[00] The Teleporter

[DA 2009]

John Doe awoke in a dimly lit room with a killer headache. Surprisingly, he found himself in a very warm, comfortable bed. He kicked off the sheets, finding that he was still fully dressed, and in the exact same condition as before he entered the gas chamber. He sat up straight, looking around. The room looked like a hospital room, save for a large teleportation device up against the far wall. Where did all of the snow go? The last thing he remembered was trying to fight that red-haired kid, and then his collar started beeping, and then he woke up here. He slid his feet over the side of the bed, perching himself on the edge as he pulled a cigarette from his pack and lit the white cylinder, despite the obvious “No Smoking” sign next to the door. Doe noticed a small mobile tray next to the bed. On it sat a white envelope with his name—his real name—scrawled along the surface in fancy ink.

Shrugging, John gritted the cigarette between his lips, picked up the envelope, and pulled out a letter. It read:

“Dear John,

You gave us quite the deception, a field in which I am not easily bested. Syntex, however, has more resources than you could imagine. I hope you had fun while it lasted, John. You did well for the time you spent on Dante; it’s sad to see you go. Perhaps in the future, you can have even more fun at another event. For your exit, simply enter the location of your choice into the keypad of the teleporter, and it will take you anywhere you desire. As a small consolation, I have left a care package by the entrance. I wish you all the best.

Regards, Your Humble Host,
Damon Dukes”

John scoffed. He pulled the cigarette from his mouth, and touched the glowing embers to the corner of the letter. With that, he tossed the burning paper of his shoulder to smolder where it may. The man with the sunglasses walked over towards the teleporter, glancing down to see the “care package” that had been promised to him. It was a simple metal suitcase, and he kneeled down to open it. He clipped open the latches and pulled the top up. Encased in foam was a box of his favorite cigarette brand and two polished, silver-plated pistols.

John just chuckled.