expect the Algorithm to cooperate? You wanna send her with a fuckin’ certificate?

PHAEDRA: You don’t believe me.

BRICK: You know how hard it was sending one message? I’m a pushover compared to that thing.

PHAEDRA: What if I go with her?

BRICK (waving her away): Go see your programs.

He doesn’t blink. Phaedra tries to think of an argument but can’t. Ignoring Brick would mean the death of her followers, her life’s work, and least importantly, herself. She rises quietly and smoothes her purple-orange satin as she heads to the elevator.

PHAEDRA: I hope you find what you’re looking for.

He nods, barely echoing the sentiment.

Carmen sits in a speeding auto-cab with a ghastly, hollowed-out Pix. They ride southwest through the dark circuits. As they pass through the financial district, she remembers a Peaceful banker. They said the economy was precarious - ad coverage supported the Tournament, Publicans mostly consumed food, tablets, and vehicles, though self-driving was so efficient, manual steering was outlawed. They said Publicans thought about money short-term: gambling and consuming rather than planning or investing. Home placement was job-based; the most common type being hall-less high rises, with entry and exit via transport pad. After that conversation, Carmen had low hopes for the domain, saw her cousin on the news, and stabbed a cop.

The traffic thins out, they pass one more high-rise and drive along an empty stretch of road. To their distant right, she catches city lights reflecting off Memory Lake. A yellow sign indicates the end of the circuit and they turn left up a hill. She sees a two-level pink factory with a fleet of trucks parked outside.

CAB (SPEAKER): Destination ahead, Hostiles.

She steps out of one door to grab Pix from the other. As she carries him into the factory, blue and red Authority lights hit the building. She jogs heavily to a floating red geometric sphere wearing a hard hat.

CARMEN: ’Scuse me.

SPHERE: Oh! I recognize you from the screeeeens. Brick told us the plan.

Pix, shriveled and dehydrated, wheezes on Carmen’s shoulders.

SPHERE: Ew! Follow me!

They proceed through the factory passing other primary-colored geometrics tending to hydraulics and supplies. They bang through a double door into a deafening pink hangar with nine colorful house-sized vats. A rainbow of tubes lead at right angles from the top of each vat to the north factory wall.

SPHERE: Up those stairs! Pick a tube, any tube!

Carmen carries her cousin to the metal scaffolding.

Phaedra solemnly enters the Golden Hall. Jada and Kappa amble around the nearly empty room, taking dirty plates to a wide custodial cart in the center. She meets Jada at the cart.

PHAEDRA: Jada.

JADA: Yeah?

PHAEDRA: We don’t know each other very well, and although I’m your mother... I don’t think it changes how I’m going to treat you.

JADA: Is that... bad?

PHAEDRA: No, no.

Phaedra picks up with them. Jada grabs a broom and sweeps crumbs and dropped food.

PHAEDRA: I’ve always cared about my followers as if they were my children, but sharing code must change things.

Jada focuses on sweeping, unsure what else to do.

JADA: Oh... kay...

PHAEDRA: If I die tomorrow, I’d like you to lead everyone to Fragment Valley.

JADA: What?

PHAEDRA: It’s just Brick, Pix, and myself fighting tomorrow.

JADA: Can’t one of your masters do it?

Kappa leaves some plates and joins them.

PHAEDRA: They can be your counsel, but Publica knows you’re my daughter. If I’m martyred, you’re the best program to keep the panicked masses moving.

Jada keeps sweeping.

JADA: What’s in the Valley?

PHAEDRA: The Algorithm. In a small central cave.

JADA: What if you beat them?

PHAEDRA: Then I’d be Champion and we could exit without issue.

KAPPA: Did you want to review combat, Miss Ananda?

PHAEDRA: That’s alright Kappa... Jada?

She stops sweeping.

JADA: Fine.

PHAEDRA: I’m sorry... I’ve upset you.

JADA: No you haven’t.

Jada continues sweeping for an agonizing minute.

PHAEDRA: ...Did you have any other questions?

JADA: How do we even enter the Internet?

Carmen finally drops Pix on a metal platform by the purple smoothie vat. She pulls her red and yellow kente cloth tight behind her and with her spear, knocks a tube loose, spraying purple gel as the suction stops. She walks the scaffolding, grabs a spare nozzle, pairs it to the tube, brings the tube to Pix’s mouth. He remains dead still until she shouts:

CARMEN: Hey! Cuz! Start sucking!

Pix jolts and bites down on the nozzle!

Renzo runs military drills with dozens of Hostiles away from the Amphitheater. They stand in neat rows and move with surprising coordination compared to yesterday. He hears Carmen shout on the monitor screen.

RENZO: C-companyyy! Move that funnel back to the mouth-h!

The Hostiles swarm the funnel under the arm-portal. Before they can reach it, a flood of bright purple smoothie gel breaks through.

RENZO: F-Food’s her-re!

Pix’s chamber of thousands of Peacefuls and Hostiles cheer with relief. Some Hostiles spread wings and grab the funnel’s high, wide end, the rest grab the small-end supports to keep the structure together. They slide the giant funnel to the ceiling-mouth, splashing as it directs smoothie into the food trough conveyor belts. As the six long troughs fill, hungry programs approach to lap up the protein mix.

At the end of the elegant Tier One holding cells, an elevator bings and Phaedra, Kappa, and Jada step out. The Peaceful-Hostile mix remains calm in the many-sized concrete, gold and red-trimmed cells. As Phaedra passes each unlocked, open cell, her followers get quiet. She waves calmly.

PHAEDRA: Kappa. Could you pass me that microphone, and set it to all floors?

He runs back to the elevator, taps a small mounted screen, and returns with the mic. Phaedra closes her eyes and holds the prayer gesture. She commands the eclectic building with the sound system:

PHAEDRA: Hello again, beloved. I suspected we would speak again, and I hope you were not too distressed by the last fight. I don’t know if it’s my place to interfere with suicidal programs, and if you think I should have done more, please forgive me.

She pauses heavily. Then walks slowly down the hall.

PHAEDRA: We are surrounded by screens and stories. Though I don’t know the story you tell yourself: Survival, comfort, progress... I know you are constantly looking for patterns to fit it. Rarely do we examine our stories, because when we do, it’s harder to make sense of our work, our connections, or Publica itself. If you are comfortable, I invite you to close your eyes.

She closes her eyes and stops. She speaks with long deep breaths between her sentences.

PHAEDRA: What exactly is the story you tell yourself?

Where did it come from?

How does it affect your mood; your actions?

Who are you without it?

This last one is very important.

She takes another long breath. Most programs in their cells have closed their eyes. A few look around, curious but unnerved by the atmosphere.

PHAEDRA: If you’re ready, you can open your eyes.

When we slow down, we might notice that we’ve been living with an unconscious story: Productive. Useless. Whole. Broken. These stories can be simple and comforting, but they are false.

I encourage you to be more aware of your stories. If you hold them a bit more loosely, you may better understand each other.

Please consider this as you fall asleep.

Goodnight, beloved.

Phaedra holds her hands in prayer, lowers them, and places the mic back by the elevator.

Carmen holds the tube while Pix lies on the platform, eyes wide, sucking on the smoothie nozzle. With the purple tank half-drained, she wonders how many he’ll get through.

CARMEN: Hey, you awake?

He drops the nozzle and it sprays gel next to him.

PIX: Yes! Thank you cousin.

He takes the nozzle from her with steadily increasing strength.

In Pix’s chamber, the thousands of programs form an asterisk of lines to the food troughs. Renzo sits on the shoulders of an eight-foot rhinoceros-type overlooking them and calls out:

RENZO: D-do not take more than you need-d!

The programs dip their faces into the purple troughs and eat as the funnel catches a steady stream from the ceiling-mouth.

RENZO: P-Pix! Can you hear us-s?

The flow of purple gel stops.

PIX (booming above): Yes?

RENZO: O-our name is Renzo, do you remember-r?

PIX (above): You are alive!?

RENZO: Y-yes! Troy did not want to lead, but I do-o! I need building permission-n!

PIX (above): Granted! Are others from our dinner alive!?

RENZO: T-this is it, you, me and Benjamin-n!

At the unfinished school, Troy feels tension leave their body as they hug Rahim.

TROY (quickly): I’ll find them - thanks Rahim.

They part.

RAHIM: You’re welcome, though they’re quite secretive. I don’t know if they’ve heard about Pix and Phaedra and may need some catching up. Boys, can you create a distraction for our new friend to escape?

POP / BANG / SPARK:

Yeah! / You bet! / Yuh!

Cyrus and Jada pass Phaedra’s cell and nod. They continue along the hall of open white-barred cells, passing clusters of Peacefuls and Hostiles: leaning on beds, flat on the floor, hanging from the ceiling, sitting up quietly, trading fight stories, reading on tablets. They get to the clean-cut, freshly-showered Ben reclining in a white swivel chair. He wears his gray tank, red shorts, white socks and polishes his shotgun.

CYRUS: Hi... was it, Benjamin?

BEN: Yeah! Come in, come in.

Jada and Cyrus slowly enter.

BEN (pointing to his bed): There’s my tablet if you wanted - the news went crazy today.

JADA / CYRUS:

Sure. / That’s okay.

They smile at each other. Jada flops into the bed, kicks off her sneakers and reads.

CYRUS: I watched the broadcast, like, all day. I’m good.

Over the tablet, Jada notices how closely Cyrus rolled up to Ben. Cyrus watches him polish the gun.

CYRUS: Is it... scary out there?

BEN: It’s intense. But when I’m out there I don’t think of Hostiles as my peers, just targets. It helps.

CYRUS (holding his core): That’s terrible.

BEN: Maybe. But what’s my alternative? Break down and get attacked from behind?

Cyrus looks at the corner of the room. Ben takes a long look at him.

BEN: I like your glasses.

CYRUS: Oh! Th-Thanks. I like your... gun.

BEN: Thanks. It’s a Rossman 590 tactical pump action.

Ben cocks the unloaded fore-end. Cyrus startles backward. Jada chuckles.

JADA: God, get a room.

Ben laughs as Cyrus blushes. A shoe scuffs by their entrance: Sophia stands at the open white bars, clutching her elbows.

SOPHIA: Um... hi. Can I stay with you folks?

They all look at each other, surprised.

CYRUS: Sure?

The others nod.

BEN: Want a recliner? Blanket?

SOPHIA: Oh, if you don’t have-

JADA: No no no, you’re good! I’ll be right back.

Jada leaves the tablet, then the cell. Sophia keeps holding her elbows and walks toward the light gray bed.

SOPHIA: I never sleep well.

CYRUS: That’s fair, I’m, uh, sure your job was stressful.

She looks shaken.

BEN: You wanna sit down? What’s going on?

She slowly sits on the edge of the bed. She trembles, clutches the sheet and looks at the floor.

SOPHIA: I have... nightmares...

Troy, Rahim, Pop, Bang, and Spark head to the feeding trough lineups. Still thousands of programs wait for a serving of smoothie gel. The color has changed from purple to pale blue.

POP: Hey! You took my spot!

BANG: No, I’ve been waiting here!

Hundreds of nearby programs turn to the outburst.

RAHIM: Boys, settle down, just be patient-

POP: Patient my ass! Tell this bozo he’s gotta line up like everyone else!

PROGRAMS (SIMULTANEOUS):

Leave it alone! / Back of the line!

Troy limps around the array of lines and sees the small end of the funnel. Some of Renzo’s Hostiles break toward Pop and Bang’s squabble.

RAHIM: Oh, sirs, please don’t-

POP: Tell that son of a bitch he’s got another thing coming!

BANG: Excuse me!?

Bang tackles Pop to the black, rubbery floor. The lines break up as they roll back and forth viciously. More of Renzo’s Hostiles run to them, and Renzo himself turns his rhino-type toward the commotion. Spark looks out for snitches behind Troy.

SPARK (whispering): Go, go, go!

Troy limps to the soft landing pad under the giant funnel. They look back at Rahim who discretely flexes their fingers while Pop and Bang tussle like chihuahuas. At the funnel, the gel coagulates. Troy ducks into the spout and grabs hold of the blue gel, now solid and low-viscosity. They drop their crutches.

SPARK (whispering): I’ll throw ’em, keep climbing!

Though gel sticks to their long curls and their bad leg weighs them down, Troy climbs the funnel toward the ceiling-mouth.

Five years ago, my sorting was straightforward. I was Peaceful, and my ability to sort and purge cache files would be “well-suited for teaching”. I didn’t ask why. On my first day in Publica I was handed a tablet and given lesson plans. I had one night to study, and the next day I had six Peaceful and six Hostile students. This was before Phaedra popularized separate classes. I was explaining domain basics when a young male squid-type asked:

SQUID: Miss White, how old are you?

I honestly couldn’t remember and froze. My first memory was being sorted the day before. In my core there was a sense of maturity, but I didn’t have a number. I must have paused too long because he got frustrated:

SQUID: If you can’t answer a simple question why are we listening to you?

ME: Because if you don’t pay attention, you’ll end up dead in the Tournament!

The class recoiled and I could tell I was losing them.

SQUID: Ya think so, Miss White?

ME: The Authorities will take care of you.

I reached for my tablet and swiped to call security. The squid barely asked:

SQUID: What?

Before one entered my room:

GUARD: Which one, Miss White?

I pointed to the squid and he was promptly taken away. A few days passed, and I heard he ended up in Tier Three. Evaluation must have decided he was disruptive, but not physically harmful, meaning I was never in danger, he was just difficult. Tier One and Two felt like eternities as I tried to teach and push out the thought, “Who’s going to get him?”

I should have avoided screens on Delete Day, but everything was too new. Stressed out of my mind, I stayed in a teachers’ lounge with a screen and watched Tier Three appear west of the Harvest Fields. I recognized him immediately. Within moments, Tiers One and Two appeared, encircling the enormous field. They methodically compressed to its center, executing any Tier Threes who tried to escape.

The squid started positioning himself under a paracamera, following it. At first I thought, “Why not focus on surviving?” but it made sense. He wanted to be seen.

Among the chaotic executions and suicidal Tier Threes running for the perimeter, he found a tall gorilla-type, climbed its back, and jumped from its shoulders to the paracamera. As he held on, the helicopter blades whizzed, failing to remain stable. It was pulled to the ground and the squid practically looked through the lens, into my core. His face filled the broadcast screen as he said:

SQUID: I’m fourteen.

Was that all he wanted to say? I closed my eyes but wish I covered my ears. I still can’t forget the sickening sound of his beheading. I panicked and ran out of my building into the streets but a security guard pulled me back as I heard someone sobbing. It was probably me.

Taking cycles off work didn’t ease my anxiety. Was he making conversation? Why was I so confused in the first place? Did he know more than he was letting on? I needed to make sure I was never caught unaware, and I decided to study Publican ethics. I joined medical teams to research psychiatric core treatments to affect Hostile tendencies. Unfortunately, every time we tried to rehabilitate them, change was temporary. Living peacefully made their lives more frustrating, and they’d usually end up in the Tournament within a few cycles.

When Phaedra Ananda was principal of my building she shot down my research proposals left and right. She said I needed to embrace smaller classes and “look within for peace”. After a year, she was fired and talked about the Internet to anyone who would listen. She kept asking me:

PHAEDRA: Are Publican textbooks really helping you? Don’t you think there’s more to life than our domain’s framework?

She doesn’t understand that if we gave Hostiles enough incentive for peace, my treatments could work. I almost tested this in Pix’s chamber, but before I could give a proper talk I ended up in a terrible argument. If I could just combine the right information and environment, I could make a difference.

...Right?

Quiet settles over the Tier One holding cells as Peacefuls and Hostiles fall asleep. Sophia stays on the bed and dabs her face with a sheet. Jada stands between the seated Ben and Cyrus as they think of a respectful reply.

CYRUS: Have you told anyone these past five years?

Sophia shakes her head, trembling. Jada carefully sits next to her on the gray single bed.

JADA: I have a question.

SOPHIA: ...What?

JADA: Did you find out your age?

SOPHIA: Does that matter?

JADA: Well, I’m wondering why you researched Hostiles, instead of recover your memory.

Sophia’s throat catches as she struggles with Jada’s question.

SOPHIA: ...It wasn’t important.

Jada doesn’t buy it.

SOPHIA: If you’re assuming Carmen’s right and I’m really human. But she could be lying-

JADA: Carmen’s right about me, though. Phaedra and I have the same abilities. I didn’t even realize I could patch until she showed me.

SOPHIA: Good for you.

Jada leans back on the bed, rebuffed. She sighs.

JADA: Look, most of us don’t remember before Publica, so we just remember our day of entry and count from there. Something in your core knew you had a life before this, right?

Ben and Cyrus quietly share the cell, invested in Sophia’s reply.

SOPHIA: ...Sure.

JADA: So why not assume you’re human? What if something has gone horribly wrong?

Sophia looks at her knees.

SOPHIA: If I ended up here, my human life wasn’t good. I don’t want to go back.

Through all this commotion, Jada forgot about the programs that wanted to stay in Publica.

CYRUS: So... why’d you join Pix?

In the colorful factory, Pix breaks the nozzle of his draining tube and scrambles on all fours to the lime green vat of smoothie gel. He stretches his arm, rips the green tube, and screws the nozzle onto the new connection, the pressure barely decreasing as he brings it back to his mouth. The smoothie gel hits the back of Pix’s throat, but vomits back out. A gurgling voice there calls out:

???: Hey! Hey!

Carmen startles from nearly falling asleep. Pix heaves and drops the active nozzle. His head expands, his hockey puck eyes bulge forward, and a tangle of wet hair blooms from his mouth as Troy’s long skinny arms reach the metal scaffolding. Carmen runs over.

CARMEN: Whoa kid, what happened?

Troy pulls forward and wrenches out of Pix’s mouth, covered in green, purple, and blue gel. Pix burps as his head shrinks back to a normal size. His eye bulges out once like a battered sheet, and two crutches spit from his mouth at Troy. They take a small hit on their leg cast, but catch the crutches to keep them from falling off the catwalk. Pix reforms and coughs:

PIX: Troy, right?

Troy catches their breath and wipes smoothie off their face.

TROY: Yeah...

PIX: Why did you quit? Nevermind, I am hungry.

Pix reaches for the green nozzle again to slurp. Carmen tries with a bit more warmth.

CARMEN: Hey, you okay?

TROY (quickly): I’m fine - but I actually can’t stay for long, I have something to - wait, wait, wait...

CARMEN: What?

TROY (even faster): Pix, Renzo’s up to something - he’s making military formations - if he saw me escape he might have stopped-

Pix spits out the smoothie nozzle and points it away from his color-stained toga and skin.

PIX: Renzo is my friend. He didn’t attack me during Tier One, he chose to be absorbed.

TROY: He’s being strategic-

PIX: That is enough.

Carmen looks between them.

CARMEN: Hey... You might wanna listen-

PIX: I understand. If Renzo keeps my chamber stable, he is a good friend.

Pix frowns and resumes sucking the nozzle.

CARMEN: Oh... kay... Thanks for giving us a heads up, kid. Where you headed?

TROY: Fragment Valley - whatever bye.

Pix avoids watching as Troy gathers themself up, mounts their crutches, and heads down the scaffolding out of this room in the factory. Carmen turns to Pix.

CARMEN: What was that!?

Pix keeps sucking until Carmen kicks the nozzle out of his mouth.

PIX: Hey!

CARMEN: Who’s Renzo?

PIX: My friend.

CARMEN: And?

PIX: He has three heads.

Carmen gets up, preparing to jump down Pix’s throat.

CARMEN: That’s it? A Tier One Hostile is in charge of your chamber? We need to get him-

PIX: We do not need anything. I need to become Champion tomorrow.

Pix takes a low defensive position, smoothie hose draining to his side. Carmen points her spear toward him.

CARMEN (sighing): We need each other.

PIX: Then wait.

Carmen grips her spear tighter.

PIX: Do not interfere.

They stare each other down, Pix stays defensive and clamps his mouth shut. Carmen hates it, but knows when to quit, so she raises her spear and steps back.

CARMEN: You better nail it tomorrow.

Sophia feels the room closing in.

SOPHIA: I guess... Pix would keep taking me away from real life.

JADA: What part of real life?

SOPHIA: I don’t know, it’s an instinct. If I’m scared, I’d rather run away than run toward. Now, as much as I love being psychoanalyzed by computer programs, I’m tired.

CYRUS (yawning): Same... I’m like, bad tired.

BENJAMIN: What?

CYRUS: Bad tired. Like, when you’ve had such a bad day, you shut down.

BENJAMIN: Is there good tired?

CYRUS: Yeah, when you’re well-exercised, had an intense catharsis...

BENJAMIN: Ooh, “catharsis”-

JADA: Anyway... Who’s using the bed?

The room goes quiet, mostly expecting Sophia to speak up. She raises her hand politely. Benjamin gets up from his recliner and stretches toward the ceiling.

BENJAMIN: Sure. How about you Cyrus, you want a bed or chair or...?

Cyrus grabs a lever on his wheelchair.

CYRUS: I can use this!

He pulls, and the wheelchair widens and elongates as his head is gently lowered back to support his body perfectly. The others chuckle.

BENJAMIN: Nice! You’re a chair sleeper! How bout you, Jada?

Jada searches the concrete and red-gold trimmed cell. There are extra blankets on the floor, and a shelf where Benjamin moved the tablet. She’d rather not wake the sleeping programs.

JADA: Uh...

SOPHIA: We could squish?

She turns to Sophia, surprised.

JADA: You sure?

SOPHIA: It’s fine, just wrap in a blanket - we don’t need to spoon.

Jada collects and tosses sheets to Sophia and Cyrus. Cyrus unfold one and covers his hospital gown.

BENJAMIN: Cyrus, you want to change out of that?

He stops ruffling.

CYRUS: Oh, I was getting used to it, but... yeah, actually.

BENJAMIN: Sick! I actually have extras...

He pulls one off his shelf.

BENJAMIN (laughing): What do you think?

Cyrus thinks it over - if he’s a cigarette, Benjamin is at least two cigars. He couldn’t fill the gray tank or red shorts, but they’d be more comfy than the polka dot gown. Socks sound even better, his feet were tired of the cold metal of the chair.

CYRUS: Sure!

Troy limps through the starless, moonless night, crossing a field far from the end of the highway. Multicolor smoothie dries on their hospital gown and their curly hair crusts and sticks to their face. The air is cool and quiet except for their breathing and crutch-assisted steps.

Most Publican books were garbage except geography: they remember basic descriptions of rivers, lakes, fields, and hills and try to recall a path to Fragment Valley. They pass knolls and ponds. A distant auto-tractor tends a few acres of wheat. Under the matte dark-blue sky, they press on, their clothing gets drier and rougher, the crutches chafe their underarms, and they think about what the other nonbinaries might say. Their core rumbles a bit, and they wish they ate something before leaving Pix’s chamber. As they climb a large hill, they stop part-way to breathe and check their progress: the smoothie factory churns miles away, Brick’s office towers over the Arena, and the tight Publican skyline justifies the sprawl of low apartments, highways, and warehouses.

Their core rumbles again and Troy realizes the gel stuck to their gown should be edible. They undo the gown, peel dry cloth from their skin, then disrobe and sit on the cold grassy hill. They suck on the gown, tasting little seeds, fruit, and chocolate-flavored powder, enjoying the moment of calm after the chaotic day. A breeze rustles tall grass around the hill. They take a deep breath and feel thankful for food.

A memory intrudes of the burnt bodies remaining in Echo Forest. They don’t quite remember livestock on the farms they passed, and a queasy feeling creeps in. At first they’re embarrassed they hadn’t realized it before, but it’s replaced with full-blown nausea: what if programs are used as fertilizer and food?

Troy coughs and stares at their Hospital gown. It would make sense considering all the bodies left over from battles and the variety of animal-types that end up in the Tournament. Who could be on their gown right now? Was this a “plant-based” smoothie? Even then, they met floral-types! How many flora work on farms until they become a crop? Who gave this milk? Who got blended into powder? Who’s repurposed into sushi? Does Phaedra know? Does Rahim? But what could they even do? Would Troy have been happier if they picked a pronoun and ran with it?

Disgust and despair force them to drop the gown. They pull their crusted hair up away from their face and keep pulling, wishing they could rip the evidence out and faint from shock. They look at their naked, agenital body and hate the stigma it carries. They try to breathe slowly, but instead, they shudder and cry for ten minutes, though it felt like an hour.

Eventually, the sorrow passes through their core and Troy faintly remembers their goal. The cool air helps them relax, despite the physically uncomfortable crutches, and the emotionally uncomfortable nudity. They reach the top of the hill and, at last, see the astoundingly long Fragment Valley. Publica is protected on the southwest edge by a gorge with rows of caves evenly stepped into the Valley. If Troy tripped forward, it wouldn’t be pleasant, but the steps protrude enough that they would fall just one level. The dark prevents them from seeing the other side clearly, and as they look to the far north and south, it’s not possible to see the beginnings of the valley. Is this the edge of the world?

A gust of wind sends a shiver up their spine as they steady themselves over the precarious view. They hear a rock on a shelf below, startle, and attempt to cover themself.

YOUNG VOICE: A middle one?

TROY: Who’s there!?

From a secondary path, out pops a short sunflower-type, and a young human-type wearing a red cape and white onesie pajamas.

SUNFLOWER: You’re... nonbinary too?

TROY: Oh - yes - are you...?

PAJAMAS: I am! And they’re a plant! What are you doing?

TROY: Well - it’s kind of a long story-

SUNFLOWER: Story time where it’s safe! Come meet my family!

The sunflower and child disappear into the path. Troy barely processes their appearance and starts looking for the entry.