Chapter One All it is, is a little pressure.And just like that, everything changes.You think about all the channels, all the wiring. The signal from your brain running through your nervous system to the tip of your finger. From the mouse through the cable, then...out there, miles and miles of electricity, snapping and crackling down the line, and then it all comes screaming right back at you.And there it is, your answer.Which might explain why I've been sitting here for three minutes, unable to do something as simple as bend my finger.Just a little pressure...Nope, can't do it.I've got the cursor in place. It's right over the dice symbol, ready to give me the number.I'm just not ready to ask for it.I think about numbers. One through six. How much difference is there between one and six? Between two and five? Three and four? Almost none.Out of the corner of my eye I see a new message.Scared?I resist the temptation to type the symbol for the finger sign.Because I am. Scared? But he doesn't have to know that.There has to be a connection between the noundieand the verbdie.It can't be a coincidence that this little cube of chance has the same name as the ultimate bad roll.Three is not death, I remind myself. Four is not death. Neither is five or six.Only one and two.I've earned a four or a five, I think. I've been playing really well.AndI've been attacked. And by someone on my team. That should earn me something, right?But you can't earn anything in a game of chance. Luck isn't earned. It just is.It just is.Time to throw myself upon the mercy of the universe.I think: Click. But my finger doesn't move.Another message:If you kick a dog and it doesn't move -- is it dead?I type back:If you kick a dog, it might jump up and bite your ass.I think: Things you can make happen with just a finger.Shoot someone...drop the bomb...piss someone off....Pick your nose.I smile.Okay, do it now, do it now with a smile, do it with a finger up in his face, do it.No one or two.No one or two.Threefourfivesix. Threefourfivesix.I fix my eyes right on the screen. No looking away. Press.After all that, it's easy. Just press and it's done.Can't take it back now.Snap, snap,screaming through the wires, the question, the answer, the request, the reward or the punishment.What do we have for her, what do we have?We have...Four.And I am still alive.My mom knocks on the door, tells me it's time for dinner. I tell her, "In a minute."She opens the door. "Judith.Now."Now I am here."Here" is the kitchen. "Here" is the plate on the table. Salt and pepper shakers. The mail stacked up on the counter. My mom eating.I am here now, me again.But the Game's still in my head. Buzzing and crackling, like in the Frankenstein movies, where they shoot the monster up with electricity.There was a 33 percent chance I could have rolled a one or a two. If I had rolled a one or two, I would have been stuck with a very low level of strength.Irgan, the guy who attacked me, rolled a three. But he has an extremely high level of aggression. Aggression can mean you don't need as much strength.I can't believe he attacked.Can't believe I actually survived....My mom says, "You sit too close to the screen."My mom -- the other person at the table obsessed with the Game."It's really not good for your eyes," she says.I nod over my plate."You think I'm nagging, but I'm not."I smile. "No, I know."But she is. Nagging. The problem is not the screen. Or my eyes.My mom just hates the Game.She sighs dramatically. "I remember when people used to play games with other people.""I do play with other people," I remind her."I mean people you can see. People who are there.""They are there," I say patiently. "They just happen to be in other places