Fitzroy recited his list like a salesman pushing a product, with additional emphasis on each successive word. Kristina looked increasingly uneasy as he went on.
“It’s not society that copies games,” Fitzroy ranted. “But games that copy society. Do you believe games are truly responsible for the Taurus Strangler? What about the Boston Strangler? Or the Hillside Strangler? There were no videogames then. Games are just a smokescreen put forward by politicians, and by people like you. To hide the truth. There’s a killer inside us all. A demon. All it takes is a strong enough reason to release that demon from its cage.”
Kristina gave a reassuring smile to the studio audience, fearfully eyeing Fitrzroy. “Thank you for your insightful input. We’ll continue after the break.”
The man sat in the dark room lowered his gun, reached deep into the open drawer, and pulled out a laminated identity card. The photograph and employee name were obscured by his fingers, but the imprinted company logo in the upper right was a familiar, golden-horned bull.
Chapter Eleven
Motorists steered aside to make way for the convoy of police vehicles: two patrol cars and an armour-plated, dark-windowed van in the middle. The cops proceeded directly to Taurus Studios, only taking detours to avoid parked traffic, a fenced-off construction site, and the roundabout at the very end.
The two cars slowed down, allowing the van to overtake on the final stretch. Siren wailing, it jerked to a stop outside the main entrance. Both the cars parked sideways, establishing a temporary roadblock with one vehicle on either side of the ring road. A large contingent of police officers - a dozen uniformed cops plus Lucy and Ron - exited the vehicles. Those who poured out of the van wore full tactical gear: black body armour, visored riot helmets, and strapped automatic weapons.
Heavy boots pounded basalt as the police marched to pre-determined locations around the Taurus building. A strong-armed officer - it was difficult to tell whether it was a man or woman - uncoiled police tape from a reel, and threaded it through a line of concrete-based posts.
The tower doors slid open. A Taurus employee - a male teenager wearing an ear-mounted cellphone and rucksack - took one look at the police cordon and made a hasty retreat. Other workers in the lobby conversed nervously as police sealed off all potential escape routes. A security guard - an overweight, African American man in a slightly lighter blue uniform than the rest - tossed a half-eaten, napkin-wrapped doughnut in a trashcan and met the detectives just outside the entrance. The guard’s name badge - covered in sugar grains - identified him as Gordon Levitt, Head of Security.
“I’m in charge of security here,” he told Lucy, still scoffing his doughnut.
“Yeah, we gathered that,” Ron said. “Part time job? Didn’t see you at the expo.”
“Because I was busy watching the cameras. Your Lieutenant phoned ahead. Said we had a security breach of some sort.”
A shiny silver SUV pulled up to the police roadblock. The vehicle’s frame spanned the width of the lane, and its tires were better suited to off-road travel than city driving. The model name was embossed on a five-inch wide front bumper: Road King. Windows were clean and transparent, giving onlookers an unobstructed view of expensive dashboard features, plush leather seats, and a hi-tech satellite navigation system.
Dawson jumped down from behind the steering wheel, calmly closed the door, and marched toward the police cordon. Adrian followed from the passenger seat, quickening his pace to catch up. Dawson didn’t so much as glance at the officers that lifted the cordon to allow him through.
Levitt stood to attention as the boss approached. “Everything’s been set up as you asked, sir.”
“I trust you’ll complete your business here swiftly,” Dawson said, addressing the detectives. “Our afternoon shift’s over. People want to go home.”
“Apologies for the inconvenience,” said Ron - with no sincerity at all. “And condolences for the loss of Miss Gallier. I can see she meant a lot to you.”
“Yes she did,” Dawson defended himself. “She meant a lot to everyone at Taurus, but life goes on.”
“Not for her, it doesn’t,” Lucy said bluntly. “And someone who works in this building sent that video.” She turned to face Levitt, who snapped awake from his daydream-like state. “Where’s the server room?”
“It’s…” Levitt looked to his boss.
Adrian stepped around Dawson to mediate. “Downstairs.” He gestured toward the building entrance. “We’re holding a memorial service for Sophie later. You’re welcome to come along, and pay your respects. But before that, I believe you wanted to check our computer system.”
***
The Taurus server room was a dark, windowless box, illuminated by low-wattage strip bulbs and countless blue and green indicator lights. The hard drive banks - arranged in numbered sections - were controlled and accessed by a futuristic, hexagonal console in the centre. Ventilation systems whirred away, recycling air through narrow, rectangular slits. The seamless metal walls, floor, and ceiling all looked the same: dull, grey, and dust-free. The storage lockers - six-foot-tall, featureless black containers with keypad locks - would probably work as props in a science fiction movie. According to a digital thermostat, the temperature was fifteen degrees Celsius. The self-contained environment was separated from the corridor by an airtight-sealed door.
This was Tania’s territory. The programmer typed on keyboards under the identical monitors, working her way clockwise round the control console. Her spectacles reflected long streams of green-texted, binary data and code fragments that would only make sense to a computer expert. An athletically fit female cop watched from behind, looking totally out of her depth.
The policewoman’s attention went to the airlock as it opened with a pressurised hiss. Adrian entered, closely followed by Dawson, Lucy, Ron, and finally a fidgety Levitt. The security man remained near the door while the others spread out. Even with six people inside, there was plenty of standing room among the databanks and lockers.
Levitt appeared in a hurry to leave. “I’ll get back to the security room. I’ve got… uh… things to be checking. The technical expert can take it from here.” He squeezed sideways through the closing door, and walked quickly away.
Tania continued to work, moving from one screen to the next. She was lost in her own world, and paid no attention to the police as she tapped away. Occasionally she glanced at the detectives, only to quickly shift her attention back to the console.
“Whenever you’re ready,” hinted Ron.
“Someone hacked in,” Tania said over her keystrokes. “From outside. They were using our server as a relay.”
Adrian’s jaw lowered at the revelation.
“I’ve run a full diagnostic of our systems,” Tania pre-empted him. “Rebooted the mainframe. The scan showed no trace of malicious activity.”
“How the hell did they get through our firewalls?” Adrian yelled.
“I’m not sure.”
Adrian’s gaze hardened. He stepped over to the console, casting a shadow over Tania’s bent back. “You’re in charge of server security, aren’t you? You told me our computers could only be accessed internally. How the hell did you let this happen?”
“Adrian,” Dawson intervened. “It’s not her fault. Go easy on her.”
Adrian’s stance softened a touch. “What happened?” he asked Tania. A little more gently than before, but still miffed.
“Whoever did this had excellent IT skills, and detailed knowledge of our systems. We use advanced encryption. In theory, it’s secure against the latest intrusion techniques. No hacker could have broken through the firewall. Not without knowing the system architecture.”
Lucy took a moment to ingest Tania’s explanation. “So you’re saying the person responsible works for Taurus, but they weren’t in the building at the time.”
“That would be…” Tania seemed frightened by the conclusion. “The logical assumption.”
“So we have to wi
den our net.” Ron moved closer to Adrian. “Perhaps include suspects we’d previously ruled out.”
“It was a live news bulletin,” Adrian stressed. “Which means the sender opened the second window on their end. When the footage was uploaded, I was busy answering your questions.”
“Did I mention your name?” Ron circled around Adrian, and took up a position beside Tania. “But we will need a list of people who work in this building. And, assuming a hi-tech company like Taurus keeps tabs on its employees, their shift patterns.”
“When was your security system last updated?” Lucy asked Tania.
“Five months ago,” Adrian answered.
He looked to the programmer for confirmation. She gave him a shaky nod.
“So we could be looking for an ex-employee,” Lucy theorised. “That list will need to include those people too.”
Adrian headed for the door. “Tania will provide you with the details.”
“And send me a copy when she’s done,” Dawson said. “I’m heading over to the attorney’s office. To prepare an official statement before the press speculation gets out of control. If anything comes up in the meantime, I expect you’ll inform me straight away.”
Adrian stopped and turned to Lucy. “We’re holding that memorial service for Sophie, if you want to join us.”
“I’d like that,” she replied, adding a warm smile.
Lucy and Adrian left together. The door closed behind them, leaving Tania alone with the police.
“Sure,” Ron shouted at the hissing airlock. “Why not? Somebody has to do the boring stuff.”
Tania typed away, engrossed in her work. Ron looked at the policewoman, who stood there in total silence.
“And that would be the three stooges,” grumbled Ron.
***
Other than more advanced computer systems, the Taurus Studios development office had few features to distinguish it from any other business. Staff cubicles were tiny rectangular zones segregated by plastic dividers. Employees were issued only the basics: an L-shaped, metal framed desk each, plus a terminal, two rather shallow drawers, and an adjustable swivel chair. Workers shared a communal kitchen area with vending machines, coffee makers, and water coolers. Translucent signs were fixed to the ceiling with chrome struts, identifying the various departments that occupied this floor: Finance, Quality Control, Human Resources, and Public Relations.
Taurus employees gathered in the central aisle, heads bowed toward the black wooden floor. A giant Crimson Shadow poster - one with Sophie unmasked and unarmed - had been placed on an easel surrounded by bunches of flowers and sympathy cards. The office lights were dimmed except for those directly above the memorial, giving the poster a surreal, almost angelic glow. Quite a few people shed tears, and one woman used a soggy handkerchief to blot her cheeks dry.
Adrian led the service from the front, with Lucy at his side. “We’ll miss Sophie’s beautiful face,” the president said. “Her soft, comforting voice. But most of all, we’ll miss what she gave Taurus Studios. Sophie didn’t just play a fighter.” He paused for effect. “She was a fighter. She fought for this company every single day. She was on the front line working with the media, the customers, giving our marketing an edge that will be sorely missed.”
Someone arrived late, and joined the mourners at the back. His face was obscured by the crowd, but his striped shirt and torn jeans identified him as the man who’d cut out the newspaper clippings on Sophie’s murder. The newcomer jostled through the crowd - angering quite a few employees along the way - and dodged into a cubicle. He placed his hairy hand on the divider, squeezing so hard it wobbled. In his other hand - hidden below the plastic wall - was a supermarket carrier bag. The white polythene was weighed down by a gun-outlined object at the bottom.
“How best to put this?” Adrian continued his eulogy. “Sophie Gallier gave us a leg-up on the competition.”
The joky play on words lightened the mood, generating chuckles that spread through the audience. While the mourners shared a rare moment of laughter, Striped Shirt reached into his carrier bag and lifted the object out. It was indeed a gun - the one he’d handled in the apartment. Careful to keep the weapon hidden below the divider, the man wrapped it up in the empty bag, and tucked it underneath his arm.
Adrian’s expression turned serious. “Goodbye, Sophie,” he said.
Many who’d gathered to mourn repeated his words. One group at a time, they left the others and shuffled back to their cubicles. Striped Shirt moved from aisle to aisle, brushing past employees returning to work. He reached the kitchen, and hid round a corner as the office lights switched back on.
“You spoke well,” Lucy said, joining Adrian by the poster. She pointed out the names listed at the bottom - credits in small print. “Justin Norris. Now Sophie Gallier. Can’t be a coincidence. I need to check out this project. Do we have time for a studio tour?”
“I think we can manage that,” Adrian said.
Lucy moved closer to him. She was within touching distance, but kept her hands to herself. “For an apology?” she queried.
“We’re not there yet. But you could make a start.”
***
A colour printer hummed, and deposited a letter-sized sheet of paper in the output tray. Tania collected the printout - a rather mundane list of names in spreadsheet cells - and handed it to Ron. The female officer tapped her shoes on the floor, looking none too thrilled with her guard duty assignment.
“Quick, accurate, and detailed,” summarised Ron. “Ever thought of joining the cops?”
“And work for a government salary?” Tania said. “Better to rot in this dark hole.”
“Definitely not for you then. You’re much too smart.”
Ron’s jest brought a smile to Tania’s face. She looked sheepishly about, as if fearful someone had overheard her comments.
Ron gripped the paper tighter, crumpling the corner slightly. “Didn’t know that nutjob used to work here.”
“Who?”
Ron turned the spreadsheet so Tania could see the text above his finger. James Fitzroy. Beta Tester. Resigned October 2015.
***
Fitzroy watched from the kitchen. The carrier bag crinkled as held the wrapped pistol tight. His tinted shades appeared flamingo pink under the bright office lights, convex lenses reflecting Taurus staff at work. Tips of employees’ heads jutted above cubicle dividers. Someone passed a cardboard folder across an aisle to a colleague. Stood near the furthest-away wall - by Sophie’s memorial - were Lucy and Adrian. They shook hands in a gesture of renewed friendship, and headed toward the exit doors.
Fitzroy set off in pursuit, only to bump into an employee who rushed around the corner. The member of staff was a blond, tired-looking, boyish man in his late teens or early twenties. His black shirt was tight around his stomach, his slacks half-an-inch too short. The clothes looked as if they belonged to someone else, and had probably been loaned to him specially for the memorial.
“Hey,” the worker greeted Fitzroy. “Didn’t know you were back at Taurus. Thought I saw you at the expo.”
“Just for today,” Fitzroy said. He held the plastic bag behind his back.
The employee filled a plastic cup at the water cooler. “Why? You hated Sophie.”
Fitzroy’s lips twisted at the mention of her name. “The woman was a parasite who fed off the life blood of Taurus Studios,” he said with unrestrained contempt. “I didn’t come to mourn her. I’m here on business. This company used to be great, but people like her and Adrian Pryce have sucked its soul dry. Look at that poster. She was a sex object, a tool Pryce used and abused.”
The cup crumpled slightly in the employee’s nervy fingers. “Colourful language.” He took a long sip. “Reminds me of the fan fiction you used to write. Did that ever catch on, Fitz?”
“No, because the best of my work was stolen. Now I spread the truth. The truth employees at Taurus are too blind to see. But that will change. I tried to share the word
through my game reviews, but nobody listened. Only revealing the devil’s treachery will release you from your shackles. You might not see it yet, but I’m the Taurus Saviour. You will all thank me when this is over.”
Fitzroy turned and walked away, marching almost robot-like to the exit. A few of the staff seemed to recognize him and exchanged questioning glances, but most were too busy working to notice the ex-employee pass their cubicles. Or the polythene wrapped pistol he openly carried.
“Yeah,” muttered the man Fitzroy had just spoken to. “I’ll thank you. Thank you for leaving me in peace, you crazy bastard.”
He crushed his empty cup, and pressed the plastic flat.
“The Taurus… Saviour…” the employee said quietly. He froze on the spot, grip suddenly looser. “The Taurus Strangler. My God. It’s him!”
Other workers turned to look at the hysterical man. Squashed plastic dropped from his open palm, and slid across the kitchen floor.
Chapter Twelve
The Taurus Studios project room was structured like a beehive honeycomb, with computer workstations facing inward along three concentric, hexagonal tiers. Programmers and designers worked with touch sensitive screens, manipulating cinematic images and character models. Some graphics were still in the early phases of development, little more than wireframe men and concept sketches. Others were fully-textured, three-dimensional constructs, realistically animated to every individual grass blade and hair strand. The eponymous Crimson Shadow might pass for an actual woman if her outfit wasn’t so outlandish. The skin-tight red catsuit looked just as impractical as on the game posters, but the bizarre supporting cast of samurai giants, ghostly creatures, and geisha girl assassins suggested authenticity wasn’t the top priority.
A thin-limbed gymnast hung in mid-air above the centre of the hexagons, suspended by four steel cables. The woman - she was obviously female - wore a black, one-piece Lycra bodysuit fitted with electronic transmitters. There were literally hundreds of the tiny devices, with the glowing red diodes extending from her toes all the way to the crest of her hood. With her plastic imitation sword, the motion capture artist was a real-life facsimile of Crimson Shadow. Her ninja mask even had the same, elongated gap across the eyes. The only differences were the colour of woman’s clothes and the gas-mask-like breathing vent over her mouth.
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