Doomed Read Online Free Page A

log on to Pandora’s Box. Usually I play it on my iPad, but I’m too lazy to go up to my room and get it right now. Besides, it works fine on my laptop, even if the colors aren’t quite as cool.
    I’m kind of excited about playing again—when I left off yesterday, I had just hit level twenty-seven. I want to get through it quickly and find the alternate-reality, or AR, gate that will transport me to the next level, because Jules says twenty-eight is the best so far.
    Except instead of dropping me off in the middle of the barren wasteland that was once New York City, the game flashes a new message across the screen:
Happy Seventeenth Birthday, Pandora!
     
    What the … ?
    I stare at the screen, confused. How is it possible thatthe game knows my birthday—and my name? My user name is totally unconnected to my real name. And yet, there it is, staring at me in a very distinct yellow font.
My
name.
    I think back to when I first jumped on the Pandora’s Box bandwagon, months ago. I’d resisted for a long time—because of the name thing—but when I finally gave in I remember having to register, just like with any MMO. Had they asked for my birthdate? I vaguely remember that they had, and it calms me down a little. Still, I make a mental note to ask Jules if she got the same greeting four weeks ago on
her
birthday. The last thing I need is some weird pervert guy hacking my account …
    I click to get to the new screen and the birthday message slowly fades, only to be replaced by the words:
You’ve reached the point of no return.
Welcome to the real Pandora’s Box.
     
    Underneath is a giant, flashing number 10 in bright red, just to make sure you don’t miss it. I try to click on it but nothing happens. Try to click on the message, but no luck there, either. Then the letters dissolve only to re-form with a new message:
Total annihilation in 10, 9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1 days.
     
    The 1 is huge, takes over the entire screen for a brief second before morphing into a graphic of the earth. Seconds later, the world blows up, little pieces streaming acrossthe screen like fireworks. Then everything fades to black. Nothing.
    I click on the screen, hit Return, Escape, all those things they teach you to do when your computer does something weird. But nothing happens, and I have to admit I’m a little freaked out. It’s stupid, I know. Pandora’s Box is just a game. And yet … and yet, I can’t help viewing this new bizarre message as some kind of threat.
    A weird feeling hits me, and I reach for my cell phone, dial Jules. Wait impatiently, but it never starts to ring. I pull it away from my ear, check the reception. No bars. Of course not. Why is it so difficult to get decent coverage out here? I live near the lake, not in the middle of the wilds of frickin’ Africa.
    Tossing my cell down on the table, I cross the kitchen. Reach for the cordless phone I almost never use anymore, and dial Jules’s number: 555-3782.
    Nothing happens.
    What. The. Hell?
    I hang up and try again: 5-5-5-3-7-8-2. Put the phone to my ear and wait even more impatiently. Still nothing. I click the Off button again, then hit Talk. Hold the stupid thing to my ear. There’s no dial tone. Nothing. Just the strange, eerie silence of a dead line.

4
     
    The eerie feeling is back, along with an increasing uneasiness that has me glancing across the room at my computer and the words that have just started scrawling across it again. “Total annihilation in 10 days.” The 10 flashes.
    I wait for the countdown, for the earth to blow up again, but nothing happens and I shake myself out of it. I can’t believe I’m letting a video game weird me out. Talk about ridiculous. Especially since the loss of service isn’t all that unusual out here.
    Like I said before, I live by the lake, which has a lot of advantages—including the dock and boat right at the bottom of our property. But one of the disadvantages is that a lot of the time, coverage out here leaves