Chapter 1
I saw a man die last night. I was sitting in the windowsill, staring out unto the city. The air was especially horrible, foggy and tinted a strange brown. The type you shouldn’t breathe. He was walking down the alleyway along the side of my apartment complex. Gray hood up, head down, hands in pockets. Suspicious. Up ahead, there was a dumpster with the empty remains of my chinese carton from three nights ago. Behind that, hidden so hoodie guy couldn’t see, was another man, squatted down with one hand in his jacket. Brown pants, dirty leather shoes, and a weathered beard. Gray hoodie continued, oblivious.
Seven steps. Five. Two. As hoodie walked by his hiding spot, the second man jumped out and stabbed him through the heart. Then the ribs. Then the heart again. The already dirty dumpster was stained a gross burgundy yet again. A single drop of blood hit my window, three stories up. Both the victim’s wallet and phone got stolen, and the assaulter ran. I left my place on the window and sat down on the couch, with my half eaten bowl of cereal in front of me. Disgusting. Vermin. Worst than scum. A worm crawling through the mud, drowning. Taking another human’s life; it was shameful. He’d ruined my appetite.
I paced around the apartment, going from the living room to the kitchen on the right, looking for something that could wash away the disgust. Something to distract myself. We’re supposed to be human. Supposed to be above the animals, not lying in the dirt with them. And his hands are stained with blood. To tell me that there is a go…
I picked up the box of opened corn flakes I had poured myself earlier and stared at the ecstatic, mouse-like cartoon on the carton.
“It’s done now, there’s nothing I could have done to change that,” I spoke firmly. It’s one thing to allow the thoughts floating in your head to remain trapped there. It always helps to hear yourself say it out loud.
A single knock on the door scared the living crap out of me. Breathe in, breathe out. At least something good would come of today. Pay day.
I’d begun receiving the checks about 7 months ago. They were printed out and unsigned, instead tied to an account and routing number. The first had come with a simple, typed letter. Cambria. Twelve point font. Double spaced.

“You will, monthly, receive a check, as long as the following conditions are met:
Do not try to find that which should not be found. The use of an account number ensures anonymity. Both you and I know that it can be traced. Don’t. It will result in an immediate ceasing of this arrangement.
Mention of your reception of these gifts will not be communicated to anyone. Period.
In time, you will repay what has been given to you. Don’t worry, it won’t require money.
Thank you for your cooperation.”
As promised, the checks kept coming monthly. Two thousand. Three thousand. Two thousand five hundred. Four thousand. They were simple rules to follow, and so I did. Another month comes to an end, and another check appears. I quit my job after the second one arrived. While it may appear that I live in a castle upon a hill, this was the best apartment I could find in New York, which isn’t saying much. The money they’d been sending me was enough for three apartments, though, so who am I to complain?
But, as I approached the door to collect my prize, I found… nothing. That was until a small envelope, smaller than usual, anyway, slid under my door. Confused, I grabbed it and tore it up. Inside was a piece of paper, the size of an index card, with one word written on it.
“Open.”

Chapter 2
A second knock soon followed. And a third. And a fourth. Shockingly, there was a fifth. And then they stopped. Bewildered, I did what any sensible man would do when a stranger begins knocking on your door in a town that doesn’t care for enforcing the law or protecting its citizens; I opened it.
The first thing I noticed was his black hair. It seemed unnatural. But, it was just hair. The guy was probably 6’1. Had a few inches on me, at least. Green eyes, with bags and crow's feet. He looked tired. Not tired like he wanted to sleep, but tired like he wanted to lay down and never have to get back up again.
“Come with me,” he commanded, and turned down the hallway of my apartment. He was fifty feet from the stairs when he turned around and saw me still standing in my doorway.
“Who the hell are you?” Did he really think I’d just follow him? Like Neo in the Matrix following the girl with the white rabbit?
“You’ve been receiving the money, right? Can you tell me what that third condition was?”
“I’m supposed to repay the money I’d been sent, but not with money in return. Are telling me that this is what you guys meant? And that’s assuming that you actually are the person who's been sending them.”
He walked towards me, visibly annoyed, and pulled out a blank check. He held it out, and I saw it was addressed to Henning Alpin; to me. Sure, I don’t have photographic memory, but the account number on the check looked like the one I’d seen quite a few times at least.
“Now, once more. Come with me.” He turned away from me, taking the check, and headed towards the stairs which lead to the lobby of my building. Confused, I again did the rational thing, and followed the strange man carrying a blank check with my name on it.
Outside was a matte black van. It looked like one of those vans you’d see in old heist movies, where the “tech” guy runs the heist from behind the scenes. Not being an expert on cars, I’d guess it was from the early 2000’s. He swung open the back door and motioned for me to get in. I had what I believed to be no choice, so I climbed in and sat down. In the back was a young looking woman, maybe sixteen, if that. She offered me a blindfold, and with a nod of understanding, I put it on. Once I’d tied it, she tightened it.
“Is that comfortable?” she asked blankly. It sounded as if any emotion she might have had at one point had been taken out back and left to rot.
“As comfortable as one can be in a strange van with a blindfold on.”
I received no reply, except for the van beginning to move. I put my hands together in my lab and silently prayed to every god I could think of.

Chapter 3
“You’re s***ting me,” was all I could muster when the blindfold was untied.
I was in the center of what appeared to be an empty warehouse. Sat upon a cold, metal chair, in a mixture of bewilderment and fear, I scanned my surroundings. In my fight-or-flight-esque state, I noticed three things:
On top of the simple wooden table I was sitting at, was a chess board. It looked worn from years of use, but easily usable.
Across from me, playing black, was the man with the strange, black hair. Fitting.
I was surrounded by people. They wore dirtied, almost wartorn clothes. And not surrounded like they wanted to watch our match, but surrounded as if I would run. Surrounded as if I was the enemy.
“You’re s***ting me,” I repeated, out of shock more than anything else, “what the hell is this?”
“Would you like to know why you’ve been given what appears to be none other than a blessing?”
“Are you referring to the checks?”
“Of course.”
“You have 5 minutes.”
“Henning,” he laughed, “no. You have 10 minutes.” There was a chess timer beside the board. He set the timer to 10 minutes as he spoke.
Pawn e2 to e4
My standard opening. I hit the clock, and he began speaking as his timer ticked down.
“That look of terror is amusing, but uncalled for. Don’t worry, your life isn’t ending in 10. My name is Blake; let’s get that out of the way first. These...” he motioned to the people surrounding us, “are my friends. You…”
Pawn e8 to e5
“... Are an interesting character.” He hit his timer. I paused to listen.
“You play chess in the park outside your apartment building every sunday. You have never lost a game. Let’s do some rough math. On most days, you stay at that chess table for two hours. On average, you play 4 games. Without fail, you have won. Every. Single. Time.”
Knight g1 to f3
“Chess is a game of strategy. Its goal is simple: outsmart your opponent. Understand them, and back them into a corner. Force them to submit.” He picked up his pawn.
Pawn d7 to d6
“More than that, chess is a game of war. You have nothing but your wit, and are told to crush your opponent. Like a soldier, you have done just that. I would estimate you’ve been going to that park for about a year now, would you agree?”
I nodded.
Knight b1 to c3
Bishop c8 to g4
“There are fifty six weeks in a year. So, fifty six sundays. 4 games a day. You have won more than two hundred games. I’m no expert, but I’d say you’d be the equal of a grandmaster.”
Bishop f1 to c4
“We, as a group, call ourselves the Red. Our existence has one purpose: to fix that which is corrupt. That man, for example, that you watched die.” I cringed, both in shock and pain.
“Do you think that man got justice? In fact, do you believe that the police even showed up to collect evidence? Henning…”
Bishop g4 takes Knight f3
“... Across the sea, Britannia is the golden city upon the hill. It’s paradise. Do you know what we are?” I shook my head. “We’re just the slaves who keep it clean. They give us a board of companies, the ones that put us in chains, the ones that almost enslave us, and call that a just government. ‘A government for the people’, they call it.” He pauses, as I pickup my queen.
Queen d1 takes Bishop f3
He takes a deep breath, and looks down at the board.
Pawn g7 to g5
“We have the manpower. We can get resources, guns, if we need. But we can’t be stronger than them. And we can’t get more guns then them. They have an army.”
Bishop c4 takes Pawn f7, check
“What we can be is smarter than them.” He’d taken too long. His clock was running down. 1:02 was all the breathing room he had left.
King e8 to e7
“What we need is a strategist.”
Queen f3 to f5
“You’re a grandmaster at chess, but I also know you read war books. Books on every fight man has ever had with himself.”
Knight g8 to h6
“Henning, what we need is you. That is my proposal. Will you join us, to fight for your freedom, and ours?”
Knight c3 to d5
Checkmate.
I’d won. I breathed in deeply, and then out.
“No.”

Chapter 4
“...What?” Blake stuttered.
I looked him in the eyes. “No. I can’t. I won’t.”
He sighed, and looked defeated. “Why?”
“You’re asking me to win a war. You’re asking me to plan the deaths of thousands and thousands of innocent people. Blake, soldiers don’t make the rules, they just enforce them.
Those who kill the undeserving are worse than scum.
I leaned forward, enraged. “I. Am. Not. Scum.”
“And we are?”
I looked down, unable to respond.
“Well, that’s… not really the answer I expected. I thought that this would be like a dream for you. Fighting for freedom in the name of the innocent, like our fathers did, and their fathers did. I’m not really one to live in the past, kid, but the past was a hell of a lot better than this…. but, I understand.”
Blake reached into his jacket, followed by a loud bang.
A noise like the ringing of a bell destroyed my ears, and my head. And then, I didn’t have ears or a head anymore at all.
“And I really, truly, am sorry for lying to you. I hope you can forgive me.”

Chapter 5
His body became still, then slumped back into the chair. Daisy, my little sister, walked over to my and hugged me.
“I’m sorry, Blake. I know you believed in him. It’s not your fault.”
I looked her in the eyes, and rubbed her head. I felt melancholy.
“I don’t have time to feel disappointment, sweetheart. We… we have work to do.”
I put the gun away in the right pocket inside my jacket, and pulled out the camera from my left.
“Go hold his head up.”
She looked saddened, but did as I said. I pointed the camera into his right eye, and shot.

...

Banners and posters were strung throughout the city two days after. They all had a picture of a dead kid named Henning and three simple sentences.
“The Red gave him a home. He died for your freedom. Join us, and fight for what he believed in.”