Honey-Trap
by Robert L. Sellers, Jr.
Kiv Leonard woke to the sound of fluttering canvas and a rippled ceiling high above as pain erupted behind his eyeballs. Groaning, he raised an unsteady hand to his forehead.
“Looks like rain... again.” A man’s deep voice rumbled from nearby.
He stood with his back to Kiv, looking out through an open flap of what appeared to be a large tent.
A tent?
Sitting up, the world swam around him.
“Careful, the transfer process can throw you for a loop. At least you didn’t puke your brains out like I did.”
The man had turned to face him, revealing yet more confusion. He was dressed in plated armor — tarnished, stained and dented, but armor nonetheless. Black hair fell to his shoulders and his dark beard ran wild over the breast plate. Something about the man seemed familiar, but Kiv couldn’t place exactly what.
“These are what they hopefully still call Kodak moments.” The man’s laughter rolled through the tent.
Kiv looked down at himself. He frowned at the sleeveless, patched leather shirt and the worn pants that just covered his boots. Leather bands encircled both wrists as crude gauntlets.
“Before you ask, we are in a lowlands camp, the usual entry point for new arrivals to this world.” The man offered from the doorway. “My name used to be Jackson Wirth, but I’m better known here as Amadeus the Slayer.”
Kiv looked up with sudden awareness of the absurd.
“Amadeus the Slayer is a character in a game I play, one of three Apostles we defeat before entering the throne room of doom.” His voice a rasped whisper, he shook his head to remove what remained of the cobwebs. This couldn’t be happening. Somehow he had become delusional and was in a dream of the game he played on his computer.
“This is not a dream, fantasy or drunken vision.” Amadeus replied, slowly approaching Kiv. “Not long ago I was in much the same position as you are. My life became the game we both played to get away from the real world.”
Kiv tried to rise to his feet as Amadeus gently pushed him back down. “You really are going to want to sit for a while.”
“What is going on?” Kiv finally croaked.
Amadeus pursed his lips and walked back to the opening of the tent.
“We are in what was called a honey-trap when I last walked in your world. Something meant to draw prospects so that we could offer temptation.”
Kiv’s eyes narrowed. “You played this game?”
Amadeus nodded. “I was a computer technician for about ten years before I found the game we share as a pastime. There are... things here looking for ways to... be human again. They are offering you the opportunity to fight for your body as a sort of... challenge.”
Kiv blinked and remained silent for a few moments. “What happened to you? Did you win or lose?”
Amadeus sighed. “A little of both actually. When I got to the end and they were going to send me back, I asked to stay and let them have my body. The reasons are many but to be honest there isn’t anything back there that I would or have missed. Now I’m the top of the food chain... for the most part.”
Amadeus paused, a smile of satisfaction curling his lips. “If someone manages to defeat me, I’m restored and healed for the next round.” The satisfaction faltered as he seemed to be hear something that Kiv could not. “Sorry mate, someone is trying to enter the throne of doom and needs my attention. I would offer you luck, but if you are as good as they say you are, you won’t need it. Just remember that if you die, they win.”
Amadeus paused at the entrance with his hand on the flap. “While you are here, time will not pass for your body until you win, lose or leave. Look at it as an opportunity to sharpen your skills and build your confidence. If you make it past me, you might just want to stay as I have.”
Kiv raised a brow. “I can leave?”
Amadeus smiled. “If you stay in here for five days, you will be returned without harm. But you would be the first,” he replied before stepping out through the flap.
Rising to his feet, Kiv discovered a rough-hewn sword next to the cot. Fear began to bubble in his gut. If he was lucky and survived he would find a shield and better armor by the end of the day.
Shaking his head, he realized he was falling for the trap.
“It’s just a game!” he yelled.
Slowly, he turned and studied the tent before falling back onto the cot. Filled with dejection, he planted the tip of the sword in the dirt before him.
Five days, or face a game he knew like the back of his hand.
Live or die as his characters had.
Laughing at the absurdity, he decided to beat them at their own game.
He would become the first to wait them out.
Five days of not playing, working, or caring about anything that might be going on outside the tent.
The flap beckoned, drawing his thoughts to it.
“I can do this. I am not addicted to this game...”
Although he had played the game day and night for almost three years, he could easily go five days without it. He knew he could.
The tent flap silently mocked him with temptation.
Kiv sighed and lay back on the cot.
In five days he would know one way or the other whether he was truly addicted beyond repair to this game.
The only problem left to consider, would be from which side of the flap he would find the answer.
Copyright © 2006 by Robert L. Sellers, Jr.
