Fun Times at the Bloodbath
Author: Jeff Strand
Date: 2026-07-07 04:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Horror; Thriller
Description: **“No author working today comes close to Jeff Strand’s perfect mixture of comedy and terror.”—Cemetery Dance The game you can’t stop playing… even if it kills you.** Fun Times at the Bloodbath may be the most insanely violent video game ever designed. The only thing more addictive than playing is the chaos it unleashes. Currently, only a select few have played the beta version, and it’s to die for… literally. Players are instantly addicted to the point of death: one man dies of dehydration, a woman brutally murders her husband with a meat cleaver after he unplugs the console, and others viole
Publisher: Death's Head Press

Copyright © 2026 by Jeff Strand

All rights reserved.

Paperback ISBN: 978-1-63951-236-2
eBook ISBN: 978-1-63951-253-9

No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without written permission from the publisher or author, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law.

Published by Death’s Head Press,
an imprint of Dead Sky Publishing, LLC

Miami Beach, Florida
www.deadskypublishing.com

Cover by Anthony Galatis

Design & Formatting by Apparatus Revolution, LLC

Edited and Copyedited by Jenn Proffitt

For Bridgett! There’s no place I’d rather be than in a cabin with you, writing a book!

CONTENTS

1. LEVEL ONE

2. LEVEL TWO

3. LEVEL THREE

4. LEVEL FOUR

5. LEVEL FIVE

6. LEVEL SIX

7. LEVEL SEVEN

8. LEVEL EIGHT

9. LEVEL NINE

10. LEVEL TEN

11. LEVEL ELEVEN

12. LEVEL TWELVE

13. LEVEL THIRTEEN

14. LEVEL FOURTEEN

15. LEVEL FIFTEEN

16. LEVEL SIXTEEN

17. LEVEL SEVENTEEN

18. LEVEL EIGHTEEN

19. LEVEL NINETEEN

20. LEVEL TWENTY

21. LEVEL TWENTY-ONE

22. LEVEL TWENTY-TWO

23. LEVEL TWENTY-THREE

24. LEVEL TWENTY-FOUR

25. FINAL LEVEL

Acknowledgments

About the Author

Also by Jeff Strand

Margot’s younger brother was the kind of person who could die alone in his apartment without anyone noticing.

Bobby didn’t have any real-life friends, at least none he’d ever mentioned to her. For a few years after graduating college with an English degree, he’d made his living writing click-bait articles, until the company he worked for discovered that poorly written features primarily stolen from other sources could be generated more cheaply through AI. Now he sought out any freelance writing gig he could find. They weren’t the kind of jobs where anyone would say, “Bobby never showed up for work today.”

He never answered his phone—although, to be fair, neither did Margot—and he was bad at responding to texts. Any social contact was purely reactive; he never decided on his own to reach out to see how Mom and Dad were doing.

What he did do, during his generous amount of free time, was play video games.

“Isn’t he too handsome for that?” Dad asked Margot, when she and Bobby were teenagers. Dad was a proud Gen X-er, from an era where, if you collected comic books, played Dungeons & Dragons, watched anime, or were addicted to video games, you did so without getting laid. Years later, voice incredulous, he’d asked, “Have you seen the girlfriends these geeks have nowadays? They’re stunning. And they’re as much into comics as the guys are—maybe even more!”

But Bobby did not, to the best of her knowledge, currently have a girlfriend. Maybe he did Tinder hookups—she didn’t know and didn’t want to know. That wasn’t information she required. The point was, if something terrible happened to Bobby, it could go unnoticed for quite a while.

He routinely ignored What’s up? texts. But over the past couple of days he’d ignored:

Is everything okay?

Did you get a new number and forget to tell me? :)

Seriously, Bobby, is everything okay?

Are you there?

No one has heard from you. Mom and Dad are freaking out. Please call me.

I’m coming over.

Though they both lived in Arizona, it was about a two-hour drive from her home in Tucson to his apartment in Phoenix. Larry offered to go with her, but the tone was “I’m saying this to get credit for being a supportive boyfriend, while desperately hoping you won’t take me up on it.” She really needed to break up with him. The novelty of his large penis had worn off, replaced by the resigned acceptance that he wasn’t particularly skilled at wielding it.

It was a nice, sunny day. Margot cranked up the music, both to distract herself from worrying about Bobby and to drown out any concerning noises her car made. She was definitely going to make the little shit pay for her gas.

As she drove, she mentally rehearsed the lecture she would deliver. At twenty-six, she was only one year older and not prone to playing the parental role, but her plan was to give him the “I’m not angry, just very disappointed” speech.

She was confident that when he answered his door, he’d offer a sheepish smile, brush the orange Cheetos powder off his shirt, and admit he’d been distracted by Grand Theft Auto 47, or whatever game he was playing these days. That, or he’d explain how he accidentally dropped his phone in the toilet and currently had it submerged in a bowl of uncooked rice.

Her phone rang. Dad. “Hello?” she answered.

“Have you talked to him yet?”

“I’ve only been driving half an hour.”

“I thought you were leaving at nine.”

“Time zones, Dad.”

“Oh, that’s right. Did you try to call his apartment manager again?”

“At this point, I want to chew him out to his face.”

She’d called the apartment complex several times, hoping someone would check on him, but every call went straight to voicemail, and no one called her back. It wasn’t a huge shock—his apartment building was a shithole. Margot considered calling the police, then decided it was too extreme a measure. She was 99 percent sure he was fine, and she’d get to remind him that the “leave your wet phone in rice” trick was bullshit.

Besides, she enjoyed long drives. Assuming her car made it.

“Okay,” Dad said. “Let me know when you get there. Mom is worried sick.”

Margot promised to keep him updated, then hung up feeling mildly uneasy. Maybe she was only 95 percent sure Bobby was fine.

* * *

Her car generously chose not to fall apart, so she pulled into Bobby’s apartment complex just before eleven a.m. It wasn’t the kind of place where you had to dodge used hypodermic needles as you walked across the parking lot or had rats crawling into your mouth while you slept, but it was the kind of place where many dark mysterious stains were present in random locations.

She parked in front of Bobby’s building and walked up the stairs to his second-floor apartment. The carpet was seriously gross, but at least it wasn’t making squishy sounds and her shoes weren’t sticking to it. She knocked on his door.

No answer.

She knocked again, louder.

“Bobby?” she called out.

Nothing.

She pressed her ear to his door. She could hear the faint sound of music coming from inside, but nothing else.

She took out her phone and called him. It went straight to voicemail, of course.

Dammit.

She left and walked to the office building. The apartment manager sat behind his tiny desk, smoking a cigarette. With his beer belly, unshaven face, comb-over, thick sheen of perspiration on his forehead, and white T-shirt with sweat stains in the armpits, he couldn’t have looked more like a sleazy apartment manager if he’d tried. Had he tried? Was this a conscious decision to embrace the stereotype, or was he oblivious?

Margot just knew this guy let women pay their overdue rent with blowjobs.

“Can I help you?” he asked, glancing briefly at her breasts. Thankfully, her B-cups didn’t hold his interest.

“Hi,” she said. “I’m Margot Rosewood. My brother is Bobby Rosewood.”

“Neither of those names mean nothin’ to me.”

“He’s one of your tenants,” Margot said, struggling not to roll her eyes. “Building Four, Apartment C. I haven’t heard from him in a week, and I was hoping you’d let me into his place so I can make sure he’s okay.”

“You got a warrant?”

“Ummm … I’m not a cop. I’m his sister.”

“Would he be cool with you barging in on him like that?”

Jesus, what kind of residents does this place have? “He’s not a drug dealer,” Margot said. “He’s not involved in any kind of criminal enterprise, or whatever you’re thinking.”

“I just believe in people’s right to privacy, is all.”

Though Margot felt an apartment manager should want to know about crimes happening on his property, she didn’t think he’d be receptive to her sharing that observation. “I hear you,” she said. “But our parents are terrified something happened to him, and it would make the whole family feel better if we could check on him.”

He let out a long sigh, as if she’d asked him to run a marathon. Then he gave her a creepy look that made her think he was going to offer to help, in exchange for a sexual favor that would forever haunt her dreams. She breathed a sigh of relief when he pushed back his chair, which screeched against the yellowish-brown tile floor, and stood up. “All right.”

He wheezed and coughed all the way to Bobby’s building. Margot worried he might go into cardiac arrest as he made his way up the flight of stairs, needing to stop twice for a rest break. But he survived the grueling trek, and they made their way to Apartment C.

“Anyone home?” he yelled, pounding on the door.

Bobby didn’t answer.

Taking out his keyring, the manager spent a couple minutes finding the correct one, then unlocked the door.

“Son of a bitch,” he said, as a cool blast hit them. “I ask these leeches to keep their air conditioning at a reasonable level.”

Margot was unsurprised. She and Bobby kept their residences at “arctic freeze” temperatures.

Walking inside, the manager at her heels, she studied the space. The lights were already on, which highlighted the mess her brother had made of his home. Also unsurprising. She and Bobby were both slobs. (Larry was a neat freak—another reason to dump him.)

No one was in the living room.

If he was home, he had to be in the bathroom or bedroom.

“Bobby?” Margot called out. “Bobby?”

She headed for the bedroom, feeling a little sick to her stomach. There was no obvious evidence that anything was wrong—certainly no rotting smell, although the frigid temperature might have had something to do with that. It just felt … off. Something was wrong.

Her brother’s enormous television, mounted to the wall, had “Game Paused” displayed on the screen. Upbeat video game music played.

Bobby sat on bed, a game console next to him, the controller on his lap.

Obviously dead.

His skin was tight and cracked. His mouth hung open.

His eyes, deeply sunken into their sockets, stared sightlessly at the television.

“Oh my God!” the manager said, turning away and slapping his hand over his mouth. He made heaving sounds but didn’t throw up.

Now that they were actually in his room, the smell was stomach-churning.

Margot choked back a sob.

Did he have a heart attack? A brain aneurysm?

There were empty Mountain Dew and Red Bull cans littered all over the bed, along with empty bags of potato chips and Flamin’ Hot Cheetos. This was Bobby’s sustenance of choice when he was engaged in marathon gaming sessions … but why were they all over the bed? He wasn’t that big of a slob. He had more self-respect than this.

What had happened to him? What the hell had happened to her brother?

* * *

Margot told her dad to put the phone on speaker so her mom could hear the news. She was unable to get through it before she broke down in sobs, but her parents understood enough to book a flight to Phoenix.

* * *

The investigation began before their parents arrived. There were no signs of foul play. Bobby had pissed and shit himself—multiple times.

“You’re saying he just … sat there in it?” Margot asked.

The investigator nodded. “Based on the, uh, dryness level and color, we can tell he defecated in his pajama bottoms four times.”

“What killed him?”

“We’ll need to wait for the autopsy results for confirmation, but all signs point to dehydration.”

Margot wiped a tear from her cheek and struggled to keep her composure. “How long ago did he die?”

“Again, we’ll have to wait for the autopsy report. Off the record, not long.”

“Could he have been unconscious the whole time?”

The investigator chose his words carefully. “We’re not treating this as a crime scene, so I’m not sharing anything that would get me in trouble, but please know I’m basing this on my own observation. Don’t treat it as the truth. We’ll know the full story later.”

“I understand,” Margot said. “Tell me what you think happened.”

“Both of his thumbs are bruised. I assume at one point they were badly swollen. I think he was playing a video game, day and night. He didn’t stop, not even to use the bathroom. And when he ran out of drinks, he let himself die of thirst.”

Margot gave up trying to keep her composure. She cried until there was nothing left.

“I’m sorry,” she said, several minutes later.

“It’s all right,” the investigator said, looking as if he’d rather be anywhere than in a room with a sobbing woman. “It’s difficult enough to lose a family member, much less under these circumstances.”

“I know,” Margot said. “I’d rather he was murdered.”

God, what an awful thing to say. But the investigator offered no reaction.

Maybe the autopsy would tell a different story. Something other than “Bobby was so addicted to his goddamn video games, he played them until he died.” If that really was what happened, they would have to concoct a different narrative to tell their grieving friends and relatives.

Of course, the whole situation was so insane, it would probably get national news coverage.

“What game was he playing?” Margot asked. It didn’t really matter; she just blurted out the question without thinking. At the very least, she hoped her brother hadn’t died playing a Smurfs video game.

“I’d never heard of it,” the investigator said. “Something called Fun Times at the Bloodbath.”

“Oooh, this looks cool,” Chrissy said, flipping through the mail. She held up a postcard.

Kevin took it from her. The glossy front said Fun Times at the Bloodbath. The letters were printed using a bloody font, and there were additional splatters of blood surrounding them. Credit due for truth in advertising—it was certainly a bloodbath.

He turned it over. You’ve been selected as a beta tester for this year’s hottest (and BLOODIEST) new game! Download for free using the below code.

“Nice,” Kevin said. “You heard of this one before?”

Chrissy shook her head. “Nope.”

That was a surprise. Chrissy kept up with all the new releases. She was a corporate supervisor responsible for twenty employees, but she introduced herself to people as a “gamer.”

Kevin loved his gamer girl. Their two-year wedding anniversary was coming up next month, and he still couldn’t believe she’d said yes. Neither could his friends or family. “How did you land such a scorching-hot wife?” Tyler, his best friend, had asked. The answer was, “I don’t have a fucking clue.” He supposed it was his personality and sense of humor, but Chrissy was flat-out stunning, and Kevin was … not.

He did miss her pink hair. When she’d heard a possible promotion was brewing, she’d dyed her hair black to make herself more likely to be considered. She already had two strikes against her: she was a woman, and she was only twenty-nine years old. There was no way she’d let her hair color become yet another stumbling block while attempting to climb the corporate ladder. (She also had nine tattoos, but they were all easily hidden under office attire.)

Kevin handed the postcard back. “I hope it’s fun.”

He enjoyed video games and played Madden with friends whenever a new one came out, but for the most part, his gaming consisted of casually playing Candy Crush on his phone. Meanwhile, Chrissy wasn’t really interested in sports. They allowed each other to immerse themselves in their own hobbies, and everything worked out great.

“Wanna check it out with me?” Chrissy asked.

“Sure.”

They went into the living room and plopped down on the couch. Chrissy turned on the television and gaming console with the remote control, then went through the confusing (to Kevin) process of downloading the game.

When it loaded, digital blood poured down the television screen.

“Should we bring some impressionable little kids over to play?” Kevin asked.

As the blood cascaded, it left behind the words Fun Times at the Bloodbath.

A message popped up on the screen. “Private Beta Test. By starting this game, you agree that—”

Chrissy pressed start.

“Shouldn’t you read that?” Kevin asked.

“I did.”

“What did it say?”

“I’m not allowed to share screenshots or video clips from the game, and I authorize them to contact me to ask for feedback about the gaming experience.”

“Oh. Okay.”

She created her avatar, mixing-and-matching pieces until she had something that was a decent likeness (with pink hair).

A booming voice echoed the words written on the screen: “Choose your weapon!”

There were only three choices: a pocketknife, a box cutter, or a small pair of scissors. Many more weapons were grayed out with a lock icon covering them. Guns, bladed weapons galore, explosives, and a chainsaw. She’d have to progress further in the game to use the fun stuff.

Chrissy selected the box cutter.

The game offered a brief tutorial on the different offensive moves. After that, her avatar fell through the air and landed on a rural road. As her avatar walked, the screen scrolled to the left, and a cartoony old lady using a walker came into view. When Chrissy approached, a conversation tree appeared.

1. Hello, ma’am. May I assist you in some way?

2. Die, you old bitch, die!

Chrissy selected the latter option. The old lady’s eyes bugged out of her head, and she held up her walker to defend herself. Chrissy slashed at her with the box cutter.

“This game is a little fucked up,” Kevin noted.

The old lady blocked several attacks, but Chrissy finally got her. A blast of blood—more than was available in the human body—shot out of her chest, spraying high into the air.

But the old lady wasn’t dead! She slammed her walker into Chrissy.

“Shit,” Chrissy said.

The old lady was surprisingly feisty for someone who’d lost about ten pints of blood. She bashed Chrissy with her walker a few more times, until Chrissy’s avatar dropped to the ground. Its eyes rolled back and a spiral over its head indicated it was stunned.

“This game looks tough,” Kevin said.

“Well, you can’t master these things in thirty seconds.”

“Are you going to keep playing?”

Chrissy shrugged. “Sure, why not? It’s cool that I get to be one of the first to try it out. I’ve never offered feedback on a game before it was released.”

Kevin gave her a quick kiss. “All right. Have fun. I’ll make dinner.”

* * *

After moving in together, a few months before they got married, Kevin and Chrissy had made a “no dinner in front of the television” rule. It was inspired by his parents, who always sat joylessly in front of the TV, never interacting. Kevin didn’t mind if he and Chrissy did their own thing after work, but he enjoyed having time for the two of them to talk. Chrissy thought it was a great idea, and they rarely veered from their rule.

“Dinner’s ready!” Kevin announced.

“Do you mind if I eat in here?” she asked.

“Oh. I guess. I mean, it’s spaghetti. Not really the kind of meal you can eat while multitasking.”

“I can handle it.”

Kevin dished her up a plate of his legendary spaghetti and set it on the coffee table in front of her.

“Thanks,” Chrissy said, not looking away from the game.

Kevin got his own plate and sat beside her on the couch. Her avatar was in the midst of slaughtering some elderly people in a cafeteria. A sign read “Midvale Nursing Home.”

“This game isn’t a big fan of old people,” Kevin said.

“They’re the easiest targets. It’ll get more challenging.”

“You’d better not kill any dogs.”

“I won’t.”

Kevin took a few bites of his dinner, watching her play. He wasn’t sure how much fun the game was, but the “bloodbath” part of the title was certainly accurate.

“Your spaghetti’s getting cold,” he said.

“I like cold pasta.”

That was a new piece of information. And obviously bullshit. “Seriously, Chrissy, pause the game and eat. I made us a nice dinner—it’s not takeout.”

She did not let out a long, annoyed sigh … but there was definitely a sigh. He didn’t appreciate it. Nearly two years into their marriage, and she was ignoring a homemade meal to play a video game. A game that—though he didn’t want to be a snob—looked pretty damn stupid.

Chrissy swirled the spaghetti around her fork and popped it into her mouth. Chewed. Swallowed. “It’s good,” she said. She didn’t say it in a sarcastic manner, exactly, but there was a distinct lack of enthusiasm.

Kevin decided to let it go. No sense making a big deal. Maybe actually playing the game was more enthralling than just watching.

* * *

When Kevin stepped out of the bathroom, having washed his face and brushed his teeth before bed, he was surprised to hear she was still playing the game. He walked into the living room and glanced at the television screen, where Chrissy’s avatar was sneaking toward a baby’s crib, holding a hatchet.

“Are you about to kill a baby?” he asked.

“They’re worth a lot of points.”

“You’re seriously going to kill a baby?”

Chrissy paused the game and looked at him as if he was the biggest dumbass she’d ever encountered in her more than quarter-century on the planet. “You understand this is not a real baby, right? It’s a cartoon-looking video game baby. There will be no mother mourning it.”

Kevin was flustered, which didn’t make sense, because she was the one about to chop up a baby. His wife played many violent video games, but he was not aware of infanticide being a component of the rest.

“I know it’s not a real baby,” he said. “It’s still kind of sick, don’t you think?”

“Kevin, it’s a video game. No one is getting hurt. Didn’t you ever tell a dead baby joke when you were a kid? What’s the difference between a truckload of dead babies and a truckload of bowling balls? You can’t unload the bowling balls with a pitchfork. Were you messed up in the head when you told a joke like that? Should you have been sent to therapy?”

“I never told dead baby jokes,” Kevin said. “My friends and I were more into fart jokes.”

“The game is harmless fun,” Chrissy said. “It’s helping me relax and blow off a little steam after a stressful day. It’s not a real baby. It doesn’t even look like a real baby. It’s a goofy-looking cartoon. Is it worse to kill a baby that’s nothing but pixels or to cheer when an actual real-life football player breaks his leg or a hockey player gets his teeth knocked out?”

“I don’t cheer when players get injured,” Kevin told her. Although … okay, maybe he’d expressed happiness, once or twice, when a star player from the opposing team was carried out on a stretcher. But that wasn’t the same.

“Fine,” Chrissy said. “I guess I’m just a depraved baby-killer. Are you even safe in the house with me?”

“I’m sorry. I wasn’t trying to be judgmental. You’re right, it’s only a game.”

Chrissy looked at him for an uncomfortably long moment, then smiled. “I’m sorry, too. This is a really dumb thing for us to argue about. I’m sorry I got caught up in it.”

“It’s okay. Are you ready for bed?”

Her smile vanished. “Already?”

“It’s eleven o’clock.”

“Oh. Well, give me another half hour, okay?”

“You have work in the morning.”

“Thirty minutes less sleep isn’t going to kill me.”

This is not worth fighting over. This is not worth fighting over. This is not worth fighting over…

And, really, it wasn’t. If she wanted to stay up late, it was her decision.

“That’s fine,” Kevin told her. He gave her a kiss, then went to bed by himself.

Kevin was a very light sleeper and woke up when Chrissy slipped into bed. He glanced at the clock. 2:17 a.m..

Could’ve been worse, he supposed.

* * *

“How about we order a pizza tonight?” Chrissy asked, when she got home from work.

“Sounds good!”

“Awesome.” She sat down on the couch, turned on the television, and began to play that stupid game.

* * *

Kevin stepped into the living room and yawned. Chrissy was in the process of lopping off a bunch of heads in a movie theater. Cartoon victims screamed as blood ran down the aisles. On the movie screen, a woman’s brains were being sucked out by zombies.

“About ready for bed?” he asked.

“Not quite yet.”

“It’s almost three.”

“So? It’s the weekend.”

“Right, but it’s still almost three in the morning. I’d like to go to bed.”

“Then go to bed,” Chrissy told him. “No one’s forcing you to stay up.”

“I’d like to go to bed with my wife.”

“What’s the matter? Scared of the monster in the closet?”

“Please pause the game.”

Chrissy sighed—this time it was a long, annoyed one—but pushed pause. Kevin sat on the couch next to her.

“This is becoming an issue,” he said.

“What do you mean, ‘it’s becoming an issue’? I got the game yesterday.”

“I know, but you ate in front of the television, you came to bed three hours late, and now you’re trying to stay up all night.”

“So what?” Chrissy asked. “I’m an adult. You don’t get to tell me what to do. When I was in college, I used to stay up playing video games all the time, and I found plenty of time to fuck.”

Kevin almost winced, but stared stoically at her instead. It was a weirdly mean-spirited remark. Though he hadn’t been a virgin when they met, she knew he was bothered by their disproportionate number of sexual partners. She’d done seemingly everything, and he’d done very little before they met. They hadn’t discussed it since they got married, so for her to throw it in his face seemed cruel and out of place.

“What does that have to do with anything?” he finally asked.

“I’m just saying.”

“Saying what?”

“It doesn’t matter. I’m enjoying this game, and if I want to stay up late playing it, I’m not hurting anyone. I’m a beta tester. That means I’m playing Fun Times at the Bloodbath before it’s released to the public. My feedback will have an impact on the final game. That’s a big responsibility, and I’m taking it seriously. Can you imagine if you were part of Pac-Man’s legacy? Think about what an honor it would have been. Do you know how much it costs to make a video game these days? Do you have any idea?”

“No,” Kevin admitted.

“It can easily cost over a hundred million dollars. It can cost several hundred million dollars. Video games are a big deal. This company is trusting me, and I’m not going to let them down.”

Kevin doubted anyone had spent a hundred million dollars on this particular game, but it wasn’t the time for a smartass response. Nor was it the time to point out the absurdity of her commitment to the task. It was not a holy mission. She was not being called upon to serve her country. Fun Times at the Bloodbath would be just fine without her staying up all night to offer her critique.

Kevin thought about those AITA (Am I The Asshole?) discussion threads, where someone would share details of a conflict, allowing others to offer their opinion as to whether the person posting was, in fact, the asshole in the situation. Was he the asshole? Was he a controlling husband for asking Chrissy to stop playing a video game and come to bed or have dinner with him at the dining room table?

Maybe he was.

This wasn’t a pattern of behavior. It was one game.

“You know what? I’m sorry,” Kevin said. “I don’t get to tell you when to go to bed. If you’re having fun, keep playing. It’s totally fine.”

Chrissy glared at him.

“I wasn’t being sarcastic,” he clarified. “It really is totally fine.”

“Okay,” she said, sounding unconvinced.

“But I’m going to bed now.”

“I’ll be there soon.” Chrissy quickly brushed her lips across his, then resumed the game before he left the room.

And I found plenty of time to fuck.

It honestly didn’t bother him anymore. She had a history, it all happened before they met, and he’d come to terms with it. It wasn’t as if she compared him to her previous lovers. (“Seriously, honey, yours is at least the twenty-fifth biggest cock I’ve ever been with.”) He certainly didn’t want her sharing graphic details of her previous exploits, but he never really thought about it.

And I found plenty of time to fuck.

Why throw that in there?

She could’ve made her case without the low blow. The irrelevant low blow.

Maybe she’d apologize for it later.

* * *

Kevin had no idea what time Chrissy came to bed. But he woke up at 9:30 a.m. with her stroking his penis.

If this was her way of apologizing, he was all for it.

“Oh my God,” he groaned.

She picked up the pace. It felt incredible.

They were both big fans of morning sex. Especially weekend morning sex, when they could begin their two days of freedom with some slow, almost lazy, lovemaking. Gentle kisses. Massages. And plenty more. Saturday morning was often the highlight of their week.

Everything was going to be fine between them.

Her wrist action got more and more vigorous.

He was getting close already.

Wait … was that her intention? Chrissy wasn’t doing this as part of their Saturday morning routine. This wasn’t foreplay—she was jerking him off.

Kevin frowned. “Are you just trying to get this over with so you can get back to the game?”

Chrissy stopped stroking him.

“If you don’t like it, you can finish yourself off,” she said, angrily getting out of bed.

He did.

When he walked into the living room, she was back on the couch, playing the game.

Chrissy played the game all day, stopping only to use the bathroom. Kevin jokingly wanted to offer to insert a catheter, but her sense of humor was absent. He decided to just let it go. If this was how she wanted to spend her entire weekend, it was her right.

At least she looked up and smiled when he checked on her.

He made her a sandwich for lunch and another sandwich for dinner. She thanked him, eating as she played.

It was no big deal. She was just playing a video game. It wasn’t as if she’d gotten addicted to slot machines and gambled away their life savings—not that they had any savings yet. Fun Times at the Bloodbath wouldn’t last forever. She’d probably finish it today or tomorrow, and then, with it out of her system, go back to playing a couple of hours a day on weekends.

He went to bed alone.

Woke up alone.

She played all day Sunday. Apparently, her skills had greatly increased. Instead of slaughtering babies or the elderly, she was hacking and sawing her way through rock concerts and sporting events. Her avatar’s pink hair was never visible—it was always drenched with blood.

She did take a break Sunday evening, when Kevin pointed out her hands were swollen. He got her an ice pack, and she sat on the couch, eyes closed, for an hour. Then she got right back into the game.

Kevin braced himself for an argument Sunday night. He wasn’t her father, but surely it was appropriate to suggest that staying up all night again wasn’t okay. “It’s the weekend!” no longer applied.

Actually, no. He wouldn’t bother. She could make her own decision. If she wanted to be a barely coherent zombie at work tomorrow, fine. It wasn’t his job to give her a bedtime.

“I’m going to bed,” he told her, at ten o’clock.

To his surprise, she shut off the game. “Me too,” she said. “I’m exhausted.”

They both climbed into bed. She snuggled against him and fell asleep almost immediately.

* * *

Kevin always left for work thirty minutes earlier than Chrissy. Because she liked to squeeze in every last minute of sleep she could, she often wouldn’t get up until he gave her a goodbye kiss.

He kissed her on the forehead.

“Have a good day at work,” she said.

“You too. I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

* * *

Around ten o’clock, as he sat in his cubicle, she texted him.

Crazy busy here! Meetings all day! Love you!

Kevin smiled and wrote back: Crazy busy here too. It’s not even month-end! Love you!

Then he frowned. Her text wasn’t weird-weird, but “meetings all day” was a pretty standard part of her job. It wasn’t the kind of thing she would typically share. They usually sent flirty messages or had discussions of evening plans.

Under normal circumstances, he wouldn’t have found her text suspicious at all. But with the way she was acting…

Surely Chrissy hadn’t stayed home to play the game.

That would be insane.

He had a way to check. When they first moved in together, they’d added each other to the Find My app, in case of an emergency. He’d never used it to track her location, and he hated the thought of doing so now. It seemed like an invasion of privacy. A betrayal of trust.

But so was lying to him about being at work while she stayed home playing a video game.

It wasn’t as if he’d installed spyware on her phone. In fact, it had been her idea to add each other.

He opened Find My. Under “People” was a single name: Chrissy Kingman.

Kevin tapped her name.

Yep, she was at home.

Well, her phone was, at least, but she couldn’t text him without it.

Son of a bitch.

Kevin was tempted to tell his manager he had a family emergency and drive home to bust her. He could picture it, him aggressively flinging the door open as if trying to catch her naked in bed with a lover.

But he didn’t really want to do that. It would be a major—and possibly explosive—event in their marriage. And … well, maybe it was just this one game. Maybe it was so goddamn fun, she didn’t want to stop. And when she finally killed Elvis, or whatever the final goal was, she’d be done.

Maybe.

He really wanted to talk to someone about it, but he didn’t have the kind of relationship with any of his co-workers where he could say, “Okay, so, my wife lied about being at work; she’s really at home succumbing to video game addiction. Any thoughts?”

Was it cowardly of him not to confront her?

Could this be the start of a slippery slope where she lied to him more frequently? One where he did come home to find her in bed with another man?

He didn’t want to be a chickenshit husband who did nothing, but he also didn’t want this to turn into the kind of fight that could lead to divorce.

He’d let it slide. Maybe it would never happen again.

* * *

Heading home a little early, she texted. Headache. Would you mind picking up Chinese on your way home?

He texted back, Of course!

When he arrived home with the Mongolian beef, sweet and sour chicken, and crab wontons, she was in her pajamas on the couch, playing that fucking game.

“Got comfy!” she announced, pausing the game long enough to give him a kiss.

Kevin recoiled.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

“Nothing.”

“Seriously, what’s wrong?”

“When was the last time you brushed your teeth?”

Chrissy bristled. “What kind of a question is that?”

“You haven’t brushed your teeth since you started playing this game,” Kevin said. “You haven’t taken a shower or even put on deodorant. If you want to spend all of your free time pretending to kill people, I guess that’s your choice, but you’re not even going to keep up with basic hygiene? C’mon, Chrissy. Grow up.”

Her eyes glimmered with anger. “Did you just tell me to grow up?”

“Yes. If you’re going to work smelling like that, then yes, someone needs to tell you to grow up.”

She studied his face, as if trying to figure out if he knew the truth. “I’m sorry you have a disgusting wife,” she said, not sounding the least bit sorry. “I’ll hop right in the shower, so I don’t offend your delicate sensibilities. Unless you just want to take me out to the backyard and hose me down.”

“No,” Kevin said. “You don’t get to act like I’m being unreasonable. You went to work reeking of body odor and bad breath. That’s embarrassing. You’re supposed to be setting a good example.”

“You understand that I don’t work with little kids, right? These are adults. They don’t need me to model good hygiene.”

Kevin desperately wanted to tell her he knew she’d stayed home today. But he didn’t know how she’d react. He didn’t want this to become a screaming match.

“Fine,” he said. “Whatever.”

“You ruined it,” Chrissy told him. “We could’ve had a lovely evening, relaxing on the couch and eating Chinese food. But instead, you had to insult me. You know, your breath isn’t always fantastic, either, but I’m tactful enough not to blurt it out. I guess I should start. When are you going to get your hair cut? You complain about me, while you’re going into the office with your hair looking like that.”

Kevin kept his hair cut very short. And though it was longer than he liked, it was still fairly short. What the hell was wrong with her?

“You obviously aren’t in the mood to be reasonable,” Kevin said. “Do whatever you want. I don’t care. If you want flies circling you, be my guest.”

He almost told her to get her own goddamn dinner, then decided that would be taking things too far. He removed one of the boxes from the carryout bag—he didn’t care if it was the Mongolian beef or sweet and sour chicken—and set it on the coffee table. As soon as he left the room, he heard the game resume.

Kevin sat in the dining room, trying to eat, yet unable to summon any kind of appetite. In the end, he threw his Mongolian beef and crab wontons away.

* * *

Chrissy didn’t come to bed.

Not even briefly. Kevin knew this because he didn’t sleep either.

* * *

When he got up the next morning, he saw she’d fallen asleep on the couch. A smudge of sweet and sour sauce was on her chin. He wanted to douse her with ice water, but instead, he gently shook her awake.

“Time for work,” he said.

She nodded and thanked him. He didn’t leave the house until she got up, went into the bathroom, and he heard the shower running.

* * *

Kevin sat at his desk, trying to focus on his work. He really didn’t want to check his phone to see if she was still at home. Because if she was, he’d have to confront her. Twenty-nine-year-old corporate managers didn’t call in sick to play video games. And if she had done it a second day in a row, he couldn’t assume she’d get it out of her system.

He had to check.

Do it.

He opened the app and tapped Chrissy’s name.

It wasn’t even a surprise. Of course she was home. Of course she was.

She’d lie about it. He was going to have to catch her in the act.

He knew he should leave, but instead he worked a couple more hours. Maybe she’d finish the game and head off to work after lunch.

When he checked at one o’clock … nope, she was still at home.

Unless she’d forgotten her phone.

She didn’t forget her fucking phone. Go home and deal with the problem.

He told his boss there was a family emergency, then drove home. He parked in front of their neighbor’s house, so she wouldn’t see or hear his car pulling into the driveway. He walked through their yard, stomach on fire, and checked his phone one last time, hoping it would give a different answer.

He stepped onto the front porch. If she hadn’t left, the door might be unlocked. Very carefully, he turned the knob.

The door opened, but it let out its usual creak.

Chrissy came from the living room to investigate. “Oh,” she said, as he walked inside, closing the door behind him.

“You’re home,” he said.

“So are you,” she said, quietly. “What’s wrong?”

“Why aren’t you at work?”

“I came home with a headache. We can talk in here.” She stepped back into the living room, probably to turn off the television. Kevin sprinted in before she could. Realizing she was caught, she plopped down on the couch.

“What the hell, Chrissy?” he demanded.

“I told you, I had a headache.”

“You’re playing the game.”

“No.”

“It’s on! It’s on the television right now!” He pointed to the screen. He wasn’t surprised she was lying, but he couldn’t believe she was lying about something where the proof was right there.

“Believe what you want,” she said.

“I will! I absolutely will!” Kevin looked at his wife more closely. “You didn’t take a shower.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Your hair is all greasy, and you’ve still got sweet and sour sauce on your chin! You wanted me to think you were getting ready for work, but instead of actually showering, you just stood there letting the water run? Even if you planned to stay home, why not at least take a fucking shower while you had it running? What the fuck is wrong with you, Chrissy?”

“Stop yelling at me,” Chrissy said.

“I’m not yelling at you. I’m raising my voice. But fine, I’ll stop.” Kevin took a deep breath. “You understand why I’m upset, right? Please tell me you at least understand what my problem is with this whole thing.”

“You don’t like me playing video games.”

Nope, she didn’t understand.

“I don’t like you skipping work to play video games! That’s the part that’s a big deal.”

“I have sick days,” Chrissy said. “My paycheck will be the exact same amount. It won’t impact you at all.”

Technically, no, Chrissy had Paid Time Off days, so she was dipping into precious vacation time. But now was not the time to debate sick days versus PTO days.

“It impacted me because you lied to me,” Kevin said. “You sent me a fake text pretending you were at work.”

“Oh, boo-hoo,” Chrissy said. “You know, some guys have wives who cheat on them. Or they max out all their credit cards, because they’re addicted to online shopping. You don’t realize how good you have it.”

She picked up the controller and un-paused the game.

“Are you serious?” Kevin asked.

She ignored him and resumed slaughtering innocent people on the television screen.

Kevin absolutely could not believe this was happening. “We’re not done.”

Chrissy didn’t even look at him.

“We’re still talking,” he said.

“We can talk when I finish this level.”

Kevin looked at the console, struck by the desire to pick it up and smash it against the wall, over and over, until the fucking thing was in a hundred pieces.

But no. Violence wasn’t the answer.

Instead, he stormed over and yanked the power cord out of the outlet.

The television screen went dark.

And from the look of ugly—almost grotesque—rage Chrissy gave him, Kevin suddenly wondered if he’d made a terrible mistake.

Chrissy set down the controller, stood, and walked out of the living room.

Had Kevin gone too far?

Of course not. He hadn’t smashed the shit out of the console. He’d merely unplugged it. Worst case scenario, she lost whatever progress she’d made since she last saved the game. No big deal. At some point very soon, she’d recognize her behavior was unacceptable, and he’d get an embarrassed apology.

But that look she’d given him…

She got annoyed with him on a semi-regular basis, and she’d certainly been pissed at him more than once. So it wasn’t as if their relationship was all hugs, kisses, and romantic whispers. Yet, that glare was flat-out frightening. She’d looked like she wanted to punch him in the face.

She’d cool down, though. She’d lock herself in the bedroom for an hour or two, and then come out and give him a tight embrace.

It was just a video game, after all.

Kevin waited for the sound of the bedroom door slamming shut. Didn’t hear it. Surely that’s where she’d gone. It would be out of character for her to gently close the door when she was angry.

He listened carefully.

Was that a drawer opening in the kitchen?

Maybe she was making herself a rage-sandwich. Kevin’s first inclination was to hurry into the kitchen and apologize, in a desperate attempt to keep the peace. But no. He knew he’d regret it.

Shit, what have I done?

It would all work out. With some time away from that game, she’d see reason and probably thank him for intervening. It wouldn’t harm their marriage. She might have to sleep on it, but more likely, they’d have it all worked out by this evening. He’d be calm, and loving, and reassuring, and wouldn’t try to make her feel bad about anything. They’d vow to never speak of it again, then have some good makeup sex.

Everything would be perfectly fine.

Chrissy came back into the living room, holding a butcher knife.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” Kevin couldn’t believe it. Was she seriously threatening him with a goddamn butcher knife because he’d shut off her game? She’d gone completely batshit insane. He could tell by looking at her this wasn’t a mean-spirited joke. She was dead serious. “What the hell are you doing?”

She gestured to the game console with the knife. “I was playing that.”

“You want an apology?” Kevin asked. “Fine. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have unplugged your game. But don’t you think this is an overreaction?”

“Plug it back in,” Chrissy told him.

Kevin’s hands trembled so badly, it took three tries to get the plug back into the outlet. Though this might not be the end of their marriage, there was going to be a shitload of counselling and therapy to get them back to where they’d been before.

“Thank you,” she said.

“Put the knife down, honey.”

“Don’t call me honey. You forfeited the right to call me pet names when you sabotaged my game.”

“I’m sorry.” Kevin wasn’t sorry at all, but he thought there was a greater than zero percent chance she might actually come after him with the knife, and this was not the time to worry about which of them had the higher moral ground.

“Like that’s supposed to make everything all better?” Chrissy asked. “You being sorry fixes everything? Is that what you think? How are you going to make this up to me? Are you going to play the game yourself to make up what I lost since my last save?”

“If you want me to, yeah, sure.”

“You’re pathetic,” Chrissy said. “Talk about a beta male. Or a…what’s worse than beta? Gamma? I don’t know. This is a hard level, Kevin. You think you can just pick up the controller and suddenly be as good as I am, after all my practice? You think Fun Times at the Bloodbath is an easy game? You think I’m playing fucking Donkey Kong here?”

Kevin had always found Donkey Kong to be rather difficult. He didn’t say this out loud.

“I’m sorry,” Kevin said, hating himself for apologizing again. “Obviously, I can’t make up for the ground you lost. Have you had lunch? I’ll make something, and you can play until you catch up.”

Her grip on the butcher knife visibly tightened. “Are you being sarcastic?”

No, I’m trying not to get stabbed. She was right, though. This was truly pathetic. If he’d come home and found her in bed with another man, would he offer to put on the guy’s condom?

“I’m not being sarcastic,” Kevin insisted. “Clearly this game means a lot to you, and I want you to be happy.” Shit. He definitely sounded sarcastic.

She flung the knife at him.

It struck him in the upper left arm, imbedding itself deep enough into his flesh that it didn’t fall out.

As Chrissy hurried out of the room, all Kevin could do was stare at the knife protruding from his arm. She’d done it. She’d actually thrown a butcher knife at him. It stung like hell, and blood was trickling down his arm, but he was focused less on the pain than the pure astonishment she’d done it.

Unreal. Absolutely unreal.

Okay … now the pain was taking over. And he didn’t know where she’d gone. Was she fleeing the house, locking herself in the bedroom, or—

She hurried back into the living room. Now she was holding their meat cleaver.

It was less than a month ago that Kevin used it to chop up some chicken, deciding it was too dull. He now regretted the recent sharpening.

The time for trying to talk this out was clearly over, but Kevin couldn’t stop himself from saying, “Chrissy, what the fuck?”

She raised the meat cleaver, then gave him a look of such raw hatred, he expected to see her eyes glowing red.

At least he had a weapon to defend himself, even if it was currently jutting from his arm.

Chrissy stepped forward.

Kevin stepped back. The butcher knife popped out of his arm and landed on the floor.

Chrissy let out a cry of fury and attacked.

Instead of standing there in slack-jawed astonishment, Kevin had the presence of mind to scoop up the butcher knife, even though he desperately hoped he wouldn’t have to use it. He held it up just as Chrissy swung the meat cleaver. The two kitchen utensils collided, and the butcher knife flew out of his hand.

She swung again. The blade sliced across his chest, tearing through his shirt and making a thin, horizontal red line from armpit to armpit. Her next swing added a second, deeper red line right below it.

Kevin stumbled backward, trying to get away. The back of his legs collided with the coffee table, and he lost his balance.

Chrissy got in another solid hit with the cleaver as he fell to the floor. His chin struck the carpet, and his teeth smashed together so hard he was surprised the fillings didn’t jettison out of his mouth.

His beloved wife crouched next to him and whacked him in the back with the cleaver. Then again. And again. He yelped in pain with each hit but couldn’t find his voice to beg her to stop.

He rolled over to fight her off, which was a mistake, because it gave her a much more tender and vital area to whack. He took two blows to the chest—the meat cleaver now dripping blood—before he raised his hand and attempted to knock the weapon away.

That was another mistake. The sharpened blade went halfway through his middle finger, after neatly slicing off his pinky and ring fingers on the way there. Blood spurted as the digits fell to the floor. His wedding band remained on the stump.

Chrissy yanked the cleaver free.

Kevin screamed.

They had neighbors. Someone would call the police. He just needed to fend her off long enough for the cops to arrive.

Chrissy raised the meat cleaver high over her head, grasping it with both hands, preparing for the mighty blow that would slam the blade deep into Kevin’s skull.

Kevin punched her in the stomach.

Somehow, even with two missing fingers and gushing wounds, he felt terrible about punching his bride. It was wrong. Yes, it was more wrong to hack up your spouse with a meat cleaver, but he shouldn’t be gut-punching someone he loved.

She cried out in hurt and anger, slashing the meat cleaver across his neck and cutting deep.

Kevin’s eyes went wide, and he clutched his throat. Blood gushed between his fingers.

He tried to speak. Tried to beg Chrissy to call 911, even though he knew it was too late.

She watched him die.

* * *

There was significantly less blood than when she killed someone in her game, but real life was more disturbing. Kevin looked horrified, frightened, and heartbroken all at once, and his gurgling, choking sounds were unpleasant to hear. Not fun at all. At least it didn’t take him very long to expire.

Chrissy had just murdered her husband. The man she loved.

They were supposed to spend the rest of their lives together.

Well … technically, Kevin held up his part of the vow.

But this was all his fault. He had absolutely no right to turn off her game. What did he think she was going to do? Thank him? Say it was okay? His behavior was completely unacceptable. She was physically ill over what she’d done, but this was not her fault.

Soon she’d have to dispose of his body and clean up the mess. They didn’t own an axe, but there was a hacksaw in the garage that should do the trick. She’d do the standard issue, “Chop up the body, put the parts in individual garbage bags, and dispose of them in random garbage dumpsters around the city” trick. She wished she hadn’t killed him on carpet—it would be impossible to get rid of all the blood.

She’d simply tell the police Kevin never came home from work and be convincing enough they didn’t send anyone to do forensics on the carpet fibers. She wasn’t much of a crier, but she was confident she could pull off “stunned with grief” and sell her story.

Chrissy had a tremendous amount of work to do if she wanted to avoid prison, so she was only going to play one or two levels before she got started.

* * *

Someone knocked on the door. A loud, insistent knock.

Chrissy wasn’t going to pause the game. She’d spent enough time not playing during all the shit with Kevin. They could come back later.

There were shouts for her to open the door. She wondered if someone had heard Kevin screaming when she murdered him.

She had no idea how long she’d been playing.

When she heard them bust open the door, she glanced at Kevin’s dead body on the floor and realized it could be a problem. She’d have to deal with it very soon, but pausing the game messed up her momentum, and she was never going to complete this level if she was pulled out of the zone.

Two cops entered her living room. They seemed, understandably, shocked to see Kevin and all the blood. Both men pointed their guns at her.

“Get on the floor!” one of them shouted.

“I will, when I finish this level,” Chrissy said.

“Drop the controller and get on the floor now!”

“I will!” Chrissy shouted. The game required intense focus, and there was no way she could beat this level with cops pointing guns at her, so she had no choice—reluctantly, she paused it. “Just give me a few minutes! That’s not so much to ask!”

“Ma’am, put the controller down, or we’ll have to treat it as a weapon!”

Chrissy wanted to laugh. It was a video game controller, not a bomb! These cops were way too paranoid. She lowered her voice, trying to speak clearly and calmly. “I will cooperate fully,” she explained. “I’m just asking, very reasonably, that you let me finish this level. I don’t think that’s too much to ask. I’m almost done.”

The cops exchanged looks of disbelief.

Why was it so difficult for them to understand? She wondered if they’d ever been passionate about anything in their entire lives. Did they think Kevin might be okay if they took him to the emergency room? He was long past saving, so why the rush? Why did the situation have to be dealt with at that exact moment?

“I’m going to tell you one last time,” the cop told her. “Put down the controller.”

“Fine!” Chrissy set the controller on the coffee table, doing it gently since these idiot cops thought it was going to explode. “But all I’m asking is that you let me finish the level. I know my rights.”

“Get off the couch!”

They weren’t going to let her finish.

These monsters were going to try to make her stop playing, just like Kevin had.

How dare they? Who did they think they were?

Chrissy pointed to the gaming console. “It’s a bomb,” she announced. “You’d better call for backup, because if you take one step closer to me, I’ll detonate it, and we’ll all die.”

She wasn’t sure how long it would take for backup to arrive, but even if it was five minutes, that was five extra minutes she’d get to play Fun Times at the Bloodbath. At this point, she’d take whatever she could get.

The cops exchanged knowing looks. They didn’t believe her.

“Boom!” she shouted, moving her hands to simulate an explosion and mushroom cloud.

They rushed forward.

Another disadvantage to the carpeted floor: There was no risk of them slipping on the blood.

Chrissy struggled violently and screamed every obscenity she could think of as the cops dragged her off the couch and held her face-down on the floor. She kicked as hard as she could as they bound her hands behind her back, then cried out in pain.

So that’s what it felt like to get tazed.

She stopped screaming and struggling.

It was completely unfair. She’d just lost her husband—was a widow in mourning—and they wouldn’t even let her finish the level.

San Diego Woman Murders Husband Because He Unplugged Her Video Game.

Margot clicked the link.

It was indeed a news story about a woman in San Diego who’d murdered her husband—slashing his throat with a meat cleaver!—because he wanted her to stop playing a video game. The woman, Chrissy Kingman, showed deep remorse for what she’d done, but also continued to insist it was his fault for unplugging the console. When the cops arrived, she’d begged them to let her keep playing.

Margot scrolled past the ad in the middle of the story, then gasped.

The woman had been playing Fun Times at the Bloodbath.

She hadn’t thought much about the actual game in the month since Bobby’s funeral. It didn’t really matter if it was Mario Cart or Final Fantasy or Minecraft. The point was his deadly addiction, not the game itself.

She’d looked it up online, out of curiosity about what made this game so insanely fun, but the only digital footprint she could find was a Reddit thread where someone asked if anyone had played Fun Times at the Bloodbath. The thread only had eight comments, and no one had played it.

Margot never considered blaming the game itself. The investigation into Bobby’s death concluded there was no foul play—no one had forced him to sit there and play until he died—and that there were likely undiagnosed mental issues. She’d never known her brother to be depressed, but someone who sat in his own feces, playing a game until he was completely dehydrated, clearly had something wrong with his brain.

She did a Google search for “Fun Times at the Bloodbath.”

No new information. Just links to the article she’d just read.

How could there be nothing about a video game on the internet? Weren’t gamers online constantly? Surely there’d be announcements, reviews, play-through videos on YouTube … something.

When cleaning out his apartment, they’d taken most of his belongings to Goodwill. She knew she could probably get a decent price for his video game system, but instead, she’d chosen to do a ceremonial smashing the shit out of it with an aluminum baseball bat. Though she’d felt better afterward—much better—she now wished she still had access to the game.

Margot and her parents refused to talk to the media. She’d shut down her social media accounts, and in the 24-hour news cycle, Bobby’s death quickly stopped being a national story. Was she the first person to know Bobby and the San Diego lady were playing the same game?

It had to be a coincidence. It wasn’t something she could bring to the authorities’ attention—they’d laugh in her face—but she’d really like to speak with Chrissy Kingsman.

San Diego was only a six-hour drive away.

She had nothing else to do tomorrow. Larry had broken up with her, saying she was too moody. When she pointed out she was grieving the death of her brother, his response had been, “Yeah, but…” and a shrug.

He’d offered goodbye sex. She politely declined.

Margot decided not to share the discovery with her parents, or anyone else. She didn’t want them to think she was nuts for looking into something so ridiculous.

The story said Chrissy was being held without bail. Margot had no idea if she’d be allowed to talk to a murder suspect. She was certain she couldn’t just show up at the jail and request a few minutes of her time.

A bit of online research showed she’d have to be placed on a visitor’s list and go through a background check. But she couldn’t get on the visitor’s list without communicating with Chrissy. She could send a snail mail letter, explaining the situation and asking to be added to the list. She’d do that if she had to, but she was intensely curious now.

It wasn’t difficult to find the name of her attorney. Rowan Mincher. Court appointed.

She could call him. But she’d be more persuasive in person, and it had been way too long since her last road trip. She’d taken her three (unpaid) bereavement days and had gone right back to waitressing, just as a return to normalcy, but she could probably work out her schedule and get three or four days off.

This could be a complete waste of time. Yet she needed to investigate.

Margot booked the cheapest hotel she could find that didn’t look like she’d find crack pipes under the sheets, bought some unhealthy snacks for the drive, and headed to San Diego early, hoping to get there around lunchtime.

She didn’t have a convertible, but she rolled down all the windows. The radio in her car didn’t work, so she belted out her own soundtrack as she sped down the highway.

* * *

Rowan Mincher’s office was in a strip mall. Not a high-quality strip mall. It was between a Chinese restaurant with a menu on the door, so faded it couldn’t be read, and a massage place with the windows blacked out.

She walked inside. The receptionist, a thin, ruddy faced woman in her forties, put down her cell phone. “May I help you?”

“I’d like to speak with Mr. Mincher.”

“Do you have an appointment?”

“No.”

“Are you seeking legal representation?”

Margot shook her head. “I have information about the Chrissy Kingman case.”

“He’s having lunch, but I’ll see if he’s available.” The receptionist pushed her chair back with an unpleasant screech. Margot could hear her joints crack as she stood. She walked to the door behind her, knocked quickly, and went inside, emerging a moment later and beckoning Margot to follow.

Mr. Mincher’s office was small, even by the standards she’d lowered since arriving at the strip mall. He sat behind his tiny desk, thick glasses perched on his large nose and facial hair that made him look like a Civil War general. He was using chopsticks to eat noodles out of a Styrofoam container. His mouth was full, and a couple stray noodles dangled from the edge of his lips, so he gestured for Margot to have a seat.

Swallowing, he extended his hand. “Rowan Mincher.”

She shook it. “Margot Rosewood.”

“I apologize if my lunch reeks. I wasn’t expecting any clients.”

“No, it’s fine. I wanted to speak with you about Chrissy Kingsman.”

Mr. Mincher nodded. “Is she a relative?”

“No, I’ve never met her. Mr. Mincher—”

“Rowan, unless you’re here to collect money.”

“Rowan, got it.”

“That was a joke,” Rowan said. “But it wasn’t a very good joke, so it’s okay that you didn’t smile.”

“I didn’t realize it was a joke.”

“No one ever does. Please, continue.”

“Are you familiar with the Bobby Rosewood story?”

“He sounds like a baseball player. No, I’m not familiar. Is he your husband?”

“Brother.”

“Is it okay if I keep eating?” Rowan asked. “I don’t want to be rude, but if I wait until you’re gone, the sauce will get all congealed.”

“It’s fine. Would you mind Googling my brother’s name?”

“Sure.” Rowan scooped an alarmingly large portion of noodles into his mouth, then tapped away at his computer keyboard. He stared at the screen while he chewed and swallowed. “Wow. That’s awful. I’m so sorry for your loss.”

“Did you see what game he was playing?”

Rowan scrolled down the screen. “Okay. That’s interesting.”

“I’d really like to talk to Chrissy about the game.”

“I can tell you right now, she won’t see you. She’s not really in a good place.”

“But this could help her case, right?”

“We have attorney/client privilege, so I obviously can’t talk about our conversations, but we can talk about what’s in the public record. She confessed. The police aren’t looking at any other scenario except what’s been reported. It’s one hell of a weird case, but it’s about as open and shut as it gets.”

“Sure,” Margot said. “I’m not suggesting she’s innocent. But your job is to get her a lighter sentence, or set up an insanity plea, right?”

“That’s right.”

“Would it help to deflect some of the blame to the game itself?”

“Well, yeah, it always helps to deflect the blame,” Rowan said. “But there’s no law against making a game people don’t want to stop playing. The addictive nature is by design.”

“But it’s two extreme examples, both from the same game. A game that, as far as I can tell, no one is even playing. There’s almost nothing about it online. If the same game impacted two different people in such intense ways, maybe it could help your client.”

Rowan considered that. “It couldn’t hurt.”

“I’d love to talk to her.”

“Like I said, she’ll never let you visit her.”

“Could I come with you when you meet with her? Pretend I was your intern?”

Rowan smiled. “Lawyers aren’t the most scrupulous people around, but I won’t lie to the prison staff like that.”

“Then could you hire me as your intern? Temporarily? Just long enough so I can come with you? I drove from Tucson for this.”

“You’re a smart young lady,” Rowan said. “I like you. I’d take you on as a legitimate intern, if you decided you wanted to pursue a career in the legal field, but what you’re asking? No.”

“Fine. I’ve decided I want to be a lawyer.”

“I think you’d make a better investigative journalist.” He shoved another bite of noodles into his mouth and chewed thoughtfully. He resumed talking with his mouth still half-full. “Public record. She got so mad when her husband unplugged the game, she killed him. It happens. People lose their temper over silly stuff. A few months ago, a teenager attacked his mother with a fire poker because she bought Twinkies instead of Ding-Dongs. What makes the Chrissy Kingsman case so unusual, as you know, is how she pleaded with the cops to let her finish the level. It wasn’t, ‘My husband is an asshole who shut off my game, so I’m going to cut his throat!’ It was a freakish desire to keep playing the game. Almost certainly mental illness. But, yes, if we introduce the fact your brother starved himself to death playing the same game, it might muddy the waters a little.”

“He didn’t starve to death,” Margot said. “It was dehydration.”

“Okay, sure, sure, you’d die of thirst before hunger. Basic biology. Either way, I thank you for bringing the story to my attention. And if you let me know what questions you have for my client, I’ll be happy to ask them.”

Margot really wanted to talk to Chrissy herself, but apparently, this was the best she was going to get for now. “I just want to know what it was like. What about the game made her so desperate to keep playing? Bobby was a hardcore gamer, but he knew when to quit. I need to know why this specific game affected both of them like it did.”

“I’ll see what I can find out,” Rowan said. “Like I said, she’s not the easiest person to talk to, so I can’t promise to give you a full report. How long are you in town?”

“Until Thursday.”

“I’ll head over there this afternoon. Leave your phone number with Bonnie, and I’ll give you an update when I have it.”

“Thank you. I appreciate anything you can do.”

“No problem at all. You’re doing me a favor.” Rowan tried to scoop up another bite of noodles, but they lifted out of the Styrofoam in a single large blob. “Oops. Looks like I have full coagulation.”

“Do you order from them often?”

“They’re right next door. The owner gives me a 10% discount, and I’m not a foodie. But if you’re just here for a quick visit, you need fish tacos. Bonnie will give you some recommendations.”

Margot thanked him again and left the office. Fish tacos actually sounded great. Just because she was here to find out what truly happened to her brother didn’t mean she couldn’t enjoy the local cuisine.

* * *

After those tacos, she felt more sexually satisfied than she ever had after a night with Larry. She wanted to walk around Fisherman’s Wharf, but discovered that was in San Francisco, not San Diego.

The hotel was nothing fancy, but it was clean. She took a shower and masturbated to memories of the tacos. She turned up the volume of her phone so a text or call would wake her up, then climbed into bed for a nap.

As far as she knew, she wasn’t dreaming of the tacos when her phone jolted her out of a sound sleep. It was Mom. She took a moment to shake off the “I just woke up” feeling and answered.

“Hello?”

“Why didn’t you tell me you were in San Diego?” Mom said without a greeting.

“I told Dad.”

“That’s how I know you’re in San Diego. But you knew it would take him most of the day to remember he was supposed to pass on the news—and you could be murdered by then.”

“It’s only 3:30, so there’s still plenty of time for me to get murdered.”

“It’s 6:30.”

“What about time zones is so difficult for you two to understand?”

“Why are you in San Diego?”

“I felt like taking a road trip. It’s been a rough few weeks.”

“Is it to meet a boy?”

“No, Mom.”

“Is it to meet a girl?”

“Yes, Mom. I’m a lesbian now,” Margot deadpanned. “I hope you’ll be happy for me and Fifi when we adopt our first child.”

“Fifi is a dog’s name, not a lesbian’s name,” Mom said. “If you’re going to make fun of me, put more thought into it.”

“I didn’t know there were lesbian names,” Margot said. “Those parents are really thinking ahead. You can’t usually tell the sexual orientations of newborns.”

“What I’m trying to say is, your father is terrible at passing information along to me, and you know that, so at least text me next time.”

“When I text you, you think I’m trying to avoid talking to you.”

“Anyway,” Mom said. “Are you there for a booty call? It’s fine if you are. You’re twenty-six years old and can make your own decisions about who to let into your body. Just tell me where you’re going, so I know when to be worried.”

“Don’t say booty call,” Margot told her. “Say Tinder hookup. And no, that’s not at all why I’m here. I just wanted to get away for a couple of days. No big deal.”

Her phone vibrated as another call came through. Rowan Mincher’s name popped up on her screen.

“Sorry, Mom, I have to go, I’m getting another call.”

“If it’s not a Tinder hookup, why do you have to answer right away?”

“Bye, Mom.” Margot disconnected Mom’s call and accepted Rowan’s. “Hello?”

“Hi, Margot. It’s Rowan.”

“Did you talk to Chrissy?”

“Yeah. It was … weird.”

“Bad weird?”

“Do you like coffee?”

“I do.”

“Let’s meet for coffee.”

“Sweet,” Danielle said, as she went through the mail. As usual, it was almost all junk, but there was also a postcard for a video game called Fun Times at the Bloodbath.

"You’ve been selected as a beta tester for this year’s hottest (and BLOODIEST) new game! Download for free using code MFP837.

She went into the family room, where her boyfriend, Josh, was watching porn on his laptop. He was allowed to watch it as much as he wanted, as long as he promised never to suggest a threesome, and he’d kept up his end of the bargain.

“How was work?” she asked. Josh worked from home, doing website design, or pretending to do website design while watching porn. His long straight hair was dyed black, even though his natural color was also black—it just made it look a little darker. His lower lip, nose, and left eyebrow were pierced, along with twelve piercings in each ear, plus an earlobe expander. His tattoos went from his neck to his ankles.

Danielle, meanwhile, had no facial piercings and a mere four piercings in each ear. She did have both nipples and the hood of her clitoris pierced, which she felt balanced it out, since Josh refused to get a Prince Albert. She was also covered in tattoos, but only where they were hidden by clothing, because she worked a corporate desk job, and visible tattoos were against company policy.

“It sucked,” Josh said. “My clients are idiots. How was your day?”

“Lunch was good.”

“Yeah? What’d you have?”

“Cheddar melt.”

“That does sound good. We should order cheddar melts for dinner.”

“It’s what I had for lunch.”

“Oh, yeah, that’s right.” Josh kept the porn on during their conversation. Early in their relationship, she asked why he didn’t beat off when he was watching it, and he said he didn’t want to risk messing up the couch. At least he was considerate.

“Something interesting came in the mail.”

“Again? I already paid that.”

“Not a bill.” Danielle held up the postcard. “We could beta test this new game.”

Josh set his laptop aside, keeping the porn playing, and took the postcard. “This looks sick.”

“Want to smoke a bowl and play?”

“Hell yeah, I do. And maybe when we’re done, we could fuck.”

“We could fuck now.”

“Nah, I’m kind of hungry. But after we have dinner and play this game for a while, we should definitely fuck.”

Danielle knew if they had dinner, smoked a bowl, and played a video game, Josh would pass out before anything happened. But that was fine. She had a top-of-the-line vibrator, fully charged, waiting on her nightstand.

* * *

The delivery guy arrived with the cheddar melts Josh had ordered. As they ate, Danielle put in the code to download the game.

Fun Times at the Bloodbath appeared on the screen in a waterfall of blood.

“Private Beta Test. By starting this game, you agree that you will not share screenshots or video clips without written permission. You also authorize us to contact you for feedback about the gaming experience.”

“I’ll share whatever I want,” Josh told the television screen. “You’re not the boss of me.”

“Number of players?”

They selected the two-player option.

“Doesn’t this have an online mode?” Josh asked.

“They might add it after the beta test,” Danielle said.

“That’s weak.”

The screen split in half, and each of them created their avatars. Danielle made one that looked as close to her as possible, while Josh, trying to be funny, designed a clean-cut man in a business suit.

“Choose your weapon!”

Danielle chose the box cutter. Josh chose the pocketknife.

Josh clicked to “Skip tutorial.”

“Why’d you do that?” Danielle asked.

“I’m not playing a game to get tutored.”

Their avatars fell from the cloud-filled sky onto a dirt road. They approached an old lady with a walker.

“That old bitch is gonna get fucked up,” Josh said.

Danielle reached her first. A conversation tree appeared, offering her the opportunity to say, “Hello, ma’am. May I assist you in some way?” or “Die, you old bitch, die!” She selected the first one.

“Why’d you do that?” Josh asked.

“They obviously want you to pick the second one. I want to see what happens if you try to be polite.”

“Oh, thank you so much,” the old lady said, her dialogue appearing on the screen.

“Are they gonna make us read this whole game?” Josh asked. “If I wanted to read, I’d watch one of those movies with the words at the bottom.”

“You can handle it,” Danielle assured him.

* * *

The game was definitely more primitive than any of the current games she’d played—something she’d share with the studio if they reached out for feedback—but it was surprisingly compelling.

Danielle loved the tasteless sense of humor. In the first hour, there’d been racism, ageism, xenophobia, and misogyny. She was fine with misogyny in this ridiculous, cartoony context. And the gore. So much gore. People were going to lose their minds when this game came out … if it ever did. She couldn’t imagine something like this actually getting released.

She paused the game and stood up.

“Where are you going?” Josh asked.

“To pee.”

“Why’d you pause it?”

“Because I can’t play from the toilet.”

“Just because you have to pee doesn’t mean I should have to stop playing.”

“Are you being serious?” Danielle asked.

“Nah, I guess I was kidding,” Josh said. “But hurry up, okay?”

“I’ll squeeze as hard as I can.”

Danielle set down the controller and walked to the bathroom. Josh tended to say things that weren’t jokes, and then immediately backtrack and insist he’d been just kidding. That’s why he wasn’t allowed to suggest threesomes anymore—the whole “I’m just kidding, but not really” thing got tiresome.

“Just because you have to pee doesn’t mean I should have to stop playing” was delivered in his “serious” tone. The game was fun as hell, but she couldn’t believe he was actually annoyed by her taking a bathroom break.

When she finished and returned to the family room, he’d un-paused the game and was playing by himself.

“Josh, what the hell?” she asked.

“What?”

“You couldn’t wait?”

“You were taking forever.”

“I took a normal amount of time to pee. I wasn’t even in there for a minute. It wasn’t like when you sit on the toilet for forty-five minutes playing on your phone while you take a dump. Seriously, Josh, what the hell?”

“Why are you getting so upset?” Josh asked. “It’s just a video game.”

“That’s exactly it. It’s a fun game, I’m having a blast, but you can’t wait sixty seconds?”

“I feel like you’re getting way too emotionally involved in this game,” Josh told her, using the condescending tone he knew infuriated her. He’d rarely used it since they moved in together almost a year ago. “Maybe you should go read a book, or something.”

Danielle gave him the finger. She did this frequently, but it was always in a playful manner. This wasn’t playful. She reclaimed her spot on the couch, picked up the controller, and resumed slaughtering the innocent.

* * *

“I’m hungry,” Josh said. “How about you make some popcorn?”

“That’s a great idea,” Danielle said. They’d only eaten the cheddar melts a couple of hours ago, but gaming made her work up an appetite. “But you make it.”

“I made it last time.”

“No, you didn’t.”

“It’s been weeks. How would you even remember?”

“Because I made it when we watched Friday the 13th, Part VI.”

“I think it was Part V,” Josh said.

“No. Part VI is the good one. It doesn’t matter. It’s your turn to make the popcorn.”

“What’s the big deal? You put the bag in the microwave and press a button.”

“Exactly,” Danielle said. “It’s super easy to make microwave popcorn. So easy that even someone like you can do it. Go make us some popcorn.”

“Never mind. I don’t want it anymore.”

“Are you really that lazy?”

“No. I’m not hungry anymore.”

“I’m not going to make the popcorn just because you’re pouting.”

“I’m not pouting.”

“Make the popcorn, Josh. It takes four minutes.”

“I said, I wasn’t hungry.”

“Well, I am. So why don’t you be a loving boyfriend and go make me some popcorn?”

“Nah.”

“Whatever,” Danielle said. “I guess I’ll just starve, then.”

* * *

By midnight, Danielle knew that Fun Times at the Bloodbath was the greatest video game of all time. Better than Elden Ring. Better than Red Dead Redemption 2. Better than Baldur’s Gate 3. Were the graphics great? No. Did they cut corners, like rarely using actual voices? Yes. Was the music the same tune over and over and over? Yes, but it didn’t matter. She’d never played such an addictive game. It was pretty cool that she and Josh were among the first people ever to play it.

“What the hell are you doing?” she asked, pausing the game as Josh unzipped his pants.

“I’ve been holding it for over an hour,” Josh said. He withdrew his penis from the slot in his boxers, and grabbed an empty can of Mountain Dew.

“Then go take a piss!” Danielle said.

“I am!”

“Not here! You’ll splash it all over. The game is paused—you won’t miss anything.”

“How do I know you won’t un-pause it?”

“For real, Josh, don’t—” Too late. Her boyfriend was peeing into an empty Mountain Dew can, right in front of her, with the restroom twenty steps away. “I told you! You’re splashing!”

“No, I’m not.”

“You are! Drops are spraying on the couch! Goddamn it!”

“Stop distracting me! You’re making me miss!”

“You’re disgusting,” Danielle told him. “That’s absolutely disgusting. You’re like an animal. Why are we even still together?”

“Are you breaking up with me?” Josh asked, still peeing.

“Finish up and we’ll talk about it.”

“I hope I don’t overflow it. It wasn’t completely empty.”

“You’re vile.”

Josh finished. He tapped his penis against the top of the can, then set the newly full can on the coffee table. He tucked his junk back inside his underwear and zipped up his pants. He took the game off pause and resumed playing.

Danielle felt like they should discuss his behavior, but she had to admit, she’d rather play the game. If she did decide to break up with him, it could wait.

* * *

“For God’s sake, Danielle! How many times are we going to have to restart this level?”

“I’m sorry! It’s really hard!” The goal was to kill a classroom full of children with a meat hook. But one of them always seemed to make it out of the school building, forcing them to play the level again from the beginning. Danielle couldn’t deny it; Josh was contributing his share of meat hook carnage, while she lagged behind.

“Well, get your head in the game. This is ridiculous.”

“It’s three o’clock in the morning, and I have to pee. I can’t focus.”

“So pee.”

“I don’t have the equipment to pee in a can.”

“Pee on the floor,” Josh said, probably not kidding.

“Absolutely not. We’re civilized human beings. Pause the game.”

“I don’t want to.”

“I don’t care if you want to or not. Pause it.”

Josh paused the game.

“Do not take it off pause. I am completely serious about this. If I come back and you’re playing, I’ll kill you. Do you understand?”

“Yeah, okay,” Josh said. “But make it quick.”

Danielle hurried to the bathroom. She left the door open, to save time—and so she could listen to make sure Josh didn’t betray her trust.

That game had better not start up again. She might not actually kill him, but she’d kick his ass. If she was mad enough, she could definitely beat him in a fight.

What if he was playing, but he’d muted the volume so she wouldn’t know?

That son of a bitch. That was exactly what he was doing.

She finished. No time to wipe. She pulled up her panties and jeans, and hurried into the family room.

The game was still paused, thank God.

“You forgot to flush,” Josh said.

“Why not have a sip of your Mountain Dew?” Danielle asked.

They resumed playing.

* * *

Danielle snapped awake.

Josh continued slapping her for a moment after her eyes opened. It wasn’t a hard slap, but it was more forceful than necessary to awaken her.

“Stop it,” she told him.

“Why’d you fall asleep?”

“Because I’m tired! It was a busy day! I didn’t get to stay home watching girl/girl porn all day.”

“It wasn’t girl/girl porn. It was girl/guy/girl porn. You can sleep when we beat the game.”

“Okay, sorry,” Danielle said, spitting the words out with venom. Josh was being an asshole … but still, it was wrong of her to fall asleep. He was counting on her.

“Don’t you dare fall asleep again,” Josh said. “If you do, I’ll cut off your eyelids.”

She believed him.

Danielle had to admit the title was accurate. These were indeed fun times at the bloodbath.

She’d never played such an entertaining game. It was better than weed. Better than sex. Better than a night with Jason Momoa. She didn’t actually have the experience to compare the two activities, but until now, her ultimate fantasy was “spend the night handcuffed to a bed with Jason Momoa, making sure he knew she was a very naughty girl,” and she was confident playing this game was even more satisfying.

Yeah, Josh was being a dick. The game was still insanely fun.

She wished she had caffeine tablets. They had Red Bull in the refrigerator and a coffee maker, but then she’d have to go to the bathroom, which they were trying to avoid. She’d just force herself to stay awake. Maybe jab herself with something sharp if she started to drift off again.

In the current level, they were slaughtering celebrities at the Academy Awards. Danielle doubted the actors had signed off on having their likenesses dismembered, but the infringement on their rights was part of the fun. Blood ran down the digital stage.

“Get him!” Josh shouted. “Get him!”

A helicopter had lowered a ladder through a large hole in the roof, and Tom Hanks was running toward it. Danielle’s axe-wielding avatar chased him. Just as he reached the ladder, she swung the axe, lopping off his arm in a spray of blood that hit Meryl Streep in the face. But losing an arm wasn’t enough to stop him. The ladder rose, and Tom Hanks was carried off to safety.

“Level Failed!” a booming voice shouted as the words flashed on the screen.

As they did after each failure, their avatars committed suicide. Danielle’s chopped off her own head with the axe, while Josh’s slashed his chest open with a bone saw. “Fuck!” Josh bellowed, as his avatar’s internal organs spilled onto the stage.

“Sorry,” Danielle said.

“Sorry doesn’t cut it. Tom Hanks was right there.” Josh angrily gestured at the screen. “One more swing and he wouldn’t have had any arms to hold onto the ladder. You need to quit screwing up.”

“Calm down.”

“Don’t tell me to calm down,” Josh said. “I don’t want to calm down. Calming down implies I’m not taking this seriously. Do you really think they gave us the opportunity to beta test this game just so we could not bother playing our best?”

“No, you’re right,” Danielle said. “I’m sorry.”

“Maybe instead of constantly apologizing, you could play better.”

“I will. I will, I promise.”

They started the level again.

* * *

When Josh heard Danielle snore, he couldn’t believe it. Falling asleep once was bad enough. Doing it twice … well, she needed to be taught a lesson.

He wasn’t going to slap her awake this time.

He reluctantly paused the game. He hated to, but he could pull himself away long enough to do something for the greater good. The sight of her sleeping face filled him with revulsion, and he’d make sure it didn’t happen again.

He went to their bedroom.

There was a small safe on a shelf in the back of the closet. He had to move a bunch of stuff out of the way to get to it, but once it was clear, he took it down and placed it on their bed.

What was the combination?

He hadn’t opened the safe since they’d moved here, but he was pretty sure the combination was his birthday.

Turning the dial back and forth to the proper numbers, he pulled on the door and it swung open.

Josh removed the pistol.

It had a lock around the trigger, but the key was in the safe. He removed the lock and tossed it aside, then wiped sweat off his forehead. Not playing the game was maddening, but he had to do this. If he didn’t take extreme measures, Danielle would keep falling asleep.

He opened his underwear drawer and reached into the back. There, next to the rubber vagina sex toy he’d only used once, was a box of bullets.

Josh hesitated.

Should he really load it? He didn’t want to kill her. He just wanted her to pull her weight in the game.

Making a decision, he loaded the pistol in case he needed to shoot her in the leg to get his point across.

Having never actually loaded a firearm, it took him a minute to figure out how to open it to insert the bullets. His hands were trembling—not because he was nervous about the gun, but because he should be playing the game right now. What if Danielle woke up and started playing without him?

Finishing up, he returned to the family room.

She was still asleep.

He tapped her on the forehead with the barrel of the gun. Her eyes opened and widened when she realized that there was a gun in her face.

“You fell asleep again,” he informed her.

“I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to!”

“I know you didn’t mean to. Otherwise you’d be dead already. But we’re playing this game in Cooperative Mode. You know what that means, right?”

Danielle nodded. “I’m sorry.”

“It means we’re cooperating. It means we’re both counting on each other. So when you fall asleep, it leaves all the work to me. Do you think that’s fair?”

“It’s not,” Danielle said. “It’s not fair. I’m sorry. You know I never stay up this late. It’s after four. Even when I was doing the club scene, I didn’t party this long.”

“The next time you fall asleep, I’ll kill you,” Josh said. “Am I making myself clear?”

“Yes. Crystal clear.”

Danielle seemed sincere. And, if anything, the jolt of terror would keep her awake for a while.

Josh returned to the couch and placed the gun on the cushion next to him. He gave his girlfriend a reassuring smile. “Then let’s play!”

* * *

Danielle let out a deep sigh of relief as all of Hollywood’s A-listers lay dead. As Danny DeVito’s head rolled away, “Level Complete!” flashed on the screen.

The setting shifted to Congress. This was going to be awesome.

It took several attempts to massacre all the politicians. Josh didn’t get upset when she made mistakes—he made them, too, and the game wouldn’t be any fun if it was too easy. He only got frustrated when she made the same mistake over and over. Otherwise, they made a pretty good team.

Now they were in Disneyland on a crowded summer day. It was, by far, the most victims the game had provided, but the costumed Disney characters were heavily armed, and Goofy was no joke.

She and Josh both had weedwhackers.

They worked their way through the park, mutilating parents, children, babies in strollers; everyone who dared spend their vacation at a theme park.

Minnie Mouse picked up Josh’s avatar and slammed him over her knee, breaking his back with such ferocity, his spine popped through his skin.

“Shit,” Josh said, as the level restarted.

On the second playthrough, Minnie Mouse did it again.

Danielle chuckled.

“What are you laughing at?” Josh asked.

“You.”

“You think it’s funny?”

“Yes. You were bitching at me for dying the same way more than once, and now a mouse got you twice. A girl mouse.”

“She has ninja moves!”

“You can’t beat a girl mouse with ninja moves? Weak.”

“Bitch.”

“Okay, Mr. Angry Pants. I’m sorry I made fun of you. Here, give me a kiss.”

“No.”

“Give me a kiss, my alpha male.”

Josh leaned in for a kiss. She put her finger through his lip ring and tugged, ripping it off. He cried out in pain and put his hands over his mouth.

“Don’t you ever call me a bitch again,” she told him. “And also, learn to play the fucking game.”

Blood was already trickling between his fingers. Good.

Moving faster than she would’ve expected, he reached out and yanked an earring off her left earlobe, tearing right through the skin.

She went for his eyebrow piercing. He put up his hand to deflect the attack, so she punched him in his wounded lip with her free hand, then tore out the ring while he was distracted with his yelping and cursing.

Blood trickled down his face from his eyebrow, and down his chin from his lip.

She hoped he didn’t reach for the gun.

He, of course, reached for the gun.

She punched him in the dick, then dug her fingernails into his wrist until he dropped the gun, which landed on his dick.

Josh cried out in rage and wrapped his hands around her neck. He pulled her off the couch, slamming her into the coffee table. Then he pulled up her shirt.

Oh, shit, no–!

He tore out her left nipple ring. She screamed.

Even louder when he tore out the right.

Josh tossed the rings across the room.

“That’s what you get,” he said, pulling her shirt back down. He wiped blood off his face with the back of his hand.

Danielle’s breasts were on fire. She hugged herself, weeping.

They hadn’t paused the game before the altercation, so they’d failed to complete the level once again.

“At least it wasn’t your clit ring,” Josh said. He had a point, but fuck did this hurt!

“I hate this,” Danielle said. “Let’s not fight anymore.”

“Sounds good to me.” Josh shoved the gun between the couch cushions. “We still have a level to beat.”

Danielle stood up. “I’ll go get cleaned up.”

“Why bother?” Josh asked. “I already got blood on the couch.”

That was true. They were probably going to have to buy a new couch anyway, so what did it matter if they got a little blood, or a lot of blood, on it?

She sat down next to him. Blood ran down her stomach, soaking through her shirt, which sucked—she loved this shirt.

“Would you get me some ice?” she asked. “Something to numb the pain?”

“What about my pain?”

“You can get some ice for yourself, too.”

Josh shook his head. “We’ve spent too long away from the game already. Can’t we just get back to playing?”

“My nipples really hurt,” Danielle said, applying pressure to her chest. “You know how sensitive they are.”

“The pain will keep you awake.”

“Good point. I wouldn’t be able to fall asleep even if I wanted to.”

Danielle and Josh picked up the controllers and resumed their game.

Rowan sat in the prison meeting room, waiting for the guards to bring Chrissy. She’d been put in solitary confinement; fortunately, inmates always had the right to speak with their attorney.

The whole thing with Margot Rosewood’s brother was very strange. Rowan was very interested in hearing what Chrissy had to say about the game itself. Hell, maybe Margot was right, and it could help the judge give her a lighter sentence. At the very least, he hoped his conversation with Chrissy got him some information worth sharing with Margot. He didn’t want her to have made the drive for nothing.

Chrissy looked awful when they brought her into the room. She’d been in custody less than seventy-two hours but looked as if she’d spent months in an asylum. Her hair was unkempt, her eyes wild.

She sat across the table. One of the guards picked up the short chain that connected her handcuffs to the table.

“That’s not necessary,” Rowan told him.

“I recommend it,” the guard said.

Chrissy hadn’t been violent the other time he’d met with her. Rowan’s fights were in the courtroom, not in prisons, but he liked to believe a lady in handcuffs couldn’t overpower him. “It’s fine, really,” Rowan said. “I appreciate your concern.”

The guard shrugged and left the room.

“Would you like a coffee, or something?” Rowan asked.

Chrissy shook her head. She twitched like a heroin addict.

“What did you do to get thrown into solitary?”

“I don’t remember.,” she said, not looking at him.

“Did you hurt someone?”

“I don’t think so.”

“I wish you’d behave,” Rowan said. “You’re only making things worse for yourself.”

Chrissy shrugged. “Pretty sure things have already bottomed out for me.”

“No. That’s not true. Not necessarily. You murdered your husband, so things aren’t great, and I wish you hadn’t signed a confession before you spoke with me, but what’s done is done. I’m assuming you haven’t changed your mind about the guilty plea?”

“Why bother fighting it?” Chrissy asked. “I opened his neck with a meat cleaver. His dead body was right there on our floor.” Her face tightened, as if trying to stop herself from bursting into tears. “I did it.”

“Right. So our focus is going to be on your sentence. I want to talk to you about the game you were playing. Fun Times at the Bloodbath.”

Chrissy leaned across the table, her eyes brightening. “Did you bring it?”

“What? No, of course not.”

“But you could, right? Set it up in here and let me play? Research for my legal defense?”

“Um, no, they’re not going to let me bring a video game system into prison.”

Chrissy slammed her fists against the table, rattling the handcuffs.

“How did you feel when you played the game?” Rowan asked, pretending they were still having a civil conversation.

“I felt great.”

“Maybe a little more specific?”

“Have you ever had sex?” Chrissy asked.

“Yes. I have, indeed. A few times,” Rowan stumbled over his words. “My wife and I even made two daughters that way.”

“Okay, but have you ever had really good sex?”

“I like to think so.”

“Imagine that, times a thousand.”

“That’s some mighty good sex.”

“I don’t know how they did it,” Chrissy said. “The game is so compelling. I’ve never played anything like it. It’s amazing.”

“What makes it so amazing?”

“I can’t describe it.”

“The graphics?”

“No, the graphics are just okay.”

“The gameplay?”

“Yeah, maybe. When you play it, you don’t want to stop. All the really good games are like that. But this one … it deserves all the awards. This is part of our legal defense, right? You want to know about the game, but I can’t really put it into words. I need to show you. They have to let you do this, don’t they? Isn’t it infringing upon my rights to a fair trial, not to let me share all the evidence with you?”

“There won’t be a trial,” Rowan reminded her. “Just a hearing. You’re pleading guilty, remember?”

“Right,” Chrissy said. “And they won’t let me play video games in prison, so why the hell are you trying to keep it away from me when it could save my life? They could execute me, you know. I could get the death penalty for what I did. Let’s get the game set up in here. Or another room. It doesn’t matter where. Anywhere.” She sounded manic.

“California doesn’t have the death penalty. Take a deep breath, Chrissy.”

“I don’t want to take a deep breath. I want to play the fucking game.”

“That’s not an option.”

Chrissy stood up. “You’re supposed to be looking out for my best interests! What the hell am I paying you for?”

“Chrissy, I’m going to need you to sit down,” Rowan said, keeping his voice calm. He saw no reason to remind her he was a court-appointed attorney. “I told the guards they didn’t have to chain you to the desk, and I’d like to keep it that way.”

“I don’t want to sit down.”

“If you don’t sit down, I’ll leave.”

“Let me pace,” Chrissy argued. “I’ll stay on my side of the room, I promise.”

“All right. Don’t make me regret this.”

Chrissy paced back and forth, vigorously scratching her arms. “I just don’t get why you can’t bring the game in here. Who would it hurt? You said yourself it could help me. I need help!”

“You were refused bail because you begged the cops to let you keep playing the video game, with your husband’s dead body bleeding all over the carpet in the same room. So, no, even if I tried to get a judge to grant you special permission, it wouldn’t happen any more than I’d be allowed to deliver a baggie of crystal meth to someone who was here on drug charges.”

“Then why even bring it up? Why even mention the game? Do you think it’s funny to dangle it in front of me, then snatch it away?”

“Absolutely not,” Rowan said. “You consider yourself a gamer, right? As in, you take this hobby seriously?”

“Hell yeah, I do.”

“And has anything like this ever happened before?”

“Killing my husband? Nope. First time for that one.”

“I mean, the level of addiction.”

“No,” Chrissy said. “I played all night with friends in college sometimes. Skipped class once in a while. Nothing like this. Ever. After I got married, I mostly just did stuff with Kevin, but he was never really into it. If he’d let me finish the game, none of this would have happened. Everything would have been fine. It’s on him.”

“I know you said the game was better than sex—”

“A thousand times better than sex.”

“Right,” Rowan said. “How did it actually make you feel when you were playing it?”

“Do you mean, did it make me horny?”

“Did it?”

Chrissy shook her head. “It was just … fun. Really fucking fun. I didn’t want to stop playing. I didn’t care about anything else.”

“You said it might be the gameplay. What made it so much fun, compared to all of the other games you’ve played? Was it the challenge? What was it?”

“I can’t describe it.”

“Were you fully present while you were playing? Or was it more like being stoned?”

“I don’t do drugs. I smoked weed once in college, and it wasn’t for me.”

“Drunk, then?” Rowan asked.

“No. Nothing like that.”

“What you’re saying—and I need you to be completely honest with me—is that you were completely aware of what was happening while you were playing the game?”

“What’s best for my case?” Chrissy asked.

“Right now, telling the truth. We’ll discuss other options later.”

“Okay. Yes, I was completely aware. It wasn’t like I went into this possessed state or anything like that. But is it better if I say I did?”

“I said, we’ll discuss other options later,” Rowan said. “Is there a reason you don’t seem very upset that Kevin is dead?”

“I’m devastated he’s dead.”

“You’re not acting like you’re in mourning.”

“I have other things to worry about, obviously. And he did something unforgiveable. I doubt wives who discover their husbands are pedophiles feel too bad if they get shivved in prison.”

“Are you comparing unplugging a video game to pedophilia?”

“I’m saying, it’s his fault,” Chrissy snapped. “He brought it on himself. I’m sure in your line of work you’ve met with plenty of people who turn against their spouses when their crimes are exposed. What’s the divorce rate amongst prisoners?”

Rowan decided to drop the current line of questioning. She clearly wasn’t getting that most people considered unplugging a video game a lesser crime than pedophilia and that disrupting a gaming experience, though annoying, didn’t typically fall into the “deserving of capital punishment” category.

“Do you know anyone else who’s played the game?” he asked.

“No. It hasn’t been released yet.”

“There’s a guy in Phoenix who played it.”

“Did he kill his wife?”

“They found him dead in his apartment. Apparently, he was so addicted to the game, he refused to leave the couch to get a drink of water.”

Chrissy nodded. “I can see that.”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah. I don’t think I’ve made it clear just how good this game is.”

“The Phoenix story is completely bonkers,” Rowan said. “We may be able to use it to get the judge to give you a more lenient sentence. Or maybe even get the court to accept a guilty plea on the grounds of insanity.”

“I’m not insane.”

“Temporary insanity. Though it hasn’t worn off yet.”

“Was that a joke?” Chrissy asked.

“No. Statement of fact. I’ve been talking to the sister of the guy in Phoenix. May I have your permission to discuss your case with her? The more we can link the two incidents, the better off you’ll be.”

“Sure. I don’t give a shit.”

“Thank you,” Rowan said. “I need you to think very carefully about how the game made you feel. It needs to be convincing. We’ll write a statement to read in court. Meanwhile, I need you to behave, because getting thrown into solitary confinement doesn’t help your case. And try to show more remorse for what you did to Kevin.”

“I’ve been having memory issues since I was locked up. But I think if you brought in the game, I’d remember everything. No one needs to know.”

“Chrissy—”

“It’s not a big deal. Let me play for ten minutes. That’s all. Enough to refresh my memory. Ask the prison guards. They won’t care. They can play, too.”

“No.”

“Make it happen, or I’ll tell them you grabbed my tits while I was handcuffed. I’ll do it. You’ll be right here in jail with me.”

“You know they’re recording this, right?”

Chrissy frowned. “What about attorney client privilege?”

“It’s recorded for security purposes.” Rowan pointed to the camera in the corner of the ceiling.

“Oh.”

“Maybe don’t do that again.”

“I’ll bash my head against the table,” Chrissy told him. “I’ll splatter my brains all over it, and it’ll be your fault, and your conscience will eat you alive. Do you really want to make your client kill herself just because you’re too lazy to bring in a video game?”

“I need you to focus,” Rowan said. “You’re really worked up, so I’m going to leave, but I’ll be back tomorrow. I want you to think hard about how the game made you feel. In the meantime, I’m going to get more information about the other victim, and we’ll see what we can come up with to try and get you a more lenient sentence.”

“I can’t believe I have such a shitty lawyer. You’re completely worthless. No wonder you’re a public defender.”

“One, there’s nothing wrong with being a public defender; and two, I’m not a public defender, I’m a court-assigned attorney. But my job doesn’t require me to take verbal abuse from someone I’m trying to help. You have your homework assignment. I’ll talk to you soon.”

“No, you won’t. Because I’ll be dead before the guards take me out of here.”

“Well, Chrissy, I hope that’s a bluff, because if you smash open your skull against the table, it will be very unpleasant for everyone. And they’ll have to buy a new table. Please try to make good use of your time in solitary confinement, because right now, you’re on track for life without parole. But if you help me out, we might be able to work something out where you’ll still have a future.”

Chrissy sat back down. For one horrifying moment, Rowan thought she might make good on her threat. Instead, she buried her face in her hands and sobbed.

He suspected it was an act. Since the threats weren’t working, maybe tears would.

Rowan walked to the door and tapped on the small window, letting the guards know he was done.

It was the strangest interaction he’d ever had with a client, and he’d once represented a man who insisted he chopped off his neighbor’s hand to see if it would grow back. Rowan lost that case.

He didn’t have much information for Margot, except that Chrissy’s behavior did seem related to that specific game, not a general video game addiction. Which was bizarre. How fun could the game actually be?

When he got back to his car, he called Margot and asked to meet for coffee.

* * *

“Where are they meeting?” the man asked, over the phone.

“The Roasted Bean Spot.”

“What a terrible name for a coffee shop.”

“It’s a small, independent place that makes original blends. Four point eight out of five on Yelp.”

“How far away are you?”

“I’m literally right across the street.”

“Perfect. Then go get yourself a coffee.”

Danielle’s mother, Becky, froze as she stepped into her daughter’s family room.

Josh and Danielle sat on the couch, side by side, playing a video game. They were both covered in blood.

Her daughter, who looked half-dead, glanced at her, while Josh kept his attention on the television screen. He seemed deeply engrossed in their game.

“Could you pause it?” Danielle asked him. Her voice was scratchy, like she had a sore throat.

Josh shook his head.

“Pause it, dammit!” Danielle shouted, punching an open wound on his arm. Josh yelped in pain and paused the game. Danielle looked at Becky. “Hi, Mom.”

Becky stood there, completely stunned. This was not what she expected to see when she used her key to enter her daughter’s home.

“So your mom just walks right in whenever she wants now?” Josh asked.

“I gave her a key. You knew that.”

“I didn’t think she’d use it. Can we un-pause the game now, or are we going to sit here talking to your mom forever?”

Becky tried composing herself, but that wasn’t going to happen, so she blurted out, “I was worried. I’ve been texting and calling for two days, and you didn’t answer.”

“Maybe her phone was broken,” Josh said. “Did you ever think of that?”

“I’ve been texting and calling you, too.”

“We could’ve been having sex,” Josh shot back. “You think we’re going to reply to your texts while we’re having sex?”

“For two solid days?”

“Couldn’t you have at least knocked?”

“I’ve been knocking.”

“It’s okay, Mom,” Danielle said. “I know you were just worried. Everything here is fine.” Blood trickled out of the side of her mouth as she spoke.

“How can everything be fine? Look at yourselves!”

“We had a spat. A few spats,” Danielle corrected. “All couples fight.”

Danielle’s shirt was torn open, exposing her right breast. Her nipple was mangled. There was so much blood on the couch, Becky was surprised one or both of them hadn’t bled to death. With a trembling hand, she took her phone out of her pocket. “I’m calling 911.”

“The fuck you are,” Josh said.

“You need help.”

“No, we don’t,” Danielle said. “We’ll drive ourselves to the emergency room after we beat this game, I promise.”

“All right,” Becky said, quietly. It had to be drugs. She knew her daughter smoked pot, but the strongest strain of marijuana out there wouldn’t cause something like this. Had they switched to hard drugs? That had to be it. There was no other explanation, unless they’d both spontaneously gone completely insane.

She smiled, hoping it didn’t look forced, and took a step back.

“She’s going to call 911 as soon as she leaves the room,” Josh said.

Becky frantically shook her head. “No. You asked me not to call them, so I won’t.”

“She’s lying.”

“I agree with Josh,” Danielle said. “You’re lying.”

“Drop your phone,” Josh told Becky. “That’s the only way we can trust you.”

Becky let her phone drop out of her hand.

“I’m leaving now,” she said, trying to keep her voice steady. “You two enjoy your nice little game.”

“Why are you being condescending about it?” Danielle asked. “Fun Times at the Bloodbath isn’t ‘a nice little game.’ It’s the greatest game ever made. You think we’d be sitting here like this if the game wasn’t worth it? You should try it.”

“No, thank you,” Becky said. “Perhaps some other time.”

“We don’t have a third controller anyway,” Josh said. “If we let you leave, do you promise not to call anyone?”

“I do,” Becky assured him. “I won’t tell a soul. You’re both adults, and what you do in your free time is your business, and your business alone.” She needed to stop babbling.

“Look at the way she’s all twitchy and shit,” Josh told Danielle. “She’s terrified.”

“Well, we are covered in blood,” Danielle admitted.

“She’ll call an ambulance the first chance she gets. We can’t let her leave.”

“I think Josh is right,” Danielle said. “Mom, you can’t leave.”

Becky wondered if she should make a break for it. They were both badly hurt. They probably couldn’t outrun her.

Probably.

“Listen to yourselves,” she said. “Threatening to kidnap me? Danielle, are you really threatening your own mother? This is insane. I’m going to leave. You two can finish your game. And when you’re done, we’ll have a nice long talk.”

“No,” Josh said. “I don’t believe you.”

“Mom, we want you to stay,” Danielle said. “We should spend more time together anyway.”

Feeling sick to her stomach, Becky nodded. “All right.”

“You know what would be great?” Danielle asked. “If you could get us something to eat and drink. We ran out. I haven’t had anything since yesterday.”

“You won’t let me leave the house, but you want me to go to the store for you?”

“No, no, the refrigerator.”

Becky couldn’t believe what she’d heard. They hadn’t consumed anything since yesterday because … the food and drinks were all the way in the kitchen?

“Okay,” she said. “What would you like?”

“Anything,” Josh said.

“Four bottles of water and the big unopened bag of Doritos,” Danielle said.

“But keep talking the whole way so we know where you are,” Josh told her. “If you try to leave, I’ll break your neck.”

“Don’t threaten my mom,” Danielle said.

“You told her she couldn’t leave.”

“It wasn’t a physical threat.”

“What other kind of threat would work?” Josh asked.

“Seriously, don’t do it again.”

“Fine. But if she runs out of the house, it’s your fault. And if she calls the police, and they interrupt the game, I’ll kill you.”

Becky wanted to throw up. Josh wasn’t exaggerating.

“I won’t run away,” she promised, walking toward the kitchen.

If she fled to the front door, she believed she could make it well ahead of Josh, but she couldn’t risk what he might do to her daughter.

“Keep talking!” Josh shouted.

Becky heard music from the family room, as if they’d resumed the game. “I’m going into the kitchen,” she announced.

She walked to the refrigerator and called out her activities as she opened the refrigerator door, took out four bottles of water, and closed the door again. She set the bottles on the counter, then opened a cupboard. “Wrong cupboard!” she shouted. “Okay, this one looks right! I’m grabbing the bag of Doritos. I’m shutting the cupboard door. I’m gathering up the water bottles, and I’m coming back.”

She returned to the family room. Danielle and Josh were playing the game again. It was an extremely gruesome one. Becky had never believed violent video games caused aggressive behavior in players, but maybe they did … ?

She set the chips and two of the bottles on the coffee table, then extended a bottle toward each of them.

“Open it,” Josh said. “Can’t you see we’re playing?”

Becky removed the cap and handed it to Danielle. Her daughter grabbed it so hard, a gush of water shot out the top. She gulped it down like someone who’d spent an entire day wandering through the desert. When she finished, she gasped for breath and tossed the bottle aside.

Josh did the same thing. “Are you going to give us the Doritos, or what?” he asked.

Becky tore open the bag. Josh paused the game, took it from her, and reached in for a huge handful, shoving as many Doritos into his mouth as would fit. As he crunched away, crumbs spraying everywhere, Danielle grabbed her own handful and ate them so fast, Becky worried they might slice up her insides from being improperly chewed.

This was not how she’d raised her daughter to behave.

Josh gestured to the recliner. “Have a seat.”

“I’d rather go.”

“I said, have a seat, bitch!”

“Don’t call my mother a bitch,” Danielle said, raking her fingernails across Josh’s injured chest.

“Ow!” Josh slapped her across the face.

It was incredibly difficult for Becky not to drag Josh off the couch and beat the absolute living shit out of him. If Danielle had been in her right mind, Becky might have done it. But she could easily end up fighting both of them. So she gritted her teeth, clenched her fists, thought violent thoughts, and sat in the recliner.

The slap had given Danielle a bloody nose, but she didn’t seem to care. She didn’t even bother to wipe the blood away, picking up the game controller instead.

Without another word, they resumed their game.

Becky sat and watched. She wished she’d taken a knife from the kitchen.

The purpose of the game seemed to be “kill as many people as possible,” in an incredibly gory fashion. There were occasional moments where they’d select conversation options, all of them filled with harsh profanity. Their current level was called “Kill All Midgets,” because this was not a game which recognized the proper “little people” term. They giggled as they slaughtered them.

An hour passed. Then two. They kept playing.

“I need to go to the bathroom,” Becky said.

“No,” Josh said. “Just pee in the empty chips bag.”

“Danielle, tell your boyfriend to let me go to the bathroom.”

“Let my mom take a piss,” Danielle said.

“We’re in the zone. If she tries to run away, we’ll lose our momentum. If she doesn’t want to pee in the bag, she can wet her pants. We’ve got a washer and dryer.”

“I’ll hold it,” Becky said.

* * *

It was three in the morning, and they wouldn’t stop playing.

Becky’s phone was still on the floor. She could see that she’d missed a couple of calls. Unfortunately, she was divorced, and no one would panic simply because she hadn’t answered her phone. If she didn’t go to work tomorrow morning—technically, this morning—someone would try to get in touch, but the concern of her boss and fellow employees probably wouldn’t reach a “We should report this” level until much later in the day.

The on-screen massacre continued.

* * *

“I need to go to work,” Becky said. “So do both of you.”

“Screw that,” Danielle said. “I’ve got my second wind. I’m ready to play this through to the end.”

“You’ll get fired.”

“They aren’t going to fire me for one no-show. They’re understaffed already.”

“Well, I’ll get fired.”

“Tough shit,” Josh said. “You shouldn’t have barged in here.”

“You need—”

“Enough!” Danielle shouted. “You’re not paying my bills anymore, so please don’t tell me how to live my life. I’m sorry we can’t let you go, but could you please stop distracting us? The sooner we finish this game, the sooner you can leave.”

Becky really, really, really wished she’d taken a knife from the kitchen.

* * *

Becky had never been so miserable. She’d held it as long as she possibly could, but her bladder had finally succumbed. Danielle and Josh didn’t seem to care that she’d peed on their recliner.

Her phone buzzed every fifteen minutes or so. It was nearly one o’clock, and people at work were probably getting worried. But she couldn’t imagine they’d send someone to her home to check on her, much less her daughter’s. If this went on until tomorrow, maybe, but today, she was stuck.

Why couldn’t Josh just bleed to death? Or at least pass out? If he was unconscious or dead, she might be able to talk sense into Danielle.

She hated being completely helpless.

Josh flinched, like a driver who fell asleep for a split second and was jolted back awake.

If he was falling asleep, in addition to being injured, dehydrated, and distracted by the game, she might be able to flee without them catching her.

Becky watched him closely, hoping his eyes would close again.

He looked fully alert.

Shit.

Then he broke into a wide smile.

“Oh my God,” Danielle said, also smiling.

Becky glanced at the television screen. The words “Final Level” flashed, as blood and various internal organs slid down them.

Were they really almost done?

A wave of relief washed over Becky. Her nightmare was almost over.

But what happened when they finished the game … ?

Rowan was waiting outside The Roasted Bean Spot when Margot arrived.

“How weird was it?” she asked.

“Extremely,” Rowan said. “Let’s get coffee first.”

They went inside. Rowan ordered a coffee that was basically a milkshake and looked like it had 4,000 calories, while Margot ordered a large coffee with cream and sugar. After they received their orders, they sat across from each other at a small table.

“Chrissy gave me permission to talk about this with you,” Rowan said. “But I’m going to ask that you not share it with anyone else, unless we discuss it first.”

“I can agree to that, because you paid for my coffee.”

“Yes, that’s exactly it, that coffee bought your silence.” Rowan took a long sip of his drink. “This isn’t a phrase I would use in court, but Chrissy acted batshit crazy. She was so desperate for me to bring the game in for her to play, she threatened to kill herself if I didn’t do it.”

“Are you serious?”

Rowan nodded. “Completely. Now, the fact she was acting bugfuck nuts—again, not how I’d phrase it in front of a jury—calls everything she said into question. But she insists it was this specific game, Fun Times at the Bloodbath, that impacted her this way. She couldn’t stop playing.”

“Oh my God.”

“My normal reaction would be, ‘yeah, right.’ People get addicted to video games all the time. If it goes this far—to the point where she won’t stop playing even when the police burst into her home and see her husband lying in a pool of blood on the floor—it’s mental illness. It’s not the game’s fault. That would be my normal reaction.”

“What’s your reaction now?”

“Knowing what happened to your brother, I have to consider it might have something to do with that specific game.”

“But what could it be?” Margot asked. “It can’t possibly be that the game is so much fun they couldn’t stop, right?”

“I don’t know,” Rowan admitted. “All I know is when someone sits in his own filth until he dies of thirst, because he doesn’t want to stop playing Fun Times at the Bloodbath, I can chalk it up to depression, or a medical issue, or something else. But when you look at Chrissy’s behavior—along with your brother’s—I can’t ignore the connection between the two incidents.”

“So what do you think we should do?”

“There’s almost nothing online about the game, which is very strange on its own.”

Margot nodded. “I know! I couldn’t find much, either.”

“I’m going to hire a private investigator to look into the game,” Rowan said. “She’ll cost significantly more per hour than I’ll make for handling the case, and I can tell you right now the county isn’t going to consider it a justified expense. So I’m not going to hire her for very long. But I want to know what the hell is going on.”

“I could help pay,” Margot offered.

“She costs $125 an hour.”

“My parents could help pay.”

“For now, let’s just see what she can dig up in an afternoon.”

“Thank you for this,” Margot said. “I really appreciate it.”

“No, thank you. This could help my client.” Rowan glanced at his cell phone. “Do you have any questions?”

“Chrissy seemed truly out of her mind?”

“Completely. It was unnerving.”

“I wonder what Bobby was like. I’ve spent the past month thinking, if only I’d gotten there sooner, but if I had, maybe he would have tried to kill me. Maybe he would have succeeded.”

“I’m sure he wouldn’t have done that,” Rowan said. “And on that note of meaningless reassurance, I should get going. I have a bunch of less interesting cases that require my attention.” He pushed back his chair and picked up his drink.

“Thanks again.”

A man who looked about sixty years old walked to their table. He wore shorts and a bright yellow shirt. His bald head was badly sunburned, the skin peeling in a few spots. “Hello,” he said, giving Rowan and Margot a wide, friendly smile.

“Hi,” Rowan said.

“Let’s talk.”

“About what?” Rowan asked, cautiously.

“About life in general.”

“Thanks, but we were just about to leave.”

The man’s smile widened a bit. “I’d prefer you didn’t. C’mon, let’s go to a bigger table. It’s not like you’ve finished your coffees, so join me for a quick chat. It’ll be worth your time, I promise.”

“She’ll be late for a job interview,” Rowan said.

“Aw, now, don’t be like that. Do you really get a dangerous vibe from me?”

Margot did. Very much so. But she didn’t say anything.

“I’m not even going to try to trip you up by questioning you about the job interview, because I know it’s bullshit,” the man said. “Don’t you two want to talk about video games?”

“We do,” Rowan said. “You should have said that in the first place.”

The man led them across the coffee shop to a free table with four chairs. He pulled out Margot’s chair for her, and she reluctantly sat down. She was very interested in hearing what this man had to say, yet she couldn’t deny how intimidating he seemed, even with the cheerful smile. But they were in a public place, and Rowan was with her, so she was sure it would be okay.

Rowan sat next to her, the man across from them. “Pleased to meet you,” he said. “I’m Bowie.”

“Like the singer?” Rowan asked.

“Like the knife.”

“Gotcha. And I assume you know our names already?”

Bowie laughed. “Yes. Yes, I do. But you’re acting like I’m being all sinister. What’s that about? I’m just here to have a friendly chat.”

“It’s the way you said, I’d prefer you didn’t,” Rowan told him. “There was an undercurrent of menace.”

“Was there?”

“Very much so.”

“Oh. Well, I apologize for that.” Bowie’s tone was anything but sincere. “It wasn’t my intention. I mean, it was, a little, but I wasn’t trying to get you quaking in your little booties.”

“I’m not quaking in my booties,” Rowan said. “If I thought you meant us genuine harm, I’d just slap the top of your head. But I spend a lot of time around unfriendly people, and I’ll be honest, you come off as someone not so nice.”

Bowie peered at him for an awkward moment, then laughed. “I like you. I could reach across this table and stab you in the chest a dozen times before anyone but your girlfriend even noticed—and I’m pretty sure you know it—but you’re still willing to insult me. Respect.”

“To be fair, ‘not very nice’ isn’t much of an insult.”

“You’re right, it’s not. I still respect the effort.”

“Also, she’s not my girlfriend.”

“I know,” Bowie said. “I just said that to get a rise out of you. You’re married with two daughters. And you—” He looked at Margot, “—have a boyfriend, Larry.”

Margot didn’t correct him, but she was glad he wasn’t keeping close enough tabs on her to know that Larry was her ex-boyfriend.

“I sincerely hope you’re not threatening my family,” Rowan said. His lighthearted tone had completely disappeared.

“I’m not. Relax. We’re keeping high-level tabs on you, but we’re not spying on your every move. No one’s watching your house. It’s all good.”

“Then what do you want?”

“I’ve been trying to get to that, but you’re too focused on how scary I am. Let’s all do some deep breathing exercises together.”

“Listen, Bowie—”

“I’m serious. We’re going to close our eyes, take a deep breath, slowly let it out, and repeat this to the count of ten.”

“I’m not closing my eyes around you,” Rowan said.

“All right, all right, I see how it is.” Bowie looked at Margot. “Do you ever talk?”

“I’m letting the attorney speak on my behalf.”

“Funny.”

“Fine, let’s start over,” Rowan said. He extended his hand. “I’m Rowan Mincher. Pleased to meet you.”

Bowie shook it. “And I’m Bowie, last name unimportant.”

Margot extended her hand as well. “I’m Margot Rosewood.”

Bowie took her hand and pressed it to his lips. “A lovely name for a lovely woman.”

Margot didn’t yank her hand away, but she pulled it away more quickly than intended.

“It’s okay,” Bowie assured her. “I wasn’t going to bite.”

“Tell us what you know, Bowie,” Rowan said.

“You probably think I’m here to warn you to stop investigating Fun Times at the Bloodbath. That’s not the case. We didn’t think two people like you would meet so soon, but we’re fine with it. We admire your tenacity, Margot. So, to be clear, I’m absolutely not saying if you keep digging, we’ll kill your family. We would never do that. What I’m asking, politely, is that if you’re going to keep going, be chill about it. No press conferences, no viral TikTok videos … nothing like that. That’s all. You play it cool, and we’ll play it cool. How does that sound?”

“It sounds like a threat.”

Bowie shrugged. “You say threat, I say agreement. I’m not asking you to stop anything you’re doing. I’m just saying, hey, maybe don’t take it to the next level quite yet. I really don’t think that’s too much to ask.”

“I’m using the addictive nature of this specific game as part of my client’s defense, and tying it into what happened to Margot’s brother,” Rowan said. “Is that acceptable?”

“Not really, no,” Bowie said. “I’m going to suggest you don’t do that.”

“Okay, so, that’s a problem. My job is to give my client the most rigorous defense I can provide. Am I supposed to ignore that, just because you asked nicely?”

“She slashed her husband’s throat with a meat cleaver. She’s going to prison forever and ever. How would this help her?”

“It could show that it was the game, and not her.”

“These games are addictive on purpose,” Bowie said. “They want you to keep playing. The World Health Organization recognizes ‘gaming disorder’ as an actual disease. Have you ever played a slot machine game on your phone?”

“No,” Rowan said.

“What about you, Margot?”

Margot shook her head.

“A slot machine game, with its fake money, is one of the dumbest things you can imagine. You’re not winning anything. You’re not losing anything. But when you win, your heart races, and when you lose, you feel like shit, even though there are no actual stakes. It’s a completely artificial gambling experience, yet you don’t want to quit playing. The game will let you have those joyous moments where you win a big jackpot, and then the algorithm is programmed to make you lose everything, so you’ll pay real money to get more fake money. And people will do it. It’s addictive.”

“Right,” Rowan said. “My college roommate freshman year flunked out because he didn’t have his parents around telling him to stop playing Mario or Luigi, or whichever one it was. But there’s a pretty big difference between skipping classes and what my client and Margot’s brother experienced, both with the same game.”

“True. Very true.” Bowie gave them another wide smile. “Anyway, I think I’ve made my point. Neither of you are in any danger at the moment, and it shouldn’t be too hard to keep it that way. Don’t go bringing the police or FBI into this—that’s no fun for anyone. Are we all clear on this?”

“Yes, but fuck you,” Rowan said. “You acted like you were going to give us useful information, and all you did was offer up a thinly veiled threat. Waste of our time.”

“What would you like to know?”

“What the hell is Fun Times at the Bloodbath?”

“Nothing much. Just something that’s going to be the most popular video game of all time.” Bowie pushed back his chair and stood up. “It was a pleasure meeting you both.”

They watched him leave.

“What now?” Margot asked.

“I … don’t know. I deal with a lot of scumbags in my line of work, but this is a new experience.” Rowan sighed. “It’s not hard to delay courtroom stuff. I can ask for more time.”

“What about his threats?”

“I believe him. But it’s not like I can send my family off to some bunker, so I’m also going to choose to trust him. Are you willing to keep whatever we find out on the downlow for now?”

“Of course,” Margot said. “My mom and dad will want to know how this trip went, and I’ll just tell them talking to you was a waste of time.”

“Perfect.” Rowan picked up his drink as if he was going to take a sip, then set it back down. “There’s no reason for you to stay in town. I’m still going to hire the private investigator, since that’s apparently not against the rules. I’ll let you know what she turns up.”

“Thank you.”

“I feel worse than I did before we met for coffee,” Rowan said. “What about you?”

“Definitely. Most popular video game of all time. I don’t like that at all.”

“Level Failed,” the game proclaimed.

“Damn it, Josh, what kind of move was that?” Danielle asked, as she restarted the final level for the seventeenth or eighteenth time.

“You’re the one who keeps messing up,” Josh insisted.

“No, I get killed because this last level is really hard. You get killed because you’re not paying attention and making stupid mistakes.”

“You think I’m not paying attention? We’re on the final level of the greatest video game ever made, and you think I’m not paying attention? I have never paid more attention to anything in my entire life! We could be the first people ever to play this game all the way through. Have you thought about that? We could be making history here!”

“Hell yeah, I’ve thought about it!” Danielle said. “It’s been on my mind this whole time. That’s why I need you to quit messing up!”

Becky was completely miserable. They’d stopped allowing her to take stretch breaks, so her legs were cramping up, even though it was a very comfortable recliner. They’d struck each other in anger several times while playing. Josh had threatened to rip out her clit ring. The threat of violence infuriated Becky, and she also wasn’t thrilled to know her daughter had a clit ring.

She was desperate for this to be over but also terrified what the game’s end meant for her. Josh knew she’d go to the police. Would Danielle be able to convince him to let her go?

“We need to focus,” Danielle told Josh. “Get our heads in the game. Think about how amazing an accomplishment it’ll be when we finish. Think about how nice it will be to go to the emergency room and get all our wounds treated.”

“That would be great,” he said. “My nipples really hurt.”

“Mine too. So let’s do this. Let’s work as a team and give it our all. We can beat this game—I know we can. We can do it together.”

Josh nodded. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.” Danielle leaned over and gave him a bloody kiss.

They resumed playing.

Watching others play a video game was not Becky’s idea of entertainment. It was impossible for her to be truly bored under these circumstances, but she was getting sick of watching them play this repeatedly.

The final level of Fun Times at the Bloodbath involved racing through Heaven and killing angels left and right. When their wings were chainsawed off, they’d plummet through the air, leaving a bloody hole in the clouds. Josh and Danielle had left a gory mess across Paradise many times, but they had yet to defeat the final boss: God.

They hurried into His castle, slaughtering dozens of angel guards as they made their way toward His chamber. They appeared to be doing quite well; the angels defended themselves by flinging halos like frisbees, but Josh had only been hit once and Danielle not at all.

With all the guardian angels dead, Danielle and Josh’s avatars unlocked the golden doors and moved into the chamber. God, a shirtless muscular Caucasian with flowing white hair, pointed an accusing finger, then began flinging exploding bibles.

They’d made it this far before, but never with so little damage.

Josh fired at God with a high-powered nail gun, while Danielle unleashed the power of her flamethrower.

The battle raged on for several minutes. Credit where it was due, they worked extremely well as a team, and God’s burnt skin was filled with nails.

But before He could succumb to His injuries, the floor cracked open, and Satan climbed into the chamber. God and Satan shook hands, then turned their combined might against Danielle and Josh.

They were staring so intently at the television, Becky thought it might be the perfect opportunity to escape. But she couldn’t imagine their rage if she distracted them from the game at such a crucial point. Better to wait it out.

They played for another twenty minutes before Satan, now half-skeletonized, dropped to the floor. It cracked open beneath him, and he disappeared.

Shortly after that, Danielle’s avatar cut off God’s head with a chainsaw. She held it up by His flowing hair.

“Level Complete!” flashed on the screen.

“We did it!” Josh shouted. “We fucking did it!”

A short cartoon man in a shiny tuxedo walked onto the screen. “Congratulations on completing Fun Times at the Bloodbath,” he said. “Hope you enjoyed the game! Goodnight!” He waved and walked away. The screen faded to black.

Danielle and Josh leaned against the couch, setting their controllers aside.

“I have never been so satisfied in my life,” Danielle said.

“Me either,” Josh said. “I could die happy right now.”

“May I leave now?” Becky asked.

“Not yet,” Josh said. “We have to figure some stuff out first.”

“I won’t tell anyone, I swear. I’ll just—”

“Will you stop trying to ruin our moment?” Danielle snapped. “We just beat the game! Quit trying to make it about you!”

Becky lowered her eyes. “I’m sorry.”

“I don’t know what to do now,” Danielle said. “Does anything else even matter anymore? What am I supposed to do, go back to work? Sit there for eight hours a day, answering the phone and making appointments? How can I do that, knowing what I’ve accomplished?”

“I know exactly how you feel,” Josh said. “I’d rather tear my eyes out than build another website. Like … what else is left? Marriage? Kids? Who gives a shit about that?”

“Have we peaked?”

“We have. There’s nothing left for us to do. To keep going would just be a waste of time. What’s the point? Why kid ourselves?”

“Stop talking like that,” Becky said. “Let me take you to the hospital. You’re exhausted and in pain and not thinking straight.”

“Mom, will you please shut the fuck up? Is that really so difficult?”

“I know what’s wrong with her,” Josh said. “She’s been watching us play for a long time. She might be the very first person to watch someone beat the game. This moment, right now, is as good as it’s ever going to be for any of us. Anything past this will be one disappointment after another. I don’t want to live like that, do you?”

Danielle shook her head. “Definitely not. Not at all.”

Josh gestured to Becky. “And she wouldn’t want to live like that, would she?”

“Nope.”

“That’s not true,” Becky insisted. “I want to live. It’s just a game!”

“She doesn’t know what she’s saying,” Josh told Danielle. “She’ll be miserable. Every experience after this will feel hollow.”

Becky couldn’t process what they were saying. Yes, they’d been sitting there, covered in blood, playing a video game for days. The rules of the rational world had long since been left behind, but … were they going to kill her? Did they really believe she’d gotten everything she possibly could out of life? Somehow, impossibly, the insanity had been cranked up to the next level.

Leaping from the recliner, she bolted out of the family room.

She could hear them following her, but they’d been on the couch even longer than she’d been on the recliner. Maybe they were so stiff and sore they couldn’t catch her.

Becky heard a gunshot, stumbled, then felt the pain in her leg.

She knew they owned a gun. It was supposed to be locked in a safe.

She fell to the floor, landing on her side. Blood spurted from the bullet wound, but her focus was on Josh.

“Where should I shoot her?” he asked Danielle.

“What kind of a question is that? We’re not torturing her. Shoot her in the head.”

Josh crouched beside Becky. “Open wide.”

“Don’t do this,” Becky pleaded.

“It’s okay, Mom,” Danielle said. “We’re doing you a favor. We’re sparing you a lot of heartache.”

“You don’t need to rush this,” Becky said. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe I’ve peaked. That doesn’t mean you have to kill me now. Give me a chance to decide for myself!”

Josh tried shoving the barrel of the gun into her mouth, but she pressed her lips tightly together.

“Tell her to open her mouth!” Josh said.

“Mom, open your mouth.”

Becky refused. Obviously, Josh could shoot right through her lips and teeth, but she refused to cooperate.

Josh removed the gun from her lips and pushed the barrel between her eyes.

Becky grabbed his hand.

Josh squeezed the trigger.

* * *

Danielle screamed. She’d generated thousands of gallons of digital gore on her television screen, but seeing blood, bone, and brain matter in real-life was completely different. As her mother’s body twitched, Danielle turned and vomited, the splatter hitting the wall and the floor.

“I’m sorry,” she said, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.

“It’s okay,” Josh assured her. “The mess is only going to get worse.”

Danielle took a moment to compose herself, then spat up some more bile. She needed to wipe her mouth better, so she lifted her shirt, found a small spot without blood, and used that.

“It was the right thing to do,” Josh said. “We spared her a lot of suffering and regret.”

“I know. But it’s my mom. It’s hard to see her like that.”

“I get it. I totally get it. I mean, I’d feel horrible if it was my mom we killed.”

“We should hurry,” Danielle said. “A neighbor might have heard the gunshot and called the cops.”

“How do you want to do this?”

“What do you think?”

“Keep it simple? I shoot you, then myself?”

“Do you promise you’ll really do it?”

Josh frowned. “What are you trying to say?”

“I’m not trying to say anything. I just don’t want you to shoot me, then chicken out when it’s time to kill yourself.”

“Danielle, we have achieved the pinnacle of our lives. The world has absolutely nothing left to offer. Why would you think I’d chicken out?”

“Understanding why we need to do this isn’t the same as having the courage to do it.”

“I can’t believe, with everything we’ve just been through together, you’d accuse me of being a coward. It’s scarier to kill yourself than to let someone else do it, but if you want to be a complete bitch, fine. Do it yourself. Fuck you, Danielle.”

Josh put the barrel of the gun in his mouth and squeezed the trigger. The back of his head burst apart.

Instead of screaming again, Danielle watched in stunned silence as he fell to the floor, landing next to her mother.

She never should have implied he didn’t have the courage. It was a horrible thing to say. And now, instead of closing her eyes and waiting for the end, she had to commit suicide. What a disaster.

The gun had landed in the pool of her mother’s still-warm blood. She reached for the weapon, then hesitated.

Danielle didn’t know anything about guns. What would happen to one that was covered in blood? Would it jam? Would it explode in her hand? She was ready to die, but she didn’t want to be maimed. What if it blew her hand apart, and the paramedics got her to the hospital before she was able to finish the job?

She needed to Google “Can you fire a bloody gun?”

The cell phone inside her pocket was slick with blood that had soaked through her pants. The power had turned off and wouldn’t turn back on. She recognized it didn’t matter at this point in her life, but she was still angry to have ruined a phone she’d only had for a couple months.

Tossing the phone aside, she went into the family room and picked up her mother’s phone. The power was on, but the phone was locked, so she returned to the hallway and held it next to her mother’s face.

It wouldn’t unlock.

She wiped off some blood, then tried again. Held it closer. Then farther away. Did phones not unlock from a corpse face? Her mom’s face was contorted into an expression of agony, but that shouldn’t matter, should it?

Danielle entered her birthday as the passcode. Didn’t work. Entered her mother’s birthday. Also, didn’t work. She tossed the phone away in frustration.

Josh had a phone and laptop, but screw it. She’d wasted enough time already. Better to assume she couldn’t properly fire a gun that had blood in the barrel and chamber and instead, find another way to get this done.

She went into the kitchen.

Opened the drawer and took out a knife.

Pressed the tip against her throat.

She was terrified, but filled with bliss. How many people got to exit the world on such a glorious note? She had completed Fun Times at the Bloodbath. She and Josh might very well have been the first human beings to do so. They’d made history. And now, instead of continuing a life that could never live up to what she’d just accomplished, she was going out on top.

A hero.

She held the handle of the knife tightly with both hands. It was important to get this right.

She’d count to three, then shove the blade in as hard as she could.

What if she hesitated at the last instant?

Was there a better way to do this?

Maybe instead of pushing the blade into her neck, she should hold the blade and slam her neck against it.

Perhaps slam into the refrigerator door. Get a running start.

That would work.

She stood about ten feet away from the refrigerator. Held the blade in place. Then ran toward it at full speed.

When she struck the refrigerator door, the blade went in, all the way.

Perfection. Her legacy would never be forgotten.

Bonnie peeked into Rowan’s office. “Beatrice is here.”

“Oh, good, thanks. Send her in.”

A moment later, Beatrice Galt walked into his office. She was fifty years old and looked very much like a butch lesbian, even though Rowan knew she proudly went through male lovers like television shows—binge-watched and quickly forgotten.

She sat down. “You know, I’m charging you for my driving time. We could’ve done this over the phone.”

“I know, I know. I’m a little paranoid about phone calls right now. I like the blonde hair, by the way.”

Bea ran her fingers through her short, spiky hair. “I’m undercover.”

“You should keep it.”

“I might. So, Fun Times at the Bloodbath. Video games are massive undertakings these days, so it’s amazing how little a paper trail there is. It could all be under the table.”

“Could it be disguised as some other company?” Rowan asked.

“It’s possible, but I do have a name and address. FTATA Inc. They have an office in Austin, Texas.”

“Shouldn’t it be FTATB?”

“I don’t know what the A stands for,” Bea said. She handed him a piece of paper. “Here’s the address. If you look it up on Google Maps, it’s a small office in a dumpy strip mall. No offense.”

“No offense taken. My office sucks. Do you think it’s a front?”

“No. You use a front if your legitimate business is hiding an illegitimate one. Like, if your law practice was a cover for a lucrative sex-trafficking business.”

“I know what a front is. I’m just surprised that a video game manufacturer would have a dinky little office in a strip mall. But I guess if all the game programmers worked from home, they wouldn’t need much.”

“I’m more than happy to knock on their door and see what I can find out,” Bea said.

“Nah, that’s okay. This investigation is completely out of pocket, and it wouldn’t really be helping my client. I appreciate what you’ve found for me. Send me an invoice.”

“I will. Thank you for continuing to remind me that not all lawyers are rich.”

“It’s my most valuable service.”

“How are Denise and the kids?”

“Are you on the clock?”

“Yep.”

“They’re fine. No further questions.”

“I’m kidding,” Bea said. “How are they?”

“Denise likes her job but hates her new boss. The swear jar is up to about eight bucks in the past month.”

“How much per swear?”

“A quarter.”

“That’s a good fuckin’ deal.”

“We found seventeen candy wrappers hidden under Laura’s bed, thus solving the intriguing mystery of who kept sneaking candy out of the pantry. We thought it was probably the suspect who had chocolate on her face and kept looking at the floor when she was interrogated about it, but it was good to find the evidence.”

“All circumstantial, though,” Bea said. “Maybe Denise framed her.”

“I hadn’t thought of that.”

“Enjoy this while it lasts. Soon she’ll be hiding worse things under her bed.”

“Jenny got straight A’s again.”

“Nice. Tell her congratulations for me.”

“I will.”

“So apart from the potty-mouth and the criminal, it sounds like everyone is doing well.”

“Yeah,” Rowan said. “I mean, their lives were subtly threatened if I go public with this investigation, but aside from my concern for their safety, it’s all good.”

“I’m back on the clock,” Bea told him. “If you need anything, let me know.”

“I will, thanks.”

* * *

Margot made sure her boss wasn’t watching, then took out her cell phone and glanced at the caller. Rowan Mincher was on the screen. Talking on the phone when she wasn’t on break was strictly prohibited, so she shoved the phone back into her pocket and picked up the tray for table 7.

When she had time for a speedy bathroom break, she texted him: I’ll call you back when my shift is up, unless this is urgent.

Not urgent, Rowan texted back. Call when you can.

A few hours later, aching all over as usual, Margot walked to her car. She got inside, fantasizing about the luxurious bubble bath she’d take when she got back to her apartment—if her apartment actually had a bathtub. It was 10:15p.m., which she hoped wasn’t too late to call.

I’m free. I can call tomorrow if you want.

A few seconds later, Rowan called.

“Hi,” she answered. “Sorry it’s so late.”

“Not a problem. I keep weird hours.”

“I assume you have an update?”

“Not much of one, unfortunately. My private investigator basically confirmed there’s almost no information on them. I have the company name, which is FTATA Inc., and an address.”

“FTATA. Fun Times At The … what?”

“Not sure. They have a tiny office in Austin.”

“Austin, Minnesota?”

“No, Texas.”

“Oh,” Margot said. “I have an aunt who lives in Austin, Minnesota. They have the Spam Museum there.”

“Then I know the perfect place for my next family vacation. But, no, this is Austin, Texas. A small office in a strip mall. That’s all we know. And like I said, the county isn’t going to believe this is a necessary expense, so I can’t pay her to look in more depth.”

“What about someone local there?”

“Private investigators are still expensive. I don’t know anyone there who would do me a free favor and swing by the place.”

“I understand,” Margot said. “I don’t expect you to use your own money on this. You’ll give me the address, right?”

“Of course. Are you going to hire someone?”

“No, I’m going to drive there myself.”

“I don’t recommend that.”

“I need to know what’s going on with this game. And I really don’t like that Bowie Knife said it was going to be the most popular game ever. I’ll be careful, and I won’t break any rules, but I have to do this.”

“I can respect that,” Rowan said. “I don’t like it, but I respect it.”

“It’s been a long time since I’ve had great barbecue,” Margot said. “Even if the trip turns out to be a bust, it’ll be worth it to get some legitimate Texas brisket.”

“It won’t be as good as the fish tacos.”

“Nothing will.”

“When are you going?”

“First thing tomorrow.”

* * *

It was close to nine hundred miles from Tucson to Austin. Margot would be there by late evening.

She was four hours into her drive when she called her boss, explaining how she was having extreme difficulty coping with the death of her brother and needed a few extra days off. Her boss, Fred, explained in detail that they were understaffed and her absence would be a major inconvenience. She apologized, said she was already out of town and, regardless of the consequences, would not be reporting to work. Muttering, Fred said she might still have a job waiting for her upon her return, but her time off was unpaid. She thanked him for his generosity.

Margot had no idea how far she’d take this. She had no plans to break into the office after dark or do anything else to put her life—or lack of a criminal record—at risk. It all depended on what happened when she showed up at the office bright and early tomorrow.

It was possible Fun Times at the Bloodbath was not to blame. Maybe Bobby had mental health issues. Maybe Chrissy did too. Maybe it was a coincidence they were both playing the same game. For all she knew, this sort of thing happened all the time, with different games.

Maybe.

But she doubted most video game manufacturers sent thugs to intimidate the player’s family. If anything, it should have been a lawyer asking her to sign a form promising not to sue them.

She needed to at least try to solve this mystery. If she lost her job, well, every restaurant in the country was understaffed. She could find a new place to work.

* * *

Margot was in Texas, but still had a lot of Texas to go, when her car overheated.

“No,” she said, pulling onto the side of the highway. “No, no, no, no.”

She turned off the engine. “Shit.”

The car sucked, but it hadn’t given her problems for a while, so she’d trusted it. And it had betrayed her.

Margot turned on the hazard lights, popped open the trunk, and got out of the vehicle. She retrieved a towel from the trunk and used it to protect her hands from getting burnt as she raised the hood. A thick cloud of steam billowed out.

She’d give it half an hour and hope for the best.

Several drivers stopped to ask if she was okay, and she assured them she was.

The sixth or seventh car to stop was a gray sedan with several bumper stickers showcasing the driver’s disapproval of trans people. Unlike the other cars, where the drivers simply rolled down their windows and asked if she needed help, this driver shut off his vehicle and got out.

He was about forty. Short hair, sunglasses, and the kind of build that said, “I get a lot of exercise, but I also drink a lot of beer.”

“Need any help, young lady?” he asked. It was unfair of Margot to assume he was staring at her breasts, since she couldn’t see his eyes, but his facial expression was like that of someone staring at a young woman’s breasts.

“Thank you, no, I’m fine.”

“You sure? Looks like you’ve had some car trouble.”

“I did, yes. It overheated. I’m waiting for it to cool down.”

“Letting it cool down doesn’t mean it’s going to start again.”

“I know,” Margot said. “But it might, and I don’t want to call a tow truck until I know for sure the car isn’t going to start again.”

The man licked his lips. Not in a grotesque, slavering way—just with the tip of his tongue. It was still unnerving. “It’s not safe to be standing here by the side of the road. You could get hit.”

“Well, I’m working under the assumption that cars aren’t going to swerve off the road at me. Anyway, I appreciate you checking, but I promise, I’m fine.”

“I could give you a ride into town.”

“That’s very kind of you, but I don’t need a ride.” Margot held up her cell phone. “If it doesn’t start, I’ll call someone. I’d rather stay with my car.”

“I hear what you’re saying,” the man said. “That said, it wouldn’t be right for me to leave a young lady in distress without doing what I can to help her out.”

“That’s very sweet. But I’m not in distress. Yes, my car broke down, but it’s broad daylight, there’s a constant flow of people driving by, my cell phone is fully charged, and I have a strong signal. It’s wonderful that you’re being a Good Samaritan, but I don’t need help or company right now.”

“You’re not worried about getting raped or killed?”

“I’d like you to leave me alone now,” Margot said.

“It wouldn’t be right,” the man insisted. “Imagine what it would do to my conscience if I heard later that the wrong kind of person showed up. What if I read somewhere that you were never seen again, and I could’ve stopped it from happening? What’s your name, honey?”

“Please don’t make me call the police.”

“Oh, wow, things sure escalated, didn’t they? It’s hot and miserable out here. Why not let me take you for ice cream? I’ll get you a nice big vanilla scoop, and by the time we’re done, your car should be all cooled down. I’m just trying to help. Why are you being rude? A pretty girl like you shouldn’t be acting like this.”

Another car pulled off, parking behind hers. Thank God. Margot sighed in relief.

“Your services are no longer required,” Margot told the man. “Time for you to go now. Bye.”

The man didn’t leave. Margot kept her eyes on him as, behind her, a car door opened and somebody got out.

“What seems to be the problem here?” a familiar voice asked.

Margot turned around to confirm that, yes, it was indeed Bowie. His sunburn looked better. Margot didn’t know whether she should be relieved or more concerned.

“There’s no problem,” the man said. “She’s just having a bit of car trouble, that’s all.”

“I’m pretty good with cars,” Bowie said. “I’ll take a look.”

“It’s okay,” the man told him. “I’ve got it covered.”

“No, you just want to fuck her. And I can tell she has no interest in fucking you back. So I’m going to recommend you get back in your car, drive away, and spend the rest of your drive in silent reflection about your behavior.”

The man clenched his fists.

“All right,” Bowie said. “I can see by your body language that you want to kick my ass. I promise, getting physical would be a mistake. If you go now, you can leave with your dignity and your face intact.”

“You think I’m afraid of you?” the man asked.

“I think you should be, and that’s what’s important.”

“You should listen to him,” Margot told the man. “He’s giving you good advice.”

The man scowled at her. “Bitch,” he muttered under his breath.

“I’m going to give you a free pass on that because you used the B-word instead of the C-word,” Bowie informed him. “Disrespect her again and we’ll have a very serious problem.”

The man gave Bowie the finger, then returned to his car. He turned it on, revved the engine, then sped back into the right lane, where he was almost rear-ended by a truck.

“I thought you weren’t spying on me,” Margot said.

“We’re not spying on you all that much.”

“You knew what we were talking about.”

“Intuition.”

“Well … thanks?”

“Not a problem,” Bowie said. “I’d offer you a ride to Austin, but you wouldn’t want to accept a ride with a guy like me. Even though I know I can be trusted, you’d have to be insane to get in a car with me. But I do know cars, so I’m going to take a look and see what I can do.”

“Um, okay.”

Bowie peeked at the engine. “I see the problem.”

“What is it?”

“Your car is a piece of shit.” He closed the hood. “This isn’t going anywhere. So what I’m going to do is give you my car—by which I mean, loan you my car—so you can continue your trip. I’ll take care of your car and get it fixed up by the time you’re ready to drive home.”

“That’s very generous,” Margot said. “And very, very weird.”

“I like you,” Bowie said. “We all like you. And we’re trusting you to respect the boundaries we set.”

“Why are you doing this?” Margot asked.

“I just said. I like you.”

“I mean, the sinister shit you’re doing. Does it pay really well?”

Bowie grinned. “It pays the bills. Mostly, I like the endgame.”

“Which is …?”

“It’s not my place to say. Go. The keys are in the ignition.”

“Thank you.”

She didn’t think a hug was appropriate, since he had sort-of threatened her family, so she simply walked over to his car and got inside. Then she got back out.

“My suitcase is in my car,” she said.

“Oh, of course.”

Bowie helped her move her stuff from her car to his. Then Margot drove away, thinking about how strange her life had become.

“High five!” Kirk said, holding up his hand. “Someone’s gettin’ laid tonight!”

Dudley Karlson high-fived him back. He would not, in fact, be getting laid tonight. But if he tried explaining to his college roommate he was a gentleman and wanted to get to know Emily better first, he would be met by a loud bray of laughter and a torrent of comments about his sexual orientation.

Dudley, a freshman, was still a virgin. Kirk was not, which Dudley knew very well from being in the same dorm room where the drunken escapades occurred. For Kirk, not giving a shit about any of the girls was a source of pride. The story of how one girl wept after he took her virginity, because she realized he didn’t love her, was told as a hilarious anecdote. Kirk would have no respect for his romantic streak, so Dudley kept it to himself.

He and Emily didn’t share any classes, but she worked in the cafeteria. He saw her every day at lunch. He thought her smiles seemed more genuine than simple customer service, but it had taken him halfway into his second semester to work up the courage to ask her out.

When she’d agreed to have dinner with him, he’d nearly knocked the glass of iced tea off his tray.

He was a dweeby, freckle-faced, ridiculously skinny guy who was aware he had a bad haircut but didn’t take the initiative to get a better one. She was amazingly hot in that “no makeup, hair in a ponytail, happy and healthy” kind of way.

Dudley had no interest in getting her drunk and enticing her back to the room for a few minutes of clumsy banging—and not just because Kirk would offer to help. He wanted a slow build, and when they finally took the next big step, he truly wanted to be making love.

He could hear Kirk right now: “Faggot!”

Tomorrow night would be wonderful. Possibly the best evening of his life; soon to be followed by a lifetime of even better evenings.

* * *

After his shower, he came back to the room to find Kirk making out with a girl he’d never seen before. That was typical—he’d never seen any of them before. Ignoring them, Dudley sat at his desk, facing away from Kirk’s bed, and checked his e-mail on his phone.

Exciting Playtest Opportunity! read one of the subject lines.

Instead of deleting it, he opened the e-mail.

Dudley Karlson, you have been selected to playtest the upcoming game Fun Times at the Bloodbath. It may be more gory fun than you can handle! Not only will you get to be among the first to play this game, you’ll be compensated $500 USD* for a 60-minute call to share your feedback.

Click the link here to download the app … and enjoy!

*Compensation will be in the form of a Visa gift card.

This was almost definitely bullshit, and Dudley didn’t have time for video games. But he did like horror movies, and the artwork looked pretty cool, so he’d at least check it out. He certainly wouldn’t mind a $500 gift certificate.

He tapped the link. The Fun Times at the Bloodbath app loaded—the icon was a bloody cartoon skull.

Kirk’s bedsprings began to creak. “Oh, yeah, you like that, don’t you?” he asked his anonymous partner. “Don’t pretend you don’t love it. It feels good. It feels so good. Beg me for more, baby.” Before she could make the request for more, Kirk let out a loud groan as he climaxed.

Dudley tapped the icon to load the game. Blood poured down the screen of his phone, leaving behind the title.

He skipped past a couple of boring disclaimers, arriving at the “Create Your Avatar” screen. Dudley created a muscular avatar, and equipped him with a pocketknife.

The tutorial was confusing. He’d have to let the manufacturer know it wasn’t really geared toward people like him, who occasionally played Wordle but nothing else. They hadn’t said he had to play the game all the way through to get his payment, so he’d toy around with it for a bit and see if it was any good.

The girl, already dressed, walked past him and left the room.

“Did you hear her squeal?” Kirk asked. “That chick couldn’t get enough.”

“Yep,” Dudley said. “You’ve ruined her for all other men.”

Kirk climbed out of bed, naked, still wearing the condom. As he cleaned up, Dudley’s attention returned to his phone.

His first task was to kill an old lady.

A minute later, the old lady had beaten the shit out of him with her walker.

That couldn’t stand. Dudley restarted the level and went after her again.

The battle was fiercer this time, but again, he lost.

“This game sucks,” Dudley said.

“What game?” Kirk asked.

“Fun at the Bloodbath. Or Fun Times at the Bloodbath.”

“Never heard of it.”

“I’m playtesting it.”

“How’d you get that gig?”

“They just e-mailed me.” He glanced back at Kirk and scowled in disgust. “Are you going to take that thing off, or let it slide off by itself?”

“I’m out of towels.”

“Well, you’re not using one of mine.”

“I’ll just use a shirt.”

Dudley restarted the level. This time he almost killed the old hag before she broke his neck with the walker. As his avatar’s head snapped back, several teeth flew from his mouth. The graphics weren’t great, but they sure were inventive.

The fourth time, he got her. She fell to her knees, cartoon blood spraying out of her neck. Considering her age, Dudley thought it would be amusing if it was red dust instead. Another thing to discuss during the feedback call.

He was getting the hang of this. It was kind of fun. He might keep playing for a while.

* * *

When Kirk’s alarm went off at 9:15, he sat up in bed and looked at Dudley, who was still seated at his desk.

“Don’t you have class?” Kirk asked.

“It was cancelled.”

“Why?”

“Teacher was sick.”

“Don’t you have another class at 9:30?”

“Cancelled.”

“Two sick teachers?”

“There must be something going around,” Dudley said.

“Why are you staring at your phone?”

“Playing a game.”

“Did you stay up all night playing that game?” Kirk asked.

“No.”

“Okay, but you were playing it when I went to bed, and I woke up a couple times during the night, and you were sitting in the same place, and now you’re still there wearing the same clothes you wore yesterday.”

Dudley paused the game and glared. “Am I rooming with my mother now?”

“No. If you were rooming with your mother, you would’ve left during the sex. At least I’d like to think you would.”

“Oh, that’s so hilarious. I can’t stop laughing.”

“Dude, I’m just messing with you. You think I give a shit if you go to class or not? You don’t have to lie to me about sick teachers. Just say you don’t feel like going.”

“Fine,” Dudley said. “I don’t feel like going to class today.”

“See? That wasn’t so hard. But I hope you at least take a shower and put on different clothes, because you’ve got a chick to fuck tonight.”

Dudley had forgotten about his date with Emily. He should probably get some sleep, so he’d be alert, articulate, and witty during dinner. This was his one chance to impress her, and he certainly couldn’t rely on his looks.

He reluctantly closed out the game.

Then opened the app again. Just one more level.

* * *

Dudley was supposed to meet Emily outside her dormitory at six o’clock. He finally set his phone aside at noon and went to bed. He lay awake for over an hour, thinking about the game, but eventually slept until his alarm went off at 5:30 p.m..

Half an hour was plenty of time to take a shower and get ready. He could get in one more level.

At 5:50 p.m., he rushed to the shower. He rinsed his hair—no time to wash it—dried himself off, and hurriedly got dressed. As he ran across campus, he realized he’d forgotten to put on deodorant. That was not ideal by any stretch of the imagination, but they’d be sitting on opposite sides of the table, and no intimacy was planned for later, so it would be okay. Hopefully the restaurant was well-ventilated.

Dudley stopped just before reaching Emily’s dorm. He didn’t want her to see him all sweaty and out of breath. He took a moment to wipe the perspiration off his face with his shirt and catch his breath, then walked to the main entrance at a casual pace, hoping his face wasn’t bright red. He checked his phone. 6:02. Not bad.

Emily waited, looking radiant. She wore a light-yellow dress and some light makeup. Dudley should have worn something nicer. He hoped he hadn’t messed up.

“Hi!” she said, beaming as he walked toward her.

“Hi,” he said. “You look great!”

“Thank you. So do you.” She gave him a quick hug. Dudley hadn’t anticipated that there’d be a hug, He hoped it wasn’t wet and smelly. If it was, she didn’t seem to react. “Ready?”

“Yep!”

The Thai restaurant was only a few blocks from campus, so they walked, not that either of them had a car to do otherwise. Emily did most of the talking, which was delightful, because he loved the sound of her voice. She talked about growing up in Iowa, and how she was an Elementary Education major and had always wanted to be a teacher, even when she was in elementary school herself.

“What made you choose biology?” she asked.

“I’ve always liked cutting up frogs,” he said. He’d anticipated the question and planned the joke ahead of time, although now he suddenly wondered if it was a smidgen too dark.

Emily laughed, and it didn’t seem to be a polite “I’m pretending this is funny so you don’t dismember me and store me in a freezer” laugh. She really was perfect for him.

They arrived at the restaurant and were given a table in the back. The ambiance was perfect. Nice and dark. After the server took their drink orders—a glass of water for both of them—Emily asked, “So what were you doing at lunch today?”

“Hmmm?”

“You usually go through the line right at 11:30.”

“I had a paper due, so I was doing a last-minute scramble in my room.”

“Did you finish it?”

“Yep. Got an A.”

“You got a grade already?”

“No, I was just kidding.”

“Oh.” Emily didn’t laugh this time. “I’m sure you’ll get an A, though.”

“I hope so.” Dudley wished Emily hadn’t brought up what he’d been doing at 11:30, because it reminded him of Fun Times at the Bloodbath. He was elated to be with Emily, but his phone was right there in his pocket. He could be playing now.

He’d stopped right in the middle of a level. If he’d been able to finish the level, he’d be okay right now, but he hated leaving things half-finished. He should have made the date for 6:30. He really hadn’t planned this out very well.

“Are you okay?” Emily asked.

“Huh?”

“You seem distracted.”

“Oh, no … no, not at all. My joke about getting my grade already bombed, so that kind of threw me off a bit.”

“Sorry,” Emily said. “I didn’t realize it was a joke.”

“That’s okay. It wasn’t a ha-ha joke. It was kind of a ‘I’m saying something that isn’t true’ joke.”

“So a lie.”

“Right,” Dudley said. “That’s exactly it. I won’t be doing that again.” He opened the menu. “I’ve only been here once, but the Pad Thai is amazing.”

“I’ve never had Pad Thai,” Emily said. “I’ll try that.”

“Do you like shrimp?”

“I love it.”

“Get it with shrimp. It’s delicious.”

She flashed her beautiful smile. “I’m excited to try it.”

Okay, the date was moving back in the right direction. A little awkwardness was to be expected. Nothing to worry about.

The server came to take their orders. After he left, Dudley thought about his cell phone again.

Fuck! He should have postponed the date. Saturday was just as good as Friday. Maybe better, because they wouldn’t have had classes that day. Not that he went to his classes today, but … fuck!

“Will you excuse me?” he asked. “Nature calls.”

“Of course.”

Dudley got up and made his way to the restroom. What the hell was he thinking? He couldn’t finish a level of Fun Times at the Bloodbath in the time it took to pee. If he wanted to play a level in the toilet, he’d have to pretend he needed to be in there for fifteen minutes, if he finished on the first try.

Was that bad? Would she judge him? Surely, she’d had gastrointestinal issues at some point in her life. Who was she to pretend her digestive system was perfect?

No. Guys who took fifteen-minute dumps at the restaurant on their first date didn’t get second dates. It was unjust but true.

Okay…but he was only a freshman. He had plenty of college left. He and Emily would most likely break up anyway, so did it matter if he failed to impress her now? He’d meet someone else, and by then he’d have finished the game and would be available to give her his undivided attention.

What the hell was he thinking?

He was actually on a date with Emily, and he was worried about playing a game on his phone?

It was insane. He walked back to the table and sat down. Emily frowned.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

“You didn’t go into the restroom.”

“Right. I changed my mind.”

“You changed your mind?”

“False alarm. That ever happen to you?”

“No.”

“New experience for me, too. One second I had to go, and suddenly it’s all like, whoops, nope, guess not.”

“Okay,” Emily said.

“But, seriously, this Pad Thai is pretty good. It’s not the best you’ll ever have, if you go on to have more Pad Thai at other places, but it’s solid. Way better than anything they have at the cafeteria.”

It occurred to Dudley he’d insulted the cafeteria’s food to a cafeteria employee. Faux pas. Still, it wasn’t as if she prepared the food herself, so…

“Okay,” she said again.

He was really screwing this up. This was his chance to finally have a girlfriend, and he was insulting her job and calling attention to his bathroom habits. He had to salvage this.

“May I be weirdly honest with you?” he asked.

“Of course.”

“Do you like video games?”

“Of course,” Emily said. “Everyone likes video games, right?”

“Definitely,” Dudley said. “If somebody said they didn’t like video games, I’d wonder what was wrong with their brain.”

“Why do you ask?”

“I’ve been playtesting this game. It’s great. I had no idea a game on my phone could be so much fun. I’m really enjoying it.”

“That’s awesome,” Emily said. “How did you get that job?”

“They just e-mailed me out of nowhere. I don’t even know how they found me. But, for real, when this game comes out it’s going to be bigger than Minecraft. It’s the only thing anyone will be talking about.”

Emily smiled. “That’s really exciting. And you get to play it first!”

“I know, right? I can’t stop thinking about it. That’s why I was wondering if it would be okay with you if I play while we’re waiting for our food to arrive.”

Emily’s smile disappeared. “Excuse me?”

“I’m not going to play it the whole time,” Dudley said. “I just want to finish the level I’m on.”

“Let me get this straight. You asked me out on a date, but you want to spend it playing a game on your phone?”

“I should’ve explained it better. I want you to watch me play the game. You said you liked video games, right? It’ll be fun. You can’t talk while I’m playing, because it’ll distract me, but we can discuss it when I’m done. You’ll be astounded by how good this game is, I promise. What do you say?”

Emily pushed back her chair. “I say, I’ll be leaving now.”

“No, don’t go. It was just a suggestion. I thought it would give us something to talk about later, in case there were awkward gaps in the conversation. But if you don’t want me to play, I won’t play.” He took his cell phone out of his pocket and slid it across the table. “You can hold on to my phone, see?”

“I don’t want your phone.”

“It was a bad idea,” Dudley said. “I recognize that now. Totally my fault. I suck at this.”

“You really do.”

“Please don’t leave. You at least deserve the Pad Thai. Wait until the server comes back, and we’ll have her wrap it up to go. It’s a free meal. Don’t pass up a free meal.”

Emily moved her chair back to the table. “Fine.”

“What do you want to talk about?”

“I don’t really want to talk about anything.”

“I get it,” Dudley said. “You’re completely justified in feeling that way. I messed up, and I’m experiencing the consequences, and that’s the way things should be. I have no ill will toward you.”

“I wouldn’t care if you did.”

“Okay. That seems kind of harsh … But okay.”

They sat there for a moment. Dudley looked at his phone and wondered what Emily would do if he reached out and slid it back toward him. She probably wouldn’t react in a positive manner.

He should leave the phone there.

The date had thoroughly crashed and burned, but why make it worse? There was no reason to let her tell her friends, “And then he took his phone back!”

He wished he hadn’t slid it toward her.

What if he told her he was expecting an important text?

That would make things worse.

Unless his mother was sick … ?

Even amidst the wreckage of this date, she couldn’t begrudge him wanting to monitor his texts for updates on his sick mother, right? What kind of monster would get upset about that? If she’d get mad about that, he was better off not dating her anyway.

She’d know he was lying.

Why the hell had he pushed his phone over there? At least if the phone was in his possession, he could play the game if he wanted. Resting there on the table, it was tormenting him.

Dudley couldn’t stand it anymore. He picked it up.

“Are you kidding me?” Emily asked.

“I just wanted to make sure I didn’t have a text from my sick mom.”

Emily pushed back her chair again. It made a screech sound that hurt Dudley’s ears.

“Thank you so very much for wasting my time,” she said, standing. “I was looking forward to getting to know you better, but I’ve already learned more than enough. Enjoy your two helpings of Pad Thai. I’m going to make it as uncomfortable as possible when you come through the line in the cafeteria, so get ready for that.”

“I’m sorry,” Dudley said, tapping the Fun Times at the Bloodbath icon.

“By the way, I was totally going to put-out tonight. Your loss.”

She walked away, then returned to the table.

“That’s not true. I wasn’t. I was just trying to make you feel bad. Goodnight, Dudley.”

She left again.

The Pad Thai wasn’t quite as good this time, which was disappointing, and he wasn’t able to complete the level before he finished his dinner. He asked the server to box up Emily’s meal, intending to eat it for lunch tomorrow. The handle of the plastic bag was looped around his wrist as he walked home.

But the portion size was generous, and he couldn’t hold the phone steady while also dangling the leftovers. So he threw them away, only mildly bothered by the lack of a garbage receptacle, and cheerfully played the game the rest of the way back to his dorm room.

Kirk wasn’t there, so he played all night.

* * *

“She leave already?” Kirk asked, coming in the next morning.

“She didn’t come back with me,” Dudley said.

“What? I crashed with Mike to give you some privacy. You couldn’t seal the deal?”

“I didn’t try to seal the deal.”

“Weak.” Kirk frowned. “So, what, have you just stopped changing your clothes now?”

“I didn’t put them on until yesterday evening. They’re fine to wear again.”

“Your shirt has a great big stain on it.”

Dudley had spilled Pad Thai on his shirt while playing the game in the restaurant. He wouldn’t call it a “great big stain,” though he’d admit it wasn’t the smallest stain he’d ever had on his clothing.

“Are you monitoring my clothes now?” Dudley asked.

“Hey, I don’t care what you wear, as long as your dick is covered. But you stayed up all night playing that game again, didn’t you?”

“No.”

“You’re playing it right now,” Kirk said.

“No, I’m not.”

“You keep looking down at your phone and tapping the screen, and I can hear the game.”

“Then why do you keep talking to me?”

“I’m just saying, you should’ve been banging that chick instead of playing some stupid game on your phone. Are you gonna see her again?”

“No,” Dudley said. “Turns out, she was boring. And you’re still talking.”

“All right, all right, I’ll shut up. Again, I’m not your mother, though I’d do her. If you choose a mobile game over pussy, that’s your right as an American.”

Dudley ignored him and kept playing.

* * *

Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!

This level was impossible!

Dudley was most definitely going to bring this up on his feedback call. The level should’ve been one of the easier ones, but he simply couldn’t get past it, no matter how many times he tried. He wanted to fling his phone against the wall. He didn’t, of course—if he damaged his phone, he wouldn’t be able to keep playing.

The object was to kill all the residents of a large group home for developmentally disabled adults. Dudley had a strong aversion to the R-word, a slur often directed at his younger brother who had Down Syndrome, so there’d been a moment of hesitation when he saw the level was called, “Kill The Retards.” But he decided it was all in good fun.

Those R-words … they were hard to kill.

They always seemed to evade his machete. He simply couldn’t slaughter them all before he took too much damage. And when you died, you had to start the whole goddamn level over from the beginning. It was infuriating.

He’d paused the game long enough to search online for hints or cheat codes. There was nothing. He supposed that was part of the risk he took as a playtester—no one to help.

But this game was really starting to piss him off.

* * *

Monday afternoon, he got a text from Emily: I noticed you weren’t in the cafeteria for lunch. I didn’t mean what I said about making it uncomfortable. You don’t have to avoid me. We can pretend it never happened.

Wow. Emily was so egotistical she thought she was the reason he hadn’t eaten lunch, instead of the game. He hadn’t even thought about her today. He considered replying to her text just to dissuade her of the ridiculous notion he was avoiding her, but he was busy playing the game, and she wasn’t worth his time.

* * *

Dudley played until he passed out.

Then he woke up and played until he passed out again.

* * *

He was really hungry, so he played while he walked to the cafeteria. But the cafeteria was closed, because it was almost nine o’clock at night, so he walked to one of the snack bars, which was open until eleven.

The guy working the counter got a little pissy because Dudley kept playing while he ordered, and was so distracted, he forgot to pay until he was sternly reminded. He didn’t bother to apologize. If that was the worst problem the cashier had to deal with, his life was going pretty well.

* * *

Fuck, this game was hard! He was never going to finish it!

* * *

“It’s okay,” the girl told Dudley, as Kirk pounded her doggy-style. “You can look. You don’t have to pretend to be fixated on your phone.”

Dudley ignored her and continued to play.

“Seriously, I’m an exhibitionist,” she insisted. “You can watch. It’s not pervy or creepy.”

Dudley didn’t look up from his phone.

“Is your roommate queer?” she asked.

“Nah,” Kirk said.

“Religious?”

“No. He just really likes that game.”

“There’s a pair of perfect tits six feet away, and he doesn’t even care? That’s fucked up.”

“Tell me about it.”

* * *

“They were nice, but they weren’t perfect,” Kirk said when the girl left. “But, seriously, I’m starting to worry about you, dude.”

“Worry about yourself,” Dudley said. “I hear chlamydia is going around.”

“Put down the phone,” Kirk said.

“Are you trying to mother me again?”

“Put down the phone. For real.”

“No, I’m good.”

“You’re becoming a real asshole, you know that? I don’t care if you go to any of your classes, but you’re stinking up our room because you don’t take showers anymore. As soon as I open the door, the smell of your B.O. wafts out. It’s embarrassing. For the consideration of those around you, I’m going to have to ask that you start washing your smelly, disgusting ass, okay?”

Dudley ignored him.

“I hope that game is worth it, dude.”

“It is.”

* * *

“Fuuuuuuuuuuck!” Dudley shouted. Almost! He’d almost beaten the goddamn level! One more kill and he would’ve done it!

It was probably because the blister on his thumb burst open and smeared whatever liquid was inside on his screen. Messed with his response time.

Someone knocked on the door.

He didn’t answer.

They knocked again, more insistently.

“Hey, Dudley! Open up!” It was Tom, their Resident Advisor. Dudley continued to play as he opened the door.

“What?” he asked, not looking up.

“Pause the game, Dudley.”

“Why?”

“Because I asked you to.”

Dudley pressed pause, but glared at him as he did. “What?”

“I heard you shouting.”

“So?”

“So? If someone on my floor shouts ‘Fuck!’ I have to make sure they’re all right.”

“I’m all right.”

“You look like shit. You on drugs?”

“Yeah. All of them. Everything from cocaine to Flintstones vitamins.”

Tom sighed. “Keep the noise down, okay?”

“Yes, sir.”

* * *

“How’d your test go?” Kirk asked. He kept their door open and opened the window.

“What test?”

“You had a big test coming up. You were stressing about it last week. A quarter of your grade. One of your biology classes.”

“Oh, yeah.”

“Did you … not go?”

Dudley had decided a couple of days ago that there was no reason to continue lying. “Nope.”

“For real?”

“For real.”

“You skipped your test to play the game?”

“Do you have a problem with that?”

“Yes, Dudley. Yes, I do. That drops you down to a C, if you get perfect scores on everything else—which you obviously won’t because you don’t fucking go to any of your classes anymore!”

“And that is your problem why … ?”

“Because I’m worried about your future, dude! You’re going to flunk out! Look, I’m all in favor of having fun, and getting wasted, and banging chicks, and enjoying being in college instead of the military. But you have to balance the partying with academics and shit. Do you really think you’ll look back on this time of your life and be glad you skipped classes and forfeited banging Emily so you could play a game on your phone?”

Dudley stared directly into Kirk’s eyes. “Yes.”

“Well, then you’re out of your mind. You’ve lost it, dude. I like video games too, but you’ve got to learn moderation. Put the phone down. Live your life.”

“Do you mind?” Dudley asked. “I’m trying to play, and you’re being a distraction. Go do your homework.”

“That hurts, dude,” Kirk said. “It really hurts to see you like this.”

Apparently, Kirk had no intention of shutting the fuck up, so Dudley left the room to find a place where he could play in peace.

* * *

He hated sleep. What a waste of time.

He stretched, yawned, and rolled over to pick up his phone.

It wasn’t on the bedstand.

Where the hell was his phone?

He sat up. Got a whiff of himself. Okay, Kirk had a point about the smell, but where the hell was his phone?

Where was it? Where was it? Had someone taken it? Had Kirk stolen it? Where was it?

He got up and frantically searched around his bed, in case it had fallen on the floor. It hadn’t. Shit! Shit! Shit!

Glancing around the room, he noticed a folded piece of paper taped to the door. Hurrying over, he tore the paper down and opened it.

Meeting Room A.

That was on the first floor. He ran to the elevator and pressed the call button, then decided it would take it too long to arrive. He ran down the stairs so quickly, he tripped but managed to reach the bottom without breaking any bones.

Meeting Room A was at the end of the hall. He opened the door.

Kirk sat at the end of the table. Several of the guys from his floor were also there. Pete. Skip. Barry. Jeremy. Ty. Dion. Todd.

“What’s going on?” he asked.

“Have a seat,” Kirk said.

“No. What’s going on? What did you do with my phone?”

“Sit down and I’ll tell you.”

Dudley slammed his body into an open chair.

Kirk cleared his throat. “Dudley Karlson, this is an intervention.”

Margot questioned the wisdom of this trip to Austin.

Bowie, though gregarious and not without charm, was a bad man. And when a bad man gave you his car so you could continue driving to investigate his employer, there was likely an unpleasant surprise waiting at the end. She should give up and head back home.

His car was quite a bit nicer than hers. The A/C worked. She hoped he was in no hurry to trade back.

She decided to get Rowan’s insight. She called, but it went straight to voicemail. Oh well. He was a busy lawyer and was probably dealing with other clients. He’d call back when he got a chance. In the meantime, she had several hours of driving left, so for now, she’d continue toward her original destination.

She cranked up the music. Oh, hell yeah. Bowie’s stereo system was way better than hers. It actually worked. Maybe she should just keep the car and flee. Work as a restaurant server in small-town Mississippi, where she’d never be found.

Nah, probably not.

About an hour later, her phone rang. Rowan.

“Hi,” she answered.

“Sorry I missed your call. I was with a client. How’s everything going?”

“It’s going oddly.”

“Catch me up.”

She told him the whole story.

“Yes,” Rowan agreed, “that is most definitely odd. But you’re right. If he’s giving you his car to make sure you keep driving to Austin, maybe you shouldn’t drive to Austin.”

“I was thinking I might drive there but not knock on the door of the office. Just scope it out. See who goes in and out. They’ll obviously be tracking the car, but I could leave it at a hotel and take an Uber to the strip mall.”

“That still seems dangerous. You’re in a strange city with psychopaths—well, maybe not psychopaths, but unsavory characters for sure—who want you to be there. I don’t want to be where the unsavory characters want me to be. I want to be as far from them as possible.”

“So you think this is a bad idea?” Margot asked.

“If you were my client, I’d advise against it.”

“But I have to know what happened to Bobby.”

“I get that,” Rowan said. “I completely understand. I’m deeply curious, myself. But that curiosity should not extend to putting yourself in potential danger.”

“I was really looking forward to that brisket.”

“The next time you’re in town, I’ll take you out for barbecue.”

“Is San Diego barbecue as good as Austin’s?”

“It is not.”

“Bummer.”

“I’m not your father,” Rowan said. “I can’t tell you what to do. I just don’t think this is a good idea, and I’d feel better if you turned around and drove home.”

“You’re right,” Margot admitted. She was honestly more relieved than disappointed. She didn’t want to give up her quest to find out what truly happened to Bobby—and turning around didn’t mean she’d quit the investigation—but she also didn’t want to be killed for this. Nothing she did would bring Bobby back, unless FTATA Inc.’s ultimate goal was to create an army of zombies.

“I’m always right,” Rowan said. “Attorneys are infallible.”

“I’ll turn around at the next exit. Thank you.”

The next exit was only a couple of miles away. She supposed it didn’t have to be Austin brisket. Maybe she’d find some Texas barbecue nearby.

Good fortune was with her. The next exit had two barbecue joints. She drove slowly past each of them with the window down, comparing the smells, then went to the first one and ordered a brisket sandwich with jalapeno mac and cheese as the side.

She texted Rowan a picture of her meal.

He texted back a graphic of Homer Simpson drooling.

One full belly later, she drove back the way she came, satisfied and happy.

Her phone rang. Unknown caller.

She didn’t answer for unknown callers. But, considering her circumstances, she should probably answer this one, just in case. She accepted the call. “Hello?”

“Hello,” said a robotic-sounding voice. “Are you paying too much for your cellular data service? We can save you twenty percent if you act now.”

“Is that you, Bowie?” Margot asked.

“You recognized my voice?”

“Yes.”

“I was just messing with you. So, tell me, where the hell are you going?”

“I thought you weren’t spying on me that much.”

“We’re not. I have no idea what you ordered at the restaurant. Where are you going?”

“I changed my mind.”

“Is that so?” Bowie asked.

“Yeah. It seemed like a good idea when I left, but then I decided it was kind of silly to drive eighteen hundred miles round trip to visit an office that probably wouldn’t give me any useful information. So I’m driving home. How’s my car doing?”

“Do you like me, Margot?”

“I guess. You did stop that guy from harassing me.”

“Do I seem like a fun guy to be around? Someone you’d want to invite to a party?”

“Sure.”

“So if I stopped being friendly, you’d take it seriously, right? You’d recognize that shit just got real?”

Margot’s stomach dropped. “Yes.”

“Good. The first chance you get, you’ll turn that fucking car around. You’re coming up on an exit in three-quarters of a mile. You will take that exit, and you will get right back on the highway heading toward Austin. Fuck with me, and I will hunt you down, and I’ll catch you, because that’s what I do. And your death will make Bobby’s look like he passed peacefully away in his sleep. It will be awful. I’m not saying I’m inventive. When I’m causing someone’s suffering, I stick with the standard stuff. Razor blade to the eyeballs, nail file to the teeth, blowtorch to the genitals … the classics. But I put my heart and soul into it. Do you fucking understand me, bitch?”

“Yes, I do.”

“Glad to hear it,” Bowie said, switching back to a cordial tone.

“You didn’t have to go full-on psychopath,” Margot said. “I would’ve turned around for way less than that.”

“I like to keep things light, but sometimes people need to know I will fuck them up.”

“Understood.”

“I’m going to stay on the line while you take the exit, if you don’t mind.”

“That’s fine.” Margot took the exit. At the end of the ramp, she stopped at a traffic light.

“Why the fuck aren’t you moving?” Bowie demanded.

“Red light.”

“I know. Just trying to make you nervous.”

When the light turned green, she drove over the bridge, made another left turn, and got back onto the highway, back on the path to Austin.

“Good girl,” Bowie said. “I apologize if this strained our relationship. By the way, your car sucks crap. Talk to you soon.”

He disconnected the call.

Margot felt sick to her stomach. The barbecue she’d just eaten was rising, but she choked it back down.

Oh, God, she’d put herself in real danger.

She wanted to pull over so she could scream and smash her fists against the steering wheel to stave off the approaching panic attack. Instead, she just screamed.

After she’d gotten it out of her system, she called Rowan.

“What’s going on?” he asked.

“I’m going to Austin.”

“Oh. Okay. Just promise you’ll be careful.”

“It wasn’t my choice,” she explained. “Bowie Knife called to threaten me. Apparently, using a blowtorch on someone’s genitals is one of the classics.”

“I hadn’t heard that, but please continue.”

“He was pretty clear. Keep driving to their office or he’d kill me.”

“Damn,” Rowan said. “I knew he was bad news, but I thought he’d keep it more subtle.”

“Also, nail file to the teeth and razor blade to the eyeballs.”

“Jesus. All right. He’s probably only tracking you through the car, and maybe your cell phone, so technically, you could ditch those and hide out somewhere until this blows over. However—”

“I don’t like that,” Margot interrupted. “He’s already threatened to hurt my parents.”

“Right. That’s where the ‘however’ came in. If you hide away, you’ll just make them mad, and who knows what they’re capable of?”

“And I don’t want them coming after you or your family.”

“So … yeah, do what he says. Did he say you had to visit the office?”

“No, but I’m sure that’s next.”

Rowan was quiet for a moment. “I’ll see what I can do. I’m not a very good lawyer and I’m not owed a lot of favors, but I’ve got some connections. I’m going to call around and see what I can do about finding you a bodyguard.”

“How much is a bodyguard?” Margot asked.

“We’ll work it out. I can’t promise anything. I’ll see what I can do.”

“Thank you.”

“Be careful,” Rowan said. “I’m sorry I dragged you into this.”

“You didn’t. I showed up at your office unannounced.”

“I know. I was trying to ease your conscience. Anyway, I’ll start making the calls. Call me right away if there are any new developments, and I’ll let you know if anything happens here.”

“Will do.”

Margot cranked up the music to drown out her thoughts but didn’t feel like singing along.

Three hours later, Rowan called. “I found someone,” he said. “Which hotel are you staying at?"

"I didn’t book it yet.”

“Okay. Since they’re tracking the car, we won’t bother trying to keep the hotel a secret. I’ll text you an address, and when you get there, a man named Gordon will meet you.”

“Perfect! Thank you so much.”

“No problem. Uh … just to be clear, you’ll be putting the hotel room on your credit card.”

“That’s what I was going to do anyway.”

“I just didn’t want there to be an uncomfortable moment between you and Gordon where you’re not sure who’s paying for the hotel room. Let me know when you get there, and let me know if you need anything else.”

“I will.”

* * *

It was nine-thirty when she pulled up to the Pencil Inn. She parked, got her suitcase out of the back seat, and went into the lobby, which smelled like turpentine and had a few tiles missing from the floor.

A large man—very large—walked over to her. He extended his enormous hand to her. “I’m Gordon.”

She shook it. “I’m Margot.”

“I know.”

“I also knew you were Gordon.”

Gordon was quite handsome, if you were into the “male model” look, which Margot very much was. He wore blue jeans and a tight black long-sleeved shirt that showed off the plentiful muscles lurking beneath.

“I’m here to protect you,” he said. “We can get adjoining rooms, or share a room with two beds. I will not make any effort to initiate sexual contact and will rebuff any effort on your part, so it is totally safe for us to share a room. I can keep you safe more efficiently if we’re in close proximity, but as a woman in a world with untrustworthy males, I completely understand if you’d rather have your own room.”

“We can share, it’s fine.”

Gordon nodded. “Let’s secure the room.”

Margot got them a room on the third floor. It was nicer than she expected, though her expectations had been quite low.

“This will do,” Gordon said, studying the space. He glanced at the two beds. “Which one would you prefer? My recommendation is that I take the one closest to the door, in case someone breaks in, but it’s not crucial. I’ll defer to wherever you’ll be more comfortable.”

“The bed by the window is great.”

“I do prefer the air conditioning be set as low as possible. It’s difficult for me to sleep in a stuffy room and will impact my ability to protect you tomorrow.”

“No problem. I like it chilly, too.”

“Perfect.” Gordon sat on his bed, which creaked under his weight. “So we’ll be visiting the office of a video game manufacturing company?”

“Yes. I was going to check it out tonight.”

“All right. Surveillance is not my strong suit, but I’ll keep you safe.”

“Thank you.”

“I’m ready to go whenever you are. We’re on your schedule. I’ll let you know if your schedule creates problems protecting you. Also, the vehicle you’re driving is most likely bugged with some sort of tracking service, so we’ll take mine. I’ll drive, of course.”

Margot smiled. “Let’s do it.”

* * *

It was a normal-looking strip mall.

All the stores were closed, except a pizza place. Margot hadn’t had dinner, but after Bowie’s call, the brisket from earlier sat in her stomach like bubbling lava, and she wasn’t hungry.

They’d parked and waited in Gordon’s car for about ten minutes, waiting to see if anything would happen. When it didn’t, they got out and walked toward FTATA Inc.

There was no sign. No indication of what kind of business it was. Without the number, in plain white letters, Margot wouldn’t have known she was at the right place. The glass door and large windows were painted black.

“Feels sinister,” Margot said.

“I don’t get a feeling from it either way,” Gordon said.

Margot tugged on the door handle. It was locked.

“Should we break in?” she asked.

“That would be the commission of a crime.”

“Well, yeah. We came out here to do some trespassing.”

Gordon shook his head. “I was hired by Rowan Mincher to watch over you, because certain individuals have threatened to do you harm. Putting myself at risk, or having charges filed against me, is outside of the scope of our agreement and would require a much higher hourly rate.”

Margot supposed it was for the best. She’d been worried about Bowie, and whoever his associates were, but she should also worry about being arrested for breaking and entering.

“That’s fine,” Margot assured him. “Let’s get some sleep. We’ll come back tomorrow.”

* * *

When Gordon emerged from the bathroom after his shower, he looked spectacular in his tight-fitting pajamas. She watched in admiration from her bed.

“Did you mean what you said about rebuffing my advances?” she asked.

“Yes, ma’am. I’m a heterosexual male with no current romantic attachments, but that sort of activity would be both morally wrong and a potentially deadly distraction.”

“Just checking.”

“Good night, Ms. Rosewood.”

“Good night, Gordon.”

“Oh, hell no,” Dudley said, standing.

“Sit down!” Kirk shouted.

Dudley had never heard his roommate shout, excluding joyous cries of “Woooo!” He’d never even heard Kirk sound legitimately angry. He sat.

“Thank you,” Kirk said. “We’re very worried about you, and because you won’t take steps to help yourself, we’ve decided an intervention is the only solution.”

“I barely know most of you,” Dudley said.

“That’s what makes this so beautiful,” Kirk explained. “These guys barely acknowledge you when you pass in the hallway, but they care about your future.”

“My future is fine.”

“It’s not fine. You care more about that game than anything. It’s absolute madness. If it doesn’t stop, you will flunk out of school. And you can’t be a scientist, or a biologist, or whatever it is you’re trying to be, without a college degree. If you can’t stop yourself, we’ll stop you for you.”

“I don’t need your help,” Dudley insisted.

“Yes, you do,” Kirk said. “Ty, lock the door.”

Ty went to the door.

“You can’t do that,” Dudley said. “It’s kidnapping.”

“It’s not kidnapping.”

“It is. In a legal sense, locking me in this room and not allowing me to leave constitutes kidnapping.”

“I guess so, if you’re a total pussy.”

“The door doesn’t actually lock,” Ty said.

“That’s fine, sit down.” Kirk looked back at Dudley. “We’re not going to tie you up or beat the shit out of you. We’re just going to talk, and we’re asking you to listen. Can you handle that?”

“Fine. Whatever. Let me finish this level and we’ll …” Realizing what he’d said, Dudley turned his phone over. “Okay. Talk.”

“Who wants to go first?” Kirk asked.

“I’ll go,” Skip said. “So, like, you can’t play video games all day. You’ve got other shit to do. Like, have you heard of McKamey Manor? It’s this extreme haunted house, totally fucked up—I mean, you wouldn’t believe the shit that goes on in there. I started watching videos of people in these kinds of extreme haunted houses, where they’re really just torturing them, but it’s all consensual. I mean, people pay for that shit. I watched every video I could find. I couldn’t get enough. And then, suddenly, I was all, like, I can’t be sitting here all day watching extreme haunted house videos. That’s no way to live. I still watch them, but I don’t watch, like, twenty in a row anymore. What I’m saying is, you can still play the game, but you should still go to your classes and shit. I’m done.”

“Thank you, Skip,” Kirk said. “Who’d like to go next?”

Barry raised his hand. “It’s just a stupid game, all right? What are you, six? Stop acting like a douchebag, get over yourself, and quit playing a game that probably isn’t even that good. Grow up.”

“Thank you for being direct,” Kirk said. “Who’s next?”

No one said anything.

“I’m going last, so I need someone else to speak,” Kirk said. “Who’s up? Pete?”

Pete shook his head. “I’m just here to listen.”

“Dion? Todd? Jeremy? Ty?”

“Okay, I’ll go,” Ty said. “Dudley, it’s okay if you want to ruin your life, but don’t drag the rest of us down with you.”

“Not helpful at all,” Kirk sighed. “No one else has anything to contribute? Seriously?”

Everyone remained silent.

“You guys suck. Dudley, you’ve been my roommate all year, and you know what kind of guy I am. I bang chicks without giving a shit about their feelings. Did she enjoy it? Does she regret it? As long as she’s not pregnant, I don’t care. I’m basically an emotional void. So when I say I’m worried about you, it should carry some weight.”

“It does,” Dudley admitted.

“This isn’t like you. Since I’ve known you, you’ve always been practical about everything. The Dudley who walked into our dorm room last August isn’t the same Dudley I see before me. That Dudley wouldn’t skip class even if he was coughing up blood, much less to play a game on his phone.”

“He went to class when he was coughing up blood?” Ty asked. “When was this?”

“It didn’t really happen,” Kirk clarified. “That was just an example.”

“If you go to class when you’re coughing up blood, you’re an idiot,” Ty said, seeming genuinely worked up about the issue. “You need to go to the emergency room. Ignoring that kind of symptom is way worse than getting addicted to a video game.”

“Ty, I’m going to need you to shut the fuck up. Okay, the Dudley I knew back in August wouldn’t skip class even if he had a bad cold, much less to play a game on his phone.”

“It’s actually really selfish to go to class when you have a cold,” Ty said. “Everyone else has to breathe your germs.”

“Ty …”

“I’m just saying …”

“Don’t say. We’re doing something really important here. The next time you want to open your mouth, resist the urge.”

“Whatever.”

Kirk returned his attention to Dudley. “Do you get what I’m saying? You’re better than this. You’re destined for great things, but not if you throw it all away like this. We all cut class. I have a class right now. But you can’t just shut everything out. If a test counts for a quarter of your grade, you have to take that test. It’s why we’re here. And it’s why I’m asking you, as my friend, to delete the game from your phone.”

The very idea made Dudley break into a cold sweat. “I don’t think I can.”

“Yes, you can. You’re strong enough. And if not, we’re giving you our strength. Everyone in this room is giving you their strength. You can feel it, right?”

“I don’t want to delete the game,” Dudley said. “But I’ll play less of it, I promise.”

“That’s not good enough. You need to go cold turkey.”

“No.”

“Do you see what’s happening here?” Kirk asked. “You’re so consumed by this game, you refuse to delete it, even when you know it’s going to get you kicked out of school. Where do you go from there, Dudley? Working at a shoe store? We’re trying to throw you a lifeline, and we need you to take it.”

Kirk was right.

Holy shit, Kirk was absolutely right!

His behavior was completely insane. It was a game. Was Fun Times at the Bloodbath awesome? Hell yeah. But it wasn’t worth flunking out of college. It wasn’t worth explaining to his parents what had happened. It wasn’t worth flushing his future down the toilet. What would he do if he flunked out? His parents would cut off all financial support, and he’d find himself working at a convenience store for the rest of his life.

A tear formed. Realizing there would be no end to the shit he took from the guys on his floor if he cried over this, Dudley pretended his eye itched and dabbed it away.

“You’re right,” he told Kirk. “I’ve been a jerk. I don’t want to delete the game, but I need to delete the game.”

He wondered if it would save his progress if he deleted it and downloaded it again later?

No! He’d delete it and let Kirk hold on to his phone for as long as it took for the desire to play to fade away.

“I’m glad you recognize that,” Kirk said. “It’s the first step. Now delete it.”

“I will.”

“I’m proud of you, dude.”

Dudley picked up his phone.

“Wait,” said Pete.

“What?” Kirk asked.

“I want to know what makes this game so great. I’ve never heard of it.”

Dudley slid the phone over to Pete. Maybe he’d understand.

Pete picked up the phone and looked at the screen. “How do you play?”

“See the interface at the bottom?”

“Yeah, it looks like a Playstation controller. Since when did mobile games have this kind of interface? Kind of a sloppy import, if you ask me.”

“That’s just the way it is. You move by sliding your finger over that part, and attack with the buttons. There are lots of different ways to attack, but they take practice.”

“Got it.” Pete tapped a few times, then grinned. “This game is just plain wrong!”

“I know, right?”

“What’s it called again?”

“Fun Times at the Bloodbath.”

“I might have to download this.”

“I’m one of the beta testers. You can’t get it yet.”

“Oh, really? That’s pretty sweet. Congratulations.” Pete chuckled. “This game ain’t right.”

“Let me try,” Skip said.

“Wait your turn, dickwad.”

Skip peered over Pete’s shoulder. “Oh, hell no!”

“What’s happening?” Ty asked.

“He’s stabbing a pregnant lady with a wire hanger!”

“You’re not supposed to stab her,” Dudley said. “You’re supposed to abort her baby. But if you switch to the straight razor, you can cut the baby free and kill it that way.”

Skip continued watching Pete play. “Tap there,” he said.

“I am.”

“No, higher.”

“I don’t need your help. And what the hell did you have for lunch today?”

“Tuna melt.”

“Stop breathing it on me. Take a step back.”

Skip did not take a step back.

“Is the intervention still going?” Jeremy asked.

“Yes, it’s still going,” Kirk said. “Skip, Pete, for real: Stop playing and give him back his phone.”

“I’m not the one playing,” Skip said.

“Well, sit back down.”

Skip went back to his seat as Pete continued playing.

“Pete!” Kirk snapped.

“What?”

“Give him back his phone! This is literally the opposite of what you should be doing right now! It’s like you’re snorting meth in front of an addict right after they vowed to get clean!”

“What’s the problem? It’s a fun game. Let me play for a few frickin’ minutes. It’s not like I can play it later if he’s going to delete it. Chill out.”

“I didn’t expect it to be that fucked up,” Skip said. “I thought he was blowing up spaceships, or something. Not killing babies.”

“I need to see this shit, too,” Dion said, getting up to watch. Todd and Jeremy also stood, crowding around Pete as he played.

“Oh, that’s gnarly!” Todd said. He cackled with laughter. “Who thinks of this stuff?”

Dudley was glad they were enjoying the game. It made him feel somewhat vindicated. But he also didn’t like that Pete was playing the game instead of him. He was the one who’d been chosen to playtest it. Pete was horning in on his big opportunity.

“You’ve had your fun,” Dudley said. “Give me my phone back.”

“In a minute.”

“Now, please.”

“I said, in a minute.”

“The graphics aren’t even that good,” Jeremy said. “Ten years ago, this would’ve been state of the art, but I’ve seen so much better.”

“If it was photorealistic, it would be too disgusting to look at,” Dion said. “I like the semi-retro look.”

“Give my phone back,” Dudley said.

Barry jumped up, snatched the phone from Pete’s hand, then hurried to the corner of the room and tapped the screen. “Ooh! Ooh! Look at me! I’m addicted to a stupid video game! It’s so much fun, I just can’t stop! It’s altering my brain chemistry! Ooh! Ooh!” He lovingly stroked the phone. “You’re morally repugnant, but I could never quit you.”

“Guys, stop,” Kirk said. “Just stop. He was ready to delete the game, and now you’ve turned this into a great big clusterfuck.”

Pete stood. “Barry, give it back. I’m not kidding.”

Dudley also stood. “Seriously, Barry, I want my phone back. This has gotten out of hand.”

Barry kept the phone. He’d stopped being a sarcastic asshole. Instead, he was fixated, silently tapping at the screen.

See? The game was great! They’d all judged him, and now they understood!

“Barry …” Pete said.

“In a minute. It’s a compelling game, not gonna lie.”

“I am not playing around, Barry,” Pete warned. “Give me the phone. Now. Before I break your hand to get it.”

“Am I supposed to be scared?”

“Last chance.”

“I’ll give it to you when I’m done.”

Pete lunged forward. Dudley followed.

“Oh, come on, guys—” Kirk began, just before Pete and Dudley smashed Barry’s face into the corner of the table.

Some blood and a couple of his teeth hit the floor.

Dudley heard the screams. He wasn’t sure who was doing it—probably everyone—because he was too focused on smashing Barry’s face into the sharp wooden corner, over and over.

Barry dropped the phone.

Before Dudley could pick it up, someone pulled him away.

Pete grabbed it instead.

No! It wasn’t his game! Dudley should have never given up the phone in the first place.

Dudley was skinny and had never been in a fight, but adrenaline shot through his veins, and he wasn’t scared. He was yanked free and saw it was Ty holding him. Crying out in rage, he slashed at Ty’s face with his fingernails. They weren’t very long, but it left four pink lines across Ty’s cheek.

“Call the police!” Jeremy shouted.

Dudley wished he had a weapon to kill these assholes. All he had was his wallet, but he couldn’t slash anyone’s throat with a credit card.

Though Ty’s face wasn’t bleeding, he seemed stunned by what had happened. It gave Dudley the chance to punch him in the stomach as hard as he could, hoping he’d ruptured his guts. Ty groaned in agony and doubled over.

Dudley glanced at his phone. Dion and Todd were trying to subdue Pete, who’d gone full-on feral. He punched Todd in the throat so hard, Dudley swore he heard his windpipe snap. Probably just wishful thinking.

Todd clutched his neck with both hands and staggered away, gasping for breath.

Jeremy threw open the door and got the hell out of there.

Barry sat up, blood gushing from his mangled face. He said something incoherent and reached helplessly for the phone.

“Throw me the phone!” Dudley shouted at Pete.

Pete shook his head.

Dudley heard Skip yelling behind him. “Yes! This is an emergency!”

No! The police couldn’t show up! They’d take his phone as evidence! Shit!

He ran toward Skip, who frantically backed into the wall. “Please, send help!” he shouted into the phone.

Dudley picked up a chair and bashed it against Skip’s arm, knocking the phone to the floor. He didn’t want Skip to pick it up again, so he bashed him a second time. Skip howled in pain as a broken piece of bone burst through his arm. As the blood spurted, Dudley decided to finish the job and smashed the chair into him, over and over, until Skip was soaked in blood and no longer moving.

Real-life violence wasn’t nearly as satisfying as the game. This wasn’t a fun time at the bloodbath at all. He just wanted his phone back.

Pete pulled a set of keys from his pocket. An instant later, Dion shrieked and crashed into the table, a key jutting from his left eyeball. The keyring dangled for a moment, finally slipping out and clattering onto the table.

Kirk just stood there, frozen, pressed tightly against the wall, whimpering like a frightened little bitch.

Todd’s face was purple as he continued struggling to breathe.

Ty vomited all over the front of his shirt.

“Give me my phone,” Dudley told Pete.

Pete sneered. “Come and get it.”

Margot did not try to mount Gordon in the middle of the night. It wasn’t something she would ever consider doing. The fantasy of such a thing did occupy much of her headspace until she finally fell asleep. It was better than thinking about being in peril.

In the morning, they took advantage of the hotel’s continental breakfast, and then Gordon drove her back to the strip mall. The parking lot wasn’t as desolate as it had been last night, but it was still only about a quarter full. It was not a happening place.

We’re here, she texted Rowan. Wish us luck.

Good luck. Please, be careful. I mean it.

I will, I promise!

They got out of Gordon’s car and walked to the office. It was possible this entire experience might constitute knocking on the door, having no one answer, then leaving. After Bowie’s threats, that honestly didn’t sound so bad.

She tested the door. Unlocked.

Nervously, she opened it and they walked inside.

The office of FTATA Inc. was sort of like wandering into an extremely small, narrow, abandoned warehouse. No décor of any kind. A small receptionist’s desk with a hallway behind it, and nothing else, not even chairs.

The receptionist was a plump, pleasant, sixty-ish-year-old woman. She wore thick glasses, and her red hair was piled so high, she could probably hide a small animal inside. Her lipstick was the brightest shade of pink Margot had ever seen.

“Hello,” she said in a sing-song voice. “Do you have an appointment?”

“No,” Margot said.

“That’s no problem. What brings you here today?”

“We just wanted to speak to someone in charge.”

“Oh, dear. Do you have a complaint?”

“No. We have some questions.”

“All right,” said the receptionist. “I’ll let Mr. Pyron know you’re here. He’s a very busy man, so you might have to wait a bit.”

“That’s fine,” Margot said.

The receptionist pressed a button on her telephone. “Mr. Pyron, you have visitors.”

A gruff voice answered. “I’ll be out in a minute.”

The receptionist smiled at Margot and Gordon. “I’m afraid we don’t have coffee, but may I offer you a bottled water?”

“No, thank you,” Margot said.

“Suit yourself,” the receptionist said. Then she held up a pistol and shot Gordon in the face.

There was the whoosh of a silenced bullet, the warm spatter of Gordon’s blood on the side of Margot’s face, and then the large man dropped to the floor.

So many emotions, blasted through Margot that she couldn’t process them all. Shock. Terror. Sorrow. Rage. For now, above all: Get the hell out of there.

Heart hammering in her chest, Margot turned and ran for the door. It was now locked.

She kicked the glass as hard as she could, but it wouldn’t even crack.

“Ma’am?” the receptionist called out. “Please don’t kick our door. You won’t be able to break it, and you’re just scuffing the surface.”

Margot turned back around. Blood trickled down Gordon’s face from the bullet wound. The receptionist pointed the pistol at her.

“I don’t want to shoot you in the leg,” the receptionist said. “Please wait quietly, and Mr. Pyron will be out to see you soon.”

“You didn’t have to kill him!”

“Well, now, that’s where you’re wrong. Mr. Pyron asked me to shoot him, and I did as I was told. I can’t afford to lose my job and health insurance, not with my diabetes.”

Margot forced herself not to scream or burst into tears.

The receptionist beckoned to her with the pistol. “I’m going to need you to give me your phone. Can’t have you secretly trying to call anyone now, can I?”

“Please,” Margot said. “Just let me go.”

“That’s a silly request. Do you think I’m going to murder your gentleman friend, and then let you stroll out of here? Consider your words before you speak. Again, I’m empowered to shoot you in the leg if it comes to that, so please, give me your phone.”

Hands shaking, Margot took her phone out of her pocket and slammed it on the desk.

“Thank you,” the receptionist said. “No reason to be hostile about it.”

A door at the end of the hallway opened, and a man in a dark-blue suit stepped out. Margot had expected an old man, but Mr. Pyron was about her age. He ran a hand through his thick, black hair as he quickly made his way down the hallway, almost jogging. As he walked around the desk, he glanced at Gordon’s body.

“Look at that,” he said. “Dead-center in the forehead. She’s super organized, she can bake like no one’s business, and she can shoot a bodyguard smack dab in the middle of his forehead. Perfect shot. Nice work, Mary.”

The receptionist beamed. “Thank you, sir.”

Mr. Pyron stepped over Gordon. “You must be Margot. I bet you’re really hot when you don’t look ready to vomit.”

“What do you want from me?” Margot asked, cringing as his gaze swept her body.

Mr. Pyron frowned. “That’s a cliché and an odd question. You’re the one who set out to talk to us. Yes, we encouraged you to stick to the plan, but still, if you’d just buried your brother and moved on with your life, you wouldn’t be in this position.”

“Mr. Pyron … ?” Mary said.

“Oh, right. Mary would like to bring in the cleaning crew while the blood is still wet. So if you’d be kind enough to join me, we’ll continue this discussion in my office.”

He grabbed Margot’s phone from the desk and walked down the hallway. Margot reluctantly followed, hoping her trembling legs wouldn’t cause her to fall.

His office was small, cramped, and, unsurprisingly, had nothing on the walls. He did have a chair in front of his desk. “Before you have a seat, look at your phone,” he said, holding it up. After her face unlocked it, she sat down, and Mr. Pyron sat behind his desk.

“All right, let’s see,” he said, swiping his index finger across her screen.

“Waste of time,” he said, saying the words out loud as he typed them. “Office was abandoned and empty. Will call soon to discuss next move. And … sent.” He set the phone down. “All right, Margot, I’m all yours. What would you like to ask me?”

“What are you going to do to me?”

“That’s a spoiler. Let’s save that one for last. What else?”

“Why couldn’t my brother stop playing?”

“Because Fun Times at the Bloodbath is so entertaining!” Mr. Pyron said, his sarcasm giving her yet another reason to want to kill him. “It’s like we took Pac-Man, Tetris, Fortnite, Bejeweled, Mario Kart, and Minecraft and blended them into one great big addictive video game milkshake.”

“Bullshit,” Margot said.

“All right, fine. To be very clear, though, I’m proud of the game. I did all of the level design myself, and then we farmed the programming out to a few freelancers with the scariest NDA you’ll ever read.” He paused. “An NDA is a Non-Disclosure Agreement.”

“I know what an NDA is.”

“I wasn’t sure. Probably not many calls to sign an NDA when you’re a waitress.”

“Server.”

“Are you correcting me to be pedantic or to make me think you’re not scared?”

“Oh, I’m scared. Not trying to convince you otherwise.”

“Usually there’s a whole team, but I did all of the playtesting myself. I don’t expect you to be impressed, I’m just saying the quality control is pretty good, considering how much I did on my own. I cut a lot of corners, but it’s not reflected in the final product. No bugs to make people quit playing.”

Margot’s phone vibrated. She could see it was Rowan calling.

“For crying out loud, you told him you’d call him soon. He’s probably calling the bodyguard, too. So you’re going to channel your best Academy Award winning actress abilities and assure him everything is fine.” He accepted the call, put the phone on speaker, then pointed to Margot.

“Hello?”

“Hi, Margot. I saw your text. It was a complete dead end?”

“Yeah, sorry.”

“Then why was Bowie so insistent you go to Austin?”

“I have no idea.”

“Are you okay? You sound weird.”

“I’m fine. This … maybe isn’t the best time for me to talk.”

“Why not? What’s going on? Are you safe?”

“Very safe. So, uh, Gordon and I hit it off. We really hit it off.”

“Ohhhhh …”

“Yeah. He can’t talk right now, if you know what I mean, and I’m a little out of breath, so would it be okay if I call you when we’re finished?”

“Sure, sure. Take your time. My apologies.” Rowan hung up.

Mr. Pyron set the phone back on the desk. “Well done. Way to improvise. Oh, jeez, you two didn’t really hook up, did you? Did Mary kill your new lover?”

“No.” But he did kill her new friend, and she wasn’t going to forget that.

“Okay, good. I would’ve felt terrible about that. Where were we?”

“The game.”

“Of course. I think Fun Times at the Bloodbath is a hoot. Is it the most technologically advanced game ever made? No. But it’s got a charming retro feel. That said, yes, you were correct when you called me on my bullshit. It wasn’t the sheer entertainment value that killed your brother. Tell me, Margot, do you believe in black magic?”

“No.”

“Good. Because there’s no sorcery involved here. It’s just a normal video game, except I added a filter after it was done. It’s more complicated than I’m going to make it sound, but you don’t want to listen to me drone on about the science all day.”

“Actually, I do,” Margot said.

Mr. Pyron gave a sheepish grin. “Then I’m busted, because I don’t completely understand it myself. Essentially, the game is sending out subliminal messages that impact your brain waves. Poof! Addiction! We’re not sure if it works on everyone—it probably doesn’t—and there are variations on how people respond, but the testing process has been an incredible success. I mean, there are people who get addicted in seconds! It’s crazy! I know you won’t appreciate the accomplishment, but, c’mon! We got your brother to sit in his own dried feces and play until he died of thirst! That’s pretty impressive, right?”

“Fuck you.”

“Fair response.”

“Why Bobby?”

“In your brother’s case, he was already prone to being addicted to video games, and his social situation meant he could likely play until he died without being interrupted. To be clear, there are a lot of people we could have used, so the odds of him being selected were astronomical. Bad luck for Bobby. Good luck for you—if you’d shown up while he was still alive, he would not have taken it well if you shut off his game. Then we wanted a co-habiting couple where only one was a gamer, a couple where both were gamers … you know, various combinations to test in the real world.”

Margot said nothing.

“We need to move on, but I want to impress upon you what an accomplishment it was to end your brother’s life. Have you ever been really, really thirsty? It’s miserable. His throat would’ve been sore, probably raw and bloody by the end, but he couldn’t stop playing my game. He had to know he was dying, right? He knew if he kept playing, he was going to die, and he still couldn’t bring himself to get up, change his crusty pants, and go into the kitchen to get a drink. I’m proud of that one. I liked what happened with Chrissy and Kevin Kingman, too—that was fun—and there are some other ones you probably haven’t heard of yet. Lots of bloodshed. But I think your brother is my favorite. There’s such a purity to it.”

Margot remained silent.

“Next question?”

“Why?”

“FTATA Inc. doesn’t really roll off the tongue, does it? Figure out what it stands for yet?”

“Fun Times At The … Something.”

“Well no, that would be FTATS. Try ‘apocalypse.’ Fun Times at the Apocalypse. What would happen if this game went live, to an audience of millions? That would be absolutely nuts, wouldn’t it?”

Margot couldn’t process what she was hearing. Surely it wasn’t real.

“Fun Times at the Bloodbath. Free for a limited time only. Get your copy now!” He smirked. “The world is going to be a very interesting place after we launch.”

Margot gaped.

“I’ll make you a deal, though. If you ask me politely not to do this, and give me puppy dog eyes, I’ll reconsider. Whoops, too late. Yes, Margot, we are launching this son of a bitch tonight! Six o’clock, Central Time; seven o’clock, Eastern. Instead of staring stupidly, ask me why I want to do this.”

“Why do you want to do this?”

“I don’t know. I really don’t. Probably because I hate humanity. Also, I love anarchy. There’s a tragic backstory where my brother got so addicted to video games, it cost him his job and family. But that’s not the origin story. It’s just the creative spark. Sort of a, ‘Oh, that’s how I can cause civilization to collapse’ moment.”

“I thought there’d be more to it,” Margot admitted.

Mr. Pyron shrugged. “I could monologue for hours about this. But I shouldn’t need to. Look around. Look at what humanity has become. We’re a cesspool of stupidity. I say, burn it all to the ground and start over. This is my way to set the world on fire.” He cleared his throat. “I feel like I’m talking about myself a lot. Let’s talk about you. What was that first question you had?”

“What are you going to do to me?”

“Yes, that one. In today’s interconnected online world, news travels fast. We haven’t done any advance marketing for Fun Times at the Bloodbath, so we need something that’s going to get everyone’s attention, very quickly. When you started poking around, I thought, why not create an ad starring … you?”

“You want me to promote the game?” Margot asked, incredulous.

“That’s right,” Mr. Pyron said. “I love the irony. One of the first people to experience loss from the game becomes our greatest marketing asset. So, what do you say? Will you record a video and tell everyone to download the hot new game, Fun Times at the Bloodbath?”

“No. I won’t.”

“Not even for a generous payday?”

“No.”

“I’m glad to hear that. Because the promotional video I had in mind has you doing it against your will. I want it to be like those videos where political prisoners are forced to tell the camera they’re being treated well.”

“I’m not doing your video,” Margot said, wondering if she could try to make a break for it.

“Really?” Mr. Pyron asked. “You wouldn’t do it with a gun to your head?”

“Absolutely not.”

“You’re bluffing. Want to know how I know?”

“How?”

Mr. Pyron reached beneath the desk and pointed a gun at her. “Because I meant it literally.” He stood up. “Come with me. I’ve got something really neat to show you.”

He forced her out of his office at gunpoint, then opened another door. This led to a tiny room with, what appeared to be, a dentist’s chair in the center. It had several leather straps attached. A nearby table had a wide assortment of weapons and implements of torture.

A camera was mounted on a tripod next to the chair.

Mr. Pyron shut the door behind them.

“Do you get it now?” he asked.

“You’re going to strap me to the chair and torture me?” Again, Margot forced herself not to cry. She refused to beg for mercy.

“The torture part is up to you. But this will be the perfect video to draw attention to tonight’s launch.”

“Why?”

“Because what better way to tell the public about Fun Times at the Bloodbath than with a snuff video?”

Dudley clenched his fists. He knew he wasn’t an intimidating figure, but he was ready to rip Pete apart, limb by limb, if he didn’t hand over the phone. He had no right to play the game Dudley was selected to playtest.

Todd dropped to the floor. Probably dead from his crushed windpipe.

Dion’s hand was pressed over his bloody eye socket, as he screamed bloody murder.

“Guys, please!” Kirk pleaded. “We were supposed to be doing something good here!”

Pete ignored him. “Dudley, I’ll make you a deal. Let me play the game all the way through, then I’ll give you your phone back. I promise.”

“Is that a joke? Absolutely not! Give me my phone back, and I’ll let you play the game when I’m done.”

“Can’t do that. Sorry.”

“Then I’m taking it back.”

“What about Ty?”

“What about him?” Ty’s brutal punch to the stomach wasn’t fatal, but Dudley couldn’t imagine he was much of a threat right now.

Pete pointed. Dudley saw Ty tapping on his own cell phone screen. Probably calling 911. It didn’t matter at this point, but Dudley didn’t appreciate that Ty was trying to keep him from playing the game.

He knocked the phone out of Ty’s hand, then punched him in the stomach again, hoping blood would jettison from his eyes, nose, and mouth from the force of the blow. There was no blood, but Ty threw up before falling to the floor next to Todd’s corpse.

Dudley kicked him in the head a few times. If he had better shoes, he might’ve been able to crack his skull, but Dudley was confident Ty wouldn’t be getting back up before an ambulance arrived.

Kirk was crying. Loser.

Dudley glanced around the room. To his horror, he realized Pete had fled while he was kicking Ty in the head. Dudley chased after him, cursing under his breath.

Pete hadn’t gotten far. He raced past a terrified-looking student, then pushed through the front door of the dorm. Dudley followed.

Campus police were already outside. Two cars, four cops.

Plenty of students were on the lawn outside the building.

Pete, either not caring what happened or taking the calculated risk the cops wouldn’t shoot so close to innocent bystanders, kept running.

Dudley ran, too.

A cop shouted for them to stop, but if Pete wasn’t going to obey law enforcement, neither was Dudley.

Most students moved out of their way as they ran. Pete bashed into a girl, knocking her to the ground, and kept running. Dudley accidentally stepped on her hand as he passed.

He was catching up to that thieving son of a bitch.

A few seconds later, he did. He tackled Pete, and they both tumbled onto the grass.

Pete cried out in pain and spit out a bloody-pink chunk of his tongue.

Dudley punched him in the jaw. Punching Ty in the stomach hadn’t hurt at all, but the blow to the jaw felt like it broke his fingers. Worth it.

A couple guys dragged Dudley away from Pete. Couldn’t they see who the villain was here?

The interfering assholes were bigger than Dudley. But their size advantage was outweighed by his willingness to fucking kill anyone who stood between him and his phone. They were trying to do a good deed and hadn’t anticipated he’d go berserk, but quickly realized a violent struggle with an insane peer wasn’t worth it and let him go.

Pete was back on the move. Dudley resumed the chase.

“Give me my phone!” Dudley shouted.

Pete shouted something back, but it was unintelligible due to the missing piece of tongue.

Dudley was so close to reaching Pete. When he did, he’d knock him down, break his spine by jumping on it repeatedly, and retrieve his phone. He hadn’t worked out what he’d do after that—probably run as fast as possible, find a place to hide, and resume playing the game.

Closer.

Closer.

Dudley dove into the air after the piece of shit.

It was a grave miscalculation. Instead of grabbing Pete by the shoulders in mid-air and smashing him against the ground, splattering his ugly face, Dudley missed completely. He landed hard, the grass providing very little cushion. His knees, stomach, and face took the brunt of his fall.

Intense pain shot through his mouth.

Fuck! Had he bitten off part of his tongue, too?

There was no time to wallow in misery. He had to get his phone back. The idea of Pete hiding somewhere, happily playing Fun Times at the Bloodbath, filled Dudley with more rage and jealousy than the thought of Pete having sex with Emily right in front of him.

He stood, wanting to scream in rage, but many of his fellow students were staring. He didn’t want to embarrass himself further.

Someone tripped Pete. It wasn’t clear if they’d done it on purpose, but Pete tumbled onto the grass yet again.

Dudley caught up just as he got back on his feet. That piece of crap was not going to escape again.

Realizing this, Pete turned and spat some blood.

Dudley spat some blood back at him.

“Give me my phone,” Dudley said. His words weren’t too badly messed up.

“Both of you! On the ground! Immediately!” someone shouted through a megaphone.

Nearby students moved quickly away. Pete and Dudley stayed put, facing each other like gunslingers prepping for a duel.

“On the ground or we will shoot!”

Pete spat more blood. When he spoke, Dudley figured out what he was saying through context clues: “They’re gonna shoot us.”

“Give me my phone.” Dudley didn’t like that Pete could see campus police sneaking up behind him, but he wasn’t willing to peek over his shoulder, in case Pete took the opportunity to flee again.

“No.”

“Then I guess they’re gonna shoot us.” The idea held no appeal for Dudley. That he could be dead seconds from now—without completing the game—was terrifying. But there was no scenario where he would allow Pete to escape with his phone. None at all. To hell with that.

Pete’s face fell, as if suddenly realizing how bad things had become. Blood dribbled from both sides of his mouth. “Maybe we should give ourselves up,” he said.

“Fine,” Dudley said. “Give me my phone, and give yourself up. I love that plan.”

“You know what, Dudley?”

“What?”

“Go to hell.” Pete flung the phone high over Dudley’s head.

The phone landed in front of two cops, both of whom had their guns drawn.

Dudley ran for the phone. He was an unarmed student. They wouldn’t shoot him.

“Stop!” shouted the cop with the megaphone. “Stop, or we will shoot!”

No, they wouldn’t. He was only trying to retrieve his phone. They wouldn’t shoot him for that.

The first bullet grazed his leg. He barely felt it.

“We’re ordering you to stop!”

The second bullet grazed the same leg. This one hurt more, but his phone was tantalizingly close … it was right there!

The third bullet ended him.

* * *

Kirk wailed as he watched campus security shoot his roommate in the head.

If only he’d done the intervention sooner!

* * *

Screams echoed through the air, and chaos ensued. Pete wondered if he could sneak over and get the phone. Dudley wasn’t going to need it.

As it turned out, he couldn’t.

* * *

“You’re positive he wasn’t on drugs?” the cop asked Kirk in the interrogation room.

“It was the game!”

“Could he have been on drugs and also addicted to the game?”

“The dude didn’t do drugs, I’m telling you! He started playing this game on his phone, and it screwed with his head! He wouldn’t do anything else!”

“That sounds like drugs.”

Kirk sobbed. “Pete played for, like, thirty seconds and went insane. There’s something wrong with the game!”

“Was Pete a drug user?” the cop asked.

“I don’t know, but it was the game!” Kirk placed his head on the desk and cried.

The cop handed him a tissue. Kirk blew his nose, then used the same tissue to wipe his eyes.

“Can I ask a question that might sound inappropriate?” Kirk asked.

“Sure.”

“Is it true that if your roommate dies during the semester, you get straight A’s?”

“That is very much not true.”

Kirk cried some more.

* * *

“He actually asked me, during our date, if it was okay if he played the game while we waited for our food to arrive,” Emily said.

“And what did you tell him?” the cop asked.

“What do you think I told him?”

“My job isn’t to assume things.”

“I told him no, and I left.”

“Do you think your rejection could have sent him over the edge?”

“Are you even a real cop?”

“Please don’t be antagonistic, ma’am.”

“I don’t know what was wrong with him,” Emily said. “Maybe he was on drugs.”

“That’s what we think. We’ll be testing the body.”

“Comfy?” Mr. Pyron asked.

Margot didn’t bother answering. He knew she wasn’t comfortable, strapped tightly to the chair. She’d been terrified when he made her take off her shoes and socks, but that’s as far as it went; she remained fully clothed otherwise.

Though she made some attempts to struggle, she obviously wasn’t going to escape.

“I’m not going to have you read from a script,” Mr. Pyron said. “I have faith in your ability to ad-lib. You’re just going to tell our viewers they need to download Fun Times at the Bloodbath as soon as it goes live. It’s available on the console of their choice, and also PC, Mac, iPhone, and Android. Coordinating the launch of all of these at the same time was a real bitch, but I’ve got deep pockets and a willingness to put in the work. Don’t put that in the video—no one cares. What’s important is that it’s totally free for a limited time only!”

“I need you to let me make a call first,” Margot said.

“To your lawyer buddy?”

“To my parents. I want to say goodbye.”

“That makes sense,” Mr. Pyron said. “But, no. Though this may surprise you, I’m a great, big softie, and I’d probably get too emotional listening to your final conversation with your mom and dad. Or, maybe I don’t want to grant any of you that closure. One of those. Either way, the answer is no.”

“Then I’m not going to talk on-camera.”

“Okay. The thing is, you say that now, but once I start jamming a red-hot nail into the bottom of your foot, you’ll feel more cooperative. We can avoid the really unpleasant stuff if you do what I ask. It’s up to you—I’ll get the video I need either way.”

Margot wanted to plead with him to let her go, promising she wouldn’t tell anyone what he was doing. But it wouldn’t do any good. She would keep her dignity for as long as she could. This might—probably would—end with her soaked in blood, sobbing, and begging for her life, but she wasn’t there yet.

“People get bored quickly, so we’re going to keep this short,” Mr. Pyron said. “You’ll need to look scared, which isn’t a problem, and make sure you hit the key points. Repeat them to me.”

“I don’t remember them.”

“Yes, you do.”

Margot shook her head. “I don’t.”

Mr. Pyron slapped her across the face. “Being legitimately nervous is one thing. But I will not let you be an annoying pain in the ass. I’m the one in charge. You’re the one strapped to a second-hand dentist’s chair. Apologize.”

“I’m sorry.”

“That sounded sincere. I accept your apology. I don’t care how many takes we have to do. If you have blood in your hair or cuts all over your face, it makes the video more effective. And I have nowhere else to be. But if you want your torment to end, I encourage you to get it right.”

“You mean, if I want to die sooner?”

“It sounds very morbid when phrased like that,” Mr. Pyron admitted. “But, yeah, I guess so. It’s the difference between a quick, easy death and one that drags out. You don’t want the one that drags out. It’s not a good death, believe me.”

“I believe you.”

“Now tell me the key points.”

“The game goes live at six o’clock tonight,” Margot said.

“Central Time.”

“Six o’clock Central. It’s on all consoles. Phones. Computers.”

“Perfect. The website and download information will flash on the screen, so you don’t have to worry about that. Are you ready?”

Margot wasn’t, but she nodded.

“Need to do any vocal exercises first?”

“No.”

“All right. I’m not sure if you’re a method actor or not, but I want to make sure you look sufficiently scared, so I’m going to help out.” Mr. Pyron picked up a scalpel from the table, then slashed it across Margot’s cheek, cutting her from just below her right eye to her jaw.

She grimaced in pain and gasped in shock.

Mr. Pyron pressed a button on the camera, then pointed at her. “And … go!”

Tears trickled down Margot’s face as she looked into the camera. She didn’t know what to do. She had to cooperate, right? There wasn’t much choice.

“There’s a great new game coming out,” she said, voice trembling. “It goes live today at six o’clock Central time, wherever you get games. It’s the most addictive game you’ll ever play. My brother died playing it. And it’s totally free for a limited time. So whatever you do, make sure you download Fun Times in the Bloodbath now.”

“Cut,” Mr. Pyron said. “What the hell is Fun Times in the Bloodbath?”

“Sorry. Fun Times at the Bloodbath.”

“At the bare minimum, you’ve got to get the title right. And why are you asking them to make sure they download a game now that isn’t available until six? How does that make any sense, Margot?”

“I’m sorry!”

Mr. Pyron slapped her again, this time directly against the cut. It hurt so bad, she screamed.

“Take one was a bust. The next time you mess up, I’m going to jam this scalpel as deep into your foot as it will go. Got it?”

“Yes.”

“Take two. Action!”

For a few moments, Margot couldn’t find her voice. She began gasping for breath and realized she was close to hyperventilating for the first time in her life.

Mr. Pyron, off-camera, nodded and gave her a thumbs-up. “I love it,” he mouthed.

“There’s a new game coming out,” she finally managed to blurt out. “It’s called Fun Times at the Bloodbath, and it’s the most amazing game you’ll ever play! And the best part is, it’s absolutely free for a limited time!”

Mr. Pyron jabbed the scalpel at her, making her flinch. But he didn’t actually cut her with it. Presumably, he just wanted it in the shot.

“You can get it in whatever format you use to play games,” Margot continued. “Xbox, Playstation, PC, Mac, your phone … it’s on, I mean, it’ll be on all of them.” Mr. Pyron didn’t seem upset by the flub. “It’s a bloody good time!”

Mr. Pyron grinned. Clearly, he liked that line.

Now what? What could she possibly do? Purposely mess up and hope if she drew out the video-making process, he’d eventually make some sort of mistake or stop being an evil madman and grow a conscience?

“It’s so much fun, my brother died playing it,” she told the camera. She choked back a sob. “He couldn’t stop playing, even when he was dying of thirst. This game is simply amazing, and did I mention it’s free? You can download it starting at 6:00 p.m. today, Central Time, and you shouldn’t waste any time, because you’ll want to start playing this fun, fun, fun game as soon as possible.”

Mr. Pyron gave her a thumbs-up. Then he picked up a large knife.

He grinned at her, a grin so sinister, he probably practiced it in the mirror for maximum impact.

He very slowly moved the knife toward her.

“Fun Times at the Bloodbath,” Margot said, not bothering to keep the panic from her voice. “It’s the best game ever made. It’ll ruin your life, but what a way to go!”

Mr. Pyron slid the blade across her throat, ear to ear.

Thick red liquid ran down her neck.

“Cut,” Mr. Pyron said. “Perfect.”

The fake blood was uncomfortably cold as it ran beneath her shirt. Margot was baffled. So he wasn’t going to murder her?

“Sorry about the ruse,” he said. “I wanted it to look realistic.” He held up the prop knife. “See, when I squeeze the handle, the fake blood—”

“I know how it worked,” Margot said. “This was all a joke?”

“Did the scalpel across your face feel like a joke?”

Margot shook her head. It still stung.

“All of these tools are real, and I would’ve used them if needed. But I didn’t want to kill you. You’re a valuable marketing resource.”

“What happens next?”

“I’m letting you go.”

“Wha—Really?”

“Absolutely,” Mr. Pyron said. “I’m releasing you free and clear. No restrictions.”

Margot gaped at him. “Why would you do that?”

“Because you’ll want to go around warning people the game is dangerous. I encourage that—it’s good publicity. And because you’re the star of the promo video, everyone is going to think it’s performance art, part of the campaign, and they won’t take you seriously.”

Margot didn’t know what to say. She supposed that made sense, but …

“I’m going to leave you here while I edit and upload the video. Shouldn’t be more than ten minutes. Feel free to spend some time with your thoughts.”

Mr. Pyron removed the camera from the tripod, then left the room.

Margot spent the next ten minutes frantically trying to free herself from the chair, imagining how great it would feel to slam a claw hammer into Mr. Pryon’s face upon his return. Unfortunately, the straps were extremely well secured, and she’d made no progress by the time he came back.

Mr. Pyron removed the straps on her wrists and chest, leaving only her right foot bound. Picking up the gun, he pointed it at her. “You can undo the last one. Please don’t ruin this experience by trying something stupid.”

She carefully unfastened the strap without trying something stupid.

“All right,” he said. “You are free to go. Enjoy your newfound fame.”

He gestured with the gun, indicating she should leave the room.

Margot walked down the hallway toward the receptionist’s desk, while Mary sat with the pistol she’d used to kill Gordon rained aimed at her the whole time.

When Margot walked past the desk, she noticed Gordon’s body was gone, along with the blood. She suddenly wanted to cry again, but she swallowed back the tears.

“We have a few more minutes of cleanup to do,” Mary said. “So I’m going to ask you to wait here until we’re done.”

“Mr. Pyron said I was free to go.”

“Surely you know the administrative assistant is the one who really knows how things work, right? Stand in the corner.”

Margot obliged. Bowie and another guy entered through the front door. Bowie winked as they walked past. A minute later, they returned, wheeling the dentist’s chair. They made three more trips, even removing Mary’s desk.

“You can go now,” Mary told Margot. “The smell of bleach is about to get really bad.”

As she left the office, Bowie slammed the rear doors of a light blue van.

“Just the person I wanted to see,” he said, walking toward her. “Your shitty car is right over there. I fixed the radio. Let’s trade keys.”

Margot didn’t feel like engaging in witty banter about wishing she could keep his car. Instead, she took her key back, gave him his, and walked to her car.

The seat was too far back, and he’d messed with the mirrors. She adjusted everything, then drove quickly away, worried they might change their minds about letting her go.

She was too freaked out to drive and make a call at the same time, so she parked at a different strip mall a few blocks away.

“Hi, Margot,” Rowan said. “Sorry I interrupted before.”

“I made that up. They killed Gordon.”

“What?” Rowan shouted at the other end of the line.

“They killed him and forced me to record a promotional video. What happened to Bobby and Chrissy was by design. It’s the game! And they’re releasing it to the world in about six hours.”

“What?”

Margot told him exactly what happened, recounting the conversation in as much detail as she could remember, leaving nothing out.

“I don’t even know how to respond to this,” Rowan said. Margot heard the clack of his laptop keys as he typed something. “The video is already up.”

“Shit.”

“Hold on a minute.” Over the phone, she heard her own voice. It sounded like Mr. Pyron had used the entire second take without any edits. “Obviously, the slit throat is fake. What about the cut on your face?”

“Real.”

“Damn. Okay, yeah, it does look like they’re officially launching the game this evening. That’s really bad.”

“What do we do?”

“You should stay in Austin. Hole up in the hotel. I’ll start making calls.”

“We need to warn people,” Margot said.

“Definitely,” Rowan said. “But that asshole was absolutely right. If you do, it looks like publicity. The general public won’t believe you made the video against your will. If you record a TikTok video warning everyone not to download the game, it’ll give the whole thing more oxygen.”

“You’re right.” A frantic warning that Fun Times at the Bloodbath was so addictive that it killed her brother, and made Chrissy murder her husband, would not dissuade people from playing it. “I need to call the FBI.”

“Yes. Do that. Tell them everything. Maybe they can get it shut down before it goes live. I’m going to reach out to Nintendo, Sony, Microsoft, Apple … all of those places, and tell them we’ve filed a copyright infringement suit against FTATA Inc. There’s no way I could get an actual legal injunction against its release with no evidence, but maybe I can scare them.”

“Okay,” Margot said. “You make those calls, and I’ll call the FBI.”

“I’ll keep you posted. You do the same.”

“I will. We have to stop them from releasing this fucking game!”

As she drove back to the hotel, Margot had an idea for a video that might work.

She had a TikTok account she used for viewing other people’s videos, rarely uploading anything of her own. Her audience was very small, but maybe she could get this to go viral.

Margot parked behind the hotel and wiped the blood off her face. She didn’t give a shit how her hair looked. She took a few deep breaths and thought about what she wanted to say, then opened the TikTok app and started recording.

“Hello,” she said. “I’m Margot Rosewood, the girl in the video for that new game. I hate to do this, but they’ve left me no other choice. Despite repeated attempts to get them to pay what they owe me, I’ve never been compensated for my appearance. I’ll be taking them to court, but in the meantime, there’s a video out there where I’m promoting a game that simply isn’t very good. Maybe with some more playtesting and updates they can turn it into a game worth playing, but the launch version is a buggy mess, and I humbly and sincerely apologize for my role in encouraging you to download it. Please don’t waste your time, and please, share this video and spread the word. They’re thieves who don’t deserve your business. Thank you.”

She posted the video. It wasn’t much, but if it discouraged anyone from checking out the game, it would be worth it.

After she sent Rowan the link, she searched How do you contact the FBI and gave them a call.

* * *

“Perfect,” Rowan said, after watching Margot’s TikTok video. It was exactly the right approach. He didn’t know any social media influencers, but he had a former client whose daughter was one, so he e-mailed him the link with a quick e-mail explaining how much he would appreciate her sharing it.

Margot’s “snuff” video had already been widely shared. Rowan did a quick skim of the comments.

This sounds badass!!!

Lol totally fake lol.

I have to get this game!

No way is this game free, maybe the first level is free but not the whole game.

She’s mid but I’d do her.

He wasn’t familiar with how video game launches worked and had no idea how many might be affected, but if the number of homicidal video game addicts grew by more than zero, that was too many.

Stopping the game’s release by himself would be incredibly difficult. Probably impossible. He didn’t have evidence of copyright infringement to present to Nintendo and the others, since he made it up. Those types of cease-and-desist orders came from large legal firms through certified mail. It didn’t happen hours before the game’s release.

He’d call their legal departments anyway and try to get the ball rolling.

Bonnie peeked her head into his office. “Ms. Green is here.”

“I thought I told you to cancel all my appointments for the rest of the day.”

“She showed up anyway. She’s panicking because you were supposed to discuss her son’s drug charge.”

“Tell her it can wait. I’m trying to save the world here.”

* * *

The person Margot spoke with at the FBI suggested she visit the Austin field office. When she arrived, she explained the situation and was led to, what appeared to be, an interrogation room. Accepting the offer of weak coffee, she texted Rowan while she waited.

Waiting to talk to the FBI in person. Any luck shutting the game down?

None. Weirdly, a small-time lawyer threatening them with a copyright infringement lawsuit, without evidence, is not making them quake in their boots.

What’s your next move? Margot texted.

A dissuasion campaign. I’m going to get your TikTok video distributed as widely as I can. Going to get my wife and daughters to scour the internet and respond to as many pro-game comments as they can.

Do they know what the game really is?

Hell no. My daughter, Jenny, is a huge gamer, and she’d think I was insane. They believe I have a beef with the designer.

Happy to indulge your pettiness?

Always!

I’ll do the same thing while I wait. This coffee sucks. Talk to you soon.

The door opened, and a middle-aged man entered the room. Margot was disappointed he wasn’t wearing a black suit and sunglasses, but he’d do.

“I’m Agent Lankster,” he said. “What can I do for you?”

Margot didn’t want to be written off as a crazy person, so she refrained from saying Fun Times at the Bloodbath was fatally addictive. She focused on the murder of Gordon, being held against her will and forced to record the video.

“May I take a picture of your facial wound?” Agent Lankster asked.

“Sure.”

He took a picture with his phone, then raised his index finger to her cheek. “May I?”

“Yes.”

He touched her cheek and nodded, seemingly satisfied that the cut was legitimate. “So he cut you for real before he started recording, but the slashed throat was a special effect?”

“Right. A prop knife.”

“But you believed he would kill you for real?”

“Yes. He said we were making a snuff video.”

“It makes sense he wasn’t willing to actually murder you,” Agent Lankster said. “What I don’t understand is why he let you go. You said he let you go, right? You didn’t escape?”

“Right.”

“Why would he do that? If he was going to promote his game by faking a snuff video, why would he set you free before the game launched? Wouldn’t it be better marketing if everyone thought he’d actually killed you?”

“I guess you’d have to ask him,” Margot said.

“I will. But I’m asking for your theory.”

It was an excellent question. One Margot couldn’t answer without taking herself into “crazy lady” territory. So … crazy, it was.

“My brother died playing the game,” Margot said.

“Right. You said that in the video. And, based on some quick research, I know it’s true. Died playing it in bed. Official cause of death was dehydration.”

“Right. Did you look up Chrissy Kingman?”

“No. What would I have found?”

“She killed her husband when he turned off the very same game.”

“Interesting.”

“It is the most addictive game you can imagine. By releasing it, they want what happened to my brother to happen to millions around the world. I think I was let go so I’d scream to the masses not to play it because they’ll die.” She paused, then added. “Or kill someone they love. Good publicity for a game like this, right?”

Agent Lankster picked up his phone and made a quick call. “Hey, could you come to Room 3? Thanks.”

“Am I in trouble?” Margot asked, only half-joking.

“No, ma’am.”

“Anyway, I think he decided I was more valuable alive.”

“Interesting.”

The door opened and another FBI agent walked in.

“Remind me again about that story from this morning,” Agent Lankster said. “The college campus in Indiana?”

“Illinois. Multiple deaths, including one shot down by campus police. Students were fighting over a mobile game. It turned violent.”

“What was the name of the game?”

“I don’t recall. I don’t think that was part of the news story.”

“See what you can find out.”

“Sure.” The agent left the room.

Margot had felt sick to her stomach from the moment she and Gordon pulled into the strip mall. Now she had full-on stomach pain.

“Can you stop the game from going live?” she asked.

“We will try to locate the individuals who held you captive and murdered your bodyguard. I’m also going to research possible connections between these other events. But, bottom line: It’s not illegal to distribute an addictive video game. I would respectfully suggest the type of person who would play a game like Fun Times at the Bloodbath fits the personality profile of someone who would kill her husband because he had the audacity to unplug the game. Perhaps drugs and alcohol were involved. There’s more investigating to do, but I promise we’ll investigate.”

“Okay. But if the company has committed cold-blooded murder, then tortured someone and forced them to make a video against their will, they should be put out of business immediately, right?”

“Again, there’s more to investigate,” Agent Lankster said. “I haven’t ruled out the idea that this is some big publicity stunt on your part.”

“Are you kidding?” Margot asked. “I’d go to prison for lying to the FBI!”

“That is correct. But you may not have known that before you arrived. I don’t believe you’re lying.” He shrugged. “Like I said, there’s more investigating to do.”

Margot decided no good could come from telling him to go fuck himself.

* * *

Rowan, who had muttered the word “shit” multiple times since lunch, muttered it once again. The goddamn video was everywhere. Even major news outlets were running stories about the unusual promotion for the upcoming game. Rowan wished for a proclamation of war, or a major celebrity death—s anything to draw attention away from the launch. Why did it have to happen on a slow news day?

No one had acknowledged his “cease and desist” threats. He’d received a few promises for callbacks to discuss the matter, but nobody had contacted him yet and he didn’t expect any calls before six. Most likely, they would tell him he was welcome to revisit the issue when a judge granted an injunction.

He didn’t have actual data, but it seemed the excitement for the game far exceeded their efforts to squelch the enthusiasm.

Rowan wasn’t entirely sure he believed Fun Times at the Apocalypse was where this was headed. It was possible nothing would happen except many players enjoying a tasteless video game.

But if Chrissy or Bobby’s experiences were the norm …

A new e-mail notification popped up from his former client.

Good to hear from you! I reached out to Cecilia, and she said it would be off-brand to share the video. Sorry about that! Influencers gotta protect their brand, y’know! But she mentioned a video game podcast called Glued to the Controller that has a huge audience, and they do unscheduled live shows. Maybe reach out to them … ?

Rowan looked up the show. He didn’t know how much reach they had, but they did seem quite popular. The contact information didn’t include a phone number, of course, so he sent direct messages to them on all of their social media accounts.

Hello! I represent Margot Rosewood, the unwilling “actress” in the video promoting Fun Times at the Bloodbath. If you’re available, she’d love to discuss the controversy as soon as possible.

He got a response within two minutes. We’d love that! We’d require an exclusive interview, but we can talk whenever she’s ready.

Rowan started to write that an exclusive interview wasn’t possible—if this worked, he’d have Margot on any podcast he could find—but screw it, they could threaten to sue him later. Fantastic! What do you need from us?

While he was waiting for them to respond, he texted Margot: Got you on a live podcast. Are you someplace you can do an interview?

I’m still at the FBI office. But I’m just sitting in this room, waiting for someone to come back and talk to me.

The podcast wrote back: Tell her to call us, then listed a number.

Rowan sent it to Margot.

Thanks! I’ll call them now.

The Glued to the Controller website had a “Listen Live” link. Rowan clicked it, then went back to work.

The game’s official launch was in four hours. There was still time.

Ten minutes later, the episode began.

“Hello, hello! This is Sheena!”

“And this is Ricky Dan Rick!”

“We’re here with a very special impromptu episode of your very favorite video game podcast, Glued to the Controller. We managed to get an exclusive interview with Margot Rosewood, who you may know as the actress in the pseudo-snuff film released today to promote the upcoming, Fun Times at the Bloodbath.”

“With that title, it sounds like it’ll be an absolute hoot!”

“We can hope! First, a word from our sponsors.”

The hosts read advertisements for various video game themed products for several minutes. Rowan thought he was going to have a nervous breakdown waiting for them to get to the part where Margot warned everyone the game sucked.

“Hello, Margot!” Sheena said. “Thanks for being on the show!”

“Thanks for having me,” Margot said, sounding nervous.

“So, what can you tell us about Fun Times at the Bloodbath? From the clips on the website, it appears to be a combat-based side-scroller, right?”

“I guess, yeah,” Margot said.

“What’s the object of the game?”

“That’s not really what I’m here to talk about.”

“Give us a high-level teaser. Something to whet our appetites.”

“From what I understand, you kill stuff,” Margot said. “I didn’t make the game. I have nothing to do with it. I recorded the video against my will.”

“Of course you did,” Ricky Dan Rick said. “Wink, wink.”

“Well, not against my will, but they didn’t pay me. I got ripped off by the game’s makers. I did have the opportunity to play it though. Guys, it’s terrible. So boring. With all the amazing games out there, there’s absolutely no reason to play this one.”

“You sound a little bitter, Margot,” Sheena said.

“I am, yes.”

“Well, we did a little poking around, and it sounds like other players disagree with your assessment! A woman in San Diego was so enthralled by the game, she actually—and this is legit—killed her husband with a meat cleaver when he unplugged it!”

“Sounds like one compelling game!” Ricky Dan Rick said.

“And just today, I’m sure everyone heard the story coming out of Boxville University, where students killed each other over—you guessed it—Fun Times at the Bloodbath! Apparently, there was some sort of intervention, because one of the students was so addicted, he quit going to class. From what I understand, there was a scuffle over his phone, and it turned into some not-so fun times at the bloodbath!”

“Right,” Margot said. “But the game itself sucks.”

“Well, a husband-killer and a bunch of dead students think otherwise.”

Sheena giggled. “That’s so wrong!”

“Anyway, Margot, we thank you for your service in helping to bring this game to the world’s attention. I admire your commitment to the bit.”

“It’s not a bit.”

“Oh, no, no! Of course it’s not. I, for one, can’t wait to play the game and see if it makes me kill the people around me. Good thing we live in different states, huh, Sheena?”

Rowan texted Margot: This is a shitshow. Hang up now.

“Definitely,” Sheena said. “But I’m not a meat-cleaver girl. I’d probably use a bread knife or something.”

“You can’t kill someone with a bread knife.”

“You’re thinking of a butter knife.”

“That’s right, I sure am. Oh, wait—looks like we lost Margot. Hopefully she’ll call back, because I’d love to hear more about Fun Times at the Bloodbath, which is capturing the attention of gamers everywhere!”

* * *

“Don’t play Fun Times at the Bloodbath!” Kirk wailed on the video. “It killed my roommate! It killed some of my buddies! This game is dangerous! One of my friends is in jail because of it—I love you, Pete! Don’t play the game! I’m begging you! Please!”

Kirk succumbed to tears.

* * *

“Listen to this pussy,” said RedFish6969 on his reaction video. “This game sounds like fuckin’ fire! I’ve got my Funyuns. I’ve got my Mountain Dew Code Red. I am ready to go, bro! I can’t fuckin’ wait!”

* * *

Margot drove back to the hotel after the FBI released her. They’d promised to do whatever they could to find Mr. Pyron and everyone else associated with FTATA Inc.

But there was no reason to believe they could stop the game from being released.

* * *

“How’s it going?” Margot asked Rowan, as she lay on the bed, exhausted.

“Awful,” Rowan said. “If the game was launching next week, I could maybe get something done. But people aren’t returning my calls, they aren’t answering my e-mails, and every time I check online, it seems like the anticipation for this fucking game keeps getting stronger! If I wanted to market something, I couldn’t make it take off like this! How is it possible? In six hours it seems like the whole fucking world can’t talk about anything else!”

“And in another six hours the world will have moved on to something new,” Margot said. “But, by then, it might be too late.”

“What do we do?” Rowan asked. “What the hell do we do? The game goes live in ten minutes.”

“We just hope it doesn’t work the way we expect it to.”

* * *

At 6:00 p.m., Central Time, the game went live.

“Yes!” Harrison said, as the game finished downloading. He’d abandoned the last six games he’d started after just a couple of hours, because they sucked. Hopefully this one would break the streak.

He created his avatar, and moments later, he was slashing up some old lady with a pair of scissors. The game was off to a decent start. He had a good feeling about this one.

* * *

“Just ordered the pizza!” said Will. “Double pepperoni, double cheese!”

“Did you get pineapple on my half?” Gigi asked.

Will made gagging noises and pretended to stick his finger down his throat. They’d been together for three years, and the “Pineapple on pizza is an affront to God” routine was part of the ordering process every single time. It never got old. He assumed their friends agreed.

“Seriously, did you?” she asked.

“Why would I do that? Pineapple on pizza is literally the worst thing ever. It’s worse than the Holocaust. I’d literally rather get locked up in a concentration camp than eat pineapple on pizza. I’d literally rather have Nazi doctors doing experiments on my junk than eat pineapple on pizza. I’d literally rather get stomach cancer than eat pineapple on pizza.”

“But did you order it on my half?”

“Of course, sweetie.”

They sat next to each other on the couch.

“What have you heard about this game?” Gigi asked.

“I heard the commercial was a snuff video.”

“Cool. Does it have multiplayer mode?”

“It has dual player mode, but not an online mode.”

“That stinks.”

“Yep. It’s just you and me, baby! And your nasty-ass pineapple-laden pizza. If the delivery guy can convince himself to bring something so toxic to our home.”

* * *

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, what’s that?” Karen asked, walking into the living room. Blood ran down the screen, forming the words Fun Times at the Bloodbath.

“A new game,” said Ian, her twelve-year-old son. His half-eaten bowl of macaroni and cheese rested on the floor next to him.

“No way, kiddo. That looks way too violent. Turn it off.”

“But Mom!”

“Don’t ‘But Mom’ me. You can play that when you’re thirty.”

“All my friends’ moms are gonna let them play it!”

“Well, it’s very tragic that you got stuck with the meanest mom in the whole world.”

“Five minutes,” Ian said. “Just let me play for five minutes. If something gross happens, I’ll turn it off.”

“Something gross has already happened.”

“Please? Five minutes. Just so I can tell my friends I played it. I don’t want them to think I’m a loser. I’ll vacuum the house.”

“Oh, well, my goodness! If you’ll vacuum the house, you can play for six minutes,” Karen said. “But I’m serious, if I tell you to turn it off, I expect you to turn it off. No whining.”

“Thanks, Mom!”

* * *

“Hello, Ziggy fans!” Ziggy said, waving at his webcam. “I’m livestreaming a new game, Fun Times at the Bloodbath, and we’re going to have some fun times, indeed! You know I’m the best. I’ve proven it time and again. And you can all watch me make history as I become the first person to play it all the way through! Let’s do this, bitches!”

* * *

Ellen touched the icon. She enjoyed the diversion of playing word games on her phone, and her grandson had just given her a new recommendation. It didn’t sound like a game she’d enjoy, but she’d humor him. She liked the idea of being the cool grandma every once in a while.

The title was formed by blood running down her phone screen. She supposed it was appropriate for a game with “bloodbath” in the title, but she suspected, within a minute or two, she’d be back to playing Words with Friends.

Choose her avatar? What did that even mean?

Ellen couldn’t call Oscar on her cell while she was playing a game, so she went into the kitchen and called him on the landline.

“Hi, Gramma.”

“Hi, Oscar.”

“Ozzy.”

“You’re going by Ozzy now?”

“Yeah. It’s cooler. Were you trying to call Mom?”

“No, I’m trying to play that bloodbath game, and I’m stuck on the first part.”

“Did you really download it?”

“Of course. You asked me to.”

“I was kidding, Gramma. I’ve heard the game is, like, evil. Some college kids got shot because of it.”

“Oh. I downloaded it to make you happy.”

“That does make me happy, Gramma. What are you stuck on? Maybe I can talk you through it.”

* * *

One level completed and Harrison was officially ready to declare the end of his losing streak with new video games. This one was awesome! It managed to overcome its outdated graphics and simplistic game engine with a wicked sense of humor and this special something he couldn’t describe. But it was already addictive.

There was still plenty of time for it to fall apart—he’d played more than his share of games that got off to a great start, then quickly grew stale and repetitious. But he was loving it so far.

* * *

The doorbell rang.

“Your nasty-ass pizza’s here,” Will said.

“Just half is nasty. Your half.”

“Go answer the door.”

“You go answer the door.”

“I’m playing the game.”

“We’re both playing the game. Duh.”

“Go get the door, sweetie. The delivery guy is waiting.”

“Then he’s going to be waiting a long time, because I’m not going. It’s already paid for, right?”

“Yeah.”

“So, he’ll leave it by the door.”

“The grease is going to get all congealed.”

“And that will be a huge bummer.”

“Fine. I guess it can just stay out there then.”

“I guess so.”

* * *

“Aaaaaaand you’re done,” Karen said.

“It hasn’t been six minutes!” Ian protested.

“You just made your character say ‘Die, you old bitch, die!’ Shut off the game.”

“But that wasn’t gross!”

“Ian, I was nice enough to let you start playing. Are you going to make me regret that? Will I have to remember this the next time you want to do something?”

“It’s not fair!”

“Are you going to make me count to ten?”

“You said six minutes!”

“One …”

“I’m not going to vacuum the house!”

“Two …”

“Dad says the b-word all the time!”

“Your dad is a grown-up and a bad role model. Three …”

Ian continued playing. He was a good kid most of the time. Other times, he could be a stubborn little brat.

“Four…”

He ignored her.

“If I make it to ten, you are going to have a very unpleasant evening, young man. Five…”

* * *

“This game is disgusting,” Ziggy told his viewers. “And I am here for it! You see these moves? These are the moves of someone who knows what’s up! That is why, when you want to see genuine skill displayed, you come here! I am an athlete, bitches! If you’re here for the first time, don’t forget to click that ‘subscribe’ button.”

* * *

Nothing about the game appealed to Ellen. She could play Words with Friends at her own pace, taking the time to think and weigh her options until she figured out the highest-scoring word. This game was fast-paced and confusing. She was never sure exactly where to tap the screen.

It was also needlessly violent. Who thought it was fun to murder the residents of a nursing home? Nursing homes were sad enough places without a serial killer on the loose. Ellen was in very good health for her age, mentally and physically, but she was no spring chicken. At some point, she’d probably need to move to an assisted living facility. So the subject matter of the gruesome game did not appeal to her at all.

Yet, she kept playing.

* * *

Video games did not make their way onto Harrison’s Top 100 list until he’d played them all the way through. But three hours into his experience with Fun Times at the Bloodbath, he knew it would make the list, somewhere near the top. Was a #1 ranking possible? It was too soon to say, but he couldn’t remember the last time he’d been so enthusiastic about a game. He desperately hoped it didn’t let him down.

* * *

“I’m hungry,” Will said.

“Then go get the pizza that’s sitting on our front porch,” Gigi said.

“I don’t understand why you won’t do it.”

“And I don’t understand why you won’t do it. You’re closer.”

“We’re on the same couch!”

“Your side of the couch is closer to the front door.”

“That is the dumbest logic I’ve ever heard.”

“Whatever,” Gigi said. “Let the pizza rot.”

“Are you going to talk the whole time?” Will asked. “I don’t know about you, but I’m trying to play the game, and you just keep talking, talking, talking.”

“Fine. I won’t say another word ever again.”

“Thank you.”

They played silently for a few minutes until Will shifted uncomfortably on the couch.

“I need to pee.”

* * *

“Nine …”

Karen knew the “count to ten” parenting style was a poor choice, because it encouraged children to wait until the last second to obey. And, yes, Ian had continued playing the game throughout the countdown. But she’d reached nine, the penultimate number before Mommy lost her shit, and she expected him to toss the controller aside and run to his room.

He kept playing.

“Nine …” she repeated, in case he was so immersed in the game, he hadn’t heard.

He kept playing.

She couldn’t believe it. Two of his friends were having birthday parties next week, and if he didn’t stop playing that appalling video game that very second, he would not be attending either one.

Well, maybe she wouldn’t withhold both—that seemed cruel—but he definitely would miss the first. And Jimmy’s family was rich, so he’d be missing the better one.

Was he seriously going to force her to go to “nine and a half”?

She was pissed. There would be no “nine and a half” tonight. “That’s ten!”

To her astonishment, Ian didn’t glance at her, just continued to play.

“All right, that’s it, you’re grounded for a week.”

He didn’t seem to care.

“Two weeks!”

No reaction.

Karen knew she couldn’t sustain the punishment for one full week, much less two, so she didn’t bother increasing to three. Instead, she stormed toward the coffee table, angrily picked up the remote control, and turned off the television.

* * *

“I am flying through this thing!” Ziggy announced to his viewers. “I’m not following the other livestreams myself, but I’m told no one’s moving through the bloodbath as quickly as your friend Ziggy! Hell yeah! I’m making this game my bitch!”

* * *

Ellen couldn’t make it past a certain level. How embarrassing.

As she played, she called Oscar—no, Ozzy—on the landline.

“Could you come over?” she asked.

“Is something wrong?”

“I need your help getting through this level.”

Ozzy laughed. “Are you for real, Gramma?”

“Yes.”

“If Mom lets me borrow the car, sure. I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”

“You can’t get here sooner?”

“Not without getting a speeding ticket. Mom would never let me drive the car again.”

“All right,” Ellen said. “Fifteen minutes is fine.”

* * *

Rules were made to be broken. Even if it suddenly turned into the Atari 2600 E.T. The Extraterrestrial game, it would claim Harrison’s #1 spot. Not every game had to have the greatest graphics. Not every game needed a complex storyline with rich characters. Not every game needed innovation in its design. Sometimes, the quality of a game was measured in the immeasurable—it was just plain fun.

The title was correct. These were damn Fun Times at the Bloodbath.

It had been an extremely busy day at work, and Harrison was exhausted when he got home, but he felt like he could play the game all night.

* * *

“I’m gonna burst,” Will said.

“Then go pee,” Gigi told him.

“I don’t want to miss anything.”

Gigi shrugged. “Too bad.”

“Do I have your permission to pee on the couch?”

“No! Pee in the bathroom, like a civilized human being.”

“You can’t call yourself a civilized human being when you eat pineapple on pizza. That ship has sailed. But seriously, I can’t hold it much longer.”

“Don’t pee on our couch. We’re still making payments.”

“Why don’t we have a potted plant?”

“If you really can’t hold it, and you’re scared to go to the bathroom—”

“I’m not scared.”

“—then at least pee on the floor.”

“All right.”

* * *

“Turn it back on,” Ian said.

Karen folded her arms across her chest. “Absolutely not.”

Ian looked at her and shouted. “Turn it back on!”

“Young man, you are out of control! I will be calling your father and having him fly down here to straighten out your attitude!”

“Turn it back on,” Ian said, standing. “I wasn’t done playing.”

“Go to your room.”

Ian ran at her. Karen was so shocked, she didn’t try to defend herself, and screamed as he bit her arm, hard enough to draw blood.

* * *

“I’m seeing comments in the chat that some of you think this game is offensive,” Ziggy said. “You know what’s also offensive? Life! If you look at the horrors and atrocities of the world, maybe it’s not such a big deal this game has me killing a bunch of N-words.”

* * *

“All right, Gramma, your savior is here!” Ozzy reached out. “Let me see your phone.”

Ellen didn’t hand it over. “Just tell me what to do.”

“I’ve never played the game. Give me your phone, and I’ll figure it out.”

Ellen shook her head. “Just tell me what to do.”

* * *

Harrison was having trouble staying awake, and it was becoming increasingly evident in his reflexes and gameplay.

“Damn it!” he said, when he messed up what should have been an easy kill.

The idea of going to bed and resuming the game in the morning was repugnant. Sure, the game would be waiting for him when he awoke…maybe. It was free for a limited time. What if their plan was to wait until players were hooked, then charge a huge fee? It was the greatest game he’d ever played. He could definitely see it switching to a pay model.

Totally worth it, of course. But why pay if he didn’t have to?

Caffeine would be really helpful. Unfortunately, his coffee maker was all the way in the kitchen.

* * *

“Leave the room,” Gigi said. “I need to pee now.”

“Absolutely not.”

“I’m only asking for one minute of privacy.”

“If you’re not willing to quit playing to go to the bathroom, why do you think I’d be willing to quit playing to give you privacy? I won’t look.”

“You’ll hear.”

“I don’t know what to tell you, Gigi. I’m not leaving. If you need to squat, squat. What we’re doing is too important.”

“Fine. Turn up the volume.”

Will turned up the volume of the game, right before he made a particularly squishy kill. “Make sure you pee in the same spot I did. No sense covering the entire carpet.”

Gigi crouched on the floor, not taking her eyes off the television screen. “I can’t do this,” she said. “Guys can just whip it out, but I can’t balance myself and hold the controller at the same time.”

“Sucks to be you,” Will said.

* * *

Ian didn’t release his grip. Blood trickled from between his lips as he continued biting Karen’s arm.

She pulled away, quickly realizing it was a terrible mistake. Her flesh ripped and tore.

“Ian!” she screamed.

He spat out a chunk of her arm, turned on the television, and resumed playing.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Karen wailed. Sobbing, she looked frantically for her cell phone to call his father.

* * *

“It’s the stroke of midnight, and I’m flying through this!” Ziggy told his viewers. “Thanks for hanging out with me. It’s late, but rest assured, I’ll be here until I’ve reached the very end of the game! Ziggy will be the first to finish, mark my words!”

* * *

“I don’t understand why you need my phone,” Ellen said. “I’m not asking you to play for me. I just want you to explain it.”

“I need to see it to explain it.”

Ellen sat at the dining room table and set her phone down. She kept tapping and swiping, because the old lady in the nursing home wasn’t going to disembowel herself.

Ozzy sat next to her. “Did it have a tutorial?”

“Yes. It didn’t make sense.”

Ozzy took out his phone. “I’ll see what I can find.” He typed on his phone, then stared at the screen. “Which weapon are you using?”

“A pocketknife.”

“And you don’t know how to attack?”

“I know how to attack. I’m just not killing anyone.”

Ozzy watched her play for a moment. “You need to swipe like this,” he said, reaching over and brushing his index finger across her screen.

Ellen slapped his hand. “Don’t mess up my game!”

“Gramma!”

“Now I just got killed. Goddamn it, Oscar.”

He stared in shock, trying to figure out if she was joking. Deciding she wasn’t, he got up. “I’m going home.”

“Then leave. But don’t expect any Christmas presents this year.”

“Are you…are you okay, Gramma?”

“I’ll be okay when I finish this goddamn level!”

“Maybe you shouldn’t play this game anymore,” Oscar suggested.

She slapped his face for spewing such blasphemy.

* * *

Harrison awoke with an awful headache. He touched the back of his head, winced, and saw blood on his index finger.

He must have fallen asleep, tumbled out of his chair, and hit his head on the wood floors. Feeling dizzy, he wondered if he had a concussion.

He got back in the chair, blinked a few times to clear his vision, and resumed playing.

* * *

“When did you order pizza?” Agatha asked her husband, Terry.

“It’s been sitting on Will and Gigi’s front porch all night. If they aren’t going to eat it, we might as well.” Terry lifted the lid of the box. “Shit. Pineapple.”

* * *

“Calm down,” Karen’s worthless ex-husband told her. “You’re saying he bit you?”

“He took a big hunk out of my arm! I need to go to the emergency room, but I can’t leave him alone!”

“So, what, you want me to hop on a plane so I can babysit? You’ll have bled to death by then.”

“Not funny.”

“Like I’d try to make you laugh. Put him on the phone. I’ll talk to him.”

Karen went back into the living room. “Ian, your dad wants to talk to you.”

“I’m busy.”

“Ian!”

Ian picked up his dinner bowl and flung it at her, spilling the macaroni and cheese—which was now a solid blob—onto the carpet. The glass bowl struck Karen directly in the face. Blood spurted from her nostrils as she fell to her knees, screaming.

“Turn off that fucking game, Ian!”

As she crawled toward him, Ian stabbed her broken nose with his dinner fork.

* * *

“Ziggy just can’t lose, bitches!”

* * *

“Mom, what happened?” Ellen’s daughter asked. “Oscar says you hit him!”

“I slapped him,” Ellen said, holding the landline phone to her ear with one hand while playing the game with the other. “He’ll be fine.”

“You do not have permission to hit my son! And he says it was over a game … ?”

“A game you’re distracting me from. Goodbye.”

* * *

Harrison fell out of the chair again, bashing his head even worse this time.

* * *

The living room absolutely reeked of urine. But since Will and Gigi had no drinks within reach, at least they wouldn’t continue adding to the problem.

* * *

Ian continued stabbing his mother with the fork so she’d leave him alone.

* * *

Barbara heard shouting coming from her mother’s house as soon as she exited her car. She rushed to the front door and went inside without knocking.

Mom had a crazed look on her face. “Where is it?” she screamed.

“Where’s what?”

She held up her phone. “My charging cable! Where is it? My phone is dead! Where’s the cable? What did you do with it? Where the hell is it?”

“I don’t know. Where do you normally keep it?”

“On the kitchen counter! Where is it? Help me find it!”

They searched for a few minutes, as her mother’s frenzied state grew more intense. Finally, Barbara called Oscar.

“Do you have Gramma’s charging cable?”

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

“Because she was being such a bitch about the game.”

“Bring it over. Now.”

“I can’t. You have the car.”

“Oscar took it?” Mom screamed. “That goddamn thief stole my cable? How could you raise him like that?”

Her mother smashed her cell phone against the side of Barbara’s head. Barbara dropped her own phone, staggered a few steps from the force of her shockingly violent mother’s blow, and crashed into an end table, knocking the lamp onto the floor.

Ellen picked up the lamp and bashed it into her daughter’s skull. After three hits, the lamp broke, so she struck her with the jagged porcelain bottom until Barbara’s head was a bloody, pulpy mess.

Picking up Barbara’s phone, she heard Oscar on the other end. “Mom? Mom?” he asked, terrified.

“Mom’s dead,” Ellen snarled. “Take an Uber and bring me my fucking cord.”

* * *

“How much more of the game is left? No one knows! But Ziggy will show you …”

“Good morning! It’s going to be a beautiful day here in the metro area.”

“It sure is, Alice! The perfect day to stay inside and play video games!”

“That’s right, Jim. Everyone is talking about the hot new game, Fun Times at the Bloodbath. The game, which seemingly came out of nowhere, gained instant notoriety with its snuff film promotional video.”

“It wasn’t a real snuff film, of course, but a lot of people were fooled!”

“The actress in the video, Margot Rosewood, has spoken out against the game, which has only raised its profile.”

“Funny how that works!”

“The game is not without its share of controversy. It has come under fire for its extremely graphic violence, which is instigated by the player. But more than that, the makers have been accused of racism, homophobia, misogyny, ableism, and even … what’s the equivalent of ableism against little people?”

“That’s not something I know, Alice.”

“And yet, it’s not just the game’s content making the news. Apparently, it’s so addictive, people don’t want to stop playing! I’m hearing reports that a record number of employees have called in sick today.”

“Sick in air quotes, of course.”

“Of course. And people playing hooky is far from the largest concern. There have been multiple reports … no. Scratch that. There have been many reports of real-life violent acts related to this game. It seems some players simply don’t want to step away. When friends or family members try to intervene, it can turn deadly. Mick Wilson has the story.”

“Thanks, Alice. I’m here in Louisville, Kentucky, where gunshots broke out on this tree-lined street in the middle of the night. People in the neighborhood say they’re used to hearing gunshots in the area, but these were accompanied by petrified screams. The police were called. Apparently, the family’s teenaged son, whose name has not been made public, was so enraged when his parents made him stop playing, he shot them. He also shot at the police officers when they arrived on the scene and further interrupted his game.”

“Just goes to show, Mick, how important it is to always keep your guns locked up when there are minors in the house.”

“Valid point, Jim. Back to you.”

“This was not an isolated incident. There was, of course, yesterday’s violence at Boxville University, and many more reports of gamers who are so enthusiastic about Fun Times at the Bloodbath, they refuse to quit playing. I haven’t seen anything like this since Pac-Man fever swept the nation in the early 1980s.”

“Early estimates indicate millions of people are playing this game. Hopefully they’ll all chill out and remember … games are supposed to be good, clean fun.”

“One can only hope, Alice.”

* * *

Margot sat in her hotel room and wept.

The game was doing exactly what Mr. Pyron wanted. There were isolated reports of players willingly stopping, but most people who started refused to quit, no matter the cost.

How many had died so far?

The number of police reports grew, and those were only the acts of violence someone had witnessed. What about a husband who stabbed his wife to death, then went right back to playing, no one the wiser?

She awoke to the news of dozens killed, hundreds injured.

Sixteen hours after the launch, that number had increased to hundreds. Probably thousands.

Her phone buzzed. About to go live, Rowan texted her.

She turned up the volume on the television, which was set to CNN. A couple of minutes later, Rowan came on screen. He’d tidied up his desk a bit, but not much.

“We’re here with attorney Rowan Mincher,” the host said. “He represents Chrissy Kingman, who played the game before its official launch and became so addicted to the experience, she murdered her husband when he tried to force her to stop playing. Thank you for being here, Mr. Mincher.”

“Happy to be here,” Rowan said, looking very unhappy.

“You’ve been aware of the game’s impact from the very beginning, and I understand you’ve been in direct contact with the companies responsible for distributing it to the public.”

“Right. We knew this might happen. We’ve talked to the FBI and the game companies, trying to stop its release. I don’t want to suggest they didn’t take us seriously, but ‘this game is so addictive, players get homicidal’ doesn’t sound very credible, does it?”

“It didn’t yesterday, no. It certainly does today.”

Rowan cleared his throat. “I know you just interviewed an FBI agent. If they can catch the man responsible for this, it would be a huge help in making this madness stop. And like the Nintendo guy said—”

“We don’t have much time, so let’s get to the reason we’re speaking with you,” the host said, uninterested in Rowan’s recap of the earlier news.

The earlier news was very, very bad.

All the companies had agreed to take the game down, a small victory that stopped new users from downloading it, though the game stayed on the consoles of existing players. That became less of a victory when Fun Times at the Bloodbath suddenly popped up on hundreds of pirate sites, available to anyone who wanted it.

Astoundingly, a lot of people did.

Margot had thrown up when she heard the news.

“Right,” Rowan said. “I’m here to offer important tips. If you have a friend or family member who is playing Fun Times at the Bloodbath, I cannot stress this enough: Do not attempt to make them stop. Apple has the ability to remotely remove the game from iPhones and expressed a willingness to do so, but they were warned it could make things worse.”

“Do not make them stop,” appeared on the chyron.

“Let them play. Gently trying to reason with them is okay, but it is essential you let it drop if they become agitated. Please understand, those playing aren’t in their right minds. A lot of people are dead because of this game. Please don’t become one of them.”

“Let them play,” the host repeated, voice skeptical. “And this applies no matter what responsibilities the players might have. Jobs, school, childcare … just let them play.”

“Their obsession with the game is all-consuming,” Rowan said. “If you have an addicted friend or family member, know they won’t make the effort to eat or drink. They aren’t going to starve to death anytime soon, but I encourage you to bring them bottled water as they play.”

“Keep them hydrated,” appeared on the chyron.

“And, as I’m sure your viewers have heard by now, they won’t stop playing even to use the restroom. So you’ll want to be prepared for that.”

“I’m told there’s a nationwide shortage of bedpans and adult diapers,” the host added. “You’ll need to get inventive. Bottles for the guys, bowls for the ladies. Obviously this is more about hygiene than safety, but it’s still an important concern.”

“Find makeshift restroom supplies,” appeared on the chyron.

“Mostly, keep them as comfortable as possible. Our hope is that once they complete the game, the spell will wear off.”

“Speaking of which, celebrity gamer Ziggy has been livestreaming his playing experience since the game officially launched yesterday. We’re hoping he reaches the final level soon.”

“Me as well.”

“Thank you, Mr. Mincher.”

* * *

Margot called as soon as his segment ended. “It went pretty well, I thought.”

“I guess. I wish the FBI could find that asshole. I’m against torture as a rule, but I wouldn’t mind shoving knife blades under his fingernails myself. Bastard needs to talk.”

“They’ll find him.”

“Before millions of people are dead?”

“That I don’t know.”

Rowan sat in glum silence. “You know what I can’t believe? People are still downloading the fucking game. With everything that’s happening, there are still people saying, ‘Hey, that sounds like fun!’ Is humanity too dumb to survive?”

“We live in a world where you can’t believe anything you see anymore,” Margot said. “For all anyone knows, it’s one big, elaborate publicity stunt.”

“Only an idiot would believe that.”

“Then I guess it goes back to your question of whether humanity is just too dumb to survive.” Margot frowned. “But I think that’s kind of why they wanted to do this in the first place.”

Rowan sighed. “For the record, I don’t agree with their assessment or technique. Okay. Back to spreading the word.”

“Me too. I didn’t realize being superheroes would involve so much posting on social media.”

* * *

Vincent coughed as the smoke filled his lungs. He knew he should flee his burning home, but he was in the middle of the game! He’d just have to hope the fire department got there soon.

It was kind of hard to play when his flesh blistered from the heat, though.

His television screen sparked and went dark.

No! No! He was almost finished with a level! It wasn’t fair!

His clothing caught fire as he tried to figure out how to get the game working again.

* * *

Ben heard the truck racing down the road, even saw it in his peripheral vision, but he was too distracted by the game to wait at the crosswalk.

As the truck sped away from the scene of the accident, Ben used his good arm to reach for his severed arm … the one still holding the phone.

* * *

Tiffany checked her makeup, then checked Gabrielle’s makeup.

“Do I look okay?” Tiffany asked.

“You look perfect.”

“Thank you so much for this. I’ll be in your debt forever and ever. You’re such a good friend.”

“Honestly? I’m looking forward to it.”

Tiffany stared at her. “I wish you hadn’t said that.”

“Sorry.”

Tiffany looked in the mirror again, did one last primp of her hair, and then she and Gabrielle left the bathroom and walked into the bedroom, completely naked.

Jack briefly glanced their way, then resumed playing.

“If you shut off the game, you get both of us,” Tiffany said. “It’s what you’ve fantasized about, right? Now it’s coming true. You get to do anything you want with us. Anything at all.”

“Well, there are certain limits …” Gabrielle said, but Tiffany shushed her.

“We’re wet and ready,” Tiffany said. “Shut off the game and we’re yours.”

“That’s so fuckin’ awesome,” Jack said. “Just let me finish the game—I probably don’t have that many levels left—and we’ll get down to business.”

Tiffany left the room, sobbing. Gabrielle followed.

“That’s disappointing,” Gabrielle said, putting her hand on her friend’s shoulder. “But maybe we could make the best of it by—?”

“No.”

“Okay.”

* * *

Randy clutched his stomach and vomited all over his lap. His blood sugar monitor was in the other room, but he knew exactly what was happening.

He desperately needed insulin.

He kept playing, wishing he wasn’t so far from the refrigerator.

* * *

“It’s my turn!” Farley shouted at his older brother. “You’ve been playing for over an hour!”

“You can wait!” Michael shouted back. “Stop being such a baby and let me play!”

“Let me play!”

“No!”

“It’s true what they say about this game!”

“Yeah, that it’s fun as hell!”

Farley tried to grab the controller from his hand. Michael stood and held it out of his reach.

“Let me play!” Farley shouted.

“You’re messing me up! I’m gonna get killed!”

“I don’t care! Let me play!”

Michael punched him in the face, hoping the brat would run to his room, crying. He didn’t go anywhere.

Farley jumped, still trying to steal the controller. “I’m telling Mom!”

That was a bluff. The reason it had taken them so long to start playing was because Mom had strictly forbidden it. But she was at work now. Before she left, she’d made them swear to keep the door locked and not play any video games. They’d solemnly sworn not to turn on the console, but at ages eleven and thirteen, their words didn’t mean much.

Michael punched Farley again, this time knocking him to the floor.

It wasn’t sufficient. If Michael wanted to get back to the game, he needed to take more extreme measures.

He picked up his bowling ball.

Farley scooted out of the way, so it landed on his chest and not his head. But after having a twelve-pound bowling ball dropped on his chest, Farley didn’t scoot quite as well anymore. Michael picked it back up, held it high in the air with both hands, and dropped it on his brother’s skull.

* * *

Percival Lowell Gates slammed his knife into the young woman’s chest. She gaped in horror, backed away until she struck the wall, then slid to the floor.

He crouched beside her, watching as the precious, precious life drained from her body.

It was magnificent.

He’d never played a video game in his life, and had no intention of starting now.

But there were more murders being committed right now than the police force could ever hope to investigate. What a wonderful time to be a serial killer!

* * *

Margot received a text from Rowan: Ziggy is about to finish!

She turned the volume back up on CNN, which was broadcasting the event live.

“That’s right, bitches!” Ziggy said. “I’m just about to kill God! What a holy experience this is going to be! Suck it, God!”

His avatar, which looked unnervingly like Ziggy, chopped off God’s head with an axe. The avatar picked it up, then drop-kicked it out of Heaven.

“Level Complete!” flashed on the screen.

“He did it!” the CNN host excitedly announced. “There you have it, the first verified completed game. Congratulations to Ziggy. And now that he’s emerged victorious, perhaps he can train others.”

Ziggy made muscles on camera.

“Congratulations on completing Fun Times at the Bloodbath,” said a tuxedoed cartoon man. “Hope you enjoyed the game! Goodnight!” After he waved and walked away, Ziggy’s computer screen went black.

“Well, that was underwhelming,” the CNN host said. “Nevertheless, this is a hugely exciting moment, and we’re hoping to interview Ziggy soon. But the takeaway is: The game can be won, which is great news.”

Ziggy looked into his camera. “Ziggy did it. Just like I said I would. And now that I’ve accomplished this … I guess I don’t know what’s left to do.” He sniffled. “Thanks to everyone for watching, and for your support throughout my career, and with that, I say goodnight.”

Margot leaned forward. What the hell did he mean by that?

Ziggy reached off camera for a pocketknife. He snapped out the blade, winked at the audience, then slammed it into the center of his throat.

Blood sprayed all over the camera lens.

CNN quickly cut away. “That … that … we apologize for what you just … oh, fuck …”

* * *

It took several minutes for Margot to realize she’d missed a call from Rowan.

“I assume you saw that,” he said, when she called back.

“Yeah.”

“What do we do now?”

“Do you know anyone who owns an underground bunker?”

“Sadly, no.”

“I guess we just wait it out,” Margot said. “I can’t think of anything else we can do.”

“Well, that’s grim.”

“Yep.”

“Do you think this will lead to the total collapse of society, or is it just a really shitty time we need to get through?”

“Let’s be optimistic and say it’s the second one.”

“All right. I’m going home to spend some time with my family.”

There were several more suicides following Ziggy’s. Upon successful completion of the game, the players were no longer tethered to their gaming systems, so they could kill themselves any way they wished.

* * *

Countless hackers were on the job, yet they couldn’t break into the code to figure out how to disable the subliminal images, or whatever was causing the addiction.

Basically, though they worked tirelessly, they didn’t do shit.

* * *

The FBI could not locate Mr. Pyron, Bowie, Mary the receptionist, or anyone associated with FTATA Inc.

Margot imagined they were somewhere on a private island, laughing, and having a champagne toast to a job well done.

* * *

“What if we shut off the power grid?” asked the mayor of New York City. “Cut off everyone’s games?”

“Based on all evidence we’ve gathered, this would cause the players to all go into homicidal rages,” his advisor said.

The mayor considered that answer. “All right. Let’s not do that, then.”

* * *

“Are you thirsty?” Debra asked.

Glenn didn’t look away from the screen. “No.”

“Do you need me to change your bedpan?”

“Not yet.”

“Can I get you something to eat?”

“I wouldn’t mind a snack.”

“What can I get you?”

“Something sweet.”

“A strawberry Pop-Tart?”

“Yes, please.”

“I’ll get one right now. You know I love you, right?”

Glenn nodded.

* * *

All eight members of the Gamer’s Club sat at their stations, racing to see who could finish the game first.

“How are you feeling, Brett?” asked Lester, who was recording the livestream of the competition.

“Feeling good!”

“You should be. You’re currently in second place.”

“Who’s winning?”

“Zeke.”

“That bastard.” Brett chuckled. “I’m coming for you, Zeke!”

Zeke gave him the finger, but lowered his hand before Lester caught it on camera.

The power went out.

“What the hell?” Brett exclaimed.

All eight of the gamers immediately demanded to know what had happened.

“We may have blown a fuse,” Lester said. “I’ll check it out.”

“We’ve lost all our progress!” Brett said. “Lester just screwed us all!”

“What?” Lester asked. “It wasn’t me! It’s not my—!”

He grunted in pain when Brett punched him in the stomach.

As the other gamers converged on him, Lester dropped his phone, which kept the livestream audience from seeing his body get ripped apart by his furious friends.

Then they turned on each other.

* * *

“Please, Nate! Please don’t do this!” His wife, Kassie, gripped his arms.

“Don’t you see?” Nate asked her. “I have nothing else to live for! Why would I want to live in a world where it’s all downhill for me?”

“You have me and the kids!”

“Let go of me!” Nate shouted, shoving Kassie out of the way. He strode down the hallway into their bedroom, slamming and locking the door behind him.

Kassie rushed to the bedroom door and frantically tried to turn the knob. “Nate! Don’t do it!”

“You don’t understand!” Nate shouted through the door. “Why don’t you understand? Why won’t you listen to me?”

Kassie pounded on the door, then kicked it as hard as she could.

It opened just in time to see Nate with a gun in his mouth, giving her an unobstructed view as his brains splattered all over their bedroom wall.

* * *

“Almost done …” Sally whispered. “Almost done …”

Tim watched her, lips trembling, a tear trickling down his cheek.

“I wish you wouldn’t do this,” he said. “I’ve told you what will happen when you finish.”

“That’s what happened to Ziggy. Doesn’t mean it’ll happen to me.”

“What if you didn’t finish it?” Tim asked. “Just keep playing this level. That’s even more fun, right? It’s the game that never ends. You could play forever.”

“Why would I want to do that?” Sally asked, her voice thick with disgust. “You play games to win them. I’m not going to get this close to the end and not finish. That would be insane. Now quit distracting me!”

Sally’s avatar swung the chainsaw at God’s neck.

Tim unplugged the game.

Sally spun around, her face an ugly mask of fury. “What the fuck did you just do?”

“I’m sorry. I had to.”

“I’m going to fucking kill you!”

Tim nodded sadly. “I know.”

* * *

“We won’t know the true scope of this nightmare anytime soon,” the radio announcer said, as Margot drove west through Texas. “As the body count continues to rise, the president has announced the military will be conducting house by house searches for afflicted gamers. They will be subdued and taken to facilities specially set up for this purpose.”

“Great,” Margot said out loud, even though no one was in the car to hear her. “Facilities filled with millions of gamers losing their minds. Peachy.”

Rowan had visited Chrissy earlier and said her condition had deteriorated badly. “She was barely coherent. Just screaming and sobbing and tearing out her hair. I guess that’s what will happen to everyone else. They’ll kill themselves, starve to death, or go completely insane.”

Her phone rang. Dad.

“Almost home?” Dad asked.

“About halfway.”

“Please be careful.”

“I will.”

“Your mother and I are very proud of you.”

“Thanks.”

“Everything will be okay, won’t it?”

“No, Dad,” she said. “It won’t.”

After a couple of minutes of downbeat conversation, he put her mother on the phone for another couple of minutes of downbeat conversation. They eventually exchanged “I love yous” and hung up.

She called Rowan and asked if he’d heard about the military intervention.

“Yeah,” he said. “I mean, that was always going to be the next step. It could keep innocent people safe, I suppose, but I can’t imagine what those detention facilities will be like. Are they going to gag them all? Put them in straitjackets?”

“Who knows?” Margot said.

“Well, presumably someone knows.”

“Sorry. Just saying words. How are your wife and kids?”

“Scared.”

“We’ll get through this. I just wish there was a—” She trailed off. “Holy shit!”

“What?”

“Cheat codes,” Margot said. “I can’t believe I didn’t think of it before! What if there are cheat codes in the game?”

“Why the hell would he put cheat codes in there?” Rowan asked. “If he wants to cause millions of deaths, he’s not going to give us a free pass to circumvent that.”

“Right. Not on purpose!” Margot was so excited, she pulled off to the side of the highway, because getting into an accident would truly suck. “Which of your daughters did you say is really into video games?”

“Jenny.”

“Put her on the phone.”

“Um, okay.” She heard Rowan call for his daughter. A minute later, he said, “Okay, we’re on speaker.”

“Hi, Jenny. I’m Margot. Okay, so here’s the deal. Mr. Pyron said he playtested the entire game himself. Look how long it took Ziggy to finish. Mr. Pyron wouldn’t have played the entire game all the way through every time, right? That would be ridiculous. If he’s trying to test, say, Level Ten, he’d have a way to skip right to that level. Isn’t that what the cheat codes are for, Jenny?”

“Yeah,” Jenny said. “Sometimes they’re put in for the players, but mostly it’s just to test the game.”

“And game designers leave those in?” Rowan asked.

“Not always,” Jenny said. “Usually they take them out.”

“But he told me he cut corners! If he was doing the work by himself, and he cut corners, he might have left them in!”

“Yeah, probably.”

“Oh my God. So there could be cheat codes in there that let you skip through the game. And if you cheated—if you skipped to the end of the game without really playing it—would you have that sense of accomplishment? If someone used a cheat code to complete the game, maybe they wouldn’t feel the need to kill themselves afterward!”

“That seems like a stretch,” Rowan said. “But it also makes a lot of sense. There’s one problem—”

“—No one can find Mr. Pyron to torture the cheat codes out of him, I know. Jenny, how do the codes work? How do you enter them?”

“They’re just game moves. Like, up, down, left, right, up, down gets you unlimited lives or something like that.”

“So it’s patterns you enter with the controller?”

“Yeah.”

“Then that’s it,” Margot said.

“What’s it?”

“If a million monkeys with a million typewriters will eventually create the works of Shakespeare, one girl with one Playstation will eventually find the cheat codes to save a million lives!”

“May I share the problems I have with this plan?” Rowan asked.

“By all means.”

“One, it probably won’t work.”

“That’s a pretty big one.”

“Seriously, for this plan to work, not only do there have to be cheat codes embedded in the game, but you have to be able to find them with random moves.”

“Not random,” Margot said. “I’d be very organized about it.”

“Two, to do what you’re suggesting, you’d have to play the game. As we’ve established, playing the game is the worst thing you can do. You’d become like the other addicted players.”

“Also a legitimate concern.”

“Third, you can’t get the game anymore. It’s off the servers.”

“That doesn’t seem like as big of a problem as the first two.”

“What are you going to do? Borrow a dead gamer’s console?”

“Probably, yeah.”

“Okay, Margot, I’m loving the excitement but I’m deeply questioning the plan. If you’re playing, you won’t care about the cheat codes, right? You’ll become obsessed with playing the whole game.”

“That’s a strong possibility. That’s why this is a team effort. How fast can you get to Las Cruces, New Mexico?”

“Ten hours.”

“That’s way too long. Won’t work. You stay put, and I’ll call if I need you.”

“You’re sounding manic and scary.”

“Better than hopeless and depressed.”

“You don’t have to do this,” Rowan said. “It’s not your responsibility to save the world.”

“I know it’s not. But I’m going to do it anyway. I like the world. Bye!”

After she hung up, Rowan stared at his phone long enough that Jenny asked if he was okay. He admitted he wasn’t sure.

* * *

“Hi,” Margot said, recording a video on her phone. “I’m Margot, the girl from the video that started all this bullshit. I need to ask a great big favor from you out there on TikTok. I’m near Las Cruces, and I need to borrow a game system that has Fun Times at the Bloodbath installed. If you know of one that isn’t currently occupied by an addicted player, please, please, let me know in the comments. And I need a volunteer in the area who doesn’t have any plans for today. Thanks!”

She posted the video, then pulled back onto the highway.

A couple minutes later, she pulled back off with an overheated engine.

“Son of a fucking bitch.”

* * *

“Need a ride?” asked the scary-looking guy with Jeffrey Dahmer-style glasses who pulled over behind her.

“Yes, very much so,” Margot said. “But I’m not sure exactly where yet. Can you wait?”

“I guess.”

“Thank you. You may be helping save the world. You may also be helping me waste time and get myself killed. Either way, I appreciate you.”

She kept watching the TikTok comments. Come on … come on …

There! An address! Could she trust this TikTok user she’d never heard of? Likely not! But was she going to put her life in MidgeYvonne27’s hands? Yes!

She texted the address to Rowan, so he’d know where to find her dead body if it came to that.

* * *

The scary guy dropped her off in a trailer park without trying to rape or murder her, which was nice. A heavyset woman stood outside a dark green trailer wearing a “Nicolas Cage rage meme” T-shirt.

“Are you Midge?” Margot asked.

“No. Yvonne.”

“Nice to meet you.”

“So, anyway, the guy who lives here was playing that Bloodbath game, and he put hands on his girlfriend when she tried to stop him. So she called her brother and his buddies over, and they dragged his ass out of there and beat the shit out of him, then threw him into the trunk of her brother’s car and drove away.”

“I see.”

“As far as I know, they didn’t break anything, so the game should still be there.”

“Thank you. Where’s the girlfriend?”

“Oh, she’s been screwing this other guy since she moved here two years ago. He picked her up, and they haven’t been back.”

“Then let’s go inside.”

Margot and Yvonne entered the mobile home, which was much tidier and pleasantly scented than Margot would have expected. The gaming console was on the floor next to the television set.

“Here’s what’s going to happen,” Margot said. “I’m going to play the game.”

“I wouldn’t. Turns people cray.”

“I know. And if I become cray, you have my blessing to hit me.”

“But not shoot you?”

“Right. Please don’t shoot me. But you brought the gun and the handcuffs?”

“They’re at my place.”

“Get them, please.”

Yvonne nodded and left the mobile home.

There wasn’t a good place in the trailer where she could handcuff herself—to keep from attacking Yvonne—and still play the game. If she cuffed her hands and tied her feet together, that should keep her from posing a threat. Admittedly, she suspected Yvonne could kick her ass even without the precautions, but still…

Yvonne returned a couple of minutes later. She held up the handcuffs and gun as she entered the mobile home. “Got ‘em.”

“Those handcuffs are fuzzier than I was expecting.”

“Yeah.”

“It’s fine,” Margot said. “Restrain me, baby.”

“You gonna make this weird?”

“No, just that one part. I’m done now, sorry.”

Margot sat on the floor and let Yvonne put the handcuffs on her. Yvonne found some bungee cords under the sink, and used them to bind Margot’s legs together.

“Here’s what I need you to do,” Margot said. “I don’t know how I’m going to act when I’m playing, but my job is to put in different combinations. I need you to write them down and help me keep track. If I get belligerent, threaten me with the gun. Slap me around a little, if necessary. I may need you to tell me what combinations to try. Our goal is to find a cheat code.”

“You gonna piss your pants like the others?”

“I will make every effort not to.”

As she turned on the console, Margot suddenly had second thoughts. And then third, fourth, and fifth thoughts. It was possible this idea was ridiculous, suicidal, and perhaps even really, really, really stupid.

Fun Times at the Bloodbath began.

She created her avatar, which looked nothing like her, then selected the tiny pair of scissors as her weapon.

An old lady walked toward her, and a conversation tree appeared, asking if she wanted to offer to assist the woman in some way, or call her a bitch and threaten her life. Margot selected the former.

The old lady attacked.

Margot couldn’t deny it. This game was fun as hell already! She could totally see what all the players saw in it—it was high quality entertainment!

She pressed the X button to attack. That old hag was going to die!

“Hey!” Yvonne said, slapping Margot upside the head. “Put in the cheat codes.”

Cheat codes?

That’s right. Cheat codes. Maybe she could get unlimited lives, or better weapons! That would be awesome.

Margot moved away from the old lady. The crone moved slowly, so she had time to input some moves.

“Up,” she said. “Up, up, up.”

“Got it,” Yvonne said, writing it down.

“Down, down, down, down.”

“Got it.”

“You don’t have to say ‘got it.’ Just tell me if you don’t. Left, left, left, left. Right, right, right, right. Up, down, up, down.”

“Are you sure it’s four moves?” Yvonne asked.

“No. I have no idea how many it is.”

“How many combinations are there?”

“I’m not a mathematician,” Margot said.

“This is going to be boring as crap, isn’t it?”

“Oh, yeah. For sure.”

On-screen, the old lady killed her, forcing her to restart the level already. “Damn it!” Margot said, pounding her fist against the floor.

“Stay focused,” Yvonne reminded her, pressing the barrel of the gun against the back of her head.

* * *

Rowan sped down the highway. Margot hadn’t answered her phone, but he knew she was in Las Cruces, and if he could help her out in any way with her insane plan, he’d do it.

* * *

“Up, down, X, triangle. Up, down, X, O. Up, down, X, square.”

* * *

“New suicides every hour…” the news anchor announced.

* * *

“Down, down, X, O, up. Down, down, X, O, left. Down, down, X, O, right. Down, down, X, O, down.”

“I’m done with this,” Yvonne said.

“What? Why?”

“Why? Because we’ve been doing this bullshit for two hours. I can’t take it anymore.”

“No, please! I need you!”

“You’re doing just fine. I’ve barely had to hit you. I wish you the best of luck, but I’m going to lose my damn mind if this keeps up. I’ll check on you every once in a while.”

Yvonne left, taking the gun with her.

Shit!

Okay, okay … no need to panic. Margot could find the cheat code without her. She’d just do it from memory. Stay organized. Follow patterns. Make sure to—fuck! The old lady killed her yet again! She was the worst Fun Times at the Bloodbath player ever!

But if she found the code, she’d be the best player ever!

Focus.

Down, down, O, X, up. Down, down, O, X, left.

* * *

“When will the murders stop?” an angry guest pundit demanded. “Why don’t they send the army in to shoot everyone playing the game? Acceptable losses! They made their choice when they downloaded the game, and too many innocent non-players keep dying!”

* * *

“Sir, do you know how fast you were going?” the cop asked Rowan.

“Yes,” Rowan admitted. “Way over the limit.”

“The world has gone mad, but there are still rules of the road.”

“I apologize. Do you know Margot Rosewood?”

“Dead chick in the video, yeah.”

“Well, the snuff video was fake. But I’m driving to New Mexico to meet her. She’s figured out how to stop all this.”

The cop furrowed his brow. “I don’t believe you, but given the circumstances, I’ll let you off with a warning.”

* * *

Margot was repeating patterns. She knew she was wasting valuable seconds every time she did the same combination twice, but she couldn’t keep everything straight in her head!

And she just wanted to play the game like a normal person! It wasn’t that difficult! At least not this level! Why did she even need cheat codes?

No, no, no, no, no, no! She needed to discover the cheat codes. She’d be a hero! Even more of a hero than Ziggy!

Her fingers were sore.

Left, X, Right, O.

* * *

Rowan’s body ached all over as he pulled into the trailer park. He was not a fan of long drives, and he’d only made very quick stops for gas.

He parked next to the trailer with the address Margot had texted him, then knocked on the door.

No answer.

The door was unlocked, so he went in.

Margot glanced back at him. “Rowan!”

“I’m here.”

“No!” she cried out. “Don’t take me away from the game! Not while I’m playing! It’s true what they say—this game is really fun! You should play it! I wish you’d gotten here sooner; we could’ve played the cooperation mode!”

Fuck, Rowan thought.

“I’m here to help you with the cheat codes,” he said.

“Oh! Good! That’s what I’m doing! Is it wrong to cheat?”

“Absolutely not.”

* * *

“X. O. Square. Triangle. Left. Right. Left. Right.”

It was two-thirty in the morning. Rowan was slumped in his chair, struggling to stay awake.

“X. O. Square. Triangle. Left. Right. Left. Right. Left Right.”

No way would this ever work. She’d been at it for, what, fourteen hours?

“X. O. Square. Triangle. Right. Left. Right. Left.”

But they couldn’t give up, if for no other reason than Margot was addicted to the game now. Even if she got fed up with the whole cheat code process, she wouldn’t quit playing. There was no exit strategy except to find the code. Or be dragged away and locked up by the military.

“X. O. Square. Triangle. Right. Left. Right. Left. Right. Left.”

A large gray box appeared on the screen.

Rowan straightened up, he suddenly wide awake.

“Oh my God! Oh my God! What do I do?” Margot asked.

“I don’t know!”

“Should I press a button?”

“Yes! Do something! Press something!”

LEVEL TWO appeared on the screen. Then LEVEL THREE.

“It’s letting me cycle through them!” Margot said. “I get to skip all of these levels! Ziggy would be so jealous!”

She cycled all the way to FINALE.

Pressed X.

A cartoon man in a very shiny tuxedo walked onto the screen. “Congratulations on completing Fun Times at the Bloodbath. Hope you enjoyed the game! Goodnight!”

Margot set down the controller.

“I did it,” she said.

“How are you feeling?” Rowan asked.

“I feel…” Margot looked back, taking her eyes off the screen for the first time in hours. “Like I don’t want to kill myself.”

The cheat code needed to be customized to the different systems, but it was the same placement on the controller. The phone version was also the same, except that it was a series of taps and swipes.

It worked.

Before they passed out, utterly exhausted, Margot and Rowan made videos, called the FBI, called Nintendo and the other companies, and shared the cheat code everywhere they could.

“Now, the players themselves may be reluctant to use it,” a newscaster later reported. “You may have to grab the controller out of their hand. But it’s only four button presses and six quick movements. If you need assistance inputting the code against the player’s will, please call the number on your screen, and a professional will be dispatched to your residence.”

The deaths didn’t stop entirely, but they slowed down. There was an end to this nightmare in sight.

* * *

“Good work,” Rowan told Margot.

“Thank you. And thanks for coming to help.”

“If you ever want to get into the legal profession—”

“I don’t.”

“That’s fair. But if you ever need anything, anytime, call me.”

“I may need you to handle all the product endorsements I’m planning to do,” Margot said.

“Well, that’s more of a manager’s duty, not an attorney’s.”

“So be my manager.”

“I’ll think about it. I’m not a great lawyer, though, so I can’t say I’d be a great manager.”

Margot’s phone rang. Unknown caller. “Here’s my first endorsement offer now,” she said. She touched the green button to accept the call. “Hello?”

“You bitch!” Mr. Pyron screamed at her. “You fucking bitch! You think you’re clever?”

“A little bit, yeah.”

“I’ll find you. And when I do, I’ll do way more than cut your face! You fucked up bad. You have no idea how bad.”

“Sure you want to stay on the line this long? I appreciate that you’re unhappy with me, but I’m not the one who left the cheat code in there. Lazy and sloppy. That’s on you. And the FBI will eventually find you, Mr. Number One Most Wanted, so keep looking over your shoulder. Oh, and by the way, fuck you. Bye-bye.”

She hung up.

“Mr. Pyron is pissed,” she told Rowan.

“Well, I’d be angry too, if my plan to kill millions of people with an addictive video game only killed thousands. Sucks to be him.”

Margot grinned. “Yep.”

“It’s going to take the world a while to get over this,” Rowan said. “If nothing else, the video game industry is going to have to work really hard to win the confidence of customers again.”

“Isn’t the government trying to ban all video games?”

“Yeah, but that’ll never happen. Too much money involved.”

“Okay, I’m going to call the FBI and let them know Mr. Pyron called,” Margot said. “Then I’m going to get some more of those fish tacos. Want to join me?”

“Are you buying?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Yeah, I’m in.”

Thanks to Bridgett Nelson, Richard Dansky, Jenn Proffitt, Tod Clark, Donna Fitzpatrick, Paul Synuria II, Jim Morey, and Jamie La Chance! And to Mom and Paul!

And thanks to the crew at Dead Sky Publishing, especially Steve Wands.

Bonus thanks to my loyal Patreon supporters H Michael Casper, Tim Feely, Walter Basil, Dan Hux, MaryJude Schmitz, Michelle Bingham, Peter Rouff, Rhonda Rettig, Scott Bruce, Chris Ethridge, David Powell, Dr. Aardvark, Gillian Adams, Jay Bower, Jay D., Nick Roberts, Richard Dansky, Jeff Fischer, Sheldon Ludman, Jason McCurry, Crys Evans, Jordan Triplett, Russell King, Don Garner, Sebastian Ersson, and, of course, my sister Wendy.

Jeff Strand is the Bram Stoker Award-winning author of over seventy books, most of them horror. Several are in development as motion pictures, an excruciatingly slow, maddening process that has turned him into a dark, cynical husk of a man. He lives in Duluth, Minnesota.

You can visit his Gleefully Macabre website at www.JeffStrand.com.

NOVELS

Your Body Will Never Be Found

Bloodsucker County

Creep Out

Veiled

Demonic

Attack of the Killer Tomatoes: The Novelization

Deathless

Autumn Bleeds Into Winter

The Odds

Allison

Clowns Vs. Spiders

My Pretties

Ferocious

Bang Up

Bring Her Back

Sick House

Cyclops Road

Blister

Kumquat

Benjamin’s Parasite

Mandibles

Fangboy

Dweller

Pressure

The Sinister Mr. Corpse

How to Rescue a Dead Princess

Out of Whack

The Haunted Forest Tour (with James A. Moore)

Draculas (with JA Konrath, F. Paul Wilson, and Blake Crouch)

COLLECTIONS

Snuggling the Grotesque

Freaky Briefs

Candy Coated Madness

Everything Has Teeth

Dead Clown Barbecue

Gleefully Macabre Tales

NOVELLAS

Twentieth Anniversary Screening

Cold Dead Hands

An Apocalypse of Our Own

Facial

Stalking You Now

Faint of Heart

Kutter

The Severed Nose

Disposal

Suckers (with JA Konrath)

FOR KIDS

It Watches in the Dark (Eek! #1)

Nightmare in the Backyard (Eek! #2)

Finders Keepers (Eek! #3)

Terror From The Cave (Eek! #4)

How You Ruined My Life

Stranger Things Have Happened

The Greatest Zombie Movie Ever

I Have a Bad Feeling About This

A Bad Day For Voodoo

Elrod McBugle on the Loose

THE ANDREW MAYHEM SERIES

Graverobbers Wanted (No Experience Necessary)

Single White Psychopath Seeks Same

Casket For Sale (Only Used Once)

Lost Homicidal Maniac (Answers to Shirley)

Cemetery Closing (Everything Must Go)

THE WOLF HUNT SERIES

Wolf Hunt

Wolf Hunt 2

Wolf Hunt 3

NON-FICTION

The Writing Life: Reflections, Recollections, and a Lot of Cursing

Hot Iron and Cold Blood

Strand, Jeff

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"Each short story is unique, carefully crafted, and memorable. A fun read from cover to cover." – MIDWEST BOOK REVIEW

Desperados and yellow-bellies be warned: These ain't your typical westerns…

Herein find legendary masters of anomalous Western and Horror stories—along with a posse of budding word-slingers—who all bring you an electrifying and frightening collection of extraordinary tales set in the Old West and beyond...

Within these pages, the improbable is made real: cowboys encounter a chimeric critter of the night; dinosaurs return as massive poltergeists; Chinese railroad workers are haunted by invisible frights; outlaws experience Cronenbergian body-horror; fallen-light stalks mother and daughter upon a wintry prairie; a headless horseman roams the badlands; otherworldly creatures hunt within our domain; screaming spectral birds nest within the damned; and gunslinging women with murderous skills annihilate foolish notions of a man's world.

These are just a handful of the offerings in this body of macabre lore. So, mount your saddle-horse and join this gang of rogue authors for a ride down dark trails of terror and unsettling thoroughfares that lead deep into strange, nightmarish territory. Here you gallop through places where law has no dominion and Death constantly deals a grim hand—and where the iron is red-hot and the blood drips ice-cold.

Featuring stories by Joe R. Lansdale, Edward Lee, David J. Schow, Jill Girardi, R.J. Jackson, Vivian Kasley, Owl Goinback, Kenzie Jennings, Jeff Strand, Wile E. Young, and more. Edited by Patrick R. McDonough with an introduction by R.J. Joseph

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Reincarnage

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YOU THOUGHT IT WAS OVER Eleven people awaken in an abandoned motel. Transported from all over the United States, they have no memory of the journey and no idea where they are or why anyone would take them. Then they find the blood…and the heads mounted on stakes. IT'S NOT OVER Thirty years ago in the town of Morgan, a Vietnam vet embarked on a killing spree that ultimately cost him his life. Then he resurrected to do it again. And again. And again. Morgan has since been evacuated by the government and enclosed by walls thirty feet high to contain the inhuman slayer known as Agent Orange. HE CAME BACK Now confined to his hunting grounds, the abducted must survive the Kill Zone, where Agent Orange has traps and weapons stashed all around, an almost omniscient ability to stalk, and lifetimes to perfect the art of butchery with an endless canvas of human flesh. From Ryan Harding, Jason Taverner, and Death's Head Press comes the debut of the most brutal slasher icon, with new bonus chapters, a much higher body count, and more gore than all the Friday the 13th movies combined. For him, death was just the beginning… REINCARNAGE: MAXIMUM CARNAGE

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Dead Inside

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A young hospital security guard with a disturbingly unique taste in women. A maternity doctor with a horrifically unusual appetite. When the two of them meet, they embark on a journey of self-discovery while shattering societal norms and engaging in destructively aberrant behavior. As they unwittingly help each other understand a world in which neither seems to belong, they begin to realize what it truly means to be alive...And that it might not always a good thing.

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The Rising

Keene, Brian

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"Brian Keene writes like a force of nature." – F. Paul Wilson Twenty years ago, multiple Bram Stoker Award winner and World Horror Grandmaster Brian Keene's The Rising was credited with "revitalizing the horror fiction genre" and "giving zombies an upgrade". In the decades since then, the series has spawned three sequels and earned generations of eager fans from all walks of life– united in the hope that the author would return once again to the franchise. This is that return. The Rising: More Selected Scenes From the End of the World features a splattering of new stories set within the world of Brian Keene's The Rising franchise, complimented with original illustrations by Anthrax's Charlie Benante. Featuring tales set both before and after the events of the previous books, it will appeal to long-time fans and new readers alike. Brian Keene's The Rising: More Selected Scenes From the End of the World– zombies just got another upgrade.

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The Magpie Coffin

Young, Wile E

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212

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The year is 1875 and outlaw Salem Covington has spent the last twenty years collecting stories, possessions, and lives. Nicknamed "The Black Magpie" for his exploits during the war, Salem has carved a bloody trail across the western territories. Informed that his mentor, Comanche shaman Dead Bear, has been murdered. Salem vows vengeance on the perpetrators. Enlisting the help of an army scout and preserving the body of his mentor in a specially made coffin, he sets out in pursuit. But the choices of Salem's past that earned him the moniker "Black Magpie" are riding hard behind him and the only weapon that can kill him might not be as far away as he thinks.The Magpie Coffin is an unrelenting tale of revenge, with precise brutality and extreme violence.

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Table of Contents

- Cover
- Title Page
- Copyright
- Dedication
- Contents
- 1. LEVEL ONE
- 2. LEVEL TWO
- 3. LEVEL THREE
- 4. LEVEL FOUR
- 5. LEVEL FIVE
- 6. LEVEL SIX
- 7. LEVEL SEVEN
- 8. LEVEL EIGHT
- 9. LEVEL NINE
- 10. LEVEL TEN
- 11. LEVEL ELEVEN
- 12. LEVEL TWELVE
- 13. LEVEL THIRTEEN
- 14. LEVEL FOURTEEN
- 15. LEVEL FIFTEEN
- 16. LEVEL SIXTEEN
- 17. LEVEL SEVENTEEN
- 18. LEVEL EIGHTEEN
- 19. LEVEL NINETEEN
- 20. LEVEL TWENTY
- 21. LEVEL TWENTY-ONE
- 22. LEVEL TWENTY-TWO
- 23. LEVEL TWENTY-THREE
- 24. LEVEL TWENTY-FOUR
- 25. FINAL LEVEL
- Acknowledgments
- About the Author
- Also by Jeff Strand
- Game Over