Sam remained still as the gray and black samurai turned in his direction. What he had just witnessed was not a computer-moderated game, nor a training exercise, nor a trideo entertainment. Its imagery may have been virtual, but its effects had been very real. The intruder controlling the Jiro icon was now likely dead or a mindless husk, the higher functions of his brain destroyed by the deadly attack of the computer-controlled samurai. Sam feared the samurai’s scrutiny as the dark eyeholes of the armored facemask swept across his position, but the guard icon merely sheathed its sword. With a contemptuous swagger, the samurai turned back to the Wall and stepped into the flickering static. The figure merged with the Wall, vanishing as though it had never been.