Mastermind

by Steven Kelliher

  “Plenty of holes to climb through without going through the trouble of making new ones,” she quipped. “You really should get some of them patched.” She made a show of looking up, putting her golden-gloved hands on her white spandex hips. “Must leak like a sieve in a storm.

  “Anyway,” Starshot said, looking back down, “you were in the midst of explaining Leviathan’s weakness. I think you left off on the part where he’s a lizard of some sort.”

  I smiled, thinking that Starshot had managed to put a few more pieces together than the others.

  “You going to tell us your role in the plan?” Blackstrike asked. “We’ve just been over our parts. Wouldn’t hurt to know yours.”

  “Might hurt you,” Starshot said easily. She was confident, but she still had a lot of the character she played oozing out of her like the radiant rays she unleashed. I didn’t want any conflict between her and the others spilling out now. Not so soon.

  The truth was Starshot didn’t know her part of the plan. Not the specifics, in any event. She only knew I needed her at the end of it. That we all did. Given what I needed her to do, I thought it best to get her to agree before I delved into the details. Less chance of overloading her heroic sensibilities.

  “You’re not wrong,” I said. “About the lizard thing, I mean, even if those exact words never left my mouth.”

  “Nice to see the mouth,” she said, pointing at her own face to reference mine. “The broken mask is a nice touch, even if it wasn’t planned. I meant to tell you that on the rooftop, but, you know—”

  Another new voice broke the exchange, and we all looked to the right, watching a short makeshift alley that had been formed between stacked crates and boxes. Someone was arguing with the newcomer, but the gruff responses drowned it out and had me rubbing my hands together in anticipation.

  Luther emerged from the shadows carrying an assortment of crates. Well, Post’s men and women shadowing the tinkerer did the carrying while the dwarf-like man continued giving them on-the-nose instructions in that berating manner of his. The men and women shouldered us out of the way and set their crates down on the table, casting exasperated glances at their fellows who hadn’t been forced to endure the temporary servitude to the gruff tinkerer.

  “How did it turn out?” I asked, barely able to contain my excitement. Madam Post leaned forward far enough to balance on one leg, eager to see what treasures Luther had compiled in the hours with which he’d had to work.

  “Did as well as could be expected,” Luther said, arms crossed. He was as impressed with himself as he was unimpressed with the timeline I’d assigned him. He pointed at the assortment on the table as villains, gangsters, thugs and a lonely hero gathered around. “That’s a dozen spears – the new variety,” he amended. “Haven’t tested them all myself, but if they don’t work, I don’t know what you were expecting—”

  “Luther,” I said, short.

  “Right,” he sighed. “Well, as you can see,” he slapped at Blackstrike’s hand as the villain picked up one of the silver balls, “I’ve made another batch of Swarm Grenades for you. These are mark twos, same deal as before. Twelve images. Same timer.”

  “Images?” Atlas said. He looked at me. “We’re going to take Leviathan down with copies? He isn’t Prism, Despot.”

  “Mirrors cause confusion,” I said. “Confusion makes things stupid. Stupid makes things dead.”

  It didn’t matter to the other players anyway, as only those in my Sphere of Influence could utilize the tech.

  Luther had placed his hands on his hips and stared burning daggers at Atlas. The pose was similar to the one Starshot had recently adopted, and Luther seemed to notice it. He couldn’t stop his face from coloring as he dropped his shoulders.

  Madam Post seemed to find the tinkerer amusing. She watched him hungrily as he went over the rest of the tech he had assembled – mostly communications equipment and more armor for those in my Sphere who didn’t already have it – and I had no doubt the gears were turning as to how she could keep him in her employ and not mine following the fight against Leviathan. Unfortunately for her, I planned on surviving that encounter.

  “I’ll have you know,” Luther said, eyeing me in particular, “each one of those little silver balls you tuck onto your waistband like trinkets or bells takes an enormous amount of processing power to develop, not to mention time. Do you think it’s simple to create a grenade that maps the likeness, speed and habits of the user in the instant of a simple push of a button? Not to mention the AI built into the holographic programming itself. Previous models would create images that ran right through tables and walls. Now, the images watch the summoner and react according to their predicament and movements. I have to say—”

  “I get it, Luther,” I said, remembering the way my own images had stopped to study what I was doing in the fight with Prism and Starshot before mimicking me. “I apologize. Now, as you were saying…”

  Luther looked around the room, as if daring anyone else to give voice to the complaints they obviously harbored. None did.

  “Two stasis guns,” he said, stepping forward to pull them out of their own crate. They looked the same as the previous models. Seeing my look, Luther explained, “Your part of the mission is going to be low-key, right?”

  “Well, to start with,” I said, eyeing Blackstrike across the table. The villain had taken one of the guns Luther offered and turned it over in his hands.

  “I know,” he said before I could speak. “I can’t use it. Just looking.”

  And likely filing away the information for later, if we ever crossed paths in the wrong way in the future.

  “If you’re going to break into Gallant Tow—”

  “You two are breaking into Gallant Tower?” Starshot asked.

  Blackstrike looked at me. When I nodded, he smiled at the hero. “Seems that way,” he said.

  “You’ll never get past the first floor.”

  “We’ll have plenty of distractions outside,” Blackstrike argued. “Including, I’m told, one particularly shiny one.”

  I could feel Starshot’s golden eyes boring into the back of my skull. I held up a hand to stay her. “We haven’t covered that part yet.”

  “I noticed,” she said, sounding unimpressed.

  “I’ll explain before we leave.”

  “I hope so.”

  I picked up a small black receiver with a silver head on one side and an earbud hanging from the other.

  “Communicators,” I said, handing a second headset to Blackstrike and motioning for Hobb, Brooks and the others to grab theirs. “And one for you too,” I said, turning and handing another to Starshot. She took it but didn’t put it on right away. “Don’t worry,” I said. “It’ll get lost in those luscious locks of yours.”

  She rolled her eyes, but I was beginning to think she was starting to like me. Or at least not to hate me.

  “Now,” I stepped back from the table and swept my arms out, sweeping my gaze across the other NPCs in the grand hall. Some of them smirked, either in condescension or because they had taken a liking to me, while others shrank into the shadows, wary at the prospect of being forced to accompany me on one of my missions.

  Smart, those ones. They knew Madam Post was using me, and that I was using her. At least, they knew I was trying to, but their programming wouldn’t allow them to see Post coming up short in an investment. Any men she sent with her new errand boy was a calculated risk, and the risks were all theirs. The very smartest among them also likely knew that Post would do anything in her power to distance herself from the event, despite her men being involved in it. She didn’t want Leviathan visiting unholy ruin onto the docks, and her along with them.

  Which is why she had so readily agreed to my last request.

  “Well?”

  Post was nearly gnashing her teeth as she regarded me with a cold air from her dilapidated throne. After a short, tense stare, she stood and snapped her bony fingers. The other players watche
d curiously as none of Post’s minions stepped to attention.

  “Who in my employ hates this cocksure, half-masked villain enough to kill him for me?”

  That one took me by surprise. I tensed and saw Blackstrike and Atlas do the same on the other side of the planning table. The two lead NPCs looked at each other and then at Post, searching for a sign that she was joking.

  A few stepped forward, out of the shadows, hands raised. They looked to one another to bolster their resolve, and as their number grew, their steps became surer.

  I watched them creep in from the alleys between crates and boxes, and started edging backward, toward the door that would be bolted behind me. I nearly bumped into Starshot, who was buzzing with renewed energy as she took stock of the sudden shift in power dynamics.

  I saw Post’s smile light her eyes before it broke out on her mouth. She held up a hand, and the dock workers who hated me enough to make a try for my head – about two dozen in all – ceased their advance.

  “It is good to see I still have truly loyal men and women around this place,” she said with a challenging sneer. “Now, Despot, it looks like you may have your pick from the rest. Those who would seem to be more… malleable, if not disloyal.”

  Some of those who had been too aloof or too frightened to go against me openly now swallowed. They knew they had been marked, both by their fellows and by Madam Post. They likely knew, too, that if they failed to join me in my mission to Titan City, nothing good could come from staying here. Perhaps if they helped bring down Leviathan on Madam Post’s behalf, they could regain her good favor.

  “Right, then,” I said, trying not to see the relief that was no doubt etched onto the uncovered half of my face. “Rest of you mind lining up here?”

  I pointed at the cement floor directly in front of me. The dock workers and faux soldiers stood around in various states of dishevelment and disarray until Madam Post made a hissing sound that even startled me.

  Before I could blink twice, a haphazard line of volunteers gathered in the place I had pointed out, shoulder to shoulder. I counted ten of them, plus Crew Cut and Spunky, she with the pink and spiky hair.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls,” I said, bowing before the row of somewhat willing allies. “You know me as any other villain. Today, you will call me by a name that will soon be on the tongues of every man, woman and child on both sides of the bay. On one side, they will tremble in fear, quake in their ivory towers, shiver in their feather beds that none of you had the privilege of being born into. And on the other, they will scream it into the skies and celebrate it into the gutters long into the night, for many nights on end. For when Despot is done with the heroes of Titan City, it’ll mark a new era for War Town… and all who dwell here.”

  I don’t know if it was the fear of Madam Post’s reprisal or if my cobbled-together speech was actually inspiring to NPCs with IQs either slightly above or slightly below the late, loveable Sebastian’s. Either way, the white Influence icons had already begun forming out of that digital milk before I had finished.

  I scanned through the list, watching each NPC glow faintly as I hovered over their name in my stat sheet to allow me to differentiate them. I’d remember the finer details later, at least for the survivors. For now, I was more concerned with who out of this bunch had the brains. Not a lot of them had much gray matter and I inwardly cursed Post for holding back the goods. Turned out that Spunky – Lyza by birth – was the cream of the crop.

  Lyza

  Dock Thug

  2 Slots

  Mind: 15

  Brawn: 4

  Agility: 4

  Armor: 4

  Charisma: 12

  She was the winner, with the same points in mind as I’d had back at tier six. She’d have been hard to win over then. Combined with a respectable charisma score, she’d be perfectly placed to help direct the rest of the rabble in the field.

  I stepped forward and handed Lyza a communicator, then made a show of looking the rest of the crew up and down. I didn’t like the looks of the one I’d already dubbed ‘Crew Cut,’ and he certainly didn’t have Lyza’s mind stat, but he made up for it in other areas. Maybe he’d be my new Sebastian. Or something close.

  Bartol

  Dock Thug, Former Military

  2 Slot

  Mind: 8

  Brawn: 15

  Agility: 20

  Armor: 15

  Charisma: 4

  He didn’t seem impressed with me before or after I handed him the final earbud, but that icon wasn’t going away, so he was firmly under my control.

  I snagged five more of those standing in line, figuring I was better off filling my Sphere completely, and stepped back to admire my full array of living weapons.

  Sphere of Influence – 20/20

  Single-Slot Members

  1) Hobb 2) Brooks 3) Sascha 4) Kayde

  5) Ratchet 6) Maria 7) Ruslan 8) Brock

  9) Yuri 10) Reichert 11) Kay

  Multi-Slot Members

  Luther Smith (5 Slots)

  Lyza (2 Slots)

  Bartol (2 Slots)

  “Now,” I declared, “we shall hunt down God, and make him answer for all our sins.”

  That did the rest, and the cheer they raised on my behalf had Post glaring, Blackstrike and Atlas smiling, and Starshot looking on, appearing as nervous as I felt.

  Twenty-Three

  Taking the Lead

  I didn’t look at the details of my room.

  I didn’t look at the stained, empty pizza boxes, the overflowing hamper or the dust adorning every surface. Dust that would have swirled in the rays of afternoon light were I to admit any of it into my humble, pathetic real-world abode.

  I didn’t look because this wasn’t the real world to me. Or, if it was, it wasn’t the one that mattered.

  My fingers hesitated over the keyboard. My eyes stung from the strain of having stared at an LED screen for the better part of an hour. I hadn’t slept since last night’s shift, when I’d been busying myself earning the pittance that allowed me to maintain my position as a renter rather than a squatter.

  The plan was set. The pieces were in position, or soon would be. But before I logged back into Titan Online, I had had an epiphany. Like all great realizations, it brought exhilaration and excitement, even if it was tinged with dread.

  No matter how sound my plan, no matter how foolproof, I was fighting Leviathan. Fighting him meant fighting Meteora too. And unless luck was far kinder to me this time around than it had been the last, I would be fighting a hell of a lot more than that. And all with a small squad of low-tier villains and a cast-off hero, not to mention the thugs Madam Post saw fit to spare.

  My entire plan – our entire plan – hinged on causing enough chaos to get Leviathan to Power Shift, and to Power Shift where we wanted him to. The thing was, getting him to Shift in any one direction at the expense of the others would likely require one or more of us to engage him for extended periods of time, and no matter how many times I went over it, no matter how many NPCs I Influenced and hurled at the god of Titan Online, I just couldn’t see how we would last long enough to create the proper conditions.

  We needed more people, more people than I was willing to bring into our little circle. Enough people convinced and prepared in the moment to take a swipe at him to cause the chaos we needed, and that Leviathan would fear.

  What we needed was a crisis event.

  Crisis events were rare in Titan Online. Rare enough that, when they did occur, they weren’t missed by anyone worth their salt in-game.

  Just like their comic book origins, crisis events marked grand opportunities for the biggest stars of Titan Online to shine brightest, and for those as-yet unable to distinguish themselves to earn Fame or Infamy at an exponential rate. Grind away on mundane side quests and pedestrian rivalries for months, or take out a higher-tier player in the beautiful chaos of an alien invasion and earn the equivalent in hours.

  In the end, pa
rticipation in a crisis event was really no choice at all.

  Thing was, the devs never revealed when the next one was around the corner to anyone but blue-chip sponsors, which meant waiting for it was out of the question. I couldn’t plan for an event I knew nothing about. But I could plan for one I helped to kick off.

  One of the lesser-known and lesser-understood aspects of Titan Online’s state-of-the-art AI system was the fact that it could be triggered, for lack of a better word. If certain conditions were met – if something big enough happened – the AI would christen a crisis event, and an organic one at that. Deadlock’s siege of Gallant Tower a few years back had been unplanned on the dev side. It was a player-engineered crisis event, and it was the first – and arguably the last – time a villain had got one over on the heroes of Titan City.

  It seemed reasonable to follow in that great villain’s footsteps. Thinking on it now, I owed much to Deadlock. He’d passed the torch to me that day we’d both died, only I didn’t know it at the time.

  I scanned the dozen tabs I had left open one last time. They were all here, buzzing silently with their banner ads and their highlight-strewn popups: the top PvP forums, Titan fan pages and player hangouts on the net.

  “Screw it.”

  Let them call me mad. Let them shout me down and brush me off. Let them laugh. But let them hear me. Let them remember this call to arms when the signs are staring them in the face. Let them take action when they’ve witnessed mine.

  I copied my paragraphs of text and began pasting them into every forum group I could find.