Something was definitely wrong, Martin had decided, sipping his coffee.
It had been wrong for a while too, niggling in the back of his brain, forcing him to notice it.
He'd upped the strength of his coffee during the day and taken tablets at night, and all that happened was he shook constantly and felt ill.
You see, Martin Crieff was being watched.
He didn't know how, or why, or who was watching him. He just knew it. When he walked down the street, fraying coat turned up against the cold, when he lugged furniture around in his banged up van, when he headed out to fly. It was the worst at night when he lay alone in the loft. He could almost hear the voices, whispering things about him, Martin.
The rest of the crew at MJN Air had noticed, too.
Carolyn had remarked about how peaky he was looking, and how her captain had better not become sick if he knew what was good for him. Douglas had offered to give him a rest on duty, and Arthur had given him extra coffee, if it could be called that. Normally this would make Martin happy, if slightly embarrassed, but recently it just had not been helping. Still, while he was on the flight, especially the cargo flights, he was able to relax slightly. Just slightly.
But still, everything was wrong, and Martin, though he hated to admit it to himself, was scared.
It was still vividly real to Martin, the night it happened. He'd been good and taken his sleeping pills, and had taken a steaming mug of coffee and a good book to bed with him. He was planning to have a good night's sleep for once, especially considering he had a long flight tomorrow.
The coffee was good, the book was a brilliant one about a detective and his assistant, and he was almost sleepy. It was set to actually be a decent night for once.
Then the power cut.
Martin did his best to stay calm- after all, it was just the same as having the light turned off. But when the light is turned off, you can turn it back on if you get scared. And Martin was scared.
It's just a fuse, he thought to himself. Just a fuse. He staggered up out of bed and peered out the window, quilt wrapped around him tightly. Glancing down the street, Martin couldn't see any lights. Damn it, it wasn't the fuse. He sat back down heavily on his bed with a sigh. What near-sleep stupor he was in had long gone, to be replaced with fright.
That fright was replaced with sheer terror when the voices started. Martin huddled under his quilt, hands pressed tightly over his ears, trying desperately to block out the voices before they could speak to him. But blocking your ears never worked for these. Martin couldn't help but listen as the voices explained things in a soothing voice to him- dangerous things.
You see, without realising it, Martin Crieff had gotten himself involved in a very dangerous game. A game, the voices clearly explained to him, with very high stakes. A game very different than anything Martin had played with Douglas or Carolyn or even Arthur.
This game had one rule: kill or be killed. And if Martin didn't hurry up, he was gone.
It's not that hard, the voices soothed. Nice and easy. You'll doing the world a favour, Martin.
"But what if I don't want to play?"
You have to, Martin.
"And what if I lose?"
You die.
With that, the voices left, leaving Martin curled up with his quilt over his head, alone to think about how he had never, ever, won a game in his life. And now it was his life he was playing with.