At the control booth, she turned
the dial to Z, the most advanced skill level. No one in her class
had ever
gotten past W before, including Rohin and Tock. She planted herself firmly at the starting position—the top hat symbol inked on the floor. “Begin!” she said loudly, and though she remained stationary, it was as if the walls of the room had been set spinning. The HATBOX, which never presented the same scenario twice, was scanning its infinity of locations, enemies, and weapons for a suitable trial. The scanning was meant to disorient her, upset her mental balance. Whatever. As a hall in Mount Isolation solidified around her, she took a single step forward, felt the tickle of something like a whisker against her cheek and— Ooomph!
She was knocked to the ground, her coat shredded near the right shoulder. She looked up and saw The Cat, Redd’s top former assassin, laughing at her. A muscular humanoid who could morph into a cute kitten at will, he stood erect on two legs, his thighs each as thick as her waist. He had powerful, sinewy arms tapering to paws, claws as sharp and long and wide as butcher knives, and a feline face with flat pink nose, whiskers, and a slobbery mouthful of fangs. Bits of Molly’s coat hung from one of his claws. She didn’t even have time to get to her feet before the scene dissolved. “Again!” she yelled.
This time she activated her wrist-blades while the room was still scanning, its walls flickering with possible scenes and enemies. At the briefest sighting of The Cat or anything feline, she lunged forward, determined not to be caught off guard again. Yet when a new environment took on form and substance around her, The Cat was nowhere to be seen. She stood backed up against one end of a long, narrow canyon of volcanic rock, trapped by three jabberwocky. “Nice jabberwocky,” Molly said. “Molly jabberwocky’s friend.” Jabberwocky didn’t need friends. One of them exhaled a jet of fire at her and— She dropped and rolled, tapped her belt buckle, and the belt’s sabers sprung open and sliced into the beast’s underbelly.
Bad move.
A jabberwock’s skin was nearly as hard as fossilized lava. Far from fatal, the saber wound only provoked the beast into a rage. It stomped and spat fire in all directions, Molly rolling first one way, then another, deftly maneuvering to get out from under the thing without being crushed. Problem was, she came out exactly where she’d been before: trapped against the canyon wall by three jabberwocky. She shrugged open her backpack—flink!—and from among the variety of blades and corkscrews it offered took hold of two crowbar-shaped weapons, their pointed ends veering off at right angles from the long handles. With one of these in each hand, she leaped toward the canyon wall, knife points driving into the rock and holding her momentarily aloft over the jabberwocky. She pushed off from the wall with her feet and landed on the back of the nearest jabberwock. The beast went insane, bucking and twisting its head around on its long neck, snapping its jaws at her. It required all of Molly’s strength not to fall off, just to keep her grip on the bony protuberance near the top of the beast’s spine—a lucky vertebra, not unlike the pommel of a spirit-dane’s saddle on the otherwise cratered moonscape of jabberwock skin. Something hot flashed against Molly’s leg. One of the jabberwocky had spit a fireball. It grazed her—worse, it grazed her mount, and now her
gotten past W before, including Rohin and Tock. She planted herself firmly at the starting position—the top hat symbol inked on the floor. “Begin!” she said loudly, and though she remained stationary, it was as if the walls of the room had been set spinning. The HATBOX, which never presented the same scenario twice, was scanning its infinity of locations, enemies, and weapons for a suitable trial. The scanning was meant to disorient her, upset her mental balance. Whatever. As a hall in Mount Isolation solidified around her, she took a single step forward, felt the tickle of something like a whisker against her cheek and— Ooomph!
She was knocked to the ground, her coat shredded near the right shoulder. She looked up and saw The Cat, Redd’s top former assassin, laughing at her. A muscular humanoid who could morph into a cute kitten at will, he stood erect on two legs, his thighs each as thick as her waist. He had powerful, sinewy arms tapering to paws, claws as sharp and long and wide as butcher knives, and a feline face with flat pink nose, whiskers, and a slobbery mouthful of fangs. Bits of Molly’s coat hung from one of his claws. She didn’t even have time to get to her feet before the scene dissolved. “Again!” she yelled.
This time she activated her wrist-blades while the room was still scanning, its walls flickering with possible scenes and enemies. At the briefest sighting of The Cat or anything feline, she lunged forward, determined not to be caught off guard again. Yet when a new environment took on form and substance around her, The Cat was nowhere to be seen. She stood backed up against one end of a long, narrow canyon of volcanic rock, trapped by three jabberwocky. “Nice jabberwocky,” Molly said. “Molly jabberwocky’s friend.” Jabberwocky didn’t need friends. One of them exhaled a jet of fire at her and— She dropped and rolled, tapped her belt buckle, and the belt’s sabers sprung open and sliced into the beast’s underbelly.
Bad move.
A jabberwock’s skin was nearly as hard as fossilized lava. Far from fatal, the saber wound only provoked the beast into a rage. It stomped and spat fire in all directions, Molly rolling first one way, then another, deftly maneuvering to get out from under the thing without being crushed. Problem was, she came out exactly where she’d been before: trapped against the canyon wall by three jabberwocky. She shrugged open her backpack—flink!—and from among the variety of blades and corkscrews it offered took hold of two crowbar-shaped weapons, their pointed ends veering off at right angles from the long handles. With one of these in each hand, she leaped toward the canyon wall, knife points driving into the rock and holding her momentarily aloft over the jabberwocky. She pushed off from the wall with her feet and landed on the back of the nearest jabberwock. The beast went insane, bucking and twisting its head around on its long neck, snapping its jaws at her. It required all of Molly’s strength not to fall off, just to keep her grip on the bony protuberance near the top of the beast’s spine—a lucky vertebra, not unlike the pommel of a spirit-dane’s saddle on the otherwise cratered moonscape of jabberwock skin. Something hot flashed against Molly’s leg. One of the jabberwocky had spit a fireball. It grazed her—worse, it grazed her mount, and now her