《Require: Cookie - Book #1 - Mirrorfall》


 01 - Broken Doll

    A child screamed.


    Ryan swore as he tripped over the threshold to the pastel-painted nursery. A silenced shot passed by his head, missing him by inches. Some part of him made a note of it, more evidence to clear away, more collateral damage to control ¨C the rest of him was focussed on the crying child.


    The little girl, with a gun held uncomfortably close to her head.


    His footing regained, Ryan brought his gun up and aimed it at the Solstice. The sweaty man gave him a smug smile, took another shot, then jammed the barrel back up to the little girl¡¯s head. ¡®Back off now, Agent.¡¯ Teardrops made dark patches on the girl¡¯s shirt as she struggled to get out of the Solstice¡¯s grip.


    Two shots, now. Usually more than enough to alert civilians. There were no shouts. No sounds of people running in fear. No calls to the authorities. No parents coming to rescue their child.


    He held his gun steady. He had no intention of letting the Solstice escape again. He looked to the little girl, and she stopped screaming, settling for holding tight onto the china doll in her tiny hands and crying.


    ¡®Put the child down,¡¯ he ordered. ¡®I¡¯m willing to talk.¡¯ A dialogue was pointless, but it would give him a few more seconds to rescue the child. A few more seconds without another death on his conscience. He retreated a few steps, to calm the man a little.


    ¡®I don¡¯t want to talk,¡¯ the Solstice said, giving the little girl a rough shake. ¡®I want to live.¡¯


    The Solstice had shown obvious signs of desperation ¨C his escape route had taken him through minor blackout zones; had criss-crossed highly populated areas, public spaces; and had now entered a private residence. The foot chase had none of the usual tacit subtlety. There would be police reports. There would be witness statements.


    Ryan scanned the man. The reason for the man¡¯s panic was clear: The blackout energy in the Solstice¡¯s body was degrading. Five minutes ¨C give or take a few seconds ¨C and his time was up. Five minutes, and Ryan would be able to shift the criminal straight into an Agency cell.


    He didn¡¯t have five minutes; the little girl didn¡¯t have five minutes. ¡®Put the¨C¡¯


    The Solstice gripped the child tighter, making it impossible to take a shot without endangering her life. A tiny struggling, screaming human shield. She was young, two or not much older. Too young to be reasoned with, too young to know to be quiet, to be calm, to stop flailing into Ryan¡¯s line of fire.


    He could take the shot. He could take the chance.


    She wailed again, and his resolve wavered. He couldn¡¯t take the shot. He couldn¡¯t take the chance.


    The image of a bruised and battered fae flashed in his mind, a young woman who had looked hardly old enough to have graduated high school: the Solstice¡¯s first victim of the day.


    They¡¯d been just a little too late, and she¡¯d died, but not before putting up a fight. There had been defensive wounds up and down her arms. The Solstice had taken his time with her, and the bastard had obviously enjoyed himself.


    Ryan pushed the image away.


    The easiest way to change the situation would have been to shift the child way from the Solstice, to teleport her into Ryan¡¯s arms, her playpen, one of the other rooms, or ¨C at the extreme ¨C the agency, where there was no chance of injury. It was dangerous, too dangerous, given how close the gun was to her head.


    Shifting, despite how quick and painless it was, could be detected by those with enough practice. There was a momentary tactile difference in the skin just before the shift, and that moment would be all the Solstice needed to pull the trigger.


    There were still no screaming parents, no concerned visitors phoning the authorities ¨C his HUD indicated that ¨C nothing, just the sounds of the party outside. From an emotional standpoint, it was horrible; from a strategic standpoint, it was the best scenario he could ever hope for. The less complicated the situation, the better.


    ¡®One last chance,¡¯ Ryan said. ¡®Put the child down.¡¯


    The Solstice started to back away to the door. Something crunched, and the man looked down, distracted by whatever he had stepped on.


    In that split second, Ryan shifted the girl away from the man. She clung to Ryan¡¯s suit as he balanced her on his hip. Enraged, the Solstice looked back up at him, then swung his gun up and took a few shots. The anger, the fear, made the shots go wild ¨C


    One bullet lodged in Ryan¡¯s shoulder, but he pushed away the pain. It would pass soon enough.


    ¡®You brought this on yourself.¡¯ He adjusted his aim and pulled the trigger. The man fell, and blood began to seep into the expensive rug.


    There was something warm against his side, and he looked down to comfort the little girl, knowing that a nappy change was the least of¨C


    Half-closed, dead little blue eyes stared at him, stared past him, stared nowhere. He dismissed his gun with a thought, and he lifted her to inspect her, feeling the blood on his hand before he saw it.


    Blood oozed from a gaping hole in her chest. Her life leaked out, staining her soft purple top, dripped onto his hand before it fell to the floor, the beginnings of a puddle starting near his feet.


    His fault. Another death on his conscience. Another innocent gone.


    He pulled the child close and lifted a hand to close her eyes. It was the least he could do; it was all he could do.


    Blue flashed. His thoughts froze as the tiny spark of her soul floated past his eyes. He spun, nearly dropping the small body, and lunged for the spark.


    The tiny blue soul slipped through his fingers, then floated higher and began to fade. He made another grab for it, concentrated, and that time, he made tenuous contact with it. Light streamed through his fingers as if he held a tiny star, the soul screaming in his mind from being held captive.


    Sweat poured down his face as he fought to keep a hold of the child¡¯s soul. It tried to escape of his grasp. He stumbled, tripping on the expensive rug as it tried to wrench free of his grasp. Ryan¡¯s skin melted, and the soul began to burn into his flesh. It would burn a hole straight through his hand to escape, but hopefully before that he would¨C


    A cold breeze blew from behind him.


    ¡®What do you think you¡¯re doing?¡¯ She sounded disappointed, as usual.


    For a moment more, Ryan stared at the light streaming through his fingers, then opened his hand and let the soul float away, a balloon without a string. He curled his fingers over his burnt palm and turned to face Death.


    ¡®What are you doing?¡¯ she demanded again.


    He looked away from her, then down at the dead child in his arms. ¡®She¡¯s too old to become a Starbright¨C¡¯


    ¡®Far too old,¡¯ she snapped, staring at him with her skeletal face. ¡®Your point?¡¯


    ¡®Lady, please, I¨C¡¯


    ¡®Don¡¯t beg, Ryan.¡¯


    He held the little corpse held tighter. ¡®Please.¡¯


    ¡®She is too young to make the choice on her own,¡¯ Death said after a moment.


    ¡®She¡¯s passed on?¡¯


    The oldest of the three Ladies stared at him, expression unreadable. She turned away from him for a moment, and his heart sank. She took a step towards the nursery window, stared down at the party in the garden, then looked back at him, a human-seeming face replacing her skeletal visage.


    She pulled away her hood, and silver hair spilled out over her shoulders. ¡®Think about why you¡¯re doing this, Ryan.¡¯


    ¡®It¡¯s my job,¡¯ he said.


    She walked back to him. ¡®This is not your job, angel,¡¯ she said as she lifted his hand. She ran cool fingers across the burn, the pain and the injury disappearing with her touch.


    ¡®Please,¡¯ he said, nearly choking on the word. He looked up at her. ¡®Please, my lady.¡¯ He felt tears stinging at the backs of his eyes, but he quickly blinked them away.


    ¡®I do wish you would consider the consequences.¡¯


    ¡®She¡¯s a child; the consequence will be a life.¡¯


    ¡®If you want to retrieve her soul, Ryan, put her body down.¡¯


    He held the girl for a moment more, then stooped and placed the body back in her playpen, laying her on the blanket embroidered with her name: Stephanie. He looked away from her, from his failure, from the blood covering her, and his gaze fell on the broken china doll ¨C what the Solstice had stepped on. He picked it up. It was something familiar, and hopefully it would convince her to trust him, to come back with him, to reject death.


    The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.


    Death took a step towards him, and everything fell away. For a moment, he saw the house in its constituent parts ¨C each piece turned into dust, leaving nothing behind, until he was alone in the blackness. He took a breath, then let himself go, and he dropped through the darkness, through the emptiness that was Death¡¯s realm.


    There was no need to stare out into the darkness. There was nothing to see, nothing to do but imagine monsters in the darkness, so he closed his eyes and waited for the journey to end.


    After a small eternity, he felt solid ground under his feet, and after a moment to collect his thoughts, he felt brave enough to look. Limbo¡¯s eternal storm clouds swirled overhead in the grey sky ¨C promising a storm that never came, brimming with rain that never fell, and occasionally cracking with lightning that never struck the ground and that was never followed by thunder.


    The grey earth beneath his feet let up little puffs of dust as he crossed towards the tree line of the winter-dead forest and two little girls.


    One of the girls was the child he was there to save; the other was the grey land¡¯s guardian. Limbo rolled a bright red ball towards the dead child, turned to him, laughed, and then looked away. Limbo existed entirely in greyscale, her hair silver, her skin ashen, and her eyes black. Even her monk¡¯s robe was in muted tones. Limbo, despite her age, despite her responsibility, always appeared as a child.


    All he could do was watch them play. The girl he¡¯d failed was happy. All her fear had disappeared. There were no more terrified screams or tears of pain; there was just the ball and her new playmate. Children adjusted so quickly. He envied them that quality.


    His hands shook, and Ryan buried them in his pockets ¨C it was a useless gesture. The sisters would know how he felt, know his thoughts, and know his decisions before he spoke them aloud. His mind was as open as a picture book with large text. Secrets were an impossibility when dealing with the Ladies. Death knew his fears, his paranoia, his guilt. It was more honesty than he preferred. Bravado didn¡¯t work; facades of strength did nothing to keep her from seeing his lack of conviction.


    The little dead girl caught the ball, bounced it, and pushed it back towards Limbo. The grey land¡¯s guardian turned to him and laughed, the innocent sound doing a lot to make him feel a little better about the situation.


    He sat on the felled log behind Limbo and watched the girls play for a moment.


    The ball rolled in his direction, and he pushed it back towards the little dead girl. She barely looked at him, her attention entirely focussed on the ball. The lack of attention didn¡¯t bother him. He was an agent. He wasn¡¯t there to be noticed. He wasn¡¯t there to be remembered. Today would happen, and then it would be lost in the miasma that was the foggy memories of childhood. His mistake wouldn¡¯t impact her.


    If he could take her back.


    If he took her back.


    ¡®You¡¯re right to hesitate,¡¯ Death said as she stood beside him, making him feel so small. She touched his arm, a rare gesture of affection. ¡®You do not have the right to do this. You can¡¯t force this choice on her.¡¯


    ¡®It¡¯s my right,¡¯ he said as he uncurled his fists within his pockets, ¡®to try and save her.¡¯


    ¡®Is this really saving her, Ryan?¡¯ Death stepped in front of him, blocking his view of her sister and the little girl. Death¡¯s face was skeletal for a moment, angry, before appearing human again. ¡®There is every chance,¡¯ she said, ¡®that she will become a ghost. Is that what you wish on her?¡¯


    He felt a chill as he struggled for an answer. ¡®My Lady¨C¡¯


    ¡®Do you want her to become a ghost?¡¯ she demanded.


    It took every shred of self-control to keep his voice calm. ¡®Of course not.¡¯


    ¡®Then let her pass.¡¯


    He looked away from Death and down to Stephanie again. ¡®She deserves a chance,¡¯ he said, the words coming easily as the decision fortified in his mind. ¡®She has to have a chance.¡¯


    ¡®This isn¡¯t even about her,¡¯ Death said, an angry edge to her voice, her skeletal face returning and staring through him. ¡®You¡¯ve no investment in the child. You¡¯re acting out of guilt because of¨C¡¯


    ¡®I know,¡¯ he snapped, and shame overtook the anger. He hung his head, unable to meet Death¡¯s gaze, and stared at his feet, taking in the detail of the fine dust covering his leather shoes. ¡®I know why I¡¯m doing this,¡¯ he said, more quietly that time. He looked back up at her. ¡®I need to save someone,¡¯ he said weakly. ¡®Even if it isn¡¯t Carol.¡¯


    Death sighed and stared off into the dead forest of identical trees for a small eternity. ¡®As is your wish,¡¯ she said at last. ¡®But she has to come willingly.¡¯


    He nodded. ¡®Yes, my Lady.¡¯


    Ryan stepped over the fallen tree and walked towards the little girl. Limbo grabbed his pants leg and offered the red ball. He stooped and accepted it, thanking her with a nod. She stared at him for a moment, her black eyes reflecting his unsure expression back at him, before she smiled, climbed to her feet, and ran off into her forest.


    Stephanie stared after her playmate for a moment, then began to get to her feet to follow Limbo into the seemingly never-ending forest.


    ¡®Wait,¡¯ he said, not wanting to chance losing her. He held up the ball, sat in the dust, then rolled it across to her. She clapped her hands and pushed it back towards him. Children¡¯s games, a skill that had grown rusty with disuse, a skill he didn¡¯t mind reviving, if only for a few minutes. He pushed on the ball again and reached for the doll that he¡¯d brought with him. The doll was missing.


    That time when she rolled the ball back, he let it go past his leg and hit the log behind him. He looked at the ground around him and to the log where he had sat: no doll. He looked up and followed his footprints in the dust back to the place he had entered the grey land: no doll.


    ¡®You dropped it,¡¯ Death said, picking the question from his mind. ¡®What¡¯s to say that you wouldn¡¯t drop her?¡¯ The broken doll appeared in Death¡¯s hand, and she passed it to him.


    ¡®I would be¨C¡¯ he began. Careful. He would be so much more careful with a child than with a doll. The doll wasn¡¯t important. The doll wasn¡¯t a small, precious life that needed protecting. The doll wasn¡¯t a tiny step towards redemption.


    He noticed that the girl was watching him, staring at the doll in his hand through the wispy brown hair over her tiny blue eyes. He couldn¡¯t leave her behind. ¡®I will be a lot more careful with her,¡¯ he said as he offered the doll down to its small owner. ¡®I will.¡¯


    The child¡¯s eyes grew even wider, then filled with tears, her tiny pink mouth opening to let forth yet another wail. He looked back to Death, wondering what he¡¯d¨C


    His gaze fell on the doll in his hand. He¡¯d grabbed it without thinking, without repairing it. He shoved the broken, bloody mess into his jacket, out of the little girl¡¯s sight.


    He wasn¡¯t in the world, so he couldn¡¯t require the doll fixed; but within Limbo, just as within an oubliette, simple wishes and needs were heard and fulfilled. He concentrated and felt the doll¡¯s head run into liquid and then re-form. The cloth rippled as the clothes were replaced. With a smile, he pulled the renewed doll from his jacket and held it up to the girl.


    The scream stopped, and the tears disappeared. She rubbed her dirty face with a sleeve, then half-stood, resting one hand on his leg and grabbing with the other for her doll. He lowered it to her reaching hand, and she dropped back to the ground, her tiny, pudgy arms wrapped tightly around the red-headed doll. She buried her face in the doll¡¯s curly hair, her hands curling into the fabric of the doll¡¯s dress.


    He let himself take comfort in making her happy for a moment, then rose and looked at Death, whose face was skeletal again. ¡®May I take her home now?¡¯


    ¡®She has not said yes yet, Ryan. She has to make the choice.¡¯


    He opened his mouth to protest, a dozen arguments forming in his mind, each fighting to be the first stated. A child so young had no way to understand the choice she was being asked to make, nor any way to articulate the answer. It was unfair. He¡¯d failed after all; there was no way to¨C


    There was a tug on his jacket. He looked down and saw the girl. She smiled up at him, then hugged his right leg, mumbling something that was probably a thank you into the fabric of his pants.


    Death put a hand on his shoulder and smiled down at him. ¡®She wants to go with you. That¡¯s a ¡°yes¡±, Ryan.¡¯


    He knelt and picked up the little girl and her doll. ¡®Time to go home, Stephanie.¡¯

 02 - The Best of Stories, The Worst of Stories

    The world around Stef had ceased to exist. The only things still tangible in the smoky limbo were her screen and her keyboard. The latter was less real, existing only as an abstract, a tool through which algorithms and codes took shape.


    From somewhere in the smoke, a beep reminded her to breathe. Stef took a breath but didn¡¯t dare to blink, lest the fragile connection she had to her task be lost. Losing concentration would mean losing the battle with consciousness, and she¡¯d only been awake for twenty-three hours.


    ¡®I¡¯m awake,¡¯ she said, unconvinced. ¡®I am awake.¡¯


    A knock from somewhere out in the smoke made her hands slip from the keyboard. She swore, shook them, and began to type again, her gaze never leaving the screen. She was satisfied with the change on the screen. Her hands left the keyboard again, that time of her own accord, one to grab the drink to her left, one to click the mouse three times. After that small pause, she began to type again.


    There was another knock, louder that time.


    Her nostrils flared, but she made no move to greet the visitor. Whatever they wanted couldn¡¯t have been as important as the task at hand. The firewalls were closing in around her, blocking further access, keeping her from her goal.


    Stef looked back to her computer. It wasn¡¯t a difficult hack, but it was a trial of a new methodology and of a lot of untested code, and the closest to an adventure she could have without booting up WoW.


    There was a third knock.


    Knock, knock, Spyder. Go get the door.


    But I¡¯m busy.


    Go get the door.


    She shook her head and saved the new algorithms. With a few clicks, she killed the connection and the hack, then alt-tabbed to the desktop just in case someone was watching. She pushed herself back from the desk, rolling down the sleeves of her shirt to hide her monitor-bleached skin ¨C lest her landlord give her another pseudo-lecture on how unhealthy she looked ¨C and shook her legs in effort to help them remember how to stand. She spun on her chair and stood on still-uneasy legs, letting the wall provide her with balance as she made her way to the front door.


    She crossed the small apartment and groped for the keys on the small entry cupboard.


    ¡®I already put the rent in your box, Mr Jenkins,¡¯ she said as she pulled the door open.


    The man standing before her wasn¡¯t her landlord or anyone else she recognised.


    A tall, blond man stared down at her. ¡®I¡¯m not after the rent.¡¯ He gave her a small smile. ¡®Two minutes, thirty-two seconds ¨C most people don¡¯t leave me standing on their doorstep so long. My name is Dorian; may I come in?¡¯


    For the eighty-third time since moving into the flat, she silently cursed that the peephole was out of her easy reach.


    She stared at the man for a moment, watched him spin a silver pocket watch on a long, tarnished chain, then reached for the door, ready to slam it shut.


    ¡®I wouldn¡¯t do that, Spyder,¡¯ he said as he put a hand near hers. ¡®I did come this far to see you, after all.


    Stef slammed the door shut ¨C she tried to slam the door shut. Power levels taxed by insomnia were no match for a strong hand on the frame and a doorstop made of foot and expensive leather shoe.


    Door close now, plz!


    Kick his foot.


    She kicked his foot, and he swore. ¡®Spyder, you really shouldn¡¯t¨C¡¯


    ¡®Who the fsck are you?¡¯


    ¡®We went over this; my name is Dorian.¡¯


    ¡®Yeah? So? Who are you?¡¯


    A piece of paper was pushed through the shoe-wide crack. It flipped and landed face down on the floor near her feet ¨C she grabbed the corner of it with a socked foot and turned it over.


    She let go of the door.


    ¡®Does that mean I can come in?¡¯


    She looked back to him, possibilities spinning in her mind. ¡®Do I need to invite you in?¡¯


    He pushed on the door and stepped over the threshold. ¡®No,¡¯ he said. ¡®I was just being polite.¡¯


    This is not one of your brightest ideas.


    All the best stories and all the worst stories start with inviting a strange man into your house.


    Which is this?


    Don¡¯t know yet. Probably neither.


    I don¡¯t like this.


    Dorian closed the door behind him, but he made a show of leaving it unlocked. She bent, picked up the piece of paper, and walked through to the lounge room. She sat in the single armchair and made a vague motion towards the couch.


    He gave a sigh and pushed at the pile of gaming magazines until there was enough room to sit.


    All desire to sleep had fled. ¡®I thought this was¨C This was weeks ago; I thought you¡¯d already hired someone to work with it.¡¯


    ¡®I had,¡¯ he said, straightening his expensive suit. ¡®You¡¯re by no means first string. I¡¯ve brought forty-two people on board so far; all but six have left. Some lasted a day; some lasted a week. Apparently, it¡¯s a bit of a challenge.¡¯


    ¡®I¡¯m up for it¡­presuming that there¡¯s more than just this. I can¡¯t do anything with one page of code.¡¯


    ¡®We do have the complete program. That¡¯s the point: We need to get it working.¡¯


    She nodded, her mind spinning in a dozen different directions, half-formed questions waiting to be asked. ¡®What¡¯s the pay?¡¯


    ¡®You don¡¯t care about the money,¡¯ he said with a smile. ¡®Your response was one of the more verbose, and not once did you ask about the money.¡¯


    ¡®Yeah, you¡¯re right, but I do have rent to pay.¡¯


    ¡®It¡¯s living expenses for now,¡¯ he said. ¡®Because of the nature of the work, you¡¯ll need to be sequestered.¡¯ He lifted his briefcase and pulled out a slim folder. ¡®Standard non-disclosure agreement.¡¯


    ¡®What am I not disclosing?¡¯


    ¡®I can¡¯t tell you that until you sign the form.¡¯


    ¡®This is beginning to sound like the Manhattan Project 2.0.¡¯


    ¡®Is there something about constant exposure to the internet that makes you people paranoid, or have I just been exceptionally lucky?¡¯


    ¡®Just ¨C just for reference,¡¯ she said as she fixed her eyes on the Guy Fawkes poster across the room. ¡®This isn¡¯t some sort of missile defence code thing or to open a secret vault of¡­evil stuff?¡¯ She gave a self-conscious smile. ¡®If this is global domination, I need to know the philosophy before signing up.¡¯ He could be a villain; he could very possibly be a villain. He certainly had the accent for it.


    ¡®Nothing so childish, Spyder,¡¯ he said. ¡®We just need to get the rest of the program that section of code belonged to working again. All of the original programmers are¡­incommunicado, and it¡¯s time sensitive.¡¯


    ¡®Does ¡°incommunicado¡± mean ¡°dead¡±?¡¯


    ¡®Yes, Spyder, it does.¡¯


    ¡®You aren¡¯t inspiring confidence, here.¡¯


    ¡®I¡¯m here, aren¡¯t I? That means something.¡¯


    ¡®It means you should hire some professionals,¡¯ she said. ¡®If it¡¯s that important, why are you bothering with this¡­routine? This as a hiring pitch for a long-time job, I can buy ¨C but not if you¡¯re working with a limited window.¡¯


    ¡®Professionals won¡¯t give me what I need.¡¯


    She rounded the couch to get a better look at him. ¡®And what do you need?¡¯


    ¡®To sound like some people I don¡¯t like very much, we need new perspectives, and I don¡¯t want professionals. They will ask questions that I¡¯m not willing to answer. I need people willing to do a job and walk away.¡¯


    ¡®Pass.¡¯


    ¡®¡°Pass¡±? Really?¡¯


    She gave a shrug. ¡®Yeah. Pass.¡¯


    He leaned forwards and pulled another folder from his briefcase, then extracted one sheet from the slim file and held it up.


    She stared at it.


    She pushed herself out of the armchair and grabbed for the sheet, but he drew it back from her reach. ¡®NDA first, Spyder.¡¯


    ¡®Then give me a fscking pen.¡¯ He gave her a pen, and she scrawled out something that barely resembled her signature and pushed it back at him. ¡®Gimme!¡¯ she demanded, and she pulled the sheet from him as soon as he offered it.


    ¡®Well?¡¯ he prompted.


    She tore her eyes away from the sheet and ran back to her bedroom.


    Two clicks had her desktop shutting down whilst she pulled her laptop bag from the bottom drawer. She retrieved Frankie from his usual place under her pillow, paused briefly to make sure that she had not left him on by accident again, then slid him into the fraying brown bag.


    She pulled a heavily vandalised overnight bag from her wardrobe and tossed the first six items of clothing that came into her hands into the open bag ¨C five T-shirts, one pair of pants. She caught sight of her rumpled top in the mirrored door as she wriggled out of her pyjama pants, leaving them with the pile of clothes on the floor.


    One more piece of dirty laundry on the floor made no difference at this point. The pants would help to keep the other clothes company. The rest of the laundry had been on the floor for long enough to gain sentience and begin the planning stages of a coup ¨C it would welcome fresh blood, new ideas, or at least another piece of cannon fodder in the soap wars that were to come.


    The stench of her stained shirt was inexplicably bad as she pulled it over her head. She gave it a suspicious glance and wondered if that was a sign of a gas leak. There was no reason for it to smell so badly, no reason at all, after all¨C


    This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.I showered on Tuesday¡­


    It¡¯s Tuesday again, Spyder.


    The shirt joined the pants on the floor. She reached for the closest clean shirt in the wardrobe ¨C something that had started as a black shirt with white writing, but the writing had faded so badly that it was now just a modern art study in flecks and spots. She tossed the shirt behind her and onto the bed as she rummaged for a pair of pants.


    She closed the mirrored door and stared for a moment at the moving shape it contained. She looked up and tried to focus on the odd shape ¨C if it was even there at all, and not some figment of her very active imagination. The shape in the mirror moved, and it became clear, became a man.


    Her hands went sweaty against the mirrored door of the wardrobe as hot prickles crawled up her exposed spine. He was looking at her there was no way that he was not looking at her.


    I should have closed the door; I should have close the door; I should have closed the door¨C


    Stop it; settle down.


    She wrapped her arms around herself and turned halfway so that she could look at him. Instructions to get out, to turn away, to leave her the hell alone died somewhere in her throat, and lodged in the tangible lump of fear there.


    Get out! Get out! Get out!


    ¡®I was going to say,¡¯ Dorian said, ¡®that there¡¯s no rush; it¡¯s a private car, not a cab.¡¯


    He took a few steps into the room, and she felt dizzy.


    All thoughts froze as he came closer, and she quickly wrapped her arms more tightly around herself, in an effort to hide her shame. Hot prickles ran up and down her spine, the heat dried her mouth and made her head spin.


    She fought the urge to rip the wardrobe door open, to push herself through the clothes and escape through the back of the wardrobe ¨C whether it be to the flat next door or¨C


    Dorian lifted her shirt from the bed and came closer. He extended his hand and stopped when he came in range. His freaky grey eyes stared at her, and she pulled her left hand away from her body to grab the shirt. She clutched the old shirt to her chest and felt some of the blood return to her head, and some of the breath to her body.


    He retreated across the room but did not leave. ¡®Take your time,¡¯ he said. ¡®But one observation, if I may?¡¯


    She made a vaguely affirmative noise, her throat still not ready to push out words.


    ¡®Most girls,¡¯ he said, ¡®would have covered their breasts, not their scars.¡¯


    She stared at the floor, gave a one-shouldered shrug, and waited for him to leave. The door closed, sealed her in, alone and safe, her sanctuary restored. She sank to the carpet, the musty smell familiar, comforting, normal ¨C so very normal in comparison to the last five minutes.


    One quick count to ten in binary later, she stood, gave the door a suspicious look, then slowly got dressed.


    So, have you decided yet?


    Well, I haven¡¯t been axe-murdered yet.


    Clothes in place, she dropped a few more items in her overnight bag ¨C USB memory sticks full of pieces of code, little programs, music to code by, codecs that made life easier, and some games in case there were periods of boredom. She zipped up the bag, threw the laptop bag containing Frankie and his accessories over her shoulder, then left the bedroom, dragging the heavier-than-anticipated bag behind her.


    Dorian lay on the couch, head on the left arm, feet propped up on the right, left hand holding a cigarette, right hand tapping out something on a smartphone.


    ¡®Got everything you need?¡¯ he asked, not looking up from his phone. ¡®If there¡¯s anything more you need, we¡¯ve probably got it already, or we can get the car to bring you back.¡¯


    ¡®I really don¡¯t need that much.¡¯


    He slipped the phone into his pocket, stood, and reached for the overnight bag. He tugged it from her hand even while she protested. ¡®Let me be a gentleman, Spyder,¡¯ he said as he lifted it.


    She grabbed her wallet as she walked past the entryway table, slipped it into her pocket, and pulled the door closed as she followed him. They walked past the adjacent flats, then down the wide internal staircase to the open lobby. The building had once been a hotel, catering to short stays, but the owner had tired of the upkeep and just taken on long-term occupants, charging a small fraction of what the size of the flats and the location warranted.


    Mr Jenkins ¨C who always insisted on the ¡°mister¡± part and had no first name so far as she knew, or who simply didn¡¯t give it out to people under fifty ¨C had the only ground floor flat, the door of which was open as usual and blaring noises from his television, usually shows from the eighties.


    If Dorian¡¯s arrival was a case of the worst of stories, then at least he would not have any problem renting the flat, and the sale of the computer equipment would more than cover the cleaning costs. The cost of fighting the rampaging laundry, however, would probably be out-of-pocket on his part.


    Dorian pushed open the door, and she stepped out onto the street, the light nearly blinding her. She cursed the sun, natural enemy to hacker and geek alike, and blinked until her eyes adjusted. The temporary blindness served one purpose though: It informed her that she was indeed in reality. Terrible, bright, sleep-deprived reality.


    The chauffeur of the dark blue town car stepped forwards and took the bag from Dorian, then held out a hand for her laptop bag. She slid it from her shoulder and watched him pack them gently in the boot. The driver opened the door, and Dorian slid in first, then offered a hand to her.


    You are allowed to turn back.


    I think I¡¯m going to find out if it¡¯s a worst of stories first.


    By then it¡¯ll be too late.


    She joined Dorian and pulled the door shut so that the chauffeur had one less menial task to do. She put on her seatbelt as the driver climbed into the car, raising the tinted privacy window.


    Dorian laid the folder on her lap and pulled his phone from his pocket again. ¡®This is only casual business,¡¯ he said as he gave the phone a slight shake. The car pulled off and into traffic. ¡®I¡¯m interested as to your first impressions.¡¯


    She pulled out the page she had scribbled on. ¡®It¡¯s not a language I¡¯ve seen before. Some of this almost looks familiar, but it doesn¡¯t do what I¡¯d expect, so I think that¡¯s a coincidence, unless coincidences don¡¯t exist, in which case it¡¯s just a thing. Other bits, like here¡¯ ¨C she stabbed a finger at the sheet of paper ¨C ¡®that¡¯s just¡­nothing. I have no idea what that bit is doing there. Or that. Or that.¡¯


    ¡®Have fun,¡¯ he said as he looked down at his phone.


    She swallowed. ¡®I think I have to ask the obvious question of what your stake in all this is.¡¯


    ¡®I¡¯m doing this for the story.¡¯ He caught her expression. ¡®Don¡¯t look at me like that, Spyder. I don¡¯t mean it in the way you think. Not a report. Not a news story. Nothing so¡­tabloid. Literally, for the story. So many lives these days are pedestrian, carbon copies and attempts at copies, emulation and clich¨¦. The want to be a picture in a magazine¡­ It sickens me.¡¯ He stared at her. ¡®It¡¯s a rare chance to be a part of something truly worthwhile. That¡¯s what I get out of this. And I know the financier; I¡¯m doing this as a favour to him.¡¯


    She gave him another shrug and went back to the pages of code, scribbling notes in the margins and circling the lines of code that boggled her the most.


    Five pages of annotated code later, the car stopped. ¡®We¡¯re here,¡¯ Dorian said.


    She rolled down the window and stared out at a mansion. The large iron gate rolled open without a sound, and they drove up the circular driveway, giving her barely enough time to take in the grounds and the outlying regions of the massive property.


    The driver opened her door, and she stuffed all of the loose printouts back into the folder and stepped out. The mansion rose up in front of her, old ¨C but not too old ¨C and immaculately kept ¨C no chips in the brickwork and no faded paint. The boring kind of big, old house. Big, old houses were only interesting when they contained dust, must, ghosts, secrets, and mysteries that could be solved on a rainy afternoon.


    ¡®The others are on the second floor,¡¯ Dorian said as the heavy front door was pulled open for them. ¡®You should have no need of the first floor, as all meals are brought up. If you need something at a non-designated meal time, there should be refreshments lying around, or you can call down to the kitchen.¡¯ He stopped and turned to look at her. ¡®And stay off the third floor.¡¯


    She gave him a deadpan look. ¡®Why, is there a rose in a glass case?¡¯


    ¡®Close,¡¯ he said with a smile. ¡®Antique items that we¡¯d rather not have any more exposure then necessary. That, and your financier stays up there. He¡¯s a very private man, and he¡¯s rather unwell, so he¡¯d preferred not to be bothered. ¡¯


    ¡®Yeah, okay. I can deal with that.¡¯


    ¡®The others will introduce themselves,¡¯ he said. ¡®Some are choosing to operate under pseudonyms adopted especially for this project. You can, too. That¡¯s your prerogative, though I don¡¯t think you have enough of a reputation to tarnish should you fail.¡¯


    She opened her mouth to protest, but he was halfway up the stairs before she could think of anything witty to say. ¡®You¡¯re in room five,¡¯ he said. ¡®Up this way, Spyder.¡¯


    Black-and-white photos stared at her from silver frames, but there was no time to focus on them as he urged her up the stairs. The room was small ¨C barely enough room for the single bed, wardrobe and desk ¨C but it was a comfortable kind of small.


    She lifted her laptop bag from the floor as Dorian handed her the key.


    ¡®All the rooms look pretty much the same, so be careful you don¡¯t fall asleep in the wrong bed.¡¯


    She gave a shrug.


    ¡®I¡¯ll have everything brought to you, printout and digital copy; there¡¯s stationery in the desk; dinner is at seven. Is there anything else you need?¡¯


    ¡®Coffee,¡¯ she said as she turned Frankie on, the fans whirring to life. ¡®Lots of it. Something for a headache. Something to eat ¨C nothing heavy, though.¡¯


    ¡®It¡¯ll be sent up in a little while. For what it¡¯s worth, good luck.¡¯


    She gave him a little smile, locked the door after he left, then sat at the bed and stared across at Frankie as the desktop loaded.


    Two minutes ¨C two minutes, then I¡¯ll get back up and deal with this.


    You really don¡¯t need to bother lying to me.


    She put her head on the pillow.


    Fine. A subjective two minutes then.


    She yawned, closed her eyes, and let sleep finally win.

 03 - Conversations in the Night

    Stef stared at the code in front of her and made some notes on the already-full piece of paper to her right. The algorithm cycled in her mind, failed, spontaneously blew up, then laughed at her. Dutifully, she crossed out her last few notes, then searched for a new piece of paper.


    Finding none, she stood and walked past the other code monkeys and over to the printer, pulled out the tray, and extracted a few pieces of A4 paper.


    The last algorithm had promise if¨C


    A scream flushed all ideas from her mind.


    She gripped the paper in her hands and braced for whatever came next. The halls were dark, filled only with the eclectic artefacts. All the staff had long since gone home or retired to their quarters. The only people awake were the ones in the room with her.


    Creepy mansion, creepy scream¡­


    Concentrate, Spyder.


    There was a second scream, and suddenly its source was all too probable ¨C the third floor.


    So¡­maybe not a rose in a glass case, then, but that sounds like a beast.


    She looked around carefully, appraising each of the exits in turn, just in case the need to escape came.


    She looked around the room at the other code monkeys, undecided about how to react until she could gauge what they were doing. It was possible that the house was haunted, and that the screams were a perfectly normal occurrence. The reactions of the other code monkeys, however, didn¡¯t align with that theory.


    The people in the room held their collective breath, waiting for a fourth scream or the revelation of its source. No more screams came ¨C none like the first, in any case. Screaming music came again, backed by drums and wailing guitars. Dorian materialised in the doorway, coming out of the shadows in dark clothes.


    ¡®I do apologise,¡¯ he said, his voice strained, his hands in his pockets. ¡®I was sent some new music. I didn¡¯t realise that the volume was up to eleven.¡¯


    ¡®It sounded real,¡¯ one of her fellow code monkeys said. ¡®I¡¯m jealous of your sound system.¡¯


    Stef fought the urge to groan, to berate them for so readily accepting a lie. Whatever the sound had been, it had not come from speakers, no matter how good the system was. The boys around her, however, seemed content with the explanation, and she had no wish to burst their little bubble worlds.


    ¡®Our financier has allowed me to offer an incentive,¡¯ Dorian said. He grabbed an empty bowl from the food cart and threw a dozen slips of paper into it.


    ¡®These are all of your names. Whoever I pull out¨C¡¯


    ¡®Isn¡¯t it a bit late to be doing this?¡¯ one of her fellows asked. ¡®I mean, some people are asleep.¡¯


    ¡®¨Cshall win a new television,¡¯ he said without pausing. ¡®It¡¯s just a little thank you, something to inspire more great work.¡¯


    Dorian turned to look at her. ¡®Would you do it, Spyder?¡¯


    Stef looked at the hand proffering the bowl, walked towards him, turned her back to the rest of the code monkeys, and made a great play of mixing the slips of paper around.


    ¡®There¡¯s blood on your sleeve,¡¯ she observed, a forced smile on her face, ¡®and under your nails.¡¯


    His grip tightened on the bowl.


    ¡®Do you want the TV?¡¯ he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.


    ¡®You severely underestimate me,¡¯ she said as she latched onto one of the pieces of paper. She looked around at the other coders, trying to match the name with one of the faces she¡¯d barely paid any attention to.


    You¡¯re taking too long.


    She pointed at the boy who sat opposite her. ¡®You win. Grats.¡¯ She lowered her hand, folded the paper, and slipped it into her pocket.


    He gave a victorious whoop and grinned as the people around him gave him congratulatory pats ¨C or jealous slaps ¨C on the back.


    ¡®Night,¡¯ she said unceremoniously and walked from the room.


    Dorian, predictably, followed her. ¡®S¨C¡¯


    She held up a hand to quiet him until they reached her room.


    ¡®Spyder¨C¡¯


    ¡®That scream,¡¯ she said as she leaned against the heavy wooden door, ¡®didn¡¯t come from a sound system. I know this; don¡¯t argue with me. I know it came from the third floor. Don¡¯t bother to refute that, either. Whoever was screaming was injured, hence the blood. The TV was a distraction, and a good one: expensive. It did the trick. Congratulations, you placated a bunch of idiots with a shiny prize.¡¯


    She caught his expression. ¡®And right now, you¡¯re thinking ¡°There¡¯s something not quite right about this girl,¡± and you¡¯re right. But so am I, aren¡¯t I?¡¯


    ¡®At this point, I wouldn¡¯t insult you by lying to you.¡¯


    Stef grasped the doorknob. ¡®Go back to whoever needs your help. You¡¯ve got nothing to fear down here.¡¯


    ¡®What do I¨C?¡¯


    ¡®What you don¡¯t do is underestimate me,¡¯ she said. ¡®Goodnight, Dorian.¡¯


    ¡®And to you, Spyder,¡¯ he said before striding down the hall and around the corner, towards his room.


    She walked into the small room she¡¯d been allocated, instinctively locked the door, and collapsed onto the bed. She stared at the plastered ceiling, dropping the passive mask and listening for more sounds from the third floor.


    After hearing nothing but the faint echo of some footsteps, she awkwardly kicked off her dirty sneakers, pulled the blanket up, and attempted to sleep.


    It¡¯s not a monster. How could it be a monster? It¡¯s just¨C


    Pack your stuff and leave.


    It ¨C it doesn¡¯t feel dangerous though.


    He admitted that all the original programmers are dead.


    She pulled a sheet of code from under her pillow and stared at it.


    I have to know what this is.


    She folded the page into quarters and closed her eyes.


    The crumpling of paper woke her up. She opened her eyes and saw the sheet of code. She sat up, pushed the page back under the pillow, and swung her legs over the edge of the skinny bed. She stumbled towards the small desk and pushed at Frankie¡¯s buttons until she saw the faint glow of a computer waking up.


    She leaned against the cool wall for a moment, unlocked her door, then sneaked back towards the main room, her socks easily letting her ninja across the polished floors. One coffee pot stood half-full and warm on the element, and she lifted it and a cup, then ninja¡¯d back to her room and Frankie¡¯s comforting glow.


    She set the coffee pot on the corner of the desk and poured a cup, then sat. She pulled a flash drive from her pocket and loaded code from earlier in the day ¨C small sections she had snipped for later investigation. Pieces that a lot of her fellows had dismissed as unrecoverable pieces of corruption.


    The comment had birthed several well crafted, cutting, truly witty insults¡­four hours after the conversation. Corrupted, sure. Unrecoverable, sure. Irrelevant, never. Nothing was irrelevant when it came to a language no one had seen before.


    Especially when it was structured like a language. The piece of corruption read more like notes hidden in a file than code itself. It needed a linguist, or a cryptographer, but Dorian had declined both ¨C not from expense, but from the want to keep the project quiet.


    Quiet and unsuccessful.


    Random internet searches on some of the words had revealed nothing, nor had running them through translators, trying everything possible.


    Some words were repeated throughout, sometimes breaking in on pieces of code, sometimes repeated a hundred times over with no break. It looked like corruption, undoubtedly, but¨C


    Her RSS feed pinged, and she set aside the code for the familiarity of the internet.


    After eight random videos, fourteen pages of kittehs, an hour of flash games, and a lurking whilst a heated worst comic artist argument took place, she clicked back into the code.


    The corruption meant nothing. Nothing they¡¯d ever work out, anyway. It was a romantic wish of the sleep deprived. She stared at it for a few minutes more, begging under her breath for the meaning to become clear, repeating the nonsense words under her breath in case they were the keys to a spell.


    She pressed her mug to her nose and huffed the last vestiges of the coffee smell.


    The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.


    On the monitor in front of her, the code cycled, testing out algorithms that she¡¯d already rejected. All failed the second time as surely as the first time, allowing the program to keep its secrets to itself.


    All the programmers were dead, and someone had been hurt. She stared at the code and hoped that it wasn¡¯t going to end the world.


    When the smell disappeared, she stood on tired legs and walked back through to the main room. The floor-to-ceiling windows gave her a brilliant view of the grey pre-dawn world outside the mansion. Everything seemed to be so real and so unreal, the silver light casting aspersions on the realness of reality.


    She woke the code monkey computer she hadn¡¯t bothered to name, loaded the code, and looked for sustenance. All the coffee pots were empty, so she turned and padded to the kitchens. She made a pot of coffee, then returned to the main room.


    A ghost stood at her computer.


    That¡¯s not a ghost, Spyder.


    An old man, as thin and frail as a ghost, stood at her computer. For a moment, she wondered if he was the one who had been bleeding and screaming, but she decided against it. The cane was being used due to age, not injury.


    ¡®So¡­so beautiful,¡¯ he mumbled as she came towards him. ¡®I never knew¡­¡¯


    A smile tugged at her lips ¨C she¡¯d had the same reaction when she¡¯d first begun to play with the code ¨C it was broken, but so was the Venus de Milo.


    ¡®It¡¯s a pleasure to¨C¡¯ she started to say.


    He laughed ¨C an odd, croaky laugh ¨C and lightly batted away her hand with his cane. ¡®You¡¯re not doing this for me, child. I¡¯m just letting him use the house.¡¯


    So you¡¯re the financier, then?


    ¡®Why are you paying for this?¡¯ she asked. ¡®I mean¨C¡¯


    ¡®He¡¯s lost so much. I just want to help him find her.¡¯


    She looked back at the code, unsure as to how it was going to help locate someone. Unbidden, her gaze circled the room; the cost of the set-up, the living wage, and the prize money floated in her mind.


    So much trouble, all to¨C Just to¨C


    ¡®Find someone?¡¯


    ¡®She¡¯s his love. It would be¨C¡¯ He hesitated. ¡®I can¡¯t say ¡°inhuman¡±, but it wouldn¡¯t be right if I didn¡¯t help him find her. I had so many help me find my love.¡¯ He slapped his chest and coughed, then clumsily sat on the chair beside her. ¡®In the war¨C¡¯


    ¡®Which one?¡¯ she asked on autopilot.


    ¡®I made love to this beautiful girl. We were both terrified, I was injured; she was helping the nurses. The bombs were dropping, and we thought the sky was going to fall on our heads. We gave each other that small comfort, and the bombs missed us. After that¡­I had to go back, to fight, to win.¡¯


    He looked away, his eyes focussed on the past instead of the present. ¡®When the fighting stopped, I went looking for her. I found her; I married her; and for a little time, we lived, and we were happy.¡¯


    She looked back at the code. It was her frame of reference. Love, romance, and war stories meant nothing to her. They were outside her experience, outside her interest. ¡®How will this help? I don¡¯t even know what the hell it is.¡¯


    ¡®A black box, in a fashion.¡¯ He stabbed a bony finger towards the code. ¡®Think of it as all the telemetry of a journey, along with the memories of the pilot who flew the trip.¡¯


    ¡®Satellites would be simpler.¡¯


    ¡®Anyone who accepted Mr Gray¡¯s invitation was not after simple.¡¯ He smiled. ¡®Good morning.¡¯


    He patted her on the head, and she fought an urge to bark. He tottered off, leaving her alone once again.


    Only once alone, she realised what he¡¯d said. ¡®Dorian?¡¯


    She reached down to the desk, blindly groped for chocolate, then chewed on it while staring at the early morning light. Once she began to chew on foil, she sat and started to type again.


    Dawn came and went, and the dutiful cooks brought in trays of food once the others began to rise.


    The cooks stood by as the eggs and toast were ignored for waffles and bacon. She would have felt sorry for them, but if there was one thing she¡¯d learned in her youth, it was that in a house that size, food never went astray.


    The uneaten breakfast foods wouldn¡¯t stay that way; neither would the pat¨¦ and occasional tray of caviar or some other delicacy. The amounts of caviar and pat¨¦ had in fact, seemed to have increased once the staff had grasped the concept that hackers had no wish to eat fish eggs or a mixture made from animal parts they couldn¡¯t identify.


    She went back to her computer, determined not to spill maple syrup on the keyboard, that time. It was terrible to work with delicate code, only to have the letter ¡°j¡± stick and turn the whole thing into nothing but a mess. Again.


    There was a wolf-whistle from one of the tables across from her. Obviously not the one the whistle was aimed at, she turned to look at the double doors leading into the room.


    Dorian was escorting a pretty redhead wrapped in a tight red blouse. Perfectly permed hair fell across the face belonging to the woman in that ¡°messy, but not too messy¡± way. Several of the code monkeys fell over themselves getting up to walk over and greet the new member.


    ¡®Harvard graduate,¡¯ she heard Dorian say over the rush of greetings. ¡®Currently working for¨C Sorry, classified. Let¡¯s just say she¡¯s on loan from Silicon Valley.¡¯


    She spat pancake all over her monitor and dissolved into giggles. She desperately tried to cover up by faking a coughing fit. A passing code monkey slapped her on the back before joining the crowd around the new arrival.


    A glass of water was passed to her. ¡®Don¡¯t want you choking, Spyder.¡¯ Dorian said, his expression telling her that he wasn¡¯t buying the near-fatal attack by pancakes act.


    She shrugged and sucked maple syrup from her finger.


    ¡®You know, Spyder, most women can make that look sexy.¡¯


    She rolled her eyes. ¡®What¡¯s sexy about it?¡¯


    He stared at her, apparently struck dumb by her statement. She looked back at her plate and picked up another pancake and slowly chewed on it until his brain reset.


    ¡®They¡¯re real, by the way,¡¯ he said, picking up his train of thought.


    ¡®I don¡¯t even care.¡¯


    ¡®Had enough experience to tell.¡¯ He looked over her shoulder at the screen. ¡®Any luck? I have the feeling that a pretty girl was all that they needed to take them away from not achieving anything.¡¯


    ¡®I¡¯ve only been here¨C¡¯


    ¡®So, no progress?¡¯


    She didn¡¯t like the disappointment in his voice, so she decided to throw him the only bone she had.


    The crazy path she¡¯d been following since the old man¡¯s visit.


    ¡®If I were sane, I¡¯d be afraid to say this but¡­I¡¯d stake someone else¡¯s fortune that the code wasn¡¯t¡­¡¯


    ¡®Say it,¡¯ he said, sliding into the seat beside her.


    ¡®Not¨C¡¯ She shook her head and turned back to her pancakes. ¡®Not human,¡¯ she said, a blush rising over her face. ¡®Looking at it, it¡¯s old, but it can¡¯t be; it¡¯s so much more complex than the new stuff I try and crack. Yeah, there¡¯s probably Nazi tech that the CERN guys still can¡¯t decipher, but if this is as old as I think, then it can¡¯t be human.¡¯


    ¡®Keep going with that line of thinking.¡¯


    She grinned at him. ¡®Was this salvaged at Roswell?¡¯


    ¡®Oh, come on, Spyder. No one believes in Roswell.¡¯


    I do.


    ¡®I wasn¡¯t¨C¡¯


    He held up a finger and shushed her. ¡®You were on the right track. Don¡¯t go off onto a tangent.¡¯


    ¡®How can it be?¡¯


    ¡®Don¡¯t ask ¡°how¡±, just keep it as a mindset.¡¯


    He had his secrets, but at least she knew one of them. She paused, then raised her eyebrows slightly. ¡®Well, I guess I should listen to what Dorian Gray says.¡¯


    She smirked as he gaped slightly, before he recovered and closed his mouth. He held a finger to his lips and made a shushing noise. She gave him a slight nod.


    Dorian winked and went back to the woman. Stef chewed on the pancake and watched the code attempt to compile in front of her.


    Roswell or not¡­


    Stef tapped on the monitor with a still-sticky finger. ¡®Do you need to phone home?¡¯

 04 - Monster

    Stef stared, bleary-eyed, trying to interpret the meaning of the symbols. They were numbers for sure ¨C the position on the screen told her that they were the time. She wiped at her eyes, and a two slowly came into focus. Two in the morning, again; nothing achieved, again.


    Across the room, three of her fellow code monkeys had given up on the task at hand, instead deciding to form their own little LAN party. A quiet LAN party wouldn¡¯t have been a problem. There was nothing distracting about a bunch of gamers quietly questing towards a reward.


    Loud rounds of Counterstruck Gears of Whatever, on the other hand, complete with shouted insults at their fellows and cries of anguish when their soldiers were completely pwned, was more of a distraction. She cranked up all of the computer¡¯s sound settings, preferring the shake and reverb of headphones working over spec to the hurled insults of FPS gamers.


    Everyone else had given up hours ago. Some were in bed; some were watching movies on the prize television. A whispered theory had begun that the code couldn¡¯t possibly work, and that the job was instead some form of social experiment.


    Had their situation been a social experiment, a name like Dorian Gray would have been used to plant seeds in their minds: of doubt, of conspiracy, perhaps even of fear. But there were no such seeds. It was an anomaly, one that she hadn¡¯t figured out yet.


    She was, however, keeping an eye out for portraits, since he had never denied being the real Dorian Gray.


    His name, combined with what he had said of the code¡¯s possibly inhuman origin, had kept her going and had spawned more ideas, ideas that she wouldn¡¯t have had if she¡¯d believed the code to be entirely human. Different circumstances, different solutions.


    Being insane had its advantages.


    She stared at the screen until it got fuzzy. ¡®Code Steffie: Get up; get coffee,¡¯ she muttered, and she pushed herself back from the desk.


    It took a minute for her legs to cooperate, then she stood and walked across to the sideboard that held the drinks and snacks.


    The coffee pot was empty.


    She swore in binary and headed down the hall to her room. A lack of coffee was definitely a sign to give up for the day. Moreover, they probably expected her to use the bed at least sometimes, instead of catnapping on her keyboard.


    The door to her assigned room was ajar.


    A look to the left and a look to the right confirmed the adjacent rooms as four and six. She pressed a hand to the wood to push it open, but she paused as she heard noises. She grasped for a small vase on the table next to the door and lifted it. The vase wouldn¡¯t serve as much more than a distraction, but there wasn¡¯t anything closer and heavier.


    She took a step back and kicked the door.


    The intruders weren¡¯t thieves. Nor were they a threat to anyone. Except perhaps decency.


    She stood traumatised for a moment while her mind quickly edited what she was seeing. ¡®Room five is mine,¡¯ she announced to the mid-coitus couple occupying her bed.


    It took them a minute to stop. Her expression didn¡¯t change when the top half ¨C Dorian ¨C turned to look at her.


    ¡®Er¨C¡¯ he said eloquently.


    The bottom half, the redhead ¨C now minus the tight red shirt ¨C smirked, rolled her eyes, then stared at the ceiling.


    Stef reached down to Dorian¡¯s discarded pants and lifted the keychain from the pocket. ¡®I¡¯ll take your room for the night. We will never speak of this.¡¯


    ¡®Can¨C?¡¯


    ¡®Yes,¡¯ she said tersely. ¡®I¡¯ll lock the damn door.¡¯


    ¡®Thank you, Spyder,¡¯ Dorian mumbled as he turned away.


    Dorian¡¯s room was down the end of a long, lonely hall, lit only by the light coming through the picture windows.


    The night was quiet, lit by a gibbous moon and a few brave stars that managed to shine through the light pollution. She stopped to watch for a moment. There was a high wind; clouds appeared from nowhere and disappeared almost as quickly. Some of the clouds looked like¨C


    She turned away from the window and rubbed her eyes.


    God, I need sleep.


    After a few false starts, she found the right key and opened the door to his room.


    A silk-covered boudoir wouldn¡¯t have surprised her. A four-poster bed was almost expected. A large portrait hidden under a heavy cloth wouldn¡¯t have been a stretch.


    A dark staircase surprised her a little.


    She sighed and muttered the binary for a question mark. She reached out, groping in the low light and felt for a light switch. Since the secret passage hadn¡¯t skipped the twentieth century, the bulbs easily flicked to life. A self-mocking laugh escaped her as she ascended the stairs. Things like that were supposed to happen to frail blonde girls in inappropriately see-though nightdresses, not insomniac hackers who were still wearing their sneakers.


    The staircase was leading up to the third floor. Her heart caught in her throat for a moment ¨C wondering should she go back, kick them out of her room and¨C


    He¡¯s not following you, Spyder.


    The third floor hadn¡¯t seemed like anything to think about. Rooms and precious things they didn¡¯t want smelly hackers near ¨C that was perfectly reasonable. The screams, though ¨C those had changed everything.


    The screams had given the third floor mystery and intrigue. They were more than enough reason to run away and forget everything. They were more than enough reason to stay and see the project through.


    The code was so broken, it was benign by default. Even if all the programmers were dead, even if someone had been screaming and bleeding¨C


    She took another step and pushed the screams and the blood from her mind.


    She laughed at how wrong the situation was. In situations like hers, it was normal to be afraid and say ¡°Oh, my!¡± over and over until you ran around and broke your ankle. No, not broke, sprained ¨C just enough to be ineffectual. You weren¡¯t supposed to climb secret stairs in crumpled pyjamas while noting the energy-efficient light bulbs and the lingering smell of fresh paint.


    There was a doorway at the top of the stairs. Light streamed around the edges, adding just a little more surrealism to the situation. She lifted the key and pushed it into the lock ¨C it fit ¨C and turned it.


    She opened the door and was stared at by a monster: towering, hairy, hunchbacked, with a sunken face, barely human, and oddly luminescent eyes.


    Buhhhh?


    She stared, her feet locked into place as though they were part of the floor. It was a dream. She¡¯d fallen asleep at her computer or on her bed and it was a dream and it was a dream and¨C


    It hissed, lunged, then roared in her face.


    Her legs went slack, and she fell back against the door frame, catching herself before she fell down the stairs.


    ¡®What are you doing here?!¡¯ it demanded.


    Please don¡¯t eat me. Please don¡¯t eat me. Please don¡¯t eat me. Please don¡¯t eat me. Please don¡¯t eat me. Please don¡¯t eat me. Please don¡¯t eat me. Please don¡¯t eat me. Please don¡¯t eat me.


    It roared again, saliva dripping off its uneven teeth. She not-so-secretly hoped that the teeth ¨C the sharp, numerous and bloody teeth ¨C weren¡¯t ¡°all the better to eat hackers with¡±.


    ¡®Do ¨C Dorian gave me the key,¡¯ she said, trying not to stumble over her words. ¡®He¡¯s busy shagging in my bed. Needed somewhere to sleep.¡¯ The monster was the secret of the third floor: He wasn¡¯t human, and neither was the code. She looked up to meet the monster¡¯s eyes. ¡®And it¡¯s nice to meet you, boss.¡¯


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    The monster snarled and retreated behind a huge desk. ¡®I didn¡¯t expect Dorian to be my downfall. I may as well have called the angels for help and ended this sooner.¡¯ His ¨C well, the voice sounded male ¨C accent was strange.


    She crinkled her nose and chided herself. She was staring at a monster ¨C there was no chance that the man in front of her was human ¨C and she was thinking about his accent.


    This, Spyder, is why you almost get hit every time you cross the road. Overanalysis of a situation.


    I don¡¯t overanalyse.


    Keep telling yourself that.


    I¨C


    Monster?


    Oh, right.


    ¡®If you haven¡¯t noticed, I¡¯m not screaming. I¡¯m not going to run downstairs and tell the others we¡¯re working for G¡¯mork. Staying up here is your prerogative. Appearing eccentric seems to have worked so far.¡¯


    He snorted and turned to her. ¡®Why aren¡¯t you screaming?¡¯ He thumped a hairy fist on the desk, dragging one hand over the top, cutting deep ruts into the old oak. ¡®You were warned not to come up here. I¡¯m hungry. You should be afraid.¡¯


    I am afraid.


    ¡®I didn¡¯t think you were a tame lion,¡¯ she muttered. ¡®If you¡¯re going to hurt me, there¡¯s nothing I can do. The only good exit is a staircase, which¨C One shove, and I¡¯m dead anyway. I¡¯m not screaming, because I¡¯m not an idiot. I¡¯m insane, not an idiot.¡¯


    He stared silently at her.


    Then the monster snorted again. He lifted a clawed finger and pointed down an adjacent hall. ¡®Dorian¡¯s room is down there.¡¯


    She took a step that way but stopped. There was one very important question that she needed to ask. ¡®What¡¯s her name?¡¯


    ¡®Why does it matter?¡¯


    ¡®The data is degrading.¡¯


    Just as the memory of a pilot would.


    ¡®I¡¯m not the only one who has noticed. If it¡¯s changing and degrading, it¡¯s dynamic. If it¡¯s dynamic and degrading, there¡¯s a deadline. If you¡¯re looking for someone and there¡¯s a deadline, there¡¯s only one possible way it could end well. I don¡¯t care for the Romeo and Juliet aspect ¨C I don¡¯t believe in that crap¨C¡¯ She caught herself, not wanting to insult a monster that could easily snap her up as a post-midnight snack. ¡®This is a lot more¡­ This is a lot bigger than anything I¡¯ve ever done before.¡¯


    A cold breeze blew in through the window, and she was happy not to be a blonde stereotype in a thin nightdress.


    The monster sniffed the wind, swung itself back and forth as if trying to catch a scent, then stared at her. It moved away from the desk and came towards her. Its mouth dropped open, taking deep breaths, and its nose twitched. Suddenly, she was very glad that she hadn¡¯t had anything to drink recently.


    Shit ¨C shit ¨C shit ¨C shit¨C


    Panic when it starts eating you. Just stay still.


    I really don¡¯t¨C


    It raised a clawed hand, and the bright points of light caught on its claws were the only thing that she could look at. It would be so easy for those claws to gut her, to leave her a bloody wreck on the floor.


    The world spun, and she concentrated on staying vertical.


    ¡®You smell like the void. You know what comes next. You know that there¡¯s nothing.¡¯


    ¡®Buuh-wha?¡¯


    ¡®Just because you came back doesn¡¯t mean she will.¡¯


    Please tell me this is one of those moments where you¡¯re imagining things.


    Shut up; I¡¯m hiding in this corner over here.


    He¡¯s a monster; they lie.


    No, that¡¯s trickster gods.


    Do you know he¡¯s not one of those?


    No¡­


    Then shut up.


    The monster snorted but didn¡¯t retreat. ¡®I cannot rely on chance. I can only rely on choice.¡¯


    She took a step back and shook her head, focussing on the matter at hand. ¡®My ten fingers, my genius brain, and my keyboard are going to do their best. Now tell me her damn name.¡¯


    Stop antagonising the fucking monster!


    ¡®Her name is Mela.¡¯


    That¡¯s one of the repeating words.


    I knew they weren¡¯t nothing!


    ¡®Thank you,¡¯ she said, but she didn¡¯t make a move towards the door.


    He retreated behind the desk again and gave her space enough to pass. She wanted to run, but she forced herself to walk. Sudden movements could be a bad idea, and however much of a man the beast was, she didn¡¯t feel like tempting his monster half.


    She pressed the key into the lock of the room at the end of the hall and walked in. It was exactly what she¡¯d expected: a large room containing very little furniture, with a huge bed as the centrepiece. There were more pillows on it than she could count, and she knocked all but three onto the floor.


    She pulled open the curtains, and she looked down onto the garden. The grounds were well maintained, if a little boring. No secret garden, no maze, no crazy collection of kooky garden gnomes that rearranged themselves on a daily basis.


    Most gardens, however, didn¡¯t contain ghosts.


    Her weird-shit-o-meter already broken for the day, the ghost failed to surprise her. She squinted harder, but then all she could see was her reflection, a pale ghost itself. She took another look, and the ghost was gone. If it had ever been there in the first place. She pressed her face against the glass, looking for any sign of it. Nothing. Just a quiet garden.


    You do know, it¡¯s possible that you¡¯ve lost your mind.


    I¡¯m tired. Are you trying to be ironic?


    She turned back to the bed, kicked off her old sneakers, and crawled under the sheets. The bed was huge and a lot softer than the one in the room she¡¯d been assigned.


    She pulled the blanket up to her chin and stared at the fancy designs in the ceiling plaster. There was a monster down the hall, and she had to sleep as though there was nothing unusual. As if everything hadn¡¯t just changed.


    There had been no wires, no smoke and mirrors. No seams in the costume.


    It hadn¡¯t been a fake. He hadn¡¯t been a fake.


    Monster. Real monster. Real monster, and she had to sleep so she¡¯d be functional. That wasn¡¯t the way it was supposed to be.


    Reality disappoints, yet again.


    It was his code ¨C had to be his code. He wasn¡¯t human, that was for sure, so that just left the question of what kind of monster he was. Mutant, alien, troll ¨C all had possibilities. All required a different genre to be savvy in. All required being very careful to avoid becoming monster food.


    A good avoidance strategy had to start with clearing a sleep debt.


    With thoughts of monsters, ghosts, and possibly-alien code swimming in her head, she snuggled into the pillow and went to sleep.

 05 - Unloading Questions

    The smell of coffee permeated Stef¡¯s dreams and dragged her into the waking world. On autopilot, she lifted a hand and groped for the coffee. Her higher brain, slower to wake than the part that recognised the smell of coffee, wondered why the coffee was coming to her, instead of the other way around.


    It was free though, so there was no need to question it.


    She reached further, and her fingers brushed against the side of a hot cup.


    ¡®You¡¯d best sit up,¡¯ Dorian.


    Stef opened her eyes, sat up, and grabbed the cup from the unexpectedly shirtless Englishman. She closed her eyes for a moment, mentally superimposed a shirt onto him, downed a few mouthfuls of coffee, then opened her eyes again.


    She pushed the cup back at him and scooted back against the pillows and the head of the bed. She untwisted her clothes, reached into her pocket, and found a handful of sugar packets. She tore open half a dozen sugars and added them to the not-nearly-saccharine-enough coffee.


    She pushed the rubbish back into her pocket, then took the coffee from him.


    Much better.


    Higher brain functions pulled themselves from sleep, and she looked to the window. The sun peeking through the heavy curtain told her it was still morning ¨C hours before she¡¯d intended to be awake.


    She looked back at him with still-bleary eyes. ¡®Did you want something, or just to kick me out of your bed? I didn¡¯t wet it, I promise.¡¯


    Dorian simply stared.


    What does he¨C?


    The monster, genius.


    Oh right. That happened.


    ¡®So,¡¯ she said.


    ¡®The obvious doesn¡¯t need to be said,¡¯ he said as he moved closer.


    ¡®It does, actually. You¡¯re hiding a monster on the third floor.¡¯


    ¡®We are.¡¯


    ¡®Who else knows?¡¯


    ¡®Me, yourself, and Jon.¡¯


    ¡®Jon being the old guy?¡¯


    ¡®Yes.¡¯


    She bit her lip for a moment, remembering the words from the code. ¡®Jon being short for Jono¨C I have no idea how to pronounce it. It¡¯s got a w in it?¡¯


    He stared at her. ¡®Yes. Jonowoi.¡¯


    She repeated it a few times to herself, then nodded. ¡®What ¨C what¡¯s his relation to the monster?¡¯


    Dorian¡¯s eyes narrowed as he rose from the bed. ¡®None.¡¯ He crossed to his wardrobe and found a shirt. ¡®He¡¯s old, he has money, and he wants to assist, so he¡¯s helping Astrin.¡¯


    She bit her lip. ¡®His¨C Jon¡¯s name is in the code. If there¡¯s¨C¡¯


    Dorian was quiet for a moment. ¡®I¡¯d like to remind you that you saw a monster last night.¡¯


    Oh. Right.


    She swung her legs off the bed and drained the rest of the coffee. ¡®Yeah. I did,¡¯ she said, trying to hide her excitement. ¡®But ¨C but come on, do you think that I haven¡¯t been looking for monsters and aliens all my life? I just¨C What is he? Is he an alien? Is he a mutant? Is he, yanno¨C¡¯ She didn¡¯t want to say the word. ¡®You know, something, magic?¡¯


    ¡®Yes, yes, and¡­yes,¡¯ Dorian said as he finished buttoning his shirt. ¡®How much do you want to know, Spyder? I¡¯ve never been one to hold back the truth of the world, but¨C¡¯


    Her heart caught in her throat. ¡®Tell me already!¡¯ She let her shoulders slump. ¡®Please?¡¯


    ¡®He¡¯s a man, he¡¯s a monster, he came from another world, and he was mutated by magic. So you were right on all counts. Worlds die. Sometimes it takes a long time, and some people fall through the cracks. Some people are lucky enough to fall onto solid ground.¡¯ He paused for a moment. ¡®The trip isn¡¯t without its price, as you can see what it¡¯s done to him.¡¯


    Magic. He just said magic. He just said¨C


    She shook her head slightly, trying to ground herself to keep from squeeing all over the room. ¡®So he¡¯s not a mutie?¡¯ she asked. ¡®Not that I¡¯ve got anything against them, although I admit that I¡¯d take Magneto over Xavier any day¨C¡¯


    ¡®He¡¯s lucky to be alive; most of the time they simply die. Some just fall forever, trapped in the in-between places.¡¯


    She took another gulp of coffee. ¡®You¡¯re asking me to take a lot on faith here.¡¯


    ¡®You saw a monster last night. That¡¯s the important thing.¡¯


    ¡®And you?¡¯


    ¡®What about me, Spyder?¡¯


    ¡®Are you¨C?¡¯


    ¡®Do you think I am?¡¯


    ¡®Coincidence is probably a hard sell at this point.¡¯


    He leaned against the corner of the bed. ¡®Do I seem like a monster to you?¡¯


    ¡®You said Astrin¡¯s a man, and he looks like he can take my head off.¡¯


    ¡®Can and will, unless you stay away from him. I don¡¯t mean to malign him ¨C he has suffered ¨C but he¡¯s not picky about whom or what he eats.¡¯


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    ¡®You¡¯re avoiding the question.¡¯


    ¡®I inspired the story; I¡¯m where the name comes from. Everything else was from Oscar¡¯s imagination.¡¯


    ¡®You didn¡¯t explain anything, not really.¡¯


    ¡®We don¡¯t have time,¡¯ he said. ¡®Finish with the code, and I¡¯ll point you in the right direction.¡¯


    He doesn¡¯t want to tell you. Figure it out for yourself.


    But if it¡¯s so simple, he could just¨C


    Not everyone wants to be Morpheus, Spyder.


    ¡®How do you know I wouldn¡¯t freak and run?¡¯


    ¡®I can¡¯t believe that you¡¯ve never seen anything strange before last night.¡¯


    ¡®Well, I¡¯m staring at a fictional character. Where is your portrait, Mister Gray?¡¯


    ¡®Not here,¡¯ he answered simply. ¡®But, before this, surely¨C¡¯


    ¡®Nothing. Nothing like this.¡¯


    He gave her another long stare. ¡®When you get to be as old as I am, you get to recognise certain things about people, like if they¡¯ve died. You¡¯ve got that look, Spyder.¡¯


    Cold. Dark. So very cold. So very dark.


    Someone holding her. Keeping her safe from the dark. Keeping her safe from the cold.


    She bit the inside of her cheek and tried to keep a neutral expression. ¡®I¡¯m plenty alive, if you haven¡¯t noticed.¡¯


    ¡®You are now¨C¡¯


    ¡®Dorian¨C¡¯


    He gave her a look that could have been pity. ¡®You must have been very young. So very young, if you¡¯ve got no idea what I¡¯m talking about. It¡¯s not usually the kind of thing you can forget. And I¡¯m not sure why Death¨C¡¯


    ¡®Why didn¡¯t you chase after me?¡¯ she asked, pulling her thoughts back to recent events. ¡®You¡¯ve been doing your best to keep him a secret. Why let me find out?¡¯


    He gave her a smirk. ¡®You might have noticed that I was a little distracted at the time.¡¯ He smoothed out his shirt. ¡®And you¡¯re strange enough that I thought perhaps you weren¡¯t entirely human yourself.¡¯


    ¡®If only,¡¯ she said. She paused for a few seconds to see if he would start spilling the secrets of the universe, then sighed and looked at the sun shining through the window. ¡®Why¡¯d you wake me, anyway?¡¯


    ¡®We¡¯ve got a new member of the team, and I¡¯m not sure I trust him. He was a referral, not someone I¡¯ve vetted, so I thought I¡¯d do you the favour of pointing him out. It¡¯s unfortunate, but we¡¯ve had to expand our horizons a little beyond what I had initially imagined. I¡¯ll take recommendations, if you¡¯ve got any.¡¯


    ¡®You thought playing with code this old and this broken would be easy?¡¯


    He gave a casual shrug.


    She swallowed. ¡®Why is Jon¡¯s name in the code?¡¯


    ¡®You¡¯re asking to get an answer you already know.¡¯


    ¡®He¡¯s ¨C he¡¯s like the monster? He came from somewhere else, too?¡¯


    ¡®He did,¡¯ Dorian said. ¡®But do your best to forget that.¡¯


    ¡®But he doesn¡¯t look¨C¡¯


    ¡®His parents tried to build an escape pod. His father perished during the journey; his mother died soon after they landed, but he survived. So much as falling straight into the Blitz can be called surviving.¡¯


    ¡®It¡¯s the code that ran the escape pod?¡¯


    ¡®It is.¡¯


    She stared at Dorian for a moment. ¡®So what the hell can it even do for Astrin? It¡¯s the wrong tech from the wrong world to solve a situation that¨C¡¯


    ¡®If you could get it working, it could ¨C in theory ¨C tell him where others from his world could land, where pieces of his world might come through. It could help him find other survivors; it could help him find his wife.¡¯


    ¡®Seriously, spare me the love story.¡¯


    ¡®Do you want to keep working on the code or not?¡¯ Dorian asked. ¡®You¡¯re free to leave at any time.¡¯


    ¡®Of course I want to keep working on it,¡¯ she said, ¡®I just don¡¯t think it¡¯s going to do any good.¡¯


    Dorian shrugged. ¡®Jon sees him as a chance to try and help someone like himself. Another lost soul, someone who lost everything. I adopted Jon not long after he came to this world. Jon¡¯s lucky; he looks human. Astrin would have been killed like a dog if the wrong people had found him.¡¯


    ¡®Why can he speak English?¡¯ she blurted out. ¡®I mean, come on, unless he¡¯s been here for months, it¡¯s kind of convenient!¡¯


    ¡®It¡¯s probably the one kindness of the trip, of what happens to someone who falls between worlds. If you do land somewhere and aren¡¯t lost in the void until the Lady comes to claim you, then it grants you language and breath. You can speak the dominant language of the area and breathe the air ¨C those are the only graces of the situation.¡¯


    ¡®And¨C¡¯


    ¡®Can your questions wait until after breakfast?¡¯ He opened the door. ¡®Come on, before they run out of pancakes.¡¯

 06 - Solstice

    Stef chewed on her pancake, watching the new guy and his flawless infiltration of the code monkeys. He was slick, nowhere near Dorian¡¯s level, but smooth all the same. Each name he was given, he seemed to immediately commit to memory ¨C a worrying trait in and of itself.


    She pushed the lump of pancake to the roof of her mouth. The syrup made it stick there for a moment, the strange sensation distracting her from the paranoid urge to run from the room. He was personable enough, easily mistaken for just another affable blond boy, but her imaginary Spyder-sense was making her tend towards panic.


    New people were trouble¡­though she suspected that the other code monkeys must have felt the same way when she¡¯d first shown up.


    The code sat static in front of her. She hadn¡¯t made one alteration to it since coming down from the Englishman¡¯s room. No one, aside from Dorian, seemed interested in her progress. No one had asked her to collaborate on an idea for days. No one had asked her what she¡¯d thought of an algorithm.


    She sighed and swallowed the lump of pancake. Even if they¡¯d asked her opinion, they wouldn¡¯t believe her. She wasn¡¯t sure that she believed her. She wasn¡¯t sure of anything. It was an uncomfortable feeling, and not one she was used to when it came to dealing with code.


    Code was usually the one thing that made sense. People never made sense, as they always acted counter to how you predicted. Life always threw curveballs, ones you couldn¡¯t catch even if you were prepared. Code was ordered. Code was sensible. It was a good frame of reference for the world. Code could be improved upon; life couldn¡¯t.


    Dorian swanned into the room, the pretty woman on his arm. She looked up at them, half-expecting paparazzi to leap from the very walls to take photos, to give the couple a smush name that would undoubtedly be the key in making the new media darlings. No photographers jumped from the walls, and the only flash was the smirk that the woman gave her as she passed.


    She sipped at her coffee and idly wondered if she should chance dunking the pancake in, to create some sort of abomination that would rise up and¨C


    A reflection in her monitor pulled her from her B-movie thoughts. ¡®Can I help you?¡¯ she asked harshly.


    The new guy grinned widely, despite her tone. ¡®We haven¡¯t been introduced yet.¡¯


    ¡®I said ¡°Hi¡± already,¡¯ she said as she reached for her headphones. He grasped them first, and she yanked back her hand rather than let it make contact with his. ¡®Did you want something in particular?¡¯


    ¡®No one here knows your name.¡¯ Another wide smile. ¡®Why is that?¡¯


    ¡®Probably because they don¡¯t remember it. I was introduced when I got here. Now, you¡¯ve got work to do, newb.¡¯


    The smile didn¡¯t disappear, though it faded a little. ¡®Don¡¯t you?¡¯


    She took a huge mouthful of pancake, chewing it open-mouthed in the hope that she could disgust him away. ¡®I¡¯m not the new guy,¡¯ she replied. ¡®You can¡¯t be here if you¡¯re not useful.¡¯


    ¡®What¡¯s your name?¡¯


    The coffee in front of her was too cold to scald him. The pancake would only annoy, not injure. She¡¯d never mastered stabbing someone with a fork, though she didn¡¯t doubt that she could make him bleed. Weapon resources low, she acquiesced. ¡®Spyder.¡¯


    ¡®And is that what¡¯s on your birth certificate?¡¯


    ¡®No,¡¯ she snapped. ¡®I changed it by deed poll. What the fsck does it matter?¡¯


    ¡®People who hide behind an alias have something to hide, or they¡¯re afraid of something.¡¯


    ¡®If you haven¡¯t noticed, you¡¯re in a room of people, all of whom have done some pretty questionable things.¡¯


    ¡®Do you know about the power of names?¡¯


    ¡®You¡¯ll know about the power of a keyboard to the head unless you leave me alone.¡¯


    ¡®It¡¯s said¡­by some, at least ¨C that if you know someone¡¯s real name, then you have power over them. It¡¯s superstitious. It¡¯s stupid.¡¯


    ¡®And you have no power over me,¡¯ she whispered, though the man in front of her was the furthest thing from a king of goblins. ¡®And what¡¯s your real name? You¡¯re asking enough questions to make people think that you¡¯re a cop.¡¯ She scanned the room for Dorian, hoping that the man made of stories hadn¡¯t been lying when he¡¯d spoken of the legal nature of the work.


    He backed away a little, releasing her headphones. ¡®I meant no offence; it simply interests me.¡¯


    She snatched the headphones and slammed them down on her head. She fixed her gaze on the monitor and listened to the music that wasn¡¯t even playing yet as her hand reached for the mouse to set the playlist in motion. The newbie said a few words more, but she blocked each and every one of them, not wanting to waste any more time on him. Especially not when she was¨C


    ¡®It seems,¡¯ Dorian said, ¡®that we have more visitors.¡¯ He looked to the newbie. ¡®They said to ask for you.¡¯


    ¡®I hope it¡¯s all right. I was told you needed all the help you could get. I don¡¯t need a million dollars all to myself, and my friends are quite talented. Better than what you¡¯ve got here.¡¯


    The Englishman faltered for a moment. ¡®I won¡¯t turn away help,¡¯ he said, ¡®but I need to vet any other friends you might wish to bring.¡¯


    ¡®We understand security procedures,¡¯ the new guy said, his ever-wide smile in place. ¡®Some of us are in the industry.¡¯


    She looked away from the men and tapped in the rest of the sequence. Code made more sense than people, and she didn¡¯t intend to devote any more of her mental processing power to the invader.


    The screen and the code it displayed absorbed her, sucking her away from the world. She was dimly aware of the newbie¡¯s friends coming in and setting up, that they were introducing themselves, that they were noisy and very unhelpful. A few greetings were made in her general direction, but she ignored them, instead following the trails through the code. The random words. The random strings.


    The not-so-random words. The not-so-random strings.


    The alien words in the alien code.


    A hand touched her shoulder, and she fought an urge to bite it. ¡®Spyder,¡¯ Dorian said, ¡®Can you help me with something?¡¯


    ¡®Can it wait?¡¯


    ¡®No, it can¡¯t. Besides,¡¯ he said, his voice louder, ¡®you¡¯re not getting anywhere, so it¡¯s not like I¡¯m wasting your time.¡¯


    The words were a pitch-perfect pseudo-insult, but she read through them. ¡®Let me guess,¡¯ she said as she casually dropped the headphones to the desk. ¡®You want me to fix your phone again.¡¯


    ¡®Hurry up,¡¯ he said before exiting the room without her.


    She slipped her flash drive into her pocket and followed him through the old mansion and up the main stairs. A stray thought made her wonder if the secret stairs were only there at night, but a rational thought vetoed it.


    Wordlessly, she followed him down the hall and into his bedroom. He locked the door with an ornate key and ushered her to the other side of the room, away from any possible prying ears.


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    ¡®They¡¯re Solstice,¡¯ he whispered ¡®They¡¯re all bloody Solstice.¡¯


    ¡®Huh?¡¯


    ¡®Your colleague¡¯s friend, and the ones he brought with him. They¡¯re all Solstice.¡¯ This was a different Dorian from the one she¡¯d seen the rest of her stay at the mansion ¨C his composure was gone; his confidence seemed shattered. He was scared. He was ¨C probably ¨C an immortal, and he was scared.


    ¡®What¡¯s a Solstice?¡¯


    He grabbed her. ¡®How can one who has died know so little about the world?¡¯


    She pulled away from him. ¡®What¡¯s going on, Mister Gray?¡¯


    ¡®They¡¯re Solstice.¡¯


    ¡®That means nothing to me! What does that even mean?¡¯


    ¡®The Solstice are¨C Would you take it at face value if I said ¡°evil¡±?¡¯


    ¡®Qualify your statement, and I might.¡¯


    ¡®That¡¯s not taking it at face value.¡¯ He scratched his chin for a moment. ¡®You saw a monster last night, yes or no?¡¯


    ¡®Yes.¡¯


    ¡®And you believe me when I say I¡¯m something more than a good-looking Londoner?¡¯


    She wanted to argue the narcissistic half of his question but bit her lip and nodded ¨C it wasn¡¯t a time for glib remarks. A scared immortal was an immortal afraid of something that was likely a lot more dangerous to little hacker girls.


    ¡®Would you take a lead pipe to Astrin and beat him into pulp?


    She shook her head.


    ¡®Would you chain me and put a meat hook through my heart?¡¯ Her eyes drifted to his chest ¨C she hadn¡¯t remembered any scars, though maybe they¨C ¡®Spyder?¡¯


    ¡®Of course I wouldn¡¯t,¡¯ she said, her voice sounding small and timid to her ears.


    ¡®Would you cut the throat of a child because one of their parents could turn into a tree?¡¯


    ¡®Stop it.¡¯


    ¡®This is what the Solstice do. They see the fantastic, and they crush it. They see magic, and they wipe it out. They execute fae. They hunt angels. They hurt anyone whose life has just that little bit of wonder in it.¡¯ He looked away. ¡®Now, I¡¯m going to take my son far away from here, so that they can¡¯t hurt him. I will inform Astrin and make sure that he gets away. They¡¯ll leave after they get what they want, and all of this will be over in a few days.¡¯


    A dozen questions danced in her mind. ¡®So this whole thing¡¯s a bust then? The Beast doesn¡¯t get his Belle?¡¯


    ¡®That depends,¡¯ he said, ¡®on whether or not you work out that code. Do it before they do, and¨C¡¯


    ¡®If he¡¯s gone, I¡¯ll have no one to give it to.¡¯


    ¡®If you work it out, go home. I left my card on your coffee table.¡¯


    ¡®You¡¯re only telling me, aren¡¯t you? The others don¡¯t know, wouldn¡¯t believe. Why tell me?¡¯


    ¡®So that you keep your ears open and your mouth shut. Don¡¯t provoke them. I¡¯d tell you to run, but two people leaving is suspicious enough. Leave it until tomorrow, at the least. Everyone here is human, not their concern.¡¯


    ¡®So just go back downstairs and act normal?¡¯


    He managed a smile. ¡®Go back downstairs and do whatever it is that you do that approximates normal.¡¯


    ¡®But¨C¡¯


    ¡®Go.¡¯


    She stared at Dorian for a moment more, then nearly ran back down the stairs.


    A man stood at her computer, going through her data, and not for the first time, she was grateful for her paranoia. ¡®Can I help you?¡¯


    The man turned, and for a moment he looked familiar. The sensation faded as he smiled. ¡®Ah, Miss No-name, isn¡¯t it?¡¯


    He had the look of a professor who¡¯d been gone too long in the jungle: wild eyes set in an otherwise calm face, salt-and-pepper hair styled just neatly enough to indicate that he thought himself to be above the rest of the code monkey rabble.


    ¡®Alexandria,¡¯ she said, her doll¡¯s name alien in her mouth. A name close enough to her heart that she¡¯d react when called, but one that would keep her on edge, remind her not to trust these people. ¡®Just cause I don¡¯t like giving my name to pushy pretty boys doesn¡¯t mean I¡¯m one of those puzzle-wrapped enigmas.¡¯ She attempted a smile, but she aborted it when she felt it tend towards manic.


    ¡®You¡¯ve, ah, got some interesting ideas when it comes to this code.¡¯


    ¡®Not really,¡¯ she said, attempting to sound sorry for herself, ¡®I ran out of ideas three days ago. Since then, I¡¯ve been retrofitting bits of old video games in while nomming the free food. It¡¯s hard to eat¡­.well, much other than ramen, on my budget.¡¯


    That seemed to disappoint him. ¡®Some of your¨C¡¯ he began.


    ¡®I¡¯ve got nothing. I¡¯m in over my head, here. I wanna keep at it, cause I know one of these guys is going to solve it, and I want to see what the hell it is, but it¡¯s not gonna be me who figures it out.¡¯


    ¡®I could¨C¡¯


    ¡®I¡¯d rather fail on my own, thanks,¡¯ she said as she pushed past him and slipped into her chair. ¡®And actually, I really want to see what happens when I put the code for Pong into this.¡¯


    That made him leave.


    Dorian and Jonowoi left soon after, the man-who-appeared-older being pushed in a wheelchair by the man-who-was-older. They left with very little fuss, and just a few offhand comments about visiting the doctor.


    Lunch came soon after that. Numerous flash games amused her for a while, while she worked on the code in small copy-pasted sections so she wouldn¡¯t arouse suspicion.


    She almost heard a click in her mind as the code finally started to make sense. The language finally parsed, and even if it was going to take time, it was fixable.


    The flash drive securely hidden in her pocket, she sat for another half hour, letting the Solstice circling the room ¨C in a far less subtle fashion than they probably thought they were doing ¨C see her play games and browse blogs, before she rose and excused herself, grabbing a platter of tiny sandwiches before leaving the room.


    She took the long path back to her room, pausing to look at the small treasures that littered every shelf and hook ¨C and at where the Solstice had positioned themselves. It would have been paranoid to think they were blocking all of the exits¡­if they hadn¡¯t been blocking all of the exits.


    It was at least more subtle than the men circling the code monkeys like vultures, but the man having a smoke break on the front stairs, the one fixing the van near the service entrance ¨C they were guards, all the same ¨C or lookouts, at least.


    There was no need to arouse suspicion. There was no need to arouse suspicion. There was no need to arouse suspicion. There was no need to arouse suspicion.


    She slowly walked back to her room, gripping the silver platter of sandwiches so tightly, the designs had pressed into her skin.


    She woke Frankie from his sleep and loaded the code from her flash drive. She went to the window for a moment and saw another Solstice wandering through the garden, a mobile phone pressed to his ear.


    Escape was impossible, at least for now.


    She locked the door and piled her bags in front of it. She then pulled on her headphones, stared at the code, and began to type.

 07 - Responsibility

    Ryan watched the ghosts drift past his window. Two indistinct adults floated, far enough away that they were barely more than wisps of fog. Three children ¨C two girls, one younger boy ¨C ran around on the air in front of his branch of the Agency, running up invisible hills and tumbling down.


    Memories, of his son rolling down hills, played in his HUD. There had always been grass stains, and they had always been worth it ¨C each streak of green had been a badge of honour, of fun, proof of an afternoon well spent.


    The three ghost children held hands and spun in a rough circle before splitting apart, their arms straight out from their bodies as if they were imitating planes.


    It was common to call them ghosts, and the word fit them ¨C intangible visions of the dead ¨C but the truth was kinder than the mad non-existence that true ghosts were made to suffer. They were snatches of memory, peeks into a dying world. The strongest memories, the best memories, moving photographs to be seen one more time.


    One of the children came running right at his office, a little boy that seemed to be mostly thick jumpers and oversized boots. The boy¡¯s arm passed through the window before he turned, zooming back towards his sisters.


    Without warning, the family faded from view.


    Ryan watched for a moment more, then moved back to his desk and the far-too-large piles of paperwork.


    A ping from Jones appeared in his HUD, and he opened the video chat. [What can I help you with?]


    [Who have you got available at the moment?] Jones asked.


    Ryan opened the recruit schedule. Of the recruits on shift, four were on patrol ¨C or should have been, anyway. Their location still showed them in the agency. A five-minute delay was acceptable ¨C even ten minutes could be a perfectly understandable hold-up. Half an hour was unprofessional.


    He sent them an automated reminder, then flagged their late start on the schedule. As he flagged it, a reminder popped up, showing that it was their second warning in a month.


    With an apologetic look at Jones, Ryan made a quick note to reassign them to a daytime schedule.


    He looked at the rest of the schedule, then closed it. Sometimes, it was easier to take charge than to prompt recruits to do their jobs. [I¡¯ll investigate it.]


    That statement seemed to surprise the technical agent. [Sir?]


    [What¡¯s the situation?]


    [It could be nothing,] Jones said. [Solstice chatter, but it¡¯s in the same area for that leech Magnolia¡¯s been chasing, so that makes it interesting. We¡¯ve got a location.]


    [Drone surveillance?]


    [Shows nothing,] Jones said. [But it¡¯s a big place, so that means nothing.]


    A file transfer appeared in the HUD, and Ryan opened the picture.


    [Really nice-looking place,] Jones commented as Ryan examined the picture of a mansion. [It¡¯s historically listed, privately owned and occupied, but it does occasionally rent space, which seems to be the case now, if my kids hacked the right files.]


    [I trust your recruits. Anything to indicate Solstice?]


    The tech scratched his head. [Shells and dummy corporations, so it¡¯s a strong possibility. Don¡¯t know what they¡¯re doing in such a swanky place though. It¡¯s¨C]


    [As you said, it could be nothing.] He looked to his desk. The paperwork could wait another half hour. Some of it had already waited three days. Another minor delay was nothing. [I¡¯ll handle it.]


    [Yes, sir,] the tech said, and the connection broke, closing the window.


    Ryan looked at the image, and he pulled the location link from it, turned the link into a shift command, and watched as the world blurred around him.


    His office disappeared, and the mansion appeared. There were lights along the driveway, but the house itself was silent and dark. He shifted forwards a few metres, into a pool of shadow that would hide him from anyone looking out the windows.


    He listened as he slowly looked around the garden ¨C he heard nothing but the usual night sounds ¨C then looked to the mansion again. He scanned it for life signs, the world dropping into blue outlines. He saw seven life signs, nothing but vague blue outlines at this distance ¨C five moving, one motionless, and one¨C


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    One disappeared.


    Ryan pulled his gun from his holster, flicked the safety off, and shifted to where the life sign had disappeared.


    When the world came into focus, he almost wished it hadn¡¯t.


    The room bore some superficial similarity to one of the group rooms on the tech floor ¨C four long benches, each holding a half-dozen computers. Snacks and drinks sat near most of the machines, the strange fuel of those who spent the majority of their time interacting with a screen.


    That was where the similarities ended.


    The room was full of bodies, of bullet holes and blood.


    He sent a silent prayer to whoever wanted to hear it and moved carefully through the room, looking for any survivors that his HUD had somehow managed to miss.


    The silence of the room was broken with a sudden movement ¨C a body to his left surrendered to gravity and slipped from their wheeled chair. The chair slipped sideways, and Ryan reached out to stop it, his hand coating with blood.


    He looked down at the body. It was slight, small, hardly a target at all, and still they had died. Two shots to the back ¨C they hadn¡¯t even had a chance to run.


    He wiped his bloody hand on his pants and shifted to the closest moving life sign. He appeared a few feet in front of a man pushing a trolley loaded with computers. The Solstice raised a gun with a blood-covered hand and started to shout curses at him. Ryan stopped the angry tirade with two shots. The Solstice touched a hand to his bloodied chest, then fell to the ground.


    Another shift, another body. Another shift, two more bodies.


    Ryan scanned the mansion again ¨C two more life signs, one still immobile. The other was moving. Either could be a survivor; either could be a Solstice. He shifted to the moving one, and the Solstice managed five insults before he was silenced.


    He took a moment to collect himself, then shifted to the final life sign.


    Confusion rolled over him.


    The room was small, dark, and without any sign of an occupant. He turned in a slow circle, taking in the still-made bed, the empty desk, and the small stack of dirty plates on the chest of drawers.


    He aborted the next scan when he heard breathing.


    The sound was barely there ¨C if he¡¯d been human, he wouldn¡¯t have heard it. He turned to the wardrobe and pulled on the heavy handle.


    The owner of the last life sign sat in the bottom of the wardrobe, in complete darkness, save for the light from a laptop screen. Keys clacked softly beneath her fingers, and the breathing suddenly became a lot louder, a lot more frightened. Obviously Solstice, though ¨C absorbed in work, not asking if he was there to save her.


    He let the door go, and it slowly fell swung outwards on its hinges to bang against the body of the wardrobe, the loud sound making the girl flinch.


    He cleared his throat, just in the very unlikely possibility that she was unaware of his presence.


    She continued to ignore him.


    It was a nice change of pace from the others. She hadn¡¯t drawn a gun on him, she wasn¡¯t insulting him, and she wasn¡¯t sprouting their false ¨C and, frankly, stupid ¨C ideals.


    She still ignored him. It was laughable, in a strange sort of way.


    Ryan cleared his throat again, and that time she glanced at him, turning her head from the laptop for a brief second. Her eyes fixed on his gun, and she turned away with a slight shudder.


    The glance was enough to run a facial recognition search.


    The search ran quickly enough. It loaded, showing her name, age, a lack of previous known Solstice activity ¨C and strangely, a cross reference to himself.


    He stared at the cross reference, then looked to the girl, unable to place her in his memory as witness or suspect, then opened the file, curiosity more important than their quiet stand-off.


    His gun wavered a little as he looked at the file, his own incident report slowly scrolling by, thumbnails of photos sitting to the right. It wasn¡¯t possible. It didn¡¯t make any sense. It made the situation a lot less laughable.


    He looked into the wardrobe again, at the little girl he¡¯d carried back from Limbo, at the young woman working for his enemy.


    Duty. He had his duty.


    He adjusted his aim and fired.