Yeung-Sung rushed out of the car with his hands up.

“Woah, woah, woah? What’s going on?”

A dozen or so coloners surrounded him, most wearing the rusty film-jackets of the groups he and Sykes met earlier.

What am I doing? Oh God.

The majority of them had their eyes trained on a particularly aggressive coloner who was about to smash up the car with a stick of purple-painted rebar. Beside him, a shorter woman flicked his hood and nodded at Yeung-Sung, saying,

“Hey! One got out.”

A heavy, metallic scraping rang out. The man with the rebar turned to his friend.

“He’s not GLI. It’s that kid.”

He seemed to act as a de-facto head, for after he took note of Yeung-Sung the surrounding members of the group went from sporadically spreading their aggression to focusing on him.

Yeung-Sung kept his hands up. He stole a quick glance back at Simon. The top half of his head crept out, shining with sweat even this far away. Acting quickly, he sidestepped, making his way towards the main crowd and trying to gain as much distance from the car while he had their focus.

“Yeah. It’s just me.”

Feeling through his back pocket, he realized that he forgot his phone inside the autocar. Hopefully I won’t need it. Now that he was thinking, though, his hands itched for it.

The rebar guy clanged his rod against the ground. “Hey!” he yelled, in unison with the strike, “Where do you think you’re going?”

Yeung-Sung, mouth open, swung his body towards the protest, then swung back, smiling.

“You gonna join us?” he yelled again.

If I don’t distract them now, they’ll find out about Simon. He dropped his hands, clenched them into fists and focused through the pain, bulled through the anxiety of all the watching eyes. He strode towards the pack’s leader.

Some members took a step back at the sudden decision. Even the rebar guy held up his weapon in a block. He furrowed his brow. The bone of Yeung-Sung’s palm felt like it was about to snap, his fingers wobbled like the reeds of a paddy field, but the pain helped him get the words out clearer.

“What’s he done now? Jordan.” He sneered to add impact. “We gonna finally take him down?”

The leader smiled, putting the rebar pole in a rest over his shoulder. Up closer, Yeung-Sung could properly examine the guy. Latin, by his accent- with close cropped curled hair. The bones on his face were all too apparent, like he was under fed, or had fallen into drugs at one time. The ends of an oxbow nose rings stuck out only a little, so that he almost didn’t notice. Thick black letters coated the knuckles on his rebar-wielding hand. Underneath the clear “thugness” indicators though, his clothes underneath -a punk-logo sweater vest; straw chino; thick skater shoes- looked too new, smelled too fresh.

Not a Duner then, but someone who has been waiting for a day like this for some time.

He swiped his with a hooked finger and flared it.

“Tek him down?” he jeered, “Let’s not go cray-zy”.

His accent was slipping through; Mexican Spanish. He leaned back over the trunk of the car and pointed his chin at Yeung-Sung. “Anyway, shouldn’t you be getting some rest. I heard you got fucked up pretty bad.”

You’re a little late to offer sympathy, my friend. Yeung-Sung shrugged. Though, I’ll admit this is going surprisingly well. But then he heard numerous gasps circle around him. The Mexican fake-thug’s girlfriend nudged him again, causing him to shrink in his film-jacket and straighten up right after, pretending it didn’t happen. Staring behind Yeung-Sung, far back to the GLI labs, she whispered, “He actually came out.”

“It’s him.”

“We did it.”

“Reset incoming”.

Yeung-Sung knew exactly who it was but remained frozen, facing the Mexican rioter and the inside of the autocar. He was glad that he couldn’t move, because he gave no visible reaction to seeing Simon peer from hiding and watching him behold his boss and friend through decades of history, sorrow and brotherhood, pride and jealousy, a myriad of life experiences floating through Simon. Still, he couldn't help but smile.

After everything, he still wants to believe in him.

The Mexican tapped his hand off the car. “Come on, we should get closer. Let’s see what he has to say.”

His girlfriend nodded. All of them whisked past Yeung-Sung, chatting excitedly. A humongous roar erupted from the crowd, applause coming in waves after.

This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

AHEM.

Jordan’s cough erupted out of every nearby phone at several times the loudness of a healthy volume. I hope there was no one using earphones. Frowning, Yeung-Sung fingered his ear and turned around.

I AM DISAPPOINTED.

Just the first sentence caused a cascade of flinching. Waves of feedback tore through the crowd from the main speakers at the building’s entrance. They backed away, idiotically, trying to reduce the intensity, but kept their phones stubbornly on them.

Give them back! You should all be throwing down all of your colony belongings on the ground before him. That’ll send a clear message.

As he continued, twin emerald spirals shot into the air above the balcony where he was speaking and erupted into a monolithic projection of him.

“Remember where you came from? I saved you from it, gave you all a safe, set place to live. Food; friend; purpose. Yet you do not, as a community, uphold your end of the deal. You do not really TRY. Not to understand, not to help, not to change. Show me that you are willing to change yourself,” he declared, his giant holographic arms cupping the sky, “And I will show you that changing the world is just as easy.”

Yeung-Sung approached the writhing mass of people. All sorts were mixed in. Debaters with Finers along with Duners. The entirety of the Champs were probably here too, undercover. He was also surprised to find that even some members of the zealous Player’s Market had turned tail to join with the march. Even from afar, the heat, the sweat and angry energy of them become more apparent. It was like he was about to cross into the borders of an ant colony, but once he passed into their pheromones, they would instantly recognize him as an outsider and all that energy, all that rage would be directed towards him. Yeung-Sung slowed his step and waited for the right opportunity. Reluctantly, he went back to looking at the blazing green hologram in the sky.

Jordan, however, was clearly not finished. He waited. Waited for the chaos to subside, for his initial words to sink in and reverberate mouth to mouth any whom couldn’t comprehend them the first time. The seeds of doubt and terror had been sown, the army of protesters were shaken. As he surveyed the reactions below, the giant hologram above projected his absolute confidence.

Even with his unnerving presence, they soon settled. They grew used to it. And they, once again, through his passive inaction, forgot who it was they were rebelling against and grew bold. As if he didn’t blow over half of them with just his voice, they encroached on the steps of the GLI building. They took up, once again, their signs and their propaganda and their phones, hoisted their phones high with their torchlights hot and chanted, “RESET! RESET!”

Yeung-Sung was running again. There wasn’t time. Idiots! There won’t be another reset. He rushed in and began ploughing through waves of protesters without reason, without a plan. Yeung-Sung simply felt compelled to get closer, squeezing between tight gaps of personal space with his thin frame. Then Jordan spoke.

RESET? There will be no reset. Cease this idiocy. How many do you think we’ve had? Do you know how long we have worked on this single idea? Years. Years and years, all of you brought in well after the first trials.

Leaning over the balcony, with both arms relaxed by his side, his hologram burst forward, becoming a fully-fleshed golem in the sky. Its face was large enough to shadow them all, and the tip of his nose dropped only feet overhead, threatening them like a smoking drake.

Whatever you do, my coloners, our experiment concludes on the 21st of June; exactly 60 days from the launch of Airgead.

Giant eyes, like jade-clock faces observed the terror around him and a scarred smile sparkled. Yeung-Sung didn’t lose focus and kept his sights on the real Jordan, and the shortest path to him through the crowd.

On that day, we will show our beautiful colony off to a selection of representatives from the UN. With their permission, we will usher in a new era, cleansing memories of the old world by beginning trials of a worldwide Game Life Interface.

He drew back, and so did the emerald nightmare. Jordan raised his hands in a victory pose and bowed. But he came back up with the face he had at the start of the speech, the face he had when he saw his beloved colony rioting outside his gates; A look of vilified contempt.

The growl in his voice cracked forth, much more like how he remembered it.

I leave you to decide your fate. Currently, you are at stage 3 of Gauntlet 5 . Before the end, I expect you to have cleared, at least, stage 7-1. If you don’t, the experiment will end. And you with it.

With that, the giant green gas of Jordan was sucked back, dissipating like a spent genie.

Despair set in almost immediately as with the fluorescent light gone, darkness swept back in over the crowd, driving the panic deeper. For a moment it was just gasps. But then, the people who just found out that their lives were involuntarily put on the line, erupted.

“We’re here because we can’t beat the gauntlet!”

“He didn’t even give us a clue! A hint! Nothing”

“We’re doomed, he gave us a paradise and now he’s going to kill us in it.”

Similar sentiments echoed out amongst screams and yells and silent disbelief. Several dropped to their knees straight away and palmed their eyes, wailing, “I always knew it was too good to be true.”

With the coloners now despondent it became easier for Yeung-Sung to edge his way to the front. Gathering momentum, he tripped over a slow foot and planted into the back of a red jacket. The man who turned was the speaker for PM, scratching his head and grinding his teeth. “Well, look who it is,” he remarked. “The harbinger of trouble himself.”

Yeung-Sung gave a brief smile before clenching his fists, puffing up his chest and rushing headfirst towards his nemesis. Jordan must’ve felt some static, some small connection because as he parted the curtain to leave, he snuck a look back.

But Yeung-Sung was stopped by the speaker. “I think we’ve had enough drama for one night.”

Then he felt two more distinct hands grab him from behind and he feared the worst.

“When did you get here?”

Shirley?

“Little one, it is you!”

“He’s with us!”

Mamba, Von martin? What in the hell are they doing here?

He let them flip him towards them and without hesitating told them, “You need to let me go. I can fix this.”

The Wick regulars shared a stunned look.

“Trust me,” he pleaded.

Shirley stepped up, pulling up his sleeves and stared down PM’s speaker. “He’s going through. Or you’ll have to get through me.”

The speaker raised an eyebrow, and looked like he was considering it, but then stepped aside, saying, “That’s a cheesy as fuck line. But go ahead.”

“Thank you,” he whispered to Shirley as he jogged past.

Out in front, he stomped on the bottom stair. The air felt cool and uncompressed. He yelled out, “JORDAN!”

The sociopath above tugged the collar of his suit shirt and smirked, facing Yeung-Sung fully.

“I’ll defeat your gauntlet,” Yeung-Sung yelled. “And I’ll bring you down at the same time.”

“You, eh?”

With a casual stride, Jordan leaned out over the balcony and pouted his lips in amusement. “Well now, I can’t wait. You’d better not disappoint.”

It seems you have a self-appointed leader, here. Pak Yeung-Sung. He says he will solve the gauntlet. And replace me in the process. Let’s all give him a round of applause.

You bastard.

In the most nerve-wracking motion of his life, Yeung-Sung circled back around to face the crowd. He stepped backwards up the stairs. Beyond the three Wick regulars who nodded at him with confidence and the PM speaker who stroked his chin with interest, he stared into a sea of people who were utterly unconvinced. He swallowed down huge peach-seed gulps of anxiety and strangled out a smile from his mouth.

After soaking in the silence, Jordan waltzed back into his building.

MEDB’s voice echoed in Yeung-Sung’s head as he watched GLI’s CEO disappear and he knew that this was the only option.

[Give Jordan what he wants]

[Give him a challenge]