My Idea - AI

Checkmate

I had no idea what I was doing.

That was the first thought that came to me as I sat in the dimly lit office, a cool draft sneaking in from the cracks around the window. The faint tick of a wall clock was the only sound in the room, aside from the occasional scrape of the chair as I shifted uncomfortably. It wasn't the first time I'd been in a situation like this, but it was the first time I was the one *asking* for the chaos.

I'd gone a little off the rails after everything in my life crumbled. The job, the relationship, the finances—everything had gone south. And as I sat there, staring at the pile of cash on the table, I realized I was trying to win a game that had already been lost. The problem was, I was too damn curious about what it would feel like to let it all go. To see if I could truly take control in the only way that mattered anymore.

So, I'd made the call.

I leaned forward, glancing at the man on the other side of the desk, trying to make sense of the situation. His name was Troy, and he was known for being efficient, discreet, and—well—deadly.

"Two days," I said, almost surprised by my own calmness. "Two days from now. I want you to kill me."

Troy didn't flinch. He'd likely heard this request before. "And why would you want that, exactly?" His voice was low, almost bored.

"I don't want to die, not really," I explained, my hands curling around the edge of the table. "I just want to test something. You've been hired to kill me, and I'm hiring someone to protect me. I want to see who does their job better."

There was a long pause, as Troy studied me. It felt like a judgment more than anything else, a silent evaluation. Finally, he leaned back in his chair and grinned—a smile that didn't touch his eyes.

"This is your idea of fun, huh?"

"I want to see if I can make it out alive," I said. "If I'm going to die, I want to know who's going to win: you or them."

Troy's smile faded, his eyes narrowing just a bit. "And the bodyguard?"

I pulled a second stack of cash from my bag and slid it toward him. "Same conditions. Hire them, set them up. Two days. I'll take care of everything else."

He didn't ask for the details. He didn't need them. This wasn't the first time someone had come to him with a death wish in one form or another. But the gamble? That was something else. Troy could see the thrill in my eyes—the dangerous spark that said I was no longer playing for the rules of life.

"You're insane," he muttered, but the edge of curiosity was there.

"Let's see which of us is more insane," I said.

---

The next two days were a blur. I spent them locked away in my apartment, preparing. I knew I had to give my bodyguard enough time to find me and protect me. Troy would be keeping an eye on my every move, of course—no one was more thorough than a professional killer who was being paid to watch his target.

Then, I met *them*. The bodyguard.

His name was Lucas. He wasn't much to look at—average height, black suit, quiet demeanor—but there was something sharp in the way he moved, something that gave me a flicker of hope. When we first met, I tried to gauge his reaction, his instincts, but I was too used to being a step ahead. This time, however, I felt an odd sense of discomfort. Like Lucas was already calculating every move I would make.

"You really want to go through with this?" Lucas asked, his eyes scanning the perimeter of the room, as though he already anticipated an attack.

"I have to," I said, more to myself than him. "I just need to know who will win."

He didn't ask more questions. He just nodded and took his position, standing near the door, alert. I didn't know if I could trust him—or if I even wanted to—but that didn't matter. The game was set.

---

The clock was ticking.

By the time the sun dipped below the horizon, I could feel the weight of the choice bearing down on me. My nerves were frayed. Troy's presence was a constant, unseen force in the shadows, and I couldn't shake the feeling that Lucas was watching me as much as he was watching for threats. The two of them were professional in their own ways, but there was one thing they both underestimated: I wasn't just playing a game of life or death. I was playing a game of who *could* win. The gamble was intoxicating. I couldn't stop now.

Just before midnight, I heard it.

The sound of a door creaking open, footsteps light against the hardwood floor. I had expected it, but I couldn't stop the shiver that ran through me. Troy had made his move.

I saw Lucas move before I could blink, drawing his gun from under his jacket with smooth precision. But Troy wasn't a simple target. I'd known that from the start. His footsteps faltered for just a fraction of a second, barely noticeable, but enough for me to recognize. The man was already in the apartment.

Troy stepped from the shadows, his presence imposing. He didn't speak immediately, just stared at Lucas, who remained stone-still, calculating his next move.

For a moment, there was only silence.

And then, the game began.

---

It wasn't the standoff I'd imagined. I'd expected an all-out battle, a firestorm of bullets and shouting, but it was so much quieter than that. I watched as Lucas made his move—subtle, calculated, like a chess player positioning his pieces. He didn't fire immediately. Instead, he took a step back, positioning himself between Troy and me, as if he'd already planned for the scenario.

Troy didn't flinch. He was too good for that. In a split second, he threw something—a flashbang—and the world exploded into light and sound.

I ducked instinctively, heart pounding in my chest, as everything went white.

When the ringing in my ears faded, I looked up to see Lucas standing at the far side of the room, his gun trained on Troy. The hitman was on the ground, one hand clutching his side, his movements slow.

"Checkmate," Lucas said quietly.

---

The next morning, I woke up, still alive. Troy had been caught. And Lucas? He'd kept his promise.

But as I sat there, trying to make sense of what had just happened, I realized the bet had never been about death. It had been about something far more dangerous: the understanding that, no matter how good you think you are, there's always someone better at the game.

And for the first time in a long time, I wondered if I'd learned the wrong lesson.

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