Page 27 of Tapeworld Induction

The Polyphonte aimed and fired. The thought of passing the ball to someone else was still a mere fragment in Isaak’s head when Tripwire sprang into the fray from the opposite direction and put himself in front of the bolt.

“Go—” was all Tripwire had time to say before he was hit in the back, the armour’s haptics shaking his chest. He was out of the game.

Isaak tried to keep the same relentless pace but watching Tripwire go down had shaken him. The sound of his feet striking the Shift platform at full speed seeped into this world. He was forced to slow down.

Isaak looked at the Polyphonte, who was smiling, aiming down sights.

He closed his eyes, bracing for the impact.

Laserfire.

But no haptic feedback.

Isaak opened his eyes. The Polyphonte was down. He looked around to find Sacha on the hill overlooking them. He was holding a smoking laser rifle. He’d taken the shot and got the kill.

Isaak forced himself to keep running until he made it back to their spawn point and spiked the ball on the ground.

“GAME END!”

Showered by the ecstatic clamour of the home crowd, Isaak ran to the others, who enveloped him in a triumphant embrace.

As he took his visor off, the grassy landscape made way for the reality of the pink-and-purple-lit coliseum. Across from them, the red-clad Polyphontes were already discarding their body armour. The man shot down by Sacha was being seen to by the medical team, a small bleed on his forehead.

Isaak climbed down from his Shift platform and went to shake his teammate’s hand. “Well done, Sacha.” Isaak was his senior by five years. The kid looked up to him.

“Thanks, boss!”

At that time, he felt like the greatest player in the world. The crowd pulsed with delight, and he couldn’t wait to lift the EuroLeague trophy.

“Thanks, boss!”

Huh? Isaak took his eyes off the crowd to turn back to him. “Are you okay, mate?”

“Thanks, boss!” Sacha said a third time. He wasn’t moving. Something was off.

“Thanks, boss!”

All other noise was gone. The entire audience stood immobile in the vast stadium. A shiver ran down Isaak’s spine.

Sacha’s eyes looked hollow, like someone was trapped behind them, face muscles straining in a polite smile.

“Thanks, boss!”

That’s when he noticed the rest of the team was also frozen in time.

Fear gripped him. Everyone and everything was completely still, unable to move or speak – bar Sacha’s repeated, droning compliment, which sounded faker and faker each time.

What the fuck is—

The wind was knocked out of him. Wooden slats hit his side, his face pressed into a familiar patterned rug. He desperately searched his skin until he found the slice of tape and removed it.

He was alone, back in his flat. No trace of Sacha, the others, or the euphoric crowd. The cold air of the arena, the sweat on his uniform, the feel of plastic and electronics coalescing, and the sound of the post-match celebrations lingered for a brief moment.

A rush-hit of forgotten memories: a night of partying with his team, a cab ride home drunk, the trophy forgotten in the back of the auto-car.

Was it a dream, or some kind of private Tapeworld show? Had he somehow summoned the memory of winning the EuroLeague? How?

A flashback to the Lazarus days… He gritted his teeth. A lifetime ago. Rage that he’d never play like that again.