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Thursday, June 24, 2010

A note to our teenage adventure protagonist: we're totally messing with you.

Our surroundings are bright, a world of clear glass windows surrounded by sunlight. My footfalls are light and airy, bearing none of the gravity that this situation should require. I am calm, cool, and collected as I approach the dark-haired man at the top of the dias.

"You should know, Amon," I say, "That you can't possibly win."

Amon surveys the horizon, his back turned to me. "We don't have to do this," he says quietly. "You could give up the girl..."

"That's not going to happen."

Amon turns to face me, dark energy forming in a globe between his hands. He's still young. I barely have time to process the thought. I'm dodging. Blackness swallows up the staircase I was standing on a moment ago.

I bring my hands together, pull them apart in a quick motion. A lance of energy surges toward Amon, aiming for the heart.

I'm sitting at a four-person booth in a restaurant, nursing a cup of coffee. I hold it up and breathe in the warm scent, before setting it back down with a clink on the table. I glance up at Amon, who's sitting across from me at the table. The corner of his mouth is twitching up into a smile, though he's trying to suppress it.

Beside me is the girl I was talking about before, our protagonist, Sasha. I love playing a supporting character. She's glancing up at Amon and back at the table, trying to look for all the world like she's not about to bolt at the first sign of hostility.

I have to chuckle. "So. Do you think this counts as an anti-climax?"

Amon's about to point out the double-entendre, but Sasha cuts him off.

"What the hell, ---?" she says, twisting to face me directly. "He was trying to kill you!"

"Nah," I say, leaning back in my seat, "Amon and I aren't enemies. Are we, Amon?"

"Nope," he says, barely keeping a straight face.

"Tell him about your problem." I say, my expression far too earnest.

"I can't remember my parents' eye colours, okay? They keep changing!" Sasha springs up from her seat and stomps away to the restroom.

"Who pays attention to their parents' eye colours?" asks Amon.

"Weird people. Or very observant ones?" I wonder. "Anyway, I took a look at her memories, and they have been tampered with."

"And you just got rid of her. Am I thinking what you're thinking?"

I nod, gleefully. "We should investigate."

We slip away from the diner and back into the mall we just destroyed. I press a few random buttons on a keypad and the door opens with a hiss. I walk right in, Amon following close behind. We're in the clothing department, where a couple missing parents should be frozen as mannequins.

"If we have all of the permutations right," I muse, wandering over to a control panel disguised as a jewellery counter, "We should just be able to enter them here."

Amon presses a few places on a blank wall. As he touches them, the spots light up in squares. He finishes the combination and steps back. I hear a low hum permeate the air around us.

"I have a bad feeling about this." I mutter.

Amon shoots me a glare. "I don't like your bad feelings," says Amon. "They make bad things happen."

The mannequins in the display near us, half a dozen at least, start to twitch.

Mind Games. Scare Factor: 2.