The G Game

by bluemicrocosm

-- Chapter 4 --

October 2, 4:30 a.m.

Kiros has always been a good test taker. He’s aced every SAT, AP, IB exam and even those stupid online trivia quizzes. He doesn’t ask for perfect scores; answers just come naturally and write themselves down. The numbers did not mean much to him until recently, when competition with Lediv spiced up life a bit and he actually wants that one and double zeros.

This time, however, even Kiros has to admit that the questions forced upon him (under two pairs of eyes and a timer slapped in front of him, which isn’t exactly conducive to creating a comfortable test taking environment) were hard. While the questions weren’t nitpicky, they did require a thorough understanding of the concepts and the ability to integrate multiple ideas into a logical outcome. In the four-hour time frame, Kiros penciled his way through science and technology, math, language, history, psychology, brainteasers, and crime cases, a few that he recognized were based on real investigations. If the point of these tests is to wear down his reasoning ability, then Kiros thinks they worked splendidly.

“How do you feel?” asks Tres.

Kiros turns his gaze from where Ellie is inserting his scantrons into the scantron machine and inputting the scores into the laptop. Every so often, a grinding sound causes him to flitch. Another question wrong…

“Exhausted. I think my brain’s overheating.” Kiros yawns and glances at his watch. No wonder he’s tired. It’s almost time to get out of bed.

Tres looks sincerely apologetic. “Four hours of straight testing would do that to anyone. Sorry. We’d space out the exams, but it’s easier on us if we can get your scores in one sitting.”

“Why does it have to be at night, though? The time of day affects a person’s performance.”

“But sneaking into buildings during the day is boring.”

At Kiros’ incredulous stare, Tres adds, “We rarely have the chance to work under optimal conditions, so this also assesses your ability to handle stress. Besides, you’ve pulled all-nighters before to write computer programs. How is test taking any different?”

“How do you know about my all-nighters?” Kiros asks suspiciously.

Tres has the decency to look sheepish. “Um, we watched?”

“You bugged my room?” The idea of hidden cameras and voice recorders in a place Kiros believed was private is both disturbing and offensive.

“Only for a week!” protests Tres.

“Isn’t that illegal?” sputters Kiros.

“For an ordinary civilian to install bugs, yes. But when law enforcement is involved, things get a little murky.”

“I thought you’re not the FBI. Or the CIA,” says Kiros, glancing in Ellie’s direction.

“We’re not,” answers Tres. “We do, however, enforce the law.”

“What organization are you part of then?” challenges Kiros. He deserves some answers after suffering through brain-burns and pencil-cramps.

“One that has rights to put you under surveillance.” Tres grins.

“Obviously. But why?”

“Because our assignment is to dig up every scrap of information on you.”

“But why?”

“Because you’re an interesting person.”

The alleged reason catches Kiros off guard and preempts the rising “why” in his throat. He’s been complimented before, though the compliments were whispered behind his back and based on superficial observations. “He’s so hot and mysterious,” “he’s freakishly smart,” “he’s so shy, it’s cute” – words strung together by people who barely know him and whom he’s quite sure have never exchanged more than a morning greeting with. Only Lediv said he is interesting, and although it came as a passing remark, Lediv knows Kiros better than anyone. He knows about Kiros’ pet projects, what languages he self-learned, the parents that he never speaks of –

Which Tres and Ellie probably knows, if they are sweeping every skeleton and dust ball out of his closet.

“Let me guess,” says Tres, interrupting Kiros’ progressively darkening thoughts. “You’re going to ask why you’re interesting.”

“I’ll tell you why.” Ellie puts a stack of marked scantrons on Kiros’ desk. “You scored over eighty-percent on every test.”

Though he doesn’t particularly care about scores, Kiros is accustomed to seeing a perfect 100 that the red ticks sporadically nicking his scantron forms make him grimace. “Eighty-percent is good?”

“These tests are designed to stump you. If it’s any consolation, the average is around fifty-five-percent,” says Ellie. “You even impressed D, which happens about as often as Simon Cowell showers praise on an American Idol contestant.”

“Please do not repute me to be a difficult person, Ellie,” says an electronic voice. “Anyone would be impressed by Kiros’ exceptional scores.”

Kiros surveys the room, pinpointing the source to the white teddy bear on the counter. He disregarded it at first when Tres seemed to be a greater concern. The sitting bear is as high as the length of a ruler, sporting a miniature tuxedo with a gold necktie and a pair of thick-framed glasses. From across the room, it looks like a normal, if very erudite, stuffed toy.

“Did the bear just talk?” Kiros asks politely, wondering if the tests really screwed up his brain.

“Yes, I did,” says the bear. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Kiros. I am D, the one responsible for sending you the email. Thank you for participating in tonight’s recruitment.”

Kiros steps closer. The fuzzy snout doesn’t seem to be equipped with a microphone, which only shows how well it is made. The whole thing is no doubt chalked with surveillance devices. Leveling his gaze with the black, glossy button-eyes, where he assumes hides the cameras, Kiros says, “What recruitment?”

“First, may I ask that you treat the events of the past five hours and of the next hour with utmost confidentiality? There will be severe consequences should any details leak outside of this building.”

Consequences for you or for me? Even if I don’t give my word, what will stop you from forcibly silencing me? Wanting to roll his eyes at the poorly veiled threat, Kiros says, “I promise. It won’t benefit me to sell you out anyway, since I committed a crime myself.”

“Your cooperation is appreciated. As Ellie has affirmed, we are a ‘high-profile’ private investigation unit unaffiliated with any government or organization. Our agents are stationed around the world and are free to operate independently, though they are ultimately under the umbrella group Special Undercover Investigation Agency, also referred to as the SUIA. Substantial time and effort have been taken to assess and recruit them, but they are the crème de la crème in terms of intelligence and skills. As SUIA agents, they are governed by international law and enjoy nearly unlimited resources.”

“So you’re basically detectives for hire,” says Kiros.

“That is correct.” If D is irritated by the interruption, the distorting effect of the voice scrambler buries it into imperceptibility. “You have already met Ellie and Tres. Ellie specializes in infiltration. Her superior instincts have helped us close many cases. Tres is a former sniper who, as far as I am concerned, has never in his professional life missed a target.”

Apprehension and buzzing bewilderment suddenly make the room too large. The acute sense of self-consciousness forces Kiros to stand straighter. Quelling the jittery expectation half-emerging in his mind, he asks faintly, “And what does this have to do with me?”

“Due to the rigorous standards of the SUIA, qualifying candidates are rare, so we are constantly scouting for new agents. We have thoroughly examined your background, as well as your personality and mannerisms. We believe you to be competent for the role of a SUIA agent. Your performance tonight is testament our conclusion,” says the distorted voice.

“Who’s we?” While his voice remains neutral, Kiros is terribly appalled that he didn’t notice the surveillance. “And when was my room bugged?”

“‘We’ referring to Ellie, Tres, and myself. Ellie placed recording devices in your room on September 21st and removed them on September 27th. I apologize if the method seems invasive.” D sounds utterly unapologetic.

“How did you find me?”

“I believe Elli can answer that.”

Pausing in her nail inspection, Ellie says, “I met an orphanage director on one of my cases. Does Reese Smiles ring a bell?”

Kiros nods. Though still a child then, he never forgot the person who welcomed a miserable seven-year-old boy into the Smiles Orphanage that cold winter when not even his own relatives wanted him. Reese Smiles inherited the orphanage that her grandfather founded and shows a genuine concern for the children there, providing them with a solid education, a healthy diet, and all the amenities that children need.

“Smiles mentioned that an unusually talented boy once stayed at her orphanage,” continues Ellie. “I almost dismissed it, because there are a lot of smart people in the world and she could have been exaggerating. I didn’t say that, of course – I’m not that rude – so I asked if this boy’s IQ is, like, 200. Of course, I was joking. She definitely wasn’t and even had the scores to prove it.”

Ah, that’s right. Kiros vaguely recalls taking an intelligence test after the teachers at the orphanage failed to discover how he cheated on his consistently perfect exams. Just because he never raised his hand in class and did not look remotely engaged didn’t mean he was stupid. And it wasn’t his fault that the questions happened to be ridiculously easy. It was Smiles’ suggestion to measure his aptitude. As soon as he was categorized as a genius, all accusations of his cheating were dropped. Funny what perceptions can do.

“Tracking you down was easy,” says Ellie. “I stalked you for a few days before calling D, because I wanted to make sure that you’re not just a really good test taker. You can probably guess the rest from there.”

Kiros nods again, waiting for the silence to be filled by another voice. He doesn’t trust himself to hide the arrogant assumption swelling in his chest, the smirk of exhilaration and complacency already hard enough to suppress.

“Thank you, Ellie,” says D. A pause, then comes the line that knocks out Kiros’ breath of anticipation: “Kiros, I am offering you a place in the SUIA. Your intelligence will be an asset to our agency. The cases we accept vary across the board, but they are generally the more intriguing ones. The more recent cases our agents were involved in include the Enron scandal, the Anthrax investigation, the Beast of Bastille, and Operation Innocent Images.”

Kiros is familiar with the first two. He draws a blank on the third case, until he envisions a newspaper from years ago and the details rush to the forefront of his mind: Operation Innocent Images is the U.S. program that was started to combat online child pornography and grew into a global effort against child exploitation. The Beast of Bastille – he racks his brain, grasping for the name that nearly eludes him. Dubbed the “Beast of Bastille,” serial killer and rapist Guy Georges instigated the largest manhunt in French criminal history. He was arrest in 2001 and sentenced to life in prison.

“This leads to my next point, which I want to be very clear about. Given the high risk-exposure of our work, which is almost always the risk of death, we take extreme measures to protect our identity. Many of our agents joined at the sacrifice of leaving their family, both for their safety as well as to minimize any conflicts of interest to the investigation.”

“In other words, you’re asking if I’m willing to ditch my family,” Kiros states bluntly, a dark, detached humor slithering atop this other reason for his qualification.

Before his brief stint at Smiles Orphanage, he had a mother and a father. Parents. Not very good parents, but parents, nonetheless. Unlike the other children whose ambitious parents enrolled them in piano lessons and soccer practices and book clubs, his never had any expectations for him. His mother was too busy working three jobs to put bread on the table. His father sometimes came home to sit in the kitchen and get his “rush.”

Kiros still remembers the dirty brown powder melting on aluminum foil like molten wax. The melted heroine running down the sheet, his father chasing after the curls of dragon smoke with a straw. How can he forget the drug that his father would try to sell his mother’s wedding ring for? Fighting to wench the ring off her wiry finger, he knocked her into the ground too hard and snapped her neck. Entirely accidental. Completely unforgivable. Especially after his father took the ring and ran.

Kiros didn’t see this happen. He hid himself in his room, like he always did when his father got into delirious fits of rage. But he could hear the screaming and crying and smacking – and the snap! that ended in silence. Creeping downstairs, he found his mother’s dead boy in an upturned kitchen, her neck looking like it lost a screw and the ring on her finger gone. Even his seven-year-old self, numb with tears rolling down his cheeks, could deduce what happened.

His father didn’t get very far. As if life believed in ironic justice, he got killed in a car accident during his frantic escape. No one in Kiros’ family claimed him when the news got out. They probably thought he was a druggie too. Like father like son. He couldn’t even get into an orphanage because “space was full.” Then Reese Smiles took his miserable self in, life passed safely but dreary for three months (he zoned out too often to remember much), and then a lady showed up one day claiming to be his aunt.

Lisa Neumann is apparently his mother’s cousin. Kiros’ situation escaped her earlier because she was having a wedding. She married a German businessman in Munich, then hopped around Europe for her honeymoon. She didn’t even know Kiros existed until returning to the United States and receiving a call from the police about her deceased cousin’s son.

She took him in, which Kiros supposes he should be grateful for. Her husband didn’t care; he spends most of the year in Germany, anyway. Business. He probably thought it was nice for Lisa to have someone to talk to – a sentiment that was clearly not shared by the two people who lived in the house. They didn’t fight, per say. The conversations between them were curt and awkward, Kiros’ screwed up life dividing them like the Berlin wall. She tiptoed around him, as if he’d burst into tears at the wrong word. Kiros wouldn’t mind conversing with her – he needed to practice his German, anyway – but her wariness was frustrating, her distance discouraging. When she had a baby, she isolated herself more, showering all the attention that she kept from him onto the baby. By then, Kiros stopped caring.

Thus, when asked if he can ditch his family, the answer is as clear as day.

“Please consider carefully. This is not a decision that you can easily undo,” D cautions.

“What happens if I decline?”

“Then you will be placed until twenty-four hour surveillance for at least the next five years of your life in order to protect the security of this organization.”

“When you put it that way, I think you already know my answer,” says Kiros, even though privacy is the farthest of his concerns.

“I will not presume anything. If you accept my offer, your life will be in constant danger. You will be wanted by mafia heads, terrorists, serial killers, criminal masterminds… Do you understand?”

Kiros understands that he will never have another opportunity like this again. It is his chance to get away from the listlessness of routine, where he finds temporary solace in his pet projects and battling wits with Lediv. He will be freed from the grating cry of his baby cousin, and the thick, awkward silence from Lisa.

It’s the quality of life that matters, right? If it means that he can ride the thrill of danger and excitement, with the added bonus of bringing the world to justice, then Kiros thinks dying in the line of work isn’t such a bad idea. He never wanted a long life, anyway.

“I understand,” he says, the immense weight of those words sinking through emotional undercurrents to situate firmly in his stomach.

“I am glad that you agreed.” Kiros thinks there might have been a smile in that flat voice. “You will be assigned to investigate a case, the purpose of which is for you to gain field experience and to expose you to the caliber of our work. Elli and Tres will monitor your progress and provide guidance. Elli will contact you with the case details in the near future. I expect that you are able to manage both your schooling and your training as an agent.”

While Kiros prefers dropping out of school and putting those hours that he spends staring out the window to better use, he agrees with D’s rationale. It will raise more than a few brows if an extraordinary student like him suddenly withdraws in his senior year. Even if he can placate general curiosity with a credible lie – he’s graduating early, he’s studying abroad – one person won’t be fooled. No, Lediv will dig up the real reason Kiros threw in the towel and abandoned him at the top of their high school empire.

The greatest threat to Kiros’ new identity is Lediv. D apparently thinks so too and says, “Until you have proven yourself capable of working independently, it will be in your best interest to restrict information related to the SUIA from any non-professional relationships.”

“I’ll be careful around Lediv,” says Kiros, frowning at D’s needless ambiguity. “Have you considered him as a candidate? He’s as competent as me.” Possibly more. But hell will freeze over before Kiros admits that one out loud.

“I have certainly taken notice of Lediv Lex-lux, especially since he is the only person who can hold your attention for more than ten minutes.” Despite the voice scrambler, D’s dry amusement surfaces. “However, despite his natural aptitude for success, there is a crucial difference between you and him.”

Besides the plain contrast in physical appearance, Kiros assumes that D must be referring to their disparate backgrounds. Lediv grew up in a normal, upper-middle family. His father manages million-dollar stock portfolios and his mother runs an eye clinic. Compared to Kiros, Lediv lives the life of a sheltered prince.

In regards to intelligence, though, they are unequivocally matched. Their thought process coincides to where they can easily finish each other’s sentences. They approach a problem from the same angle and arrive at the same conclusion. Chess matches are played in odd numbered rounds because their scores are always tied after even games.

Lediv has more attachments (or seems to have more – Kiros never gets the impression that Lediv truly cares about his relationships), but he knows better than to let personal feelings interfere with his professional work.

Kiros, rather pointedly, says this much.

“That is not the problem,” explains D. “Lediv Lex-lux will not accept my offer.”

“How do you know? Why wouldn’t he?” Because Kiros knows better than anyone of his friend’s suffering.

“Do you think he will be satisfied to work as an unknown agent?”

Lediv once said, jokingly, that he wants to be a household name. Kiros didn’t read into it, but the offhand comment stayed with him. As he returns to that idle afternoon, fragments of conversation piece together in a direction that Kiros isn’t sure he likes.

He suggested that Lediv start his own company and be the next tech guru, to which Lediv responded with a shrug. Not interested. Nor is he interested in Hollywood or the political ladder. If two of the most exposed professions fail to attract him, then saving the world from backstage, where accolades shine on some public figure that spends less than a fraction of the time you put in, will be an insult to Lediv. In short, Lediv wants to leave a legend, and the SUIA lets their agents go quietly.

“I guess not, though his decision depends on his other options,” Kiros says. Secretly, he thinks that Lediv will choose the SUIA over the pain of boredom. Nothing interests Lediv long enough for him to exert the effort, but the SUIA might be a different case. Kiros doesn’t meant to stoke his own ego, but if he can engage Lediv in the banality that is high school, then how much more will be possible if they are to work on a case together?

His unvoiced opinion must have been apparent because D says, “The possibility of recruiting him is greater than zero. However, I value quality over quantity and have decided, at this time, to fully invest in you. In the next week, I will have Ellie deliver to you a case of my choosing, as well as notify you of the work place. Outside of the investigation, please conduct yourself as you normally will. Do you have any questions?”

Actually, Kiros has a lot of questions. They clamor in his skull, each fighting to be heard, then dissipate at the sound of D’s digital voice. Rolling his shoulders, Kiros says, “No.”

“Then I extend my warmest welcome, Kiros. Should you have any questions for me, please relay them through Ellie.”

The teddy bear looks the same – no flashing lights, no click of the microphone being turned off – yet the conversation is clearly over.

“Wait!”

A pause. Then: “Yes?”

“Um…thanks.”

A longer pause. “I hope to hear that in the future. Good day.”

The definitive silence that follows is louder than the dial tone from a phone.

Author's Note: Thanks for reading. Feedback is welcomed!