Chapter 10 - The Game

JORDAN - OFF THE COAST OF CHOISEUL

Jordan woke with a shock, looking around the room wildly. It was dark, and he could feel that he was chained to a chair of some sort. His mind raced as he thought back on his last memories. He remembered clutching his sister's arm, running through the streets of his home town. A massive explosion had just destroyed his neighbor's house. He remembered seeing monsters march through the streets, slaughtering his friends and neighbors. Then one emerged from an alleyway before him, and everything went black.

"Help!" he called out, shouting as loudly as he could. He wriggled in his bindings, trying to break free, though the chains were far too thick. "Somebody!" he continued, though there was no response. Looking around, he could not see his sister.

"Estelle! Estelle!" he shouted, rocking his chair back and forth.

There was a loud clang as light flooded into the room from an open doorway. Jordan squinted, shielding his eyes as they slowly adjusted. He could see two beings entering the room before the door shut behind them. Despite the lack of light, he could hear them approaching him, and he felt his heart rise to his mouth. Ice ran through his veins, and he could swear his breath briefly frosted.

With a click, the lights in the room activated. Before him were two strange and utterly terrifying beings. The first was a squat, dark red creature, with broad shoulders and animalistic legs like that of a dog, or a horse. The monster had a tail which hung idly by its legs, and a flat rectangular head, which was wrapped in a transparent covering of some kind. The other was tall and clad in dark blue armor, and wrapped in a dark cloak. He could see the creature's head had a haunting, predatory visage, with sharpened teeth and narrowed eyes. Both had glowing orange eyes and seemed to be wrapped in metal, standing much taller than any man he had ever seen before.

Jordan instinctively screamed in fear - which seemed to annoy the two creatures, as the squat red one immediately spoke.

"She lekya!" it cried - though the word meant nothing to Jordan - as he continued to cry out. The red creature rushed to Jordan's side and seized his throat. Jordan coughed out, his scream quieting, as the creature stared him in the eyes.

"She lekya," it said again, as Jordan could see a crab-like mouth moving underneath the transparent covering. As the creature let go, Jordan coughed, trying to regain his voice. His throat felt like it had been crushed in a vice. Suddenly, all of the sound dropped from the room, as Jordan felt something in his head. A voice - one that was not his own. It spoke in a whisper, but felt incredibly painful, like a knife the width of an atom being driven through his ears.

"I aro'u ki ai?"

Jordan winced, looking around. The creatures did not move. Confusion furrowed his brow. Was this their doing?

"I aro'u ki ai?" the voice repeated, as Jordan again recoiled in pain. The blue creature narrowed its eyes, and spoke to the red creature, though again the words meant nothing to him.

"O akhi-za ya vo. Kasuitt te Rau kya. Rode."

Jordan watched as the red being turned to the blue being and passed them a similar transparent facial covering before removing his own. Its face underneath was bizarre, with perfectly circular eyes, and a mouth like a crab. The eyes squinted at Jordan, and glowed with a mechanical red light. The being drew a silver mask from behind its back, and placed it on its face. It was smooth and spherical in shape, with a large fin at its center, which artificially extended the height of the creature by some degree. It would almost look comical were it not for the horrifying nature of the situation.. Gasping, Jordan stuttered out.

"P-please…where's my sister?"

Jordan watched as the blue took a gaunt, clawed hand up to their face, and simply pulled the hunter's visage free from its head. Behind it was an almost featureless metal face - an approximation of a mouth, a chin, and cheeks - but none of which were authentic, and all of which displayed a distinct lack of skin or flesh.

Jordan was speechless. In his silence, the blue being finally spoke. The voice matched the same quiet tone as Jordan heard in his head, and the creature seemed uncomfortable talking. Nonetheless, its voice dripped with pure dread.

"I…do not enjoy this experience. It sullies me to speak like you boorish creatures."

Jordan left his mouth agape. Although the blue creature was speaking in perfect Solomon Pijin, it lacked any of the natural trappings of speech. There were no slurs in sound, or pauses for breath, or hints of a tongue against one's lips. The sounds were all far too perfect, and artificial, and all made without the movement of the being's mouth. It quickly dawned on Jordan that the being was not breathing whatsoever. The creature continued.

"Unfortunately, you do not understand Matoric, and I must stoop to such levels."

Jordan shivered, before finally summoning the courage to respond to the creature.

"Who are you?"

The creature watched, stone-faced, and took a moment to deliberate.

"I will provide my name in exchange for yours."

"Jordan. Jordan Chan."

"Jordan, of the Chan team, then?" the creature questioned, to which Jordan responded with a confused look. Team, he thought, puzzled.

"No. Family."

"I see. I am Vamprah. Now we are acquainted."

"Where's my sister?"

"I have collected a few of your sisters -"

"What are you talking about? I only have one."

"...interesting," Vamprah said, as he nodded towards the squat red being, who seemed to be taking notes on a stone tablet. Jordan again felt confusion. Do these guys not have paper? he wondered.

"Jordan Chan…" Vamprah said, rolling the words around his mouth. "What is the name of your island."

"What?"

"Your island."

"Choiseul," replied Jordan. "I was born and raised on Choiseul."

The red-armored being looked towards Vamprah and shook his head silently. Vamprah did not respond to the gesture beyond a brief glance of the eyes.

"Are you…are you guys aliens?" Jordan questioned, after a moment of silence. He looked up at Vamprah, hoping the creature would give some indication. He did not - Vamprah did not so much as blink or breathe, remaining perfectly still.

"What do you think we are?" he replied.

"I don't know. Aliens. I don't think you're humans. Are you?"

The red being took another note.

"Humans?"

"Yeah, humans, like me."

"Interesting. No, we are not."

Vamprah seemed to consider things for a moment. Jordan wondered what the being was thinking about.

"Are you familiar with the concept of a Makuta? Or perhaps the Great Spirit?"

"Great Spirit? You mean like…god?" Jason questioned, unsure of his captor's meaning.

"If that is what you call him," Vamprah said, idly glancing towards the red being.

"Well…there are a lot of gods."

Vamprah immediately shot his eyes back towards Jordan. For a moment, he thought he had said something wrong before the creature's gaze softened.

"And how active are these gods in defending their people?"

Jordan thought for a moment. If this being was unfamiliar with human culture, maybe he could use it to his advantage.

"Very!" he blurted out. "They've…destroyed tons of invaders. You're lucky they haven't noticed you yet."

Vamprah glanced over to the red armored being, who jotted something down on his tablet, and showed it to him. Jordan leaned over to try and view it, but was disappointed to see that the writing on the tablet was not in a language he understood - instead, the script appeared to be made up of small circles. Jordan sighed, furrowing his brow. He could feel a bead of sweat dripping down it.

Vamprah wordlessly shifted, turning away from the red being, and drawing a series of objects from beneath his cloak, presenting them before Jordan. The Choiseul teen could see his wallet, and his phone - the former contents of his pockets - lying in the blue creature's palm.

"These are yours. I'd like for you to explain their function," Vamprah said inquisitively, and Jordan looked up at the being. It suddenly dawned on him that he was very clearly being bled for information - which gave him a great deal of power.

"I won't say anything until I see Estelle - where is she?"

"The objects."

"No. I want to see my sister."

Jordan watched Vamprah stand perfectly still for an instant.

"Very well," the blue being said, before extending his other hand towards Jordan. A purple glow began to form around it, and Jordan suddenly felt his body change. It was as if his very soul was being ripped out of his chest, towards the creature before him. Purple force began to leave his body, flowing into Vamprah, as Jordan cried out. With each second, he grew weaker and weaker, his body fighting just to remain upright. He felt his muscles shudder, and his chest fought for the strength to rise against the chains.

As suddenly as the sensation began, it ceased, and Vamprah returned his taloned hand to his cloak. Jordan felt his cheeks grow wet as tears spilled from his eyes.

"Jordan Chan. I have ways of forcing your compliance. I also have several other captured members of your species, should you prove unrewarding."

"A - a wallet and a phone, they're a wallet and a phone!" he cried out, once his voice found strength again. Vamprah turned towards the red armored being, and nodded towards Jordan. The teen panicked, expecting a blow of some sort, or even worse, but was pleasantly surprised as the chains wrapped around him fell to the ground.

"Your compliance is met with reward. Tell me…how do these items work?"

Jordan had done what they asked at every step. He showed Vamprah his ID card, explained how Solomon Island dollars worked, told him how to use a phone. At the very end of what felt like several hours, Vamprah was still pressing him for details.

"And all humans carry these?" Vamprah asked, inspecting Jordan's phone. It was an older smartphone with a cracked screen, but it served him well enough. Jordan shrugged, nodding.

"Most of them."

"Fascinating…" Vamprah crooned, tucking the phone away in his cloak.

"You have been very useful, Jordan Chan. The Brotherhood of Makuta thanks you greatly."

"Can I see Estelle now?" Jordan begged, as Vamprah seemed to deliberate internally.

"Of course. I will send you to her."

Vamprah again extended a palm, which this time began to glow with an orange searing light. Jordan sucked a breath through his teeth, as the heat began to reach him. Betrayal washed over him like a tidal wave. Crying out in pain, the burning energy made contact with his skin, and Jordan could feel it singing his arms and chest. The last thing Jordan saw before a ball of plasma travelled through his body was Vamprah staring calmly at him. Within moments, there was nothing left of Jordan's corpse but a smoldering pile of liquid, pooling at the bottom of a chair.

GUILLAUME DUBOIS - PARIS

Guillaume Dubois began his morning like any other. First, coffee - lots of cream, and a little sugar. His wife sometimes made fun of him for his seemingly unmanly choice of coffee, and the two of them would laugh fondly. Next was breakfast - something quick and light. His doctor recommended that he start each day with a healthier meal in order to avoid persistent migraines, and so he had recently switched his breakfast to chilled fresh fruit and toast. The light breakfast left him open to having larger "brunch" meetings during work. Third, make sure the children are ready for school, that their homework is done, that their bags are packed, etc. Once every step has been completed, see the children off to school for the day. Finally, speak with his aide, Charles, to receive an itinerary for the day. This was a routine that he had adopted some years ago, and it had worked quite well for him thus far.

This morning proceeded exactly as any other, and so when Dubois stepped through the doors of his office, coffee in one hand and schedule in the other, taking his place behind a large and elegant desk with a placard reading "Ministre de Armées", he did not take notice of how auspicious his day would be.

Over the course of the morning, he would go through several important items on his schedule, meeting with various government agents, and doing what work could be expected from the French Minister of the Armed Forces. It was not until just after one in the afternoon, when Dubois was just finishing an almond croissant and his second coffee, that he would see an unusual item on his itinerary - a meeting with a Julie Miron. Setting aside his coffee, he reached for his intercom, addressing his secretary.

"Is this new?" he asked, bored.

"Oui, monsieur," they replied. "She made a call a few hours ago, said she needed an urgent in-person appointment. I worked her in as early as I could. She had an initial briefing she wanted you to look over in the meantime - it should be on your desk."

"I see. Merci," Dubois said, drawing the file from his inbox.

"Will that be all, sir?"

"Oui," he said, clicking the intercom off, then thumbing through the folder. Whatever she was meeting him about, he was certain it was quite serious. Her reputation in the intelligence sphere was nothing to scoff at, and he had had the pleasure of meeting her during a formal dinner once. Even during an event so divorced from work, she took herself quite seriously. He had found it amusing then, but alarming now.

Skimming the file, his eyes glossed over the words "Pacific Islands", "Choiseul Province", and "lost contact". It seemed worrisome, but not moreso than any other piece of information that crossed his desk. Then his attention turned to a radar image of the ocean, and a massive accumulation of shapes within. Underneath, a caption counted each one.

"...amounting to over two hundred unknown ships."

Dubois' eyes widened, and with a shaking hand, he covered his mouth. Someone had erred very badly not telling him about this sooner. No sooner had the thought crossed his mind than his intercom came to life.

"She's waiting now, sir."

"Send her in. And get the President on the line. Tell him to cancel his two o'clock." he replied quickly, brushing flakes of almond and buttery pastry crust off of his lap. Clearing his throat, he took a last sip of coffee before sitting up straight and propping open the file in front of him. A moment later, the door to his office opened softly as Julie entered the room.

Julie was both tall and stocky, and wore a navy blue blazer and skirt combination. Her long hair was kept up tight in a bun. With a wave, she rushed over to a seat across Dubois' desk, and the two exchanged a handshake.

"I'm afraid plans have somewhat changed -" Dubois said, returning to his chair, as Miron adjusted her heavy-rimmed glasses. From a briefcase, she drew a similar copy of the file on Dubois' desk and cut him off.

"You're sweating. Obviously you've read my initial report," she said. Dubois nodded affirmatively.

"To make this brief, sir, either North Korea, China, or Russia has made a drastic and dramatic move against the Pacific Islands. Yesterday evening, we received a communication from one of our men in New Caledonia. Apparently a ham radio enthusiast, who says he was listening to a broadcast from someone in the Gilbert Islands. The broadcaster was able to signal for help, and there were a number of explosions that could be heard in the background of the transmission. He was able to record a segment of the broadcast, which we have a digital copy of. He passed that information along to the local government, and they passed it along to us."

She took a deep breath, while Dubois watched her intently. If what she was saying was true, it could very well be an international issue. Continuing, she spoke.

"That was six hours ago, we've been trying to make radio communication with… just about anybody out there. A few of the islands in French Polynesia we know are just knocked out by Hurricane Guillermo, which made radar imaging difficult. This was the first good image we were able to take, and I made an appointment with you as soon as I found out."

"Anything in the intelligence network about this?"

"None sir. It's unprecedented. I don't know how an attack like this could have gone unforeseen."

"Alright. And we have digital copies of all of this?"

Julie nodded, and Dubois let out a sharp exhale.

"Get whatever staff you need ready for a full briefing in…" Dubois checked his watch. "Thirty minutes. You'll be meeting with the President."

"- the storm, making air recon virtually impossible at this juncture."

President Macron looked around his assembled cabinet, and stroked his chin. The group was sequestered within a large space, with windows facing the outdoor courtyard, covered in shutters so as to allow an overhead projector to work unimpeded. Dubois, seated towards the front of the room, watched as Miron finished her presentation. Turning to face the President, Dubois cleared his throat, and delivered a closing statement.

"Sir, I know what I'm saying is obvious, but we need to bring this to the attention of NATO."

A nod of approval went around the room as the President rubbed his forehead, thinking for a moment.

"This is…unprecedented," he said contemplatively. "There was no indication in the intelligence network -"

"None, sir," Miron interjected. "It quite frankly doesn't make any sense. Russia can't afford to lose pressure on the Atlantic, and Japan would have warned us if North Korea or China were making a move like this."

"And strategic analysts…would they classify it as a prelude to war?"

"That is a possibility, sir."

"Regardless, it's a move that needs to be brought to the international community as soon as possible," said Dubois. The room again nodded. Macron took a deep breath.

"Gentlemen, ladies, there are men and women on those islands that are part of the French Republic. We won't delay any longer in rescuing them. Dubois - get boots on the ground. Coordinate with the Americans, get some SEALs out of Hawaii. Find out what's going on."

Dubois nodded gravely.

"Of course, monsieur President."

"Sweep the islands by population - the bigger they are, the earlier we hit them. I want to know that our people are unharmed. You have my permission to use any resources necessary, within reason. Understood?"

"Yes sir."

"Very well. Clarice, prepare a press statement. That will be all. Meeting adjourned."

The group pulled out its chairs and shuffled out of the room, collecting papers and briefcases as they went. Passing through the door, Dubois was met by a hand blocking his path. The Prime Minister stood, blocking the doorway.

"I hope you realize that two hundred ships sailing under our noses is not a good thing." he said, his voice as cold as ice. Dubois cocked a brow.

"I'm well aware of the danger."

"I mean to say that it represents a rather large failure of intelligence."

"What are you suggesting?" asked Dubois coolly.

"That most people would resign if they couldn't keep track of two hundred possible enemy ships. French citizens might die because of this."

With a snarl, Dubois pushed past the Prime Minister, planning the coordination with the Americans in his head. He could care less what the Prime Minister thought - he had a job to do, and he was going to see it done if it was the last thing he ever did while in office.