to do the right thing. In the last few weeks we’ve seen a twenty percent drop in movie piracy, and that’s thanks to our customers realizing and agreeing that they want the real deal, the true thing, not fake, destructive, low quality, virus infected movies downloaded from illegal servers.
“In fact,” Mel raised his two hands above his head in a sign of victory, “we will be seeing a drop in downloads of almost seventy percent in the next few weeks. This all due to our outreach programs and explaining the benefits of genuine movies.” Mel allowed himself to think about Colonel. That shithead had better have gotten it right, or Mel would look like a fool. Forget fool, much worse could happen to him. He threw the thought forcibly from his mind. “I hope to see trials such as this one, of people guilty of distributing low quality garbage, drop away to zero, as the re-education and re-clarification programs continue. I see a bright future for the filmed entertainment industry and for the choice and possibilities for the American as well as the worldwide consumer. A golden age where the people get what they want, and we, the movie business have the privilege of delivering it to them. There is no contradiction between artists properly compensated for their hard work, and proper, law abiding customers that eagerly consume what is on offer, paying a fair price for what they are receiving.” He paused for breath. “That is all I have time for today. I am thankful for the opportunity to address you all at this time, and I want to thank you for coming. Good bye.”
“Mel, Mel,” a reporter shouted. “A simple question.” Mel didn’t want to answer, but somehow the insistent voice kept him from dashing out of the room. “Is it a good idea to sue your own customers?”
“No comment. I should say, this trial is of criminals distributing stolen material, not of our customers. We don’t sue our customers, only pirates.”
Another shouted followed up: “How are the programs really working? The re-education programs. Doesn’t everyone want to download high quality movies over the internet? The commercial services available are expensive and limited, so can you really tell us that consumers are done with pirated movies? What you are saying makes no sense.”
“Let me be clear,” Mel said, pushing away the urge to call the reporter a dirty word, or better yet, to strangle him. “We’ve done studies, and we are seeing that our outreach programs, along with a select enforcement campaign, are having the desired effect, that of the consumer respecting our copyrights. Our research shows consumers firmly choosing genuine movies over fakes.”
“Mel, Mel.”
“That’s all the questions I’ll take.”
Mel stormed to his car. Why didn’t they believe him? The programs were working. Didn’t matter. Soon enough, they would see that he was right, those doubting bastards.
Once inside his limo, he dialed Frank Close. “Look Frank. I know you want the money pronto. But I’ve just given a press conference—“
“Who authorized you?”
“Let me finish. But hold on here. First of all, since when do I need authorization? I’m the CEO of a major movie studio. I give a press conference whenever and, importantly, wherever I want.” He paused to compose himself after Frank’s insult. Best not to react now. Keep the temper in check. “Anyway, I’ve given a press conference where I explained that piracy will drop by seventy percent in the next few weeks. Now, you might be asking why I’m making such a crazy statement, especially if no such thing has happened to date. Am I right?”
“You’re nuts is why.”
“Well, not exactly. In fact, I’ve put in place a solution to our problems which entails removing the supply from the source. No drugs, no junkies. No movies, no piracy.”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
“What I mean is that I’ve stopped the top pirates, the one’s that have put all the material on the internet in the first place. There’s no one else to put the movies out there.”
“How do you mean, stopped?” Frank breathed. “Actually, I don’t want to—”
“Let’s just say I’ve terminated their activities,” Mel crowed, “with extreme prejudice.”
“Oh fuck.”
“The results will be immediate.”
“It doesn’t matter what kind of success you are achieving or about to achieve. I can’t leave you the money. Doesn’t matter what happens to the numbers. I’ve already told you, the board requires it back.”
“Oh no. The results will be here almost immediately. Don’t you worry.”
“And don’t let me ever hear another word about your tactics.”
“Not me, dear Frank, not me.”
And Mel hung up the phone. That bastard would never get his cash back, but he’d get what he wants. Mel would make that prick a hero.
Mel leaned forward in his plush limo, to pour himself a cool scotch on the rocks. He had this place under control. No one could touch him. Not now, not ever. In a few hours he’d check with Colonel to ensure the mission was complete, and that would be that. Triumph was his.
But even so, in the great Mel Boxton, a little flicker of worry remained.
The Hostage Situation
Dorian’s brain had frozen on the thought of nil8 sneaking into his room to kill him. Finally he had the person who had killed his parents here in front of him. The person who had the answers to what happened to his family, his parents, his sister. Dorian’s finger twitched, his gun pointing straight at nil8’s heart, the silencer looming large in front of him.
Suddenly Striptz charged. Dorian realized with a start, that he had become a bystander. He could only watch passively. His brain sluggishly noticed that he needed to click back into the moment. In front of him, Colonel twisted his body sharply to the right while pulling a gun from behind his belt, landing softly on his shoulder. Colonel rolled over and aimed towards Andrea while Andrea twisted her gun back toward Colonel.
Dorian’s instincts kicked into motion, his body beginning to move. Smoke and fire erupted with a deafening crack from the gun in Colonel’s hands. Andrea screamed, falling to the ground, her pink gun thumping to the pile carpet.
Dorian managed to turn his gun toward Colonel, sensing the rest of the room motionless, mouths open, in stasis. No sound from Striptz who had stopped mid-charge, none from Ruutor or Early Bird. Nothing. Why did no one duck? or drop to the floor? or hide?
Time started again. Someone shouted “Shoot, shoot, for god’s sake shoot. The bastard has a gun. SHOOT.”
The words broke through to Dorian. He snapped his gun in Colonel’s direction, and squeezed the trigger, once, twice, three times, his eyes squinting in concentration and aversion. What happened? Had he hit him. Dorian’s vision cleared. There was Colonel, red spots spreading across his chest and onto the carpet, gun limp in his hand, and there was Striptz running up and grabbing it away.
“It worked!” Dorian shouted. “It worked.” He doubled over in violent agony, his stomach in knots.
“I think I’ve been hit,” nil8 said in his high voice that poked through Dorian’s pain.
Quickly Dorian uncurled, his worry overriding his stomach. “Where’s Andrea?” He looked around the room.
“I’m hit,” said nil8.
“I-I-I think s-she got shot,” said Ruutor and pointed behind one of the couches.
Dorian ran to look. Behind the couch lay Andrea, a puddle of blood spreading around her middle. “Oh god. Are you ok? Please, Andrea. Be ok!” He banged a fist against his forehead. “I should have shot quicker. I froze. I’m a coward.” He looked down at Andrea. “Fucking Striptz,” he turned, his face twisted, a hand raised. “What were you thinking running at nil8 like that?”
“I’m alive,” Andrea said gasping through huge breaths. “Barely, but alive.”
“Oh my god. Oh my god,” Dorian said. “Help me here, guys. Let’s find out where she’s hurt.”
They gathered around her, peering down, looking for a bullet wound in all the blood. Early Bird ran from the room, coming back with toilet paper. They wiped away the blood.
“Guys. I’s hurt. I can’t feel my fingers,” nil8 mumbled from the couch.
Good, Dorian thought momentarily. Nil8 deserved it. Then a second wave of panic rose in his throat. This kid was the only person who could explain what had happened to his parents and sister. If nil8 died, Dorian might never know. But it din’t matter right now. Andrea mattered.
“We’ll g-g-get to you next. Can’t you see A-Andrea’s bleeding?” Ruutor said, pushing his glasses up his nose. “Traitors come last in the order, don’t you understand?”
“Look at that,” Early Bird pointed after looking Andrea over closely. “If that’s the only wound, we don’t have much to worry about. It’s only grazed her calf. Except a bit of blood loss. Do you feel any other pain than on your leg?”
“I’m getting my breath back. I think it was my breath knocked out of me. Not really feeling any other pain.”
“I can’t find anything else,” Early Bird said looking at the others. “How many hit points is that?” Early Bird handed the toilet paper to Dorian.
Dorian felt a wave of relief.
“Can you bind it up?” Early Bird said to Dorian, “while I check out nil8. I don’t think this t.p. will be enough. Someone, should find some towels to stop the bleeding.”
“I need to speak to nil8, then,” Dorian said, his mind switching instinctively. And almost inaudibly, “he killed my family.” He turned to look at nil8.
Ruutor ran out in search of suitable blood removal materials
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