“So, because you refused to accept your failure as a parent, you conceived an elaborate murder scheme to get back at her?”
“No, no, no, to get back at them – the games, the developers, the society that promotes that kind of bullshit. That’s why this is all coming to an end now. There are others we sent Rogue Horizon to, but since my daughter’s completed her time in the Dream Machine, there’s no need for more bloodshed. To cap off the past six months of violence by gamers, first-person shooter champion Jenna Bateman is going to violently butcher her two parents to death in their Beverly Hills home. She’s then going to be arrested and institutionalized by police officers we’ve paid off to be close to the scene so that she’ll be unable to kill herself in time.
“Don’t you see it, Desmond? My daughter is finally going to get the help she needs! And she’ll get to fulfill her lifelong dream: to kill her mother and I. She screamed at us when we grounded her, smashed plates and glasses on the floor. Patricia and I had never been so afraid in our lives. Jenna later said sorry, of course, but I had seen the real her in that moment, the version of my daughter that she hid from everyone else: violent, hateful, and aggressive. There had been outbursts before, but none that severe, and that’s when it became clear to me that games were a complete menace, that someone had to stop them.
“So while Jenna is undergoing treatment, my wife and I will be martyred for the cause. Lance and Patricia Bateman, two anti-violent media activists who were murdered by their own crazed champion gamer daughter. The deaths over the past half a year were just the buildup. This is the main event. My friends at Family First are already preparing the biggest lobbying push in our history. They’re going to start marches in D.C., Democrats and Republicans alike, all fighting for a new era of family-friendly entertainment, to control violent content and hold the film, television, and gaming industries accountable once and for all. My son James will probably take up my mantle once he graduates from college and use what video games did to his family to lead the charge. My only regret is that I won’t live to see it.”
Both Jackson and Zhao looked like sailors who had realized their captain had lost touch with reality and was currently steering them into a maelstrom.
“I think you’re the one who needs help,” Lewis said.
“No Desmond, this country is sick. And this is the bitter pill it needs to swallow.”
Suddenly, he turned and grabbed the pistol out of the holster on Jackson’s right hip and brought it up. The guard barely registered what was happening in time to turn his head in surprise, before Bateman pulled the trigger with the barrel less than a foot from the man’s face. Blood and brains jetted from the back of Jackson’s head as he fell back, a gaping dark hole torn through his right eye socket. Zhao turned and ran, but Bateman lined up a shot on him next and fired. He went down as a crimson spurt erupted from the back of his left shoulder.
He turned to Lewis next, who backed away with his gun still aimed. “Don’t worry, I know you don’t really know how to fire that thing. Otherwise, you would’ve shot me by now. It’s time to clean up this mess. And unfortunately, Desmond… that includes you.”
Bateman raised the pistol toward him and fired again.
37
Lewis ran as the bullet missed him by a wide margin. Fortunately, Bateman was a terrible shot. He’d only hit Jackson and Zhao because they’d been so close.
He sprinted down the corridor, loosing off a few shots behind him. The gun roared and kicked in his hand, and it hurt his wrist; he clearly wasn’t holding it right. Then it clicked empty and he dropped it as he ran. Bateman leaned out from around a corner back where the hallway met the lobby, fired a couple more rounds after him, then darted forward to chase him on foot.
Lewis burst through the rear door and was hit with a gust of cold air, but it barely slowed him down as he turned on his heel and began running along the building toward the asphalt drive that divided the compound.
Even though Bateman’s motives were insane, everything finally made sense. When he called after the incident with Charlie and asked Lewis if he’d noticed anything different in Jenna’s behavior, he wasn’t expressing a legitimate concern. He had assumed his daughter had been playing Rogue Horizon and expected Lewis to tell him about the resulting changes in her actions. But Lewis hadn’t noticed any changes because she’d only played the beginning of the game and hadn’t gotten around to playing more of it since. He’d spent so much time wondering if she had been playing more and why she would be lying to him that he hadn’t questioned the real reason her father would ask that. Jenna hadn’t changed at all for the past several weeks.
Lewis turned on the road and began sprinting the length of the Entertainment Center. Bateman had been hot on his tail. He’d be right around the corner behind him any second now, the pistol kicking wildly in his hand. Lewis had to get back in the front entrance, snatch some keys off of either Jackson or Zhao, and then steal a car before Bateman could shoot him.
Suddenly, up ahead, a black Chevy Malibu swerved around the corner and gunned its engine straight toward him. Lewis froze. His vision darted left and right: he was trapped between the side wall of the building and the chain-link fencing that surrounded the construction site.
Quickly, he made his decision.
Lewis ran to the side and jumped up as he reached a gate in the fence, grabbing handholds and scrambling upward to find purchase with his feet. He flipped himself over the top, only to see the ground sloping downward, an entrance ramp for vehicles into the pit. He hit the dirt at an angle and rolled painfully down twenty-five feet to the base.
Up above, tires swerved and suddenly the front of the Malibu burst through the gate, metal swinging outward and clanging along the sides. Still lying in the dirt, Lewis rolled onto his back.
The car door opened and a figure stepped out.
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” he muttered.
Shutting the door and staring down at him from the top of the hill was the astronaut, the blue glow from within its helmet even harsher than it had been in the Dream Machine. It held a pistol in its right hand.
“Hi, Desmond,” it said in a synthetic version of Lance Bateman’s voice.
Then it aimed the gun at him.
Ignoring the pain he felt all over, Lewis got up and ran as a shot cracked behind him and whizzed by. The construction site was a large pit comprised of several large cargo containers scattered around and an area toward the corner diagonally across from him where a steel frame was being built. An excavator was parked next to it.
Lewis took cover behind one of the cargo crates and caught his breath. This couldn’t be happening. It was Bateman chasing him, not the astronaut. He peered around the corner. At first, he just saw a blue light swinging around in the dark. Then something in his vision flickered and he saw it, the astronaut, clear as day.
“I know you’re out here, Desmond,” it said in its electronic voice.
He flinched back into his cover, his breathing uneven. Get it together. Staying focused, Lewis turned and crept along the side of the cargo crate. He had to think fast. The Malibu’s engine purred softly at the top of the slope. Could he sneak around behind Bateman, steal it, and get out? It was possible, as long as his pursuer got far out enough into the construction site that he couldn’t double back in time to stop him.
Lewis slipped around the back of the container and continued along the other side. He could see his goal about thirty feet away. The car’s headlights shone out from the top of the slope and bathed the pit in bright light. The astronaut was nowhere in sight.