Playtime

Stepping back into the vast black void didn’t feel strange or ominous anymore. It felt like coming home.

I glanced one last time and saw the printed script lying on my desk through the doorway. Then it sank into the floor like it had never existed.

The Domain flexed.

Sand materialized beneath my feet, warm and fine. The crash of ocean waves filled my ears. A tropical breeze kissed my skin, carrying the scent of salt, flowers, and distant smoke. Walls rose around me, dark marble floors, sultry red lighting, a raised stage where a live band played pulsing salsa music. A long, sleek bar appeared next, lined with top-shelf liquors glowing like jewels.

And there she was.

Cataleya.

Zoe’s character sat at the bar in a shimmering silver gown that clung to every dangerous curve. The dress was slit high up one thigh, revealing her smooth, toned leg. She stirred her martini with a toothpick, slowly sliding the olive off with her lips and chewing it with deliberate sensuality. Her dark hair cascaded over one shoulder, smoky eyes scanning the room with predatory calm.

A heavy hand landed on my chest. “Sir, the perimeter’s been secured.”

I looked up at a towering bald beast of a man; easily 6’7”; built like a refrigerator in a tailored black suit, earpiece glowing. He gestured to a private table behind me.

I glanced down. My business suit had shifted into vacation mode; short-sleeve polo, khaki shorts, running shoes. Comfortable. Unassuming.

“Huh… I’m the target,” I muttered to myself, amused.

“Sir?” another guard; even bigger; asked.

I had five of them now. All mountains of muscle. I smiled. “Fantastic, Boris.”

I took my seat. Interesting, I thought, The Voyeurs wanted me to play… so I’ll play.

Through the mirrored wall behind the bar, I saw Cataleya clocking the entire room; cool, calculating, lethal. Her eyes flicked toward me for the briefest second, and something hot stirred low in my gut.

An attractive waitress in a skimpy bikini placed a drink in front of me. Before I could even thank her, blood exploded across the table and she screamed loudly.

One of my guards face-planted into his ceviche, a ragged exit wound blooming red on the back of his skull. Blood pooled and spilled over the white linen like spilled wine.

Chaos erupted.

Screams. Gunshots cracking like thunder. Patrons scrambling in panic. Another guard dropped beside me, half his face gone in a wet spray of bone and brain matter. The warm blood spatter on my cheek cooled almost instantly in the air-conditioned breeze.

A massive hand yanked me from my chair. My remaining security team closed in, forming a human shield as the nightclub descended into pandemonium.

“Multiple bogeys!” A female guard shouted.

Without thinking, my hand found a holstered H&K VP9 on one of the fallen guards. The grip felt natural, like an old friend. Muscle memory that wasn’t mine flooded in; my adventure had rewritten me in real time. Former spec ops. CIA ties. SAS training. It all clicked.

I saw a man in the crowd raising a pistol toward me. I fired twice; center mass; the third round splitting his forehead open in a red mist. He dropped like a puppet with cut strings.

Another assassin in a tight red dress leveled a weapon at me from across the room. I put two rounds through her chest and one through her throat. She crumpled, blood spraying across a table of screaming patrons.

Cataleya appeared in a silver blur of ****; dual-wielding massive pistols, moving like liquid ****. She dropped an assassin perched high in the rafters with two precise shots; his body crashed down onto a table in a shower of glass and blood.

She spun, dress flaring, and took out two more; one sprinting toward me with a knife, the other firing from a balcony. Both dropped hard, blood misting the air.

My own guards opened fire; bullets chewing up the walls near her. She ducked and rolled with impossible grace, a spray of gunfire exploding an ice sculpture where her head had been a split-second earlier. Shards of ice and water rained down as she came up shooting, putting down another attacker who tried to flank me.

Two more of my guards went down in rapid succession; one with a bullet through the eye, the other clutching his throat as blood poured between his fingers. The last one; the tall woman; tried to cover me. “They’re all over-”

A burst of gunfire cut her off. She dropped hard, blood blooming across her chest.

I was alone now. The final assassin clutched a gunshot wound on his arm. With the other, he raised his **** rifle… and dropped to the floor with his head split.

Cataleya appeared where he once stood, silver dress flowing behind her like a cape, pistols smoking, eyes locked on me with cold, professional focus… and the faintest hint of a smirk.

In any normal situation, I would’ve been terrified. But the Voyeurs said my manifestations couldn’t hurt me, despite how real everything just felt… and I knew exactly why she was here.

“Lot of people want me dead,” I said, echoing the script, adrenaline surging through me. “You one of them?”

She dropped one empty pistol, the other still smoking in her hand. “That’s not what I got paid for.”

She extended her hand.

I took it.

Her grip was firm, warm, electric, as she lifted me upright. Her skin was soft but her hold was strong. For a split second our eyes met; hers dark, intense, promising **** and something far more dangerous underneath.

The Domain had given me the perfect stage. Now it was time to see how far I could push it.