“Still, I didn’t even know you had a sister!”

The girl took a moment to register that. She was busy laughing at Deirdre’s ‘acting’ shown on her friend’s phone. “... Dearest mother and father don’t like it when I bring her up. Have I never mentioned her?” she told him in a low voice, already grabbing another hamburger from the pile they had on the table.

“Nope, not even once. Man, I actually thought it was a coincidence.” he said, leaning back on his chair. The second girl present, who I’m just going to name Julia right now because inserting these names organically is too hard, gave him the look I give my dog when he’s incapable of finding the treat that’s right between his paws. “Seriously? How many Brynhildr Durands do you think exist out there? And she plays chess too, right? Liam, you’re dumb, but this is concerning.”

“Hey, come on! Don’t you think it’s a little weird to learn your friend has a sister from a killing game? I didn’t wanna assume.” he gestured vaguely towards Bryn, who didn’t seem all that interested on the show (or anything else for that matter) now that she had some food to shove in her mouth. Apparently, she’d forgotten to have lunch earlier this day.

“Riiight, right. Whatever, what’s that show about? They don’t look like they’re killing each other to me.” she said, looking at the screen where a costumed Myrion took a swipe at and completely wrecked the flimsy knight armor Ramon was wearing. If you looked closely, you could see he pissed his pants again.

“That’s just an interlude. Y’know, to setup the next crime and stuff. It’s a murder mystery show too, so they probably need time to write the next case.” he grinned, leaning forward for dramatic effect. “... That is, if you believe it’s just a show.”

“... It looks like a show to me.” Bryn said, who caught the end of that conversation while reaching for another burger. “Dee always told me reality TV is all fake, so…”

“Ah, but that’s just what a surface glance tells you, dear Bryn! There have been rumors spreading around the dark corners of the internet…” Liam elucidated, relaying information he got from an r/conspiracy thread that stole its content from a 4chan post. “You know, that Hugh Stakes guy was the first victim. Makes sense, right? ‘Kill’ the organizer and let the contestants have the spotlight. But! The guy’s just gone now. Zero public appearances since then, just no one can get a hold of him anymore. Sounds suspicious, doesn’t it?”

“Maybe he’s just… I don’t know, trying to keep it immersive. If the idea is a reality killing game show, you can’t have the dead actors showing up, right?” Julia said, side eyeing Bryn to see if she was taking this seriously. “If this was a hostage situation, wouldn’t the FBI be on this guy’s back by now?”

“Well sure, but that doesn’t mean we’d know they’re on him.” he made a dismissive gesture like someone with no real arguments beyond what ifs. “Think about it-”

“Does this mean Dee is in danger?”

Silence. The realization someone should’ve kept his mouth shut. Slight panic. Medium panic. And then, finally, a solution: “... Of course not. It’s just a dumb conspiracy theory. Like when he was going on about the Mars landing last week.”

Liam almost opened his mouth to argue back, but thankfully thought better of it. Bryn seemed to be taking a while to consider what the two of them said, and both knew breaking her concentration wasn’t helpful.

…

“... Sounds pretty dumb. Liamderthal.”

Liamderthal, who was just glad the tension was gone, clutched his chest like he’d been shot, while Julia just laughed and Bryn looked back at the screen to see Woody break a prop sword over Myrion’s head.

Ghent, New York 8:53 AM, two weeks after the beginning of the Killing Game...

“FBI, open up!” a female agent shouted before kicking down a door. She was a young brunette. With her, a group of local police officers and federal agents rushed into the dilapidated building. They fanned out and began searching every room. Eventually, the female agent found the person they were looking for in a dark room, lit only by a video playing on a computer monitor. In a corner of the room was a rotund, bald man with orange dust on his fingertips. His turquoise shirt was drenched with sweat around the collar. She pointed her gun at him.

“Roger Fellman, you’re under arrest for being complicit in a sex trafficking scheme,” the agent said. She shouted to her fellow officers to come join her.

“N-no, guys, you’ve got it all wrong! I-I didn’t do anything!” Fellman stammered. As he spoke, an email appeared on his desktop, using vague terms such as ‘pizza’ and ‘hot dogs at the pool’.

“Mr. Fellman,” a male agent said, approaching the man with handcuffs. It seemed he was the woman’s partner. “You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be provided for you.”

The male agent managed to get the cuffs around Fellman’s blubbery wrists with a bit of effort. As the police escorted him to the back seat of a police car, the two agents conducted a search of the room. The male agent went over to the computer and read the email.

“Well, looks like this one’ll be easy to prosecute,” he said. As he went through some of the files, he ran a hand through his dark hair. “It’s incredible it took us so long to catch this guy. His desktop is loaded with incriminating files and all sorts of shit.”

“Yeah, well, chalk that one up to the tech boys and their work ethic,” the woman said. “Come on, Lyons, let’s bring this guy in for questioning. The others will take care of any evidence.”

“Ah, yeah, just a sec, Graves. I’m getting a call,” he said, pulling out his phone. “Hello?”

”Agent Lyons?”

“Speaking.”

”This is Director Grant’s secretary. I’m calling to let you know she is requesting the presence of both you and Agent Graves immediately.”

“But what about the case we’re working on? We just caught the prime suspect, we still have to question him…”

”She said not to worry about that. Agent Langley will be taking over for you two. He’s already on his way there.”

“Uh, alright. We’ll be there before the end of the day.”

*click*

“What was that about?” Graves asked.

“Grant wants us back at HQ. Must be something urgent,” Lyons said. “Come on, let’s get out of here.”

“But what about this case? We can’t just abandon it after we caught the guy!”

“Langley’s already on his way over; he’s gonna take care of it.”

Graves sighed. “Well, alright…”


Federal Bureau of Investigation HQ, Washington, D.C. 3:03 PM

“Have a seat, both of you,” Director Grant demanded. She was not an old woman, but there were a few grey streaks that ran through her otherwise blonde hair. “And shut the door behind you.”

“Is that a new suit, DIrector? I gotta say, pinstripes might be your thing,” Lyons said with a smirk.

Graves sighed as she sat down in a chair by the Director’s desk. “Forgive him, Director. He got stood up last night. He’s getting desperate.”

“Enough chatter, both of you,” she said while holding a remote in her hands. “Tell me, agents, have either of you watched any TV lately?”

“Uh, well, not lately,” Graves said. “We’ve been working on that sex trafficking case for weeks on end.”

“Yeah, I haven’t really had much time to sit down and watch much of the old boob-tube,” Lyons agreed.

The Director raised an eyebrow. “Oh? But it seems like you at least have enough time to get stood up on dates, right?”

“I, well--”

“That doesn’t matter now, anyway. Take a look at this,” she said, turning on a nearby television. On the screen was a man whose skin had an unnatural green tint shooting a larger man in the knee.

“Is that… Hugh Stakes, the billionaire?” Graves asked. “I heard he was producing a new TV show. Is this it?”

“Indeed it is,” Grant said. She began to fast-forward a bit. Okay, a lot, actually. On the screen was the corpse of a woman in a white dress, her face appearing to have been smashed on a disgusting wall.

Lyons scratched his head. “Director, why are you showing us this? Isn’t this just a TV show?”

“That’s what it looks like to the average viewer, doesn’t it?” she said. She handed him a folder. “Inside you’ll find all the details of this case, but let me give you a summation of what exactly I want you to look into.”

She took a sip from a coffee mug on her desk that said “World’s Best FBI Director”.

“Two weeks ago, a new reality show began airing, called Die on a Hill. It was hosted and funded by billionaire Hugh Stakes and took place on his newly constructed Twilight Strip, just north of Las Vegas. The show was not just an ad for the Strip, but also for ALCO., a tech giant that appeared overnight and out of nowhere, as most of the Strip runs on their tech and even makes use of their advanced robotics. The premise was simple: fifteen contestants get free range in the casino for about a month and try to make as much money as possible, competing in games and other challenges along the way. If a player hits zero, they are removed from the game. Are you following?”

Both agents nodded.

“Good. After a few days of standard reality show schlock, a masked man appears and takes over the game. He states that he will be enforcing a ‘killing game’, in which the goal is for a person to commit murder and get away with it, surving what is called a ‘High-Stakes Game’, which is more or less like an impromptu trial.”

“But, this is still just fake, right?” Graves interjected. “I mean, it’s no secret that even ‘reality’ shows are scripted.”

“That’s what most people believe, but not a single person has been able to get into contact with Hugh Stakes since his apparent death on the show which, mind you, was not pretty.”

“Well, that would ruin the illusion, wouldn’t it?” Lyons wondered.

“Perhaps, but there’s another key component here. When he first took over, the masked man, who calls himself ‘Ace’, assured the contestants that they could not escape and that nobody could rescue them due to the presence of an exorbitant amount of explosives around the entire perimeter of the Twilight Strip. He even threatened that if anyone tried to come to their rescue, he’d blow the place sky high.”

Graves had started to put her hair up into a ponytail. “That… can’t be true, right? How would someone even set that up without attracting any attention?”

“We sent a bomb squad in to check it out and, sure enough, he was telling the truth.”

“Alright, alright,” Lyons said as he flipped through the dossier. “So this is essentially a hostage situation on steroids, right?”

“Correct.”

“What do you want us two to do about it?”

“Agent Lyons, it’s my belief that by sending you and a small group of specially trained operatives, you will be able to diffuse the situation. I know how skilled both of you are, and I believe you can find a weak point in the barrier to penetrate without alerting Ace to your presence.”

After a brief pause, Graves spoke up. “There’s something else, isn’t there, Director? There’s a reason besides our abilities that you decided to choose us, isn’t there?”

“I suppose you’re right about that,” the Director said. She turned the TV back on again, and on the screen was the still image of a contestant with light hair wearing an orange shirt. “I assume you’re both familiar with this boy, right?”

“Of course,” Lyons said. “That’s Adel Wagner, he’s the boy from the big missing persons case we worked last year. He’s the one who found that downed aircraft.”

“You can call it a UFO, Agent Lyons. All of us in this room know what it was,” Grant said.

“Right, but what makes him special specifically?” Graves asked. “From what I can see here, he’s just another contestant in the game.”

“We have reason to believe he might have some kind of… connection, if you will, to strange phenomena. He always seems to find his way to odd occurrences.”

“So, you want us to make sure he stays alive specifically because you believe the FBI can use him to track down UFOs and other things you want to keep covered up, right?” Lyons guessed.

“Naturally. Of course, we also want you to save as many of them as you can, but he should be your priority,” the Director said after taking another sip from her mug. “Review those documents I gave you and get to work immediately. And don’t tell anyone about this. I don’t want word getting out about this investigation, understood?”

“Understood,” the agents said in unison. They stood up from their seats and left the room. Once the door was closed, Director Grant turned her attention back to the screen, this time to a still image of Ace sitting on his throne, a devilish smirk resting on his face.

“Oh, Ace… you think you’re clever, don’t you? Don’t think you can outsmart me. Not again,” she muttered to herself.

After the conclusion of the third High-Stakes Game, Ace sat alone in his office. His chair faced the window, through which he gazed at the artificial twilight. The endless purple and orange sky gave him a sense of comfort in his misdeeds. He exhaled before turning around to his desk, which was littered with all sorts of papers, plans, photos of the contestants, and his gloves.

Ace took off his mask and let it rest atop a worn looking journal, then ran his fingers through his hair.

“Sometimes, I wonder if I’m crazy,” he said to himself. “I mean, I must be, right? To do everything I’ve done so far, I must be a lunatic...”

He picked up a picture frame from a nearby side table. It held a slightly aged photograph of a man with dark, normal-looking hair (and skin!) with his arm around a slightly shorter redheaded woman. They were both wearing band tees and doing hand signs. He gently removed the photo from the frame and looked on the back of it…



October 11, 2027

“So… you’re majoring in business, huh?” she asked. The smoke she exhaled lingered in the cool autumn air. “What’s the plan there? Lots of people just focus on business as a major when they want an easy degree. Are you just coasting?”

He chuckled and took a hit himself. “Nah, I have a plan. It’s a big plan, you’ll see. There’s a lot of things in the works, you know? I plan on going into media production and advertising, too.”

“Oooh, so you’re, like, what? Gonna be some kind of big-shot producer, or something?”

“Well, sure. Maybe as a stepping stone,” he said, leaning back against the tree. It was old and sturdy. “But, like I said, big plans. Big things in store, ya feel?”

“Yeah, yeah, I feel.”

“So… what about you?”

“Me?”

“Yeah, well, we’re out here sharing a couple joints, I told you my deal, now you tell me yours.”

“Alright, I mean, that’s pretty fair,” she said. “Well, like I told you in philosophy this morning, I’m, uh, you know. An artist.”

He chuckled. “Right, right, I remember you saying that. I mean, I also got that much from looking at you doodle every time we have that class. You’ve got some skill, you know.”

“Yeah, so I’ve been told. I want to do something with more traditional, hands-on stuff, you know? But everything’s digital these days… Graphic design isn’t hard, but it’s just not… uh, shit, what’s the word?”

“Your passion?”

“Yeah, that’s it. I just want to do stuff I’m passionate about, even if it means I don’t get a nice check all the time.”

“So why don’t you?”

“Huh?”

“Why don’t you do what you’re passionate about? Who cares if you’re not some one-percenter like Hugh Stakes, do what makes you happy.”

“I mean, I could, but like, my parents won’t be happy, and, again, I wouldn’t really make enough money. A-and I come from a family of lawyers and doctors, so being the black sheep of the family is weird, and OH MY GOD just imagining the Thanksgiving and Christmas dinner conversations with relatives--”

“Fuck ‘em,” he grumbled. “That’s the problem with this world. Everyone’s held back by some stupid bullshit. You know, people around the world have this idea that Americans are all selfish, and that we only care about ourselves. I don’t think that’s true at all, I mean, yeah, we only care about ourselves, but that’s only because the fuckers on top are making us that way.”

“I kinda follow…”

“Look, what I’m saying is that it shouldn’t matter what mom and pop think. Isn’t the American dream all about getting shit done your way? Going out there, with whatever aspirations you have, and just succeeding? What happened? When did that stop happening? How come chucklefucks in suits get to run the world, while people like you get screwed out of your dreams?”

“Fuck, dude…” she said. “That was fucking intense. You know, I’ve been wondering something: what took you so long to talk to me? We seem to be getting along just fine, so what gives?”

He instantly tensed up. “Ah, well, you know, I was just afraid, I guess…”

“Really? Someone as intense as you was afraid of a pale girl with freckles?”

“Well… yeah.” He laughed. “I’m not so good with approaching pretty girls, I guess.”

She smirked and brushed her hand over his. “Well, you seem to be doing just fine. And here I thought you just wanted to hang because I had weed.”

“Speaking of, uh, we’re outta joints, so, did you wanna take the party elsewhere or just call it a night? It is Monday, so…”

“I suppose we could keep the fire alive. Wanna come back to my room? We can watch a movie, or something. My roommate’s gone for the week, too, so it won’t be, like, awkward, or anything.”

“Sure, that sounds cool. Let’s think of what we wanna watch on the way over, then.”

…

…

May 4, 2029

They were drunk. Incredibly drunk, honestly. It was a Friday night, at least, and the loud music blasting through their speakers was enough to drown out their own voices. It was just the two of them, alone in his dorm room. The walls were covered in posters for bands and old movies.

She held a polaroid camera up to his face. “C’mon, we’ve gotta take a picture together! It’s your big day!”

“Shit, why not! Normally I wouldn’t, but… come here, let’s do it!”

They posed together for a photo, throwing up stupid hand gestures and smiling like two drunk people taking a picture would. The camera printed the photo, and she began to shake it.

“You know that doesn’t actually do anything, right?” he said with slurred speech. “You can just set the thing down and it’ll do its business.”

“What? No, this, like, totally works,” she mumbled.

He reached for the picture. “Then let me see it-”

She held the developing photo away from him. “You can see it when it finishes… the thing!”

“C’mon, if you’re so right, lemme see!” He reached for the photo again and she moved backwards to dodge, sidestepping him completely. Through the power of intoxicated physics, he stumbled forward and landed on his bed, laughing to himself. “C’mon, just… just let me see…”

Seeing an opportunity, she pounced on him. “I don’t know about the pic, but… I’ll make sure you… see some other things tonight. Uh, that sounded, like, way better in my head.”

They both laughed for a moment before they locked eyes in a moment of awkward silence.

“Um…”

“So…”

“Yeah.”

“Good.”

They both smiled, and before a sixth of a minute had passed, they were… well, you know how this goes. It was his birthday, they were drunk… yada, yada, yada…

….

….

….

....

It was about 3AM when all was said and done, and they held each other close to try to wind down, though neither of them could help themselves from stealing kisses at every other opportunity.

“Mason?”

“Abby?”

“I think… I think that I lo-”

“Excuse me if I’m interrupting anything, sir,” said a voice that was neither male nor female.

Ace jumped, knocking some things off his desk by accident.

“J-Jesus Christ, Loki, at least knock next time!”

“You know I physically cannot knock, of course.”

“Yeah, right. Anyway, what do you want? Is the machine ready?” Ace said as he put his mask back on.

“It’s nearly operational, sir. I would estimate, oh, I don’t know, perhaps about another day before it’s fully capable of your desires,” Loki said. “And that’s ahead of schedule, too.”

Ace clasped his hands together and tapped his foot. “Good, good. And, uh, anything else?”

“Yes. I figured it would be a wise decision to inform you of our current pest situation…”

“Oh, yeah? And how’s that going?”

“He went off the radar during the most recent High-Stakes Game, it seems. There is no doubt he is still within the Strip, of course, and I personally believe this is nothing to worry about. Looking at the data from the past few weeks that was recorded by Lucy, it’s clear that he has a pattern of going on and off the radar.”

“Well, that’s all well and good, I suppose. As long he isn’t interfering too much at the moment. It’s bad enough the FBI’s starting to smarten up.”

“Indeed… well, that is all I have to report. I will return to prepping the device, sir.”

Ace waited until Loki had left to put the picture back in its frame.