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dogsichub · 7 months ago

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Zero Sum

June 2024

Location: Purgatory

A zero-sum game is a mathematical representation in game theory and economic theory of a situation that involves two competing entities, where the result is an advantage for one side and an equivalent loss for the other. In other words, player one's gain is equivalent to player two's loss, with the result that the net improvement in benefit of the game is zero.

“Commander,” a voice crackled over the intercom. “The doctor is here to see you?”

“Gryder.”

“Yes. He says he has urgent business.”

Hanael’s finger hesitated over the button. Click. “Let him in.”

Outside, Ig took a deep breath and opened the door. An inky well yawned before him, so dark it distorted his sense of direction and scale. At the bottom–in the back, illuminated by a wash of watery light from a desktop monitor, sat the monster he had come to call upon.

Aside from the demon’s face, only a prick of red light from a phone receiver was visible. The black uniform that Ig had grown accustomed to obscured everything below Hanael’s chin. It gave Ig the impression of an anglerfish, or some yet-undocumented terror that haunted subterranean fathoms beneath the sea floor and preyed on creatures foolish enough to seek it out. Nothing could come here by accident.

Ig shouldered his way into the room. The door fell shut behind him as soon as he let go of it, trapping him inside.

“Hi, Han.” Ig said, wringing the strap of his bag. His palms were sweating and his pulse pounded.

“Gryder.” Click. The light from the monitor died, and impenetrable darkness flooded the room.

Panic nearly overtook Ig. He groped frantically for an anchor—a wall, a chair, while he waded towards the pinpoint red light of Hanael's intercom. He thought he could just make out the broad desk and the hulking shape of the demon behind it. “Jesus—ah. Sorry. It’s dark in here. Would you mind turning on a light?”

“It will only be a short visit.” Said the disembodied voice in front of him.

Hanael watched him flounder. The chair honked against the floor as it caught the momentum of Ig’s knee, which drew an aggrieved noise out of him in response. “Hanael, I’m begging you. I can’t see a damn thing.”

The overhead light flicked on. Ig gaped as the demon casually walked back to his desk. With the light came a different kind of sight. Afterimages shimmered across his vision no matter how much he blinked: eyes innumerable, rows of wretched teeth; a black tongue and a gnashing eel's mouth heliographed over Hanael’s face as if burned onto Ig’s retinas.

Hanael sank into his chair and clunked his boots ankle over ankle atop his desk. Something that could only be a human tooth studded the sole of one of them.

Ig shifted his weight between his feet. The demon motioned with his eyes for him to sit and lit a cigarette while the doctor settled uneasily into one of the chairs facing his severe mahogany desk.

Normally reserved for diplomats and other functionaries of the type Hanael wanted to find no harbor in his office, the chairs were monuments to hostile ergonomics. They were upholstered in slick black vinyl over a hard seat that Hanael had modified to slope downwards at an angle imperceptible to the eye but felt deeply by the body. Such engineering put a subtle but unbearable stress on the legs and tailbone and, unless compelled to, most people could not sit in them for more than an hour. Hanael was pleased to see it working now.

Slowly and by increments, the silence and Ig’s discomfort pressurized the air between them.

Hanael made an impatient little gesture with his hand.

“I have something to ask of you,” Ig blurted out.

“A favor.”

“No. Not a favor. Not…” yet. “Look, you, more than likely, won’t have to do anything at all. This is just…a contingency plan.” Ig teased out an overstuffed envelope from the depths of his bag. Several dry pens, coins, a flattened protein bar, and a sticky note escaped with it and fell unbidden to the floor. Hanael heard a penny roll and come to idle under his desk.

Ig, frantic with embarrassment, collected the flotsam he could reach without kneeling. “I–I just need you to deliver these letters if I go missing, or give them back when I return.”

Hanael narrowed his eyes. All of them. “Give it to someone else.”

Ig shook his head regretfully. “Everyone else would ask too many questions, or get involved.”

“You take a steep bet, Gryder.”

It took Ig a moment to discern his meaning. He sighed heavily when he did and worried the envelope between his fingers. “I won’t lie to you, Hanael. You might have to clean up my mess. If my plan fails, I’ll die, and so will anyone else who tries to avenge me. The… oh, right. I haven’t even told you. Do you know what a Wight is?”

“You got mixed up with Colin.” He said.

Ig searched the demon's craggy face for surprise or even vague curiosity but only found weary skepticism. “That’s correct. If you know that much, you ought to know he’ll destroy anyone who tries to go after him. Am I making sense? I don’t want anyone else to pay for my foolishness, if that’s what it turns out to be.”

Hanael rolled his eyes and sneered. “Present company excepted.”

“You of all people stand a fair chance,” Ig huffed. “More than fair, I should say. I wouldn’t be here if I thought differently.”

“Has it fed on you.”

The directness of the question startled Ig. He shifted uncomfortably and averted his gaze. “I mean, yes, a few times—”

“Shut up. We keep finding ourselves here. Your sieve head leaks, and I foot the cleanup.” Hanael growled. A nail clacked his desk for emphasis. “I am not sure how much clearer I need to make myself: you are a liability, and I am at all times looking for an excuse to kill you.”

Ig’s first instinct was to invoke Audrey’s name, but Hanael’s rows of bared teeth made him think twice. He shrank back into his chair, which seemed to push him away with equal force. “I’ve been hiding the important things from him. I had to, so he wouldn’t become suspicious of me while I tried to help him.”

Telling the demon any more would be exposing a bruised rib to someone that Ig knew would elbow it. It was all he could do to force a whisper out through clenched teeth.

Hanael glanced at his watch.

“What the Devil—” Ig's voice caught, and he hated himself for it. “What he did—I never recovered from it. I’ve only learned to cope. I still don’t know where I am when I wake up most days. But I’ll tell you something: it means I can hide things from myself, and other people too. I mean, hell, Hanael, try finding your tax records in the wreckage of your house after a tornado has been through. It’s about that easy.”

“I do not pay taxes,” Hanael said irreverently, taking a drag.

“You know what I mean!” Ig barked. “The point is, he doesn’t know anything important. He couldn’t, unless he knew exactly what to look for, wanted to look for it, and had hours to do so. I made sure of that. It’s not like—”

“--Like the first time someone ransacked your head.” Hanael waved him off. “You seem collected now.” Even as he said it, though, he knew it was not true. Dr. Gryder had been a self-possessed man before his kidnapping and subsequent torture. Hanael thought him over-organized; loaded down with useless things, but all of them accounted for. He had been the type who always had a spare pen and a breath mint in easy reach. The man sitting before him now with his knees pressed together defied that prior conception, and had for some time. Dirt blackened the crescents of his nails and his wrinkled button-down smelled of stale apocrine sweat. His slacks were wrinkled and smudged, and his hair was long and uneven. Not to mention the state of his bag.

Even so--he had run an ad-hoc field hospital, alone, for the better part of 48 hours. Hanael raised a skeptical eyebrow.

Ig glared at him reproachfully. “Well, it pays to be collected around you. No, it’s a matter of conscious effort. I have to organize my memories with a method Toni taught me, and the upkeep is constant. If I fall behind, my recall suffers and… everything falls apart. It has taken months of meticulous effort to come to this point, and I am so close to succeeding. I don’t want you to think I haven’t been taking Luna’s or… or Purgatory’s safety lightly.”

“You suck at triage, doctor.” Hanael said. When Ig gave him an uncomprehending look, he continued, “Colin Ward was not your friend. The thing wearing his hide cares even less for you. And yet you risk your neck and everything above it for… what.”

Ig’s face burned, but he held eye contact. “He needs help. It’s the right thing to do. It's part of the oath I took. I wouldn’t expect you to know anything about that.”

A black expression moved behind Hanael's eyes, leaving Ig with the impression of a large shadow passing underneath him in deep water. It might have been the truth as far as Ig was concerned, but it had been the wrong thing to say. Cautiously, he nudged the envelope onto Hanael’s desk.

“Inaction is a favor, in this case.” He said.

“I’m sorry. That was harsh. I know you’re only looking out for your family. I’m sorry for making that task more complicated. Again.” Ig said, and he meant it. “The fact of the matter is, though, I’ll be able to warn Colin before you can get to him. And I will, unless you keep me from leaving your office. So, if you’ll let me try to finish what I’ve started—hey! That’s not for your eyes. Don’t open it!”

The claw poised to gut the envelope lowered. Hanael stared directly into Ig’s eyes and the ensuing silence crushed mercilessly against his temples. Ig wondered if that was demonic compulsion at work or simply Hanael’s oppressive presence playing havoc on his overwrought nerves. In the end, it didn’t matter; Ig gushed. “If you’ll stand by and let me finish what I started, you can go on with your day like nothing ever happened. Isn’t that what you believe in, fighting your own battles—”

“Shut the fuck up. You annoy the shit out of me,” Hanael growled. The neglected cigarette was barely a nub between his fingers and shedding hot ash onto his desk. He swept the cinders aside with the envelope without regard to Ig's disapproving looks. The doctor opened his mouth to say something, but Hanael spoke again before he could.

Ig tilted his head guilelessly. “You’ll only keep Audrey away from Colin as a favor?”

Hanael growled. The pressure in the room equalized, and Ig knew he had won.

“It would be easier to explain than killing me yourself,” Ig offered, “but it’s still only an ‘if.’ I have something for you, too.” he produced a second, thinner, envelope from his bag. Something else tumbled out, but both men ignored it. “I can’t tell you directly what the plan is, because I’ve hid it from myself. But it should be all in here. You might find it interesting.”

Hanael did not move. He only stared, true and false faces both contorted with rage. Ig bolted upright before his knees could fail him and tossed the envelope onto his desk. Time to leave. “Thank you, Hanael. Genuinely. Your help and discretion are appreciated more than you know. I’ll let you know when I come back.” With a nod, Ig showed himself out. No sooner had he stepped past the threshold when the door shut behind him with a brusque clap.

Out of Ig’s sight, Hanael sat back at his desk and dimmed the lights. He lit another cigarette. With a deft slip of his claw, he fileted the fat envelope and inventoried its contents. Nine envelopes total, including the one addressed to him. Each had a name: MJ, Toni, Mara, Audrey, Luna, Lucy, and one addressed jointly to Hannah and Lee. The last was a notarized will.

He ignored the envelope with his name on it and instead chose to tackle each by order of the addressee’s proximity and value to him; first Audrey’s, then Luna’s, then Mara and Toni’s letters and everyone else after. MJ—Brockway’s—was the thickest and proved the most interesting of the lot.

When Hanael slid the bundle into his safe, it went on the top of the pile.

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