Meliora - Emanate - 52

[lady_mab]

Lionel Darcy

The message comes through late in the afternoon after work.

It offers as much as a challenge as the cryptic riddle we were sent back in January. I can't figure out who it is from, but one thing is glaringly obvious: It is meant only for me.

It was sent to my number directly -- not through the app like the last game wide messages have been, and not through Kaito, who would generally facilitate our adventures in the name of ALICE and Meliora.

Liala, true to Rhys' word, is up and about even though we tell her she should be resting. But she gets bored, and there's only so long puzzle games can entertain her.

"Why don't you go out with your friends?" I suggest as I struggle to see what little layers I can pull away from the message to give me a clue. I’ve been working on it for the last sixteen hours, and I have no time left to keep poking for answers. I’ll have to leave soon if I want to make it on time. "That will get you out and about."

She fiddles with her phone, looking down, away, anywhere but at me. "I don't know... I’ve been sort of avoiding them."

This gives me pause, because originally she had been so excited to make new friends. "Why is that?"

Lia plays with her lower lip, kneading it with her knuckle. "After... I realized that we're in different categories... I didn't really want to bring them into it."

"Categories?"

She lifts a hand and says, "The cheaters," she lifts the other, "and those who are just playing the game the way it's supposed to be played."

I arch an eyebrow and sit back in my chair. The message glares back at me from my computer screen. I think about the list that I was able to pull from the first message back in August, the one inviting us all to the game. I think of how easy it was to pull everything, to copy the program used by the Informants.

I stare at my screen.

The words stare back.

An offer of exchange.

"Are we sure that they're the ones playing it right?" I mutter, more to myself than to Liala.

She ducks her head and turns back to her book of puzzles. "I don't know," she replies, equally muted. "How do you think Glen's team feels about it?"

This shuts me up quicker than I would have liked. They were a team caught cheating, just like us. And like Zoné and Jun.

I think about Rain, who has the same resources at his fingertips as I do, though perhaps a little less skilled. How is it that he managed to restrain himself from the urge to dig deeper? Or were Lia and I simply targeted because we were two people pretending to be one?

With a few quick taps at the keys, I close the message and delete it from my computer. I don't need it contaminating my hard drive. I haven't even properly delved into the worm that I pulled from Ayumu's phone all those months ago -- keeping the spare drive on one of my shelves as a sort of relic. As if, if I look hard enough, I could see the strings of code floating around in the ether of the digital space instead of a tiny piece of black plastic and metal.

I pocket my phone and pull my jacket from where I tossed it at one of the shelves surrounding my desk.

Lia looks up as the zipper clanks over the metal. "Where are you going?" she asks.

"Out."

Her brow darkens, and there might have been a pout if she wasn't so prideful. I know the expression because I do it all the time. "Oh?"

"I'll be back later."

This time she does pout, because I'm already at the door and shoving my feet into sneakers and haven't properly explained myself. But she knows that I'm not going to do so, so she lets me leave without further question.

I hurry down the stairs, this time keeping a lookout over my shoulder in case Lia gets it into her head to follow me again. I would think if the mysterious sender of this message wanted both of us, they would have sent it to both of us.

My headphones tuck snugly into my ears and I bring up my typical loud background music as I make my way to the bus stop, and from there to the Les Petites Portes restaurant.

Kaito and Lysander have been back this way a few times for Informant meetings, but after the initial 'Congrats you're all enrolled in a mysterious game with no point' episode, there hasn't been any need to travel this way.

The hospital and the ALICE building are in the heart of the city, while the restaurant is on the northern edge -- close enough to maintain its 'classy' status that comes with being close to the center of Eminence.

The mystery of who sent the message plagues me the entire ride over. The idea that I'll get to meet the person behind the riddle in January spurs me onward. No matter what I tried, it was the one code I couldn't crack.

And here it will be, laid out before me.

Once I disembark from the bus in front of the restaurant, I begin to realize that I might be a little out of place. No time to go back and change, though, so I tuck my hands into my jacket pockets and try to look like I belong here.

I get up to the host stand, and he offers me a polite smile. I have a split second to wonder if I'll even recognize who the person is I am looking for, but one sweep over the quietly dining crowd reveals the answer to me.

The impressively built man who always stood in the shadows now sits in the middle of the dining room, no sunglasses covering his dark eyes. At his side, a familiar figure with perfectly styled black hair sips her tea.

Neither of them make a move to indicate that they notice me. But they don't need to.

I make my way to their table, where a third place is already set for my arrival. Even though I'm only about five minutes late from the time in the message, it looks like they have already been here for some time.

"Chuck, right? That's what the name badge said?" I stand behind the chair, not yet wanting to sit down. I take the brief few seconds I have to enjoy being able to look down on him. “I wasn’t aware that we could bring a date.”

He's leaning back, resplendent in his control of the situation. His elbow is tucked over the back of the decorative chair, not quite relaxing and definitely not slouching, but watching me expectantly. The fingers of his large, spade-like hand drum silently on the white tablecloth. "That is acceptable moniker, yes."

This isn't exactly the first time I've heard him talk, as he told us where to go during the second meeting when we had to register. Yet it still startles me.

"Please sit," Mary Ann says. She picks up a porcelain pot of tea and pours me a cup. "I hope you don't mind that we started without you, but it is a fresh pot."

"I honestly didn't expect to be sitting here having tea."

Chuck makes a small noise that takes me a second to realize is a huff of laughter. "Clearly not."

I clench my hand into a quick fist to try and shake off the tremors before yanking out the chair and dropping down into it. "A dress code wasn’t mentioned in the invitation."

Mary Ann sets down the pot and offers up the milk and sugar, both of which I decline with stony silence. She doesn't seem to put off that I have not stopped glaring at Chuck since I arrived.

A beat of awkwardness passes over our table before he sits up and clears his throat. He tugs smartly at his suit jacket and reaches for his cup. It's ridiculously dainty in his meaty hand. He makes a show of taking his time to prepare the tea. Then, after a steady sip, says, "I am sorry to hear about your sister."

Cold sweat beads across the back of my neck, and I can't even try to hide the way my hand shakes. I end up dropping the knife I was attempting to use to cut a scone. "Excuse me?"

"I should have known that a mistake would have been made," he says, carrying on like I didn't speak. "It's glaringly obvious that you always come in second with Kaito No. Your sister and brother come in together. Unfortunate errors in the system and all that." He waves a hand to dismiss the idea, but gives Mary Ann a pointed look.

I still haven't brought my fingers back under control. The only thing I can grip is the edge of the table as I try to keep myself upright.

That means that the shot was intended for me. It was a warning delivered to the wrong person, because it was labeled as “Lianel Lions” not for “the second visit for Lianel Lions”. An automated system wouldn’t have known. I delete the details so systems like that won’t pick it up. But in doing so, they accidentally subjected Liala to an overdose of Vitamin E.

I knew that they had figured it out. It is a logical conclusion based on the evidence we have given them. Only, hearing one of the men in charge of the game say it -- the one that single-handedly took down a team with weapons on Halloween -- brings a new layer of threat to the statement.

It’s a struggle to keep my voice even, because they know they know of course they know races through my head with warning bells. "How long have you known?"

Chuck takes a sip of tea, not even taking the effort to look like he is considering my question. "Since nearly the beginning, I believe. That is, again, one of the flaws of the system we designed to select Participants."

"And what sort of system is that?"

"Individuals who are, essentially, removed from society. People who live on their own, have no immediate family--"

I put the pieces together with that I already knew from this long in the game. "So basically, anyone that wouldn't be missed should something happen."

He tips his cup in my direction as a mock salute. "Got it in one."

"So how does that explain Rhys? And..."

"And you two?" He sets down the saucer and cup with a dainty click of china. "Your brother was no longer financially responsible for you. The issue with Lianel Lions was, as I mentioned, a fault of the system. It would take a human eye to catch a mistake like that, creating a fake person for bank accounts and cell phones, et cetera. The fact that I left it up to an algorithm and sent the invitation without reviewing is a fault that lies with me."

Once again, he leans back in his chair with the same sort of casual ease. "I do admit to being pressed for time, no thanks to the Program Manager and his assistant deciding to jump the start date forward. He has a very specific vision in mind, Patrick does. And he doesn't share it with people unless he has to."

I take a sip of tea if only to give my hands something to do. It does help calm me down a degree. "And what is your role in all of this?"

Chuck waves a hand to indicate Mary Ann. Before I think that she's the example, and that he merely means he provided his girlfriend to be the receptionist at the ALICE building, she says, "Information and security."

I wait for an explanation, but one doesn't come. "And which one are you?"

She smiles, pretty and refined. "Which do you think, Lionel?"

My shoulders tighten at the sound of my real name, though I know they've already figured me out before I even walked in here. "He’s clearly security. You're information?"

Her laugh rings out in the restaurant, but no one turns to look at us. It is suddenly very obvious how quiet the room is. "I loved the way you phrased that. Yes, I'm information."

For some reason, the way she repeats it back to me sounds completely different than how I intended it to mean. "Is there some sort of inside joke that I'm not aware of...?"

Chuck lifts his hands and, with a snap, Mary Ann's appearance changes into something else.

Or, more appropriately, someone else.

The man from the night in the alley, from the hospital, the one who has been lurking behind every memory of the last few months. The indistinguishable face, the broad empty smile.

"I hope you learn from this visit," the man says.

And then, another snap, Mary Ann is back, reaching for her tea without any sort of hesitation or interruption from one moment to the next.

I feel like I'm about to be sick or that my head might explode.

"What... was that?"

"Like you said," Chuck supplies unhelpfully. "She's information."

I stare at him, then at the woman across the table. She allows the scrutiny with an air of grace. "She's a person."

"She's data." He pauses a beat, then adds, "Like those monsters that keep having the unfortunate ability of popping up when people are close to things we would rather them not."

The whirring of computers, the blind eyes, the bony fingers scraping into stone.

My mind reels. I can barely keep up. There's too much being thrown at me at once.

"How? I mean, there's no sound. She can interact with a teacup. My hand passed right through them." I scramble for some sort of explanation. The monster had been able to grab me, and it had managed to grab Rhys too. And didn't Jun say something about being kidnapped...?

"It's a very precise and delicate technology, of course, but like any piece it can also be made to run in a more... rough fashion." Chuck has his fingers crossed over his stomach, and his dark eyes remain focused on me. "I was not hired as part of the Program Manager's venture simply because I have large muscles."

A laugh escapes me, though I seem to be the only one startled by the sudden sound. Mary Ann continues to sip at her tea. How does that even work? That doesn't make sense. She's nothing more than code -- not quite a robot, strings of data floating together to somehow form a physical body.

Everyone else in the restaurant keeps eating. The clink clink clink of cups on saucers, knives in jam, muted and gentle conversation humming in the background instead of the buzz of computers.

"I was hired because I am good with computers and technology. I wrote the code that was able to select the Participants, and I wrote the code for the app on the phones. You caught my attention because of what you were able to do."

"Which part, because if it managed to get your approval, then I'm not sure I want it."

He snorts and shakes his head. Everything about him is huge. He fills out the suit perfectly -- no strain on the seams, not an inch of loose space. His hands are motionless across his stomach. He could be a statue, but I know better now. He's watching and observing, collecting data. Turning it into information and into potential security risks. "In part how you discovered the nature of the app on the phone of a person not participating in the game. Tell me, have you investigated it further?"

I think of the driver sitting on my shelf. A relic of an age not yet past. "No."

"Shame. It's a truly beautiful piece of code. Once we secured all of your numbers, we were able to program the app specifically to your phones. If anyone unauthorized was to use it, then it would corrupt and damage the equipment."

"Yeah, I noticed. Spent a hell of a time getting it out."

"And yet you did." He claps politely, though I can't tell if it's in mockery or honest response to what I have done. "And even before that, you managed to get your sister's phone to work as well, despite it being a different number than what was registered."

Of course it had occurred to me that there would be a potential issue. I set up Liala’s phone before I had fixed Ayumu’s. In the end, however, I think a part of me just expected that, if I told the program that it was for a Participant, that it would be accepted. A fact that sounds so dumb and ridiculous when I’m faced with it now.

It is obvious that they had known the whole time. They had allowed Liala’s phone to continue with the app, where Ayumu was an unknown variable from the start.

I take a breath and hold it in until my lungs burst. He waits, expectantly, for me to say something. It is a test. An exchange. "You seem to be giving me a lot of information. Is there something you want in return?"

He sits forward and places one large hand on the table. "You have proven yourself an interesting Participant, Lianel Lions."

I wince despite myself. I don't know if it would have been any better if he had used my real name or not, but it seems more like an insult now.

"There are several programmers who were invited, yes. Or even acting as Informants, such as your coworker. But you have stood out more than the rest of them." When he draws back, a small micro driver rests where his hand had been.

I reach for it automatically, but pause before my fingers can wrap around the device. "And what is this?"

He makes a small sound and glances at Mary Ann for assistance. Strange. "Consider it another puzzle, if you will."

"Are you the one that sent the message back at the end of January?" With everything else that had been revealed until this moment, I had forgotten that I had been unable to decipher that. "Is it a riddle like that one?"

Chuck surprises me by frowning. Or perhaps it is a flinch of his own. "No. That was not my doing. I have suspicions, but that is trouble for ALICE only. Nothing you need to worry about."

"Nothing? It basically told us that you all have your heads up your collective asses and just gave us an actual reason not to trust you."

"Unfortunate, but yes. We still hope that you will continue to believe that initial promise, though." He nudges the micro driver forward with the tip of a finger.

It's beneath my palm now. All I have to do is let my hand drop to the table and take it.

“Who is ‘we’?” I finally ask.

He arches an eyebrow but there is not an ounce of frustration in my hesitation or attempt to stall. "The organizers of this event."

"ALICE?"

"Parts of it, yes."

I don't know how to interpret his cryptic answer. So I snatch up the driver and pinch it between two fingers to study it. "And what sort of puzzle is this?"

Chuck takes longer this time to respond. He remains silent, watching me for several moments as if contemplating he did the right thing. "I know that you had a scientist to help you with the last drug, but this one you are unfortunately going to be on your own. Your job is to see if you can interpret it."

I almost toss the driver back onto the table. "And what is the price for this information you are giving me?"

There's the hint of a smile on his expression. I finally asked the correct question. "If you figure it out, you will be out of here. Just as promised."

"And if I don't?"

Mary Ann smiles as she says, "Then you'll forget that any of this ever happened."

The implication is clear.

I pocket the driver and push myself to my feet. The chair scraps back over the wooden floor, and that's when I realize that all of the sound in the restaurant has stopped.

When I turn to look, everyone is sitting perfectly still in their chairs. Their hands are folded in their laps, and they're gazing absently out before them.

It's a somber affair of greys and blacks, of stark lines and perfect hair. And faces that I can't put into words, constantly shifting from one thing to the next, all with no expression.

Chuck smirks as I whirl toward him. "Information and security," he repeats, and doffs an imaginary cap.

I don't wait around a moment longer. Even the host in the front of the restaurant stands perfectly still, not making a move as I brush past.

My fingers wrap around the polished bronze handle and I'm about to yank the door open when a familiar voice calls out to me. "Have a good afternoon, Mr. Lions."

When I look, the host resembles the ALICE agent whose name I don't know and whose face I can't remember. I slam the door behind me and I don't spare another glance back.