Final Empire

by Blake Northcott

  Sitting across from me, clutching my hands, I could feel her nervous tension, and the atmosphere was electric with it. She was the most trusting person I’d ever known, and always saw the best in everyone; Peyton wanted to believe that people, at their core, harbored the best of intentions. It was a pure, innocent kindness that bordered on naivety. While I was always wary of Valentina’s greed and had correctly predicted her betrayal, Peyton had been completely blindsided. The act of treachery scarred her almost as much as the life she was forced to end.

  “Steve McGarrity is arrogant,” I said flatly. “And he’s obnoxious, and tactless, and he’s a huge, huge asshole...” I almost wanted to end the sentence there, because it felt like the perfect spot to place a period. “But,” I added reluctantly, “he doesn’t have the brains to pull off something like this. And he’s a terrible liar. I seriously doubt he’s involved in any way.”

  She jerked her hands away from mine. “Serious doubt? So you’re just going to take a chance that he’s ‘probably’ not going to stab us in the back?”

  She was right. If there was even a possibility, the most infinitesimal chance that McGarrity was involved in my set-up, I had to follow up on it. Time was not on my side, and neither were the odds. One slip-up and my life – and the lives of everyone with me – could be in serious jeopardy.

  “There’s no delicate way to do this, Peyton.”

  She stared back at me, unblinking.

  I rapped my finger into my com and activated the Fortress’ communications system. “Intercom,” I commanded, allowing everyone within the compound to hear my next words. “Steve McGarrity, report to the main conference room immediately.”

  Using a private message I invited the rest of the team to join us. Brynja arrived first, blue hair tied into a loose braid, wearing a canary yellow sun dress (part of her new, non-gothic island wardrobe). Gavin followed in his charcoal suit and scarlet power tie, but was without his Rolex and pocket square – his definition of ‘dressing down’ these days. Karin came next, wearing a pink terrycloth bathrobe and matching slippers. With a burger in one hand and an oversized mug of root beer in the other, it was clear she’d already located the kitchen and was indulging in one of the two dozen snacks she consumed each day (where the calories went on her ninety-five pound frame, I’d never know – the metabolism might have been superhuman-related, if I had to guess). McGarrity sauntered in a few minutes later still dressed in jeans, runners and a t-shirt with a silly cartoon skull emblazoned across the chest. His face had been shaved clean and his mop of blond hair was slicked back, wet from his shower.

  I took the chair at the head of the oval conference table, leaning in on my elbows. My body stiffened, teeth set on edge. By the time everyone was seated there was a nervous tension that vibrated through the air, so dense it prickled my skin.

  “So what’s the emergency,” McGarrity asked, lacing his fingers behind his head. He kicked his runners up on the table, leaning back as far as the leather chair would allow. If there was any reason for him to feel nervous, he was hiding it masterfully.

  “Give me your wrist com,” I said flatly.

  Subtlety had never been my strong suit.

  Without protest he pulled it off, dropped it onto the glass and slid it across the surface. It stopped an arm’s reach away.

  I scooped it up and began scrolling through his recent communications.

  “Anything else, bro?” His dopey smile widened to a teeth-bearing grin. He was so dense that he had no clue that I’d called him to the conference room to confront him.

  “Who were you talking to upstairs?” I asked as I continued to search his com, scanning each incoming and outgoing transmission with a flick of my finger.

  “My bookie. He owed me seventeen grand after the last FCS event.”

  “You were betting on full-contact swordfighting?” Gavin asked. “And getting paid in Euros?”

  McGarrity’s eyes narrowed and he shot upright in his chair, planting his feet on the floor. “Wait...how did you know that? I thought you were just an accountant. Can you see through my wallet with x-ray vision or something?”

  I could tell by the distortion on his face that Gavin didn’t know where to begin with his reply. “Um...first of all I’m not an accountant. You just assumed that. And I’m not a super—”

  “I went through your stuff,” Peyton confessed, raising everyone’s collective eyebrows.

  “You what?” McGarrity blurted out, his voice strained with emotion. I could almost hear the knife penetrating his gut. “How could you think that I could ever...I thought you guys were my friends?”

  Her face fell slack. Peyton and I instantly knew we’d made a huge mistake. “I’m so, so sorry,” she pleaded, “I just...I didn’t mean to say that you were working against us. It’s just...”

  “You thought this doofus was involved in the attacks?” Brynja threw her head back and laughed, clapping her hands once. “Wow, Mox, I thought you were supposed to be a genius or something.”

  “We can’t trust anyone,” Peyton snapped, suddenly filled with fire at the sound of Brynja’s voice. “And you should’ve been first on my list, not Steve.”

  “Oh, this was your brilliant idea?” Brynja’s words came out in between chuckles – she was still in hysterics from the thought of McGarrity being a criminal mastermind. “It’s all making sense now.”

  Peyton stood, extending her open palm across the table. “Why don’t you show everyone what’s on your wrist-com?” she asked, her voice frosting over. “Unless you have something to hide.”

  “Forget it,” Brynja frowned. “I’m not handing over shit, princess. Why don’t you open up your private messages and show us what you’ve been up to?”

  Peyton turned to me, finger aimed squarely at Brynja. “For all we know she’s the one who’s been sending the untraceable text messages! You haven’t received a single one since we’ve picked her up – don’t you find that just a little suspicious?”

  My eyes flicked to Brynja, who had just bolted upright in her chair alongside McGarrity. She was waiting for me to defend her. Something I couldn’t do in front of Peyton.

  “Well,” I said, as diplomatically as I could manage, “a lot of suspicious stuff has been going on around here. Let’s not start throwing wild, unfounded—”

  “What about her?” McGarrity cut in, throwing his hand towards Karin. She glanced up from her wrist-com. Her cheeks were filled with a mouthful of burger, a glop of ketchup dripping from her bottom lip, threatening to stain her bathrobe.

  “Whaf are you talking aboof?” she mumbled. By her expression it seemed as if she hadn’t been listening to anything we’d said for the last several minutes.

  “I hate to agree with this asshole,” Brynja said, jamming her thumb towards McGarrity, “but he might be right for a change.”

  “Thank you!” he said with a confident nod, folding his arms across his chest.

  Karin swallowed the contents of her mouth with a single gulp. “What the hell, guys! I know I’m new around here but she hired me.” She glanced towards Peyton, arching her brow. “And I’m not the one who’s keeping secrets around here. Mister Moxon asks me to move this giant mystery box around, carting it wherever we go. I’ve loaded this thing onto more jets and hover transports than I can count.”

  “Mystery box?” Gavin asked, cocking his head. “What’s in the box?”

  “Nothing is in the goddamned box!” I shouted. I felt like my head had filled with concrete, and was so heavy it was impossible to keep upright. I let it sag, clunking onto the glass surface. “Why is everyone so fascinated with it? It’s nothing.”

  I kept my forehead pressed against the table as the shouting continued. All Hell had broken loose, and the next few minutes were a whirlwind of accusations, each louder and less coherent than the last: Peyton accused Brynja of hiding secrets, Brynja replied by shouting ‘drusla’ (my Icelandic was a little rusty so I had to look it up afterwards...it was as uncomplimentary
as I’d assumed it would be), McGarrity kept professing his innocence, and Gavin continued to plead for some measure of sanity. The finger pointing and shouting had nearly reached a crescendo – the moment where I feared this ill-advised meeting would escalate into an all-out brawl – when a loud ping silenced the room.

  It was my wrist com, signaling a new text message.

  It chimed once more, this time slicing through the gulf of silence.

  We all knew who it was before I answered.

  “A life spent hidden behind a mask is not a life worth living. It is a meaningless charade to gratify those who wield influence. No more. I will no longer be part of this system that demands my compliance and bends me to its will, stripping me of my identity and lashing me when I speak out of turn.”

  - Herald of The Order (Darknet Holoforum)

  Chapter Nine

  I clicked and commanded the text to appear on the conference room’s wall, allowing everyone a clear view of the fluorescent blue type.

  “Have you seen the news lately, my friend? Your stock seems to be plummeting.”

  “Yup,” I said aloud, triggering my words to appear in the ‘reply’ section of the text field. “That’s an understatement. And I have you to thank for it.”

  “Oh, Matthew, this is to be expected for people like you and I. Leaders of industry come under harsh scrutiny even at the best of times, do we not? It is, as they say, part of the game. We must develop a thick skin and roll with the punches.”

  I glanced at Gavin and mouthed the word ‘leader’. He replied with an exaggerated shrug.

  “Harsh scrutiny?” I said with a bit of a laugh. “LOL, you framed me for murder and terrorism.”

  Damn. Just a tiny chuckle caused the stupid auto-type to insert an even stupider acronym into the text message. Now my arch-nemesis was going to think I texted like a teenage girl.

  “Well, yes, there is that – but it is nothing that a good public relations campaign cannot repair. And besides, we should not have to adhere to the laws that govern the rest of the world.”

  “Really? So we’re above the law somehow, just because of our bank accounts?”

  “You speak as if I invented this rule. No, my friend, this is simply how the world works. This has been the way of things long before I arrived, and long after I am gone things will remain the same.”

  “That’s an interesting perspective, missus...what should I call you?”

  “Mister,” he was quick to correct me. “And let us just remain anonymous for now, if you do not mind.”

  “Suit yourself. So if we can’t change anything what’s the point of moving forward, Mystery Man?”

  “Power is one reason, of course. It must be nurtured in order to be maintained. But those with unlimited resources like ourselves tend to grow bored over time, do we not? Thankfully I have created a grand spectacle to keep us all distracted...a gift for the listless, if you will.”

  “People have to die to keep you entertained? That’s a little fucked up.”

  “This judgment comes from a man who appeared on a live simulcast, and murdered the innocent for money?”

  “I HAD NO CHOICE,” I fired back. My voice was a lot louder than I’d intended, causing my wrist-com to translate my speech into angry capital letters.

  “And neither do I, my friend. I need to create competitions for the greater good. It breeds excellence. When we single out the elite within the elite the standards are raised, leading to a stronger society. And the strong are the ones who survive.”

  “Can I compete, then?” I asked quickly. “I’d like to increase my excellence...let me fight some of your champions.”

  My words hung in the air, gathering dust as I awaited a response. It was the slowest text reply yet. He was weighing his options – or, more likely, attempting to craft an answer that would nudge me towards a specific action.

  The words, “I do not think so.” Finally appeared, followed by, “Keep safe and remain in one of your fortresses, far from harm. You would last but a moment against true giants. These competitors are gods among men.”

  “I’ve taken down a god or two in my time,” I said, drawing a glance from Brynja. “Why not give me a shot? Send me the location of the next battleground.”

  “This is not about your death, my friend. I told you that if taking your life was my goal, I would have achieved it already. You and I, we are playing a different game entirely.”

  “What kind of a game are we playing, here?”

  “It is a battle of wits. Your intellect against mine. You are no match for me physically, and if our armies were to collide you would fall within moments. So this is my act of charity. I am allowing you the chance to win this game on your own terms.”

  “I’m not sure how the hell I’m supposed to win a game that I don’t know the rules to.”

  “Find me and we shall discuss the rules in person. Until then, my friend – may the fortunes smile on you.”

  The transmission ended with a short chime and the text disappeared a moment later, leaving no evidence that we’d ever chatted. Whatever encryption he was running had wiped our conversation from existence, one again leaving me without a shred of evidence.

  “Fuck!” Brynja shouted, hammering the glass table with both fists. “How are we supposed to find this jerk-off if he doesn’t give us anything to go on?”

  Peyton’s brow creased into a concerned scowl. “Matty, are you...is that a smile? Are you actually smiling at a time like this?”

  I tilted back in my chair and clapped my hands over my face, laughing to the point of hysterics. I laughed until my cheeks ached and my stomach cramped, and Peyton burst into a fit of anger.

  “This is crazy,” she scolded me. “Do you know how many more people could die before—”

  “Peyton,” I interrupted, waving her off. “I don’t know how I could’ve been so stupid...I know who this is.”

  “You do?” Gavin asked.

  “Of course.” All it took were a few strategic questions, and he’d given it all away. “And I know exactly how we’re going to find him.”

  Chapter Ten

  When his name blistered through my synapses like a lightning strike I’d never felt so completely brilliant, and yet simultaneously like a total idiot. Sultan Darmaki. Notorious playboy billionaire from the United Arab Emirates, and one of the only people on the planet (besides Cameron Frost) to have hosted an Arena event himself. The handsome thirty-year old tycoon was practically Frost’s arch-rival; they’d competed against each other from across the globe, each jockeying for position in the same fields: entertainment, real estate, politics, and most recently, the lucrative world of promoting combat sports.

  What made Darmaki interesting was that, unlike Frost, he was a bona fide superhuman himself. And not just any superhuman: one whose powers had never been fully tested, and were alleged to be some of the most dangerous in existence. The ability to manipulate the four elements at will was a terrifying prospect, though few had seen a full display of his powers. He was paranoid about being filmed, and for the most part rejected technology altogether. There were rumors, though. From my experience, a rumor is rarely a hundred percent false.

  “How did you figure it out?” Peyton asked, dumbfounded.

  “Yeah,” McGarrity added, scratching at his hairline. “Dude gave you nothing to work with.”

  “He gave me everything,” I explained. “Referring to himself as a ‘leader’ was the first giveaway.”

  “What if he’d meant, like, a political leader?” Brynja asked.

  “I considered that, but he’d also made reference to stocks and ‘breeding excellence’. It was pointing to a businessman more than a politician. Plus he’s crazy...though I suppose you can’t be at the top of either of those fields without being a sociopath.”

  Peyton tugged at a loop of her cotton-candy pink hair, narrowing her eyes. “You knew it was a ‘him’?” she asked curiously. “How can you be so sure, even now?” She’d
always been neutral on whether I was being set up by a man or a woman – I suspected because she was hoping the blame would be laid on Brynja. But even now she wasn’t completely convinced.

  “That part was easy once I figured out how to press him,” I said with a short laugh. “I purposely said ‘missus’ because if it was a woman, she wouldn’t have corrected me...but if a man who thinks of himself as a Master of the Universe is mistaken for a woman, you can bet your ass he’s going to set you straight.”

  The rest of the pieces fell into place: a businessman with a possible gripe against Cameron Frost (or his business) who is fascinated enough with superhumans – and with no-holds-barred competitions – to risk everything by arranging an unsanctioned Arena Mode tournament. And someone who was callous enough to flatten populated areas in the process. I was rapidly eliminating possible suspects, and was left with a single, solid possibility.

  “So this is a two-for-one deal,” Gavin said. “He gets to run his crazy death match, and at the same time, frame the richest person in the world. With you out of the way he’s the man.”

  I rose from my chair and began to pace the length of the conference room. “Yeah, that all makes sense...except for one thing.”

  “Fee didn’t fill yoo,” Karin mumbled after cramming her mouth full of what looked like the remaining half of her hamburger.

  Everyone stared at her as she chewed, either with disgust or fascination, I couldn’t be sure.

  She swallowed. “Sorry, that was supposed to be ‘he didn’t kill you’.”

  “Right,” I nodded, still burning a hole in the pristine vanilla carpet as I retraced my steps. “If this was just about being the ‘best of the best’, I’d already be dead – that much he wasn’t lying about. He wants something else...”

  “Could just be a Cameron Frost type of deal—?” McGarrity guessed. “You know, some rich old dude wanting to prove he’s better than some other rich old dude. It’s like when my grandfather plays chess with his friends at the park.”