[right][sup][b][s]Greater Shill Zone[/s][/b]
[b]"N[s]O[/S] MAN'S LAND"[/b][/SUP][/right]

[b][color=mediumaquamarine] “...You know.”[/color][/b]

[b][color=lightgray]“I don’t,”[/color][/b] said Lott heavily. Finally, she admitted it. Her voice almost sounded human in its defeat. [b][color=lightgray]“Josh—”[/color][/b]

But Gatch was gone, secretly promoting the facility manager to be the one to fix Lott with a quizzical glance before she returned her eyes to the monitors. Lott ignored both her and the screens. She stared blankly at the double doors while her eyes rewatched her conversation with Gatch. She wasn’t sure if what happened had really happened until she lived it again, and even then she wasn’t sure if she was smart enough to know how to process it. Lott played it again, like that would help her. All it did was elevate her heart rate to dangerously normal levels. Shit, she was panicking. Lott looked around the room. She needed something. She needed…

[b][color=mediumaquamarine]“...more info about what’s happening, and a drink or something.”[/color][/b]

The latter, definitely. Lott mechanically stood from her chair and stiffly walked over to the dry bar. Vodka was too clear for the situation, this kind of thinking required something dark and heavy. The tumbler clacked on the countertop, was filled halfway with a whiskey that smelt either like campfire or a rioter’s molotov, and then drowned in bitters. For the first time in nearly a decade, Lott made a face as the glass touched her lips. It was a fittingly difficult drink to swallow. 

Had Gatch really admitted to her that he’d knowingly committed voter fraud to win the last election?

[b][color=mediumaquamarine] “[i]Yes[/i]…”[/color][/b]

Lott inhaled. Did APEX know? What was she thinking, of course APEX knew. They hadn’t sent her there to determine whether or not Gatch had broken the rules to win the mayorship. They had sent her there to plug leaks and throw any stowaways overboard, not to question if the captain should be captain. She was the sheet for a magician to throw over and disappear a planted audience member underneath and little more. Lott’s hand shook. She should be honored. [b][color=mediumaquamarine] “You can see the people on the screens, Ramana.”[/color][/b] Gatch was right. She was privileged. Most companies treated people like disposable paper towels, only used once to wipe up some dirt before being thrown into the landfill. Lott was special. She was used repeatedly, much like the tumbler in her hand. 

Fuck it. She could feel the eyes on her, casting judgments, as she made another drink. 

Lott knew one thing for certain: she had underestimated Gatch. She had never seen him as much of a player. Despite being the most important part of the Game, the king was typically one of the weakest pieces. She looked longingly at her reflection in the mirror over the bar, her eyes seeing ghost images of Gatch standing behind her. Something had changed about him. No, nothing had changed about him. Rather, she had only just realized. He, like Samsara Washington, was dangerous. In fact, he was more dangerous, because unlike Washington he had been able to hide his terrifying nature from her for so long. Perhaps that was why she couldn’t get a word in edgewise. She had been petrified.

Now, she just had to determine if that had been due to love or fear. 

[b][color=mediumaquamarine]“Use the information available...”[/color][/b]

A taunt. An invitation. A plea for mercy? She could use the information, but to what end? It couldn’t be enough to take Gatch down. In the end, the truth would bury Lott and Lott alone—unless she found someone else to be the truth for her. It was the right thing to do. Potentially stupid, definitely suicidal, but right. Maybe the only reason Gatch would tell her something like that would be to test her. Check her loyalty. But...maybe he wanted a way out of the Game. She had just been made into a pawn, and already she was unsure if she could keep playing. He’d been in it longer than her. If that was the case, shouldn’t she withhold the information? Keep him in the Game? Punish him for breaking the rules?

[b][color=mediumaquamarine]“What do they want?”[/color][/b]

Lott didn’t know what she wanted to do.

[b][color=mediumaquamarine]“What do they really want?” [/color][/b]

Not just in this situation, either. In everything.

[b][color=mediumaquamarine]“They want to spill each other’s blood and get away with it.” [/color][/b]

The American Dream, right? She had once thought it respectable.

[b][color=mediumaquamarine]“They want to deface and destroy a corporate faction because it makes them feel powerful.” [/color][/b]

But feeling isn’t being. Feeling is a forgery.

[b][color=mediumaquamarine]“They live all their lives—like us—giving into desires.” [/color][/b]

She only desired to be.

[b][color=mediumaquamarine]“The desires are just different.” [/color][/b]

She didn’t want to be a pawn in the Game.

[b][color=mediumaquamarine]“Is it you?”[/color][/b]

But could she be more?

[b][color=mediumaquamarine]“Take over while I answer HQ.”[/color][/b]

Impossible. King was never an option.

[b][color=mediumaquamarine]“Look at those people—‘at us’...” [/color][/b]Us? [b][color=mediumaquamarine]“You and I...”[/color][/b] Us. [b][color=mediumaquamarine]"—like us—giving into desires.”[/color][/b]

Queen, now. Well, if not that then she certainly she could be promoted to a rook.

Lott felt like she was falling. She caught herself on the bar and checked her watch to administer a few doses to keep her equilibrium in check. Lifting her head, she gave the mirror a confident smile before immediately diving into a deep analysis of every single thing that was wrong with her appearance. She needed a haircut, a mud mask, a dangerous blast of uv radiation, and a new suit. She didn’t know where she could buy a personality, so she’d have to fake one. Lott leaned forward and lifted a lid to look at the bloodshot eye. Perhaps she needed to channel Adamantia Steele and have her become a part of her daily life. 

The ritual was easy enough.

Lott poured herself another drink, and then whipped one up for Turkish. King’s orders were to become acquainted. Perhaps instead of serving Turkish up as the scapegoat, Lott could use him to help bolster her up a step or two. Lott herself took a topsy-turvy step or two and then she was following in Gatch’s footsteps, stepping out of the room and toward the elevator. She pushed the call button and waited on her opportunity to go down. Reflecting back on it, she didn’t like how the advisor had so easily peeled Gatch away from her. Jealously, for Gatch? Stupid. He had said it himself. Lott and Gatch? 

They were an [i]us[/i] now.