Gamers' Rebellion

• About the Author
  
• Dedication
  
• Title Page
  
• Copyright
  
• Prologue
  
• 1: Tark
  
• 2: Zyra
  
• 3: Escape
  
• 4: Captured
  
• 5: Wake Up
  
• 6: Administrators
  
• 7: Josie and the Rebels
  
• 8: Designer Prime
  
• 9: People Who Don’t Matter
  
• 10: Mel
  
• 11: Food
  
• 12: The Game
  
• 13: Desert Sands
  
• 14: Into the Game
  
• 15: Machines
  
• 16: Kiss
  
• 17: Children
  
• 18: Back In
  
• 19: Designer Alpha
  
• 20: Hidden
  
• 21: Reunion
  
• 22: Designing
  
• 23: Return of the Ultimate Gamer
  
• 24: Reprogram
  
• 25: On the Inside
  
• 26: We Have a Problem
  
• 27: Back in the Lab
  
• 28: Beta and Tark
  
• 29: Portal Battle
  
• 30: Hope
  
• 31: The Plan
  
• 32: The Outers
  
• 33: Breakdown Begins
  
• 34: Exit
  
• 35: Josie and Tark
  
• 36: Downloading
  
• 37: Calming Down
  
• 38: The Rebellion
  
• 39: Alex
  
• 40: Designer Beta
  
• 41: Containment Breakout
  
• 42: Preserving Unreality
  
• Epilogue
  
• Acknowledgments
  

Gamers’ Rebellion

George Ivanoff is an author and stay-at-home dad residing in Melbourne, Australia. He has written over 60 books for children and teenagers. His teen science fiction novel,
Gamers’ Quest
, won a 2010 Chronos Award for speculative fiction. He has books on both the Victorian Premier’s and the NSW Premier’s Reading Challenge booklists. George eats too much chocolate and drinks too much coffee. He has one wife and two children.

Visit George’s website at:

georgeivanoff.com.au

and the Gamers website:

www.gamersquestbook.com

For my godson

Nicholas Ernst

with much love

THE GAMERS’ TRILOGY

Gamers’ Quest

Gamers’ Challenge

Gamers’ Rebellion

‘Gamers’ Inferno’ is also in
Trust Me Too,

edited by Paul Collins

GAMERS’ REBELLION

George Ivanoff

First published by Ford Street Publishing, an imprint of
Hybrid Publishers, PO Box 52, Ormond VIC 3204

Melbourne Victoria Australia

www.hybridpublishers.com.au

© George Ivanoff 2013

2 4 6 8 10 9 7 5 3 1

This publication is copyright. Apart from any use as permitted under the Copyright Act 1968, no part may be reproduced by any process without prior written permission from the publisher. Requests and enquiries concerning reproduction should be addressed to Ford Street Publishing Pty Ltd

2 Ford Street, Clifton Hill VIC 3068.

Ford Street website: www.fordstreetpublishing.com

First published 2013

National Library of Australia Cataloguing-in-Publication entry

Author: Ivanoff, George, 1968–

Title: Gamers’ rebellion / George Ivanoff.

eISBN: 9781925000276

ISBN: 9781921665974 (pbk.)

Target Audience: For secondary school age.

Dewey Number: A823.3

Cover art: Les Petersen

Cover design: © Gittus Graphics

In-house editor: Beau Hillier

Printed in China by Tingleman Pty Ltd

Prologue

The game was over! Or so they thought.

With hands tightly clasped, Tark and Zyra watched as all they had ever known melted away.

And then they were moving through greyness. It was like swimming through treacle. Up ahead, two intense points of white light called to them.

The greyness swirled around them, tugging and pulling.

Their fingers slipped and their hands parted. They were whisked away from each other and towards the light – towards the unknown.

1: Tark

Tark felt like he was drowning.

He tried coughing and gasping for air, but the warm, viscous liquid surrounded him. He opened his mouth and more of it flowed in and filled his lungs.

Tark’s eyes snapped open. Everything was glowing, soft-focus, green nothingness. Panic set in. He thrashed his arms and legs about, connecting with what felt like skin.

Forcing himself to calm down, he reached out with more care. Whatever it was, it was all around him, like a cocoon encasing him in an environment of fluid – like a baby in a womb. He pushed his hands forward and felt the skin stretch and distend. No, not skin. More like something synthetic … plastic or rubber.

With a sudden burst of hope, Tark pushed his fingers into it, feeling it stretch further. He put more pressure against it and curled his fingers into fists, grasping the rubbery substance and pulling. He felt it beginning to give. Doubling his efforts, he pushed, pulled and clawed at it until it gave way, rending apart.

The fluid suddenly drained away and Tark coughed, expelling a lungful of thick green liquid. Then he gasped, drawing in huge, rasping lungfuls of air. His mind was spinning. He blinked rapidly, then wiped the last of the ooze from his eyes.

He was lying on a hard floor in a pool of liquid, the tattered remains of the membrane clinging to his skin like a burst balloon. Tubes and wires rested beside him, snaking across the floor and connecting into the wall. Tark lifted his head. He was in the middle of a stark white room, with one mirrored wall. Harsh, bright light flooded down from the ceiling.

Tark coughed uncontrollably, the last of the fluid coming up from his lungs. And then he retched, spewing up a stomachful of the horrid stuff into the green ooze that he was still lying in.

Desperate to get out of the puddle, vomit still dribbling from the corners of his mouth, he tried to get up. His legs wobbled like jelly and slipped in the pooling liquid. He fell face first into the green slime. Thrashing about, he managed to steady himself. He vomited again, this time a thin stream of green slime mixed with yellowish bile.

He groaned. And then a torrent of warm water rained down on him. It was the first pleasant sensation since he emerged from the cocoon. But it didn’t last. As the rain ceased, he watched the last of the green wash away down a grating in the floor. The surface then sealed up over it.

Concentrating hard, Tark forced a leg under himself. Then the other. Closing his eyes, he pushed himself up onto his hands and knees. Pins and needles prickled through his arms and legs, but at least he could feel them. He felt his strength slowly returning.

A gust of warm air blew through the room, drying everything.

Tark pulled back into a crouching position, and from there he unsteadily got to his feet. He took a deep breath to calm himself, suppressing a cough, then took a wobbly step forward. Then another. He felt himself rapidly steadying as the pins and needles faded.

He took another deep breath and opened his eyes.

Tark almost fell back down in surprise.

The reflection that greeted him was not his own. The image in the mirror was tall and lithe. And naked. Tark’s eyes moved from the brown, wavy hair and familiar face, down the defined musculature.

He lifted an arm, the muscles tensing and bulging. He extended his hand and waved it. The image followed suit. It was him, even though it did not look like him. He looked almost like John Hayes, the avatar he used when in the Suburbia environment with Zyra. Almost, but not quite. He looked like an idealised version of John Hayes – flawless skin and perfect physique. He was the 16-year-old that every teenage boy longed to be.

Tark wondered if he had somehow wound up in the Suburbia environment. He glanced around the sterile room. He didn’t remember anything like this in Suburbia. And he was supposed to be out of the game, completely. Wasn’t he?

And where was Zyra? Why wasn’t she with him? They had left the game together. Had he somehow been pulled back in? Was he trapped in some other environment, forced into an avatar and destined to play yet another of the Designers’ seemingly endless games within games?

Tark looked back at his reflection as these thoughts tumbled through his mind. He opened his mouth, ready to test out his voice.

A high-pitched wailing split the silence. And everything went dark.

2: Zyra

Zyra stood in front of the mirrored wall as the gust of warm air subsided, staring at the reflection that was not her. She was supposed to have a red Mohawk and piercings and green eyes and …

She knew that the familiar blonde-haired image must be her, because it raised its arm as she raised hers and inclined its head as she did hers. She stared into the eyes of a girl that was a perfect version of Tina Burrows, her Suburbia avatar.

Behind her image, she saw a portion of the white wall open up. A person stepped into the room. She turned around, ready, as always, for a fight.

A strange boy stood by the far wall, which was solid once more. He was shorter than her and dressed in grey clothing that clung to him like a second skin. He had a white garment draped over one arm. He was bald, which made it difficult for Zyra to guess at his age. Fifteen?