Master PC - The Great Game Ch. 01

"Fool!" Robert roared, quickly pulling the cigar in between his fingers and crushing it as his hand squeezed into a fist that shook with unease and impatience, the embers doing no damage at all to his tanned, leathery skin. "I wasn't the one that had a hand in that. Someone hunted them down, took them out, and is slowly dismantling everything they spent their entire lives building!"

His father's response took Trent by surprise, but the words he spoke slowly sunk in and made his blood run cold.

"What are you saying?"

Robert took in and exhaled a deep breath, then snapped the fingers of his left hand.

The remains of the golden cigar reformed between his fingers back into its original shape, burning ember and diamond-encrusted band still intact.

"I'm saying that they were sloppy." He stated, his voice calm and collected once again. "Either of them had as much control in this city as I did, give or take. But they didn't understand true discretion, and if I'm being honest, I'm surprised someone like our mystery killer hadn't found them sooner."

"They relied on the program too much to hide their actions, am I right?"

"I knew I didn't raise an idiot for a son." Robert chuckled. "You're absolutely right. As we've found out when my version of Master PC updated itself last year, I was superior to both my good friend and dearest rival in every possible way. Even with retroactive commands and profile-locked individuals, I was able to see what they were doing and to who, at all times."

"That was until theirs updated too, anyway."

"Precisely. This is a big world, Trent. Who knows how many other users are out there, and what kind of software they have at their disposal? If we went around using Master PC to turn every woman into a brain-dead supermodel and every man into a mindless dildo, even if we make it so that it's completely normal to the world, wouldn't someone more powerful than us eventually take notice? And if so, what would those kinds of people do?"

Trent let the final question hang in the air for a moment, but the answer was clear.

"Dispose of any and all competition, or threats to their own ambitions."

Robert took another long drag of his cigar and released the fumes with a sigh. "I've taught you well."

"Would you expect anything less from the mighty Trent Stone?" He asked, his cocky demeanor having returned at his father's words of approval. "Lay off the program for a little while? Piece of cake." He scoffed. "It's not like I don't have a few-"

"Do not use the program or any of those silly abilities that you've given yourself until I let you know that we're in the clear." Robert interrupted, but not with an unkind tone. "The fact that those two were killed in this city within minutes of each other leads me to suspect their assailants aren't aware that we too are users of the program. Thankfully, we're not the only wealthy people around, and if my hunch is correct, then laying low for the time being is the best course of action. Am I understood?" He finished the question with absolution in his voice, if you could believe that even was a question.

Trent bit down on the inside of his cheek. "Understood." Damn, he thought. This was going to make his extra-curricular activities a tad bit more complicated, although not impossible. "Just live my normal life as a twenty-one-year-old billionaire playboy and business magnate."

"Hah! If that's what you want to call it, then by all means, business magnate." Robert teased. "Take over an entire city, then come talk to me about business."

"If that ever happens, you probably won't be around to talk anymore." Trent said with a slightly-too-serious edge in his tone.

"God damnit." Robert laughed, then spun around in his chair and braced himself by slamming his hands down on the desk, wearing the same confident, unwavering smile that always quelled any doubt Trent might have had about his place in the world. "I love you, son."

"Love you too, pops." He smirked. "We're gonna' rule this planet, me and you."

"Without a doubt." Robert chuckled. "Now, what is it you came in here for?"

"Oh, right!" Trent said.

The situation wasn't urgent, or anything serious, just sort of awkward to bring up to an old man like Robert.

"Do you remember that little comic shop down on Eighty-Seventh Street that opened up a few months ago?"

"Yeah, can't remember the name of it for the life of me. Stupid idea, whoever owns the place. Printed comics haven't been worth a shit for twenty years."

"Right, he sells other things there too, but yeah, totally..." Trent said, holding his hands up to his sides in defense. "Just, hear me out before you have any other comments."

The man that looked like a strikingly handsome, forty-year-old clone of his son brought his cigar up and bit down on the end of it with his perfect teeth, then put his hands together while still maintaining the smile he was famous in the local newspapers for.

"I'm all ears, business magnate."

"Okay, then... Tell me, how does this sound?" Trent cleared his throat, then bent back and brought up his open-palmed hands for exaggeration as he spoke. "Stone Cold Comics."

-----

- Sunday - 10:43 A.M. - Henderson Residence -

It was no use.

"ZZZzzz..."

So much for sleeping in, Francine bitterly thought as her eyes fluttered open.

"ZZZzzz..."

She grunted, turning over in the king-sized bed to glare at her sleeping husband, Jamie.

"ZZZzzz..."

"That's it." She grumbled under her breath as she rose from the bed; her perky, braless breasts jiggled around in the transparent, black nightgown she wore with her swift, frustrated movements.

Francine wasn't gentle at all in jumping out of bed, hoping that might cause the overgrown man-child to wake up in some way so he can complain to her about not being able to sleep.

She wasn't prone to fighting with her husband hardly at all, but his snoring problem was a massive pet-peeve for she was ready to blow off some steam.

No dice, though.

Francine shook her head at the sight of Jamie's hefty, beer-bellied body as he lay on his back, wearing only a pair of tight, white jockeys that showed off the less-than-impressive outline of his morning erection.

"ZZZzzz..."

"Why did I marry you?" She asked aloud, feeling the daily dose of routine depression settle into her psyche as she looked around at all of the anime posters and memorabilia that was scattered throughout the walls of their master bedroom.

As much as she enjoyed the fact that he never really spoke with her about his obsession with japanese culture, she still wished that he would decorate his own home like an adult, not the boy who lived with his parents up until the age of thirty-five.

The door to their bedroom closed behind Francine as she made her exit and headed for the main bathroom to freshen up a bit, then went to the kitchen to whip up something to eat.

On arrival, the twenty-three-year-old, black beauty found that the only thing she really had an appetite for was the leftover egg-salad she'd taken home from her and Jamie's date at Sheah Leon last night, one of the most prominent restaurants in town.

"Oh, that's right." She mumbled as she grabbed a clean fork from the dish-strainer next to her sink, thinking back to the question she asked her unconscious, forty-one-year-old husband. "You're loaded." Francine giggled to herself, wandering into the living room with her meal and plopping down on one end of the lengthy, five-seat, leopard print sofa that her phone had been laying on the arm of throughout the night.

After replying to the texts of fuck-boys and friends alike, deleting any messages that could prove damning to her relationship, then blocking any of her side-guys that were showing a bit too much interest, Francine was bored again.

The perks of being a trophy wife also come with a few faults, Francine thought to herself as she reflected on the previous party-girl life she led before getting married four months prior.

Francine's new life was fun, at first, but she couldn't help but sink back into her old ways of finding a young, handsome man to split her big, bubble-butt in half with his meaty cock on occasion only just a few months after she'd gotten married to Jamie.

On a more private note, she absolutely loved anal, but only when it was an experience, not... Whatever you'd call it when her mediocre husband wanted some back-door action.

Still, Jamie was easy to satisfy, and she didn't mind that fact.

At least once a month, she'd give the chunky man an early night handjob and let him blow his chunky load all over her girls, then slip out after he passed out so she could go over to the neighbor's house for a little bit fun real fun with that cute college boy who comes over and cleans their pool for a few bucks on the weekends.

Since Jamie was retired, she unfortunately didn't have many opportunities to put the boy's more prominent talents to use when he came by and taunted her with that perfectly-sculpted body and juicy bulge of his.

Of course, she's always had another eager gentleman or two waiting for her to make up an excuse to go out for a few hours, but in her experience, it was safe to cut them off after the first or second encounter given that most men tended to get too attached much too quickly for her liking.

Within fifteen minutes, Francine had finished her meal and was now spread out on the couch with her eyes closed and listening to soft, pop music that was coming out of the surround-sound speakers located on each upper-corner of her large living room.

"Boop." Said a familiar and annoying voice as she felt something press up against her forehead for a brief moment.

Francine's eyes snapped open, and she watched the bald-headed and smirking Jamie pass her by and drop his heavy self down on the opposite end of the couch, wearing nothing but his unmentionables and a blood-red, polyester robe/kimono with golden, japanese dragons intertwined along the center of his back, then broke apart around his neck-line with each head spiraling along his arms and extending to his wrists.

Francine knew that smirk on his face, just as well as she knew he loved to see the genuine pout that formed on her own whenever she was irritated.

She grabbed the remote that was lying next to her on the couch, then sighed as the music was turned down to politely low-levels.

"What's up, baby?" Francine asked with a dash of honey in her tone, extinguishing her frustrations and putting on her best "loving-wife" face, as she liked to call it.

Which ultimately just consisted of a coy smile and the fluttering of her lengthy eyelashes from time to time when he tried to be his version of "charming."

"Nothing much." He said, giving the thick, salt-and-pepper goatee around his mouth a few strokes as he ogled his wife's athletically tight, but lucious and curvy figure. "Just thinking about how I've got the most wonderful woman in the world as my wife."

Ugh, she groaned internally.

It was one thing to have respect for a man for working hard his entire life to be able to retire as early as he did, but it was another to respect a man who could be fooled into thinking that she of all people was wonderful.

Deep down, she knew that she was nothing but a cold-hearted bitch.

More than anything, Francine took pride in that fact.

Nothing in the world could ever hurt you if you don't let it, she thought, and that was especially true if you were smart enough to outmaneuver it.

"Oh, daddy." She giggled, slowly sitting upright and then leaning forward on her hands and knees. "You're too sweet to me."

"I've got nothing but sugar for you, baby." Jamie said, his eyes glued to the perky cleavage jiggling under her.

Smooth, she sarcastically thought.

Francine bit her lip and moaned in response, bringing her face just an inch away from his, then gave him a light smooch on the lips before standing up from the couch with a warm smile on her face.

Jamie sighed, his heart racing and the bulge in his underwear twitching as he thought about how lucky he was to have her all to himself.

"So, what would you like for breakfast?" She asked sweetly, cocking her hips to the side as she placed her hands on them.

"Whatever is the fastest to cook." He chuckled. "It's Sunday, remember? I've gotta' be at the shop by noon."

Francine rolled her eyes and maintained her smile, but was internally screaming at the reminder.

It was Sunday. Oh god...

"Right, duh. Silly me!" She said, pushing back the tears that were welling up in her eyes. It physically pained her to ask the follow-up question. "Which outfit should I wear this time, babe?"

-----

- Sunday - 11:24 A.M. - Corvid Apartments -

"Darn." Mars swore, trying to adjust herself comfortably in the plastic, silver-painted breastplate-palandron set of armor she had on.

The entire ensemble fit perfectly, dress and all, except for the shoulders.

The one time she decides to order an outfit over the internet, and of course it'd be that of all things giving her trouble.

Mars' shoulders weren't broad, by any means, but the measured-cut of that upper part of the costume was designed for someone who had a slightly more narrow torso than she did.

Cis women don't know how easy they've got it when it comes to looking cute, she thought to herself with a dejected sigh as she gazed at her reflection.

Well, it didn't look bad on her, at the very least.

And her make-up was on-point, she thought with a reassured smirk.

Mars was just going to have to be careful when she moved her arms, she realized when she extended them and felt the straps under the pseudo-armor strain around her soft, pale biceps.

"I just hope he likes it..." She whispered, looking down at and placing her small, deighty hands over the breastplate that was moulded to house a pair of modest assets she unfortunately lacked.

Taking her leave of the bathroom, Mars went down the narrow hallway of her two-bedroom apartment towards the front door.

As she walked into the living room, she was greeted by a sight that she likely wouldn't forget for years to come.

"Alright guys, I'm-... Oh gosh."

"Ma-ars!" Melissa whined as she panicked and threw a blanket over her and Greg's naked bodies. "We thought you'd left already!"

Laying under her, Gred audibly snickered and made eye contact with Mars for an instant just before everything but their legs were covered up by the light-blue, silk comforter that had previously been folded up on the back of the couch.

"Ah!" Mars squeaked, then ran towards the door, grabbed her keys, threw it open, and slammed it behind her. "S-sorry!"

Mars pressed her back up against the cold wood, her soft, round face beat-red with her heart thundering within her chest.

Well, that just happened, she thought to herself as the side-shot, mental image of her roommates getting it on burned itself into her memory.

Panting, Mars quickly walked down the stairs and out the main door of the apartment house that contained her own.

She'd been wanting to see what Melissa's new breasts looked like in full glory since she'd gotten implants last month, but Mars would rather it have been under more polite circumstances.

On account of both parties, to be frank.

She may have lingered for a second or two longer than she should have, but those two shouldn't have been makin' bacon out in the open for her to see, whether or not they thought she was gone.

Part of her believed that what she stumbled across was intentional, but Mars quickly brushed it off as silly thinking.

If Melissa was that much of a slut, why wasn't she walking around the apartment topless all the time?

Unless it was some kind of 'getting caught' fetish of hers, but Mars had known the sweet girl since middle school.

She had always been fairly conservative about sex and showing off her fairly plain body, and was never suspiciously prude in such a way that her attitude would hint toward hidden desires such as those.

If Mars had to guess, that dopey boyfriend of hers probably started working his charm and Melissa completely lost herself in his big, stupid, pretty eyes.

As much as a creep as the guy could be personality-wise, Greg was too smooth for his own good, and her poor friend was putty in her hands each and every time he started whispering sweet nothings into her ear.

And once he whipped out that big dick of his, Melissa likely forgot about everything else in the world.

Oh well, Mars thought as she pulled her phone from the small, blue purse slung around her shoulder and checked the time.

She was running late; her and Melissa could about it when her obligations for the day were complete.

After jumping into her yellow jeep and being careful not to shut the door on her long, black dress, she sped out of the parking lot and down the road in the direction of her workplace.

It was Mars' day off, but she and a few other regular customers of Comic Sins got together there on Sundays to play a game of Castles and Conquerors with the owner.

She smiled and giggled to herself, imagining her best friend's goofy brother getting hyped up as he described a scene from the last game.

-----

- Sunday - 11:35 A.M. - Seventy-Ninth-Street -

"Y'know, I'm really glad you two were able to make some normal friends since the move." Helen Duran said, glancing in the rear view mirror at her niece and nephew.

Well, normal was a polite word for it, Helen thought to herself as she couldn't help but feel a little uncomfortable seeing the twins in a pair of matching costumes with realistic, rubber extensions attached to their ears.

Andy and Amy Westcliff, the nineteen-year-old step-children of her sister Rene, made no effort to look up at Helen as they tapped away at their phones in the back seat of Helen's jeep.

"It's not like we have much of a choice." Amy stated flatly.

"We have the options of either delving into the mundane world of fantasy-" Andy began.

"Or indulging in the debauchery that we see around every corner of this depraved city." Amy finished.

"And you would inform our parents immediately if we were to get involved with such indecent activities."

"So for the sake of our inheritance, we will refrain and fill our spare time with idle hobbies."

"Regardless of the temptation that plagues us dearly."

... Helen wished they'd stop talking in turns like that.

She knew twins were supposed to have some kind of psychic link, but the lack of pause between their sentences was downright disturbing, more so than the topics that the two could casually discuss in excruciating detail.

"You don't have to keep reminding me how much living a normal life is killing you." Helen sighed, passing the fourth strip club she'd seen since she began her journey across town.

An island-city funded and built by several of the richest entrepreneurs in the world tended to have a litany of those and similar establishments when the laws prohibited anyone under the age of eighteen from being able to cross its border.

Around sixty-something-percent of the population was comprised of college-students in their early-to-late twenties going to one of the city's many prestigious universities, and the rest were just people there to work, vacation, or just retire and live a life in a city full of some of the most attractive individuals they'd ever seen.