“It has, Hank. I’m sure you know why we’re here.”
The ruler’s unexpected, booming laughter echoes through the hall.
“Of course I do! What kind of ruler would I be, if I didn’t know what happens in my realm?”
Edging slightly to shield Matilda with his body, James scans the room for any potential ambush, but the only occupants in evidence are a king, a Scry, and a Taciturn.
“So, what’ll it be, Hank? You want to give me the key, or do we need to do this the hard way?” Even as the words hit the air, James marvels at how un-Taciturn they sound to his own ears. They may as well have been spoken by Matilda.
Hank Brown’s boisterous laughter ceases abruptly, and James curses under his breath. The Scry’s directness has rubbed off on him. James cautions himself to maintain his Taciturn nature.
The Spire’s ruler stands up from his throne.
“And by ‘hard way’, I’m assuming you mean what you did to Virginia?”
James opens his mouth, but Hank interrupts.
“No matter. We’re not going to do this your way or the hard way. We’re going to do this MY way. We’ll play a game. If you beat me, I’ll give you the key willingly.”
James takes a few careful steps towards his old friend, slowly lowering his hands.
“Look, Hank…”
The king cuts him off with a dismissive flick of his hand.
“We do it this way, or not at all.”
Hank removes his crown and it morphs in his hands, shifting into a golden band – the key.
“We play by my rules, or I’ll destroy it.”
James stops his approach.
“You wouldn’t. It’s one of the four keys to the System. Even you aren’t that crazy.”
Hank’s smile, far from friendly, widens with an abrupt, startling glee.
“Do you want to test that statement?”
The king snaps his fingers, and the throne room floor instantly transmutes into a grid of painted squares. Half white, half purple.
“If you win, you get my crown. If you don’t, I keep it. And to show you there’s no animosity between old friends, you’ll be free to go regardless of the outcome. Though, I’m sure you’re close to indexation as it is.” Clasping his hands together, he adds, “But I guess that will afford us more time to catch up, won’t it?”
James looks around the empty room.
“Is that what this is about, Hank? I’m sure it’s pretty isolated up here. I wouldn’t mind visiting, after you’ve given—”
The harshness returns to Hank’s voice instantly. His face contorts with anger, but somehow, he still doesn’t blink.
“You think that’s why I put you through all of this? Because I’m lonely?”
James takes a chastised step back, nodding, palms out at shoulder height.
“All right, Hank. I get it. It’s cool. Let’s do it your way. Let’s play a game.”
Hank’s anger fades at once into a benevolent, serene smile. Under the fixed gaze of his unblinking eyes, it is a terrible smile. The king claps his hands. Identical, colorless chess pieces assume their ranks on the floor’s grid.
“Excellent. Now, I’ve added a bit of flavor to our game. What better way to demonstrate a battle in the Cyberside than Babylon versus Metropolis? You know how those two are always fighting. So, here is a little plot twist: Each figure actually represents someone – from either Donovan Craze or Tom Simmons’ organizations.”
The pieces closest to James turn purple; Hank’s turn white. The King gestures to the purple pieces.
“Seeing as you’re already working with Donovan, it seems only fitting to give you his people.”
Taciturn touches the closest piece, and an image flares in his mind: In Babylon, a security guard patrols the streets of North Hollywood.
Hank continues. “Now, now. You should hear everything before we start. I have access to directories throughout the Cyberside. Whatever happens on the board is happening to these people in real time.”
Despite the vividness of the images, James can’t hide his disbelief.
“There’s no way. You don’t have access to other domains.”
The comment seems to irritate Hank, and he jabs a finger at the Taciturn.
“Don’t underestimate what I can do from this castle. Donovan and Simmons always underestimate me. Don’t fool yourself, James. I’ve dealt with enough third-party development to have backdoors into other people’s software. These are real people, and I strongly suggest you start taking this seriously.”
Hank’s words seem to shake Matilda from her stupor. She makes a sound from behind him, and steps forward to stand at his side.
“No! Enough is enough! You can’t treat people like this, you monster!”
James throws an arm out to restrain her, but it is too late.
Matilda charges for Hank, drawing her knives. The Spire’s king remains calm and unblinking, even as she lunges for the kill. He smiles as an invisible barrier freezes Matilda in midair, gleaming blades in both of her hands.
At a loss for words, James looks at the former Fall Water Lake executive, draped in his royal vestments.
“Why all the theatrics, Hank?”
The ruler moves thoughtfully around the suspended Scry with an air of fascination.
“I’m trying to remind you, James, that building worlds and playing God isn’t just creation. It’s equal parts destruction. You want to rebuild this world, prove that you have what it takes.”
Taciturn takes a long look at Matilda in her silent stasis, and then wordlessly removes his coat, placing it on the floor. James gets the sinking feeling, verging on despair, that his friend is well and truly lost – but he’s not willing to give up on him just yet.
Rolling up his sleeves, he tries to recall his opponent’s play style.
Hank nods with excitement. “Good. You have the first move.”
Taciturn scans the board. “Pawn, E2 to E4.”
An image appears on the piece’s surface as it moves forward. James sees a Company security guard moving through a train in Babylon.
Across the gridded throne room floor, Hank shakes his head. “Predictable, as always. Pawn B7 to B6.”
The piece lights up. An Enclave engineer stops to get coffee. The back and forth continues, their respective gambits taking shape, until James can finally launch his first attack.
“F3 to E5, knight takes pawn.”
The pawn – a low-level enforcer for Simmons’s organization – leaves a bar, weaving- drunk. As he stumbles down a service alley, two unseen men grab the enforcer and stab him repeatedly. The entire violent outrage is vicious, pointless, and over in seconds. James can smell the wet pavement and hear the man’s final ragged, wheezing gasps as he is left for dead in a pile of garbage. James reels, flails for balance and drops hard to one knee on the throne room’s new killing-floor.
“What just—”
Hank shakes his head, uttering a disappointed scoffing noise. “I told you James, every figure is a life. You should have listened to me more carefully and been more careful with your board. C7 to F4. White queen takes bishop.”
“Wait, wait—” James protests, holding out a hand as if to ward off a blow.
Sitting in a restaurant, one of Donovan’s lieutenants talks on his phone. The man fails to notice the server who brings his food, nor does he notice the strange taste. At first. Gurgling, the man collapses on the table, scattering utensils, plates, and food in all directions. He is briefly, dimly aware of the faces of startled patrons, turning to regard his plight.