The Trigger Mechanism

by Scott McEwen

  Wyatt nodded. “All it took was someone to throw the first punch.”

  “Some of the most gruesome details were kept from the press,” Mr. Yellow said. “People gouged each other’s eyes out. Some were trampled. It was the stuff of gladiators, the basest form of human behavior possible, and we believe the real Encyte engineered it.”

  “How do you know it was him?”

  “Encyte didn’t claim credit directly,” Avi said. “But from the development of the app, to the knowledge of these psychiatric drugs, to the kill mechanism—the weapon of choice is a human pawn. That’s what we are learning is the method of operation used by Encyte.”

  “It’s a little thin, but a workable theory.” Wyatt peered at the bubbles in his cup, swirling it. “So we have two attacks—one with video games and one with an app and a fake sneaker drop. Why involve me? What am I supposed to do?”

  “Talk to Jalen.” Avi leaned in. “Check him out. He seems pretty distraught, but it could be an act. One theory is that Encyte is a hacker/developer from Glowworm Gaming. If there are ties, you might be able to find a strand of the truth for us to pull on. Maybe help us both.”

  “I’ll talk to him, but I can’t promise anything. The only thing I want to focus on this summer is finding Hallsy and making him pay for what he did to Dolly, to us … to Valor.”

  Mr. Yellow leaned forward, locking his eyes on Wyatt’s. “We are working on Hallsy day and night, Wyatt. We have a team of people trying to track him down. The best, the Golden One Hundred. You have to trust in the team and in the process. You know this.”

  Wyatt shrugged. “That’s what you tell me. All I know is that murderous traitor is out there getting away with it.”

  Both Avi and Mr. Yellow nodded.

  Wyatt leaned back in his seat. “Reality is broken.” He repeated the line as he watched the clouds whir over the jet’s wing. “What is Encyte going to break next?”

  CHAPTER 4

  The safe house for Jalen Rose and his family was located in the village of Clarkston, a quaint commuter town about forty-five minutes north of Motor City. The house sat at the end of a cul-de-sac on a street dotted with a mix of ranch-style homes all set on large parcels of land. Its long driveway was lined with black SUVs and police vehicles tucked out of view from the street.

  Mr. Yellow edged the loner FBI sedan past the string of cars and onto the muddy grass, trenching the yard in the process. He threw the car in park and turned to Wyatt.

  “You have an hour.”

  “Roger.” Wyatt pulled up the hood of his sweatshirt.

  “And I’m sure I don’t need to remind you,” Mr. Yellow said as they followed Avi to the house through the garage. “You were never here.”

  Wyatt nodded and they entered the room, raising the heads of the police and FBI agents who’d been interrogating Jalen under the guise of protection. Seeing the three men approach, the agents scattered, and Avi continued down a dim hallway before crossing through a kitchen littered with disposable coffee cups and pizza boxes. A soggy Greek salad sat untouched in a plastic clamshell, reminding Wyatt of a terrarium. Outside the window, the law enforcement officers huddled, peering inside, trying to figure out who the mysterious visitors were.

  Avi led them into a spacious dining room with wood-lined walls and a large table in the center. The blinds were angled shut and a chandelier glowed warmly above them. Jalen’s mother, Tyra, sat on one side of him, and a man in a nice suit—Richard Lee, Jalen’s attorney—sat on the other. Jalen’s father, Ronnie, paced in the back like he was in the locker room, ready to ball. Jalen slumped in his chair, arms crossed, chin down, staring at an uneaten garlic knot on a paper plate in front of him.

  A thick-necked, sweaty interrogator sat across from Jalen, shoulders hunched. “I know you know more than you are telling me,” he said, the patience in his tone belied by a sinister smile. “You have the blood of dozens of people on your hands. If you tell me what I need to know, I’ll help you wash it off. Otherwise, it’s on you. On you, Jalen!” He pointed a fat finger at the boy like an umpire during a strikeout.

  “I told you everything.” Jalen’s voice just barely audible.

  “Stop lying!” The man slapped the table, but Jalen didn’t even flinch.

  One look at Jalen’s posture and Wyatt knew the kid had shut himself off. “These guys are trained to deal with serial killers, not kids,” Wyatt whispered to Mr. Yellow. “How many hours has this been going on?”

  Mr. Yellow shook his head. “Don’t know.”

  “Now what?” Ronnie broke the silence, pointing at the new faces in the room. “Who the hell are these people?”

  The interrogator swiveled around, his face cardiac red. “I said I didn’t want anybody in here but me. This is my interview!”

  Mr. Yellow flashed a Department of Defense badge. “We’re here under orders. Sorry to interrupt, but we need a few minutes with Jalen.”

  “I don’t care. I work for the attorney general’s office, and if you have a problem with that, you can talk to him.”

  “Department of Defense,” Ronnie said incredulously. “What the hell do they want with my son? I’m about done with this, Dick…” Ronnie turned to the lawyer.

  “We can end this right now,” Richard Lee said calmly. “Jalen’s under no obligation to answer any questions and has the constitutional right to remain silent. He’s trying to do the right thing—which I, personally, think is misplaced, as he did nothing to harm anyone intentionally. You gentlemen should be interrogating the makers of these violent video games, not my client!” Richard Lee shouted as if he were speaking to the press, which, in fact, was something he was itching to do.

  “These clowns,” said the interrogator, “need to back off.”

  Wyatt stepped past Mr. Yellow and pulled the hood off his head. “Jalen,” he said, “want to step outside with me?”

  “What’s this?” Ronnie grunted. “Bring your kid to work day?”

  “The opposite,” Mr. Yellow said. “He brought us to work.”

  “Sure he did.” Ronnie laughed.

  The interrogator now rose to his feet. He was huge: 250 pounds, six foot five, with a thinning flattop. “Kid, get your punk ass out of this house right now and take this old man with you.” He reached out and pushed Wyatt’s chest.

  The man’s fingers had just touched Wyatt’s shirt, when Wyatt’s right hand came up in a blur, pinning the man’s hand to his chest. He leaned forward on the man’s thick wrist, nearly breaking it, and the man howled. Wyatt kicked his legs out and slammed the interrogator to the ground, rattling the entire house and knocking the wind from the man’s massive chest.

  The man lay moaning and sputtering. Wyatt looked up at Avi and Mr. Yellow, who each took an arm and dragged the investigator out of the room.

  “Damn,” said Ronnie.

  Wyatt turned his eyes on Jalen and nodded outside at the basketball hoop glowing above the garage. “Just a quick game of H-O-R-S-E?”

  Tyra patted her son’s leg. “Honey,” she whispered, “if you want to stop now, it’s okay.”

  “Hoops?” huffed Ronnie. “Good luck. Been trying to get him to play—”

  “All right.” Jalen rose to his feet.

  “Wait—” The lawyer caught the boy’s arm. “If there are any questions, I need to be present.”

  “We’re just hanging out, Richard,” Wyatt said. “Off the record. Where’s a basketball?”

  Tyra raised a long, hot-pink fingernail. “First, tell me who you are before you go anywhere with my son.”

  “My name is Wyatt. And all I’ll say is that I’ve been in his shoes before. I think I can help.”

  “Help my ass,” Ronnie said.

  “Twenty minutes.” Wyatt smiled at Tyra, trying his best to be charming.

  “Ten.” Tyra cocked her head at Wyatt. “I saw a ball in the garage … but I’m watching you from here.”

  * * *

  The sun had set, and the air was considerably cooler in Mi
chigan than Virginia, though still comfortable and fresh. Wyatt could see the security detail on the property, dim figures moving among the trees and shrubs in the distance. Jalen was a good shot—a leftie who put the ball up in clean, tight arcs. They played in relative silence for a few minutes, just shooting and passing, before Jalen cleared his throat. “Thanks for getting me out of there.”

  “Sure.” Wyatt nodded.

  “So you said you’ve been in my shoes before,” Jalen continued. “Hard for me to imagine anybody else in these shoes.” He looked down at his new Jordans as he dribbled.

  “I just meant I’ve been sitting under the noses of a bunch of cops, sniffing around, trying to get something outta me that I didn’t understand.”

  “Yeah, but I’ve killed people. That’s different.” Jalen took a shot, drained it. “So you don’t know. You can’t know … I didn’t mean to do it, but I did and they’re dead.”

  Wyatt scooped the ball under the net and passed it to Jalen, giving him his change.

  “Of course I know what that’s like,” Wyatt said. “You think you’re the only person in the world who’s been tricked into something horrible, something you regret every day of your life?”

  “What do you mean?” Jalen held the ball up for a shot. “You’ve killed someone?”

  “Yeah,” Wyatt said flatly.

  “More than once?” Jalen asked.

  “Pass the ball if you’re not going to shoot.”

  Jalen fired it at the hoop, and it bounced off the rim. “But how? You’re a kid.”

  “How?” Wyatt said. “You’re asking me how?”

  “I didn’t know what I was doing. It was a game.”

  “Maybe it was the same for me. And in that moment, reality was broken for me.” Wyatt squared up for a jump shot.

  “You know that’s a book, right?” Jalen’s eyes perked up.

  “By Dr. Jane McGonigal,” Wyatt said as the ball hissed through the net, hitting the blacktop and bouncing back to him.

  “And you know in the book, this doctor says playing games is good?”

  “It is good,” Wyatt said.

  “Not for me. Not that day.” Jalen’s eyes fogged slightly. “I was just playing a game and all this happened. And now I’m broken.” Tears clouded his eyes and he blinked them back. “I wish I could turn it back. I wish I’d been the one to die. I don’t even want to live anymore. I’ve been thinking about how I can just end it for me, too.”

  “I wouldn’t want to live either.” Wyatt tucked the ball under his arm. “And I wouldn’t blame you if you tried to do something about it.”

  “Huh?” Jalen looked up. “Aren’t you like supposed to tell me not to say stuff like that?”

  “No, man. It’s your choice. You can wallow…” Wyatt dribbled the ball around Jalen and went for a layup. “Or you can keep moving. And right now, you have a chance to do something good.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like helping us find Encyte.”

  “Who is us?” Jalen shot back. “You dropped that FBI agent like he was a kindergartner. The old man with you said something about the DoD—who’s asking me to help?”

  “Someone who can do something about what Encyte did to you and those people in Austin.”

  Wyatt let that hang in the air for a few moments. “Going back to your original question, I think what Encyte means by reality is broken is that there’s a new reality, a digital world that links us all in a giant game, both real and virtual—that’s the reality, and he’s telling us he’s breaking it.”

  “Certainly broke it with me.” Jalen took a shot, missed badly.

  Wyatt tossed it back to him. “You’re bent, not broken.”

  Jalen thought for a moment. Then fired up a three-pointer that swished through the net.

  “When’d you first start interacting with Encyte?” Wyatt asked.

  “To be honest, I don’t even know, ’cause he may have approached me with multiple avatars. I’ve been streaming my gameplay for a little while, trying to get a fan base on Twitch or become a YouTuber, but it’s like, not that easy. So when someone follows you and wants to play Kill Bloxx with you, it’s cool, it’s like an honor, and I guess the only person out there, who I know is associated with Encyte, went by Pro_F_er. He just started chatting with me one day. I think over Twitch, but then we were communicating over Kill Bloxx, too. He knew the game really well, and he designed some games of his own, with Kill Bloxx studio. You know that tool, right?”

  Wyatt shrugged. “Loosely.”

  “Well, within the Kill Bloxx platform, those in the community are encouraged to create their own games and let other people play them. He’d done that, and it was fun, but then…” Jalen’s voice trailed off. “The last game he brought me into was different. It looked like Kill Bloxx, but it was a simulation.” Jalen dribbled, lost in thought.

  “Did Pro_F_er—or any avatar you communicated with—ever mention the name Glowworm? Or Glowworm Gaming?”

  “Nah.” Jalen shook his head. “I’ve heard about their games, but they’re banned now … totally off the internet. But I think you can still find versions on the dark web.”

  Wyatt looked back at the house, then at Jalen. “Ever been on the darknet?”

  “I’ve logged into the Tor browser, but only just to do it. I haven’t played the games.”

  “Well, don’t. I don’t know who’s still developing them or how they are functional, but those games are also a trick … a way to lure people in.”

  “Aren’t all games?” Jalen laughed and passed Wyatt the ball. “How do you know so much about Glowworm Gaming?”

  “Like I said, I was in your shoes before, not playing the game per se, but part of the collateral damage.”

  “One thing I heard—a rumor among gamers—is that Glowworm was secretly some kind of terrorist. He was captured and black-sited by the U.S. government. Some people think he’s in Guantanamo right now.”

  Of course Wyatt knew this wasn’t true. He’d been the one to kill Glowworm. He’d watched him die, the bullet from his own gun firing into Glowworm’s brain. The one life he didn’t regret taking.

  “Jalen!” Tyra called down. “Your daddy’s leaving. Come say bye.”

  Jalen hesitated. “If you want,” he said to Wyatt, “I can come back.”

  “Nah, it’s cool. But just one more question.”

  “Okay.”

  “What didn’t you tell the FBI?”

  “Man.” Jalen shook his head. “Thought you were going to be cool.”

  Wyatt smiled. “Come on, dude. You’re too good of a gamer to have told them everything. Gotta be something you held back. At least, I know I would have.”

  Jalen glanced around the property, letting out his breath.

  “Hurry up!” Tyra called again from the house.

  “Okay. But it’s not about me.” Jalen’s eyes narrowed. “There’s someone in the games … I just didn’t want her to get tangled up in all of this.”

  “A girl?”

  “Yes. But if I tell you what I know, can you promise me you’ll keep it a secret?”

  “I can promise you I won’t tell the FBI.”

  CHAPTER 5

  Wyatt thought about what Jalen had told him, and he even considered keeping it from Avi and Mr. Yellow. He had the boy’s trust. And he didn’t want to betray that trust, but he knew all too well that innocent people are an inevitable casualty of psychopaths.

  They’d been midair, en route back to Virginia for a good twenty-five minutes before Wyatt spoke up. “So … I think there’s someone else we should look at.”

  Avi and Mr. Yellow glanced up from their devices.

  “Go on,” said Mr. Yellow.

  “I don’t know if this is gonna go anywhere, but Jalen told me something. One time he entered one of the games Pro_F_er created. And he briefly played alongside another avatar named Hi Kyto.”

  Avi’s face scrunched up. “Should that mean something to me?”

 
“I don’t know if they’re the same. Coulda been a copycat avatar, but Hi Kyto is the name used by Julie Chen, one of the most popular gamers on Fortnite.”

  Avi’s head immediately dropped back down to his tablet as he Googled Julie Chen.

  “Wait a minute,” Avi said. “She’s not just a gamer, she’s a prodigy.” He began reading aloud, “The gamer, known as Hi Kyto, was born in Shenyang to Chinese national parents, and moved with her parents to the United States at the age of four, where her father taught diplomacy at the Freeman Spogli Institute at Stanford University, and her mother was a professor of computer science. Chen showed an early propensity for linguistics, reportedly fluent in seven languages by age nine. She’s a polymath who has developed her own codebase. A highly regarded game developer in her own right, she has developed Kill Bloxx games and was an early adopter of Fortnite. She’s one of the few female players to have risen to prominence within the platform. A highly controversial figure, she remains both a fascination of but still aloof from the gaming community. In 2017, she was the first youth to be awarded—” Avi paused, then read on slowly, “She was the first youth to be awarded the distinguished Darsie Fellowship, selected by John Darsie himself.”

  “Wait a minute,” Mr. Yellow said. “John Darsie … that the one I’m thinking of?”

  Avi tapped his iPad and pulled up another Wikipedia page and held it out for Mr. Yellow.

  “Well, this changes things.” Mr. Yellow leaned back, satisfied.

  “What are you guys talking about?” Wyatt said. “Who’s John Darsie?”

  “Valor alum and…” Mr. Yellow said, distracted by his thoughts.

  “And what else?”

  “Have you ever heard of Red Trident?” Mr. Yellow asked.

  Wyatt shook his head.

  “Red Trident is a business Darsie founded. It’s probably the largest private-sector, big-data intelligence supplier to the U.S. government.”

  “What does that mean?” asked Wyatt.

  Avi chimed in. “It’s a spy agency with web-crawling spiders instead of actual spies. Basically, Darsie created a technology that can watch a lot of what we do online—say over the phone—and he sells that information to the government.”