Jalen rocked, slipping in and out of consciousness as he felt a gentle rolling motion. His arms were heavy, like he was wrapped in a blanket, making it even harder for him to wake, but when he finally forced his eyes open, he found himself in a train car. He popped his stiff neck and looked down, realizing that it was not a blanket at all, but a straitjacket. His heart was now thudding to life.
“Good morning.”
Jalen jerked his head up to see the man in the cardigan sitting across from him. “What’s going on?” Jalen bucked against the canvas cloth. The dim memory was now coming back in Jalen’s mind—the fight, the bookcase, the window he shattered.
“I’m Mr. Darsie, and you weren’t part of my original plan, but,” Darsie said, motioning for Jalen to lean forward, “I think it was a good call. Still, Wyatt was supposed to have been sworn to secrecy.” He began loosening the heavy buckles on Jalen’s back.
“Thank you,” Jalen said, wrestling from the jacket like a molting snake.
“The headaches may continue for the next few weeks.” Darsie motioned to a dish rattling on a thin golden tray. “These will help.” The dish contained two white pills, and beside it, a bottle of Fiji.
Jalen picked up one of the pills. It bore no markings. “Think I’ve had enough unknown substances for a while,” he said, setting it back down. The veins in the side of his head throbbed. “What are they, anyway?” he asked, wincing.
“Mostly a standard pain reliever … with a special mix that my doctors find particularly soothing for migraines.”
Jalen stared at the pill.
“Muscle through on your own if you’d like,” Darsie said. “I must say I’d like to be trusted at this point, but perhaps that’s wishful thinking…”
“Trusted? Didn’t you stab me with a sedative?”
“Touché. But I’m glad to see your memory is coming back. I wasn’t positive that formula worked.” He smiled and turned to one of his manservants standing behind him. “Please find some aspirin. And take this away.” Darsie motioned to the golden tray.
The man lifted the tray and Jalen caught his hand. “Just a sec,” Jalen said, reaching in the bowl and scooping up the pills. He stared at Darsie, popped the pills in his mouth, and slugged the mineral water. “Thank you.”
A few moments passed. “A little extra caffeine,” Darsie finally said.
“What’s that?”
“Perfectly pure caffeine … in the pills.”
“Oh.”
“That’s it. Nothing else.”
“Well, I feel better already.” Jalen finished his water. “Where’s Wyatt?”
“He’ll be joining us shortly, but first, I wanted to have a little talk … about your friend, Hi Kyto.”
“She’s not really my friend. I mean, I know her but I haven’t met her.”
“And I think you and Wyatt have discussed that she could be linked … to Encyte.”
“Yes.”
“Well, Hi Kyto is employed by me. She and I have an intimate working relationship, and in order for that to continue, I need to know some things.”
Jalen nodded.
“You see, often when we think about who’s bad, we have so many emotions and prejudices that lead us in a direction that objectively may be wrong. Innocent people are constantly harassed, accused, and found guilty of crimes they didn’t commit, based on these prejudices. I don’t think I need to tell you that.”
Jalen nodded again.
“For example,” Darsie continued, “many of my colleagues in the software industry or in tech in the government are convinced that Encyte is a Russian mole from North Korea.”
“Think it’s possible?” Jalen interrupted.
“Sure it’s possible. Anything’s possible, but jumping to that conclusion, I think, is lazy … not to mention dangerous. Other ideas we’ve heard … a political activist—which makes way more sense to me—domestic terrorists, a rogue politician, the idea of a Unabomber has even been kicked around.” Darsie smiled, eyes glowing. “Some people think Encyte could be me.”
“Okay, so?”
“So you need to think about why Hi Kyto is a suspect.”
“Well, her ability, her technical skill, her disposable income from professional gaming.”
“Right!” Darsie snatched an iPad off the nearby desk and swiped it open. “Maybe you’ve already learned a few things from Valor, but there’s more. A hunt for a serial killer starts with a victim. You need to profile them.”
He handed Jalen the iPad. Jalen studied the screen: a table, a mosaic of faces filling the sixteen-by-nine-inch frame. They were laid out in blocks of three—the sneaker attack, the Austin attack, the victims of the California fire.
“These are the victims,” Darsie said. “Hundreds of them.”
Jalen zoomed in, scanning each—every color, every gender. His head pounded. He thought he might be sick. “I…” he stammered, suddenly wanting to jump out of the train.
“Come on, boy. Get control of your thoughts. Push them back. What’s done is done. Now, look at them and tell me what you see.”
Jalen swallowed. He scrolled and zoomed. A song came into his head. “This is America,” he said to himself. A few more seconds passed. “More young than old people.”
“Correct,” Darsie said gleefully. “Median age is twenty-three … What else?”
“Well,” Jalen said, “they’re young, but I don’t see why.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“As I understand from what Wyatt told me, the first attack involved a shoe drop with a brand that marketed to urban youth, so in that attack, I understand why the victims may’ve been young.” Jalen slid the blocks of photographs to the right along the timeline, pulling up a fresh batch of images that looked almost like they could be in a college yearbook.
“Go on…”
“And the car attack in Austin, it would make sense that so many young people were there, because it’s a city where young, cool people go…”
“Hold on.” Darsie Googled quickly. “Median age for residents in Austin is thirty-one point eight.”
“That still doesn’t make sense. The median age for the attacks is a lot younger than that, so—”
“He targeted them as they ran through the park?” Darsie asked.
“Well, not really. I was driving, so I was choosing the victims, but if I remember the point scale correctly…”
“What, what about the points?”
“The points got higher the younger the victim,” Jalen said, his stomach and mind swirling.
“So he was guiding you, to some degree.” Darsie walked across the gently rocking train car and sat down at his desk. With great focus, he began hammering on his keyboard. He stopped and sat upright, staring at his laptop. Jalen watched his mind turning like gears.
“A birthday party for a high school senior, who was killed in the attack, had been planned that afternoon … it was to be held in the food court. The girl’s name was Jill Mahoney … and her dad was a state senator. There are pictures of them setting up on Facebook…” Darsie looked up, face flushed. “She was a gamer.”
“Her name did sound familiar.”
“Ever play with her?”
Jalen shook his head.
“So maybe Hi Kyto had a beef with this gamer? Maybe she was plotting to kill her.”
“Maybe.” Jalen wasn’t convinced. “But I’m sure Hi Kyto would have been ranked above her. I mean, so far beneath her that it wouldn’t matter…”
“An aspiring club pro versus Andre Agassi?”
“Or club pro versus my mom,” Jalen said under his breath. “Just doesn’t make any sense, and statistically, I’m not sure if it means anything.”
“They still teach statistics?” Darsie grinned.
“I’m no great student, but I can do basic math.” Jalen consulted the iPad. “Sixty-four million kids play video games. Hit a kid, and you stand a good chance of hitting a gamer.”
Jalen swiped the iPad to another block of images. “But our young theory breaks down with the fire,” Darsie said.
“It killed old people because they were surprised in their homes and probably couldn’t escape in time … and can someone truly predict where a fire will go? I mean, if the wind is blowing, its path would be pretty crazy.” Jalen paused, reaching the dead end of his thinking. “You mentioned the Unabomber type.”
“Yes, but political activists—what we like to call homegrown terrorists—are tossed into every investigation. Not saying Encyte is not a terrorist, I just don’t know if his motivations are political or radical.”
“But the Unabomber, Ted Kaczynski, wasn’t he associated with universities?”
“Yes, he was a mathematics professor, a prodigy in his field. He was disgruntled, but that’s about all he had to do with students. I don’t know … maybe he held a grudge against them.”
“Maybe this one does.”
“Maybe so,” Darsie said. “But back to the original question—do we have enough evidence that points to Hi Kyto?”
“No. Not based on this alone.” Jalen stared at the block of faces. Those from the fire. He looked up. His mouth opened. “I remember something.”
“Yes,” Darsie nudged, eyes wild.
“You said the fire was started by a pill-head, right?”
“That’s right, he was on Zovis.”
“Well, when Hi Kyto played with Pro_F_er, she called him something else.”
“What was it?”
“Highboy.”
“Highboy? That’s it?”
“Yeah, that’s all I know. I just thought, since this Zovis kid started the fire. Maybe it could mean something.”
“It just might.”
“So what now?”
“We get close. Very close. You need to be her friend. You need access to her life, her friends, and then the opportunity will present itself.”
“But I haven’t even met this chick.”
“No, but you will.”
“Huh?” Jalen looked out of what should have been a window, but instead the image of a Western landscape—arid and mountainous—raced past.
“I’m assuming that’s why Wyatt brought you here,” Darsie said. “We’re en route to the Evolution Championship Series … We’ll be in Las Vegas in fourteen hours.”
“You mean EVO? The fighting game competition?” Jalen panicked. “Wyatt said I was going to be a part of the mission. To stop Encyte. He didn’t say anything about having to play.”
“Oh dear,” Darsie said. “Well, now that you’re in on our little secret, I don’t think you have much choice…”
“Hope you aren’t threatening a thirteen-year-old,” a voice came from the other side of the train car.
Jalen turned to see Wyatt, slumped in a seat, also in a straitjacket.
“Wyatt,” Darsie said pleasantly. “You’re awake.”