Play of Shadows

4.03: Descent

A man sat in the arch of a bridge woven from the night sky. His silhouette was strong and tall, the span of his shoulders slightly bowed, as if under some invisible weight. There was nothing above him. Below his feet, a world tumbled into destruction like a rudderless ship crashing toward a desolate shore.

"Too much thinking leads nowhere good," a voice tutted.

The shadows that enveloped the bridge shifted. A figure emerged as if stepping through a veil, darkness slipping over its features to reveal a handsome face wreathed in a teasing grin. He came to stand behind the seated man, hands in the pockets of his fatigues.

The man on the bridge didn't react. His eyes followed a small dot darting over a grid of glowing lines, mouth flat.

"Is everything ready?" K asked.

"All set, boss," his companion said. He peered over K's shoulder. "What the hell is that thing?"

"Stand back," K warned. "We are in an out-of-map area. Should you fall from here –"

"I'll turn into Humpty Dumpty and neither you nor all the Queen's men will be able to put me back together," the man said. He didn't sound too worried. Indeed, he leaned further over the bridge's edge, focused on the furry creature dashing through the VELES networks as naturally as a bird flitting through the sky. "What's that thing? A mole?"

"A badger," K said.

The avatar built in the likeliness of a dead man rolled his eyes. "You don't say. Not one of yours though, is it? It's got no signature. The old fox sneaked it in?"

K's sullen silence spoke volumes.

Grant laughed, clasping the man's shoulder in a show of support. "Chin up, boss. You got outsmarted – it happens. The occasional beat-down's good for the ego, or so I've heard."

K shook off the offending hand. "Relay the extraction coordinates to the Seamstress. Players should be prepared to move within a system hour."

Grant listened soberly. "The threat level at headquarters remains too high. Evacuation will be difficult," he reminded.

"The remaining personnel will offer assistance," K said.

"And if they can't handle Barton?" Grant pressed.

"Then I will step in."

Grant's jaw clenched. He did not speak, although he clearly wished to do so. K shook his head, sensing the rebuke in the other man's silence.

"I created this world. It is only fair that I am the one to destroy it," he said.

"And yourself right along with it!" Grant snapped.

K's lips turned up at the corners. "It was always going to end this way. Now, or a few years down the line, what difference does it make?"

Grant looked stricken, then angry. K did not allow the man a chance to speak. The notion of accepting comfort from a being programmed by his own hands felt far too self-indulgent. It was a short step from there to the delusion of grandiosity that had so thoroughly captured Barton and her acolytes within VELES.

"I do not expect that it will come to that. Miss Sufort seems to have the situation in hand. The other players are also not sitting on their hands. They make for an impressive team – pity, that we did not meet earlier."

As a game-maker, K had a unique perception of players. He appreciated talent and perseverance, but valued inquisitiveness most of all. The worlds he created begged a player to explore and discover their treasures.

Once upon a time, before VELES ever made its public debut behind the façade of an avant-garde game company, Kellan had imagined building a game for the Empress. Watching Ann Sufort explore the crumbling empire of his work was bittersweet.