Page 62 of Moonstruck
“Well, that was anticlimactic,” Jericho said, leaning back and scrubbing his hands over his face before asking, “Anybody want to go get lunch? I’m starving.”
Atticus rolled his eyes. “You’re always starving.”
“We have to get back to the girls,” August said. “They’ll be waking from their nap soon.”
Suddenly, three words appeared.
WHO ARE YOU?
But nobody seemed to notice. “Uh, guys?” Zane said.
When they looked at him, he pointed at the words on the screen, his heartbeat pounding in his ears.
A text box now blinked on the screen.
“Um, what do I do?” Calliope asked.
Zane shifted in his seat, swallowing audibly, before saying, “Tell them you’re my brother.”
He pulled one of the water bottles from the bar and twisted off the cap as Calliope typed in Gage’s name and hit enter. The response was instantaneous.
LIE. PLAYER SELF TERMINATED. WHO ARE YOU?
Self terminated. What the fuck? This was obviously not an if/then prompt from a computer program. They were speaking to a real person hiding on the other side of the screen.
“We need to keep him talking,” Calliope muttered, nails clacking as her fingers flew over the keys. “He’s masking his IP address, bouncing it off a million different routers, but if you can keep him talking, I might be able to trace it back. Give me questions.”
Zane’s leg began to bounce beneath the conference room table as he rubbed his sweaty palms on his jeans.
“Oh,” Noah said excitedly, hand waving. “Tell them you want to play the game.”
Calliope did as suggested.
YOU DON’T VOLUNTEER FOR THE GAME. THE GAME FINDS YOU.
“Jesus, dramatic much?” Adam said.
Calliope gasped, then snapped, “Oh, hell no.”
“What? What’s wrong?”
YOU’LL NEVER FIND ME. BUT I CAN FIND YOU.
Zane knew he wasn’t talking directly to him but it felt like it. “What’s happening?”
“The fucker is trying to back-hack me. Keep asking questions.”
Zane’s heart was in a vise grip. “Ask why the game found my brother.”
Asa snagged his hand beneath the table as the question appeared in the box.
THE HANDLER CHOOSES HIS PLAYERS. NOT THE GAME MASTER.
Calliope didn’t wait for input before typing:You’re the game master?
I AM.
No hesitation. No fear. Almost cocky. Who was this person? What the fuck was a game master? Like the Hunger Games? Was that somehow the point of the game? Players cannibalizing themselves? None of this made any fucking sense.
