Annette pulled nervously on the edge of her sweatshirt as she watched
Tyrell push the doorbell.  "Are you sure--I mean, can we trust him?"
    Tyrell looked back with his habitual smile.  "Of course.  Steve studies
Cards, as sort of a hobby.  If anyone can help you figure out what happened,
it's him.  I've had a lot of interesting discussions with him, he's a cool
guy."
    Annette attempted a smile of her own.  "Yeah, well...It's just that all
the Players I've met have been--except you guys, of course--"
    "Annette, calm down," Tyrell said, chuckling.  Then his smile faded.  "I
know the past few days have been, well..."
    At that moment the door opened, and the duo turned.  A man in his thirties
stepped out into the dark Seattle night, peering at them closely.  He was
Caucasian, with thinning light brown hair and intent gray eyes, and he was
dressed in a faded beige casual shirt and jeans.  He regarded the pair for
several moments before finally saying, "Tyrell.  Hey there."
    "Uh, hey Steve."  Tyrell blinked.  "Is anything wrong?"
    "Well..."  Steve ran one hand through his hair, and raised an eyebrow at
Annette.
    "This is Annette Jackson," Tyrell said quickly.  "Also a Player."
    At that, Steve sagged a little.  "I see.  Well, then...you may not want to
talk to me, whatever it is.  Either of you."
    Tyrell glanced at Annette, who only stared back at him.  "What's wrong,
Steve?" he asked, turning back to the other Player.  "I've never seen you like
this."
    Steve sighed.  "All right.  Brace yourselves for a shock."  He looked at
them both intently for several seconds before continuing.
    "Yesterday, I took someone out of the Game."
    Annette felt something seize her heart.  And blackness reached up for
her...

=====


                                  High Stakes

                           starring Jinsaku Nagaoka

                        Chapter Eight: Dead Man's Hand


                      by John Evans, jevans@alum.mit.edu

                        High Stakes started by NeoVid

                        presented by Beware the Radish


=====

]HS[ DELTA MATCH 1
]HS[ CHASE CAMPBELL vs. RACHEL MILLER
]HS[ FIGHT!

    The heavy oak door slid open silently, the steel toe of a combat boot
peeking its way around the corner.  Then the foot kicked roughly forward,
making the door fly open the rest of the way.  Rachel Miller snorted and
glanced down, noting with satisfaction that her metal shin plates had scuffed
the polished wood.  She sauntered over to Chase Campbell's desk.  If he was
annoyed by the vandalism of his door, he didn't give any indication.
    Instead, he folded his hands on the desk and raised an eyebrow.  "Ah,
Miss Miller.  How nice of you to make it."
    The Goth in question took a long drag of her cigarette and then ground the
stub onto the desk, inches away from the glass ashtray.  "Stuff it, abuelo,"
she said, blowing smoke into his face.  He grimaced slightly.  "You kept me
waiting."
    Campbell chuckled.  "I'm a very busy man.  I'm certain you'll understand
someday...when you make your way into the real world."
    Rachel stared into his eyes, and he returned the gaze, unblinking.  After
a long moment, she turned and made her way to the other side of the room.
"Can the small talk," she snapped after she was sure there was plenty of
distance between them.  She pointed a painted fingernail at the businessman.
"You wanted a rematch.  I'm giving you one.  Hand over another Card."
    "That's where I think you're wrong, *chica*."  Campbell stood, taking his
time to stretch.  "You're going to lose.  I promise you that."  He smirked and
fanned his deck.  "Ladies first."
    His opponent scowled.  What was he up to?  After a moment, Rachel
shrugged.  It had only been a day since their last fight.  Campbell couldn't
possibly have done much since then.  Besides--she looked at her favorite
Minion--this would be a cakewalk.  Just like last time.  She held up the Card.
"Fine.  Boatman!"
    The Card flashed, and a dark vapor rose from the floor.  It swirled and
coalesced into a hooded cloak, floating in midair.  The hood didn't hide the
Minion's face; instead, nothing was there--no face, no shadow, nothing.  Just
blackness.  A skeleton hand reached out from within the folds of the robe.
In its grasp, a wooden staff materialized, a lantern glowing at the top.
    Campbell smiled as he read the Minion's statistics.  Darkness/Blood,
570/720.  Just like last time.  Perfect.  He held out a Card of his own.
"Plasmoid?  Time to come out and play."
    There was another flash--this one red, filling the entire room.  When the
Players' eyes adjusted, they saw a four-foot-tall humanoid, made of glowing
orange-red gases.  Electricity shot through it erratically, hissing and
cracking.  Its brilliant yellow eyes, the only feature on an otherwise blank
face, focused on Boatman.
    "A 670/400, Fire and Lightning type Minion," Campbell said, smirking at
Rachel's widening eyes.  "I've done a bit of research on you, Rachel Miller.
The first time, you surprised me, I do admit..."  He sat down and leaned
forward, looking past the Minions.  "Boatman is an extremely rare Minion."  He
waved a hand nonchalantly.  "But a day's work of challenging random players,
and I have a match for anything you try."
    Rachel curled her hand into a fist, her nails digging into her palm.  Why,
that arrogant..."Boatman!" she called.  "Lost Soul!"
    Her Minion floated forward and waved its staff, the lamp flickering
slightly.  A humanoid shadow formed in front of it and ran forward without a
sound.  It was blindingly fast, upon Plasmoid before it could react, slashing
slashing with a pair of phantom daggers that appeared in its hands.
    Plasmoid hissed and shut its eyes, batting ineffectually at the shadow
creature.  Rachel smiled ferally.  Lost Soul was her Minion's most powerful
attack; even if one of the other Minion's elements were strong against
Darkness, it shouldn't be able to resist completely.  She took a peek at the
statistics, and her jaw dropped.  For every hit of Lost Soul, the other Minion
took a measly ten points of damage.
    "Nice try, girl," Campbell smiled, noting Rachel's astonished expression.
"But not good enough."  The shadow creature faded, and Plasmoid crouched low.
Boatman simply hovered there, as if waiting for something, the lamp casting a
steady glow.  "Now."  Campbell pointed at Boatman.  "Big Bang."
    His Minion shone an even brighter orange-red and moved forward, the
intensity of the flames and electricity increasing with every step.  "Dodge,
Boatman!" Rachel cried.  Her Minion tried to comply as it moved quickly to the
side and away, but it wasn't fast enough.  Plasmoid was on the opposing
Minion, holding its "arms" to its sides.  Its eyes flashed once, and then it
exploded.
    Rachel found herself pushed into a corner, where she crumpled to the
floor.  She raised a hand to shield her eyes from the small sun Campbell's
Minion created.  The sphere of lightning and fire grew wider and brighter
until it was almost unbearable, and then...
    It was gone.  Rachel blinked a couple of times and shook her head, then
looked at her Minion.  Its cloak was smoking, but the staff wasn't damaged at
all; in fact, a light still burned within the lamp.  Small jolts of
electricity arced across its robes, but Boatman was making an effort to pick
itself up.
    Not to be outdone, Rachel did the same.  She flipped some over-dyed hair
out of her face and turned to Campbell.  "Heh.  Sorry, amigo.  Looks like you
lost another Minion and forfeited the match at the same time.  So I'll take--"
She paused and blinked.  Chase Campbell was smiling.  In fact, he looked quite
happy.  She whirled around to see Plasmoid forming again, bit of glowing gas
by bit of glowing gas.  After a moment of shock, she spun back to her Minion.
"Spirit Dance!" she ordered.
    Boatman raised his staff, the light from the lantern falling upon
Plasmoid.  Wisps of darkness appeared, swirling around and through the fiery
Minion.  Plasmoid ignored this, and with a mental command from Campbell
started pummeling Boatman into submission, energy crackling around the two of
them.
    Rachel stared at the Card as Boatman's life drained away.  First five
hundred, then four-fifty, then four hundred...Campbell cleared his throat, and
she glared at him.  "I told you," he smirked, "That there is nothing you can
do that will keep me from winning.  I know your every move."
    "We'll see about that," she growled, causing Campbell to smile even wider.
"Return."  Boatman faded, the Card reclaiming its place in her deck.  She
looked through her choices, then chose another card.  "Your turn, Carnivale."
    High pitched laughter filled the room, bouncing off the walls.  There was
a quick flash of light, and a large mask appeared, greens, reds, and yellows
shifting and clashing chaotically on its surface.  Pointed eyes darted
spastically from Campbell to Plasmoid.  Its mouth was curled into a smile
filled with jagged teeth, a purple tongue lolling out of it as it continued to
laugh.  A cloud of brownish-green, sulfurous gas swirled around it.
    Campbell grinned as he read the Minion's statistics.  Air/Poison, 420/550.
Just as he had expected.  "You do know that it won't work," he said
conversationally. "Nothing will."
    "Cracked Mask," Rachel snapped, not even dignifying Campbell with a
response.  Carnivale giggled as its surface broke, foul-smelling gas streaming
from the cracks.  It squealed, and the gas shot forward, engulfing Plasmoid.
    "Pyrobolt," Campbell countered.  His Minion held its hands out in front of
it, a globe of fire and lightning forming.  Its eyes flashed once, and the
globe shot forward, slamming into a shrieking Carnivale and smearing it
against the wall.  Plasmoid leapt out of the poisonous cloud, eagerly awaiting
its next order.
    Rachel swallowed as she looked at the amount of damage Campbell's Minion
was causing to her own.  "You're not going to win.  You do know that, don't
you?" a calm voice told her.  Her head snapped up.
    "Tell you what," Campbell continued, gazing at Rachel over steepled
fingers.  "I'll go easy on you.  How about you swap it with one of your weaker
Minions, say...Fimbul?"  He smile condescendingly.  "Otherwise, I could always
have Plasmoid here defeat Carnivale."  At the mention of its name, Plasmoid
hissed and narrowed its eyes at the floating mask.
    The other Player looked from Plasmoid to Carnivale, which met her gaze,
eerily silent.  She stared into its eyes, then tore away and faced Campbell.
"Fine," she muttered through gritted teeth.
    "Hmm?"  Campbell put a hand to his ear.  "What did you say?"
    "Fine!  I'll do it!" Rachel yelled from the other side of the room.
Campbell smirked.  "Return, Carnivale," she said.  There was a flash, and the
Minion was gone.  Looking through her cards, she found the one she wanted and
held it up.  "Fimbul."
    There was another flash, and a small, frost-covered crystalline serpent
appeared, impossibly still in midair as its pale blue, feathery wings quivered
gently.  It almost looked like a sculpture instead of a Minion; the only sign
of movement was its tongue, which darted in and out of its mouth, testing the
air.
    "Go to it."  This and the accompanying mental command was all Plasmoid
needed.  It gleefully tore into Fimbul, which only put up token defense.
Rachel didn't even watch; she spent her time studying the floor, quietly
seething.  In a few moments, it was over.  Fimbul's last bit of life was
spent, and it returned to its place in Rachel's deck, before the Card vanished
and reappeared in front of Campbell.
    Campbell snatched the card and examined it.  Air/Ice, 200/170.  It was
exactly what he needed.  He chuckled and made a show of inspecting it some
more, then felt a hand grab him by the shirt.
    "I don't know what your game is," Rachel snarled, bringing her face so
close to his that their noses were almost touching, "But I ain't gonna play
it, comprende?"  She shoved the older man back into his chair and stormed off,
slamming the door so hard the entire room shook.
    Pressing a button, Campbell spoke into a nearby microphone.  "A young
woman is leaving my office.  Please see her out, and make sure she doesn't
cause any damage to the property."
    There was a crackle, and a deep, male voice answered, "Yes, sir."
    With a satisfied sigh, Campbell leaned back in his chair, looking through
his Cards.  It had been a very, very productive day.  Now, to get revenge on
Jinsaku, or play with poor Rachel Miller some more?  Decisions, decisions...

=====

    "I'm fine, really," Annette protested.
    "Yes, yes, of course."  Tyrell sat down next to Annette and patted her on
the knee.  "You just sit there and rest."
    "Stop talking like my mother," Annette growled, pulling her legs up to her
chest and hugging them.
    Tyrell chuckled.  "Ouch."  Then he looked up.  "Steve?  You okay?"
    Steve shrugged, and sat down in a chair across from them.  Glancing around
at the apartment, he sighed.  "Yeah, I guess.  It's just...I keep trying to
tell myself it's not my fault, you know?"
    "But you don't always believe it?" Tyrell asked.  The other Player nodded.
    "Well, how could you *do* that?" Annette exclaimed, then blushed as she
heard the tone of her voice.
    Steve sighed.  "I didn't want to.  I didn't think he was on his last
Card."  He looked off insto the distance.  "The guy was just a kid, really.
Not even as old as her, I think."  He nodded at Annette.  "And he was so
arrogant.  Like there was no way he was going to lose.  But when he did..."
Steve was silent for a few moments, then shook his head.  "I never want to see
that again."
    "Steve."  The two men turned to look at Annette, who blushed.  "Um...when
that happened, did you...get a new Card?"
    Steve rubbed his chin.  "Funny you should mention that...I actually got
two Cards."
    Tyrell shared a glance with Annette.  "Could we see, maybe?"
    "Yeah, sure."  Steve pulled a set of Cards from his back pocket, and
sorted through them.  "This was the kid's last Minion."  He held up a Card
with a fiery bird imprinted on it.  "And this one...well..."  The Player held
up another Card.  Tyrell sucked in his breath, and Annette gasped.
    The Card's illustration was of a young man, almost a boy, crouched on a
hill under a twilight sky.  He wore a tattered jacket over a T-shirt and
jeans, and held a dagger in each hand, the blades tinted red by the fading
light.  The young man's eyes glowed redly in his shadowed face.
    At the bottom of the Card was printed its type, Fire/Air/Blood, and the
name 'TERRY'.
    Tyrell peered at the Card.  "So that's..."
    Steve nodded.  "It's the guy.  Trapped in the Card, maybe."
    Annette lay her head on her knees, and closed her eyes.
    "I don't suppose...you've tried using it?" Tyrell asked.
    Steve shook his head.  "Nope...I haven't had a match since then, but even
if I had, I don't think I would have."  His face twisted.  "It's so...weird."
    "Hmmm."  Tyrell rubbed his chin.
    "And it won't combine with anything else, either," Steve continued.
    Annette raised her head and stared at him.  "You tried to combine it?"
    "Well, no," Steve replied.  "I just tried to see what would happen if I
did."  He blinked at the other Players' blank stares.  "You know, the trial
thing."
    "What trial thing?" Tyrell asked, frowning.
    "Well...hm.  Maybe you don't know, after all."  Steve put the Terry Card
back in his deck, and pulled out two others, the earlier firebird and a dark
blue insectoid Card.  "All right, you take the two Cards you're thinking of
combining," he explained, "And then think about combining them."  His brow
furrowed, and a gleam of light began to appear between the two Cards.  After a
few moments, it grew to become a translucent image of a new Card.  This Card
pictured a dark red wasp figure, shot through with streaks of blue.  The image
shone in the air for several seconds, and then vanished.
    Tyrell blinked.  "So that's what the new Card would look like, if you
combined those two?"  At Steve's nod, Tyrell's face broke into a grin.
"That's awesome!  I'll have to try that sometime."
    "Yeah.  You just have to mentally ask your Cards to do it," Steve replied.
"But the thing is..."  He replaced the firebird Card, and took out the Terry
Card again.  As he held them up, a gleam began to appear between the two
Cards...and then it fizzled out.
    Tyrell leaned forward.  "Wow.  That's interesting.  So you think this Card
can't be combined?"
    "That's what I'm thinking, yeah."  Steve nodded.
    "How can you think of such a horrible thing," Annette said.  The two men
looked at her in surprise.  "Combining someone with a monster..."  She stared
down at the Card in her hand.
    "...Tyrell," Steve said, an odd tone in his voice.  "What's that Card
she's got?"
    Tyrell sighed.  "That, my friend, is a long story..."

=====

    Michael readjusted the strap of the bag slung over his shoulder as he
walked the nighted streets of Seattle.  He took a glance around; at this time
of night, there was hardly anyone else around.  It felt dangerous, walking
alone at night in a city.  That was part of the reason he did it, of course.
Not that he ever went through the really *dark* streets, but...
    Michael cocked his head.  A familiar rhythmic clomping had started to
intrude on his hearing.  And it was getting closer; as he approached a street
corner, it seemed like--
    Rachel turned the corner ahead of him, almost jumping in surprise as she
saw him.  "Hey," Michael said, coming to a halt and nodding.
    After a moment, Rachel's expression turned sour.  "And what do *you*
want?" she snapped.
    Michael blinked.  "Uh, nothing.  Just going home.  Is...something wrong?"
    Rachel took a step towards him.  "What business is it of yours?"
    Michael swallowed, took a step back, and held his hands up.  "It's not,
really.  But, you know, sometimes I worry..."  He trailed off.
    "Worry?"  Rachel folded her arms and looked away.  "You don't have any
idea what I just went through."
    "Well, you're right, I--"  Michael stopped as she suddenly turned and
peered at him.  "What?"
    "Maybe I should show you."  She suddenly reached out and grabbed his arm.
"Come on!"
    "What?  Wa--"  Michael winced as his arm was nearly jerked out of its
socket, and he scrambled to keep up with Rachel.  "Ow!  Rachel--"
    "Quiet!"  He swallowed and looked around as Rachel led him onto a dark
street.  Michael had no idea what was going on...But he had to admit to
himself that it was a bit, well, thrilling.  Rachel, a girl he had always
found...compelling...was leading him to who know where, to do who knew what--
He squashed that thought immediately.  But still...
    Rachel pulled him into an alley, poked her head around the side and
glanced in both directions, then looked at him again.  "Do you really want to
know?  Hmmm?"
    Michael looked at her, a strange sense of unreality filtering over him.
He had absolutely no idea what was going on.  And yet..."Yes," he said.
    Rachel smirked.  "Hmph.  Fine."  She walked a bit further into the alley.
"Stay there," she warned, and then turned back when there were a couple of
yards of space between them.  Then she flipped a lock of hair back from her
face, and smiled that smile that always gave him a shiver.
    "Watch."  Rachel pulled something from a pocket--a playing card, it looked
like.  Maybe from one of those collectible card game things.  She held it up,
and it started to glow, then there was a flash of light--
    A face.  A huge, multicolored, nightmarish chaotic face of a demon staring
STARING--
    
=====

    Katsuya stopped.
    Jinsaku stopped as well, and looked at him.  "Katsu--"
    Katsuya held up his hand, and Jinsaku subsided.  They stayed like that for
several moments.  Just before Jinsaku was about to explode, Katsuya said, "Can
you hear that?"
    "Hear what?" Jinsaku snapped.  And here he'd thought Katsuya had been
getting better...
    "Listen."  Katsuya was still for a couple more seconds, then abruptly
started walking again.
    "Katsuya?  What are--aw, dammit!"  Jinsaku started running to keep up.
He had just started to compare and contrast Katsuya's previous psychosis with
Katsuya's developing psychosis when...he started to hear it.
    A high, warbling cry.  Eventually it resolved into screaming...strange
screaming.  Like someone completely tone deaf was trying to sing and howl in
agony at the same time.  The hair on Jinsaku's neck stood up.  He followed
Katsuya into an alley and the source of the screaming burst into view.
    A man, on the ground, holding his eyes, and yelling.  A girl, standing
over him, staring, holding goddamn FUCK a Card, and a Minion hovering in
midair, a crazy floating mask-thing.  Katsuya staggered and put his hands over
his ears.
   Jinsaku stumbled to a halt next to Katsuya.  He only half-noticed the girl
turn to look at him.  The guy was sitting there, clawing at his face,
screaming...
   "Not again," Jinsaku whispered.

=====


To be continued...


=====

Author's Note

Well...here it is, the chapter that took WAY^49 too long to write.  Sigh.
Anyway...I must thank Ardweden for being an incredible help and encouragement
while I was writing.  She wrote the entire fight scene!  Wow!  Let's have a
big round of applause for Ardweden!  *presses a button on a tape recorder,
wild cheering is heard*  And Ravi and Ilmater prereading and encouraging
Ardweden, respectively!  *presses a button on another tape recorder, more
sedate cheering is heard*


John Evans
jevans@alum.mit.edu

Beware the Radish
http://www.chaoseed.com/btr/
3/17/00