I almost didn’t recognize her without her signature tumble of blond hair, but there was something about the way she held herself, a lofty arrogance even in her dingy men’s clothing and frumpy hat, that set her apart. My distraction made me lose focus and my next hatchet hack hit the metal ring that held the barrel together and glanced off. A moment later I felt a searing pain in my right leg and looked down to see a bloom of blood already darkening the calf of my brown trousers.

The hatchet fell from my suddenly numb hands as I bent instinctively to grasp my bleeding calf muscle. Pain momentarily fogged my brain, and I sat down hard on the wooden deck of the boat.

This isn’t real, I told myself as I gritted my teeth against the all too real pain. My leg was perfectly intact back in the simulation room. But while my brain might have believed that, my body wasn’t buying it. My head felt light and disconnected from my body as I attempted to stop the stream of blood that was running over my hand and onto the deck. I was going to lose major points for this screwup.

“That was really stupid,” said a voice in my ear, and I looked up into Regan’s annoyed blue eyes.

“What are you doing?” I said through gritted teeth as I blinked at the tears I hadn’t even noticed until now.

“Saving your neck,” she said. “What does it look like?”

“My neck doesn’t need saving,” I said.

“Your neck may be fine, but you really jacked up your leg,” she said, wrinkling her nose. “How badly are you hurt?”

“I don’t know,” I said, shaking my head. Why was she doing this? Did she think she was going to get extra points for helping me? I didn’t think it worked that way. One of the main rules of this competition was that you weren’t to interfere with another Glitcher under any circumstances. It was every man for himself, just like it would be in a real simulation someday.

“Helpful,” she said as she shrugged out of the coat she was wearing, inspecting it for a second before grabbing at something, a thread I think, and giving it a yank. She did the same thing two more times, picking at tiny threads and pulling until the entire sleeve dropped neatly from the coat. That done, she bent to wrap the sleeve around my bleeding leg, and as I watched her knot off the makeshift bandage, I became aware again of the clamor around us. Barrel after barrel was being rolled across the deck to be maimed and tossed into the sea. Every now and then one of the disguised men would yell out something about no taxation without representation and everyone would cheer. What had started as a covert and sneaky operation was now a full-blown mob scene.