It was a typically hot and humid afternoon, and Miguel Rubio was looking down from the city wall of New Baravia to the refugee settlements beyond. It was a sheer drop down, with just a chest-high wire fence to preserve his safety.

As he had done so many times before, Miguel reached into the small bag he was holding and pulled out a handful of small tokens, then flung them away from him, way out over the wall. “One for you, and one for me,” he muttered. “The dealers won’t miss it.”

The falling tokens swirled and spiraled, a few of them bouncing off the wall itself as they descended. Soon they were out of sight.

Miguel turned. There was still no sign of Dana Kampion’s heavies. A few yards away, across the gravel, there was a flashing billboard, and Miguel looked up at its current ad for a moment:

 

Roll up, roll up! Welcome to the greatest interactive show for the whole family!

Watch your favorite actors and the most powerful senator-CEOs vie for supremacy

in Demon Hunters – the ultimate test of bravery and cunning.

 

He had seen it before. As far as he was concerned, Demon Hunters was a stupid, self-indulgent show where the super-rich ran around trying to kill everything from mutant elephants to dragons. But none of those goons were real gamers. Not like him.

But then, as he glanced again at the ad again, something new caught his eye:

 

For one week only, we are running unique open auditions for Demon Hunters.

This is the chance you’ve been waiting for.

An opportunity for ordinary people to join the game.

Just snap this code...

 

Just then, at the crunching of wheels on gravel, Miguel looked across to see a blocky armored car pulling up. It stopped twenty yards from him. 

His contact usually came on foot.

Miguel swallowed, clutching the small bag of money tightly. He had been selling the product on behalf of Kampion’s crew for some time now, always passing on the proceeds at a weekly rendezvous. But today, things felt different. A new meeting place on the edge of town. The late arrival. The unusually high-end vehicle. Something was off.

The vehicle doors slid open, but there was no sign of his usual contact. Instead, a broad, light-skinned man in a tan suit got out. He was middle aged with a wide scarred face and very short cropped hair. But rather than walking towards Miguel, the man stooped to assist another passenger from the vehicle. A woman with a very familiar face.

“Madam Kampion?” muttered Miguel to himself, incredulous.

It was her – there was no doubt. As well as being the boss of one of the oldest and largest crime families in New Baravia, she was well known as the master of the black market throughout the city.

Kampion was dressed in an elaborate outfit that Miguel knew would have cost more than he made in a year. Red dress, puffy sleeves, diamond embroidery. He didn’t know what an Empress looked like, but if he had to guess, it would be something like this. She approached alongside the man in the tan suit. Two heavies in combat fatigues and shades followed close behind in their shadows.

Miguel hesitated. “Afternoon,” he said eventually. “But, hey. Where’s my usual guy?”

“Miguel Rubio, my name is Dana Kampion,” said the woman in a firm and serene voice, “and this is Rishi. Your ‘usual guy’ isn’t coming today.”

“How so?“

“Because you've been stealing from us, Miguel,” growled Rishi, taking a step closer and half blocking his view of Dana Kampion in the process. “And now the game is up.”

“No,” lied Miguel. “I wouldn't dream of it. It’s just, man... your guy probably counted wrong. He’s been the one stealing.”

“We both know that’s not true. So, if you haven’t got a better explanation, then this ends now.” Rishi was clutching something inside his blazer pocket.

“No, no – wait. I can explain. It’s for the refugees, see? I threw a few drube tokens down there. On just a couple of occasions, mind.”

Dana Kampion was now staring at him intently. Rather like a predatory bird might stare at a bug that it is preparing to eat, Miguel thought. He felt sweat pooling across his back, and wondered if there was something – anything! – he could do to get away from the situation.

“It’s a kindness!” Miguel said. “Good for the soul...”

At this point, one of the two heavies in fatigues and sunglasses stepped around from behind Rishi, and Miguel’s eyes widened at the sight of him. “Bratislav?” he murmured in astonishment.

“Miguel, nobody cares,” he said sharply. “And none of them will care about you or feel any sympathy if they find your broken body down there. If you are lucky, someone will say a quick prayer over you before they chuck your corpse into some stagnant pit in their quarry.”

Miguel winced. His old companion’s words might be harsh, but he was right about one thing – the refugees would neither know him, and nor would they care.

Rishi stepped closer once again, this time pulling a compact laser pistol from his Jacket pocket and raising it up in front of his face. “Miguel, thank you for your candor. You’ve made my job easy. You had a good run, but nobody steals..."

“Rishi, wait.” Bratislav grabbed at the elbow of the enforcer’s pistol arm.

“Be quiet, kid,” the broad man growled.

“Dana, please,” said Bratislav, ignoring Rishi and addressing the question not to the man with the gun but to the crime boss herself. “I know this guy of old. Just let me speak to him for a minute. As a favor.”

Dana Kampion narrowed her eyes, her gaze drilling into Miguel...