The Only Death ‘7

CHECKMATE

The time had finally come. Central Park had been made ready, and the festivities were in full sway.

As Himalaya and Skye stepped from their Limousine, the took a moment to pause, and stare in awe.

“The Party” only happened once every decade. It was a chance for all members of the Syndicate — from Class 2 right to Class 10 — to mingle one with another without fear of repression, mockery or repercussions. It was a chance for all members of the Syndicate to feel as one class.

“The Party” was always a controversial event. To some amongst the lower classes, it was percieved as a way for the upper-echelon to show off what they have, rubbing their wealth into the proverbial noses of those who have-not.

Others saw the event in another light: more as a way of sharing their wealth, of giving the chance for the lower classes to experience a life to which they could never aspire — even if just for a night.

To Skye and Himalaya: it was an opportunity entirely different.

Colours and music danced around the park, their tones permeating the air like an evanescent shroud of mist, saturating the senses. ‘Saturnalia’ (more commonly known simply as “The Party”, was in full sway.

It was the most elaborate Masquerade Ball ever conceived — and every decade it became more grand. This time, it was held in Central Park of New York City as it was the only known place to be protected enough, and large enough, to hold such an event.

The entire park was filled with hundreds of thousands of people, and as part of the theme this decade, all the men were dressed in black, and the women in white.

Skye and Himalaya took in the scenery, immediately recognizing that their plans would be far more difficult than previously anticipated.

Like pieced of a Chess-Board, the entire boundary of the park was guarded by lines of sentries. 16 drones on each side, Black on the East and White on the West. The drones were carefully selected and placed in formation.

In the middle of each line was an Arbiter, poised in his “Mech”, a massive bi-pedal drone designed to mimic every move of the pilot within.

Standing beside the Arbiter-Mech, and in what can only be described as ‘the Queen’s position’, stood a Dreadnaught; a drone nearly as large as the Arbiter’s Mech, and while being slightly less agile was far more heavily armed than any other drone class in the Syndicate’s arsenal.

The ‘King and Queen’ were in turn flanked on each side by a pair of ‘Heavy’ drones in the spots slated for the ‘Bishops’. These were essentially smaller versions of the Dreadnaught/Queen.

Flanking the Heavy drones, were in turn and appropriately in the Knights’ positions, ‘Guardian’ drones. These were lightly armed, but heavily armored, with dedicated heavy shields and an array of non-lethal weaponry. These were the Syndicate’s bread and butter in riot-control operations.

Next came the Assassins as the Rooks. Fast moving and agile, these drones were designed to move through any form of terrain at incredible speeds, being able to surgically eliminate a target and evacuate the area before any of their larger kin would even have time to lock on target. Their speed however was also their weakness. Armor and weaponry was sacrificed for lighter weights and faster speeds.

Finally, flanking all with 4 on each side were a total of 8 standard police drones, making up the role of Pawns.

Amongst the crowd, hundreds of other various drones arrayed in gold or silver, played the roles of servants, bartenders, valets, concierges and other various services. As these ‘Servants’ were of the same make and model as the standard ‘Pawns’, the girls assumed that they were no less armed to the teeth.

Before they had left the Limo, Laenus had opened a small wooden box, revealing their ‘tickets’ for the night: a pair of right-handed gloves which resembled more like Medieval gauntlets with the outer-most 3 fingers removed, resulting in a glove that covered the thumb, index-finger and the webbing in between. This his the roman-numeral tattoos that identified the class of the wearer.

Laenus had warned the girls that the gloves were hard to come by as they were custom fit to the wearer. He had found 2 invited guests (Saturnalia was always invitation-only) who’s hands were precisely the same dimensions as Skye and Himalaya. What he did not tell them, was what it had cost to acquire them.

He couldn’t tell them. It would undermine what they thought he believed in.

For now, the knowledge that the passes were acquired through Black-Market means would have to suffice. He couldn’t think about that right now. He had Joseph in play as the White King, and he needed to focus. Skye and Himalaya had only once chance to get the job done right, and there was no slowing down.

The plan wasn’t a solid one-and-done scenario. It would require hours of tireless swooning and consorting. If the girls survived the night, they’d be asleep for a week afterwards, of that he was sure.

Laenus scanned his monitors from the limo. Everything appeared to be in order. The girls were already in play and making their rounds. Skye already had some man’s arm around her waist and Himalaya had already been kissed by another woman. They were doing their jobs to absolute perfection.

He called in for a radio-check to Joseph. According to the Arbiter-in-White, all was going completely as planned and according to schedule. That’s what had Laenus worried.

He switched his monitors over to Joseph’s feed. Looked through the eyes of Joseph’s Mech. His heart fluttered, and he had to remind his body that he wasn’t breathing, and suck in a deep inhalation of festival-aroma-infested air…

…the Black King had a single red line down the left side of its head, chest and leg. Seth was here.

Laenus’ plans may have been met with failure before they were even set in motion.

Checkmate.