The smile reappears on the receptionist’s face. “As you know, Mr. Kane, we have the hotel bar, the smoking room, our wellness center is closed due to a rat infestation, room service is available at all times, and if you have any issues at all, don’t hesitate to call down to Reception.”

“What did you just say?” I ask, the receptionist’s words triggering a memory of something … something important.

“I said, if you have any issues at all, don’t hesitate to call down to—”

“No, before that,” I say. “You said, ‘Get out while you still can.’ ”

“He’s an NPC,” a voice comes from behind me, startling me. I turn around and Dr. Price is there, watching me. “A stowaway from the original program, a piece of rogue code. He’s merely delivering lines from the game. They have no meaning.”

I know Dr. Price’s words to be true, and yet something is troubling me.

“There’s something—” I start.

“Let it go, Luka. Whatever it is, let it go. Nothing can be wrong. You are safe here.”

I nod and feel the calmness come over me once more. “I know,” I tell him, “I know.”

I turn back to the receptionist, who hands me a key to room 1616.

The elevator made it to my floor without incident.

I’ve been sitting here for some time.

It’s hard to tell how long.

It’s peaceful here.

Which is nice.

But …

I can’t shake this feeling that something isn’t right.

I know it’s silly.

The only way to win this war is not to fight at all.

I try, sometimes, to think of what came before Purgatory.

I know there was something. Some people. Friends maybe …

But it’s hard to remember.

One day all of this will cut to black.

But we’re all safe until then.

We’re all safe.

Day 5

The elevator fell today.

It was GAME OVER for me and Alix and Jo-Ray and a lady I don’t know.

Just a minor irritation really.

I’m with Malachai in the bar now; we’re sitting at a booth. We’re speaking about the music the band is playing and all the nice clothes that the people are wearing and how friendly everyone is all the time.

“Placid,” Malachai says after a long silence.

“I’m sorry?” I reply.

“Placid,” Malachai repeats. “Docile, that’s what Purgatory is. And that’s a good thing. Fighting is so horrible. War is so violent.”

“Yes,” I agree, and smile, but something flickers in my mind once again, that irritating voice that won’t die. I have a flash of a memory: Malachai standing atop a military tank in the middle of a crowd of Alts, ready to die, saying something like what a way to go out. “Malachai, this place is good, isn’t it?”

“What do you mean?” he asks, his brow furrowing.