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  A Kingsman Online Story

  Kody Boye

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  Kingsman Online, #2

  By Kody Boye

  Copyright © 2019. All Rights Reserved.

  Cover art by Red Ninja Designs

  Edited by Tiffany Woodbeck

  Interior formatting by Kody Boye

  Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored, or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the copyright owner, except in the case of brief quotations embodied within critical articles and reviews or works within the public domain.

  This book is a work of fiction. People, places, events, and situations are the product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or historical events, is coincidental.

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Other YA Novels by Kody Boye

  1

  Giving up is never an option—even when you’re faced with unsurmountable odds.

  Sitting here, in this room, watching and waiting for Rudolph Kingsman to reply, I gaze at him with fiery eyes and hate in my heart because of what might happen should he refuse me.

  Leon.

  The Game.

  Dystopia.

  He observes me with a calm power I fear comes from his position, and he waits for the atmosphere within the air to shift before saying, “You want to return to the game.”

  “If it’ll bring him back out,” I say, narrowing my eyes, “then yes, I do.”

  “We currently have no way to determine if he even still exists inside the simulation.”

  “His HUD says otherwise.” I stab my finger at the monitor, spinning to face Leon’s prone form. “He’s still breathing, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “There’s still brain activity. Right?”

  “Sporadically.”

  “Then he’s still in there. I know he’s still in there.”

  “Miss Garza—”

  “Put me back in. Now.”

  “Even if we wanted to put you back in right this moment, there’s still the matter of arranging a time we could reinsert you. And besides—there’s your family to consider.”

  “My family—” I start to say.

  Then it assaults me.

  My mother.

  Diego.

  Them, alone, in that apartment, waiting for me to return.

  As I stare at Rudolph Kingsman with the intensity of an animal trapped within a cage, I find myself reeling from the reality of it all.

  I have just won the Kingsman Online Regional Championships.

  I don’t have to worry about anything.

  My mother’s illness, my chance at a better future, Diego’s opportunity to grow up in a better environment—they’re all now within my grasp.

  But Leon—

  I find his hand beneath mine, lying plainly upon a sterile white sheet, and I tighten my digits around his.

  There is no way to contain my anger.

  I want to scream. I want to cry. I want to lash out at the men and women who made this twisted game possible.

  But I can’t.

  No.

  If I do—and if, through some action, I screw things up— they could pull the plug on Leon Gray.

  The simulation was too much for him, the company would say. It resulted in a catastrophic brain failure that left him in a medically-induced coma. We’re sorry, Mister and Missus Gray but your son is technically dead.

  Rudolph Kingsman steps forward. The click of his boots along the floor are enough for me to lift my eyes to face him. “If you would come with me, please.”

  “I’m not leaving him.”

  “There’s nothing you can do for him right now, Sophia. Besides—there’s the matter of your winnings to discuss.”

  Our winnings, I think. The one-million-dollar prize.

  I swallow the lump in my throat as the realization hits me, then reluctantly release Leon’s hand. “I’ll be back,” I say, then lean forward and whisper so only he and I can hear, “I’ll get you out of there. I promise.”

  Then I turn to Rudolph Kingsman. “Okay. I’m ready.”

  “Good,” he replies. “Follow me.”

  He turns on his heel and, after giving me a moment to compose myself, begins to lead me out of the neurology ward and back into the halls.

  “We’ll be heading directly to my office,” he says.

  “Why can’t you give it to me here?”

  “It’s not very often that a one-million-dollar prize gets passed around. Surely you want it to remain somewhere safe. Right?”

  “Right,” I say.

  The truth is: I don’t trust this man. After everything I’ve gone through—after everything we’ve endured—I’m surprised there aren’t more people banging on his doorstep demanding to be compensated for the torturous actions we have just been exposed to for the past several ‘days’ of our lives.

  As we pass into an elevator, and as he presses a button to take us to one of many floors, I cross my arms over my chest and try my hardest to look defiant. “What did they say?”

  “Who?” Rudolph Kingsman asks.

  “The people who took part in the game.”

  “Don’t worry about them. Focus on yourself right now.”

  His dismissive tone is utterly insulting, considering all of what he’s done to us as players. More of us could’ve suffered fates similar to Leon’s, and if that had happened, what then? One family will be hard enough to deal with. But if the company had had two, even three? What then?

  I shake my head.

  I can’t worry about that—not now, not when I have so many other things to consider.

  With that in mind, I step out of the elevator as it comes to a halt and follow the well-dressed man through the halls, all the while wondering what will occur come time we reach the room where my prize is waiting.

  A part of me still can’t believe it.

  I survived.

  I won.

  I emerged victorious.

  But Leon—

  I grit my teeth.

  I can’t think about this. Failing to operate by their standards, as twisted as they happen to be, may place me in a situation I might not be able to handle. And if that happens—

  Inhaling deeply, I force myself to continue the thought.

  If that happened, I think, there would be no prize money. No monumental future.

  No cure for my mother.

  With a nod, and with all the courage I can muster, I follow as we approach a single office. Its interior is revealed by a single glass panel within the wall. The name Rudolph Kingsman is emblazoned upon the door in red.

  “Now then,” the man who owns the largest gaming company in the world says. “Are you ready to claim your prize?”

  “Yes sir,” I say, trying my hardest to keep the biting tone out of my voice.

  The man leans forward to flash a key card he’s pulled from his suit pocket and ushers me in with a wave of his arm.

  Inside, he rounds a massive U-shaped desk, taking a seat within a sprawling armchair. Then he leans forward. “So…”

  “So… what?” I ask, unnerved at the fact that not only are we alone, but I am at his mercy now that I have separated myself from everyone else, Victor Crew included.

 
“Now that you’ve won the Dystopia Regional Championships, there are two matters we must discuss.”

  “Two?” I ask, frowning.

  “Yes. Two.” Rudolph Kingsman leans back in his seat and considers me for several long moments. “First: there is the matter of your payment.”

  He reaches into a nearby drawer and withdraws from its depths a single box that appears to be secured with a fingerprint scanner. My assumption proves to be correct. Within moments he presses his thumb to a small panel, watching a blue light as it scans his digit.

  The box clicks.

  After opening it, he spins it toward me.

  Revealed within is a single card—onyx in color with silver trim.

  I can’t believe my eyes. “It’s a—”

  “Continental Card,” he confirms. “Most specifically: a black card.”

  I could’ve never imagined seeing one of these in person, let alone possessing one. It is the card of the elite, the rich, the famous, the absolutely wealthy, and though it contains exactly half of our one-million dollar wins upon its magnetized edge, what startles me is not the color of the card.

  No.

  It is the name, emblazoned and embossed in silver, upon its surface.

  My name.

  Sophia Garza.

  I swallow the ever-growing lump in my throat, born of anxiety and tempered in anticipation, and reach forward, only to ask, “May I?”

  Rudolph Kingsman nods.

  Slowly, I lift the card before my eyes and gaze upon its surface with awe I could’ve never possibly imagined feeling.

  However—the feeling does not last.

  Soon, my anger is boiling to the surface. The realization that my life has changed while Leon’s has been paused cuts a hole in my heart. “What are we going to do?”

  “About what?”

  “Leon. Him being stuck in the game. Me going back into it to find out how to get him back.”

  “We need to figure out how you can do this safely, Miss Garza.”

  “Safely?” I laugh. “Safely?” I pause to allow my words to sink in. “You are talking about safety when you were the one to put us in a potentially dangerous simulation? Was anyone else hurt as a result of this?”

  “Not physically, no, but—”

  “But nothing!” I snap. “You need to find a solution to this problem. Now.”

  “Sophia,” Rudolph Kingsman says, his voice low and somber, his tone hard and deliberate. “You need to understand something.”

  “Understand what?”

  “That Leon might not come out of the game.”

  It is a deliberate blow to my psyche. Cold, calculated, and completely without remorse, it stabs into my conscience in an attempt to destroy my brain, putting me in a state of shock that leaves me without a response.

  Is what he said true?

  Could Leon really not come back from the game?

  No, I think. That can’t be possible. I won’t allow it to be possible.

  I stand, clutching the card in my hand so tightly its edges embed an outline within my flesh. “That’s not going to happen,” I say. “You’re going to get him out of the game.”

  “Sophia—”

  “I don’t care what you have to do. Do it.”

  “I am working to ensure his life is not lost.”

  “Good.” My grip tightens on the card. “What am I supposed to do in the meantime? How am I supposed to tell his family?”

  “You don’t have to tell his family anything. They have already been informed.”

  “And? What was their reaction?”

  “Missus Gray was obviously distraught. Mister Gray, however…” Rudolph Kingsman sighs. “He’s seeking legal action against the company.”

  I can’t help but burst out laughing. “You thought he wouldn’t? After everything you put us through?”

  “There’s no real legal recourse for them. In this day and age, a contract is a contract. By agreeing to be your partner in this game, he entered into the contract with you. While we will work to ensure his life is spared, and will help with any grievances that may follow, Leon Gray fully consented to his participation in the game.”

  “I have a few words for you, Mister Kingsman, but I’m not going to say them.” Turning, I take a step toward the doorway.

  “Where are you going?”

  “I have a sick mother and a younger brother who have been waiting for me to come home for three days. I need to leave. Now.”

  “Fine,” Rudolph Kingsman says. “I won’t argue with you, and, given that I can no longer expect you to be here, I should not expect you to remain on the property, or even be here, until a solution is found.”

  To keep from speaking, I have to bite the inside of my cheek. He knows my anger, my rage, my complete and utter insecurity. I could’ve sworn at him from the top of a mountain and he would’ve heard every single word of it, but what would that do, if not make me look like a fool?

  No.

  My best bet, while dealing with Rudolph Kingsman, is to allow his employees to do what they need to in order to access the darker edges of the game, whatever they may be.

  The Moth Men—

  The Devil—

  The community at the high school—

  None of them were part of the original design. I know this to be true in my heart and soul.

  But if they weren’t part of the game to begin with, and the simulation has begun to evolve, what could that possibly mean?

  I close my eyes, take a deep breath, and exhale.

  Fact of the matter is: I don’t know, and I cannot afford to focus on it.

  But Leon, my conscience offers.

  With a shake of my head, I harden my resolve.

  I have to keep hoping Leon will be fine. Otherwise—

  I swallow.

  Otherwise, I think, his death will be on my hands.

  Forever.

  2

  I am loathe to return home, because I know the Grays will descend on me like vultures, seeking answers to questions I know they will have. However—I can’t stay in the Kingsman Online headquarters, nor can I leave my sick mother to continue ailing any longer. For that reason, I climb into the sleek black car that ferried two away, only to take one—me—home.

  As we pull out of the parking garage, and as we enter the metropolitan, I find myself dreading the conversation that will come the moment I step out of the vehicle.

  What to say? What to do?

  How to feel? How to act?

  They will be angry. That much is certain. They will also be sad. Undeniably so. But will I be the sole target of their wrath?

  You can’t expect anything less, my conscience says, so prepare yourself accordingly.

  Gritting my teeth, biting my cheek, balling my hand into a fist, and breathing evenly through my nose are what normally would have gotten me through any situation. But this one?

  I sigh.

  This situation, I know, will be barbed; and though, like a rosebush, it will be beautiful in its honesty, it will be vengeful in its execution.

  We pass through the city like a dark omen making its way to an unfortunate home—weaving in, then out of traffic within the metropolitan, only to head to the place where the poor forever toil in their efforts to maintain a meager existence.

  The slums arrive before I can begin to anticipate them.

  Lost, lonely, like ghosts wandering effortlessly through the night, they appear from the thick fog of the winter afternoon and make me realize just how gloomy this day will soon become.

  I reach into the zipped pocket of my jacket to take hold of the black card within.

  This could change everything, I think, or make everything worse.

  Either way, I can’t begin to dwell on it, for soon, we draw close to the Sunset Suites.

  “Let me out here,” I say as the sign appears in the near distance.

  “Are you sure?” Victor Crew asks. “It’s awfully cold outside.”

  “I want to s
ee my mother and brother before I meet with the Grays.”

  “Will you need protection?” Victor asks. “From the authorities?”

  “No,” I say. I am well aware of how the authorities treat the poor, and I don’t want to risk causing additional problems for anyone, especially not the Grays.

  “All right.” He pulls the car alongside the curb. “Sophia?”

  “Yes?” I ask, lifting my eyes to face him.

  “Congratulations on your win. I just wish it could’ve gone better.”

  “Yeah. Me too.”

  I then let myself out of the car and step into the frigid winter cold.

  Outside, in a land and place I have grown accustomed to throughout my life, I wait for the sleek black car to make a U-turn and disappear up the road before sliding my hands into my pants pockets and making my way up the road.

  The concrete beneath me drums my ever-quickening fate into my conscience.

  Ba-dum, it says.

  “Ba-dum,” I whisper.

  I am little more than a hundred feet from the office building that has been converted into Mister Scott’s apartment, and maybe one-hundred-and-fifty feet from my mother’s apartment.

  The thought of facing my family is both terrifying and exhilarating.

  Just keep going, my conscience says. What is done is done. What happened wasn’t your fault.

  Wasn’t it, though? He’d been so careful to ensure my safety that he wasn’t considering his own.

  It took only one step to fall prey to the Moth Men.

  And now?

  I shiver—not from the cold in the outside world, but that within me.

  Passing through the Sunset Suites’ parking lot leaves me feeling guilty. Stepping toward my home only solidifies that fact.

  When I reach the doorway that leads into our apartment, I pause, close my eyes, take a deep breath, and knock.

  At first, no one comes.

  Then, slowly, the sound of the door being clumsily opened enters my ears.

  Diego, I think.

  The door opens.