Mastermind

by Steven Kelliher

  You have killed Prism. No Infamy granted. No penalties incurred.

  Threat Index Increased!

  New Threat Index: Major

  I remembered the others in the immediate vicinity on a delay. Blackstrike smiled as he watched the dead hero fade away, while Starshot only looked pale as her emerald cage shattered around her.

  Blackstrike and I locked eyes. He nodded once and then turned, as if remembering Starshot.

  “What about this one?”

  Starshot hadn’t recalled her power, and I didn’t think it was because she was running on empty. She just stood there, swaying, eyes scanning the ash along the ground.

  “I’d say she’s suffered enough today,” I said. “And,” I added pointedly as she met my dark gaze, “not by our hands.”

  I brushed against her as I moved in the opposite direction, back west, daring the two villains at my back to do something now that my forces had been marshalled. I knew the rest of my Sphere would be crouched and waiting among the chemical towers. The villains didn’t know how many I commanded.

  I paused and leaned in toward Starshot.

  “Take care she who worships false idols.”

  Starshot didn’t react. The fight was over.

  Encounter Ends

  Despot vs. Starshot

  Result: Draw

  Infamy Reward: Low Value + Lvl 2 Rivalry Multiplier

  Your rivalry with Starshot has deepened.

  Rivalry multiplier increased to Lvl 3.

  I admit I felt a pang of sympathy as I left her to stew, but my mask covered the look. I heard the buzzing of the viewer bots following me from a distance as I gathered up my crew and departed, marking the one who’d killed Prism.

  The first hero I had killed in Titan Online. Not the last.

  Eighteen

  Rock Bottom

  I didn’t know quite how to process everything that had happened at the plant, or the inevitable consequences, so back in the real world I tried to avoid thinking about it.

  Of course, avoiding thinking about the most popular VRMMORPG in the world – and one of the most-watched forms of entertainment overall – was much easier said than done when every TV, tablet and digital or holographic screen I came across were littered with highlights.

  Uncle Joe – he of pizza fame – had already scolded me three times for leaning over the counter at the shop to try to sneak a peek at the highlight packages customers were thumbing through as they waited for their orders. It wasn’t my fault I couldn’t see the TV from behind the counter.

  Eventually, he gave it up and left me alone. Business was slow.

  On break, I passed the time by leaning against the warm, red-brick wall beside the oven and watching the old flatscreen Joe had positioned awkwardly just below the oak rafters. I saw Titan highlights, sure enough, but it appeared Prism was a much smaller deal than I’d made him out to be.

  He was only a tier three, I suppose, but still. I knew he was in tight with Leviathan and the heroes of Gallant Tower, and so I figured his death would get more than a passing mention.

  The blogs were another story entirely. I did see my name – and my recent deeds – plastered all over Villain Watch, PVP Mayhem and some of the more popular combat-themed sites as soon as I finished my shift and logged on. It was a larger influx of notoriety than I had expected, but there were a few viewers who seemed to chalk Prism’s death more up to a mix of his own stupidity and the combined efforts of two tier-four villains who’d done the lion’s share of the work in bringing him down.

  It stung, but in truth, I couldn’t say that didn’t paint a picture of exactly what had transpired. I told myself it was a good thing. Ostensibly, the less people knew about Despot, the better.

  For now.

  I should have known that the heroes of Gallant Tower wouldn’t forget so easily.

  In the real world, I avoided my problems by delivering pizzas and by, well, logging into Titan Online. In-game, it was more difficult to stick my head in the sand. I knew I had decisions to make and preparations to see to. I knew I had to figure out how best to move forward, whether to count Blackstrike and Atlas potential allies or bitter enemies, and what to do about that persistent Starshot problem.

  If there was any consolation to my many dilemmas, it was the fact that Starshot herself was in the unenvious position of having directly contributed to Prism’s death. The viewer bots had been on the scene, capturing every little detail of the five-way hero-villain encounter. Sure, she hadn’t attacked Prism directly, but she had certainly considered it. After all, Prism was a Grade A douchebag. But how were the higher-ups going to feel about her almost-turncoat moment?

  How was Leviathan going to feel about it? Did he even know about her? Surely someone had told him my name by now. Did he care?

  Even if some part of me desperately wanted him to, the greater part knew it would be better for him to treat me with the casual disinterest he afforded most would-be rivals. We were ants to him, no matter how many rungs up the tier ladder we climbed.

  Speaking of ol’ blond hair, blue eyes and cape, it seemed he was now pulling double duty as my greatest obsession and my most welcome distraction.

  I stared absently at the footage of the world’s strongest hero as it played over the supercomputer’s great black screen. I had a near-limitless array of clips to go through, but I kept returning to a select few. Rather, the computer – and I guessed, the Ythilian core – continued to come back to them.

  I knew I was in the midst of some sort of treasure hunt. I knew something was here. Something I could use, and while there were bits and pieces in each of the clips the core kept playing out for me, I hadn’t quite sussed out how they tied together. An errant laser beam took Leviathan from the sky in one encounter, while a falling ship gave him a scare in the crisis that had led to my – to Streak’s – death.

  On two occasions, heroes had accidentally damaged him, and on a third, a villain buried under a mountain of rubble had managed one last throw of an obsidian spear that must have been high-damage indeed to sink into the great Titan’s calf when he turned around.

  Leviathan is not immortal, the footage seemed to be showing me.

  Leviathan can be killed, the core seemed to be telling me.

  But no matter how many times I watched, no matter how happy the sight of those bright specks of blood marring that perfect white and blue suit made me feel, I couldn’t get over the fact that he had likely never dipped below 90% HP in any encounter he’d had since getting to tier two and above. If these behemoths – these tier-one villains and city-spanning crisis events – weren’t enough to put more than an errant scratch on that insufferably perfect façade, what was I going to do with my stasis gun and my swarm grenades and my ragtag group of dock workers and thugs aside from make for an unintentionally comical farce of a slaughter in the guise of a battle?

  “General,” B5 said, probably not for the first time.

  “What is it?” I uncrossed my feet, pulling them off the tabletop in front of the screen and twisting lazily in my chair.

  “Are we going to discuss the battle?”

  “More of a skirmish, B,” I said, waving a dismissive hand.

  “A skirmish that resulted in the death of a tier-three hero, and very nearly your own.”

  “It all turned out all right in the end,” I said. I knew the track B5 was about to take. He was starting to remind me of a nagging mother.

  “Next time, General, I suggest you keep your minions closer, so that they can—”

  “You sent them in anyway, B,” I said. “It’s a moot point.”

  “I did no such thing.”

  That was interesting.

  “What?”

  “I did just as you asked me to do. I positioned the team close to your position, but did not give the order to intervene. You can thank Sebastian’s key trait for spurring that particular action.”

  “Loyal indeed,” I said, nodding appreciatively. I cast about for the bi
g man, but I suspected he was in Luther’s workshop. “Anyway,” I continued, “the point is well-taken, B5. I mean it. It was foolish to go without my team on-hand. It won’t happen again.”

  That seemed to appease the droid.

  “Luther would like to inform you about his latest improvement to the team’s tech.”

  “Really?” I asked, unable to hide my disinterest. It wasn’t that I didn’t care. Hell, I should have cared a lot more than I sounded. It was just, in the face of everything else, it all seemed rather insignificant.

  “You mean you’re going to explain it to me with his blessing? The dwarf never crawls out of that little cellar down there. It’s my cellar, you know, and I haven’t even seen it. He won’t let me in there. I ought to go down and make him show me around.”

  I actually made to stand, bracing my hands on the handles of the chair and angling to B5’s right. I froze as that grizzled, vaguely Scottish visage filled my field of view.

  “Ah,” I said, quirking an awkward smile. “Luther.”

  “Sir.”

  “I… uh. B5 here,” I indicated the droid, watching as Luther raised one bushy eyebrow with deliberate care. Sebastian had followed the smith out of his hole. He stood behind him, arms crossed, watching our exchange. “He tells me… ah, forget it. Show me.”

  I sank back down into the chair and motioned for him to get on with it. B5 looked like he wanted to wince, another subtle human affectation he couldn’t mime but seemed to be able to get across through a mix of body language and blinks. If anything, Luther looked more at ease on account of my direct attitude. That was good to know.

  The tinkerer cleared his throat and brought something out from behind his back. At first, I was summarily unimpressed. It looked like a somewhat thicker, sturdier version of the glorified cattle prods with which he’d outfitted the crew prior to their last few missions. Granted, one of them had just killed Prism, but head-on, they weren’t going to inspire much fear in powerful players.

  Seeing my look, he went through a quick mood change of his own, moving from dismissive to hurried, almost frantic, as if he needed to impress me. Perhaps he did. Even if I didn’t threaten him, and even if he largely treated me with passive disdain, he was still under my Influence. That had to count for something.

  “The original Shock Spears were meant to be wielded by those less capable,” Luther said. I assumed he was referencing my increased mind stat, which should allow me – and potentially my followers – to wield more potent weaponry.

  “These new editions are much stronger,” he said. “Voltage has increased significantly.”

  “No harm in being thorough, I suppose. Good job, Luther. Now,” I went to turn around and reabsorb myself into my Leviathan-focused procrastination.

  Luther wasn’t having it. He reached out and gripped me by the shoulder, turning me back a little more roughly than he should have.

  I followed the momentum of the turn and stepped forward, covering the short space between us and pushing my white and red-streaked mask close to him. He released me immediately and took a half step back, swallowing. Luther was just about the only person I’d met thus far in Titan Online that I could loom over, NPC or otherwise.

  “Yes?” I asked, straightening. I crossed my arms, trying to put Luther more at ease without dismissing the threat entirely. The white ‘I’ above his head glowed bright white. I logged the information for future reference. It seemed that different NPCs responded to different stimuli. Some, like Sebastian, preferred positive reinforcement, like the golden retriever he was. Others operated off fear. Luther was an odd mix of the two, but I thought I was finally beginning to strike the right balance with him.

  If only I could say the same for B5. The droid was supposed to be my most loyal, unquestioning follower. I didn’t need to Influence him. He was a part of my origin. My villain’s kit, if you will. But…

  I shook my head as I considered the droid, and he tilted his head in response.

  “Apologies,” Luther said, flushed. He propped the butt end of the spear down into the ground and stepped back, holding the weapon at arm’s length. He pressed a button on the side and the tip crackled to blue-sparking life.

  “I’ve seen this,” I said. “More juice, you said? Excellent. Now—”

  Luther shook his head. Before I could open my mouth to scold the madcap inventor, however, the spear tip flashed a startling electric blue that caused me to shrink back and the nearby crew members to fall, shriek or be stunned into silence. Instead of dimming back down to a faint taser, a small blue sphere of crackling energy coalesced just above the spear’s tip. When it had built to the size of a baseball, Luther smirked and pressed the ignition button again.

  A smaller flash punctuated the dim expanse, reflecting off the tiny bits of virtual vapor flitting through the air on account of the waterfall behind us. The ball of blue light shot up into the darkness, elongating slightly as its momentum took it up into the pitch black of the cavernous ceiling, where it illuminated the black fangs above. The stalactites glittered as the orb passed by them, and when it struck the top, it winked out before exploding in a concussive blast that sent a small tremor through the base.

  I smiled and looked up, watching bits of black shale pull loose and rain down as B5 promptly snatched the weapon from Luther’s grasp. The tinkerer seemed to remember himself, losing his own toothy grin as he shrank back, expecting retribution.

  That prompted me to examine the spear.

  Item: Shock Spear Mrk 2

  Requires: Tier 5 or above

  Requires: Mind 15, Brawn 10

  Use: Produces an electrical charge that can be used close or long range.

  Melee Damage: 35

  Ranged Damage: 25

  When I was sure that the ceiling wasn’t going to come down and smash us all to bits, I lowered my eyes to meet his.

  “Excellent work, my friend,” I said. He beamed. “Another fine contribution to the mission.” Luther snatched the spear back from B5 and gave the droid a smug grunt. “Now we can provide the older models to Madam Post. Keep the old crone happy without giving her too much power. Just do me a favor and try not to bring the world down on top of our heads the next time you want to test out one of your toys for me.”

  “Right,” Luther said with a slight bow, his face going crimson.

  “Now, how many of these…”

  Another tremor gave me pause. Sebastian noticed it, looking up in consternation, but only half of the crew seemed to share his anxiety. The rest were busy laughing and trading insults over who had been more startled by Luther’s display. I almost gave it up as a mildly concerning after-effect of the spear’s projectile when another tremor hit, this one growing into a steady rumble that shook the sheen of wet from the cavern walls and made the pebbles and loose stones that now littered the platform dance.

  The next tremor wasn’t a tremor at all, nor was it a rumble. Instead of a rolling tide of hooves across the rocky, earthen ceiling above us, it was the sharp crack and resounding boom of thunder, or of something far worse.

  “B…” I drew it out, but the droid was already moving with haste. He darted to the computer and began tapping on the flat keys carved into the counter. The footage of Leviathan was wiped away, to be replaced by a live view of the secret entrance to the base.

  The river sloshed by and the stone pillars that held the overpass aloft shook and cracked when the next boom hit, but there was nobody there.

  “What—”

  “Above us,” B5 said. “Above the dam.”

  “What is it?” I asked, my heart beating furiously. I saw the crew members – Sebastian, Carlyle, Luther, Damon and all the rest – caught between the instinct of self-preservation and the need to heed whatever orders were to come. They were caught in my indecision.

  Caught in my fear. For even before the black, toothy sky broke apart and the bright, firelit one swept in to replace it, I had a premonition of what had come.

  No. Not wha
t. Whom.

  “General,” B5 said, his tone more nervous than usual. “The intruder. It’s—”

  “Meteora,” I finished for him. “How the hell did she find me?”

  “Your rival, Starshot, knows where the base is, does she not?” B5 asked, his voice mechanically calm.

  “The general vicinity,” I said, mind racing. “What, is Meteora carpet-bombing the whole damn region?”

  “It sounds that way.”

  I turned wildly to Luther. “How many of those spears do you have?”

  “F-four,” he stammered, stumbling as another rumble reverberated throughout the chamber.

  “Get them!”

  The final boom dropped me to my knees, and nearly threw Luther off the side of the platform as he made his way toward the stalagmite with the hidden trapdoor. Sebastian and the others looked up as a bright silver-white trail split the black ceiling. It looked like a snake, or a magical whip.

  The crack spread and split, and the ceiling came apart. Great two-ton fangs of solid obsidian were jarred loose like teeth ripped from a giant’s skull. Their descent was slow and jilted, at first, accelerating until they sped toward the chasm – and toward the platform on which my crew and I stood or knelt or rested on our butts – like mortality incarnate.

  One landed in the center of the platform, smashing the planning table to bits. Another clipped Damon on the shoulder as he leaned the wrong way and brought him along with it, howling into the abyss to drown if he wasn’t already crushed. A great slab of pitch-black stone smashed into the iron stair, ripping it from its anchors in the wall and bringing the whole expanse creaking and splitting before it too tumbled into the depths, the waterfall’s spray coating it a final time before it fell.

  The force of the blast from above must have sent most of the debris from the ceiling outward, as the largest blocks missed the center platform entirely, sailing into the darkness and landing with deep booms that sounded like primordial beings waking from an ancient slumber.