The Game's Afoot

Chapter One

TRIGGER WARNING: 4 deaths, (not described) guns, hacking. (mild mention of past murders)

"This is utterly pointless", I huffed. "It's, like, so utterly pointless it's like a blob of pointlessness." I didn't understand why we were even going on this mission. In my opinion, a waste of time. The corner of my computer screen flashed with the image of my superior making his psycho face at the camera.

I just rolled my eyes and got back to hacking the entrance. Muting my mike, I snarked, "Ok! Fine! I get it. You want to recruit this agent. But, why are we going to get him? Honestly, I don't care. I get the sweet potato fries to myself tonight, and you are not there to take the dip-its." I muttered, my fingers clicking on the keyboard, opening the gate for my superior.

My superior in question was on my corner screen, and I watched out of the corner of my eye as he shot two of the guards in the darkened lobby of the museum. I flinched and averted my eyes. Best not to look.

I don't kill.

Well, not directly, anyway.

I took a deep breath and unmuted my mike, just in time to hear Moriarty start making his "villain" speech, "-and that's why I get what I want. And YOU, you slippery thief, is going to help me. Or else-", a demented giggle rang out through the room. I clenched my teeth and reminded myself to breathe. He continued, saying, "-I get something else I want. And if you won't ASSIST ME, well, I guess, I'll just have to... do something."

I watched on the screen as he circled around the agent. I had to admire their strength. They had not said a word to Moriarty, and stood still, not flinching or shifting.

Out of the corner of my eye, a computer screen read out the information on the agent:

Name: (Agent) Krys Scott

Family: Lauren Francis Scott and Richard Scott, Amelia Scott and Jennifer Scott

Birthdate: 05/21/80

Other: Attended Saint March Christian Academy, identifies as non-binary, sexuality; bisexual, originally Christopher Scott, black hair, brown eyes, 5'6", weighs 63 kg (140 lbs), no relationship, lives at Tyress Headquarters in San Diego, Master Thief.

The information was pretty standard. This wasn't a person that Moriarty had ever shown interest in before.

Of course, I didn't understand what Uncle Jim wanted with them. And honestly, it's better for me not to know. Though, I may have a sneaking suspicion it had to do with his 'arch nemesis', Sherlock.

I looked in the corner of the room where a bulletin was filled with photos of the famous detective. Case files were stacked on a table on the edge of the room. Moriarty had been tracking his every move for the last 6 months. Honestly, it was getting borderline, uh, deranged.

Not that he wasn't before. But ever since his 'grand evil schemes' were being 'foiled' by Sherlock Holmes, he had become even more obsessed with the dark-haired detective.

I wasn't sure if it was a, uh, physical attraction, deranged anger, or just psychopathic joy at having someone with possibly equal intellect.

Nevertheless, I made sure not to bring him up. I knew that he was planning something big, but he wouldn't tell me. Not that I wanted to know, obviously. I was too busy working on my coding skills, which had been a little rusty ever since that 6-month no-wifi survival trip he sent me on last winter.

Leave it to Jim Moriarty to make Christmas into fighting a team of assassins in Russia. Yeesh.

I looked back up at the screen, seeing my superior leaving the building, and the agent being "escorted" through the gates, past the bodies, and into the black car waiting outside.