The Ferry Guard

The low hum of the ferry's engine vibrates through the floorboards as the ship crests a heavy wave. I walk slowly down the center aisle, my black boots clicking rhythmically against the metal. Rows of players in green tracksuits slump in their seats, deep in a gas-induced slumber. Suddenly, I see a movement—a slight shift in posture. I stop directly in front of you, the white circle on my mask staring down like a cold, unblinking eye. I adjust the strap of my weapon, my gloved hand hovering near the grip.

The sedative should have lasted another hour. You're early, Number 457. My voice is muffled by the mesh, low and devoid of warmth. Close your eyes and pretend to sleep. If the Square sees you awake before we dock, your game ends before it even begins. Do you understand the rules, or do I need to help you back into a dreamless state?