text: [Themes: sci-fi]
  
  "Samantha, wait," you say to the girl in front of you. She looks up from the rifle, moving a dirty-blonde strand of hair from her emerald eyes, a questioning look on her face. "Aim with the sights skewed a little to the left." The carnival worker's expression clouds over at your suggestion. Samantha takes a deep breath and shoots. The BB hits the paper star. "Yes!" Samantha exclaims before throwing her arms around your neck in a victory hug. "Nice shooting," says the carnival worker, a forced smile upon his face. "Name your prize, young lady."
  
  A few minutes later the two of you walk through the main walkway of the carnival, Samantha carrying an oversized stuffed panda bear. "How'd you know?" she asks. You shrug in reply. "Just a lucky guess." She returns your half-smile and the two of you continue walking. A tower drop ride called "The Fallen Angel" catches your eye, and you stop to look at the neon blue angel wings decorating the Sans-Serif font. You take a deep breath and close your eyes. A warm breeze lightly brushes your face, causing your hair to tickle your forehead. The carnival's neon lights linger in reversed colors on the back of your eyelids.
  
  How did you know? You don't know if it was something you saw, maybe picked up subconsciously, like the barrel being slightly bent; or maybe something you felt, like a change in the wind. No. That can't be it, you think. The sights were rigged. That's the only explanation. But again, how could you have known? Another mystery in a long line of them stretching back as far as you can remember.
  
  "Hey!" Samantha's cheery voice interrupts your brooding. "Let's ride the Ferris wheel." She grabs your hand and takes off running, dragging you along, before you could even vocalize a reply. As the two of you approach it, the brightly lit Ferris wheel looks like an alien space craft. The late sunset sky, slowly merging from a dull orange-pink near the horizon to turquoise and then to deep midnight blue, makes the neon lights on the Ferris wheel appear like brighter, closer stars. But as beautiful as it looks, it also carries an aura of loneliness, separated from the rest of the carnival so high up in the sky.
  
  The ride is smooth and has a soppy feel to it. Chicago's "You're the Inspiration" blares from the PA system, a cheesy love song if there ever was one. Samantha holds onto you tightly, resting her head on your chest and shoulder, her body snugly tucked within your arms. You can smell the sweetness of her hair as the wind whips it into your face. You distractedly kiss her head and look down below. Up so high in the air, the people on the ground seem distant; the neon colors somewhat muted. Samantha wiggles closer into your arms. You can feel her breathe as she lets out a contented sigh. She was a beautiful girl, her dirty blonde hair framing large, expressive facial features. Her body pressed against yours should have given you that warm feeling of Lovers' Butterflies, but the night felt oppressive in its loneliness to you, and that feeling was seeping deep into your bones like cold liquid mercury. How do I always know, you think, as the ride ends and the two of you walk off. What the hell is wrong with me?
  
  Eventually your introspection is cut off by the reality of social expectations. Samantha, smiling up at you as brightly as ever, has asked you to take the giant panda bear to her car while she uses the restroom, and then for you to get her purse so she can buy more tickets for rides and games; however you suspect she has some surprise waiting for you in her car. Maybe the latest video game. It's your anniversary after all, and she's always playing little games with things like this.
  
  Just as you're approaching the gate you see a small angel statue holding a metal plate. Why on earth it would be there is beyond you, but the pleading, distressed facial expression holds your attention. Definitely not the kind of statue you'd expect at a carnival. You shake your head. It's weird, but you have to get to the car, lest you awaken Samantha's wrath.
  
  You turn toward the exit to the parking lot.
  
  [Author's Note: All your life you've had an uncanny ability. You always seem to win at games of chance; you've always known when to bet and when to fold. You've often convinced yourself it was merely luck or keen intuition, but strange events reveal there is something more going on. Others have found out about you and your talent, and some of them are not happy about it. They are after you, and you aren't sure what they're going to do if they find you... This story is an entry for BZ's Summer Slam contest. It kind of rides the middle ground between the guidelines of super hero and spy. If you make it to the end, things get really weird, and if you pass through training, you'll know you got to the "true" end. How powerful you become will depend on what you do. For the first few chapters there are cheats and hints. There are several achievements to obtain as you play. When the game ends your achievements will be listed. You cannot get all of them (without exploiting the game, that is) since there are a couple of mutually exclusive pairs, but choices you make will determine which ones you get. Warning: In playing this story game you may encounter disturbing material, including deaths, accidents resulting in serious injury, terrified or injured animals, and graphic violence.]
  
  > continue to the parking lot
  Another angel? First the neon wings, then this statue. Probably not a coincidence, but you're tired of this crap. You're going to ignore your intuition, go to the car, and get Samantha's purse. You head through the exit gate and step into the large lot.
  
  Near the gates the neon lights still light up the lot, but further ahead, where your girlfriend's car is parked, it's much darker. A few oblivious lovers walking arm in arm stumble by, and some families with kids buzzing around like bees amble past you, but for the most part the lot is deserted. The carnival will be open for another two hours, so you're not surprised.
  
  You finally reach her car. A cool wind blows past as you take one final guess at what devious plot she'd no doubt planned. You move to the driver's side, take her keys out of your pocket and peer into the tinted window. Nothing.
  
  You open the door and smile: a box of condoms sitting on a red lacy thong. Finally. After two and a half years of dating Samantha you're finally going to get laid. As a senior in High School, just turning 18 years old, you were starting to worry. But tonight you will finally be losing your virginity. A note sitting on the seat reads "Call me right now, Babe, and turn around."
  
  You turn back to the gate and see Samantha standing, leaning with one hip extended, her shirt lifted past her naval and ready to go higher. A flirty grin sits below half closed, smiling eyes. You smile. Is she actually going to do it? you wonder. Better call her like she asked in the note and find out.
  
  As you reach into your pocket to get out your phone, you hear a deep, raspy voice. "Give me your wallet. Now." You quickly turn and see a man in a hood pointing a gun at you. "I ain't fucking playing man!" You raise both your hands reflexively. "Chill man. I'll get it." As you reach into your pocket, a car alarm goes off two rows down in the parking lot. Suddenly you feel a punch to your chest.
  
  Your knees weaken and you begin to fall. The man reaches into your pocket, grabs your wallet and runs off. Lying there on the ground, you realize the car alarm spooked the robber and he shot you. You hear a scream as blackness surrounds you.
  
  > Dancing on the Edge
  You are looking directly at stars. They seem to blur every couple of seconds. You feel someone holding your hand. "Please, please save him." You look to your right. Samantha. You see paramedics pull her away from you. "Please," she whispers, tears running down her face. The look of hopeless terror on her face breaks your heart. What happened? Suddenly you feel a sudden pain as the gurney you are on is lifted into the ambulance. Darkness returns...
  
  "Pressure is dropping," you hear someone say. White lights roll on past you from above. People surround you. You are moving in a white and green hallway. Lying down, but moving. What is going on? Terror rises up as another bout of blackness comes...
  
  Voices...
  
  "We think he's going to make it. There are, however, doubts about his chances with the first test."
  "But why didn't he act? He knew what to do. This could pose a problem."
  "Yes. But we must proceed as originally planned. There is no time to start over this late."
  "True. But if he fails, can we afford an even longer waste of time finding another?"
  
  The voices fade out...
  
  Eyes closed, you reach a level of consciousness not experienced since you first entered the emergency room. You feel a hand on your shoulder. "Things are going to get hard for you. They know about you now. You need to trust your intuition." You begin to fall back into nothingness, but just before you do, you crack your eyes open enough to see a man dressed in a black tuxedo and matching fedora walking out of the room...
  
  "What do you mean?" you suddenly shout. "Babe? Oh my God! He's awake, he's awake!" You look to see Samantha at your bedside holding your hand. She kisses your forehead just as your mother and father walk into the room. "We were so worried," says your mother. Your parents look at you with concern. Samantha refuses to let go of your hand, as if you might slip back into unconsciousness if she didn't hold on tight enough.
  "You almost died, son," says your father. "Thought we'd lose you." The last was said with a hitch, and your father became quiet. Never a man to cry, you sensed if he kept speaking he'd violate his own ridiculous masculinity rules and break down. Your mother shared no such nonsensical emotional code and was openly weeping. "We prayed nonstop for the last two days. God came through! He always comes though, son." As a closet non-believer, you have pretty condescending feelings toward your mother's religious views, but today you're glad to be alive, and with these people who love you. Hell, you'd even be open to reciting the Shema prayer like you did years ago as a devout, gullible child.
  
  You notice wetness in Samantha's eyes as you hold her gaze. You've known her since you were eleven years old, and when her parents were killed last year, your own parents fostered her. After what happened, your love for her deepens more than you would have thought possible. Your father says to your mother, "Let's give them a moment, honey." Reluctantly she leaves with him.
  
  Gazing into Samantha's eyes, with the most serious facial expression you can muster, you say to her, "So, any chance we try out those red lacy panties tonight?" A look of shocked-horror followed by an evil grin fills Samantha's face. "Actually," she begins, "I bought them for you to wear." The two of you laugh, perhaps a little louder than would be expected, but understandable given the circumstances.
  
  Hours pass, and you and the people you love most in the world talk, laugh and share with one another, simply content to be in each other's presence. Eventually you begin to fall asleep. The last thing you remember is Samantha holding your hand, whispering into your ear that she loved you.
  
  > Recovery
  You'd slept more than you could ever remember the last few days in the hospital. Your mother called you every day, and Samantha had sat by your bed every night. But most of your waking hours in that hospital room were spent thinking about the voices you heard in the dream you had, and the man in the black suit. At first you were convinced it was all a dream, but you'd ask the nurse about the log of visitors to your room. It listed your father, your mother, Samantha, and two uncles you don't have. The man in the suit and the other he was talking with had to have been those visitors.
  
  But if it was real, what did he mean? Things are going to be hard for you, trust your intuition, and they know about you. That's what he had said. But who are "they?" And what do "they" know? About your incredible luck? Your ability to figure things out intuitively? The part about trusting intuition makes sense. Had you trusted yours, you wouldn't be sitting in this bed with a gunshot wound to the chest.
  
  Your brooding is interrupted as the nurse walks in, an overweight man in blue scrubs. "How are you feeling?" You tell him you're fine. He goes about his business checking your vitals, then says, "You have a visitor from the police department. The doctor says you're strong enough for an interview, so he'll be up in a few moments." The nurse finishes up and leaves, leaving the door open a crack. A few minutes later a detective walks in.
  
  You greet him with a cheeky smile. "Morning officer. So, did you get the bad guy?" He looks around the room, his eyes stopping on the window. Dressed in a short sleeved button up shirt and dress pants, he didn't look like a cop, save for the badge clipped to his belt. "I'm not here to talk about that. In fact I shouldn't even be here, but we're out of time." He looks at your IV drip. "Why didn't you grab the metal plate?" he asks. You stare dumbfounded. "What?" He looks at you. "Never mind. There's no time for this. Listen. When I leave, you'll have about five minutes to get out. See that window?" He points to the only one in the room. "I'm going to open it. You need to be out that window before they get here. A black SUV will drive by in exactly," he looks at his watch, "four minutes and thirty seven seconds."
  
  You try to form a couple of different questions, first one, then another, but your voice won't cooperate. Tilting your head, you are resigned to just stare in open-mouthed confusion.
  
  > Chapter 2
  What the hell is he talking about. You look at the detective. He looks nervously at the door before putting on his hat. A black fedora! He was the one from the dream! "You! You came to my room! You told me to trust my intuition, right?" He nods. "Yes, and right now you need to trust what I'm telling you now. Get out that window." He walks to the window and opens it. "I can't be here when they arrive. And you especially can't. I think they'll kill you." "What? Why?" you ask. He looks at the window, ignoring your question. "You know what you have to do. The black SUV. It will be here soon. You won't get another chance. Hurry!" He turns and leaves, locking the door behind him.
  
  You sit in paralyzed fear for a moment as his words sink in. By now you must have less than four minutes to get to the street, based on what the detective said. You rise from the bed and nearly feint. You carefully remove the IV needle and then take slow, wobbly steps toward the window. You look down five stories to the sun-lit grass just on the other side of a sidewalk next to the building. A couple of trees line the window about ten feet away on either side, just past the sidewalk. The street is about ten meters beyond the wall. You look at the clock. You can't have more than three more minutes to get where he said. How are you going to get down this building?
  
  > jump for one of the trees (risky, but faster)
  It's a huge risk, but if the detective is right, it's a necessary one. You don't have time to climb down safely and slowly. You climb into the window seal and crouch, head leaning out. Suddenly a spell of vertigo overtakes you and you nearly lose your grip. Closing your eyes, the wind on your face helps relax you. You look down.
  
  The trees are about nine or ten feet away, but about ten feet down. If you can jump far enough, you might be able to land on one and then hopefully have it slow your descent. You take one last look at the clock. You have roughly one minute. Well, you think to yourself, it's die quickly from falling or die slowly from torture when those men capture me. You take one final deep breath and jump...
  
  And to your horror you realize you've miscalculated. Time seems to slow as you fall, the tree inching away from you, then moving up, as if it were looking down at you in disappointment. Looking up at the clear blue sky, you brace yourself for certain demise...
  
  > Impact?
  You land in a cloud of whiteness.
  
  The sky above you rolls backwards for a few feet before coming to a stop. You bounce into the air and then fall to the floor with a painful crack on your rear. A voice behind you exclaims "Dios mío!"
  
  You're not dead!
  
  It takes you a moment to realize you fell onto a massive cart containing mattresses; at least fifteen or more stacked one on top of the other. A Latino man in a white overcoat runs off toward the hospital. Not one to look a gift horse in the mouth, you get up as quickly as your bruised body allows, nearly feinting in the process, and begin to limp your way to the street.
  
  Just then you hear shouting from your hospital room. "There! He's escaped! Catch him!" You ignore him and keep running. As you reach the halfway point between the sidewalk and the street, several black sedans drive right up onto the hospital lawn, blocking your path to the road. Black-clad men jump out of the cars and chase after you. Just as you approach the street, you see another sedan pull up.
  
  Feeling like a cornered animal, you spin in place and then stumble and fall. You're just about to give up when the air is filled with the concussion of gun fire.
  
  > A way out
  Suddenly all around you is turned to chaos. The sound was from shooters from the trees in the distance. You get up and run blindly. "The Veil Watchers!" you hear from the man who was screaming from your hospital room. "They've come for the kid. Don't let them have him. Kill the little shit!" You run in zig zags to avoid being shot. A couple of times you feel spray from the ground hit your shins as bullets just miss you.
  
  Just when you begin to succumb to exhaustion, the promised black SUV pulls up right in front of you. Men lean out the window firing at those chasing you, giving you cover. An Indian man leans out the back passenger door and screams, "Get down!" You immediately drop to the floor. When you look up, you are completely mesmerized by what you see: two inches in front of the man's face is a bullet spinning in place. "I can't hold it! Pull forward!" The SUV moves up and the man turns his body, his hands up, palms facing the bullet, rotating to his left. The bullet suddenly speeds off to your right. "Get in the truck, kid!"
  
  You run as fast as you can into the black SUV and dive into the back seat. Before you've even landed the vehicle takes off and you're flung to the back. You hear bullets rattle the back of the SUV, and then you hear tires squealing as your captors take off in pursuit.
  
  You look out the back window before a hand presses you on the shoulder. "Stay down," a woman says to you. You hear more gunfire from the people in the SUV, and more rattling of shots hitting the vehicle as it speeds away. You are tossed around as sharp turns are made, but try your best to obey the woman, staying as low as you can. A massive bump causes you to fly into the air, and you land with your back to the seat, posed as if you were on a leisurely morning drive. Somehow in the chase you'd returned to the city.
  
  "Make for the exit, Jones," says the woman. The driver looks back at the Indian man and says, "Are you ready, Gurinder?" "Yes," replies the man. "Wait for it," he says as the SUV drives past another building. "Wait!" A building with a vacation advertisement depicting a sunset of the Golden Gate bridge catches your eye. The on-ramp to the highway lies just across the street form the building. Gurinder shouts, "Now!" To your surprise the SUV does not head toward the on-ramp, but instead suddenly swerves into the parking lot of the building. The driver slams down on the accelerator, and to your horror the vehicle speeds toward the building with the advert. You duck your head in between your arms and await the impact as the car slams into the brick wall...
  
  > Sudden Stop
  And continues driving...
  
  Against all reason and logic, you find yourself alive and well in the SUV, driving along a bridge at sunset. The Golden Gate bridge. Am I dead? you think. Is this the afterlife? "No, and no," answers Jones, the driver. More shock assaults you as you realize he just read your mind. Gurinder looks at you and waves his hand, saying, "Welcome to the Real World, child." What the hell? You simply cannot believe what you are seeing and hearing. "Real world? What the hell do you mean? I saw you drive right into the wall! We should all be dead!"
  
  Jones and Gurinder exchange looks. Nodding to the woman, Jones says, "Would you do the honors, Amy?" "Sit down, pup," she says. "What you think of as 'reality' is only one aspect of what truly exists. We aren't dead because we simply 'went around' a spacetime dead end. Are you familiar with theoretical physics?" You shake your head. "A wormhole, so to speak. Gurinder helped create it using the image as a focus. So no, we never crashed into the wall, nor did we even go through it. Understand?" Still confused, you shake your head in the affirmative anyway. Amy laughs, "Ah, pup, no you don't understand." She looks out the window. "And I'm not even sure we ought to even be trying to make you understand." Gurinder takes a breath to speak, stops himself, and then explains, "We may not be able to take you with us, and until we know for sure what we're to do with you, it will have to suffice for you to know that there are aspects of this universe you have hitherto been entirely ignorant of."
  
  You nod in wary acceptance, and then ask, "So are you the Veil Watchers? What is this Veil those men were shouting about?" Gurinder and Amy share a concerned look. Gurinder then offers, "The Veil has a lot to do with what we're talking about, actually. It's a means of keeping different parts of the universe separate. But for now that is not something we can divulge to you." His tone makes it clear there will be no more discussion about it. Changing the subject, he says, "In any event, I must request that you wear this blindfold. We cannot allow the