Deadline

by Domino Finn

Hadrian snickered. "Not doing so well on the home front?" he taunted.

  "A launch site was hit," admitted the saint.

  "Hit?" I said. "What do you mean hit?"

  "We're taking precautions."

  I narrowed my eyes at Hadrian. "And you already knew about that, didn't you?"

  As talkative as the prisoner was with Lucifer, he refused to look at or engage with me. I wasn't sure if it signified lack of respect or resentment for capturing him.

  "He knew it," asserted Lucifer. "This was a strike at their end goal, the full acquisition of Haven." Lucifer rapped his witchwood staff on the floor. "Are the satellites compromised?"

  "Not all of them," answered Peter.

  The prisoner ground his teeth as Lucifer considered him. "Capitalism, my dear Whisperer, is a fine driver of economy. As an arbiter of people, the system begins to crumble. When you make the almighty a dollar sign, how then do you gauge individual worth? What happens when that measure comes up woefully short?"

  "Parables," he spat.

  "On the contrary, this is the very predicament you find yourself in today. What value, do you suppose, your masters assign to you now, captured and in chains?"

  Hadrian pulled his wrists against the bonds. "They need me."

  The devil's light laugh filled the chamber. "You're a write-off, dear Hadrian. Worse than that, a liability. You are worth more to them dead than alive."

  He grimaced. "Only if I talk."

  A smile splayed across Lucifer's face. "Ah, talk. Stories. Parables suddenly merit a dollar value. This, then, creates worth—in you, for us. It's the only thing you have left to sell. Tell us who you work for."

  "I don't work for anybody."

  "A pawn, then?"

  "Never!" he snapped. "I'm in control. I did this."

  Lucifer sucked his lips. "Lies so coarse do not become one of your caliber. I've examined your file. In life, you were a man of unremarkable means. No wealth to speak of. No empire to preserve. No knowledge of tech. You were a middle-aged man, twice divorced, paying alimony to a wife and children who abandoned you, all on the salary of a Detroit city planner."

  Hadrian's face flushed. "That was someone else!" He started to say more but caught himself, partially regaining his composure.

  At first I thought he meant Lucifer was incorrect, that the identity he spoke of was a mistake. But the resentful venom in his face and voice made me realize the true meaning of his denial: Hadrian wasn't that person anymore.

  A lifetime of hard work that had left him alone, without a wife, paying for kids who didn't want anything to do with him. The only thing he had was a career in the government. Urban planning was a noble cause, with a degree of control and posterity, but one likely burdened by rolls of red tape and the stunted cooperation of endemic bureaucracy.

  Hadrian the Whisperer had a new identity now, one which empowered him to move armies at his whims, one in which decisiveness and determination were strengths. He'd started by infiltrating a small pirate town, helping Papa Brugo consolidate the power of numerous criminal gangs into one empire. Only that wasn't enough.

  "We know you were contacted," said Lucifer. "An entity on the outside used Saint Loras to scour Haven for sympathetic actors. They found a man of power, a man who was still unsatisfied, a man, perhaps, swayed more by greed than morality. Their perfect little capitalist."

  Hadrian wore a sneer as Lucifer recited his history. Further denials were unnecessary. The cards were on the table.

  "There's no need to be loyal to them," persuaded Lucifer. "They can't help you. They wouldn't even if they could. Like them, you've likely calculated a value proposition. Which course of action benefits you most? And for once in your digital life, you'd do well to serve yourself. Believe me."

  The prisoner licked his teeth like he was scraping a sour taste from his tongue. He was a master of scheming, no doubt, and had to see the poor position he was in. This confrontation was the result of a sordid epic started by him, at least in terms of the digital front. Lucifer's entire existence was the response, the devil rising up to stop the man who would become God. This was more Lucifer's cause than my own, so I waited silently as the devil stated his case.

  "A savior is coming," he said, soft but resonant. "A White King who will change everything. You cannot stand in his path."

  Hadrian spat. "Oh, I agree about your savior, but it won't be who you think." He grew increasingly confident as he spoke. "I'll give you your due. You've been a worthy adversary. Taking you down will only make a legend of me. I'll make a new bible."

  Lucifer's mouth crooked. "Your attempt to assert control on every facet of life has already undone you."

  "Please. I'm like you, but better."

  "I merely reacted to your threat."

  "You use information to manipulate," barked Hadrian. "I use subterfuge. Same difference."

  "You used handouts from an outside entity."

  "That's not true."

  "The only reason you have any power," asserted Lucifer, "is because Saint Loras infiltrated Kablammy Games. The warren has been swept; the mole has been caught."

  Hadrian's face reddened and he chortled. "And who said he was the only one?"

  Tad was embarrassed that the simple walk from Christian's office to his desk had left him out of breath. Rather than risk another painful transition, he opted to remain standing and pushed the chair aside. Propping the crutch before him, he leaned his chest into it and pressed the switch built into the desk. A motor raised the tabletop to a more comfortable standing height and Tad manned the keyboard. A few clicks confirmed he still had a stable Everchat connection. The internal hard line to Haven was intact.

  Small victories.

  Tad had come to the conclusion that he would ping Pete as well. Why not? If any of the saints were on their side, it was Pete. But seeing as how Tad and Talon were very recently the same person, it was only natural to trust his doppelganger more. He opened Talon's profile and sent him the first hail.

  It was wild, imagining living in a game environment. No crutch, no bum leg, just cavorting with fighters and thieves and goblins. Tad wondered if he would one day find himself in the afterlife too. It seemed like anything was possible there.

  Speaking of his disability, Tad was already reconsidering his decision to stand. Everchat connections required residents to be in secure safe zones. With their communication kept to a minimum, Talon would likely view the hail as a priority, but there was no telling what the player was currently up to. This could take a while.

  The programmer frowned as he waited, eyes wandering across the screen and landing on the broken email icon in the system tray. Kablammy's email server was down too. Tad opened the window to investigate and was surprised to see new messages. His excitement faded when he realized the emails were two hours old, unimportant and unrelated. Whatever calamity had struck the office, it occurred at a hell of a time. He minimized the window.

  Tad dropped his head and closed his eyes to wait out the hail. He chewed his lip impatiently, clearing his mind, going zen. A name popped into his thoughts. Emilio. But it wasn't just a name—it was an afterimage of his inbox.

  Tad went back to his email window and saw the unread message from the IT director.

  From: Emilio

  To: Tad

  Yo, since we're out the rest of the day, Steve and I are hitting 8oz Burger in Capitol Hill for beer and grub. Come out if HR gives you the day off too.

  Tad stared at the screen for a stunned moment before rereading the message. There was no other way to take it: Abbie had given Emilio the day off. Two hours ago.

  He blinked. She used to work for social media companies. Christian had said that, right? She was a hot commodity, and they'd been looking in the wrong places.

  The blanks filled in faster than he could keep up with. The satellite message with corrupted sender info. The builds of the game accessible during remote sessions with contractors. Nobody else had more information about Haven and Kablamm
y than the who's who of the tech industry.

  It was so obvious too. Of all organizations, they had a financial stake in data.

  Tad straightened. Last he saw Christian, he was looking into employee work histories. Personal knowledge was one thing, but cold hard data in a list format would really emphasize the connection. Even the CEO would be ready for that suspicion, right in front of him as he was looking for it.

  And Abbie was hovering over his shoulder, likely attempting to throw him off the scent. How far was she willing to go to prevent being discovered?

  Tad made an about face and hurried to the office, one hop at a time.

  1680 Deadlocked

  "It's time to consider your fate," stressed Lucifer. "After all the harm you've done, you can still do some good."

  Hadrian scoffed. "You're bargaining now? I thought you were better than that."

  "Does your existence not merit negotiation?"

  "Are you gonna let me go?"

  "No," I said firmly. Whatever leeway Hadrian was gonna get, he wouldn't be set free as if nothing had happened.

  "Sounds like I don't have much reason to help," he growled.

  Lucifer rested both hands atop his black staff, in the spot of his missing soulstone. "Are those your last words?"

  "Empty threats. You can't delete me."

  The devil cocked his head. "Dear Hadrian, my threats are anything but empty."

  Lucifer rapped his staff on the floor twice. In response, a dark angel flickered into the cell beside us. The being was clothed in black rags, right arm severed below the shoulder. Pitch black eyes focused on the prisoner.

  I couldn't believe it. After the Golden Seven had practically destroyed themselves, Otho had gone missing. I'd known he was still alive since his was the only intact column outside the Pantheon. It was sundered in two, split and teetering, but somehow still standing. Lucifer had left Stronghold these past few days to recover his rogue agent. Color me surprised that he was successful.

  Decimus tensed. "Lucifer, you are in violation of the terms of service. You—"

  "Oh, cut that out already," snapped Saint Peter, arresting the angel with a wave of his arm. Decimus returned his harsh stare to Hadrian.

  "What is this?" demanded the Whisperer. "All the Fallen were defeated."

  "Not all," said Lucifer ominously.

  Hadrian focused on the newcomer, perhaps working out if he were real. I thought he might be doing something else, too, but he wasn't obviously interacting with menus. "An intricate layer cake of routines on that one. A complex stitch even I can't unravel. Yet."

  "Don't overestimate your abilities," chided Lucifer. "Even if you could eventually breach the security, you lack the time it would take."

  A black scythe appeared in Otho's left hand.

  Hadrian twitched. "No... You can't."

  "Can't what? Bargain? Show leniency?"

  The Whisperer stared into Otho's unblindfolded black eyes. "You can't delete me. That's a rogue angel. He's not authorized—" His head swiveled to the other angel. "Decimus won't allow it."

  Peter took a measuring breath. "I think I've established my ability to hold him off." Decimus remained motionless and blindfolded, punctuating Peter's statement.

  "And you?" leveled the prisoner to the saint. "You'd allow this? A developer circumventing the rules of his own game?"

  "A weak argument," Peter chuckled, "coming from you."

  "What do you know?" The prisoner's eyes appealed to me next, the last one left. I tried not to be too smug about it.

  "You know what you need to do, Hadrian. Suck up your pride and help us get Haven out of this mess. It's that or oblivion."

  Otho's scythe glimmered with ghostly light.

  "Okay," he stammered. "I was a pawn, like he said."

  "Tell us what happened," prodded Lucifer.

  "They used me! You can't delete me for that!"

  "Who was it?" pressed Peter. "I need a name."

  I was so intent on the conversation that a menu ping caused me to visibly jump. It was an Everchat hail from Tad Lonnerman. He wanted to speak to me. I checked the long hall behind me, gritted my teeth, and faced Hadrian as he began to speak.

  "I was contacted by Loras," he admitted. "He kicked off that cyclops quest. He let the kraken loose and gave me the Squid's Tooth."

  Lucifer leaned on his staff and nodded along.

  "He set up Stronghold and Shorehome as battlegrounds to cause strife in the game. To delay the launch."

  "We know this," said Peter impatiently. "Who was Larry working for?"

  Hadrian's brow scrunched. "You mean Loras? I don't know names on the outside. I was already a player when they contacted me. In the beginning, I just wanted to score some extra loot, you know?"

  Peter opened his mouth to speed things up but Lucifer threw up a hand. When someone tight-lipped finally started talking, it was better to let them go. Biting their head off wouldn't get answers quicker. Which wasn't to say I didn't share Peter's impatience. I shifted my weight to my other leg and checked my Everchat menu.

  "Can you really blame me?" appealed the Whisperer. "I was a player in a mostly NPC town, tasked with special quests by a prominent member of the community team. Hell, in Shorehome, Loras was the community team. All I did was act on the game presented to me."

  I bit down. Hadrian was playing the fool, pretending Haven was just another MMO, that cheating was victimless. I recalled one of the first profound things Lucifer had said to me: Haven was no game. Hadrian had to know that.

  "Loras was switching his sights to Oakengard," he continued. "And by that point, I was content to back down. Yes! I told him I was done." Hadrian's eyes lit up. "But he said Kablammy was moving to new ownership. That if I wanted to stick around, I had to do whatever it took. They made me attack Stronghold. They made me do it."

  I took a step toward the door, already sick of this. I was sure Hadrian was lying to protect himself. Far as I could tell, the timetable didn't jive. Sure, Larry controlled Loras in the beginning. Boosting crusader stats and resources, he'd likely had plans for the mountain fortress, but he'd been long gone by the time the Brothers in Black snuck the kraken into Stronghold. Outside forces hadn't prompted that attack.

  Lucifer waited as Hadrian told his story, opting not to pick it apart or challenge the lies. When he saw the Whisperer finally out of breath, his case finished, he softly asked, "Who?"

  "InLink," said Hadrian. "I don't know the executives in the company, but I know it's them." The prisoner smacked dry lips and tried to swallow. "They'll delete me if they know I revealed them. Like you said. I'm not worth a thing."

  I grunted and stormed from the room. "I need to take an important call." My boots stomped loudly through the hallway, past the prying eyes of Bravo Team. I didn't like the idea of giving Hadrian a break, especially if he was gonna play the victim and feed us bullshit. At the same time, Saint Peter seemed pretty desperate for answers, and we were finally getting them.

  The news of sabotage had especially unsettled me. I felt profoundly useless realizing actions were being taken in real life that I had no hope of countering. Everything I saw and experienced in Haven was subject to the whims of the outside world. More than anything, I needed a handle on that.

  Bravo Team stood by the cell. I passed a waiting Defender and frowned at the other guarding the stairway. In a perfect world I would've returned to the privacy of Dragonperch, or maybe rushed to the Pantheon rotunda. Given the dire circumstances, this was as private as it was gonna get. Taking the call here was justified, no matter what Hadrian overheard.

  I took a deep breath and opened Everchat.

  Christian Everett kneaded fingers into closed eyes, from his temples to the bridge of his nose. He'd noticed his vision blurring while poring over computer screens lately. It was a dastardly secret for a titan of tech.

  He was well aware of the ten-minute rule. Every hour, take ten minutes away from the computer to look at "normal" human things. Plants, people
, the horizon, if possible. It was a simple yet silly ask: stop everything at once and forcefully adjust to the pace of life enjoyed by our hunter-gatherer forebearers. Maybe it finally was time for evolution to do away with nearsightedness once and for all.

  The CEO opened his eyes, reinvigorated by the massage, and focused on the antique bookcase on the far wall. Stout cherrywood, filled with hardcover and softbound programming tomes. They didn't make furniture like that anymore.

  But while the woodwork was admirable, Christian couldn't focus on something else for ten minutes. His work was important. It always was, but now, especially. That Tad was a sharp fellow, a curious mix of analytical logic and common-sense pragmatism. The latter wasn't always one of Christian's strengths, and he found collaborating with Tad to be eye-opening.

  Which didn't mean the answers came easily. Hard things were hard, and the more names Christian vetted, the more difficult the task became. His eyes went back to the computer screen.

  Stephanie Hascott had briefly worked on the community team. Her and Pete were a bit of an item for a while there. Christian always suspected the turn in their relationship was the cause of her moving to greener pastures. She did indeed work at Boost Systems now.

  "Definitely suspicious," said Abbie. "We know Pete's a good guy, and he vouched for her, but personal connections can blind a person."

  Christian sat back in his chair and pondered. Perhaps she was right about the relationship. It was good he had Abbie to remind him of that human touch.

  Still, the evidence damning the focus testing company was tenuous. Having access to the Loras avatar on certain occasions didn't amount to proof. Various other companies had remoted through InLink's portal. Singling Boost Systems out was a case of confirmation bias.

  Too bad there was nothing notable in Larry's resume. As the only known bad actor, his profile could provide vital clues. He was a resident of Buena Park, a cottage industry of small tech companies, but every workplace in his job history was a small local outlet that had since gone out of business. Most startups were only promising when they were starting up.