Page 81 of My Cosplay Escape
Adam: Wish I could, but I have a date.
Stacey: Oh??? Anyone I know?
Adam: Yeah, actually.
Stacey: ???
Adam: You remember Sarah at the Student Union Starbucks?
Stacey: The runner? The one you rearranged your TA schedule for? The one who won’t even consider jumping in the pool?
Adam: The very same. I’ve been invited to a family barbecue. Remind me to pick up a cake.
Stacey: Pick up a cake. So… what number is this? Family barbecues don’t just happen on a first date.
Adam: Third date.
Adam: Ish.
Stacey: Attaboy. Can you swing by tomorrow to help out Monique?
Adam: As long as you don’t grill me about the BBQ.
Stacey: We’re all econ all the time over here.
I hand the phone back to Stacey. On the split screen above us, a party of four shuffles into the escape room decorated like the Abandum City Police Department. The door closes, and a set of sparks blow, making the players scream. The lights dim, and the large screen crackles to life. Smart of Adam to digitize the intro on this one.
My eyes narrow as I watch the intro through our feed. A red circle with an oversized N in the middle flickers on the big-screen TV in the escape room. My lips twitch into a smile. “Nihilism is the villain in this one,” I say.
Stacey’s eyes flit over to me before she clicks through to the next prompt in the program. “You’re the first person I’ve trained who even knows who Nihilism is. This is our hardest room. It’s filled with references even die-hard fans miss. And there is a manual of backstory and references”—she thumps her hand on a bulging three-ring binder—“that Adam insists every operator read before running this room.”
“I bet he would.” His attention to detail goes beyond immersive for his rooms.
“What is going on with you two?” Stacey asks.
I cannot have this conversation when I’m dressed as Catstrike. “Nothing.” Lies. The divided flat-screen shows an image from each corner of the room. The players inside are shuffling around, looking under chairs and under papers. One finds a key.
“Key found.” Stacey checks the box in the program. “You have to tell him,” she says.
“Stacey, you don’t get it. This…” I gesture to my ridiculous costume. “This is an act. I put on this suit, and I’m playing a part. This isn’t me.”
“You know I stay late, right?” Stacey checks the time, pauses, and then prompts another clue from Whalemoney, Nihilism’s hacker alias. I squint and see the flat-screen in the escape room flash a message to the escapees, prompting them to reexamine the stack of letters. She swivels in her chair to look at me. “I reset, run updates on the software, close out the register.” She taps the screen. “Watch that guy in the Padres hat.”
“Watch for what?” The gentleman is knocking hard on all the walls around the room.
“Make sure he doesn’t break something.”
I’m about to ask how I do that, but Stacey continues.
“So a couple weeks ago, I’m here, counting the nickels and dimes, and Adam returns.” She leans back in her chair, staring straight at me, through me. Goldfish, I might as well be naked. “Looking for all the world like he’s just landed on an alien planet. His hair is completely wrecked. His eyes are all hazy, and his lips are swollen and rimmed with traces of red lipstick.”
I keep my eyes focused on the screen. I stare at the little people crawling around in it, my own personal virtual ant farm.
“A berry-red lipstick,” Stacey adds.
She waits for an answer.
I clear my throat. No trace of my sexy femme fatale voice now. “Adam is on drugs and experimenting with makeup?”
