Sinc, Chapter Eleven

Tempest buried her face into her pillows and stuffed animals as she stretched across her bed. She absolutely despised not telling Solus what was happening, even if she knew that it was for the best. If only she hadn’t started this stupid detective game, then they could be enjoying a smoothies and a walk on the beach, a trip to an amusement park, or lying around in a flower-filled meadow, throwing leaves at each other. If only…

But she couldn’t change things now, no matter how much she wished to do so. If only Brent wasn’t involved; he was the major complicating factor in this whole mess. On a whim, Tempest let out a short scream into the stuffed paraphernalia, which muffled it rather effectively. All of these “if only”’s were going to drive her absolutely mad if she didn’t quit coming up with them soon. Maybe what she needed was a walk; yes, a walk would give her fresh server air to breathe in while she thought about what to do next. She couldn’t get anything done screaming into her stuffed animal pile, locked him her room, after all, and there was certainly much to do.

With very little enthusiasm to spur her on, Tempest pushed herself from her bed and trudged across the room to her door. No sooner had she opened it, though, she regretted it. The last person that she wanted to see at that moment, or ever, was standing there, hand raised as if to knock on it.

“What, are you psychic? Actually, don’t answer that.” He growled, looking a bit smug however grizzled his expression looked. Tempest couldn’t tell why, though, which immediately began to worry her.

Instinctively she opened a terminal, but he laughed, causing her to start and stare at him.

“Don’t bother; it won’t work on me this time, Sykes made sure of that. You remember him, don’t you? He’d be upset if you didn’t after all he taught you about coding.”

Tempest glared at him. If looks could kill, Brent would have crumbled to dust under her gaze. “Not all of it. Just some. What do you want, Brent?”

“Oh, I want to make a deal with you.” He smirked, leaning against the doorway nonchalantly.

“A deal? With you? In your wildest dreams.” She hissed, closing the terminal quite angrily. Her previous upset was quickly becoming anger at his coolness, his air of superiority. He hadn’t changed a bit.

“I’m sorry, did I say deal? What I think I meant was demand.” He pushed himself from the door frame and closed the distance between the two of them. She stood her ground as he positioned himself only inches in front of her. “You’re coming with me, or ese your little boyfriend is going to find himself in a very unpleasant situation.” He knew. Dread filled her, even though she wasn’t surprised at the development. It reminded her of the villains in the movies and how they always seemed to know their enemy’s weakest point.

“Firstly, what could you possibly want me for? Secondly, he isn’t my boyfriend.” She huffed, trying to look as unfazed as possible, all the while cursing the fact that the server emulated a person’s body so accurately that if he listened closely enough, Brent could hear her heart beating rapidly in her digital chest.

“Don’t try to lie to me, Tempest.” He laughed again. “I know you well enough to know that, if he isn’t now, he may as well be.”

She hated the way he was looking down at her. She felt so small as his eyes, those lightless, black orbs, bore into hers, and his breath, hardly as sweet as she remember, blew across her face.

“So, are you going to cooperate, or do I have to get Sykes to track down his home address? He’s gotten quite handle with a terminal. What was the poor boy’s name again? Solus?” His smirk turned into a smile, the kind that a villain in a movie smiles when their evil plan has succeeded.

Guilt flooded Tempest. The half-hearted hope that Solus wouldn’t be brought into his had been shattered. Now the only thing she could go was do her best to keep him out of harm’s way, even if that meant giving in to Brent’s threats. That didn’t mean she had to go without raising a fuss, though.

“Oh, you’ve been snooping. We can’t have that in an operation as delicate as ours. Sykes also managed to find that little program you attached to Dean. He thought the little lightshow it produced, apparently visible to only someone with the exact eye coding you have, was quite the nice touch.” Tempest couldn’t help but smirk at this. “But I can’t have transparent ghosts running around my hideout. It’s bad for keeping secrets, you know.” He seemed irritated that she, of all people, had managed to locate his lair, and even hand around long enough to hear a conversation about their little plot.

“Well my apologies. Most people don’t run around the server, hacking into the server coding and trying to make buildings collapse in heavily trafficked sectors. Someone was bound to notice and start poking around eventually, though that’s exactly what you wanted wasn’t it? Just not someone like me. Especially not me.” She gave a short, airy laugh.

“Enough of this already. You know I’m not great with the terminal crap, so I need you to do a few things first. And no screwing around or I’ll get Sykes right on that address.” He snatched her arm and tanked her towards the bed, shoving her towards it so hard that she almost found herself sprawled across it before she could regain her balance.

“Crap, Brent, you’ve gotten pretty violent since then, haven’t you?” She muttered, and he didn’t appear to notice her comment as she sat herself down, looking as thoroughly miffed and pouty as possible. “Alright, what am I doing that requires you to be so hands-y and forceful?”

 He stared at her momentarily, considering her. “Open up a terminal.” He instructed, watching her every twitch as she did as he instructed. “Now, Sykes said that you can do it, so make both of us entirely hidden on the server, undetectable by anything and everything while we move around.” Tempest typed the required commands into the terminal and applied them to both her and Brent’s coding. She glared at him to let him know that she was done. “Now, put in thecoordinates I tell you.” He listed off a long string of numbers that she entered as he spoke them. She assumed that they led to the hideout that she had discovered, so she did her best to commit them to memory. “Take us to them, now.” He ordered, grabbing her wrist as she closed the terminal, sure to discreetly hit ‘save log’ as she did, and they were thrust into the cyberspace between sectors on the server.

Broken, crumbled, run-down buildings materialized around them. It was the same ruined place that she had found only a short time ago. “Come on, let’s go.” Brent yanked her arm and led her in an odd zigzag pattern obviously meant to throw her off the exact location of the hideout before finally stopping in front of the entrance in the holographic wall. “You go first.” He pushed her through, more forcefully than was necessary, and she stumbled into the book-filled room. As before, a group of boys was sitting at the table, only this time they were eyeing her intently while she straightened herself up and regained her composure. Her eyes wandered to the boy sitting away from the group at one of the computers. Sykes. Putting the name to his face had a strange and dissatisfying sensation to it. He wasn’t looking at her; instead his attention was entirely focused on whatever he was currently working on. Typical Sykes.

A hard prod to the small of her back made her start down the steps and towards the table. Brent guided her, more gently than before, over to a chair and pressed her into it. Not a word was spoken until Brent sat down across from her and broke the intimidating silence.

“Boys, some of you don’t know Tempest, but a few of you should remember her.” He shot a glance towards the oblivious Sykes. “Skyes, get over here. Sykes!” Brent’s voice varied through the air, the sound waves bouncing off of the walls and causing the word to come from every direction.

 Just as Tempest thought that Brent was going to yell at Sykes again, the boy slid back in his chair, away from the desk, and stood. Slowly, he made his way over to the table, sitting to the right of Brent. Out of everyone at the table, he seemed to be the most disinterested in the visitor. His dark blue eyes wandered lazily around the table, only sparing and extra moment f observation for Tempest. Any other time, any other person, and she wouldn’t have been bothered, but something about the cold, aloof way Sykes passed over her like she wasn’t really there ate at her as she readjusted her gaze back to Brent.

“Alright, now that we’re all here…yeah, this girl is the little sneak that managed to track this place down by following Dean, in case you were all wondering.” Brent made a point to look directly at the guilty boy with an expression of severe disappointment. “But she’s agreed to be a good little prisoner,” he coughed “while we set our plan into motion. I don’t want anyone talking or otherwise fraternizing with her while she’s here without my express permission or a specific need. At the same time, I will not tolerate bad treatment. Sykes has set aside a room just for her, so you won’t have her wandering around tempting you. Does everyone understand?” Brent finished, looking a little less agitated than before. When no one seemed to want to voice any questions, comments, or concerns, he nodded at Sykes, who, rather slowly, rose from his chair and circled the table until he reached Tempest.

“Up you go, little one.” He whispered in her ear, having to lean down to do so. She forced her face to remain neutral, despite the strong urge to smirk. ‘Little one’ was something she hadn’t heard in years, and this time it didn’t tick her off as it once had. Following his prompt, she stood and, with his gentle guidance, crossed the room, heading past the computer he had been working on. They reached a doorway and passed through it, revealing a corridor filled with heavy-looking metal doors. When Sykes was confident that they were out of earshot, he spoke quietly.

“It’s been a long time, Tempest.” Something seemed to strangle the words as they left his throat.

“Yeah. It has been.” Tempest responded, grimly. She knew that he was probably just as confused about her presence as Brent was trying not to let on. “So what are you guys up to, huh?”She hoped that she could get some decent answers from Sykes; Brent was likely to avoid any and all further contact with her after this point.

“This and that.” Sykes mused. “The fact that you’re somehow involved makes me more uneasy than I already was about this whole fiasco in the first place, though.” He gave a soft prod to let her know they had reached the door. A short code entered into the keypad later, the door slid into the wall, revealing a fairly comfortable-looking space. It included a bed, desk and chair, fan, and a rather large bookcase. “All the Sherlock Holmes novels are in that, plus some others. It should keep you busy.”

“Sykes, you’ve always known me all too well.” She laughed.

He didn’t appear to be very amused at all, though the beginnings of a wry smile touched the corners of his lips. “Well Brent is expecting me back pretty quick. The room is entirely cut off from networking, terminal use, and is entirely sound proof. If you need or want anything, just use that panel by the door. I or someone else around will get it to you. That okay?”

She nodded, resigned. “Sykes…don’t leave me hanging too long, okay? I need answers, and like Holmes, I can’t build bricks without clay.”

He looked her over, his eyes suddenly icy and calculating. “I could ask the very same of you.” Without another word her turned, stepped out of the room, and the steel door slid shut, the lock clicking into place.

Tempest did her best to make herself at him in his absence, but it was extremely difficult to do so without access to a terminal. It wasn’t so much that she didn’t appreciate Sykes’ attempt at design, she just would have liked to add a few pillows to the bed, maybe some decorations on the walls, and some other nice touches so that the steel-grey paneling didn’t constantly remind her that she was currently being held captive by someone whom she didn’t particularly care for. But in all fairness, one usually didn’t like the person holding one captive.

She flopped down on the bed, making a mental note to request a clock. She would have done so right then, as well as make suggestions for the other things she rather wanted, but he had only just left, and clearly didn’t seem too comfortable being around her at the moment. The clock was something she really felt a need for though, and so was a priority. Not knowing how the time was passing as she lounged around was eating at her nerves. Without being able to do anything made her feel useless, and feeling useless was something Tempest absolutely could not stand.

The time passed slowly as she paced around, opening all of the drawers in the desk and examining their contents (which included paper of lined and plain kinds, a generous assortment of ink pens and pencils, and various office supplies), and shuffling books around on the shelf after reading the backs and leafing through the word-filled pages. Any other time she would have curled up in a pile of pillows and read a few cover to cover, but she was just too nervous to be still enough to do so.

This nervousness was effectively demonstrated when the door slid open and she jumped, squeaked, and almost tripped over the chair by the desk. She had hoped that Sykes would be the one in the doorway, but instead Brent had chosen to pay her a visit; like a good storybook villain, she couldn’t help thinking.

“So are you going to rattle off your evil plan to me or are you going to make me beg for an explanation.” Tempest quipped, not bothering to hide the distaste in her voice. It surprised her; she had never been a particularly hateful or irritable person, but something about Brent now made her emotionally sick. She sat on the floor and looked up at Brent as he crossed the room, appearing not to notice she was there until he reached the wall opposite the door.

“Hmph.” He grunted. “Evil? You would think so, with all your books and fairytales the line between good and evil has always been naively thick for you. Well it isn’t, and this is hardly what you would call evil.” He sounded quite offended at her opinion. His nose was even slightly turned up as he responded. “You obviously haven’t experienced the horrors of this server, nor have you seen or heard of them. Sinc keeps such things covered up pretty well; it’s a business, after all. Well, this piece of digital shit has ruined the lives of millions of people.” He threw his arms up as though he couldn’t believe what he was saying. “Husbands have abandoned wives, teenagers have abandoned schoolwork, the elderly have wasted away at terminals, all because, suddenly, dreams can become a semi-reality, one that you can hardly tell from the real thing.”

Tempest turned herself around on the floor and looked him in the eyes. “Brent, that’s their business. Why are you so concerned with the people who can’t handle using the server in moderation?” She countered, a tiny hope that she could convince him to back out of his plans lighting dimly inside of her.

“Those are the people that you have to protect!” He said, indignantly.

“What about the people with disabilities and only get the most out of life, the ability to talk, see, hear, all because of the server? What about them? You would ruin their lives, their chance at happiness, to “protect” the idiots?” She rose and sent a piercing glare at him. Brent had never struck her as being the vigilante type; this was a whole new side of him that she would have never expected, or believed had she not been hearing it with her own ears.

“Collateral damage. Sometimes something must be lost for another to be gained or preserved.” He shrugged and clasped his hands behind his back. “Soon, after we’ve eaten away enough of the server code, the infrastructure, we’ll make out final move. One that will shut the whole operation down for good.

“You’re sick.” Tempest spat. “Are all of these collapses just a coverup for all the internal damage you’re doing?”

He smirked. “You could say that. It has two effects, one being something of a distraction like you said, but it also serves to make it unappealing, like it would crash at any moment. No one wants to be involved in that with the level of realism the server has achieved, even if you don’t actually die or get injured. There’s still the mental realm involved.” He paced between the bed and the desk as he spoke.

Tempest wanted to reach out and punch him in the mouth, to wipe that smirk from his lips, but she thought the better of it. “Then what are you going to do about the millions of people logged on when you bring the server down? Are they just ‘collateral damage’ too?”

Brent stopped pacing and turned to meet her murderous gaze.

“If you take it offline, they’ll die. Their minds will be entirely lost in the crash instead of just temporarily stored.

“You don’t think I know that?” His face was now and inch away from her own face. “I’m not stupid, Tempest. A universal forced logoff is the simple, easy solution to that problem. I’ve thought of everything.” She could feel his breath mingling with hers as he looked down on her.

“Sick bastard.” She hissed. “You’re not a hero, Brent. You never were. This delusional attempt at playing one won’t get you anywhere.” Still resisting the urge to allow her fist to meet his face, she slid out from under his gaze and turned her back to him.

The cold, warped laugh that emitted from his lips made chills go up her spine. “That’s funny. It’s so like you to compare this to one of your novels. I told you before, it isn’t just good guys, bad guys, and no in-between. Well baby, this isn’t a book. In reality there’s always a grey area, and I won’t deny that this is one. But the same could be said of war, and so many other things, so really this isn’t that unusual.”

“Don’t call me that. I’m not your baby anymore.” She wrapped her arms around herself, refusing to allow herself to look back at him.

“Fine, baby. I’ll just leave you alone then.” Footsteps sounded across the room, punctuated by the door sliding open and closed.

Tempest turned around to stare at the door. “I don’t think sick is the proper word for what you are Brent. It’s something much, much worse.”