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could see through the mask into the eyes of the being that had killed him. His eyes were very much like his, welling with water and gazing with remorse and fear.
    “Got’em!” Harness’ callous words were the last thing Zack heard.
    †††
    Zack sprang to a seated position, coughing up a mixture of saliva and blood. The blood on his stomach was dry and there was no opening from where it had spilled. Zack rubbed his hands over his chest and stomach and was relieved.
    “I didn’t die this time.” Jenai excitedly exclaimed. Zack thought it a small victory for her.
    He was glad he could help.
    “What was that back there?” Harness said, pointing a thick finger at Zack’s face “Jesus, noob. We could have lost because of you. What are you? Some kind of pacifist or something?”
    Zack tried to speak, but couldn’t. He surmised dying had a way of shrinking one’s vocabulary. He peered about the room, at the faces who stared down at him, some with concern, some with contempt, and wondered if it were real.
    It couldn’t be real. This couldn’t be happening.
    He knew it was, however. Brock nodded at him and patted him on the shoulder. Cass shook her head and departed— probably to put on more makeup— and Mizuki sat beside him and wiped his forehead with a warm wash cloth.
    “The first time is always the hardest,” she said. “We’ve all been through it.”
    “Not me,” Harness blurted.
    “No, Harness. Not you. You are awesome and the bomb.” Mizuki smiled at Zack and winked. “He needs to get knocked down a peg or two.”
    “Whatever.” Harness beat a rapid retreat into the kitchen.
    Zack guessed they had won. They were in a house again, but a different one. The sun roof above him was covered with snow and flames flickered and danced in a hearth on the far wall. The couch was comfortable, with throw pillows made of satin and lace and the floor was a rich mahogany.
    “Where are we now?” Zack asked.
    Zill, who had taken a seat beside Mizuki, shook her head. “I’ve given up trying to figure that out.”
    “You need to rest.” Mizuki stood and disappeared down a hallway.
    Zack and Zill sat on the couch, listening to the din of conversation coming from the kitchen. Zack could make out a few words like “loser” and “noob” and “waste” and knew the topic of conversation was about him.
    “What the heck were you doing? Dropping your sword? Like, really?” Zill asked.
    “It seemed like the right thing to do. He, or whatever, was scared. I could tell.”
    “It doesn’t matter. God! We could have lost.”
    Zack took a deep breath, grabbed a clean shirt and slung it over his head. “I’m sorry.”
    “Well, don’t do that again. K?”
    Zack couldn’t make any promises. They were trapped in a vicious cycle, like Sisyphus pushing the rock up the hill only to watch it roll back down again. This was purgatory, a no man’s land of death, rebirth and death.
    Zack couldn’t see the purpose behind it. Maybe that was the point. Whoever they were, whoever had brought them here to this place, to do these things, were watching, grading, evaluating.
    Maybe they were failing the test.
     

Part I
    Chapter Three
    Just Like Us
    Zack blew gently on the steaming Hot Pocket, and then carefully took a bite. The reduced fat mozzarella cheese, signature pepperoni and tomato paste that oozed out of the garlic buttery seasoned unbleached enriched flour crust burned his tongue.
    “Argh argh argh,” Zack mumbled. It was difficult to speak with his tongue sticking out. He waved his hand in front of it with great vigor in an attempt to cool it. The others, who were also seated around the rich mahogany dining table, laughed.
    Except for Harness, who just glared coldly at Zack.
    “Jesus Christ. He can’t even handle a damn Hot Pocket.”
    Mizuki, who looked pale and ill, slapped Harness on the arm. “Give him a break. He’s only been here a couple of days. I thought what he did was brave.”
    “It was bloody