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The first time Lucas and Tre realize they’re in Washington D.C. is when
they drive within sight of the Washington Monument—the five hundred and
fifty-plus foot tall obelisk poking up like a middle finger proclaiming
America’s superiority to the world.
Seated in the back of a dark-colored sedan, they drive by Lincoln
Memorial and soon turn into a parking ramp.
Instead of going up, they head to the sublevels. After passing through a checkpoint manned by
a uniformed officer, they park in a stall, sandwiched between a plain white van
and a black BMW. There is a RESERVED –
DO NOT PARK sign secured along the concrete wall before them.
The floor lowers, drawing them further underground. The only source of light is the ambient dashboard
lights. Once they hit bottom, the driver
turns on the headlights and they soon come to a set of steel double-doors.
The driver and front passenger immediately jump out, then open the back
doors to let out Tre and Lucas. The air
is strikingly cool. They head through
the doors and down a narrow hallway until they come to a large auditorium-sized
room with banks of computer screens and workstations laid out before them. Along the walls are various computerized maps,
many displaying areas in the Middle East.
Four men walk up to them. Three
are dressed in suits, while the fourth bears a well-decorated military uniform.
“Mr. Paxton and Mr. Simmons, it’s a pleasure to meet you,” a man with a
crewcut, one of the suits, says. “My
name is Rex Cornelius. I’m the Creative
Manager for Mountainview Gaming. I hope
you had a pleasant trip.” He extends a
hand.
“Pleasant?” Lucas asks, crossing his arms. “Let’s see: we’re confronted by a couple of guys
who look like they’re from Men In Black, told we have just a few minutes
to pack a change of clothes before we’re thrown into a car and sped off to the
airport. Then, instead of heading out to
your headquarters in California, we’re flown to D.C.” He gestures all around him. “No, I’d say pleasant doesn’t even register
on my radar.”
Tre also crosses his arms. “Yeah,
what he said.”
Lucas removes the check from his pocket.
“Thanks for the money dough.
It’ll come in handy.”
Rex smirks. “Sorry for the cloak
and dagger treatment, gentlemen. But
given the extremely sensitive nature of the circumstances, we needed to take
such precautions. All in the name of
national security.”
“National security?” Lucas asks.
“This is a joke, right?”
“Not in the least.” Rex turns and
gestures to the other two dressed in suits.
“I’d like you to meet the founders of Mountainview Gaming, Peter Chin
and Lich Glasnov.”
All thoughts of their bizarre treatment over the past few hours are
erased.
Now all I have left to do is meet
George Lucas and Steven Spielberg, and marry a Victoria’s Secret model, and my
life will be complete, Lucas thinks.
“And this,” Rex continues, gesturing to the fourth, “is Major Reginald
Armstrong of the Joint Chiefs.”
Lucas and Tre straighten their posture and shake hands with the
high-ranking Major.
“Now, if you’ll follow us, you can meet the rest of your squadron.”
Squadron?
* * *
One side of the room is lined with glass, overlooking the control
center. Near the front is a large screen
displaying the United States Presidential Seal.
There are five chairs lined up in front.
Three are already occupied.
Tre and Lucas sit on the remaining empty chairs.
“Gentlemen and lady,” Rex says, standing in front of them. “Before we begin, I’d like to introduce
everyone.” He points over to the left
side of the row. “Miss Stacy Zutz,
better known as Weaselman. She hails
from Chicago, where she attends the University of Illinois with a major in
psychology. Next is Todd Williamson from
Seattle. You may know him as Lowblow. He’s been a manager at Starbucks for the past
eighteen months, and in his spare time when he isn’t playing video games he’s writing
a science fiction novel. Then we have Bruce
Ulrich, known as BigGunz. He’s been the
lead programmer for several Fortune 500 companies over the past twenty years,
and has spent the last three in Boston.”
After introducing Tre and Lucas to the group, the lights in the room
dim. Images of the war in Iraq—many far
too graphic to be shown on network TV without the strictest of content
warnings—flash into the screen.
“Over a year ago,” Rex says, “while putting the final touches on Shadowkill:
Mideast Conquest, we were approached by Major Armstrong about an
experimental project. Long story short
is that the government was developing a new group of soldiers and needed
highly-skilled gamers, like yourselves, to help run them.”
The doors at the back of the room open.
Six soldiers, all dressed in light tan military fatigues, march towards
the front of the room. They stand at attention,
facing the five.
“Gentlemen and lady, let me introduce you to the real Shadowkill
Squadron.”
Upon command, all six soldiers salute in perfect unity.
“When you mentioned that the government needed gamers to help run new
soldiers, what did you mean?” Tre asks.
“These aren’t ordinary soldiers, Mr. Paxton,” Rex says. “They’re robots.”
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