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Forum index » Archive » Archive: Deus City » DC: Deus City

Chapter 13: End game [solved]

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Transtar
Decorated

Joined: 01 Jun 2007
Posts: 165
Location: Annapolis, MD

Chapter 13: End game [solved]
Crimson Acres Estate in Red district

Senator Phillip Moore's office is a massively pretentious vaulted throne room of yellow and gilded gold. There are no walls, instead three story high ornate classical pillars of gold stretch in a row around the edges of the office that support the high roof like a gilded Parthenon. The ceiling is painted fresco and gilded relief of what appears to be a history of the city enacted by stylized renaissance nudes. Each pillar is connected to the next by high and wide glass windows which look out upon the continuing storm which beats down at the Yellow District below. In front of each pillar is a stand with an ornate golden statue of various nude women in various poses of varying modesty levels from the demure and innocent, to the downright pornographic and obscene.
In the far distance outside, framed by the darkest clouds in the west can be seen the older sections of the city such as Blue and Grey district and to the south the higher ultra-modern towers of Red District, still dark and without power, but it is evident that this office which stands like an ancient temple atop a skyscraper, in the middle of a magical golden kingdom, overlooks the most truly extravagant section of town, unaffected by the outage or the events outside its happy utopian bubble.

Inside the inner office, an enormous desk with a large clear flat-screen display monitor and conference table with multiple monitor screens inlaid, all sit at the end of the long room. Closer to the door is a full bar, a golden pool table, and an indoor whirlpool spa which looks to be about the right size for four models and one over-large senator. There is a dark yellow wall-to-wall carpet running the length of the room, and perhaps most ridiculous is a golden fountain right in the middle of it all, upon which stands nothing less than a golden effigy of the senator himself.

The real live flesh and blood Senator Phillip Moore sits at his enormous desk, whistling while working at some real live paper paperwork. He wears his trademark canary yellow suit. Sweat gleams off of his shiny balding head.

Next to the desk is a large golden mesh trashcan, made to catch the strands of paper for recyke from the small shredder perched on the desk above it. It stands half-full, a testament in itself to the Yellow Senator's waste and extravagance. I try to remember the last time I saw actual white paper.

The funny thing about nightmares is that if you realize you are having one, then it means it's almost over.

The wooden double door leading from the outer office and opposite of the desk shuts behind me loudly. Senator Moore jerks his head up with a start and glares at me with wide surprise.

It means you are about to wake up.

I stand bedraggled, bruised and bleeding in the entranceway of the towering Moore palace, my hands jammed into my coat pockets. I wear my hat crookedly on my head and a stony expressionless look on my face, waiting for the senator to explode.

"Who are you!? How did you get past my security?"

I withdraw my hand from my pocket. From my fingertips dangles the shiny transparent bag containing the subcue chip given to me by Senator Thomas Mercer.

"The Mercers sent me." I say.

Moore straightens his lapel and sits up straight in his enormous throne-like chair. His chubby cheeks puff as his mouth changes from surprise to a neutral line. He is hesitant and cautious with his words.

"I see." He says. "Leave it and get out."

"No, you don't see." I say. "The Senator has good reason to believe your life may be in danger."

"Don't be ridiculous." He says, with a jolly laugh. "Mercer's Dead."

I look to the edges of the tall golden office.

"Is this room monitored?"

"Of course not. I run this place."

"And how long has that been true?"

Moore's eyes narrow, his otherwise benevolent and cherubic features hardening.

"Who are you?"

"A freelance detective hired by your daughter Tara Moore-Mercer to find out certain things."

"And exactly what things have you found out... detective?"

"That everyone who has bought into the Mercer's little side business is dead. Including the ones doing the selling... except for you."

"What?! Are you actually telling me that you used a fake identity chip to sneak into my building and bypass my office security systems to talk to me about morality issues and this God-killer garbage? Get the hell out!"

Moore points at the door but I don't budge. Instead I start to walk slowly towards the desk.

"Call it what you like Senator. You are the last one alive on the list of people that Tara Mercer sold fake subcue chips to, and that makes for three possibilities."

Moore's expression changes to that of bemusement. He waves his hand at me patronizingly. I walk closer, skirting the long conference table.

"Oh this should be good. Please go on!" He laughs.

I count on my fingers as I go so that he will be able to keep up.

"One... You aren't who you say you are. You are an imposter who for sometime now has taken on the life and persona of one Senator Phillip Moore and your life could very well be in danger from whoever or whatever is killing people who aren't who they say they are."

Moore scowls, one eye narrowing, sizing me up before him, and likely calculating exactly how long it would take to pull a gun from his drawer, or maybe call for help.

"Two... You are the mastermind behind all of this. Your daughter and you cooked up a plan to take advantage of her husband's eccentric collection of identity chips and his unique access to the City's identity database. You put your own names on the list to cover your own back. If this is so then you have failed."

"And the third?"

"You have been taken for a fool, someone is setting you up... possibly those closest to you. And if your life is not in danger from that, then it is very likely in danger because of your very own stupidity."

"And which of these theories do you like the best, detective?"

"Honestly, I don't care." I tell him truthfully, jamming my fists back into my coat. Moore's surprise is evident. Then he smiles.

"Ah, I see then. So exactly how many credits do you need?"

"I don't want your money" I tell him, laughing.

"What? Well what in the world is it you DO you want then? Drugs? Alcohol? A woman? I don't have all day here!"

"I walked in that door already not liking you." I say. "You are as sold-out to the system as someone can get. You are the system." I'm now directly in front of the desk. My fists still firmly planted in my pockets. "I hate you and everything your system represents. I hate what society has become. I hate what you've made me become by selling out to your system. I hate that my so-called vote is represented by men like you who earn their place based on the size of their bank vaults..." I extract my hands and plant them on the enormous desk, leaning in close enough to smell the Senator's cologne.

"I didn't come here to save you." I tell him. "I came here to warn you. I don't care what you do. My job is done. My conscience is clean. Goodbye Senator Moore."

I turn to go, but I only make it about three steps. Somewhere in the back of the room is the sound of one-man applause.

"Brah-voh Dee-tective!" I hear a familiar voice say.

I turn to look. The man who called himself Chris Brown steps out from behind one of the golden pillars. His black hair is slicked back and his leather jacket and glasses are gone, but he wears the same shirt and pants as before. He has a wild grin and a gleam in his eyes and a small can in his hand filled with something that smells even more flammable than Moore's cologne. He wears an over the shoulder concealed carry holster jammed with an old style police pistol.

Chris stops clapping and draws his gun in a flash, pointing it at Senator Moore and walking forward to the back side of the desk.

"You," I say.

"Yea, me..." He says. "Whoever that is. I've been called so many things at one time or another... Farquar, Brown, Patish, Larson, Kaiku, Lex, Hook, Gordian, Theophilus... all the people I've had to become. Oh, but I still liked your little speech detective! I told you that you were one of us! I think you may have missed your true calling. Then again, you made it all the way up here after all! Did you like my little clues?"

The man steps up to Moore's chair behind the giant desk, sets the fuel can on the edge of the desk and cocks the gun against Phillip Moore's temple.

"Hi Dad. Miss me?"

"You son of a bitch! How dare you show your face around here!

Now now, you shouldn't talk about my dear sweet saintly mother like that, Pop! What would she say if she heard you, she was a virgin you know!

"I have no son you arrogant prick, and 'Saint' Dairine's reputation has already been dragged though the mud by those HFU Religious nutjobs! So why don't you pull that trigger if you think you can?"

The killer laughs. It is high and fast like a jackal.

"What? And have whoever I am today be placed at the scene of a murder? I think I'd much rather let God do the job, I rather had in mind a good fire today! What do you say?" He picks up the fuel can and begins flinging fluid around the room. It randomly sprays and splashes everything within a few feet of him, letting the last third pour out onto the top of the Senator's desk. More than a little gets on his jeans and shoes. "Can you believe they still use this stuff here in Yellow District Detective? Gee Dad, I thought you cared about the environment and fuel cell power! You should really do something about the fuel crisis at the Senate!"

He tosses the can, then withdraws a shiny antique metal lighter from his left pocket and flicks it open with a practiced thumb. A small flame appears on the wick. The madman smiles and tosses the lighter into the half-full trashcan beside the desk.

It instantly bursts into flame. A thin line of smoke wafts up to the high ceiling.

"There!" He says triumphantly, "We'll just wait for the smoke alarm to trigger aaand..."

"You'll never---" A piercing automatic fire alarm echoes through the building. I glance towards the ceiling. True fear is seen on Moore's face.The killer smiles and shakes with girlish delight.

"Ah! Right on schedule! My, but I do love the technical precision of our modern age!... Now Senator... I believe you were going to say something like," He does his best imitation of Phillip Moore, puffing out his cheeks and shaking his finger at the terrified Senator. "You'll never get away with this!"

He then turns to me. My gaze is unbroken as I intensely study the madman. My mind whirls with possibility, but they all seem to lead to one inevitable conclusion.

"And Detective, I believe you are supposed to try to get the gun away from me or talk me down from my insane ramblings or something?"

I turn to go, my coat brushing past the nearest corner of the pool table as I pass it. I wave goodbye with my left hand over my shoulder passively.

"Shoot him."

"What?! No!" The senator pleads.

"Chris laughs once then becomes deadly serious, as he realizes I'm not joking.

"Stop!"

I continue walking towards the door.

"Detective, please!" I hear the senator blubber. If he's faking it, he's doing a good job.

The killer's seriousness gives way to raw anger. "I said Stop!" He screams. I walk on, with raw determination carved deeply into my hardened face.

"STOPPP!!!" The leather-clad gunman whirls on his heel in anger, taking the gun off of Moore and pointing it at me. I'm already back at the far end of the conference table and still moving towards the door. He pulls back the hammer with a voluble "click".

An instant later, and with surprising speed for a man of his lifestyle, Moore brings his fat arm up, golden topped cane in hand, and with a splitting crack knocks the man over the head with it, catching the gunman off guard.

The gun fires, grazing off of the pool table, leaving a dark gash then hitting one of the tall wooden doors. I feel the heat and wind of the bullet as it misses my ear by millimeters. I stop moving towards the door, close my eyes in frustration, sigh, and turn back to face the desk.

The gunman has Moore pinned to his desk. He is choking the larger man with his own cane, all the while keeping the side of the hot gun pressed against Moore's face as he continues struggle against his better as best he can. Blood drips from the killer's forehead, and he laughs insanely.

I casually retrace my steps back towards the golden desk. The struggling men flip over once knocking the desk's Clearscreen monitor onto the floor with a crash, then again, this time rolling twice and knocking the paper shredder off the desk into the still-flaming trashcan. The cane whirls off into the hot tub with a splash. Both men are completely marinated in the flammable fluid from the top of the desk, and dangerously close to the fire itself.

The flames bloom out and up. They jump higher, becoming even with the desk. Pieces of charred ash and flaming paper shreds leap up and waft into the air and across the desk. Flames are now spreading across the carpet and the pillar of dark smoke begins to fill the room's ceiling.

I reach the desk and look down on the two men locked in struggle. Moore is now turning red from the killer's hand which grips his throat. Moore slaps the smooth surface against which he is pinned with his free hand, his desperate eyes pleading for help. His other hand is pinned down by the killer's but now holds the gun. Like a sick game of arm wrestling, neither is able to force the other over entirely.

Moore's hand gets too close to the pillar of fire and he recoils, crying out. The other's smile widens and he head-butts Moore's face with his bleeding forehead, then slams his arm down, causing the senator to lose his grip on the gun. Chris grabs for it but misses. It bounces on the smooth desktop and slides directly to me.

I look at the gun. It's an old .380 Enfield, cop issue.

I sigh again, and pick it up. Then I cock it against Chris Brown, or whatever his name is's temple.

The man releases his hold on Moore, laughing manically. The Senator gasps, taking in a great breath of air.

"I knew I could count on you detective! Your move!" He giggles delightedly.

"What happened to your zealous idealism that you so happily spouted at me before?" I ask. "More lies upon lies?

The killer is all but surrounded by flames and burning ash, my new gun snug against his forehead. The fire flares up in patches around the room as floating burning pieces of paper land on gasoline soaked patches of carpet. He seems confused for a moment then brightens as though a grand realization has struck him.

"What? Oh I see! You don't realize that I'm just acting on God's instructions! You think I'm insane!"

"What? God wanted you to murder innocent people?"

"No no! You have it all wrong don't you see? These people aren't innocent! They are all guilty like you said! God told me so!" He looks down at the Senator with his eyes, and I press the gun hard into his head.

"Just look at this corrupt corpulent slob! I don't kill people! I'm just bringing justice! Who else is going to do it? They abolished the courts nearly a year ago, and that was just a formality!"

He looks up into what I hope is a deadly, angry gaze. I'm neither amused nor convinced by what the madman is saying, and as the slow realization of this hits him and he begins to panic, the killer's voice becomes higher, faster, and strained. His fear giving over to anger as he pleads for his life.

"No. No! God judges them! Don't you see?! I wouldn't kill my own father if I was crazy! God kills them! Not me! This greedy bastard is supposed to die! I'm just making sure it happens the way He wants it to! There's a purpose to everything don't you see? There are no accidents! It's all fated! If this bastard lives then we are all going to die! Don't you understand?!"

Gently, almost lazily - while he is saying these last things � a single tiny glowing fleck of smoldering paper drifts like an orange-red snowflake into the dark waves of Chris Brown's greasy black hair.

"Everything happens for a reason!!!" He screams.

There is a long moment of nothingness, then the God Killer's head and hair burst into flames.

I jump back, keeping the gun on him as he begins to convulse around the room, shaking and beating his head as the flame spreads down his fuel-soaked body, succeeding only in spreading the flames faster to his face and arms as he slams backwards into the desk and flaming basket.

Senator Moore, now free from the other man's grip, launches himself away before the fire can reach him in a horrified panic towards the center of the room and dives into the fountain with a tremendous splash.

The desk fire spreads almost instantly, and in seconds Chris is nothing but an animated pillar of human fire and smoke dancing a grotesque last dance of heat and light and blazing burned flesh until he drops to the ground. The dying man burns a screaming trail of fire into the carpet which begins to quickly spread, engulfing half the office.

At this point the Smoke alarm finally gives itself over to the internal sprinklers, having been inexplicably delayed just long enough to consume the man, and in a few moments the flames are extinguished, but not before the un-named killer has already collapsed into a charred pile of burned flesh.

I stand for a moment in the artificial rain, becoming wetter and wetter, as I try to process what just happened. I stare for a good long while at the smoking pile that was the killer until I'm quite sure he's dead, then make the long walk in silence around the back of the desk where the last of the flames are sizzling out in the downpour of the office's fire suppression system.

Moore sits in the fountain, plastered up against his own proud and tall golden effigy fighting his fear and attempting to control his breathing. I kick over the now smoldering trash can. Ash and paper spills out onto the soggy carpet. I reach down, and with my coat sleeve in my hand pick up the antique lighter, test it, and when the flame appears flip the top back down and pockets it.

"Well at least this wasn't a total waste." I say aloud, then slosh through the now inch-deep water back to the double doors.

As I reach the large golden double doorway the still stunned Senator Moore speaks. I stop in the doorway but do not turn around.

"You saved me." He says "How can I ever thank you detective? I-I'll pay you! More than that! You are hired! You'll never want for anything ever again! The whole world will know what you have done if I have anything to say about it! Just tell me! What is your name?!"

I hesitate, my eyes dropping to the gun in my hand before I answer. The sprinkler system's water is dropping over the brim of my hat and down my face.

"I'm afraid I've been carrying so many subcues around that I'm a little hard to track, Senator. The name's Detective Kropp, Red sector. You can look me up, I've been following your God-killer for a while now."

I walk out the double doors and start down the hallway, savoring my lie and wondering if it'll stick, just as two Yellow District firemen burst into the inner office. The shock on their face at what they find upon entering is obvious. Behind me the floor is soaked, water pools on the table and desk. Smoke hangs heavy over wet ash and ruined carpet. The wet monitors and electronics spark and sizzle. The cracked desk monitor sits on the floor displaying nothing but colored static. Moore has a distant, far away and glazed stare. He doctors his burned hand and stares sideways out the nearest floor to ceiling window.

"Oh good," I hear him say absentmindedly. "I think the rain's finally stopped."

I can see that indeed, outside the windows, the rain has stopped and the dark clouds are rolling away, allowing sunshine to peek through the clouds and casting a gleaming reflection onto the soaked and soggy floor of the Golden Moore Palace Tower.

If you had it all to do again, would you do it differently?

Posted: Tue Nov 20, 2007 2:12 pm
Last edited by Transtar on Tue Nov 20, 2007 2:29 pm; edited 1 time in total

Transtar
Decorated

Joined: 01 Jun 2007
Posts: 165
Location: Annapolis, MD

Woah talk about plot twists, I'm barely following all thats happining now o.O

Answer of yes gives:
"Many of us crucify ourselves between two thieves - regret for the past and fear of the future."

You have received negative Karma.
You have received 26 Prestige.

Answer of no gives:
"One's real life is often the life that one does not lead"

You have received positive Karma.
You have received 13 Prestige

Posted: Tue Nov 20, 2007 2:26 pm

Lazy Hook
Guest

So he was me at one point.

Ouch.

The CRAZY THING is that independently of ANYTHING involving the storyline, I had been talking with Tara Mercer about her acquiring me a fake subcue so I could adopt a public identity. She never mentioned it to me. All she said was "That gives me an idea. Meet me at the cafe on Main Street in a few decades" and then nothing.

This game consistently gives me chills.

Posted: Wed Nov 21, 2007 6:09 am

Lazy Hook
Guest

Left some parting words on my profile page though, heh heh.

What a great end game. Chills and thrills.

Posted: Wed Nov 21, 2007 6:39 am

VQ.Wavecrest
Veteran

Joined: 07 May 2007
Posts: 124
Location: Philadelphia, PA

Awesome! My name isn't there! Though... wait... if THAT guy was Hook... then who is this on here!? Wink

Great game though. Seriously, loved it while it ran... and it being only my second ARG too Very Happy

Posted: Wed Nov 21, 2007 6:43 pm

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