By Joseph Sullivan
Quickdraw Sam, the most notorious outlaw in the Wild West, had escaped from jail once again. He had pulled off a brazen plan, starting a riot among the prisoners, taking one of the guards’ pistols, and had made off with one of the horses before the cavalry had come in. It was the sort of thing that would have been talked about for years and years to come.
If there was a Quickdraw Sam, that was.
Samuel Prescott awoke once again, and he no longer perceived the plains and fields of the Wild West, but the cold, mechanistic cell he had been held in for years.
“Congratulations, Mr Prescott!” I called out as I saw him stir through the glass window. “Another daring escape!”
Prescott said nothing, merely grunting. I wasn’t sure if it was taking him a little longer than usual to snap out of the simulation, or if he just wasn’t feeling conversational.
“What would you like your next prompt to be?” I looked to the sheet next to me. “We just did the western, so we could do an alien starship next, or a camp for prisoners of war…”
“None of ‘em,” Prescott snapped. “I want out.”
“Well, that’s what we’re here to provide, sir,” I reminded him politely. “Perhaps an Earth prison from the 20th or 21st centuries?”
“No!” Prescott was getting agitated. “I want out of all of it! I want a real escape!”
“If you are not happy with our simulation models, please lodge a specific complaint and we’d be happy to address it —”
“Are you deliberately being stupid? I want you to let me out of here! I don’t deserve—”
“Sir, we are providing what you’re asking for. All we ask is that you choose—”
“I’m choosing! Let me out of here!”
It was disconcerting to watch him struggle, even though I knew I was perfectly safe outside his cell’s walls. He was restrained firmly in his chair, and he had no way of freeing his arms or legs, or disconnecting the tubes that kept him fed during the simulations. But for a moment, even though his headset barely let him see what he was doing, he seemed so genuine in his desire to leave that I thought he might have made it happen by sheer force of will.
“Sir, please, I’m going to need to ask you to calm down—”
“Shut up!” shouted Prescott. “What’s your name? Who are you?”
He was becoming very difficult. Such a tone was not encouraged, nor was asking such personal questions.
“Alright, sir, I can see we’re having some problems here,” I said as diplomatically as possible. “I’m going to go ahead and put you in the fantasy dungeon, since you seem to reject choosing any for yourself. Please stand by and try to be cooperative.”
“No!” shouted Prescott again. “I want out! I want—!”
The program was trickier to load when the subject was not deliberately compliant, and I was worried there would be a glitch. But once it started booting up, Prescott’s mind slipped away from his immediate surroundings and into another world. From there, his desire to escape would be sublimated into an avenue where it could be fulfilled, without causing any undue problems.
I was curious to see if Sam Silvertongue, the thief who stole the king’s crown, would be able to free himself this time.
About the Author
Joseph Sullivan is a writer and support worker living in Melbourne, Australia.
He is an avid writer of speculative fiction, having been an ongoing contributor to AntipodeanSF since 2022. In addition, he is a regular reviewer for Aurealis, and has written nonfiction for them as well.
You can find his work at <https://josephsullivanwriter.blogspot.com>.
Brian Biswas lives in Chapel Hill, North Carolina, USA.
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Geraldine Borella writes fiction for children, young adults and adults. Her work has been published by Deadset Press, IFWG Publishing, Wombat Books/Rhiza Edge, AHWA/Midnight Echo, Antipodean SF, Shacklebound Books, Black Ink Fiction, Paramour Ink Fiction, House of Loki and Raven & Drake
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