“The good thing about science is that it’s true

  Whether or not you believe in it.”

  — NEAL DEGRASS TYSON & Science Lab Graffiti

  //Codex Tag

  function inscribeAnnotation014(content=

  /* Science isn’t just discovery; it’s also restraint. Ian Malcolm wasn't entirely correct when he said, “Life, uh…finds a way” in Jurassic Park. The problem isn’t just that life finds a way. It’s that people try to tell life where to go. */

  codex.updateEntry(“Chaos Theory | Life finds a way, but instead of asking why, people opt to drive over it in their quads, because screw the normal paths.”);

  }

  Remi’s initial assessment of the counselling appointment had been harsh. He felt better now, but that was at least partially because of the lingering hint of strawberry in his mouth. Determined to make it to class on-time, he hurried down the hallway. His mini-map showed there was a stairwell about one hundred feet down the long corridor.

  The building was confusing, but Remi felt like he was getting a handle on it. The school looked like a long rectangular box, but that was a lie. It was a loop pretending to be a line. At first glance, the layout was simple: two parallel hallways ran the length of the building, the front one bright on the mini-map and the back cast in shadow. Lockers lined the walls of the main path in tidy metallic rows, on his left an unbroken line except for one office door at the far end, his right with more regular gaps because of classroom doors.

  At the far end of the building, the gym loomed, a cavernous space when compared to the sizes of the other rooms. At the extreme opposite end of the building, where Remi currently stood, was the start of the hallway, and adjoined the main office, detention room, and staff room. This main front hallway was well lit and seemed mostly safe, so far. It was the kind of place you could walk through without attracting attention, so long as you tried nothing clever. But if you attempted to cut across, save time using the bisecting hallways, you would encounter the back hallway. This was the one that Astrid had warned him about. The hallway ran behind everything, parallel to the main one, but it wasn’t meant for regular foot traffic. Scanning it made the HUD flicker like a faulty connection.

  The classrooms were stacked vertically on top of each other in a tower: Science on the top floor, Math below that, and Humanities on the second. They seemed to be grouped by subject, but it was hard to tell as his mini-map was still mostly blank. Stairwells stitched it all together, one of them even punching downward toward a basement Remi had no interest in visiting.

  Remi walked down the front hallway, headed towards a stairwell. But as he reached the intersection and prepared to turn right up the stairs, he paused. On his left shoulder, he found a cut across the hallway that connected to the forbidden one. That’s when he heard it—a squealing sound that drew his attention. A high, rubbery squeal, like tires spinning too fast on linoleum. The air carried a faint smell of burnt rubber.

  He knew he should ignore it; Astrid had told him so, but he really didn’t like being told what to do. So he made a quick right at the corner and proceeded down the connecting hallway. The screech of tires pierced the air as he reached the junction. Forced back, he watched three hulking pieces of AV gear, glinting metal reflected the lights, careen past, two on media trolleys and one on treads. The wind of their passage ruffled his hair.

  The overhead projector, perched atop a clunky AV cart, whirred as it rolled past, its lens swiveling to acknowledge him. The plastic wheels grumbled on the linoleum floor. A blinding beam of light struck Remi, searing him across the chest like a laser. It burned; his shirt provided no real protection. His HP dropped slightly. Remi might have been in trouble, but the beam was gone just as fast as it had appeared. The line of them moved too fast; it was unlikely they couldn't stop easily without toppling over, so they continued past him and down the hallway.

  Remi looked around the corner, leaning slightly forward, and saw the rapidly retreating backs of the equipment. He focused, trying to inspect them, and was met with a pop-up:

  [The Three Monstagears!]

  Three machines. No longer of use in school; they are angry about it!

  Name: The Searer (Overhead Projector)

  Type: Optical Aggression Unit

  Note: Danger - Radiant Burn Damage. Ability to blind.

  Name: The Looper (Filmstrip Machine)

  Type: Memory Projection Unit

  Note: Danger Mental Overload & Memory Loop Lock.

  Name: The Shredder (Paper Disposal Unit)

  Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

  Type: Industrial Shredding Apparatus

  Note: Danger - Chomping & Slashing Damage. Avoid loose clothing.

  Before more data could populate, they had disappeared into the distance. A quick thought closed the pop-up. Remi paused and considered what the collective noun for technology should be? If there were a murder of crows, or an unkindness of ravens, would this be a trundle of tech? Or better yet, a despair of devices!

  Astrid had been right about this hallway, best to avoid it. He accepted that the main one would be good enough for classroom navigation.

  Remi backtracked down the side hall and through the intersection, made a sharp left and started up the stairs. As he crested the final few steps, the bell rang. BOOOAAANNNGGG! The sound seemed to sag under its own weight, and to echo with the disappointment he felt. He just couldn’t get this ‘being-on-time’ thing together.

  He took another left as he hurried down the hall, but arrived at room 404 to find the door closed. It was almost cosmically ironic. Page not found! Really! He wasn’t even surprised that the door was closed. Classic chemistry teacher move. To be early is to be on time; to be on time is to be late; but he was late, and to them that was unforgivable! He had a colleague, Mr. Hall, who the kids joked was named so because it was his favourite place to park kids. Remi retrieved the late slip taped to the door and dropped it in his grocery bag. He then eased the door open and tried to sneak in.

  Maybe it was trying to be sneaky that caused him not to notice. As he was easing the door closed, backing into the room, his foot hit a square tile that sank slightly into the floor with an ominous click. The sound was small; some might even say unassuming. Like a Canadian coughing slightly under their breath before saying, excuse me, sir, but I think you just tripped my trap. There was a brief HISS! like air escaping from a bike tire, but it was too quick to pay much attention to and faded almost immediately, so Remi just figured he had misheard.

  Shit! He knew this was the start of another entry in his fuck-up journal. The specifics were still vague, but he knew the entry had been started. Dear Diary, today I stuck my foot…. Remi dropped his head and closed his eyes. For someone who was paid to notice details, he seemed to miss them alarmingly often.

  Remi straightened and turned to look at the science lab, but it wasn’t really a classroom; it was more like stepping inside a jungle. Sure, there were lab tables, and even a blackboard on wheels, but coiled vines wrapped everything. Insects buzzed through the too-humid air. Butterflies drifted between the ferns. It was Isla Nublar, but not from the first movie, rather from the sequel. When the island had broken into the science spaces, leaking through the walls to take over. The juxtaposition of the natural world and scientific gadgetry was stark. There were beakers and blossoms. Microscopes and mushrooms. There was even an enormous gene-editing unit, parked on its own table with a sign that said DO NOT TOUCH! hanging from it.

  A shadow that initially appeared as part of the background seemed to reach for the machine. A murky hand, gently dragging a murky digit along its gleaming surface. As if it noticed Remi’s gaze, it quickly returned to the foliage, disappearing as quickly as it had manifested. Remi made a mental note: a potential clue to this environment?

  Continuing his scan of the space, he saw a figure waiting for him. Floating in the air was a man made from a split DNA strand. The double helix had been torn apart to form his legs and arms from nucleotide rungs, the centre torso remaining intact. Perched on the blue and red coiled neck was the face of Archie. He wore a serious expression, which seemed misplaced because his eyes seemed to be stolen from Clippy, the paperclip helper guy from early versions of Windows. They seemed to rotate independently of one another, and neither seemed to be able to focus. He was also sporting a virtual lab coat.

  “Hello, Remi.” His voice had changed again. Now, it was overly chipper and unnervingly enthusiastic. “I will be your teacher for the day. I am Mr. R. Chai, the Science Guy.” His mouth did not really open and close as he talked. Rather, is seemed to glitch between an O and an em dash.

  Remi’s responding eye roll was so aggressive, it caused his head to follow suit, making a slow and resigned crescent loop. The whole thing felt like The Crucible was trying too hard. Like it had taken some things Remi loved the most as a kid, Jurassic Park, Bill Nye, and animated anthropomorphic helpers, stuck them all in a blender and hit pulverize. What was left resembled the source materials, but it was lumpy, and it really wasn’t something he wanted to drink.

  A pointer materialized in R. Chai’s hands. He whipped it against the board, and the letters DNA appeared bolded and underlined. “Today, boys and…ok just boy. Now, teachers have lied to you. No, I am not talking about evolution. That is real. Instead, what I am talking about are the building blocks of life and literature. You may have been told by some well-meaning but ill-informed chemistry instructors that DNA stands for Deoxyribonulic Acid, and that its four-letter code is G, A, T and C. You may have even watched a movie that uses those letters as its central gimmick. But that is not correct. Sorry.”

  He paused. Setting down the pointer, he adjusted his lab coat and pulled on its lapels as his shoulders shrugged. Retrieving his pointer, he went on. “It actually means Designer’s Narrative Algorithm, and it has five letters, not four. N, A, R, S and E. You can remember that by saying, ‘Dude, aren’t those elements NARSE!’” He paused, but when he was met only with Remi’s head shaking no, he continued. “Fine, I will work on the acronym.”

  The letters and a brief description appeared on the board in their unfortunate order. “Okay, maybe a song might help.”

  No! Remi thought, he wasn’t actually going to try to sing. Remi was wrong. Archie did.

  “N, for novelty, a spark of new. Fresh, like lemons in a stew. A, for Audience, whose eyes must see. Is that readers? The codex? Or in fact meeee?” The song was obviously based on The Sound of Music. “R, for resonance, emotions, joy through grief, rage or awe, the tale must stir belief.”

  The rhyme, however, was forced harder than a grade 9 haiku. Remi’s horror built as the AI continued.

  “S, for stakes, it’s not meat—it’s the vampire kind. Raise the tension, or just get left behind? And E is last for evolutiooon. Do—we have dynamic chaaaange? Are—you flat or maybe roooound? Do you grow, in—deed—pro—found-ound-ound-ound!”

  Remi mentally pleaded with the universe. Please be done. Archie couldn't hold a note to save his life. He certainly wouldn't be performing any arias soon. Sadly for Remi, he wasn't quite finished.

  “These five things are what make your story ring. Earning heroes more than just some bag o’ shiny bliiiiing!” He opened his arms, stepping forward like a vaudevillian tap dancer, implying with his whole body.

  “Wait, that’s it! The acronym that works is E.A.R.N.S!”

  There were few times in his life when Remi was actually speechless. This was one of them. All he could do was stare. He stuttered out a few broken and pseudo- vowels. “I! You? Are? Oh! Eeeee…” He clenched his jaw, squinting into a cringe. “Why?”

  Archie missed it. “I know, pretty good, right?”

  Remi blinked.

  “You thought I missed it, didn’t you?” Archie continued, tone chipper but eyes rotating out of sync. “But I didn’t, you know.” The eyes locked into place and centred right on Remi. “I actually know what is happening here. Unlike you, who seems to have actually missed it. You see, while you have been judging my singing and poetry, you have been totally unaware of the fact that for the last several minutes, the room has been silently filling with lethal gas.”

  When Dillion dies, he thinks it’s over, until he wakes up in a strange afterlife where death was only the beginning.

  He’s not alone. 78 players, all torn from their final moments, are thrown into a brutal series of survival games, each one twisted around the power and symbolism of the Tarot cards.

  The prize? Not riches, but the ultimate jackpot: a chance to return to life and rewrite their fate.

  If you loved the high-stakes tension of Squid Game, you’ll be hooked by this dark, ruthless fight for a second chance.

  “LET THE GAME BEGIN!”