Osmark’s most trusted ally, Sandra Bullard, glared at him as he entered the transition chamber. She was a slight woman with a severe face, emphasized even more so by the tight bun fixed at the back of her head. She leaned casually against the sleek black tube that would soon be his grave and tapped a pen against her chin. “You’re late.”

“For a very important date?” He chuckled and shook his head. “There’s still plenty of time.”

Sandra frowned at Robert. “What has been your favorite saying since we began this project?”

“The end of the world isn’t an excuse to slack off,” he said with a sigh. “And that’s true, but I wasn’t slacking.”

“Robert, we have highly qualified staff to check all of those systems. Let them do the work you hired them to do.” She raised her clipboard and turned it toward him. “You have a schedule to keep.”

“Ah, mom,” Osmark said with mock exasperation. “I don’t wanna die, yet.”

His assistant tried to hold it together, but she couldn’t suppress a single giggle. She covered her full lips with her clipboard until the fit had passed. Though both of them were aggressive, high-performing personalities, their long-standing relationship gave them a firm enough foundation to let loose with one another occasionally. With the stakes so high, and the need to keep up appearances so great, Robert couldn’t resist sharing an occasional joke with his chief operations specialist, personal assistant, and primary bodyguard.

“Let me give you a rundown on our current situation,” Sandra began. She ran her finger down the single sheet of paper on her clipboard and tapped the conductive ink with the micro transponder embedded in the lacquer covering the nail of her right index finger.

In a blink, the transition chamber’s northern wall transformed into a deep black tapestry. One by one, photographs of Osmark’s primary contributors to the VGO Project floated up through the darkness and into view. “As you can see, most of our esteemed guests have already arrived at the bunkers assigned to them. Transitions are already in progress, and I don’t foresee any difficulties with the guests I’ve highlighted.”

Robert noted two photographs that were not highlighted. “Carrera and Sizemore are already stirring up trouble?”

“You’re half right,” Sandra corrected. “Carrera’s being a good boy. I doubt that’s going to remain true for long, but at present, he’s minding his manners and doing as he’s told. He’s a pragmatic man, and he understands that his survival rests in other hands. Your hands.” Robert couldn’t hide his smile. Though he’d achieved far more in his life than any of the guests who’d contributed to his project, most of them had not viewed him with the respect he deserved. Once the money had changed hands, his genius disappeared in their eyes. He’d been paid, and now he was the help.

Be a good boy and build us a new world to conquer.

He’d let them believe that. But Osmark was more than prepared to show them the truth after the transition period was over.

“If he’s playing by the rules, why did you flag him?” Osmark asked.

A grim smile tightened Sandra’s lips. “To remind us both to keep an eye on him. He's playing nice now. But once we’re all inside, the gloves will come off. Remember that.”

Osmark nodded and raised his hands in surrender. Sandra had made her point, and he wasn’t about to challenge her on it.

“And Sizemore? What’s he up to?” His eyes narrowed as he spoke. Sandra traced her fingernails over the top of Osmark’s high-tech coffin. The way she treated it with such indifference annoyed him, though Osmark would never let it show. He was going to die in that capsule, but that didn’t mean anything. His superstitious dread of the grave was embarrassing, and he chewed on the inside of his lip in frustration.

“Are you listening?” Sandra asked.

Osmark cleared his throat. “Sorry, just a little preoccupied.”

“As I was saying,” Sandra said, annoyed at having to repeat herself, “Senator Sizemore has contacted several of the other guests. Including our Chinese contingent.”

Robert clenched his teeth and forced a deep breath through his nostrils. He’d needed Sizemore to get the project off the ground. Without the Senator’s help, they wouldn’t have the salt mine and all the goodies that came with it. More importantly, Osmark would never have received the Yama system from the Chinese. Sizemore had greased those international political wheels so smoothly and efficiently that Robert had immediately taken a dislike to the man. Anyone who could get concessions from the Chinese in less than 12 hours couldn’t be trusted.

“I should’ve known,” Osmark said. “He was too close to Peng. I assume you have some idea of what they’re discussing?”

Sandra sketched an abbreviated bow. She grinned and said, “I know you love to watch.”

The transition chamber’s east wall displayed a crystal clear still shot of Sizemore handing a drink to the Chinese contingent’s spokesperson. It lurched into motion, and immersive audio made Osmark feel as if he was standing in the room with the men.

“You understand we cannot allow him to control our destinies once we transition,” Peng said as he accepted the drink. “We must forge our own paths.”

Sizemore’s trademark smile flashed like a megawatt laser, his teeth immaculately white and straight. At 50, the senator was just a few years older than Osmark, but he looked a decade younger. His tanned skin showed no wrinkles, and his dark hair had just the right amount of gray peppering the temples. The man would’ve been as at home on a movie set as he was stalking the halls of Congress. A classic politician in every way.

“I couldn’t agree with you more, sir,” Sizemore said with a deferential bow. “Osmark’s brain is valuable, and he’s done us a great service, but if he thinks I’m going to let him run the place, he’s got another thing coming.”

The Chinese spokesperson shot Sizemore a dubious glance. “Surely he has contingencies in place to deal with those who would rise against him. The man who built the world will have given himself insurmountable advantages.”

Sizemore drained his glass in a single long pull. For a moment he didn’t speak, instead refilling his glass as he considered his next words. “You’d think so, but it doesn’t work that way. Osmark has advantages, the same as the rest of us, but he’s not a god. No matter what he wants us to believe, the truth is the simulation can only be stretched so far. It has rules that can be bent, but breaking them is impossible. He’s formidable, but not indomitable.”

Peng tapped the rim of his glass with one bony finger, his lips pursed into a thin line. “You have a plan, then?” he asked.

Sizemore touched his glass to Peng’s. “I do. And I’ve already told it to my allies.”

“Ah, but it appears you have forgotten one of your allies.” Peng smiled. “It seems we have much to discuss.”

Sandra killed the replay with the tap of a finger. “Once you begin your transition, I have a plane standing by to take me to Sizemore and Peng’s bunker. My credentials will get me inside, and the transition team won’t stop me. If he has bodyguards, I’ll deal with them. And then —”

Robert raised his hand, shaking his head in protest. “No, that won’t work. As much as I’d like to agree with your plan to deal with Sizemore before he transitions, that’s not going to be possible.”

“There’s plenty of time,” she protested, hands placed on her hips. “There’s room in the schedule for me to adjust my transition time. I’ll arrive a couple of days after you, but it’s worth it to deal with this problem before it can blow up in our faces.”

Robert crossed his arms over his chest and closed his eyes. What he had to say next was almost as embarrassing as his fear of the grave. “No, that’s not what I mean. You can’t kill him. To get what I needed from Sizemore, I had to throw him a bone.”

Concern flashed across Sandra’s face like a raven’s shadow. “What did you do?”

Osmark raised his hands defensively. “It’s not a big deal, okay? He asked to have his successful transition tied to certain contingencies. He has to make it across. Otherwise, things are going to get complicated for me once I arrive.”

Sandra wanted to press him for more details, Robert could see it in her flashing jade eyes, but she held her tongue. They’d been together long enough not to question one another in certain areas. When it came to his safety and the operation of his company, Sandra was more than welcome to challenge Osmark.

But on this project, his iron will and snap decisions were the only forces guiding them to the finish line. She couldn’t afford to doubt the choices he made. “Fine. Peng has been in contact with Bulger and Whitehead. That connects them to Modhi and the rest of the subcontinent billionaires. If they do plan a coup, you’re going to have your hands full.”

“That’s why am bringing you along. Somebody’s got to kick all the ass.” He said.

A quiet chime rang through the transition chamber.

It was time to die.

Sandra clutched her clipboard to her chest and stepped around Osmark’s coffin. For a moment, the two of them stood silent and motionless. Their eyes locked. He wanted to reach for her, to wrap his arms around her shoulders, and pull her across the narrow gap that separated them. They’d always been professional, but this was different. If everything went as planned, they would both be dead before they saw one another again.

“On the other side,” she said quietly. “Safe travels.”

And then she was gone, her flats whispering across the floor as she swept from the room.

A trio of nurses swooped into the space left by Sandra like air rushing into a vacuum. They wore blood red surgical gowns and caps, and their faces were professional masks. The lid swung open and carefully, slowly, he climbed in, conscious of the eyes securitizing his every motion. He lowered himself down, adjusting and readjusting his body on the conductive memory-foam, then slipped a modified VR helmet into place. The lid automatically closed, leaving Osmark in a claustrophobically tight space filled with pulsing blue light.

As he lay there, Osmark doubted everything. Everything.

There was no going back now, though. This was the way forward, the way of survival. And he would survive the transition—the highly trained nurses would ensure that.

“Initiate Viridian Gate Online,” he said to the trio of nurses.

“Of course, Mr. Osmark,” came a curt reply, from the lead nurse. “Please lie as still as possible.”

The capsule let out a click-buzz—the lid locking mechanism—followed by the whoosh-whoosh-whoosh of a whirling MRI. Abruptly, everything went black as the VR headset engaged, quickly replaced by a white loading screen as anesthetic gas hissed into the capsule. The gas was an added precaution to help with the upload and the transition. Osmark breathed deeply and began the long process of dying as the machine kicked into overdrive, the whirling picking up in intensity. WHOOSH, WHOOSH, WHOOSH, WHOOSH.

“Traveler,” boomed a hard-edged male voice, “prepare to enter Viridian Gate Online!”