The Complex

For the rest of the day, we didn’t do much other than explore the house. Well, she explored, and I explained. Everything seemed to interest her, the chairs, the T.V., fridge, food, everything. At around lunchtime, I was getting incredibly hungry, so I said, “Would you like to get something to eat? I could make us some lunch.” She looked at me, tilted her head, and asked, “Lunch? What is lunch?”
I smiled, remembering who I was talking to, and then explained, “Lunch is our midday meal, usually. That’s really the only rule, you can eat whatever you want…I would ask what you’d like, but I don’t think I have any of it…” we both laughed at this. “I’ll just make something nice and simple, to start…” I mumbled, looking through my cabinets, rejecting various things for various reasons. “…too spicy…to difficult…too cake…ah, perfect!” I emerged from the cabinet, and closed the door behind me. In my hand was two boxes of Kraft Dinner, one of my favourite quick, easy foods.
She smiled at me, hesitantly. “Don’t worry,” I reassured her, “It’s really tasty, especially how I make it.” I put on a pot of water to boil, after salting it fairly heavily. I grabbed milk, and butter out of the fridge, and put the noodles into the pot. I put them in right at the start, rather than waiting for the water to boil first, because I found that it makes them more tender. Rena was very interested in everything that I was doing, and kept looking at everything. She shook the milk jug (one of the four-litre ones), inspected the block of butter, looked at the KD box, the sauce mix, and then went to touch the pot. I grabbed her hand, and said, “Careful, it’s very hot. It could burn you.” I let go of her arm, and turned to grab the box to throw it into the recycling.
As I did, my elbow brushed against the side of the pot, and I felt the (quite literally) searing pain of my skin being burned, and there was a sizzling sound. “Ah,” I exclaimed, drawing my arm away. “Just like that…” I said, chuckling a little. She looked at my elbow, which wasn’t badly burned – just first degree. I’d suffered through worse, and didn’t even bother running it under cold water. I grabbed the empty box, tore out the bottom, flattened it, and threw it into the recycling box.
As I turned around, I heard a slight shriek of pain, and I saw Rena pulling her hand away from the pot. “Let me see,” I said, walking quickly over and grabbing her hand. The tips of two of her fingers were burned, worse than my elbow had been. I guessed that she had actually touched the element. “Now, see,” I said, running her fingers under cold water from the sink next to my stove, “I told you it was hot.” She replied, “I was curious what it was like…”
I smiled at her, and said, “That’s okay. I did a very similar thing when I was younger. I was inside the car, and pushing buttons because I was curious. I didn’t know what anything was, and eventually, I pulled out a lighter plug. Basically, this thing soaked up electricity until it was red hot, and could light other things on fire. I thought the red thing looked pretty, so I poked it. I had little rings burned into my fingertip for months after that.”
I pulled her hand out of the stream, looking at the burn. “This won’t be that bad, though. Just keep it under the water for a while, and I’ll finish up the food.” She nodded, and put her hand back into the flow, and I turned my attention to the noodles. I boiled them for about ten minutes, then dumped them into a colander. I put a chunk of butter in the pot, and added a little milk, then poured in the cheese sauce mix. I stirred it all up, and heated it for about a minute, until it started bubbling. I added the final touch, a couple of splashes of Tabasco pepper sauce, and then I returned the noodles to the pot, stirred it all up, and served out two bowls.
I handed her one, and I took one for myself, giving us each forks. We sat down at the table, started eating, and it was obvious from the very start that she really liked the food. She took one bite, chewed slowly, and then started devouring the rest of it. She finished all of her noodles in about a minute, then started scraping the last remnants of cheese sauce out of her bowl with the fork. “That was excellent!” she said, smiling wide. “I’ve never had anything like that!”
“What,” I asked with a mouthful of KD, “Noodles?” “Any of it!” she exclaimed. “Well,” I said, swallowing my food, “There’s more if you want it.” Her eyes widened, her mouth dropped open a little bit, and she asked with reverence, “More?”
I took her bowl and filled it again, and again she devoured everything inside it. I filled it once more, and she ate it all. I put everything left in the pot (which wasn’t much by this time) into her bowl, and she still somehow managed to eat it all. Remember how thin these aliens were? Thinner than me, and I was only 120 pounds. I was amazed at how much she ate, and when she was finished, she put her clean fork back into her clean bowl, and sat there, waiting.
She looked up at me, and asked, “Aren’t you going to eat yours? If you don’t want it, I’ll eat it for you,” but I replied with “No, really, that’s okay. I can eat it myself.” I finished up my bowl, and put the dishes in the dish washer.
She continued exploring for a while, and eventually asked about my laptop. When I told her that it was a computer, and a data storage device, she got very excited. Even moreso when I told her about the fact that it was linked to a global network of computers, storing vast amounts of information, any of which could be retrieved by, and viewed on, my computer. I showed her the basics of how to work with it, how to look through the hard drives and open files, how to navigate on wikipedia (which I decided would probably be a good website to start out with), and other various odds and ends.
When I was done explaining, and she was about to start exploring the laptop, I asked her, “Do you have any sort of computing device with you? I mean, I saw your father working on some sort of calculator, and there’s the translator, but anything else?” She reached into a pocket (or at least, their version of a pocket) and pulled a small, oblong thing from it. Turned it over briefly in her hand, and then handed it to me.
“What is it? How does it work?” I asked, turning the device over and inspecting it. “It measures mental strength. You put in on your head,” she said, pointing at my temple, “There.” I continued looking at it, then held it to the side of my head, near the temple. It snapped to my head, I tried to pull it off, but it was truly stuck there. After a few seconds of struggle, I blacked out.

I awoke in a field, dressed in military combats, exactly like the set I owned. Upon further inspection, they turned out to indeed be, in fact, the set that I owned. I looked around, and noticed that I was in a military-style obstacle course, with walls, nets, ropes, etc. I looked for someone else there, or some clue as to how I got there, and then I heard a voice. It seemed to come from everywhere, and nowhere. It seemed familiar, and then I recognised it as Kerr, Rena’s father.
“Your mental fortitude test is about to begin. You may take whatever time you need, the test is complete when you either complete the course or fail.” I shouted to the sky, not really sure what was going on, “Wait a minute! I need some more explanation!” “What is your query?” came Kerr’s voice. “I’ve got a few! For starters, what is this place?” I shouted, looking around for some obvious place to watch.
The landscape around me lit up, as the voice said, “This is a mental construct, designed to test mental agility and strength, determination, will, and intelligence. Some obstacles will require persistence, some will require logic, other still will require other skills.” As he said this, various obstacles were highlighted. “The test will continue until you finish the course, or fail.”
“What designates failure?” I shouted, afraid of the answer, and rightfully so, as the response came, “Death.”
I paused for a second, then shouted “Death?” “Yes,” the voice replied, “Death inside of this simulation. When you either conclude the test, or fail by death, your consciousness will be returned to your physical form, and the test device will detach itself. If you wish to re-test, you can reattach the device at any time.”
“So,” I said, trying to understand, “Right now, I’m sitting semi-comatose in my chair?” “No,” said the voice, “Time inside this simulacrum of reality passes almost instantaneously compared to normal time. The brain is an incredibly fast computer, and all of the permutations of possibility are explored almost instantly. When you return to your physical form, it will have been only a fraction of a second after you left, regardless of how long you spend here.”
“You’re saying,” I asked, perplexed, “That all of this is in my head?” “Precisely,” answered the voice. “The entire simulation is mental, the device merely initiates and patrols the test, as well as ensuring a smooth transition. In this world, your physical strength or speed does not matter. The greatest athletes, if they are mentally insufficient, will be unable to pass this course. Contrarily, even a weakling with strength of mind, intelligence, and mental agility will do very well.”
“Alright,” I said, mainly to myself, then to the world, “When does the test start?” “As soon as the initiator understands it fully enough to ask that question,” replied the voice, and I suddenly heard a host of other noises, overlapping, and I noticed that the world had changed. Before, there had been no movement, but now trees swayed in the wind, ropes swished from side to side, and various other parts of the world came alive. It had been on pause – I thought to myself, then looked down. In my hands was a Barrett REC7 assault rifle, with a 4X scope, as well as various other supplies stowed on my webbing.
The obstacles were laid out in a huge, sweeping curve, and I headed now for the first one: a dirt ramp leading up about eight feet, then ending in a wooden wall back to the ground. I had, through cadets, been on military obstacle courses (or “confidence courses”, as they called them) a few times before, and I had a basic understanding of what was necessary. I was meant to run up the hill, then jump down the eight feet to the ground. If I did not land correctly, I would end up somehow injuring myself, in extreme cases, even breaking a leg.
I took off running, sprinting as fast as I could. The recommended procedure for dropping the eight feet was to stop at the edge, put a hand on it, then drop, crouching as you hit the ground. I had done that the first time that I did a confidence course, and since then, I had taken off at a run, landing on the ground in a crouched run, and always beating the times of those who were running the course with me. I did the same thing now, sprinting straight off the ledge into space, falling to the ground, and continuing my run.
Next up was a similar obstacle, but it was two of these hillocks facing each other, with a space of a few feet in between. I sprinted up this hill as well, bridging the gap at the top. After this, there was a flat stretch of grass, which I started to sprint across. As I was running, I became aware of a repetitive thumping sound other than the sound of my own footfalls. I looked over to my left, where the sound was coming from, and noticed a helicopter gunship bearing down on me. I’m assuming that this wasn’t always a helicopter – for instance, for Rena, it would probably whatever her people’s form of a helicopter was.
Regardless, the helicopter continued towards me, and belched out a stream of lead from its nosegun. A line of spurts rose form the dirt, passing about ten feet away from me. I rolled through the clouds of dust and clods of earth, coming up in a crouch facing the helicopter, on the other side of its firing line. This switch would cause the pilot to readjust his course, buying my some time. As I rolled up into my crouch, I brought the butt of the REC7 to my shoulder, sighting through the scope, and taking aim at the approaching helicopter’s cockpit. I settled into a breathing pattern – whole breath, half a breath, half a breath – and smoothly squeezed the trigger. I held the trigger down for only a second, letting off a few rounds towards the helicopter. I squeezed the trigger again about a second later, releasing another burst of fire. I repeated this until I saw the helicopter’s outer rotor tip dip, indicating that the pilot would soon be turning inwards towards me. I continued my firing pace, but was just then emptying the last few rounds from my clip. As the helicopter swooped in my direction, spraying bullets before it, I rolled towards it, through the path of the bullets.
Things seemed to be slowed down, I’m assuming it was because I have always been a very quick thinker, and this probably improved my reflexes and reactions and such in this world. I rolled towards the helicopter as it fired, which most would think to be a very stupid choice. However, it was actually what you should do. Think of that old classic video game: the one where you are a tank and aliens come in from the top of the screen. They move left, then right, and continuously get lower. To hit the fast moving aliens, where do you shoot? At it? No, you’ll miss. Behind it? No, your shots will be even further off. In front of it? Yes, there’s the solution. This will make the ship advance into you path of fire.
Here, however, I was not trying to hit a ship, but to avoid bullets. Therefore, I should aim myself not in front of the ship (in this case, in the direction of its turn) but rather, head towards it. The ship will not be able to manoeuvre as quickly as I, and its turn will carry it past the point where it can fire on me, giving me extra time. I came out of the roll into a crouch, reloading as I did, and again placing the rifle to my shoulder, and firing at the helicopter. I varied my shots a little more this time, aiming for other crucial points than the cockpit – thing like the panelling that covered the fuel and hydraulic lines or the turbine engines. I had been on several tours of helicopter squadrons through cadets, given that I lived in Victoria, helicopter were prevalent: especially for search and rescue. Now, this wasn’t a SAR ‘copter, but it had a similar basic layout, and I had learned a lot about helicopter mechanics during those tours.
During one of my bursts aimed at the engines, on top of the ‘copter, I got a lucky shot. The helicopter was turning back towards me, giving me essentially a top-down view of it, and one of my bullets must have hit the Jesus Nut. This is the single nut on top of the rotor assembly of all helicopters, which held the chopper blades on. It had an official name, something with a bunch of numbers, but pilots and crew affectionately called it “The Jesus Nut”, because if it came off in flight, first you said his name, and then you met him. Failure of this part was guaranteed fatal, as it was for this ill-fated helicopter.
The rotors separated from the helicopter fuselage, pulling into the turn at enormous speeds. Keep in mind, they were still pulling upwards with roughly the same force, but now didn’t have to lift an entire helicopter with them. The rotors and fuselage spread apart with frightening speed, and things seemed to slow even more. I saw the rotor blades spinning, slicing the air as they spiralled out of control. I saw the fuselage tilting away from me, tumbling through the air, and headed for the ground. Then, just as it was about to hit the forty foot cargo net (one of the other obstacles), the helicopter parts, fuselage, rotors, and others, all shimmered and disappeared. I guess the designer of this program didn’t want any part to interfere with the whole.
I stumbled a little, my perception of time returning to normal, and I dropped the clip out of my rifle, catching it as it fell. I looked at the indicator holes, and saw how many bullets I had left: only one. Had the helicopter been able to swing around for one more pass, I was not sure that could have survived it. I dropped the essentially empty clip on the ground, and inserted a fresh one. The next few obstacles passed without incident, being almost identical to Earth ones, until I came upon what I like to call the “separated steps”: a set of horizontal wooden planks set about three feet apart horizontally and about two feet vertically, creating a set of steps with large gaps between them, or something like a widely spaced, slanted ladder.
This particular set, however, had something which I had never seen before – walls on either side, with holes in them just above the steps. I didn’t know what they were for, until I started up the steps. Many people need to jump between them, and catch their balance on each, but I was tall enough that my long legs could easily cover the space in between, and I normally just semi-ran, semi-hopped over the steps. I very quickly realised, however, that this would not work in this particular instance, because as I approached the steps, some sort of projectiles began to launch between the holes. I hesitated for a second, but then remembered that death here would only send me back to the real world, and I could always retry if I wanted to. I paused, steeled myself for the run, then took off, jumping up the first three steps in only a few seconds.
As I reached the third step, I noticed a sharp pain in my leg, and looked down. One of the projectiles had glanced off of my shin, which was now cut and bleeding. Time seemed to slow, once again, and I wondered why that might be.
Jump to the next step. Okay, so this wholeplace is inside of my head… Jump again, crouching to avoid projectiles. That means that it probably has nothing to do with the physical world. Come to think of it, I’m not even tired, and that cut doesn’t hurt. Jump up another step, arm got cut by projectile, but not seriously injured. That didn’t hurt either, and time seems to be slowing down the more I need it…hmm. Wait a second, if this whole world is mental, I must be able to alter it mentally!
I thought about slowing time even more, and it slowed by about half. I tried stopping it, but it didn’t work, and my grip on its speed slipped. A projectile whizzed through my calf as I hit the next step, and I decided to concentrate on slowing time and getting over these steps. I jumped to the next step, but saw a projectile approaching from my right. I twisted in air, flipping upside down to avoid it, and landed with my hands on the next step. I pushed off, flipping and twisting through the air, and landed feet-first on the next step. I continued along, jumping, flipping, and spiralling my way to the last step, using my newfound abilities to assist me.
I reached the final step, and leapt off. By now, I was about twenty feet in the air, and was not sure that I could survive this fall uninjured. As I fell, I spread as much as possible, to increase my drag in the air and slow my descent. I hit the ground, and time came almost to a standstill. I crouched, resisting slightly more with one leg than the other, causing me to roll over to that side, absorbing the energy of my impact, and preventing the bones in my legs from shattering. I came up out of the roll running, as time resumed its normal pace, and I sprinted towards the next obstacle.

As I ran, I experimented with my new-found abilities – I started by slowing time a few times to get the hang of it, then continued to seeing what else I could do. I came up to the four foot wall, a fairly easy obstacle: just jump up, grab the top, and clamber over. Hmm…I wonder if there isn’t another way… - I thought, then proceeded to focus on my jump, slowing time and focusing on the force my legs were imparting into the ground. I flew six feet in the air, over the obstacle, and promptly fell flat on my face on the other side.
Note to self –I thought, wiping dirt from my face with a grimace – jumping is followed by landing. Prepare appropriately. I got up, and set out for the next obstacle, the six foot wall. As I approached, and prepared to jump, spikes shot up from the wall’s top. I skidded to a halt in the dirt before it, and thought for a second. I tried going around, but the wall moved to always be in front of me. Can’t go over, can’t go around… - I kicked the dirt in contemplation, then stopped with a smile. – Must go through. I punched the wall, focusing on my punch as I had focused earlier on my jump.
The wall’s main frame was very solid, six-inch thick iron girders, but that was only around the outside. The central area was comprised of half-inch planks attached horizontally across the frame, with no gaps between them. I punched straight through both layers –front and back – and as I did I felt my pinkie finger break. It hurt, a little. It wasn’t the first time I had broken something, and in fact I had broken that particular finger a few months back, on the flight line. I was a glider pilot, and while out on the field I had been pushing a glider. More accurately, I was running out to grab the strut so that I could push the glider into take-off position, when I slipped, and slammed my hand against the wing strut, breaking my pinkie finger. I pushed off the glider, then grabbed the first aid kit, and did exactly what I did now. I wrapped medical tape around my ring and pinkie fingers, binding them together to support the broken bones. I did it really hastily now, after all, these weren’t my real fingers.
I pushed a few more planks out of the way, and had to kick a few more in, but I shortly had a hole that I could get through. While kicking in some of the boards, I noticed the leg injuries I had got from the separated steps. I quickly wrapped some medical tape around them, then put the tape back in the pouch of my combats dedicated to first aid.
I set off for the next obstacle – my personal favourite: the forty foot cargo net. Four poles, forty feet long, were standing straight up, and a net was strung between them. The net was woven of rope about half an inch in diameter, and the spaces were about six inches wide. You couldn’t possibly fit through the spaces, but a misplaced leg or arm could easily slip. The net stretched about forty feet wide, and eighty long. First you had to climb forty feet up, then make your way across the net and climb back down. Some people crawled, some crouched, I knew one guy who lay down and rolled across. He looked ridiculous, but always finished it fastest. Some people tried to run across, but that was the sort of thing you only tried once – you were guaranteed to slip somewhere along it, and for a guy, landing with a half inch wide rope between you legs is no fun event. I once had to help carry down this one cocky bastard who was sure he could run it – he ended up with a crushed testicle which they had to replace with a titanium one.
I scrambled up the netting on one side, reaching the top, and taking a moment to appreciate it. I started semi-crawl, semi-running across, clambering over it holding ropes in my hands and placing my knees into the holes. At roughly the halfway point, I noticed a shaking which I recognized as the feeling of someone else being on the net. I looked back, and three guys dressed in black spec ops uniforms were heading towards me. Looking back to the front, I noticed three more.
I would have thought something along the lines of – Where did they come from? – but I honestly didn’t have enough time to. They arrived at my location, two of them pulling my legs out from under me and flipping me over. I jerked one leg loose, sending my foot flying at its captor’s head and connecting solidly. I continued the motion, aiming a kick at the next guy, but was stopped when a fist hit my stomach. Hard.
I concentrated on as much as I could, slowing time, watching for hits, and planning my moves. I swung at the guy who had punched me in the stomach, and as he blocked it I brought up my knee into his groin. He rolled over with a groan, and I grabbed my right fist with my left, lurching upwards and driving my right elbow down into the back of his neck, using my whole body weight (which, admittedly, was not much.). I was rewarded with a satisfying crack, and his body shimmered out of existence. Interesting – I thought, and then I heard another, larger crack, and I was on the bottom of the net, hanging upside down below it with the five remaining Special Forces soldiers. Also interesting –I thought, as I let my legs hang, and held ropes in my hands like I was on a set of Monkey Bars. The nearest soldier to me looked at me, and I kicked towards him, asking “Want to play a game of chicken?”
I don’t think he understood, but he came at me regardless. He was upside down, climbing the net like a ladder. As he came in range, I focused, and kicked out with both feet. One hit his head, and glanced off, but the other one did its job. It connected solidly with his shoulder, breaking his (I’m assuming) collarbone with a sharp cracking sound. That arm dangled down, useless, and I aimed a kick at the other. I hit it with both feet in the lower arm, my feet continuing right past, shattering his bones. He screamed, and fell to the ground. As he was about to hit, he faded out just like the helicopter and the other soldier. I would have felt bad, but I knew that this was basically a big video game, and I felt no remorse for killing virtual characters.
A hand grabbed my arm, very solidly, so I released my other arm and spun around to see another spec ops spook. He had his legs slung over the ropes above him, and was twisting my arm now. I knew I couldn’t take much more, so I grabbed the Kabar combat knife (original Marine Model) from my combat webbing belt, brought it up, and sliced the ropes holding his weight. He fell, but was still holding my arm. In a snap judgement, I stabbed the knife into his arm. He yelled and was forced to release my arm, but his momentum tore the knife from my hands, and it was lost along with him. He faded out, and my knife hit the dirt, sticking in, handle up.
“Damn!” I shouted, then noticed one of the soldiers had worked his way back on top of the net, and was standing above me. I looked up at him, and he waved with one hand while brandishing a knife in the other. He chuckled, then said, “Bye,” and bent to slash the ropes holding me up. I saw my chance, and released my hold on the ropes, snapping my hands out to his ankles, and grabbing hold. I had just enough time to see the look of horrified realization on his face before his feet slipped off of the ropes, and he was pulled downwards. The force of gravity acting on both his mass and mine drew him straight downwards, with one leg on either side of a rope.
As the rope smacked up into his groin (or rather, his groin smacked down onto the rope) I winced and cringed in sympathetic pain. I clambered along the net’s underside the ten feet or so to the edge, and scrambled over the edge back on top. I walked over to the gasping soldiers, grabbed him by the back of his tactical vest, and flung him over the side. In the process, I slipped, landing safely in the net. He landed, less safely, on the ground forty feet below – or at least he would have, if he hadn’t faded out.
There were still two men left, on opposite sides of me, and both on top of the net. They slowly, and slightly unsteadily, advanced on me, both holding knives at the ready. I would have shot them, but I’m sure that I could not have hit both of them before one of them hit me. Instead, I tried another tactic. I threw my rifle down onto the net, and clenched my fists, shouting, “COME ON!” at one of the men. They both charged, and I grabbed the outstretched knife arm of the one in front of me. I dropped down to the net, lifting my legs into the chest of the man whose arm I held, and pulled on his wrist, using me legs as a combination lever and springboard to launch him into the other man. As they lay entangled in the net, I retrieved my rifle and disposed of them. They faded out, and I crawled to the other side of the net, and climbed down.
Before continuing, I walked back under the net to where my knife lay stuck in the dirt, handle up, as if presenting itself to me. I knelt, pulled it from the ground, wiped off the dirt (I’m assuming the blood faded out along with its originator), and kissed the blade. Then I secured it in its sheath, stood up, and continued to the next obstacle.

Not overly much of note happened over the next few obstacle, and then I was at the end - a thirty foot leopard crawl under a matrix of wires. Normally, these are just wires, but these, I noticed were a mix of plain wires, barbed wire, and razorwire. I had a suspicion about the plain-looking wires, so I pulled out a piece of steel wool from one of my belt pouches. Steel wool ignites into flame when electricity is passed through it, which makes it a useful survival tool. I dropped the fluff of thin steel twining onto a place where two of the plain wires passed near each other. There were sparks, a crackling sound, and the steel wool burst into flames. Great – I thought, closing up the pouch – electrified wire.
I dropped to the sand, holding my rifle in front of me. My right hand was holding the pistol-grip, and my left was free, just clenched in a fist in front of me. I began to crawl forwards, rotating my entire body to move as fast and low as I could. A few times, I got a little high, and the razorwire and barbed wire tore at my back. Luckily, I never hit the electrified wires.
Not long after, I crawled out the other end, with a bleeding back but no other complications. My back really hurt, and so did my legs, finger, and stomach where that guy had punched me. I looked around, hoping for some sort of thing signifying that the test was over, and some way to get back into the real world.
After a bit of a wait, I spun slowly on the spot, not really sure where to look. I held out my arms, shouting to the sky, “Well? What now?” when there was no response, I shouted louder, “Let me out of here!” I waitedfor a reply, then it hit me. Right – I thought – It’s all mental. Maybe that means I just have to-
And with that I was back in the real world, sitting in my chair. I felt a slight pinch on my temple, and I raised my hand there as the device fell off. I looked at it, then up at Rena, who was exactly as she had been when I first started the test, minus the few seconds it took for this particular sequence to take place. I estimated that I had been iin there for at least two hours, but it seemed that Kerr had been correct and the procedure was, indeed, seemingly instantaneous.
“Wow,” I said, to nobody in particular. Rena replied, “Yes. The first time can be a little bit…overwhelming.” I didn’t say anything, just made little half-laugh, half-exhalation noises, while tilting my head, wide eyed. After a second or so of this, I summed it up.
“Yeah.”