"In other news today, Dr. Joshua Mathews was found in Central Park with an arm and leg missing. Dr. Mathews, a leader in the field of neurology, was set to operate on a young man who has been in a deep—"
"It's your move, Chris."
Chris sat in front of a wooden chessboard with glass pieces, his red and Michael's white. His brother was quite the talented player, and had chased Chris into a tight corner. He sat there, his finger spinning lazily around the round tip of the queen's crown. It was smooth, and felt pleasant to the touch. He looked over the board trying to find a move.
"You have no choice, Chris," Michael said, pulling the orange juice out of the fridge. He took a quick drink from it and replaced the bottle, letting out a satisfied sigh. "I have you in check and your king can't move. You have to move the queen to take my piece."
He was right, as much as Chris hated to admit it. He reluctantly moved the queen forward two spaces to take the white knight. His finger lingered on the chess piece for a moment, then lifted it. "Your move, Michael."
Michael casually walked to the table, not even bothering to study the board. And why should he? He had been in control of the game from the very start, three solid moves ahead of Chris, and already had his move set long before it had come. He casually picked up his second white knight, picked up the red queen with his other hand, and sat the knight in her place. With a warm smile, he responded, "Checkmate."
Chris groaned and picked up the red king, looking deep into its body and watching the colorful designs the light made when reflecting off the piece. "Looks like I lose again," he grumbled. "Big surprise."
"But you did better this time, Chris," Michael replied, slipping his black jacket on. He sat his fedora on his head, fiddling with it for a moment until he was satisfied with it. "You have definitly improved since last time. Who knows? Maybe you will beat me some day."
"Yeah," Chris chuckled, setting the chess pieces carefully into the velvet placeholders on the bottom side of the board. Chris ran his fingers against the black fabric, enjoying its softness as it brushed across his fingertips. "And maybe it'll rain beer or Mountain Dew."
"You never know," Michael smiled, picking up the last of his stuff. "Now come on, we're going to be late for school."
Chris picked up his bag with an annoyed 'yeah, yeah' and headed for the door. Michael, however, paused and spared a glance outside the apartment's window. Across the street stood a man, dressed entirely in black. He didn't move—and hadn't moved since Michael had first spotted him earlier that morning. It must have been one of those 'agents' people had been spotting around town, and Michael would bet anything that he would be gone by the time he got downstairs. He growled.
"I won't let you take him. He's all I have left."
"It's your move, Chris."
Chris sat in front of a wooden chessboard with glass pieces, his red and Michael's white. His brother was quite the talented player, and had chased Chris into a tight corner. He sat there, his finger spinning lazily around the round tip of the queen's crown. It was smooth, and felt pleasant to the touch. He looked over the board trying to find a move.
"You have no choice, Chris," Michael said, pulling the orange juice out of the fridge. He took a quick drink from it and replaced the bottle, letting out a satisfied sigh. "I have you in check and your king can't move. You have to move the queen to take my piece."
He was right, as much as Chris hated to admit it. He reluctantly moved the queen forward two spaces to take the white knight. His finger lingered on the chess piece for a moment, then lifted it. "Your move, Michael."
Michael casually walked to the table, not even bothering to study the board. And why should he? He had been in control of the game from the very start, three solid moves ahead of Chris, and already had his move set long before it had come. He casually picked up his second white knight, picked up the red queen with his other hand, and sat the knight in her place. With a warm smile, he responded, "Checkmate."
Chris groaned and picked up the red king, looking deep into its body and watching the colorful designs the light made when reflecting off the piece. "Looks like I lose again," he grumbled. "Big surprise."
"But you did better this time, Chris," Michael replied, slipping his black jacket on. He sat his fedora on his head, fiddling with it for a moment until he was satisfied with it. "You have definitly improved since last time. Who knows? Maybe you will beat me some day."
"Yeah," Chris chuckled, setting the chess pieces carefully into the velvet placeholders on the bottom side of the board. Chris ran his fingers against the black fabric, enjoying its softness as it brushed across his fingertips. "And maybe it'll rain beer or Mountain Dew."
"You never know," Michael smiled, picking up the last of his stuff. "Now come on, we're going to be late for school."
Chris picked up his bag with an annoyed 'yeah, yeah' and headed for the door. Michael, however, paused and spared a glance outside the apartment's window. Across the street stood a man, dressed entirely in black. He didn't move—and hadn't moved since Michael had first spotted him earlier that morning. It must have been one of those 'agents' people had been spotting around town, and Michael would bet anything that he would be gone by the time he got downstairs. He growled.
"I won't let you take him. He's all I have left."
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