Chapter 0: Setting The Board

A man sat at a desk, leafing through loose documents. “Was this pawn really the best they could afford?”

The rustling of paper, the light reflecting off of the man’s hair, the intonation in his voice. They felt crisp. Vivid. Chemotherapy had subjected Dimitry to surreal visions before, but never a dream as rich as this one. Did his palliative care team increase his opioid dosage?

Dimitry glanced left and right. Vast, pitch-black emptiness surrounded him, the man, and the desk on all sides. While the scenery wasn’t worthy of note, Dimitry enjoyed the illusion of free movement despite his motor deficit. And ditching that incessant headache was nice, too.

But something felt off.

Really off.

“Finally,” the man said. “A silent one. I prefer pawns who know when to shut up.”

“Pawn?”

“Speech and comprehension abilities confirmed,” a feminine voice echoed from an eerily close yet indiscernible distance.

Icy dread snaked down Dimitry’s spine, and his head shot from side to side, desperately searching for a woman to attribute speech to. But there was no one else there. Just him and the man.

Rabid fluttering swarmed in his gut.

Logic dictated that none of this could be real, yet instinct warned Dimitry that this wasn’t the dream he thought it was. Fear compelled him to speak. “W-who are you? Why did you call me a pawn? You said the best that they could afford. Am… am I being sold?”

“You’d be better off asking fewer questions and worrying more about staying alive. Things aren’t looking great for you.”

Dimitry’s teeth chattered, and his arms trembled. Staying alive? Would glioblastoma kill him at last?

No.

No, that couldn’t be. The oncologist said he still had time. Several weeks, at least. Dimitry couldn’t go without telling his parents and sister goodbye. It was too soon.

But that didn’t explain his ease of movement or the lack of a headache. What if he had already died and now stood in purgatory? Did his vulgar childhood finally catch up with him, overshadowing his life in medicine? Or did he get another chance? The man told him to survive, after all.

There was no point in panicking. He had to calm down and assess the situation.

Dimitry paced his gasps for air, every breath slowing, equalizing, releasing trapped tension as they left his nostrils. His legs stopped shaking, and the knot in his stomach loosened. He examined the mysterious man sitting in front of him.

The only light in the hall came from an unknown source above and behind the desk. It served as backlighting, revealing the man’s silhouette. Darkness obscured the precise features of his eyes and mouth, and only the shape of his face was visible. He seemed familiar, like an old friend Dimitry reunited with after a long time. But who?

The man reached into his desk and carefully pulled out a book. “Seems your sponsor had some money lying around.” He dusted off its cover. “Read the title out loud.”

The book was slender despite a thick leather frame. Gold embroidery decorated the cover, and the mangled edges and torn binding gave it the air of an old family heirloom. Near the top was the title, every character resembling interwoven hieroglyphics. A language unlike any from Earth.

Could Dimitry actually read that?

Taking a deep breath, he leaned in. “Invisall.”

“Reading comprehension abilities confirmed,” a woman’s voice announced.

Mouth agape, Dimitry stared at the cover. He could read that.

The man showed no signs of amazement. “Now the contents.”

Dimitry hesitated, yet curiosity compelled him to abide. He pulled up the leather cover to find a single page within the entire book. The yellow sheet contained hundreds of characters written diagonally across the page. Upon Dimitry’s attempt to read them, they glowed blue, turned counterclockwise to align with the paper’s edges, and sank into its surface. With a silent farewell, only a blank yellow page remained.

What technology was this?

The man reached into his desk, and after fumbling around, retrieved a pebble-sized rock. “Hold this.”

Dimitry complied. Like a much denser piece of steel, the rock was heavy in his palm. Sourceless light reflected off its surface, revealing a beautiful luster resembling dark green malachite. Although it wasn’t transparent like most precious gems, he wouldn’t have hesitated to add it to his collection back home.

A strange sight pulled Dimitry’s attention away from the rock to his hand. He noticed that his skin—which was paler than paper for months—now had a healthy beige color.

What the hell happened to him?

“Repeat after me,” the man said. “Invisall.”

“Invisall.”

The green rock drained into Dimitry’s palm, and heat scorched through his right arm and chest before spreading to the rest of his body. Intense nausea made him lean over and retch.

“Functional cores and circuits confirmed,” the woman said.

Dimitry wiped the corners of his mouth, ready to lash out for being put through pointless duress. However, before he could utter a complaint, he realized something was missing. His arm. Although his fingers brushed his face, he could not see them. And when he looked down, only a gray-tiled floor lay in sight. His entire body had disappeared. Suddenly, the term ‘invisall’ made sense.

Pushing aside concerns regarding invisall’s side effects, Dimitry intended to use the invisibility to escape his treatment as a lab rat. There was no way to know what abuse he would have to undergo next. He crept away.

“This would be easier for both of us if you stood still,” the man said, tracking his every movement.

Did the green rock make Dimitry invisible only to himself? How useless.

“Before you get any more clever ideas, let’s finish up.”

Two large floor tiles opened towards the ceiling like double doors, revealing a machine embedded in the ground. Glass cylinders full of vibrant blue liquid protruded from the top like upside-down test tubes. Pale fumes brushed Dimitry’s toes as the machine rose, locking into place with a thunk. A long, grapefruit-sized indent bore into the side of the machine facing Dimitry.

“Pawn, put your right hand inside, and don’t move until you’re told otherwise.”

Suffocating dread gripped Dimitry, urging him, begging him not to comply. He stepped back.

“Your reluctance will only make the process more painful.”

Though Dimitry yearned to rebel against the unfair treatment, the man implied he wanted to help him survive. Should he obey? The answer was obvious. Dimitry wouldn’t squander another chance at life, especially if he could be a healer once more.

He reached into the machine.

A cold, silky texture molded itself around his arm. Two slabs compressed Dimitry’s wrist, and something sharp pierced his skin. Like the world’s sharpest scalpel, it sliced through fat and muscle, tearing them apart from the inside, tracing patterns into his flesh.

Dimitry shut his eyes and clenched his teeth, but the searing pain was relentless. The knife eventually retracted, and a cooling gel flowed forth to numb every crevice left by the procedure. His shoulders relaxed as the pain dissipated.

“Imprinting complete,” the feminine voice said.

When the gel solidified, the machine decompressed, relieving the pressure around his wrist. Dimitry never wanted to experience that again.

“You can take your arm out now, pawn.”

After Dimitry did, he discovered a blue pawn imprint on his wrist. It looked like a tattoo a chess fan might get after a night of bar-hopping. He flexed his wrist. The solidified gel mimicked the functions of the tendons, flesh, and blood vessels that tore during the procedure. He wondered if the technology could help penetrating trauma patients recover limb function.

“Pawn C27E957 from Garrison Milky Way-686C has been cleared for deployment.”

“Don’t die too fast out there, pawn.”

Before Dimitry could voice a complaint, his body went numb and his eyesight faded.

“Board Messier 82-2C39 has been set.”