Stevie’s lips part and she takes in a deep breath, as if she is going to say something, but she just lets out a defeated sigh. She opens the zip-lock bag and pulls out the thumb drive, placing it on the marble and sliding it to us. We don’t bother asking what she wants us to do with it. It’s pretty obvious. Still, it’s weird that she asked to use Jackson’s sister’s old laptop for it. We could’ve just grabbed any of ours, and they would’ve been better, too.
Jackson plugs the drive into the USB port, opening it up. Parker and I hover over his shoulder, reading the folder name that pops up.
“To be shared?” Parker reads out.
We look at Stevie, and she nudges the bowl of calming cookies over.
“Parker, remember when you said you had to do damage control?” It’s the most words she’s said at once in the last hour. Her voice is scratchy, raw, like she’s been screaming for hours.
“After the party? Yeah.” He begins twisting his ear piercings round and round.
“I’m sorry for being the damage. I didn’t mean to cause you guys harm. I swear.”
He blinks at her.
“You haven’t damaged anything, Stevie. What are you talking about?”
She doesn’t respond, just folds her arms around her chest protectively and looks at the ground. We all look at each other, confused. Jackson clicks on the folder. A bunch of files pop up. He looks back at Stevie again before clicking on the first image.
I’m…a little lost.
It’s an image of Stevie and Blade at the VSAs. I didn’t think anyone got any pictures, but it’s harmless. It’s a photo of us walking out from the hallway. Jackson clicks on the next image. This one is of Stevie serving all three of us at the table. The next image is of English helping Stevie out from under the table. Not exactly incriminating, but not normal either. After that is a picture of Stevie kissing Blade’s mask. Alright, that one’s not great.
I still have no idea where this is going.
The next image is of us getting into the car. The license plate is circled, which is kind of creepy. We change plates up every few weeks though, it’s already out of rotation. When Jackson gets to the next image, I frown. It’s Stevie at the department store, the day I was there with Parker. The next image is the two of us together, laughing. A sourness builds in my stomach. Parker and I star in the next image, he’s holding up his tie to me. There is a close-up of the two of us, little circles around our piercings, my tattoos. Parker’s full name is scrawled on his close-up.
“What the hell is this?” Parker mutters.
The next set of photos are of Stevie and me on our first date. Inside the coffee shop, exiting, getting on my bike, driving off. Another image with my bike’s plate circled. Shit. I don’t switch that out. Why would I? It’s my personal bike. The close-up reappears, this time with my full name written out. I curse, slamming my fist on the table.
The images continue. There’s a photo of Stevie and Sydney at the juice shop. Sydney is circled, her name and job written next to it. There are some blurry photos of Stevie and Blade at Electric Tyger. There’s an action shot of Stevie running after Parker in her golden dress. Followed by a close-up of Francis by the Tesla, circled—of course.
The next photo is of our apartment complex.
Jackson swears, but I freeze. Ice winds its way through my veins, coiling around my heart, squeezing.
Everything gets worse from there, somehow. There are photos of Parker and Francis picking up Stevie from her apartment, the license plates circled. Sydney and Parker at their boxing class. Sydney at a speedrunner event with English. Stevie and I on our date at Moira.
Parker shoves away from the table when the next image pops up. It’s a side by side of Parker Covington and EnglishCoffee. Similarities circled, dates jotted down, Sydney’s name underlined.
I know what’s next before Jackson clicks the button.
Aleksander Knight and NightBlade32. Each of my tattoos are circled with lines linking them up, Stevie’s and Parker’s names underlined.
Jackson pauses, mouse hovering over the arrow to the next image. He waits a full minute before tapping the trackpad.
The image pops up, and I lose control of my emotions. Hysteria spills out of me in a round of uncontrollable laughter.
It’s a blurry photo of Jackson in his Jeep entering the underground lot next to an image of Shield3d. The license plate is circled, but there’s several question marks next to it. And I know why. The car is registered to me. I bought it for Jackson with the money from my first sponsored stream, a thank you.
There is no link to Jackson Lau.
He’s the only person not incriminated in all this. The green enigma. Our Shield.
“What is this, Stevie? Where did it come from?”
We stare at her across the island. Her forehead is lined with worry as she nibbles on her lower lip.
“You haven’t watched the video,” she tells us. “It’ll explain.”
Jackson hits the arrow again, a video file loading. Parker sits back down as Jackson clicks play.
Static plays at first, the screen black until a digital 2-D composition of one of our masks pops up. It’s orange, and the audio wave sits where a mouth would be. As the audio starts, the wave moves with it.
“Hello, Stevie and The System.” The voice has been distorted. What movie-type shit is this?
“I hope you enjoyed my little slideshow. A detective novel, if you will. The discovery of Aleksander Knight and Parker Covington. The whole world has been wondering who you are, and here is the proof, clear as day. Undeniable. I commend you for a good game, but it’s over, a KO.” I grit my teeth. “Who will be the highest bidder? Will it be you? Or maybe, it’s too late. Maybe little Stevie took this into her own hands.” My eyes shoot to Stevie, but she just shakes her head. “I’ll give you one shot. An extra HP point, you might say. Bring your highest bid to Warehouse 43 on Saturday at 7 p.m. You must all show up for the bid to be valid. That includes Shield, whom I do have to commend for escaping my radar. No funny business, no other people. Failure to comply will result in a failsafe, automatically sending the file to one of my media sources. May the best player win.”
The image glitches out, and the video goes dark.
We just stare at it, the black screen screaming at us.
Jackson stands up and throws his stool to the ground. Stevie flinches, ducking behind the island.
“Saturday is tomorrow,” Jackson growls.
“Yes, well, Saturday generally follows Friday,” Parker drawls, but his voice is devoid of all humor.
Jackson turns to him, a murderous intent in his eyes. It’s hard for Jackson to snap, his tolerance for bullshit higher than the average person’s. But when he does blow? There’s no stopping him until he comes down. I put my arm up to pause him, giving him a look. Our emotions are on the fritz, we need to take a step back.
Parker pulls out his phone and brings it to his ear.
“Who are you calling?” I nod at him.
“Sydney.”
Right. Shit. She’s going to be pissed we didn’t call her the minute we found Stevie in the apartment. But we need her, she’ll know what to do. Because right now, whatever we decide won’t be the right decision.
I understand everything that just happened, but my brain just won’t process it. It doesn’t seem real, like a deep fake or some shit.