Chapter 2: Stop Speaking
Nial shoved himself out of his chair, throwing the controller at the man as he strode forward, and darting towards his bedroom.
The controller bounced off Dorian's chest then fell to the floor, cracking on the basement's cold cement as Dorian slid between Nial and the door he was aiming for. Nial drew up short, but Dorian frowned and looked down to brush the spot on his black shirt, his upper lip pulling back as if he saw something disgusting. Then his eyes snapped up to meet Nial's, one dark slash of an eyebrow arched.
"Do you always greet old friends by launching… projectiles?" he asked dryly.
"Friends?! Who the fuck are you? I don't even know you! Get out of my—"
"Of course you know me," he muttered. Then, when Nial just stared, he rolled his eyes and sighed, bowing deeply, sweeping the sword across his body so that the point of it caught and slashed the fabric of Nial's worn couch. The already sad and tired piece of furniture spilled its cotton guts onto the floor. But the man didn't even seem to notice.
"Enganador Rex, at your service. Well, not at your service, but very much present. I'll even let you call me Dorian."
Nial gaped. "Who are you? And what the hell are you doing here?"
"I told you—"
"You aren't Dorian Rex! He's a fucking computer character!"
"Actually, the computer character is me, and you have proven over the past two years that you know me very well. See? Old friends."
"Friends don't break into my house and come at me with a sword!"
Dorian straightened, then frowned at the gleaming weapon in his hand and huffed. "Trust me, if I'd been coming at you, you'd already be dead. Now, gather your things, we must leave immediately."
Nial just gaped as Dorian scanned the room, frowning like he was looking for something and not finding it.
"You're insane. I'm not going anywhere with you," Nial muttered, straightening and backing away from the huge man, eyeing the open, splintered door sagging from its hinges behind him. "Get out! Now! I'm calling the police–"
But Dorian only sighed. "My god. There's no need to splutter. You can't be truly surprised? You found the secret chamber, thus I found you, now here we are… sadly," he said, waving a dismissive hand to indicate the basement, turning his head left and right, his frown pressing deeper.
"Found me?! How? I only just…" Nial trailed off, his jaw dropping, then his head whipped to the computer screen where the cut screen continued and the chat was flying, all of them typing in caps now, screaming about why Nial had disappeared off the screen.
The stream. His ranking. Of course.
The gaming companies had been going to crazier and crazier lengths to gain attention for their independent games. Was it really possible they'd arranged this? How had they known where to find him… and when?
Well, he had told everyone on his stream that he thought he was going to find the chamber today. Yet, he had thought no one actually believed him.
Then it occurred to him: The game was played online. The developers must have known how close he was and found him via his ISP. His friends had warned him to use a VPN, but he couldn't afford it and besides… who would ever have cared enough to hunt him down?
Apparently, the devs at Ganador Games. They must have planned this for when he finally got to the chamber. They would have known he would be playing live…
Holy shit. This was a fucking publicity stunt? He was an influencer now?!
Excitement trilled in his chest. His heart was still hammering, but now with more thrill than fear. He took a breath and ran a hand through his hair. It was long enough to dust his ears and the nape of his neck, and beginning to curl slightly at the ends. So as his fingers raked through it, it just fell back over his eyes. Then he looked around the dark, damp little basement that he called home and his hopes rose that maybe it wouldn't be like this forever.
He had always daydreamed about the day he'd finally prove that he could be the best at something. But in his fantasies he had always had a mother who cared enough to tell him to do things like cut his hair before he got on international livestreams, and he had always ignored her advice.
But that random thought made his stomach pang, so he made himself focus on the strange man again.
"Holy shit… holy shit… Wow. Okay. You scared me. I hope your insurance is going to cover the door. But I get it. I get it," he chuckled, blowing out some of his left-over nerves.
Dorian arched that brow again—a move often featured in the marketing of the game because it meant either that he'd won a battle or was about to kill whoever was standing in his way.
"Very good. So, grab your things. Quickly."
"What things? What will I need? I mean—they'll give me clothes, right? Because all I've got is jeans and a few hoodies. But they'll give me branded stuff obviously—"
"Nial, please stop yapping at me and gather whatever you will need to travel."
"Okay, sure, but it's going to take me some time to pack up my computer—"
"You will not be bringing your computer."
"But how else will I edit the videos and post updates? Look at that stream–it's growing every second. And they'll all be following my account after this. They'll expect another livestream tomorrow and—"
The guy pretending to be Dorian closed his eyes and muttered a curse, raising a hand in a sharp gesture for Nial to be silent. "Stop speaking."
Nial hesitated. This guy was clearly getting impatient. They must have something planned. Something or somewhere Nial was needed to appear. Holy shit, he was going to have appearances.
"Okay, okay," he said breathlessly. "How far are we driving? Do I need to call in sick for school tomorrow? Oh! I need to tell the watchers in the stream that—"
He took a step back towards the computer desk, but the guy playing Dorian flowed into the space between them faster than a blink. Nial tried to tell himself he just hadn't been paying attention. But it was hard to focus when the cold steel blade appeared at his throat, pressing his chin up, the point biting into his skin.
"Look, you little fuck nugget," Dorian snapped. "We have exactly seven minutes before Scar arrives. That means we are exiting this place in no more than three hundred and sixty seconds. You can walk willingly, or I can take you out of here by force. The choice is yours. But trust me, if you don't move–and fast–it will be my pleasure to cut your throat. Have I made myself clear?"
Nial beamed—this guy was playing the ruthless Enganador Rex to perfection! But a moment later a trickle of sweat started down his spine because the guy didn't grin back or… anything. In fact, he didn't seem to be playing at all.
Then Nial felt the steel press a hair harder against his skin and the zing of pain that followed a very real cut, and he stopped breathing completely.
Dorian's eyes flashed. "I said… have I made myself clear?"
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