Master of the Game

Chapter 1

          “The public execution of Thomas Proudfoot was, and still is, the highest rated broadcast in history.”
         A soft, androgynous and mechanical voice floated through the virtual meeting room, addressing the twelve featureless avatars seated at the table. For this meeting, there were no name tags hovering gingerly above the avatar’s heads, no simulated faces to identify the virtual participants and no log was being kept of the conversation. For the group of people in attendance, anonymity meant survival.
          “We all know this agent Lancelot; it was thoroughly reviewed six month ago when it was actually a current issue.”
         Even through the voice mask, agent Lancelot could hear the sarcasm in agent Galahad’s voice.
          “Patience Galahad, there is a reason that Lancelot speaks of this.”
         The third voice, for all the voice masks were slightly different, was that of the Director, who the others knew of only as Arthur.
          “Please continue Lancelot.”
         The lighting in the virtual room brightened as a pale yellow holographic cube stuttered into view above the center of the table, its glow reflecting sickly off the faceless attendees.
         A pleasant chime rang softly through the room and the conference mediator’s overly friendly voice announced the arrival of a new participant.
          “Agent Gawain has joined the conference,” it announced smoothly. “Vocal pattern and iris scan register 99.7 percent accurate. Identity confirmed.”
          “My apologies for being late Arthur.” The voice mask sounded deeper than the others and filled the room as a thirteenth avatar blinked into existence around the table. “Getting arrested isn’t as easy as I thought it would be.”
          “I trust however that your cover was maintained and that your insertion will be complete by the appointed time?” Arthur’s voice remained calm and emotionless.
          “Yes, it was. I will be in place a few days early, in fact, and everyone considers me just another face in the system.” Gawain announced, obviously pleased.
          “Excellent. Lancelot, please go on.”
          “Even though this case was not the first to use the Patriot Beacon Act for evidence, it is the most famous and studied of the six”, Lancelot continued, as if there had never been an interruption.
         Silently the shimmering cube faded to black and then an image formed of a man strapped to a chair centered in a bleak white, featureless room. He was dressed in plain blue prison garb and wore no shoes. The only features visible behind the full-face grey polycarb mask were his brown eyes, vacant and wild. A man’s voice, unaltered and clearly emanating from the holocube, filled the meeting room as the image came to life.
          “Thomas Proudfoot, you have been accused of seven counts of premeditated murder and two acts of high treason against the United States of America. Despite your continued insistence of innocence, this court, with the aid of the archives of the Patriot Beacon, has found you guilty of all counts. The sentence is death by lethal injection which is to be carried out immediately.”
         During the speech, the camera slowly zoomed in on Proudfoot’s face, focusing on his eyes. As the verdict was handed down, the eyes died, sinking slowly and loosing focus. There were no tears. Someone moved between the camera and Proudfoot, forcing the image to zoom out and re-center as four men, dressed in dark black prison security uniforms surrounded the chair. There was no struggle from the bound man as all of his straps were readjusted.
         A fifth man appeared, cloaked in a white medical smock and brandishing a large hypodermic. He was swift in the administering of the drug, and Proudfoot showed no reaction to the injection. All the men stood back and waited; they knew what was coming. Without warning, a shriek filled the prison room and Proudfoot went rigid, as if trying to stand in the chair. Although no audible crack accompanied the dislocation of one of his knees - the perpetual scream drowning out all other sound - everyone in the virtual meeting room flinched with the perception of it as the force of his muscles strained against his bindings. The holographic onlookers showed no reaction, for this was normal behavior after the injection and should be over shortly. However, as the guards began to approach the chair, for the removal of the body, something obviously unexpected happened. Proudfoot began to seize violently. His unending scream slowly gurgled away as his throat grew raw, leaving the sickening sound of his body flailing against the chair with enough force to shatter bones as the only sound in the room. The straps designed to hold him immobile dug under his skin as the convulsions jerked his limbs taught, spraying blood over the floor and guards. In the background people could be heard vomiting. The image faded suddenly to black again as the video feed stopped and then the yellow glow of the empty cube filled the room once more.
          “Was that necessary?” demanded agent Tristan, the voice filled with disgust.
          “Unfortunately it was, for there is important information contained in this video feed; however there is something else that I must show you first.” Agent Lancelot was unphased by the horrid display of the execution, having seen it more than a hundred times. “All I ask is a little more patience and all will be made clear.”
         The cube turned dark once more and then suddenly two dots – one red and one white - appeared in the blackness, like stars.
          “What you are looking at now is the archive of the Patriot Beacon monitor that was submitted to the trial as evidence against Proudfoot on his rampage. You’ll notice the dim green spots of the people in the area who have been filtered out.”
         The two bright dots slowly migrated closer together until they were side by side. They jumped apart again suddenly, to different locations on the screen and began to converge again.
          “This is the second murder,” Lancelot narrated softly.
         Five more times the glowing, hovering marks reset and performed a new dance. When the seventh set had been shown, a new image appeared, this time the green spots were as illuminated as the white and red and they were all outlined by a series of thin grey lines that looked like some kind of blueprint.
“          What now,” Galahad sighed, just loud enough to be heard.
          “Now,” Lancelot continued, “we see the unaltered feed, direct from the archives of DHS. As most of you know, the feeds that are obtained from DHS for public viewing are always reduced in resolution and detail before going out, in the interests of public security. In order to fully clarify my point, I have overlaid the GeoScan blueprints of the areas to show buildings and objects.
          “You’ll notice that the two signatures of importance follow the same trajectory as before, right up until here.”
         The image froze in space, with the red and white dots hovering an inch apart.
          “Now watch carefully as I continue the feed still-frame.”
         The hologram jerked slowly as the glowing outline shot forward an instant in time. The red dot, representing the victim, lurched away from the white, yet the white remained motionless. The frames sputtered on until the two lights were more than three inches apart and then the movement stopped. At all times, at least one of the grey blueprint outlines separated the two dots. Never once had the white signature been in the same room as the red.
          “So, there is a problem with this tracking log,” spouted Galahad. “So what?”
         A change to the image in the hologram was the only response offered. The second murder shown in the same detail and ending with the same result. All seven repeated to a silent audience, and in every case, at least one wall separated the victim and the killer.
          “Forensic reports have all been consulted and confirmed. The bodies were all found in the room that matches the tracking feed. The same reports also indicate that the cause of death in each case was strangulation, and some bodies showed signs of massive blunt trauma.”
         Silence enshrouded the room for some time as all present digested the information they had just seen.
          “So…so what does this mean?” Galahad questioned quietly, all signs of conceit gone from the voice mask.
          “This means,” Lancelot responded slowly to let the weight of the words have full effect, “that Thomas Proudfoot did not kill those people.”
          “How did DHS archiving miss out on this?” demanded a new voice.
“They didn’t,” Arthur’s voice was filled with venom. “Someone saw this and either chose to ignore it, or was paid to ignore it.”
          “So we executed an innocent man?” Tristan sounded weak.
          “No, we didn’t.”
         Lancelot knew this would cause confusion and so let the cacophony of questions die down and then brought the hologram back to life, an image of Proudfoot’s execution pulling in everyone’s attention.
          “This image is an enhanced copy of the actual feed. The resolution has been increased and we have zoomed in. Notice Proudfoot’s midsection. During his spasms, his shirt came loose and exposed his stomach.”
         Lancelot zoomed in on the exposed flesh and a gasp echoed in the meeting room.
         Galahad was the only one to speak, only managing a whisper filled with fear and disbelief.
          “We executed a clone.”

* * * * *

Chapter 2

         “Good morning Mrs. Hainee, feeling better today?”
         The guard pushing the wheelchair in which Mrs. Hainee was seated nodded to the attending nurse and turned away.
          “Actually, nurse Levy, I am. It’s amazing what a few hours of sleep can do. And please, call me Maggie. I’m not even thirty yet, that’s way too young to be a Mrs.”
         The nurse chuckled softly, making her shoulder-length spiral black hair dance. “Ok, but only if you call me Nikki. If people can’t figure out that I’m a nurse by the blue scrubs and ID tag, then they have more issues than I can help them with. And how is our little bundle of joy doing? Any luck feeding him?”
         Nikki made her way around from the nurse’s desk and kneeled on the tile floor in front of the chair to gently unwrap the swaddled child in Maggie’s lap. Compared to Nikki’s dusky brown skin, the pink face with a small red splotch on the almost bald scalp seemed albino. The little eyes popped open and a huge yawn revealed a toothless grin. The two women lit up with smiles.
          “He’s been a picky fellow so far, but the feeding tips you gave me were wonderful. He’s fed twice now with only a little pain.”
         Nikki could see the exhaustion mingled with the joy in Maggie’s features.
          “He looks just like you, you know - same cute nose and long ears. Looks like he got his father’s hair though; not even a hint of curly red in that blond.” Nikki’s gaze lingered on the tattoo of double yellow lines dominating most of Maggie’s forehead.
         Maggie sighed and sorrow clouded her eyes. “Yes he did. No surprise that he got my brown eyes though. I was hoping that they would be more like yours, you have such lovely green eyes.”
         Nikki smiled slyly and leaned in to Maggie to whisper in conspiratorial tones.
          “They’re actually brown too. I wear colored contacts, shh.” Nikki placed her finger to her mouth and playfully winked at the seated woman.
         The bright smile returned briefly only to fade to concern across the new mother’s face.
          “What’s wrong,” questioned Nikki, sharing the look with her patient.
          “It isn’t going to hurt him, is it?” A quiver of fear crept through in her voice.
         Nikki turned very serious. “Not any more than two little needle pricks. They’ve really come a long way from the time that you and I were tagged. You know, by law, I have to explain what they will be doing to little Marcus here, but if you like I can explain each step so that you know exactly what is happening.”
         Maggie forced a smile and nodded slightly. “That might help.”
         Nikki stood once more and retrieved a clipboard and pen from her desk.
          “Once I explain the process, you just need to sign this, acknowledging that I explained it to you, ok?”
         Flipping open a much worn notebook to a page marked with a yellow tab, Nikki kept her voice soft and comforting as she read, trying to reassure Maggie that everything was going to be ok.
          “Ok, so here’s the official shpeal: The United Stated of America requires all citizens, immigrants, temporary residents and/or other visitor who will be within it’s borders for more than a two week period to undergo a permanent modification to their gene structure that will allow the Department of Homeland Security to monitor their activities at all times. Visitors who will be staying for any period of two weeks or less must submit to a temporary injection that will allow for the same monitoring. The tampering, disabling, counterfeiting or any other alteration of this genetic tagging is an act of treason and punishable by death. Furthermore, the information gathered by the DHS can be used in criminal trials including, but not limited to, acts of terrorism, murder, robbery and domestic dispute. This information will not be accessed by any person outside of DHS and cannot be used in a civil court or for any other reason not specifically outlined in The Patriot Beacon Act of 2008. If you have any questions regarding this act, including questions about privacy, please contact your local branch of the DHS.”
         Nikki sighed. She had read the statement so often that she really didn’t need the notebook anymore, but she was required by law to read it directly from the page.
          “So, now I can tell you how Marcus will have this done to him. When you were tagged, you were probably only 5 or 6 right?”
         Maggie nodded her head, the memory of the procedure clearly showing on her face.
          “Well, they’ve really made it easier now. Instead of injecting you with 7 vials of chemicals and then having you sit under umpteen different types of radiation, they now draw a sample of the patient’s blood out and use it to tailor the serum. The irradiation happens outside the body in the newly formed serum and it is then injected back into the body. It’s actually less painful than getting the AIDS vaccine. In fact, the amount of serum is less than a teaspoon. It takes about 5 minutes to do and you can stay with him the whole time.”
         Maggie relaxed visibly, although she still seemed a little nervous. “Um,” she began hesitantly, “what about the serum having side effects?”
         Nikki smiled again and placed her hand on Maggie’s shoulder. “There haven’t been any reported side effects for over 18 years. All that stuff you hear on the news just isn’t true. There have been cases where the injection has triggered an underlying genetic condition to surface, but it was not caused by the injection. Really it helps because most of the time it is a lot easier to treat those conditions earlier in life rather then later when they would normally surface.”
         Nikki motioned to the yellow tattoo on Maggie’s forehead and grew very serious.
          “How long have you been clean?”
         Maggie unconsciously ran her hand across the twin lines on her forehead.
          “Eight months. I turned myself in. I didn’t want anything to happen to my baby.”
          “What were you taking? Mostly?”
         Maggie drew a deep breath, the memories of her addiction obviously very painful.
          “Fly mostly, with a little crack and some occasional meth.”
          “Well, you did the right thing by turning yourself in, and it sounds like you did it early enough that little Marcus here should have nothing to worry about. The State demands a full genetic profile for babies born in prison, and Marcus’ came back clean. He’s a perfectly healthy little boy and that’s how he’s going to stay, as long as you both stay clean.”
         Maggie nodded, tears flowing down her checks unchecked.
          “They said if I can prove to them that I’m a capable mother, I can be released soon. I don’t want my child to grow up as a ward.”
         Nikki smiled reassuringly at her patient.
          “I can already tell that you are going to be the best mom ever. When your review comes up, if they need a character witness, give them my name, ok?”
         Maggie’s face lightened up immediately at the offer.
          “Really? Oh that you Nikki, that would be great!”
         The nurse returned the smile and gave he patient a quick hug.
          “I can give them a call and let them know you’re ready, if you want?”
         Maggie nodded her head and took a deep breath. “No better time that the present I guess.”
         Nikki nodded and returned behind the desk to call in the order.
“So what did you do to deserve the prison watch, anyway?” Maggie questioned Nikki while they waited. “You seem much nicer than the last nurse we had in here.”
         Nikki laughed uncomfortably and then lifted her long, curly bangs off of her forehead. There was a single red line tattooed there.
          “I beat up a doctor who wouldn’t take no for an answer.”
         Despite herself, Maggie giggled.
          “Sorry,” she corrected herself almost right away. “That’s not funny.”
         Nikki smiled slyly as another guard appeared out of a door just to the left of the nurse’s station.
          “Yes it is,” Nikki teased. “Maggie, this is Rick. He’ll be taking you in to have the tagging done.”
          “You’re not coming?” Maggie seemed on the verge of panic.
          “No, honey, I can’t. I have to stay here. Rick is really nice and he’ll take good care of you, I promise.”
         Nikki waved as Rick placed his palm on the wall next to the door, opening it outward. The chair disappeared and Nikki made a mental note to check on Maggie in about ten minutes to see how she was doing, but before she had a chance to do anything else, a quiet beeping startled her.
         On the desk in front of her, a tiny red light was blinking indicating that a new arrival was destined shortly. Nikki sighed. She hated processing the new arrivals, and she had only been doing it for three days.
          “Ahem”
         The voice startled Nikki as she was engrossed in organizing the paperwork for the new arrival. She quickly glanced around, and noticed a man standing at the side of the desk. There was no guard with him.
          “Can I help you?” Nikki demanded, regaining her composure quickly.
          “You’re new here, aren’t ya?” The man leered at Nikki through his thick, unwashed black hair. His face was covered with black tattoos, almost masking his deep brown eyes out. They failed entirely, however, to conceal the three bright red stripes across his forehead. He had cut off the sleeves of his prison jumpsuit to reveal bulky arms and seemed to take pride in his very unkempt appearance.
         When Nikki gave no reply other than glaring at him scornfully, the man continued, unperturbed by the silence.
          “Well, I ain’t seen ya around here, so ya must be new. Anyways, I got this inflammation problem down here that I need someone to take a look at.” A huge grin revealed white, even teeth as he reached down to grab his crotch.
         Nikki smiled a cynical smile. “I can have a doctor look at it in about 10 minutes if you want to wait.”
          “I don’t know if I can wait that – hey!” the man’s pitiful attempt at charm was interrupted by a wheelchair crashing into his leg, bowling him over onto the floor.
         He stood again; his face flushed red, and towered over the man seated in the wheelchair, who seemed quite relaxed with a contented smile on his face.
          “Still got that inflammation problem huh, Otto? I thought you got that cleared up with a shot last time?”
         Otto’s teeth remained clenched as he spoke, his knuckles white from the strain of not lashing out. “Raven you stupid fuck! I oughtta kick your ass! You ever get out of that chair man, you’re a dead fuck, you hear me?”
          “I hear you,” Raven retorted to Otto’s back as he stormed away, “but I won’t hold my breath.”
          “You’ll have to forgive my friend,” Raven turned his attention to Nikki, “but he’s forgotten what it’s like to be a human.”
         Nikki couldn’t help but smile. The peaceful look on Raven’s face put her right at ease. His deep grey eyes seemed to pierce through her and his slightly crooked smile was disarming. His short, dirty-blond hair, cut military style, seemed to accent the strong curves of his features. Nikki snapped back to reality when she realized that Raven had four red stripes on his forehead. Inadvertently she took a step back, but then came forward again as she noticed another tattoo right above the bridge of his nose. She had never seen anything like it before, but knew that it was a sanctioned tattoo as only official markings were allowed above the eyebrows.
         Raven just snickered. He had expected a worse reaction than that.
          “It’s a Gamer ID. I play in the Tournaments.”
         Nikki’s eyes darted down to the wheelchair and saw that both of Raven’s legs had been cut off just above the knee.
          “But how…” Nikki started and then stopped, taking a deep breath and forcing herself to calm down. “Did you need help with something, Mr….?”
          “Raven. Michel Raven. And actually I do nurse. However, unlike your last customer, I’m legit. I’m here for my shot.”
          “Shot?” Nikki repeated, confused. She had assumed that there was a problem with his legs.
          “Ya, my insulin shot. It’s on the chart there I’m sure. I come down here every day at this time.”
          “Insulin?” Nikki seemed even more confused. “They found a cure for diabetes four years ago. Why do you need insulin?” Her features began to cloud over with suspicion.
          “I guess they don’t think a quad red deserves a cure. Same reason they never gave me new legs I guess. One doctor told me they tried prosthetics once, but that I beat a guard to death with one of them. Wish I could remember that…..
          “Anyway, can I have my shot please? I’m getting hungry.”
          “Yes of course,” Nikki stuttered. “I’ll go get it, please wait here.” Nikki made her way through the Staff Only door back into the room where the medication was dispensed. It was a small room that required a hand scan for access. There was a terminal and a dispensing drawer and little else. Nikki sat at the terminal, entered in Raven’s name and number off of the daily distribution chart and the smooth drawer slid open, revealing a metal device that resembled an oversized iron glove. Through a clear panel on the ‘knuckles’, Nikki could see the small vial with the pre-measured insulin.
         Even though it made no sense to her, Nikki retrieved the secure injector and returned to the desk, just in time to witness the arrival of two new prisoners, escorted by a stocky female guard.
          “Hey Mistress Kelly, how’s things?” Raven spoke before Nikki had a chance to say anything.
          “Not bad bird man, how about you? Keeping out of trouble?”
          “Ya, been training for that marathon, you know. I think I have a shot at it this year.”
         Nikki interrupted the pair by dumping the injector on the counter with a loud clang.
         Raven snatched it and stuffed his left hand into the opening. There was a slight hum as the device scanned Raven’s signature and then a whisper of air to inject the insulin. Raven removed the device and tossed it back on the counter, a slight red welt on his hand from the shot.
         Nikki tried very hard to ignore the fact that Raven hadn’t left after the shot as she dealt with the guard.
          “I thought there was only going to be one admission?” Nikki felt like things were getting away from her fast.
          “Ya, well, this one was picked up just today they said.” Kelly motioned to a thin girl with matted auburn hair that hung down past her shoulders.
         Both of the new prisoners were already dressed in their blue uniforms, although neither of them had been branded yet. That would be the first step of the admission.
         Nikki looked over the paperwork and then glanced at the two prisoners. The small girl, Toby Saito according to the paperwork, seemed very mousy and Nikki hoped she would survive more than a week in prison. Corporate fraud was not exactly the type of crime that made someone ready for prison. The other one, listed only as Meng, she had no fear for. He stood about seven feet tall and it was obvious from his demeanor and exaggerated build that he had been chemically enhanced. He was in for multiple rape and assault charges.
         Out of the corner of her eye, Nikki noticed that Raven was staring at Toby.
          “Did you need something else, Mr. Raven?” She demanded.
         Toby’s eyes grew wide and she snapped a quick look in Raven’s direction but then focused fixedly forward again, as if afraid of drawing attention to herself.
         Raven’s eyes narrowed slightly. “No, I’m all set, thanks.”
         The wheelchair spun around expertly and Raven disappeared down the hall.
         Nikki sighed in relief. There was something about Raven that worried her.
         Turning her attention back to the prisoners, Nikki began to explain their first day to them.

* * * * *

Author's note:
This story is my Holy Grail, My Dark Tower. It has been over 15 years in the writting and has changed as much as I have in that time. I hope you enjoy it, and I promise it wont take 15 more years to complete.

So be patience my children. The spider weaves a slow, but deadly web.

Special thanks to wickedorin and her story "Invalid Item"  for reminding me what being a writer is all about.

Though we may be forgotten, we will always haunt your memories.