he said, the force of his words almost knocking me over. “And I’ve been assigned to protect you.”
Chapter
14
>http://www.playsurvivewin.com<<<
PLAY.SURVIVE.WIN
WELCOME TO REPORTING CENTER
PLAYER REPORT:
REPORT NO. A-0001
Filed By: Lynx
Subject: Game commenced.
Report:
Target approached and package delivered. Tailed target to non-residence location >>>database entry noted<<<
Utilized eavesdropping equipment.
Target announced refusal to participate in game.
Persuasive tactics applied.
>End Report<<<
Send Report to Opponent? > Yes << >> No <<
His target was on the run.
Lynx reached across the table for his pack of Djarum cigarettes, his eyes still fixed on the glowing screen. He tapped out a smoke, then slid it between his lips, lighting it with one quick flick of the silver-plated lighter his grandfather had surrendered to him so many years ago.
His first prize.
He could remember the move so clearly. He’d sacrificed his rook and his queen in homage to the strategy played so brilliantly by Adolph Anderssen in 1853. Checkmate. He’d been thirteen, and that had been the first time he’d beaten the old man. He’d known he would, too. For two weeks, he’d studied and played. He’d practiced opening with the Evans Gambit and had tried out the Alekhine Defense. In the end, he’d beaten every fucking little dweeb in the Delaney High School chess club, then he’d rubbed their noses in the fact that a lousy freshman had whooped their sorry asses.
Fuckers. They hadn’t taken him seriously, but he’d known. He’d always known. He was destined to be a winner.
He’d wagered his signed Willie Mays starting lineup card against his grandfather’s lighter, and he hadn’t sweated it for a minute. He’d never give up Willie. But that just hadn’t been a risk. Lynx had known even then that he’d come into his own. He was special. He’d been ready.
More than that, he’d been right. A handful of moves, and it had all been over.
And as Lynx had closed his fingers around the cool, polished silver, he’d known that he was the best. He always would be.
And he’d always win.
He’d been winning now for twelve years. Not roulette or slots or those other baby games of chance. Real games. Where skill mattered.
He’d spent his school years dividing his time between the chess club and football, not giving a damn if his pumped-up but brain-dead teammates thought he was a pussy. He’d had things on his mind past high school. He hadn’t given a rat’s ass about the sport—any other game would have done just as well. He’d been in training, then. Training his mind and his body. Making sure he was ready. For what, he hadn’t known. Not exactly. But there was something out there. Some prize that was his.
Even then, he could feel it.
Even then, he could taste it. The sweet nectar of success.
He’d spent long weekends in the summer with his grandfather, his rifle at the ready, waiting for just the right moment, just the right shot. Hunting had been a game, too. Hunter and quarry. And he’d always won.
His grandfather’s cronies used to smack him on the back after they’d returned to the lodge with their kill. They’d pound him between the shoulder blades and tell him what a fine job he’d done. Later, when he’d taken his seat at the fire with Chess Traps, Pitfalls and Swindles open on his lap, they’d looked curiously, but they’d never snickered. He’d proven himself already. He wasn’t a sissy-boy.
Not fun, though, playing against dumb animals. They didn’t know about the game, after all. And so he’d found a new thrill. In no time at all, he’d aced every single-player game that Sierra, Broderbund and all the other developers had had to offer. That had gotten old soon enough, and by his sophomore year of college, he’d graduated to multiplayer Internet gaming. Going through all the levels of Anarchy Online, EVE, Doom and dozens of others. RPGs, MMORPGs. The works. He’d done them all
Chapter
14
>http://www.playsurvivewin.com<<<
PLAY.SURVIVE.WIN
WELCOME TO REPORTING CENTER
PLAYER REPORT:
REPORT NO. A-0001
Filed By: Lynx
Subject: Game commenced.
Report:
Target approached and package delivered. Tailed target to non-residence location >>>database entry noted<<<
Utilized eavesdropping equipment.
Target announced refusal to participate in game.
Persuasive tactics applied.
>End Report<<<
Send Report to Opponent? > Yes << >> No <<
His target was on the run.
Lynx reached across the table for his pack of Djarum cigarettes, his eyes still fixed on the glowing screen. He tapped out a smoke, then slid it between his lips, lighting it with one quick flick of the silver-plated lighter his grandfather had surrendered to him so many years ago.
His first prize.
He could remember the move so clearly. He’d sacrificed his rook and his queen in homage to the strategy played so brilliantly by Adolph Anderssen in 1853. Checkmate. He’d been thirteen, and that had been the first time he’d beaten the old man. He’d known he would, too. For two weeks, he’d studied and played. He’d practiced opening with the Evans Gambit and had tried out the Alekhine Defense. In the end, he’d beaten every fucking little dweeb in the Delaney High School chess club, then he’d rubbed their noses in the fact that a lousy freshman had whooped their sorry asses.
Fuckers. They hadn’t taken him seriously, but he’d known. He’d always known. He was destined to be a winner.
He’d wagered his signed Willie Mays starting lineup card against his grandfather’s lighter, and he hadn’t sweated it for a minute. He’d never give up Willie. But that just hadn’t been a risk. Lynx had known even then that he’d come into his own. He was special. He’d been ready.
More than that, he’d been right. A handful of moves, and it had all been over.
And as Lynx had closed his fingers around the cool, polished silver, he’d known that he was the best. He always would be.
And he’d always win.
He’d been winning now for twelve years. Not roulette or slots or those other baby games of chance. Real games. Where skill mattered.
He’d spent his school years dividing his time between the chess club and football, not giving a damn if his pumped-up but brain-dead teammates thought he was a pussy. He’d had things on his mind past high school. He hadn’t given a rat’s ass about the sport—any other game would have done just as well. He’d been in training, then. Training his mind and his body. Making sure he was ready. For what, he hadn’t known. Not exactly. But there was something out there. Some prize that was his.
Even then, he could feel it.
Even then, he could taste it. The sweet nectar of success.
He’d spent long weekends in the summer with his grandfather, his rifle at the ready, waiting for just the right moment, just the right shot. Hunting had been a game, too. Hunter and quarry. And he’d always won.
His grandfather’s cronies used to smack him on the back after they’d returned to the lodge with their kill. They’d pound him between the shoulder blades and tell him what a fine job he’d done. Later, when he’d taken his seat at the fire with Chess Traps, Pitfalls and Swindles open on his lap, they’d looked curiously, but they’d never snickered. He’d proven himself already. He wasn’t a sissy-boy.
Not fun, though, playing against dumb animals. They didn’t know about the game, after all. And so he’d found a new thrill. In no time at all, he’d aced every single-player game that Sierra, Broderbund and all the other developers had had to offer. That had gotten old soon enough, and by his sophomore year of college, he’d graduated to multiplayer Internet gaming. Going through all the levels of Anarchy Online, EVE, Doom and dozens of others. RPGs, MMORPGs. The works. He’d done them all
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