Page 110 of Tapeworld Induction

Outside, he recognised the buildings of the cityscape. This was London. Or a version of it, in the Tapeworld. Why would she have bothered to set up a view of London outside of this glass-walled warehouse? Unless she didn’t have to create it all…

Was this a mirror of a real place?

As he stepped forward, he noticed the beds.

Rows and rows of unconscious people, lying on rusty cots.

Some of them shifted as he watched, but there was no sign of consciousness in any of them. There were no bedside tables, no IVs. Plaques adorned the end of each bed. Names and numbers.

Each person had a Crypterra Sleeper device mounted on their head, all of them hooked up to quicksilvered cables that led to the pillars, where the cables gathered and continued to the floor above.

He gasped. “Is she fucking kidnapping people…?”

Three recesses in the space in front of him started to move and alter, bubbling like magnifying lenses until colour pricked into dull, static grey.

Three shapes took form.

A fist moulded and emerged out of one shape, lunging at Isaak.

He didn’t dodge in time and felt the pain of ten fists. They kept coming at him and he backed up, looking around, still trying to take the setting in.

There must be something, a clue to where this place is, if it really exists.

There was nothing obvious. It was just a warehouse—

“Oof!”

A kick hit him in the back of the head. Three other shapes materialised, turning into three humanoids.

Isaak had never had any formal martial arts training like Dylan. His previously well-maintained physique had served purely for his role as the star player of the London Lazarus, where shooting and running took precedence over hand-to-hand combat.

He ducked away from a rotating kick.

The shape smiled at his dodge.

“What the…? You guys are enjoying this!”

All six figures reacted with varying degrees of smugness in their grey, translucent faces, some cracking knuckles, others stretching legs and warming up their shoulders. They felt so… human.

“Enjoy this, then!” he shouted, dropping backwards to the floor. “GUNKATANA!”

The plastic gun-sword materialised in his hand as he fell, summoned with his will.

“Gunky at your service—”

He shot the figures, timing it as his body hit the floor, the wooden floorboards feeling very real to his ribs IRL. “Shut up and help me out here!”

“I can’t shoot for you, Isaak.”

Some of the figures dodged out of the way, panic taking over. One stayed in place, too slow to react, and as the bullet hit their forehead, the figure split into thousands of small grey particles that immediately shot off in every direction.

The others looked at where their fallen companion once stood, then back at Isaak, and advanced towards him.

He shuffled away from them, stumbling upon the bed of one of the hooked-up people, who shifted in their unrest. “Sorry,” he said, an automatic habit.

Another shape got to him, and Isaak didn’t hesitate. He pulled the trigger again. And again. Two, three. Each of them derezzed, the light of the particle explosion forcing him to cover his eyes.

The remaining two fighters lunged at him.