The Scottish woman was on her phone, crying into it, as we zoomed across the floor, unseen. “Archie, please pick up. Where are you? There was an animal in here. Some sort of rat thing, and it shot something into the door of Ollie’s...” She paused and then gasped as if suddenly remembering something. “Ollie. Where’s Ollie?” She jumped off the chair.
“Ollie!” she screamed. “Ollie!”
We rushed into the child’s cluttered bedroom and raced under the bed. The gate was right there, hovering a bit off the floor. We zoomed right toward it, Pontiff expertly tapping the rocket just at the right moment to make us jump, and we cleared it, landing on the worn carpet before nearly crashing into a massive action figure that had been lost under the bed.
“Mom, what’s wrong?” A boy’s voice rang out from above.
“I’m sorry, love. I’m sorry. Mommy’s having a moment. I just got scared for a second. Did you see something come into your room?”
“Mommy. What’s . . . what’s wrong with your eyes?”
Gate Four of Seven cleared.
“That Archie guy is divorced,” Donut said as we curved around the scattered toys. “He said his wife hates him. He went into the dungeon with his son, and he disappeared. The son’s name is Oliver. This must be a version of if they never got divorced. But it’s like the simulations are getting messed up by us being here.”
“Yeah,” I said. “I think if they have the crossed-out eyes, it means they’re dead. I didn’t see the boy above, but I saw the pictures. I think that means his kid is alive.”
“It’s not an apartment under us, but some sort of utility room,” Nester said. She pointed back into the living room. “Better go out there.”
The woman, Mackenzie, was now standing in the bedroom, screaming, sounding confused, tearing at her own face. As we angled around, I watched in horror as her hands reached the stitches on her eyes. “Wha-what?” she asked. She started to pull at the stitches as she screamed. She dropped her iPhone to the floor. The thing was bigger than the truck, and it almost smashed into us as we zoomed past. She didn’t notice as we rushed between her legs.
“Mommy, Mommy! Stop! Stop!” the boy cried.
I jumped up through the hole in the roof and turned to watch as we rushed out the now-open door to Oliver’s bedroom. I tossed more bombs, marking it as the fourth floor in my interface.
Mackenzie started making a gagging, slurping noise as she pulled at the stitches. Blood started to ooze down her face as the boy huddled on the bed, terrified. We turned a corner and Donut castHoleagain, dropping us toward the third floor.
Entering apartment 310.
“What the hell was that?” I said, still looking up at the now-closed hole in the ceiling.
Louis: It’s beetles! Britney blasted the head off a guy on the sixth floor, and he just collapsed, and a thousand beetles poured out! We had to go to the hallway and to another apartment!
Carl: You’re still on the sixth floor?
Louis: On the fifth now, but there’s tons of people still up there. Someone blasted a hole in the stairwell door, and they’re lined up to go through! We’re following Chris and the Erins’ big rig!
We landed heavily on a kitchen counter. Unlike the previous apartment, this one was filled with people. There had to be eight people here, all standing in the living room, shouting. Theywere surrounding a large, heavyset man on the floor who was convulsing with white foam coming from his mouth.
The man appeared to be about fifty years old, and he was wearing a Detroit Lions shirt. He was having a seizure. A pair of large men stood off to one side, both holding PlayStation controllers, just watching. A thin older woman paced back and forth, crying, while several children of all ages whimpered. A white Maltese dog was standing on the couch, barking its head off at the chaos. The dog’s name was Gucci. The thick scent of marijuana permeated the room, seeping through the protections and into the truck.
Everyone had the crossed-out eyes.
“Imani!” the older woman shouted. “Girl. Where are you? Imani!”
“Shit,” I muttered.
Imani entered the room. It was her, only it wasn’t. She was somehow even thinner, more haggard, with dark rings under her eyes. Next to me, Donut gasped. Imani stopped dead at the sight of the man, looking down, barely reacting, not looking surprised. She sighed heavily. “Did anyone call 911?”
Carl: Elle, are you guys going to apartment 310?
Elle: Yes. We’ll be there in a minute. Why?
Carl: Heads up. It’s Imani’s family. I don’t know what the what-if scenario is, but there’s some guy having a medical emergency while others stand around and watch. It’s really fucked-up.
Elle: Ah, hell.
“The ring is on the window!” Donut said, pointing to the wall. The barred window overlooked a snow-covered city landscape. There was a driveway outside, once again showing a scene incongruous with us being on the third floor. This was clearly a house with a driveway. Across the street stood a house that appeared as if it had recently burned down.