Round 26 resumed. Unknown to Emilio, Electoral never put on air the contact between Emilio and the resident of room 20C. Instead, Marilyn edited Emilio's character search the kitchen for traces of bacteria. Electoral resumed as Emilio walked around, quickly finding Mister Leduc, the manager of these premises, pretending to want information on behalf of his mother's stay. Emilio and Leduc made their way to the head psychiatrist's office. The man's desk overflowed with paperwork. The characters created by Electoral were always realistic; they had quirks and flaws.

He'd wasted time with his estranged conversation with Takeda, but it had been entirely necessary. Time was always short in the game; players couldn't wander off the story path for long. He needed to catch up the other players who had likely already completed their game. Once in the manager's office, he sat in a chair and looked around at all of the paperwork and knickknacks stacked on the shelves in the room. A flood of visions returned.

His sixth sense gave him an impression of the reaction each time he looked at something in the room. In a vision, he grabbed an old radio, and the manager sat up stiff in his chair. Electoral loved logical stories; something was wrong with the device. In his vision, he smashed the radio on the ground; a large 20th-century microphone fell out. It was attached to a cable running out of the wall. The man was under surveillance. Some of the senior guests were essentially prisoners here, but the Psychiatrist, Leduc, wasn't the one responsible, that much was clear to Emilio. In a heartbeat, the vision vanished. Emilio was back in the office, he as sitting and the radio was whole.

"One moment," said the President playing the Private Investigator lighting a cigarette. He got up and turned on the radio for music to hide his words. The President returned to the desk, grabbed a pen and paper and scribbled, "Can they hear us?"

"I no longer think so," replied Mr. Leduc, softly.

"What leverage do they have on you?" There was no need to explain who was the group he was referencing.

"My mother. She is here, in danger like all the others."

"Why not call the cops?"

"Chicago cops?" Emilio realized the stupidity of his question the moment it came out. Emilio was a politician. Clearly, the older residents loved this place. They enjoyed their last years in a beautiful environment. The President needed to find the solution to this puzzle. Someone had killed his client to keep him from investigating this place. Why would a man blackmail the banker, his dead client's husband?

Emilio looked around; he needed inspiration. Victory required finding a solution where the mother of the banker, the mayoral candidate who'd been his deceased client's husband, decided of her own free will to leave these grounds. He had to get her on the next cab out of this place at her own request. Poisoning the food would never work. Burning the building down was an option, but it was sloppy and out of theme. Then it came to him. The guests were in love with Leduc; that was the solution.

"Michel, is it?"

"Yes."

"You don't know me, but I'm a private eye. Here's the deal: I need a favor from you. Five minutes of your time and those guys won't ever know what happened." He pointed at the microphone. "I just leave with your latest resident peacefully, Ms Emmanuel. If I leave alone, my next stop will be the press. You don’t want that."

This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

***

Marilyn edited to perfection. Moments later, Emilio was outside and had called a cab rolling in. It parked outside the front door. The private eye got in and asked the driver to wait. The President's inner narration resumed, "Sure, I could care enough to go after the scum causing hurt in this place, but that won't pay my rent. The problem with flirting is that it's so easy to cross the line. Let's see if I'm right."

The camera turned. He watched as a nurse walked past the cab with Miss Emmanuel, his objective. She'd been summoned by Mister Leduc. From the cab, he looked up at the second-floor window. Staged for him, he saw Leduc try to kiss the old woman. The old newest resident slapped the psychiatrist's face. Three minutes later, he saw the lady walk out and get into the cab. She radiated anger.

"Do you mind?" she said as she slid next to him on the back seat of the cab.

"What happened?" asked the President. He knew what had happened; he'd just engineered it, though this particular act had been made possible by the prescient precision of his gift. He'd instructed Michel to make a sexual advance on Miss Emmanuel. In this era, the reaction would be severe. As expected, she'd slapped Mr. Leduc, turned, and left. Flirting was okay, but anything more was out of the question.

"I must get back to my son."

The game ended as the cab rolled away from the large house.

The credits rolled.

***

Emilio knew his performance wouldn't earn him the top score and he didn't care. To grab one hundred points, he had to help the manager and jail his captors. There were higher concerns than points today, however. As he logged off, he received a score of 74 points, his all-time lowest. The President was genuinely curious to see Laurent's condition. Emilio logged off. He sat up on his futon to drink a glass of water handed over by his assistant, Kai. The man was ready with a towel to wipe away the sweat his boss's brow. Emilio was surprised by his level of exhaustion; by his usual standards, he'd barely played and had expended no energy. He had a sneaking suspicion that his perspiration had less to do with the game and more to do with the consequences of the events that swirled around it.

"How long was I under?"

"The preparation lasted twenty minutes, but your game lasted a mere three." Emilio wiped more sweat from his brow and smiled. For the first time this year, a simulation left him deep in thought. The President grabbed a second glass from the silver platter and took a deep smell of the Scotch. The ice cubes dance in the liquid as if to evaporate more alcohol for his next whiff. Emilio smiled at Kai before reconnecting to the game system; he was genuinely curious.

Thanks to last week's broadcast, he now knew why the interface was an unmatched mental rush and why time seemed to compress itself from the player's perspective. Electoral's little classroom demonstration after she'd evacuated Sophie and company from the Holiday Inn Mars had been most informative. The damn machine played violin with a person's brain waves. Emilio knew the interface was highly addictive; that was why Marilyn made sure play time was restricted to the rounds.

No amount of money could buy a person a single minute of the game on her system. Electoral only played at wanting to turn a financial profit in the most transparent manner. He now knew that the software really wanted large numbers people to connect simultaneously. There was a power there she very badly wanted to tap.

Like everyone else around the world, Emilio needed to see for himself if Laurent was still alive and if he was even able to play. There was a dense cloud of mystery surrounding his runner-up. Since the flight, the man’s health was in question. The President liked Sophie's father and hoped to play against him in the finale. He had nothing to do with Laurent's quasi-disqualification. In fact, losing to Sophie and her father was something he honestly would not regret. After two full terms at the helm of the International Organization, he'd had enough.