Chapter 18

THE FIRST GAME ROOM

Alexander stepped off the hyperloop half an hour later, Annie trailing a half-step behind with her hoodie up, cowboy hat perched on top, and a katana strapped across her back.

He’d long since given up trying to make sense of her chaos. Nobody so much as gave her a second glance, regardless of style or her being armed with a lethal weapon.

Despite his longer stride, Annie kept pace. “So, this Auggy guy we’re going to see—”

“Augustus,” Alexander corrected. “I’ve only met him briefly, but he didn’t strike me as someone who appreciates nicknames. Think big and muscular, with tattoos.”

“You worry too much about silly things, Alex.” Annie bounded up the subway steps ahead of him.

He sighed. He’d been doing that a lot lately.

Up on the damp, quiet street, he scanned for threats: tails, strange vehicles, cybernetic bounty hunters. His eyes flicked skyward.

Muscle-bound super-women dropping from above, he thought, glancing up. Nope. Clear.

Annie picked up right where she left off. “He’s an old friend of Frank’s, right? We can trust him to give us shelter while we figure out how to bust his old buddy, old pal Frank out?”

Alexander nodded absently, still watching the street. “They served in the military together. He may not be able to help us with the plan, but I doubt he’ll turn us in.”

He led the way down the block, Annie falling in beside him. “It should be close. A few more streets.”

“So,” Annie began again, “I’m just asking because, well, I’m the punchy superheroine, obviously—”

Alexander nodded distractedly.

“And you’re the man-with-the-plan sidekick, right?”

He nodded again, then froze. “What? I’m not the sidekick.”

Annie gasped in mock horror. “Are you saying I’m the sidekick?”

He recognized the game immediately. “Yes, Annie, you’re the sidekick. The sidekick’s always the short one.”

She stuttered to a stop, gears visibly jamming.

Alexander rounded the corner and spotted The Hollowed Die across the street. As he crossed, Annie jogged to catch up, peering up at him from under the brim of her damp cowboy hat. The rain wasn’t heavy, but enough to soak the edges.

“You win this round, Mr. Man-with-the-Plan,” she muttered. “But you do have one, right? A plan? ‘Cause we can’t just bust Frank out. Then he’s a fugitive like us. And you said he’s got a wife and kids.”

Alexander caught himself before nodding again and glanced at her instead. “I have an idea. Not out here though.”

As they neared the bar, he glanced toward a shuttered veterinary clinic across the street.

Could’ve sworn I saw…

He reached out with his senses, brushing against the faint hum of buried cables.

Nothing. Just letting this whole fugitive thing get to me, I guess.

“Uh, Alex,” Annie murmured, doubt in her voice. “You sure this is the right place?”

He looked up at the faded sign. “Yeah. This is it.”

“Can’t you see the bikes? And the tatted guys through the windows?”

The bikes were lined up with precision, chrome gleaming even in the drizzle. He paused to admire the craftsmanship before turning to the backlit windows. Through the grime, shapes shifted inside.

“We’ll be fine. Frank told me plenty of stories about this place.”

He pushed the door open. Annie followed, positioning him as a potential human shield.

Inside, the atmosphere was nothing like the outside suggested. Not a dive, not upscale either. Something balanced between casual beers, cocktails, and hearty meals.

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

Warm light spilled across polished floorboards. A modest jazz band in the corner set a low rhythm, soft enough not to drown out the conversations. The crowd was rough-looking, bikers with ink and muscle, but the energy was warm. Laughter and clinking glasses. Someone holding the door for an older woman carrying a tray from the kitchen.

The long bar stretched nearly the length of the room, shelves stacked with liquor and spirits both familiar and alien. At the far end, a weathered door bore a brass plaque:

GAME ROOM — VIPs ONLY

A tattooed bouncer sat beside it, looking like a final boss battle. Sleeveless, scowling, and twice as wide as Annie. The look said backroom poker. Alexander knew better. If Frank’s stories were true, the room hid late-night RPG campaigns, board games, and enough snacks to feed an army.

Behind the bar, Augustus Greaves was polishing a glass like he’d been born doing it.

The man was tall and broad, with ink curling down his forearms. To Alexander, he looked like a man that had weathered everything life could throw at him, and still come out better on the other side. He wore a white shirt and a sharp black vest, but with the casual air of a man that had nothing to prove. His beard was long, impeccably shaped, and his curled moustache gave him an air of both whimsy and danger.

They slid onto worn leather barstools that creaked but swiveled smoothly.

Augustus set the glass down and approached. “What can I get you two?” His voice was a deep, unhurried bass.

Annie swallowed hard as he loomed over them, moustache twitching slightly.

Alexander hid a smile. “Hello, Augustus. Mai Tai.”

“Pina Colada,” Annie blurted.

“Very good, ma’am.” With practiced ease, Augustus turned to mix their drinks.

When he returned, Annie tapped a black credstick against the terminal. He didn’t bother asking where she’d picked up an anonymous stick. It was probably stolen.

Alexander sipped slowly, letting the citrus wash over his tongue, and cast a casual glance around the bar. Annie spun in her seat, both hands on her drink, staring wide-eyed at everything.

Augustus remained across from them, but waited long enough for them to pause their drinking before asking, “What brings two fugitives to my bar?”

Annie froze, but the stool kept spinning until it came to a stop with her facing Augustus. Alexander saw several nearby patrons pause, turning toward them at the question.

Annie turned toward the biker beside her, tensing. Metal surged up past her elbows, coating both arms in an instant.

Alexander sipped again, thinking how to answer.

“I don’t know if you remember me, Augustus,” he began. “I worked for Frank. He was arrested a few days back for helping us.”

Augustus nodded. “I recognized you, Mr. Rooke. And you, Ms. Sheridan. From your wanted picture.”

Alexander tilted his head back to meet the man’s gaze. “We’re going to get him out.”

Augustus studied them in silence. It felt like he was weighing them. Judging them. Then he leaned down and stage-whispered, “Guess you’ll be needing a place to rest and plan your heist, then.”

The biker next to Annie clinked glasses with her and laughed. “Welcome to The Hollowed Die!”

Augustus showed them the rest of the bar. It was clear to Alexander that it was the man’s pride and joy. Though he’d never call the bar a front, Augustus truly came to life only after leading them into the VIP room.

Annie’s face lit the same way. Alexander suspected his own did too.

The game room was bigger than the bar itself. Half a dozen small tables lined one wall, but the centerpiece was a massive holo-table running the length of the space. At its head sat a throne. A literal throne. Gothic symbols, metal skulls, screens and controls built into the armrests.

Shelves on one wall sagged with paper rulebooks, dice, painted miniatures, measuring sticks. Probably every tabletop game imaginable.

The room buzzed with more activity than the bar outside. Augustus paused to settle an argument about a rule before leading them through a soundproofed door into a cozy lounge. Guest area, spare bedrooms, kitchenette.

He sank onto a couch that groaned under his weight. The genial barkeep was gone; in his place sat a soldier.

“I know Frank well enough to say he wouldn’t want you risking yourselves without reason,” Augustus said evenly. “Not to say I’ll stop you, but I’d like to hear you have a plan that doesn’t simply make Frank into a wanted fugitive like yourselves.”

Annie jabbed a thumb toward Alexander. “He’s the plan-man.”

He raised an eyebrow at her. She only grinned.

Alexander met Augustus’ stare. “It still needs work. Frank’s charged with aiding a fugitive, which is a ten years minimum. But the report I saw said the evidence hasn’t been fully processed yet. Which means it hasn’t been submitted to the courts or logged into any evidence tracking systems outside the local precinct.”

Annie’s eyes widened. “We break in and destroy the evidence.”

“Exactly,” Alexander said.

Augustus leaned back, thoughtful. “It could work. But you’d need to get in and out without leaving a trace. That means no visible powers, no witnesses, and no recordings. Otherwise the break-in becomes new evidence of his collaboration.”

He stood. “You’re welcome here as long as you need. But if I were you, I’d put your plan into motion quickly. Given the heat on you two, there will be pressure to move up Frank’s processing to soothe the public.”

At the door, he turned back. “I’ll make sure everyone knows the guest area is off-limits for now. Things quiet down here around 3 a.m. I leave at four, and I’m back by late afternoon. I trust you’ll be respectful.”

The warning was implied.

“And don’t burn the place down like you did Frank’s,” he added with a grin before closing the door.

Talia loved it when a plan came together.

She’d seen them arrive from the subway. Excitement had pulled her forward, and Alexander’s head had snapped up as if he sensed her. Thankfully, the raincoat, the shadows, and the low parapet kept her hidden.

She settled back. She didn’t know what the ex-orbital ranger was capable of. Not to mention the clientele inside, clearly some kind of biker gang. But she was patient.

She’d wait until the bar cleared. Wait until its owner went home.

Then she’d make her move.

And finally get answers.