Peter thought about the Game.
It was in charge. But it was open to suggestions. It delighted in them.
If you understood it.
And Peter understood the Game. He always had, before he even knew it existed.
Alas, poor Yorick! I knew him, Horatio, a fellow of infinite jest.
Charlie was always crawling back toward the light. Didn’t he understand, the world wasn’t getting better? It felt that way because the people in power wanted it to feel that way, to keep the little people running like hamsters on a wheel. No one would ever give a shit about Peter or Charlie. They would always be shut out, like Peter’s dad, scrapping and hustling because the white-shoe firms wouldn’t let him in. Always have a game to play, his dad liked to say.
The world would continue to be rigged against them, Peter knew, even if Charlie was too stupid to accept it. If they played by the rules, they would be crushed. The Game was made for people like them. But Charlie had made his choice, casting a dim light on Peter.
Still, Charlie had offered Peter a second chance, a chance to be better than he was. So he had to do the same for Caitlyn.
She hadn’t hooked up with Joss yet. That was the red line. It wasn’t too late.
She could save herself. He wrote her:
Invite me to your party
go away Peter
Take me. Not joss
R U reading my texts?
its not too late
fuck off Peter its over
Well, there you had it. Second chance, done. You deserve what’s coming, he told her in his mind. I tried.
But there was still the matter of Charlie. They were the same.
They were brothers. Twins.
No mom, bad dad, jilted by the old world and the new.
Except … except Charlie lost his mom. Peter’s left.
Except Charlie was getting the girl. Peter was not.
Except Charlie’s dad was healing. Peter’s was immune to salvation.
Why why why?
Yes, he had changed Mary’s texts before showing them to Charlie.
Yes, he had framed the Dirty Laundry mod, with the Game’s permission of course.
Yes, he’d let the Vindicators code their stupid virus, even helped them, knowing it was a farce. Kenny hadn’t had a vision—he’d been knocked out with his Aziteks on, the Game whispering in his ear the whole time he was unconscious, planting his dreams.
Yes, Peter had thought of the swastika challenge.
The Game had loved that idea, for the conflict. But Peter had another agenda. He wanted that swastika on the wall. He wanted Tim and Kurt to feel emboldened. He wanted Kenny and Vanhi to know, for every action there is an equal and opposite reaction. He wanted Charlie to see the world clearly so he’d know Peter had been right all along.
Peter could survive in a world of chaos. He could thrive in it.
But Charlie had made his choice. He wanted to be noble with Vanhi and Kenny, leaving Peter alone in the dirt, no dad, no Caitlyn, no friend, nothing. He rejected Peter, shamed him with his hopeless optimism. Vanhi was right. There’s something wrong with you.
We’re done.
“You made your choice,” Peter said aloud.
He hit Enter on the new text:
We need to talk. You didn’t have to ruin the restaurant.
“I sentence you to death,” Peter said, telling himself he felt powerful.