Chapter 3 - The Game Begins

The night was colder than usual, and the streets outside Buddy 2’s apartment were empty. The orange streetlights threw long shadows on the cracked pavement, and the occasional bark of a stray dog broke the silence. Inside, Buddy 2 sat at his small desk, the glow of his laptop screen reflecting in his tired eyes. Diagrams of X and Y chromosomes filled the display, half-read PDFs and open tabs cluttering the screen. His eyelids were heavy, but his mind refused to sleep. Thoughts of the reunion and the pact buzzed in his head like angry bees. They had said their wildest dreams out loud for the first time, and now the words wouldn’t leave him.

He rubbed his face, glanced at the time—11:42 p.m.—and sighed. That’s when the doorbell rang.

Buddy 2 froze. He lived on the third floor. No one visited this late. His first thought was a delivery mistake, his second was an intruder. He stood up slowly, heart drumming in his chest. He reached the door and peeked through the peephole. Empty corridor.

He unlocked the door cautiously. A small, plain cardboard box sat on the doormat. No label. No name. No note.

He picked it up. Heavy. Cold. His palms were sweating as he carried it inside. He placed it on the desk, grabbed a pair of scissors, and cut the tape.

Inside were bundles of cash, thick wads of notes wrapped with rubber bands, smelling faintly of dust and metal. He swallowed hard. Beneath the money was a folded sheet of paper. He unfolded it with trembling hands and saw a list of names and phone numbers—each name labeled as chemist, pharmacist, compounder.

His throat went dry. Someone knew. Someone wanted him to start. His mind jumped to the wild dream he had confessed—manipulating the very biology of life—and the thought of having access to so many chemists sent a chill down his spine. He felt a surge of excitement and fear, like standing at the edge of a cliff.

Across the city, Buddy 3 couldn’t sleep either. His small clinic smelled faintly of antiseptic and dust. He paced between the examination table and the shelf of legal medicines, restless. He had always joked about raising a medicine mafia, about enslaving scientists and chemists to produce anything he wanted, but until the reunion, it had been just a dark fantasy. Now, it pulsed in his head like a drumbeat.

He poured himself a glass of water, took a sip, and froze at the sudden thud at his door.

His heart jumped. He wasn’t expecting anyone. He approached the door slowly, peered through the peephole—nothing. He opened the door anyway. A larger, heavier box sat on the step, plain and silent.

He bent down, lifted it with effort, and brought it inside. His fingers shook as he cut the tape.

Inside were files and loose papers, some were printed screenshots of hidden biology forums, and some were news clippings of missing or rogue scientists. One file detailed a case of a scientist in Eastern Europe who had tried to create hybrid chromosomes before vanishing. Another article mentioned an untraceable black-market website for gene modification tools.

On top of the stack lay a USB drive, blank and silent. No note. No sender. Only the weight of a thousand possibilities.

Half an hour later, Buddy 2 called Buddy 3.

“You… got something?” Buddy 2 whispered.

“Yeah,” Buddy 3 muttered, voice shaking. “I… I don’t even know if I should be holding this stuff.”

They described their parcels to each other—money, contacts, illegal science. The air felt heavier with every word.

“There’s no note. No name. Nothing,” Buddy 2 said.

“Do you think it’s him?” Buddy 3 hesitated.

“Buddy 1?”

“Who else could know this much?”

They tried calling Buddy 1. Phone off. Straight to voicemail.

Anxiety coiled in their stomachs like a snake. They didn’t sleep that night.

Across the city, Buddy 1’s apartment was dark and silent, except for the soft hum of the refrigerator. His wife and child were away for the weekend. The luxury flat, usually bright and full of laughter, felt like another world tonight.

On the living room floor lay three lifeless bodies. Two men and one woman, faces frozen in fear, mouths twisted in silent screams. The carpet beneath them was stained dark. The metallic tang of blood lingered in the air, mixed with the faint scent of cleaning chemicals.

Buddy 1 crouched near them, wearing latex gloves, wiping his hands with a cloth. His face was calm, almost serene, as if he’d just finished a workout instead of killing three people.

His mind drifted back to the beginning of the night. The first man had been easy—drunk, careless, lured in with the promise of money. The second had struggled. The woman had begged. He remembered the feeling of control, of raw power, the surge in his chest as life slipped from their eyes.

He felt alive. More alive than any board meeting, any business success, any family moment had ever made him feel.

He dragged the bodies to the guest room, wrapping them in plastic sheets he had prepared. He cleaned methodically, every swipe of the cloth erasing a trace of the night. He had planned this for years, rehearsed it in his mind. Tonight was just execution.

His phone buzzed silently in the corner. Buddy 2 and Buddy 3 were calling again. He let it ring. He walked to his computer and opened a private browser window, scrolling through local news updates about missing people and accidents. He sipped water, heart rate steady.

By morning, he finally called them back.

“Hey, sorry, guys,” he said casually, voice light. “Phone was in the service center. Couldn’t hear anything last night.”

“Man, we were worried,” Buddy 2 said, relief in his voice.

To sell the story, Buddy 1 walked to his garage, snapped a photo of his broken headlight, and sent it to their group chat.

“Look at this mess,” he said with a soft laugh. “Still dealing with that drunk guy’s accident. What a night.”

Buddy 2 and 3 bought the lie. They even laughed a little, relieved that their friend was safe.

Buddy 1 ended the call, leaned back in his chair, and sipped his morning coffee. Behind him, in the guest room, three bodies lay in plastic, waiting for their silent departure. He looked out at the city skyline, golden with sunrise, and thought, The game has started.

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