C0NTINUE? Read online

  C0NTINUE?

  AN EXCLUSIVE CHEATC0DE STORY

  by

  Mikey Campling

  mikeycampling.com

  This Story is Exclusively for Members of

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  Table of Contents

  Author’s Note

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Thank you for Reading C0NTINUE?

  Coming Soon

  About the Author

  Also by Mikey Campling

  Copyright

  Author’s Note

  To get the most from this story, you should really read CHEATC0DE first.

  CHEATC0DE is available exclusively on Amazon and can be read for free by members of Kindle Unlimited or borrowed for free by subscribers to Amazon Prime.

  USA: CHEATC0DE on amazon.comUK: CHEATC0DE on amazon.co.uk

  Chapter 1

  White Coats

  JERRY WAKES SLOWLY, his mind a whirl of disjointed memories, and a cruel pain circling his skull like an iron band. He lifts his eyelids, but there’s nothing to see. Complete darkness. Where the hell is he? Is he safe, or is he still on the battlefield? The battlefield! Now his eyes are wide open as he sees the virtual battlefield again in his mind: the shape-shifting bot that somehow evaded his weapon and latched onto his leg; the agony as the bot’s snaking tendrils bit into his avatar’s flesh; Mervin crouching by his side. The blistering reality of it rushes in on him like a wave of nausea, swamping his senses, turning his stomach.

  A groan builds in Jerry’s chest, but he can’t let it out; there’s something in his mouth. He lifts his hand to his face. It isn’t easy; he’s weak, his muscles shaking with the effort. And by the time his trembling fingers reach his mouth, he already knows what he’s going to find. The plastic tube between his lips is all wrong; it’s an insult—a violation. He wraps his fingers around the smooth plastic and pulls, but instantly, he gags, chokes. His chest shakes. A convulsion shudders through his body. Tremors turn his arms to useless flailing ribbons. He can’t breathe, can’t think, and in that moment, as the darkness creeps in to claim him, a shrill electronic whine splits the silence and seems to rattle his skull. It startles Jerry into motion, and somehow, he manages to roll onto his side, his hands thrashing the empty air, his fingers searching the darkness for something to cling to. His knuckles rap against a hard surface: the edge of a table or a cabinet.

  And then he hears the voices, and he lies as still as he can, his ears straining against the electronic cacophony. The voices are closer now. Calling out. Urgent. And there are footsteps—the broken rhythm of hurried footsteps on a hard floor. Hospital, he thinks. I’m in a hospital.

  The room floods with a blinding white light and Jerry screws his eyelids shut tight. The voices swell and surge around him, and he senses someone standing at his side. He forces his eyes to open a little, and he can just make out the blurry outlines of two men. Somewhere, outside his field of vision, there’s a woman’s voice: calm and authoritative. The woman says something and the electronic alarm goes silent. Firm hands roll him onto his back and press him down. There’s a scratch on his arm. It stings for a split second then his eyelids are suddenly closing. The light fades. And as he slips back into the dark, a single thought drifts into his mind: White coats, he thinks. They should have been wearing white coats. But these men were not wearing the familiar uniform of doctors. He’d hardly caught a glimpse of them, and he’d been half blinded by the light, but he was certain they were clad in full body hazmat suits, their faces concealed by their visors.

  I was wrong, he thinks. This isn’t a hospital. It’s not a hospital at all.

  Chapter 2

  A Damned Shame

  JERRY OPENS HIS EYES. It’s light, but it’s not overly bright. Daylight? He looks up at the ceiling for a moment, getting his bearings. He’s lying on a bed in a room that’s white and almost featureless. There’s a nightstand and a chair but that’s pretty much it. It looks like a hospital room, but he’s confused and only half awake.

  There’s one good thing: his headache is gone—at least it’s reduced to a dull pain at the back of his head. He works his jaw. It’s stiff, like someone’s given him a smack in the mouth. But there’s no tube between his lips. Thank God for that! He takes a breath, turns his head to the side. Jesus Christ!

  The man standing over him is still as a statue, his face a mask of quiet concentration. But his eyes are alive with a savage hunger. He stares down at Jerry with all the cruel fascination of a child tearing the wings from a butterfly.

  “Who the hell?” Jerry manages, though his throat is dry, his lips cracked.

  But the man simply shakes his head and presses his finger to his lips then he turns and walks away. Jerry lifts his head from the pillow. The man is standing quietly in the doorway and Jerry realizes with a start that the man is not wearing ordinary clothes, but a light blue hospital gown. “You’re a patient here?” Jerry demands. “What the hell are you doing in my room?”

  The man hesitates and looks back at Jerry. A disconcerting grin spreads slowly across his lips. “I see they took your leg,” he says. “That’s a damned shame.” Then he is gone, closing the door behind him.

  Jerry looks down the bed. My leg? He shakes his head. “What the hell is he talking about?” There’s nothing wrong with either of his legs; he can feel both of them. But he can’t see them. There’s a broad shape in the bed, the kind you get when they put a frame over a patient to keep the sheets from touching a wound. “There’s nothing wrong with my goddamn leg,” Jerry mutters. He tugs at the bed sheets, but they’re tucked in tight. Grunting with effort, he sits up and reaches down, running his hands along his legs, pushing his fingers beneath the frame. And it’s gone. His right leg–missing below the knee. And…and his left foot too. Gone. Stumps, he thinks. Just stumps. His lips from the word silently: stumps. What an ugly word that is, he thinks. Ugly and hurtful.

  Jerry sits there for a moment, staring into space, a slow anger roiling in his guts. Goddamn bastards! Who the hell were these people? What the hell did they think they were doing? They just took his leg and his goddamn foot like it was…like it was…

  He covers his face with his hands. A tear, hot and angry, burns down his face. But he’s not going to weep. And he’s not going to give in. He’ll never rest until he’s found the bastards who’ve dealt out this hurt to his dignity.

  He lifts his head and calls out as loud as he can, “Hey! Someone get in here and tell me what the hell is happening!”

  He listens then calls out again, even louder this time. But no one comes.

  Jerry lies back down and let out a long breath. He closes his eyes. “They took my leg and my goddamn foot,” he whispers. “Just took them away and left…left me with…” But he can’t bring himself to finish the sentence. A wave of tiredness washes over him, draining the life from his bones. He’s so tired. But he just woke up. So why is he so damned exhausted? But before he can even begin to think about the answer, the darkness wraps him in its soft arms once again, and though he tries to fight it, he doesn’t have the strength.

  Chapter 3

  Motherhood and Apple Pie

  JERRY IS RESTING IN HIS BED, propped up in a laid-back sitting position. As usual, he’s drifting in and out of sleep, so he doesn’t hear anyone enter the room. But they’re here all right, and they’re carrying on a muted conversat
ion by the foot of his bed.

  He lies still, his eyes closed, and listens. He wants to hear what they have to say, and if they know Jerry is listening, they’ll keep their cards close to their chests and fob him off with their soothing excuses. And Jerry has had enough half-truths over the last few days. He’s had a goddamn bellyful.

  It sounds as though he has two visitors: a man and a woman. The man’s voice is deep and commanding. And it’s new. This man isn’t one of the regular doctors and nurses; Jerry finds it hard to remember their names, but he knows their voices, their footsteps, the way they breathe. Jerry instantly pushes his daydreams aside and pays attention, but he doesn’t move a muscle.

  “How is he responding to treatment?” the man asks.

  “He’s making good progress.” The woman this time. Jerry knows the voice; it’s the doctor with the deep brown eyes. He’s only seen her once or twice, so he figures she must be someone important—a senior doctor perhaps. “Initial results from the neuro-gen boost were good,” she goes on. “87% of neural function was restored and synaptic connectivity is at 45% of optimal levels and rising.”

  A pause. The man again: “Only 45?”

  “And rising,” the doctor says. “And as I said, he’s making good progress.”

  The man lets out a noncommittal grunt. “Even so, after this much time, I’d have hoped for better. I wonder if he’s up to the journey.”

  Now, Jerry opens his eyes and turns his head. He stares at the man standing at the foot of his bed. “What the hell are you talking about?” he demands. “What’s all this about a goddamn journey?”

  The man smiles. He is middle-aged and smartly dressed in a dark suit. Next to him, the doctor is younger and wears a white coat. Jerry was right to recognize her voice, but she seems different today; her arms are folded across her chest, and her shoulders are rounded, as if she’s physically cowed by the man beside her.

  “There’s no need to be alarmed, Jerome,” the man says. “We’re just trying to establish when we can get you out of the hospital and move you to the rehab center. We need to get you up and about.”

  “Oh,” Jerry says. “I see.” He hesitates. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to sound rude. It’s just…no one ever tells me anything in this place. It’s kind of frustrating.” He looks at the doctor and gives her an apologetic smile. It’s not her fault, he thinks. Just doing her job. She’s always been perfectly nice to him. And she’s always seemed genuine: a soft warmth in her deep brown eyes. “And please, call me Jerry. Everyone calls me Jerry. I haven’t been Jerome since second grade.”

  The doctor returns his smile. Or at least she tries to. But there’s something else in her expression—something beyond concern. A hint of regret perhaps. Or could it be sadness?

  But Jerry doesn’t get the chance to ask her if she’s all right. The man’s stern voice barges in on his thoughts. He’s carrying on as if Jerry hasn’t said a word: “Unfortunately, Jerome, our rehab facility is some distance away. There’s a flight, and we need to be sure you’re fit enough before you can travel.”

  “Makes sense,” Jerry says. He turns his attention to the man. “But where is this rehab place? The flight can’t be all that long.”

  The man narrows his eyes and tilts his head on one side. “It’s a government facility. State of the art. But, for a variety of reasons, it’s south of the border.”

  Jerry frowns. “South?”

  “It’s in Mexico,” the doctor says. “It’s on the coast. Nothing to worry about.”

  “On the Gulf?” Jerry asks.

  The doctor opens her mouth to answer, but the man doesn’t give her a chance. “We’re getting a little ahead of ourselves here,” he says. He frowns at the woman for a moment then turns back to Jerry. “We have to consider all of our options. And there are strict protocols to observe before we can commit to any course of action. We don’t want to take any risks with your health.”

  “All right,” Jerry says slowly. “How about we run through those options right now? Because, I’ll tell you, I’d sure like to get out of this place, so I’ll do whatever it takes.”

  “That’s very commendable,” the man says. “But first…” He hesitates and turns to the woman. “You’re free to go now, Doctor Garcia. I’m sure you have plenty of other patients to see.”

  The doctor nods. “Yes, of course. But I’m happy to stay and assist with–“

  “That won’t be necessary,” the man interrupts. “Return to your duties.”

  Jerry scowls. He has a good mind to say something, but the doctor flashes him a warning look. “I’ll check in on you later, Jerry,” she says. She turns back to the man and gives him a curt nod. “Thank you for your time, sir.” Then she heads for the door and lets herself out.

  “What was all that about?” Jerry asks. “And how come she called you sir and not doctor or mister? Are you an officer?”

  The man brushes his question aside with a wave of his hand. “I hold a rank, yes. This is a military facility—we have a chain of command.”

  Jerry clenches his jaw. This is the first time he’s heard anything about this place being a military hospital, but it explains one hell of a lot. “So how come you’re not in uniform, if you don’t mind me asking, sir?”

  “My name is Mark Stalybridge ,” the man says, “and the rank goes with my job. There’s no need for you to refer to me as sir while you’re in the hospital, nor do I expect you to salute.”

  Jerry nods. “And what is your job exactly?”

  “I’m the coordinator responsible for the rehabilitation and resettlement of all the brave men and women who, like you, were wounded on the virtual battlefield. It’s my job to get you out of here and back to your life as soon as possible.”

  “All right,” Jerry says. “Now we know where we stand. So what are the options from here?”

  The man walks to Jerry’s bedside and sits down on the chair. “Do you want the long version or the short version?”

  Despite himself, Jerry cracks a smile. “Short version–every time.”

  “Good.” Stalybridge looks down and wipes an imaginary fleck of dust from his sleeve. “There are two possibilities, Jerry. The first, and perhaps the easiest for you, is to let us take you down to our rehab facility in Mexico. They’ll look after you well, they’ll fit you up with whatever prosthetics you need, and get you walking again. When you’re fit and ready, they’ll supervise your resettlement. You’ll have a quiet life and you’ll be as comfortable as can be expected.”

  “I see,” Jerry says. He scratches his chin. He needs a shave and his stubble is irritating the hell out of him. “Sounds to me like you’d be putting me out to grass.”

  Stalybridge pushes out his bottom lip and rocks his head from side to side. “Fair enough. I can see you don’t want me to sugarcoat it, so yes, it would be a form of retirement. You could go out and get another job if you wished, but the government would provide you with a reasonable disability pension, so it wouldn’t really be necessary.”

  Jerry studies Stalybridge’s expression, wondering just how far the man can be trusted. He seems honest enough, but there’s something about his air of smug superiority that’s rubbing Jerry up the wrong way. For a moment, he thinks of his old friend Mervin; he would’ve hated this guy. They’d often joked about the officers they’d met–well, about the bad ones anyway. And there were always plenty of those. PLIs was what Mervin always called them: Promoted to a Level of Incompetence. He got the term from something he read somewhere, and it always made Jerry laugh.

  Now, he thinks, Good old Merv. I must look him up sometime–find out what happened to him. And of course he’ll have to thank him too. Thank him for saving his life.

  “Does that sound like a good offer to you?” Stalybridge asks. “Do you want to bite my hand off, or do you want me to tell you about the other option?”

  Jerry tilts his chin upward. “Sure. Tell me all about it. I can’t make a choice until I know what’s on the menu.”

&n
bsp; “Good.” Stalybridge glances toward the door as if checking that it’s closed then he leans in closer to Jerry and lowers his voice. “The other option is new. It’s a government program, supported at the highest level, and fully funded for the foreseeable future.”

  “Sounds important,” Jerry says.

  “More than that. It’s a vital component of our cyberwarfare strategy. A new unit, top-secret, and tasked with covert operations across the globe. The operational tempo will be very high, the demands will be extreme, and the challenges will certainly be great. But for the right men and women, it’s an unparalleled chance to serve their country and to make a contribution to the safety and stability of the Western world.”

  Jerry takes a steadying breath and lets it out slowly. “That’s some pitch. Did you figure that out especially for me, or does everybody get the same one?”

  Stalybridge frowns and sits back in the chair, his arms folded. “This is no pitch,” he snaps. “And no, I don’t say this to every vet who ends up in here. I only approach people who could be a good fit for the program. I took you for a patriot. Perhaps I was wrong.” He stands stiffly, pulling himself up to his full height. “Enjoy your retirement, Jerome. It’s going to be a long one.”

  Jerry holds up his hands in mock surrender. “I don’t mean any offence, sir, but when you offered me the short version I thought we’d get right down to it. So why do I get the feeling we’re going all around the houses? Now, I’ll vote for motherhood and apple pie along with everyone else, and I signed up to serve my country. You don’t have to sell it to me, sir. Just tell me what I’d have to do and where I’d have to go. That’s all I ask.”

  Stalybridge stands in silence for a moment, his head bowed as if deep in thought. And when he looks up, there’s a fire in his eyes that draws Jerry in, holds him tight. “All right,” Stalybridge says. “You want the brutal truth so here it is. Out here, in the real world, you’ll always be disabled. Sure, you’ll have the benefit of the best medical care and the best we can do in terms of prosthetics, but you’ll always have to deal with your disability. Every single day. But in the new unit, you’ll be the same as everyone else. You’ll be among your equals–your peers. You’ll fight for them, and they’ll fight for you. And once you’re on the battlefield, your avatar will be 100% whole and physically fit. You’ll be the soldier you once were. In fact, thanks to the new tech were running, you’ll be better than ever. You’ll be able to move faster and fight more efficiently. You’ll be a force of nature. You’ll breech the enemy’s firewalls and hit their servers before they even know you’re there.” Stalybridge smiles, and it’s warm and genuine and good; the smile of a comrade in arms. “What do you think, Jerry? Does that sound like something you could be a part of?”