When Sherlock Holmes bothered to put on clothing while venturing out into public, he always wore a suit. Fitted, designer suits were his preference; they were way over his current budget of approximately nothing, but that's what brothers with government controlling jobs are for. So when Sherlock pulled himself up into a sitting position, musing on how in the world did he get that way in the first place, the first thing he really noticed about his surroundings was the fact that the sleek black, tailored suit he had been wearing 10 seconds ago was gone. In its place was an unknown material, unique in every aspect. It was completely fitted to his body, with silver illuminated lines running through the fabric.
He ran his fingers over it, testing its elasticity and strength. "Fascinating," he muttered. And then he glanced up to take in his surroundings, and his mouth fell open.
Like his new outfit, everything was novel; this world was like nothing he had even dreamt of, beyond all possible fantasy. Blackness draped over the landscape and light radiated from lines, reminding him of something familiar to him, though he couldn't put his finger on it. His eyes widened, as he drank in the world around him.
Sherlock straightened up and absorbed the unfamiliar scene, a chill running down his back. Though nothing was actually in pieces, he still could sense a general feeling that he was standing amongst ruins, like this was the desolation of some major city. Maybe it was that everything was darker than he was used to, but that didn't explain the overall sinister feel of the place, like it was corrupted. He had fallen down the rabbit hole it seemed, and he couldn't wait to start exploring.
Sherlock shifted around, feeling a curious weight on his back, and reached behind him to feel what it was. There appeared to be a thin, metallic disc strapped to his back. He returned it for now, more bemused by the second.
Running his fingers through his hair as he stood up, he tried to recall the events that preceded him waking up here, and for the first time in years he couldn't remember what had happened to him. It was like there was a wall in his brain, which frustrated him immensely. After several minutes of concentration though, some small facts leaked through. He knew he was with Greg. And they left his flat at one point; he was alone by that time. And something about Encom. But when was Encom not on his mind?
He shook his head and pushed those thoughts to the back of his mind. He had more important things to concentrate on now. Such as, where the hell was he currently?
He could obtain no orientation of direction whatsoever, as there seemed to be no stars, or sky for that matter; Sherlock found this utterly disorientating. The place really did look wholly unfamiliar, like something out of those lousy science fiction novels that kids at his school would muddle through between lessons. There weren't any trees, not even a hint of vegetation to be seen in the area surrounding Sherlock.
Still, he decided it would be wisest if he left the isolated vicinity, as he didn't think anyone would be looking for him here. Picking a point in the horizon that seemed to be lit up the most, he started walking.
After several minutes, he came across the nearest of the glowing white lines that ran through the landscape. Curious, he bent down to examine it. The black ground itself was some sort of unknown material, perhaps metal or a dense plastic. If he didn't know better, it was some sort of combination of the two, but that wasn't possible. The stripe itself was nebulous, and his hand ran through it. He couldn't discern its purpose for existing here, but then again, he didn't even know where 'here' was. He needed more data.
Still crouched on the ground, Sherlock perked his head up. There was a humming sound coming from somewhere in the surrounding area. This was the first sign of life he had sensed since waking. Sherlock jumped up, eagerly scanning the surrounding area. Behind him, the sound was coming from behind him.
Twisting around, Sherlock was blinded by a burst of light. He flung up his arms to try to shield himself from the worst of it. Stunned by the unexpected brightness, he blinked rapidly, still attempting to cover his eyes, but his arm was grabbed by a set of hands, which pushed him forward.
Sherlock fought, trying to pull away from the large hands. He refused to go with anyone until he gathered data on who they were and where he was. A second pair of strong hands wrapped around his other arm, and their combined strength was too much for Sherlock. He still struggled but he almost immediately realized it was a useless effort. Two figures, which seemed like men from their bulk alone, were dragging him to a platform where other people were wearing clothing similar to him.
Stumbling forward, Sherlock wondered briefly if it had materialized out of the ground but upon further inspection of it, he concluded that the platform was actually just part of a larger craft. How had he not heard anything more than a hum before it was too late? This must be some brilliant technology. Despite the fact that he was now getting his arms and legs fastened to the platform, he eagerly tried to figure out how the machine worked. The bright light still inhibited most of his vision, however, and so he settled for trying to see the people around him.
The craft lifted up again, almost silently, flying smoothly across the landscape.
Twisting around in his restraints, Sherlock attempted to get a better idea of where he was by aerial observation, an exercise that proved to be pointless as everything looked pretty similar from above. However, he was able to get a better idea of the crisscrossing white lines, which had no discernable pattern that he could think of. That nagging feeling in the back of his mind continued to bother him though, that it reminded of him of something.
Nearing the ground, Sherlock could finally see other figures running about it, actual signs of life. They all appeared to be dressed in suits similar to his own, which Sherlock studied intently.
As smoothly and quietly as it took off, the craft landed near the edge of what Sherlock deduced was most likely an actual city. It had risen up from nowhere; from a distance it blended in with its surroundings.
The guards stepped towards Sherlock, unlocking his arm and leg restraints.
Their faces were anonymous, without any physical or emotional distinction. Sherlock figured that they probably didn't even have original thoughts.
He paused from walking down the platform like the guards, who were now behind him, wanted; Sherlock turned to try to see what he could deduce from the guard on his right. The guard was a big man, and everything about him was an attempt to be imposing, from the boring black suit he wore to the visored helmet that covered his eyes. He scanned his entire body, but there was nothing familiar to him. Completely unnerved, Sherlock decided perhaps now was the time to start asking questions, but before he could phrase anything, the guard on his left kicked him in the knee.
"Move, program!" he growled.
"Fine, fine," Sherlock said under his breath. "Would one of you care to tell me where I'm going?"
The guards stayed silent, periodically pushing him in the right direction.
"Program?" Sherlock muttered softly as he walked, looking thoughtfully around his surroundings. Sherlock's mouth flew open and the word clicked. "That's right! Greg wanted me to look at the OS at Encom. He thought it was corrupted after his programs went missing. And I was sitting at that desk in front of the one computer. I told Greg to go away. I saw him walk away. The room… what did the room look like." Sherlock closed his eyes briefly in concentration, his mouth thinning as he pursed his lips.
They walked through a large set of doors which slid open as the guards and Sherlock approached. They led him down a series of nondescript hallways before reaching another set of sliding doors, which Sherlock was also whisked through.
On the other side, Sherlock saw what he could only assume was a prison. It looked like a never-ending warehouse with countless nearly transparent doors, possibly made of some energy projection.
After being lead down the hall for several minutes, he was unceremoniously shoved in one of the cells, the door disappearing and then rematerializing only long enough for him to be pushed through. Quickly turning around, Sherlock looked out the little window, and watched the guards march away.
Sherlock sighed, and shook his head. It was turning out to be an interesting day, to say the least. He was now stuck in an unknown prison for unknown reasons, in unknown world. Nothing beats that, Sherlock thought, smirking.
"What are you smiling about?" a voice inquired.
Sherlock turned around to face the other man in his cell, a robust fellow that must have been in his later 30's or 40's. If he was human. He had on clothing like Sherlock's, but he wore a pair of glasses too small for his face. Sherlock had his suspicions of where he was and who, or what, he was surrounded by, but decided to confirm it with his cellmate, as this whole situation was wonderfully ridiculous and impossible.
"Are you a program?"
The man narrowed his eyes, but then perked up after a second of thought. "They picked you up from the Outlands, didn't they?"
He got up and reached out to Sherlock, as if attempted to put his hand on his shoulder. Sherlock quickly jerked away. The man simply held out his hand.
"Hello. I'm Mike," he said, lightly smiling. "And yes. I am a program, Monitoring Interconnected Known Emulator to be precise. And you are?"
Sherlock frowned at the hand extended in front of him, lost in thought. "Sherlock," he said simply.
Mike lowered his hand, but continued to smile. "It's nice seeing some new coding in here. Hopefully you'll have what it takes."
Still trying to take in the implications of being surrounded by manifestations of various programs in what must be the actual computer interface, literally inside the circuits, Sherlock took a second before he registered what the program had just said. "Oh, I'm not a…" He paused. Revealing he wasn't actually a program could have serious implications. He immediately decided against saying anything and jumped into asking another question. "'Have what it takes?' What do you mean?"
Mike had a bemused look on his face. "For the Games, of course. Surviving in them, I mean. All programs in The Hold are forced to participate."
"Well I'm not most programs," Sherlock replied, as he started to pace the small cell, attempting to dispel nervous energy. All the walls were see-through too; there was only a slight distortion in the view into the other cells. Sherlock stopped at one to observe the neighbors.
Hearing a slight laugh behind him, Sherlock turned around. "What?"
"It's funny, but you're not the first program to tell me that today. And I believed him too."
Sherlock just shook his head and resumed pacing. "What happens in The Games?" He asked the question, but he had a sick feeling of what the answer would be. This was all too familiar.
"You win, or get derezzed. Simple as that. No one lasts long. Gaming wasn't our primary function."
Sherlock laughed sardonically. "Then why are you all here? Oh, stupid question. It is a prison. And there's some dictator or something that has you play for his amusement? This is all a bit Roman, isn't it?"
Mike stared at him, confused. Programs really weren't that dissimilar from humans, Sherlock thought. Still perpetually befuddled by the simplest things.
"There's the Master Controller, if that's who you are referring to," Mike finally answered.
"Dull." And Sherlock plopped down on one of the two cots provided.
He sat there for a while, his hands on his head, brainstorming ways to get out of this situation, until loud noises snapped him out of his reverie.
Programs from all the cells around him were yelling, their words becoming incoherent en masse.
He lifted his head, instinctively glancing at Mike. "What's happening?"
"The programs from today's Games are coming back. Or I should say Program. Only one program keeps surviving."
Sherlock opened his mouth to ask the obvious question, but suddenly the words being shouted around him shifted together to be in unison, so that he could finally understand what was being said. It was the name of the program in question, who just walked into view: John.