The Great Games

L

Laggy Lagiacrus

Guest
Original poster
His face obscured by the shadows of the dimly-lit room, George Mordred sat forward in his chair, fingers forming a pyramid. The room itself was bathed in darkness, with only a desk lamp providing slight illumination. With its polished wooden walls and floor, and (genuine) lion skin rug just after the door, it did not seem particularly inviting – even the books occupying the cases seemed to carry with them a sense of macabre satisfaction, in one grim subject or another.
"Now, keep in mind that if you're lying to me, I will skin you. Skin you like I was making leather."
The person speaking – obviously the higher-ranked of the two – did not look especially despicable. With short, mud-brown hair and eyes of a dull blue colour, his face held no visible malice. His neutral, inoffensive combination of grey suit and suit trousers made him look more of a businessman than anything, the same principle applying directly to his maroon tie and black, polished, formal shoes. However, his mind worked a mile a minute – it had already gone from zero to sixty. The other person partaking in the conversation was a skinny, blond fellow, dressed in similar attire, only with navy replacing grey.
"I've found someone you may wish to know bout, sir. He's bored, he's smart, he's got a sharp tongue, and he's a trained kick-boxer."
"Oh?"
"Sir, I've seen what he's like. And the media are desperate for a story, a good one."
"Look, don't be obvious, of course I'm going to do that to him. I just want to see how he tries to get out of it… Maybe I'll throw in that other one, see if she can make a difference. Oh, what a genius does when he's bored…"
Spinning while sighing in his rotating chair, Mordred looked to his associate, cocking an eyebrow. "Well? What're you waiting for? Make him dance before I make you into shoes."
~
A student, eighteen a few months prior, had seated himself at a bus stop, and was passing the few remaining minutes by reading the paper. "Charity Reports Robbery, Two Dead" the cheerful headline read, the paragraphs below stating that during a break-in at a charity shop supporting war veterans, both a civilian and the woman behind the counter had been shot dead. It was still unclear who shot the, or who even broke in, but the investigation was not letting up. The person reading this article was not a very special person – only slightly shorter than the average height, his stature and build showed nothing that would stand out in a crowd. His ear-length, coal-black hair was possibly his most discerning feature, or his sharp, cobalt blue eyes obscured by black, rectangular glasses. Having had the day off, he was taking a trip into the a part of the city known for its wide variety of entertainment, and odd selection of gifts, as opposed to towering, grey buildings. As such, he was dressed casually (to his mind). A dark, ink-blue button-down shirt covered his torso, while denim jeans of a lighter shade of blue covered his legs, suspended by a brown, fake leather belt (the leather being fake, not the belt). His shoes, quite unusually, were the kind sold in shoe shops as if they were normal footwear, but seemed more suited to hiking – mud brown, lace-ups and looking as if they could withstand a steamroller.
Quite oddly, nobody was around the general area, either inside or hurrying by – nobody was waiting for the bus, that spring morning.
 
Another was out on the streets today. A young girl who was in the area. Her name was Kieara. She wore a pair of black jeans that hugged her legs and cupped her bottom. She rose to about 5'4 and had seductive curves. She wore a pair of what looked to be running shoes, but underneath the boot cut legs of her jeans, one wouldn't be able to tell. Her shirt was a plaid button up. However, underneath was a white tank top. Her hair was bright red. Natural red. If anything it made her stand out. She bore a pair of aquamarine eyes, and a line of freckles coated her pale cheek bones and the bridge of her nose. All in all she was a gorgeous creature. She also had on a rather odd looking necklace. It was under her shirt out of sight though. She had her bright hair up in a bun with a few loose curls falling to frame her face. When she got to the bus stop she was looking for, she was surprised to see another. She rode this bus every morning. She'd never had anyone else get on with her here. She took her seat beside the boy on the other side of the bench but didn't make a move to talk. She was shy, but more so, she was different. Far different than your average girl. She had a bit of a history in the criminal world, though surprisingly, she had yet to get caught.
 
Far too engrossed in the paper to notice anyone sitting next to him, David turned the page, continuing to do so for a brief period of time, eventually, closing the daily dose of news he bought now and again. He found the rest of the stories utterly banal - nothing interested him, nothing at all. Bored out of his mind, David Peterson stared off into the distance, allowing the urban rhythm of the city's noises to flood his ears. He studied it, and had been working as a waiter to help pay the bills, but even he had to have a day off - no revision, not attending to tables, and no real effort whatsoever. With little else to do, he glanced around his surroundings, taking in the bland sight of business buildings and flats, the constantly-invading stench of whatever inhabited the area having long since lost its effect on him, disallowing any real reaction. Noticing the female on the same bench, he nodded in her general direction, no more than a polite gesture, nothing more. He knew what attractive was, and he discerned that by society's standards, she was. However, he felt more attached to his work than people not necessary to him - one could say he was asexual, in a sense, feeling no real attraction whatsoever.
 
Kieara offered a smile in return. She felt compelled to talk being so bored out of her mind. However, she didn't yet. She was going to try to remain quiet. Being shy, she was kind of scared of what he'd say if she did talk to him. She finally turned to him and spoke. "Hello, I'm Kieara...." Her voice was quiet, soft spoken. It didn't sound like she talked much. She shifted. Maybe this wasn't a good idea. What if he somehow recognized her out of the criminal community? No, impossible. She hadn't been caught yet.
 
"David."
The response was reserved, delivered with a flat tone riddled with indifference. He was not particularly interested in the girl, though he did recall a fairly recent crime reported in the paper, the culprit apparently a redhead. However, one would be a fool to accuse her by just that information, and so his suspicion was kept largely at bay. He did not have time to suspect anything, however, as the bus arrived, coming to a halt with the distinctive hiss. David boarded the red double-decker, noting the severe absence of a single soul else occupying the leather seats, bar the driver. His presence was a given, however, so nobody took any particular interest in him. David selected a seat at the front of the bus, in order to make a quicker exit when possible, that time being when the bus arrived at his stop. Two men also boarded, dressed fairly normally, aside from the trenchcoats they donned. The weather wasn't particularly pleasurable, however, so their outfit was inconspicuous.
And also perfect for two plain-clothes policemen following a criminal, who needed to hide their handguns.
 
Kieara also boarded. However noting his indifference to talking to her she hushed. She boarded the bus as well when it pulled up. She found the two trenchcoat men to be a bit off. She dismissed it though. It wasn't her business. She took a seat a couple seats behind David. Then she looked out the window. She was on her way into town today to get some groceries. Even criminals had to eat.
 
The bus trundled forwards for a while, proceeding at the pace a bus usually would. Nothing of any note happened while the vehicle and its occupants moved forward, apart from the silence that seemed to grip the passengers without fail. However, one of the policemen paced casually to the bus driver, whispering something into his ear, flashing him an item stored in his wallet. At least, to most, it would seem to be a wallet. But David had the notion that most wallets weren't flipped open to show something, possibly a license - and judging by the stopping of the bus, and the deliberate fashion in which the men moved, there was one possible explanation that stood out to David.
The police... So, is she that person?
She was, judging by the actions taken by the men upon the bus' unscheduled halt. Surrounding her on both sides, one brandishing a pair of handcuffs, the other his gun and license, they were confirmed to be plain-clothes policemen, possibly in lieu with the bus driver.
"Miss, you are under arrest on suspicion of multiple counts of burglary, theft, murder and grievous bodily harm. You do not have to say anything, but it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned something which you may later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence."
David simply kept his head down - the bus driver smirked.
Nobody had noticed that he now held a gun of his own, fitted with a silencer.
Nobody was near the bus.
Nobody would know what transpired within the metal box.
 
Kieara was shocked. She'd had her head covered, she'd had her hands covered. For god sakes, she wore a ski mask! How'd they catch her? She couldn't find any words, but when her voice did finally work all she could do was stammer. "W-what?" She asked. She glanced at David momentarily. Why, she wasn't sure. What man in his right mind would help her out. She was hauled up and handcuffed. She didn't struggle, but she didn't comply either. She was numbed.
 
Just as Kieara was to be taken to the station, the driver stood. And, without the two people of the law even suspecting anything before too late, they were shot. Though on first appearances they were dead, only one was - the other lay on the floor out of not being able to do anything else. Instinctively, David made desperately for the exit, but the door was locked - he was a rat trapped in a box, with someone he was sure could kill him at any given moment. All it would take was a simple pull of the finger, and his life would be over. Everything he'd done would be meaningless - the world would keep spinning regardless.
Unless...
David backed up the isle, stopping when his heel rested on the dead man's pistol. He had one shot at it, and was determined not to fail - it would be cold-blooded, but he had to at least disable the threat.
"Don't pick that up, I have people watching us. One false move, and..."
Imitating and explosion, the driver's fingers expanded, face filled with childish glee. "Just take a seat, Peterson... And you as well, Kieara."
He did as he was told. He knew arguing with a person wielding a better weapon than him was a bad idea, especially when suicide bombers were concerned.
 
Kieara screamed as she heard the gunshots. Much like David, she'd made for the exit. She'd already flexed her arms under her feet so her cuffed hands were now in front of her. She shook from the fright. She saw the man holding the pistol responsibile for the scare. How....did he know her? She swallowed and she did as told sitting down.
 
The bus kept moving, with David staring intently at the driver,a calculating glare the look displayed upon his face. There was little to be deduced about the man, aside from the fact that he was possibly driving them to their potential deaths. If he'd wanted to kill the pair, the near-inaudible hiss of the silenced pistol would allow such a thing to occur with nobody noticing. The policeman not dead t that point in time seemed to have discreetly punched something into his communicator with the remnants of his life, after which, he died. Plain and simple. Seeming not to care - or notice - the bus driver kept going.
"Oh, somebody say something, it's too quiet in here!"
His tone was far too annoyed for the situation at hand. It was as if he was offended at the notion his bus did not hold a sociable atmosphere. "But don't talk to me, I'm driving.2
"An attempt to have us grow more familiar with each other before some sort of event transpires, I presume?"
"Mate, I drive the bus, I don't know the plan."
Grumbling slightly, David turned to Kieara, who he had conveniently sat next to. "You were pretty obvious back in your criminal days. You'd left strands of hair more than once, a distinctive hue, and enough for the DNA department to have a field day. Along with that time you cut yourself one a broken window..."
 
Kieara jumped again at the man's words. She looked to David, but before she could speak to either of the men, David had already spoken to the busdriver. She then looked to him as he began to name off her mistakes. She seemed harmless. Too....innocent to kill, steal, any of that. There had to be an alternate motive behind her actions. And there was. She sighed and spoke. "I know, I know, I'm a criminal....And a horrible one at that."
 
David looked to the floor, an unexplainable feeling of slight guilt plaguing him. Something about the girl seemed to give her n air of innocence, an air of shyness unfitting for a girl like her. He had naturally assumed she had worked her looks to her advantage, and lured men in, but he realised not everyone was that stupid, or not everyone had the same mindset. She may have been a bog-standard criminal, in terms of what she had done, but it was too early to guess her motives. He couldn't even tell if she was genuinely remorseful about her lack of skill, or if he was just being buttered up. In this light, he talked warily, keeping a mental barrier up between him and her - he may not have been well-liked in most circles, but he wasn't so desperate for a friend as to fall into a criminal's supposed trap.
"That's the problem. All but the best are caught eventually. All but the most emotionally devoid are never caught. A genius wants an audience - attention. And they will be caught, if their actions become known because of it. it may not appear on purpose all the time, but whether they want to be or not, only the elite are left alone."
 
Kieara spoke. "I know." She seemed bothered speaking about her criminal actions, ashamed. She looked out the window then spoke. "Nobody's perfect." She said though it was nearly audible. "I had my reasons for what I did." she said. She then glanced at the bus driver wondering where he was taking them. She wanted out of here, she wanted to go home.
 
"I'm far from it, believe me..."
David looked away, unable to really look her in the eye - he had other things to focus on. Like the fact the bus was slowing down, a disused warehouse their destination. The driver stood slowly up, a slight smirk still playing on his face, a glint of malice twinkling in his eye. Fitting in with the rest of the city, the warehouse was largely grey - or a dirty white - though its windows were either boarded up, smashed, or just outright missing. The interior was no better - being led at gunpoint, the bus driver was forcing David to follow him, though little resistance was met in the first place. He had offered Kieara the choice of staying on the bus or following, but had warned her that she would be shot the moment she tried to run. The dots of red light flitting about the vicinity, particularly over Kieara, enforced this.
The inside consisted mostly of crates, dusty and largely empty, while a table and three chairs sat square in the middle. Instinctively, David sat, his kidnapper doing the same opposite him.
 
Kieara had chose to come with them. She couldn't bring herself to abandon David. She wasn't going to be getting anywhere anyway, so why not be in on the action to? So to speak. She moved beside David as she follwoed the bus driver. She took the seat beside David as she wondered what was going on. Why did they come to a random warehouse, just to sit?
 
"Now then, you're probably wondering why you're here, Peterson."
"Oh, let me guess, you're going to kill me."
David spoke with a bored tone - as of events of this nature were a common occurrence to him. As if it happened every Saturday without fail. Yet, it was simply his cold and uncaring nature, not anything else.
"Well, possibly. I have a person in charge of me, and he has... Grown bored. He needs to play a game. He wants to watch the clever people dance."
"So I'm here because a criminal mastermind's bored and needs someone to do a jig for him? How dull."
A flat, dry, and quite expressionless tone was the one in his voice, one that betrayed something along the lines of disinterest. He was, as it happened, bored - with no particular activities to pass the time, he had resorted to going to a different part of town, unable to find anything of worth in his part. Leaning forward, his fingers formed a pyramid, his eyes narrowing at his kidnapper. "Why me, pray tell?"
"Because we know about people like you. People like you - geniuses - get bored. You always want to be clever, but there's never anybody around to see you do it. And you hte that. Well, you've got an audience now."
"And the redhead?"
"I can only guess."
"Then do."
"Drama?"
"Most likely."
"You need to show more emotion."
"I really don't."
 
Kieara almost felt offended by the factor that she was simply added into this fine medley only for drama. However it did just keep her out of prison, but it could very well end her life as well. She looked between the two and chose to keep her mouth shut and listen. The more she lsitened, the more information on all of this she'd get. She swallowed a bit nervously as the bus driver talked. The more he said, the more scared she was getting.
 
"Anyway, to really test you, we've prepared a little something... Not anything big, but a test nonetheless. Something to make sure you can do this."
Three bottles were placed on the table - small, clear ones, with a metallic screw-on cap. Each one held a pill - none had a discernible difference, other than the fact each of the three pills were in different bottles. Light pink, with darker spots dotted on them, they looked nothing like deadly poison - nothing like something that could start killing you as soon as it entered your system. In actual fact, only one of them contained the concentrated cyanide, a variation on Russian Roulette.
"Oh, what's this."
"There are three bottles. Two have good pills, one has a bad pill. Take the good pill, you live, take the bad pill, you die."
"How bland."
"We know. So we spiced it up a little."
The driver leaned in closer, lowering his voice - as if he was sharing a secret, one that could possibly kill him. "You can choose to take a fifty-fifty chance, and we let her walk from this place. We wipe her criminal record, give her a new identity, and a large sum of money. Or, you can choose to split the bet three ways. Do that, and any one of us could die, but you have less of a chance to die. I promise I'll take the pill at the same time - it's no fun otherwise. So, what'll it be - two, or three?"
Looking at the bottles, David studied them, looking at each from every conceivable angle, attempting to unlock some sort of secret from its polished edges via staring profusely at it. Such an object would not yield in that manner, however, made evident when he put the bottle down.
They knew David well - he was a genius, and he was getting bored.
"This isn't chess, it's chance."
"Oh, but there's something to it, you'll see. But t that point, there'll be no take-backs. All you'll be able to do is bite the pill, hoping your deduction was wrong."
"Chance, nonetheless."
"What kind of chance, however?"
"...Just me and you."
The driver looked to Kieara after receiving the response, as if expecting her to say something.
 
Kieara looekd confused. She looked to David and spoke. "I'm not leaving you here alone. Everyone needs help wheter you're a genius or not. You're stuck with me." She said stubbornly. She wasn't faltering on her point. She had been drug into this with him, and if she got a bad pill, so be it. At least she'd die fast....she hoped.
 
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