Twisted

Dedication

To my wife, Akiko, who gives me strength. To my children, Kai and Ray, who give me joy, and to my sister, Nancy D. Frankel, who has always given me her unconditional support. And, to my fellow writers and readers—Eva Pasco, Toni Kief, Joanne Van Leerdam, Helen Dunn, Sara, Lolo, Emily, Gigi, Jennefer, and too many more to name, please accept my thanks for all you have done for me.

Chapter One: Shall We Play A Game?

Tacoma, Washington, present day. June seventeenth, early morning.

C’mon, Charlie, we’re going to miss it, Martin yelled from the entrance. My dad’s driving us to Portland.

Right, rant on, brother. When it was something important to him, he went full panic mode. For me, it was Tuesday.

The clock on the wall in the bedroom we shared read eight AM, and as the seconds ticked by, Martin got even more impatient. He bellowed out my name this time. Charlie!

Hang on a minute!

I hastily pulled on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt and made my way out of the room. In the hallway, I stopped in front of the full-length mirror. Yep, still had a black eye, the remnants of a fight a few days ago, right after our school had let out for summer vacation.

Martin had wanted to buy a piece of software at the local mall, and while he was searching for the proper item, nature called. I excused myself to find the men’s washroom.

Shouts of outrage reached my ears when I returned. Some big guy who outsized Martin by a good eight inches and fifty pounds was pushing him around.

Calling it a mismatch was an understatement. My brother stood only five-three and weighed less than a twelve-year-old. He also wore glasses which made him look like a total nerd. A pretty blonde stood next to the large guy, fidgeting. It seemed that she was extremely uncomfortable with what had transpired.

What’s going on here? I asked as I walked over.

Big Dude glared at me. Kids at school called it a punking face, a cross between a gargoyle grinning and a hyena laughing. It was the look of someone who wanted to lay a beating on someone weaker for the sheer fun of it.

He slapped Martin on the top of his head. What’s going on here is this twerp hit on my girlfriend. Who are you?

I’m his brother. Lay off.

The goon slowly put his arm down. As for the girl, she had the look of someone who was hiding something, as her eyes kept darting back and forth between my brother and her boyfriend. Did Martin hit on you? I asked.

Immediately, her face turned red. No, he, uh, he just wanted to know if I liked computers. That’s it.

Something didn’t add up. Martin had the social skills of a donut hole. He stood in place, quaking in his shoes, so going over to his side I asked, "You were just talking to her, right?"

His body stopped quivering, and his mouth barely moved when he whispered, Yeah, that’s all.

I pivoted around to face the boyfriend. You heard the facts, I said. You want to forget about it?

He didn’t. I got a shot to my eye for my efforts. Bastard—we went at it right there, and then the manager and a couple of stockpersons came over to break it up.

Martin, of course, did nothing. Once we got home, me with a black eye and a bloody nose, he said, Thanks.

Only after saying thanks did he reluctantly admit that he’d gone for a quick grab—around her waist.

"You did what?"

In a halting manner, he explained that he didn’t think anything was so bad in asking someone out. No, nothing was wrong with asking—but his methods? A sigh of disgust came through my gut and out my mouth at his lame-assed excuse.

Martin, asking someone out is okay. Putting the moves on someone who has a Neanderthal for a boyfriend and then lying about it is a really dumbass thing to do.

I know.

I truly wondered if he did and pointed to my face. Do you? I got into a fight for nothing...

Charlie!

My mind returned to the present, and I touched my eye gently. My summer had gotten off to a rousing start. I tucked in my t-shirt and then ran down the stairs to meet him at the door. Sorry, bro, I was just getting dressed.

He squinted at me through his oversized glasses. I knew that squint. It meant we’d be late if we stuck around five seconds longer. Travianna waits for no one! he shouted.

With a sense of the inevitable, I sighed, but softly. At least someone was happy. Anything developed by the Hummel Corporation, the leading game software developer on the market, Martin just had to have it.

Martin and I shared a room and he usually kept me awake half the night, hunched over his computer, his body shaking with excitement as he cackled over the game he was playing. Pretty much everyone else in the world got married. I could honestly see Martin marrying his computer.

Still, my brother could have his time in the sun because after the gameplay demo, some serious pool and beach time called. With almost three months of vacation ahead before senior year began, I had goals.

First, get a tan, work out, and bulk up. At six feet and one-eighty, my body resembled a muscular swimmer’s. No metrosexual look for me. I wanted the Alpha Male, don’t-screw-with-me look.

Next, find a girlfriend. I’d had the idea of finding the perfect girl since I turned sixteen, one year ago. It didn’t matter what she looked like.

It only mattered how decent she was and if she’d be there when I needed her—and I’d be there when she needed me. Call it an old-fashioned notion. That’s how I rolled.

So far, no luck yet, but three of the second-year girls at Merryville Senior High, the best high school in the greater Tacoma area, had given me the eye the final few weeks of school and handed over their phone numbers on the last day of the semester, so yes, chance city.

The reflection in the window of Martin’s parent’s house—blond hair, blue eyes, and regular features—told me I had decent enough looks. My time would come.

Martin’s tap on the shoulder startled me out of my daydreams of possible nightly conquests. We walked over to his father’s car, got in, and his parents gave us both indulgent smiles as we drove off. You two ready for the big day?

Can’t wait, Mom, Martin replied. He nudged me sharply with his elbow.

Oh, uh, right. Yes, Mrs. Anderson, it’s going to be great.

Martin made a face at my mock sincerity. What was his problem? He’d get to play a game, so his life was complete.

Settle back, Mr. Anderson said from the driver’s seat. Short and thickset, he wore glasses and looked like a muscular accountant. In fact, he was one. Martin’s mother also fit into the short category, barely five feet, and she was like her husband, thickset all over.

Then they had Martin, who looked like a twig. He had a grin pasted on his face as if the greatest party in the world waited.

And why shouldn’t he? We’d collaborated on an essay for a contest Hummel Corporation sponsored. The winner got the chance to test out their newest video game, Travianna Three, an interactive game, at their headquarters. Me, I was just counting down the seconds until my next workout.

I can’t believe we won, Charlie, he enthused, turning to face me. If you hadn’t helped me, we wouldn’t have won, you know?

Call it a meeting of minds. He gave me the technical input. I used my writing skills to pull it all together. We called it Getting Wired In For The Ultimate Sensory Experience, set the title with a fancy header, e-mailed it in along with our photos, and we got the call only yesterday.

When Martin got the news, he started jumping around in joy—and now, his skinny body bopped up and down in the seat. A mop of brown hair obscured his narrow, homely face and partially hid his glasses. He tapped his mother’s shoulder and she lovingly patted his hand.

Some people wondered why we didn’t look more alike. I always told them, I’m the brother from another mother.

My last name was Matthews. Martin and I hooked up first in grade school. We got to be friends and so did our parents. When I was eight, my folks died in a car crash and the Anderson’s adopted me, but they let me keep my family name.

It’s important to keep your legacy, Martin’s mother had told me. Your parents would have wanted it this way.

Yes, ma’am.

I didn’t cry then, but sometimes I did at night when no one could see me. Even though the Anderson’s were cool, I still missed my parents. I’d never forgotten those who gave me my start in life and never would.

As for Martin and me, consider us total opposites. He was the brain. I was the proverbial jock. Still, we worked well together even though Martin acted too timidly and couldn’t do anything physical without gasping for breath.

While still in grade school, in the summertime, his folks let us sleep outside in a tent in their backyard. It became our adventure in camping as my brother was too timid to go on a real canoe trip. It would have been a disaster, anyhow.

Martin always watched me put up the tent. You can help me if you want, I’d tell him.

I don’t know how.

Oh, man! My father had taught me how to do all the basic Boy Scout stuff. It was standard learning, or so I thought. I’d grumble a bit, but it soon passed. We’d lie out there, stare up at the heavens, and talk about anything and everything.

Call it a bonding time. Even when the morons at school bullied him and I had to step in and save his sorry butt from beatings time and again, he’d always been my best friend.

This is going to be great, Martin said, breaking into my daydreams. Big time. Cutting-edge tech.

He kept repeating the mantra as we sped along, and soon we arrived in Portland at the location of Hummel Corporation, a large thirty-story, high-tech building. A few news vehicles were parked outside the building. This was going viral.

I put on a happy face for his sake. Martin’s mother told us she’d be back at five to pick us up, and after Martin and I exited the car, he pulled me past the reporters and inside and over to the information desk where a middle-aged secretary in a business suit greeted us. Are you Martin Anderson and Charles Matthews? she asked.

Martin put up his hand for a fist bump and I obliged him. We are, he told her excitedly. He whipped out his student card to show the proper identification. We won the contest.

I know, another voice said from behind us.

We spun around, and a tall, slender, average-looking guy in his late thirties wearing a gray suit walked over. He had a pleasant smile on his face.

I’m Harry Hummel, owner and president as well as chief software designer of Hummel Corporation. I remember your faces from the pictures you sent in with your essay. It was very well-written.

Martin bobbed his head up and down and indicated me with a gesture. Well, Charlie did most of the writing, sir. I just helped him with technical advice. I’m really a huge fan of the Travianna series.

Martin continued to rattle off Hummel’s accomplishments and how much he meant to the game world while I studiously avoided making any facial expressions to show how bored I was. Praise was fine, but this verged on ass-kissing.

Hummel took in the adulation without batting an eye. Let’s just say I got lucky, Martin.

After we did the obligatory handshakes, I asked him about the news crews outside. Hummel glanced at the window. They can wait until after the demonstration is over. We need quiet for this, and I don’t want any interruptions.

He then motioned to the elevator. We got in and rode up in silence to the tenth floor. I’ll take you to meet the third winner and then I’ll introduce you all to Big Blue, he said.

And that was... what? What’s Big Blue? I asked.

You’ll see.

Cryptic. As we strolled along the corridor, Hummel explained Big Blue was a computer that ran the Travianna program. It took the entire building’s electrical output just to keep it going plus additional output from a generator at a nearby facility.

Further down the hall, a girl sat on a sofa, her eyes fixed on the ongoing testing. Short, slender, red-haired, and kind of cute, she wore a pair of jeans and a simple blue blouse.

When she saw us, she got up and sauntered over. Hummel made the proper introductions. Guys, this is Sharon Collins who hails from this fair city. She’s the other contest winner.

Martin gulped when he saw her. He always got the shys in front of girls. I never did, but on the other hand, the girlfriend experience hadn’t happened yet, so...

Follow me, please, Hummel said. He pointed at the far end of the hallway. When we reached our destination, he spoke softly as he opened the door, almost as if in reverence to the machine in front of him. Everyone, this is Big Blue.

The room, large, sterile smelling, reminded me of a hospital, cold and impersonal. Scientists in white lab coats scurried around to check the various systems, while some other techs connected three long and oval cylinders to the main system. What did they call those things?

Oh, yeah, bod-pods, they called them bod-pods in the movies. A deep blue glow as well as a faint humming sound emanated from the machine. Pretty sweet hookup, Martin said, looking deeply impressed. Sharon seemed equally awed.

Hummel beamed at the praise and pointed at the machine. Welcome to the computer that powers Travianna. Its sole purpose is to run the various scenarios in the game. We’re confident it’ll blow anything the competition has away.

That’s all it does? Martin asked.

Pretty much.

Hummel went on to tell us something about the computer being one of a kind due to its interactive nature. Naturally, the jargon went right over my head.

Instead, I examined the bod-pods and wondered about them. What’s with these bod-pods? I asked. These games have helmets or something, don’t they?

Martin shot me a dirty look which meant don’t-interrupt-the-genius. Did I spoil your thunder, bro?

Yes, this game does, Hummel replied. Since it’s interactive, you’ll be wearing helmets to interface with Blue. Oh, by the way, they’re called bio-beds.

Martin smirked as if to say I’d gotten owned. So, I used the incorrect term and that was a problem? Whatever. Sharon then raised her hand, a quizzical I-don’t-quite-get-it look on her face. Are you saying we’re going to be in the scenario, like really being in there?

Hummel gave her a somewhat smug smile. Exactly so. Big Blue will link your minds to the scenario itself. You’ll see yourselves in the game, not just as people pushing imaginary objects around, but actually reacting to them. You’ll be the people, and hear, taste, feel, and experience everything in there just like you would out here.

Is it safe?

Sharon’s question earned her a nod from the boss-man. "Don’t worry. The interface will last only a short time. I’ve been working on Big Blue for over ten years to get it ready and it’s been tested repeatedly. I’ve done it myself.

Just in case, though, we’re going to limit you to thirty minutes. We’ll have medical staff standing by. Besides, your parents signed the release forms.

At the mention of the word parents, Sharon started, but she soon recovered. Why? Were her folks against the idea?

I thought of asking her but decided not to, mainly because Hummel’s words didn’t inspire confidence and my stomach did a flip-flop. He checked his watch and continued his speech about safety. It’s only a half hour, he repeated.

Once you get out, we’ll get your feedback.

He spread his hands wide to indicate the bigger picture. After that, we’ll run some more tests. If it all checks out, we’ll mass market it. We think it will be the hottest interactive game around. Right now, this surpasses anything out there.

A tall, pretty, blonde woman in her early thirties, wearing a business suit, strode over to Mr. Hummel. They conferred about something very quietly and then turned to us. This is my wife, Athena. Like me, she’s a software designer.

I’m also a psychologist, she added in a pleasant voice. I’m here to observe your reactions while you’re in the game and get your impressions after it’s done.

A professional smile accompanied her statement, and she added that she’d be around later on to help. She then went over to check on some details with another technician.

Mr. Hummel watched her leave before he swung his gaze over to us. Well, you’ve met my better half, so which avatars are you going to choose?

He handed us lists and we sat down to read them over. I’m first, Sharon called out.

She chose the avatar of Marion the Fair, the red-headed, headstrong daughter of a farmer in this make-believe world. Unlike the other characters, hers didn’t come from royalty. Her avatar wielded an ice-whip that could cut a person in half, ride a horse like an expert, and fight as well as any man could.

I’ll take Duncan, Martin said.

He always chose that avatar. Duncan McTavish, a massive and muscular axe-wielding giant, liked to rend his victims in two with his bare hands if he couldn’t use his weapon first. Martin had to compensate for being a wimp in real life and that avi fulfilled his fantasy.

What are you going to choose? Sharon asked me.

I’m still thinking.

Reading over the possible candidates, two stood out—Morgan the Brave, and Edward the Invincible.

Further down the page, names like Angella, who could fly, and Theresa, who could climb mountains and chuck knives at faraway targets were listed, but I ignored them.

Decided yet? Sharon asked.

Almost there, I replied, still reading... and...I got it!

Which one do you want? my gameplay companions asked simultaneously, sounding impatient.

Edward the Invincible.

That avatar could hurl bolts of lightning. He sounded like one badass mofo. I waved my hand at Mr. Hummel and pointed at the name. I’ll take him.

He gave a soft grunt of satisfaction and took the list from us. You all chose well.

Sharon’s eyes were bright. I really like the idea of having more women in this! The old games didn’t have so many female fighters in them.

Hummel nodded at her statement. We know. A lot of women have complained their gender is not only underrepresented but also discriminated against.

Martin and I looked at each other and shrugged. Neither of us cared about demographics, but obviously the software specialist did.

We’ve consulted psychologists and feminist writers, Hummel continued as he tapped a few buttons on a nearby console. Yes, it’s a medieval fantasy world, but time for us to think modern. We gave the ladies more powers and abilities. No reason why a woman can’t do as well as a man can.

My brother smirked and then shut his mouth after Sharon nailed him with a baleful glare. Sorry, he mumbled, took off his glasses, and polished them on his shirt. She made a slight sound of disgust. Hummel then asked if we had any additional questions.

Sure enough, Martin did. Does this follow the same format as the first two games?

Hummel shook his head. "Not really. You still have to defeat the evil king and his minions, but the computer will select the scenarios. You’ll react to them. You won’t have any control over them, per se, but you will have your own volition within the program. Oh, and you’ll have to adapt to whatever