Crowdsource: A Sam Travis Novel: Sam Travis, #1

By Mike Riegel

When a body is found in a busy sports bar, Officer Sam Travis is pulled from a comfortable cubicle and into a murder investigation. The victim had been playing a video game on his phone when he was killed, a subject Officer Travis knows well. Would a person kill another over a cell phone game? To find the answer, Sam must turn to the most unlikely of sources - his fellow gamers.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Mike Riegel
• Release date: Jan 15, 2016
• ISBN: 9781524299811

Book preview

Prologue

MESSAGE TO VICTORECHO

WARNING! EMPLACEMENT UNDER ATTACK!!!

MESSAGE FROM BULWARK AUTOMATIC STATUS UPDATE

The hunt had finally begun.

VictorEcho burst from his office into a warm, Tuesday evening. He held his smartphone before him in both fists, like a machine gunner from a long past war, as he began a search of the surrounding buildings. Each was an identical gray slab with lighter gray trim — lined up like proper little cell blocks.

There had been several attacks on his territory throughout the day. Some coward, launching hit and fade strikes on his defenses, then disappearing. The most recent attack had been ongoing for the final fifteen minutes of his shift. With work to finish up before leaving, he could not deal with the intruder and the minutes passed as hours while his emplacements took damage. Now free from the office, he thought of nothing but the lesson he would teach the trespasser as he completed a pass through the complex.

Nothing.

He expanded his search area and quickly determined that the attack was coming from a restaurant just south of the complex. A common after work stop for the other cubicle workers. It was not a terrible place from which to stage an attack. However, there was only one way in or out. He closed out his phone and returned it to the belt clip to maintain the element of surprise.

From the volume of cars in the lot, VictorEcho judged that the evening would be a busy one for the pub. Perhaps a televised sporting event had drawn everyone out? VictorEcho had no interest in watching others play, he would much rather participate; to be the star of his own game.

As he pulled on the ornately scripted A attached to the front door, a slim high school senior wearing a slinky black dress and too much makeup stood trapped behind a crowded podium. Her expression hinting she felt herself a bit above the sea of customers demanding tables.

With no interest in food, VictorEcho slipped past the young woman and into the bar. She sighed, no doubt in relief, when he asked nothing of her.

VictorEcho was tempted to log in immediately, to bring the fight directly to the interloper...the miscreant that dared camp in his territory. However, he had not become sole ruler of this sector without a high degree of patience.

Inconsequential sheep, willing to wait an hour for microwaved chicken sandwiches or a tower of onion rings, took every available seat. Customers were double-stacked in front of the bar. VictorEcho's eyes scanned every patron to identify his quarry. Most individuals in the area stared down at their phones: checking social media, asking updated ETAs from tardy friends, or simply avoiding conversation with their companions. None of the bar customers were VictorEcho's target — that much he could tell without logging in. The bar would serve as his staging area. As he passed a small table, a round pager lit up and danced across the surface. The winners of this particular lottery rose and walked off, leaving the seats vacant.

He slipped into an empty chair before another could claim the table. Thankfully, the concept of Middle American personal space would prevent anyone else from joining him, tired as their feet might be. At most, someone might as for the use of the second chair in thier group.

The table butted against a short wall, separating bar and dining area. In years past, the four-foot barrier of wood laminate would have magically kept an entire bar's worth of cigarette smoke from the lungs of other patrons. Tonight the little wall would serve another purpose.

A server glided by, burdened with a large tray of draft beer and fried appetizers. Glancing briefly at VictorEcho, she seemed relieved, as had the hostess, that he needed nothing from her.

Before launching the app, he took in the dining room with a long visual scan. His vantage point could only take in a third of the restaurant, but it was enough to eliminate possible threats. His eyes went over husbands greedily slurping rations of draft beer, overworked staff asking if the patrons had dined there before, and another group of servers singing a song that was, very clearly, not Happy Birthday.

There were no lone diners — a single player would be easy to spot. Two down from the Birthday Booth sat four men, all staring at smartphone screens and typing away with busy little thumbs.

One of these men might be the intruder. Which person did not necessarily matter, but VictorEcho enjoyed testing his perceptions. All wore golf shirts and khakis, the business casual uniform that had replaced suit and tie some decades before. All wore lanyard identifications for one of the many corporate cellblocks to the North.

VictorEcho was dressed in an almost identical manner; his dangled from a retractable bet clip, rather than his neck.

He instantly dismissed the front right man. He held his phone up in portrait mode and a single hand swiped the screen. The man across from him was older, the probable leader of the group. He constantly adjusted the distance from phone to eyes, having obvious difficulty making out the screen. The leader was out.

Instinct told him the one in the back right was the intruder. Heavier than the others, he was the only member of the quartet without alcohol in front of him. He also appeared more intent on his screen than the booth-mates. The other three used their phones as a prop to avoid conversation, rather than intent on a particular task.

He watched the fat man for a full minute. Indeed, he was hypnotized by his screen, but did not face forward as the others did. He canted himself towards the wall, as if taking a picture of the tarnished French horn that hung next to a vintage soup advertisement.

VictorEcho knew better. Beyond that wall was his territory, his home. It was the final piece of information he needed to identify the coward who had spent the day taking potshots at him.

VictorEcho smiled, congratulating his restraint. Had he charged into the restaurant guns blazing, he might have fallen victim to this invader. Through patience and guile, he now knew not only where the man sat but was in an excellent position to strike. Secure in his impending victory; he unclipped the phone next to his ID, activated the screen, and tapped the Bulwark icon.

It was risky to launch in so close to a foe. Full login took thirty seconds, time in which VictorEcho would be defenseless. With his phone below the smoker wall and his head above, he could watch his quarry with little chance of reprisal.

The fat man seemed ignorant for several seconds and then sat up taller, alert. He looked about the room, first with his head and then tracking with his phone. The reaction widened the smile on VictorEcho's face. Swift vengeance was at hand and his quarry had no idea.

VictorEcho completed the login process and stared at a primitive wire-frame of the building they occupied. Moments later, an alert winked on to indicate a hostile player was in the vicinity. However, neither could target the other as the short wall blocked their line of sight to each other. He remained hidden from the other player and would continue until the time was right. VictorEcho was close enough to read the ID of his enemy - Pwnbroker - an alias a ten-year-old might come up with.

Regarding the local activity monitor, VictorEcho checked the status of Pwnbroker's assault. His booth placed him out of danger from VictorEcho's battery two hundred yards to the North but within range of the PwnBroker's rocket launcher. The turret emplacement was holding at 20 percent integrity and falling with each missile strike. The loss would not be catastrophic, but VictorEcho was not in the habit of giving away in-game resources.

He triggered an ability from his interface, initiating a slow build-up of energy directed at Pwnbroker's position. Such actions did not need line of sight to operate but took precious time. Pwnbroker had no choice but to stay put, his dining companions locking him into an untenable position. Soon, an alert would warn his adversary to the incoming fire. The simple act of walking ten feet away would avoid the attack.

VictorEcho meant to keep the intruder in his seat.

He touched a blue icon on his screen and a shimmering barrier of energy winked into existence around him. Satisfied he was ready; VictorEcho raised his phone over the lip and in view of Pwnbroker. Where the naked eye saw only a quartet of contract workers avoiding eye contact, Victor saw an imposing, seven-foot figure in spiked combat armor. A yellow glow pulsed from in between matte black plates. Pwnbroker's avatar held aloft a huge rocket launcher, the size of an old car's rear axle. An image of this techno-knight rendered against live camera footage filled his phone. Victor centered Pwnbroker into his crosshairs and depressed his left thumb on the screen, loosing a burst from his assault rifle.

Before the digital projectiles could impact his character, a cylinder of light flashed up around Pwnbroker as his own barrier absorbed the rounds from VictorEcho's weapon.

The battle began.

Unknown to all in the restaurant, two armored titans flogged powerful weapons at each other, one probing for weakness in his opponent's defenses, the other simply playing for time. Pwnbroker swapped the rocket launcher out for a shotgun; the heavy weapon would mean VictorEcho's quick death if used in close quarters. However, the range was outside optimal and less than half of the energy particles came close. The few pellets that struck splashed across VictorEcho's barrier harmlessly.

VictorEcho spent most of his time and energy bolstering defenses; never making a serious attempt Pwnbroker with a simple assault rifle.

The other members of the Pwnbroker's party became aware of the situation, laughing and looking around the dining room, in an attempt to see their secret battle. The fight was likely the most excitement they had experienced in a week. The interest waned quickly as a server arrived, laden with plates.

The arrival of the food could not have been a better coincidence. Pwnbroker was distracted; his attention torn between his adversary, a full rack of ribs, and a trio of companions calling him to put away the phone — like a mother's summons to come inside for dinner.

All of the events combined to distract the Pwnbroker from a five-second countdown displayed on his own screen. Realization dawned that he was the target of a particle beam cannon high above. He made a desperate move to get out of the booth and flee impending death. The man to his right had just raised a Monster Burger with Egg to his mouth and showed no interest in moving aside.

The beam of blue energy shot forth from the heavens, engulfing Pwnbroker and reducing his avatar to ashes. Where the yellow knight once stood, there was only a red polygon, pulsing on the virtual floor.

Pwnbroker slammed his hands onto the table, rocking it. Three hands instantly steadied drinks for fear of spillage.

VictorEcho brought his phone back down; secure his point had been made. He had no interest in fighting again if PwnBroker respawned in two minutes. He had not simply beaten the Pwnbroker; he had gone most of the way to breaking him. All that remained was to walk up the table and claim the red maker. His point would be made.

VictorEcho shifted his weight to rise from the table when another hostile alert came in. Could PwnBroker have backup? Was the attack a trap to lure him out? If so, he would take them on. VictorEcho was not at the top of the boards because he bought his character on eBay.

The interface glitched and Victor stared into the phone's jittering display, contemplating moving out of the area. He activated a fresh barrier, just to be sure, and looked towards Pwnbroker, who shook his phone as though something were wrong with his as well.

VictorEcho wondered how such a thing was possible...

...And felt an ice cube on the back of his neck.

But it was not an ice cube; ice cubes did not make the entire torso go numb.

Sleep was what he needed, an imperative that barely registered as his head tilted gently towards the table. His last conscious thought was recognition of a single word, whispered into his ear so closely that the breath tickled the hairs...

Parley.

Chapter 01

Text Message to Not_The_Joss_Your_Looking_For

Patch is set. Ready for Zeus. Heading Home at 6 sharp.

MESSAGE FAILED TO TRANSMIT – TRY AGAIN LATER

Sam Travis held his smartphone high above his head, like an overzealous student eager to answer a question. Despite the empty cubicles about him, he still felt foolish. After several seconds, he pulled the phone back to him and saw the error message, indicating his text had never gone through.

Shit, he hissed, sliding the keyboard from behind the screen of his phone to send the message again. The signal indicator at the top of his screen alternated from one to zero bars of coverage as he pressed the Enter key and snapped the keyboard closed, pinching the flesh below the knuckle of his right middle finger as he did so.

Shit, he repeated, involuntarily sucking his finger to disperse the pain.

The message forgotten, he placed the smartphone on his desk next to a Blackberry, which had as many bars as needed but bore a printed label above the screen FOR DEPARTMENT USE ONLY.

A small amount of blood flowed in behind the wound, trapped beneath skin that had not been broken. Sam sighed and turned his attention to the monitor before him, running off a nearby docked laptop.

Tompkins, OH Police Department Brief for Tuesday, October 9, Updates at 6:00 PM Daily displayed across the top of the page, with a dozen entries following the title. Most of the listing detailed false alarm calls from homes and businesses, mixed with two auto accidents without injuries. A bicycle was reported stolen from an unlocked garage and a single domestic disturbance had been reported the previous evening.

Crime wave in the big city, Sam muttered to the empty cube farm that was part of the Tompkins Municipal Administration Building and Law Enforcement Center - MAB-LEC. Despite the badge and firearm clipped to the waist of his cargo pants, Officer Travis called the MAB his professional home, not the LEC. The Clerk of Courts, Public Works Director, and other city employees had departed in a mad rush at 5:00, leaving Sam the only presence in the room. He checked the time on his computer.

5:51.

His smartphone buzzed, waddling across several inches of desk. Sam picked it up, extending the keyboard more carefully this time. The screen winked to life to show a repeated message from Joss.

Still on for the raid tonight?

How can I receive but not transmit? he asked no one, typing out another reply and pacing among the cubicles, arm raised, until six o'clock.

Sam entered his kitchen with a plastic grocery bag as noise of his car's fan ticking off mixed with the aging garage door opener squeaking shut. Setting the sack on the counter, he unloaded his pockets into a purple mixing bowl. Keys, cell phones, badge, wallet, and a small revolver filled the container. Sam snatched up the plastic bag, made his way to a door in the living room, and ducked into the darkness beyond.

He shut the office door behind him; closing the room off from the remainder of the silent condo. The moment the hasp engaged, he felt the day's stress begin to bleed away. Flipping the wall switch illuminated accent lights integrated into shelves stacked with video game figurines, props, strategy guides, and other swag. The interior wall held a television attached to all current gaming consoles and several from past generations.

His goal was the far end of the room: a large computer desk with a sparse setup: monitor, mouse, keyboard, and headset. All three peripherals used old-fashioned cables instead of wireless to ensure the highest input speeds. Slapping the space bar on the keyboard brought a high-pitched whine from a nearby cabinet as fans kicked in to keep a series of powerful processors from melting themselves.

The time on Sam's computer read 6:17 as he set the plastic Kroger bag on the desk. The sack opened to reveal a plastic container of grocery sushi (Made Fresh Daily, it proclaimed) and a tall can of Mean Bean energy drink.

He was cracking open the lid to his dinner as he double clicked the Sundering of Olympus and Voice Chat icons on his task bar.

Sam watched the opening cinematic of Olympus, a ritual he had observed for years. The professionally produced CGI movie, often used as a marketing trailer, would play the first time a new player launched the game. Sam watched the movies each time a game started to immerse him into the fictitious world. He popped a spicy tuna roll into his mouth as an angry Zeus destroyed the Pantheon, turning Mount Olympus into thousands of floating islands and swearing humans were his most flawed creation and vowed to removed them from existence.

The call went out across Greece, from the healers of Athens to the Soldiers of Sparta. The time had come for heroes to rise from the people and declare their independence from the gods. Demons rose from the ground as a group of Greek heroes fought and defeated them. The tired band of adventurers then cast their eyes upon the floating archipelago that was once Olympus, lighting shooting from the very summit of the once great home of the gods.

The title appeared, followed by a login screen.

Sam put in his account information and soon saw the rotating model of SamIam, his level 60 Corinthian Officer, gleaming in parade armor. A click on his avatar brought up a loading screen and the game proper resolved on his monitor.

Sam saw the back of his character overlooking a small village infested with demons that sacked the town in endless waves. Many of the buildings lay in waste, while smoke billowed from those few that remained. Pressing a macro button on the side of his keyboard, Sam's character appeared to withdraw a golden egg and open it as a progress bar advanced across the screen.

From the ground, smoky visages rose and converged upon SamIam. Moments before the pack of demons reached his character, a flash of light engulfed Sam's avatar. As it faded, he was atop a golden Pegasus, leaving ground and demons behind.

Safe for the moment, Sam checked his Chorus, the name of a standing group in Sundering of Olympus.

...None of them were online.

He spurred his mount in the direction of their rendezvous and went back to his dinner.

He has just reached the meeting place, an amphitheater cracked and worn with age, when Joss logged in. A muscular Spartan spearman appeared beside Sam's soldier. Separate tones announced his entrance into the game and the voice chat software.

Evening, Sam greeted over the headset.

Oh my God, did you hear? Joss almost screamed into his ear.

No, but I'm afraid that you're going to tell me...

Aim, she G-kicked Potential.

What? Why... Sam replied, wondering what terrible thing their Chrous member could have done. Sam also wondered how the night's work could possibly be done with only four players. Potential's Aegean Pirate provided their chorus with much of their damage capability. Without him, each fight took longer, with greater chance of failure.

He was hitting on her, even though she has a boyfriend. Offered to meet up with her IRL, asked for her address and said he would fly to wherever she lived. Got pretty forceful.

Sam processed the information silently, fighting back momentary anger at their former guild member. It was not easy being a female in the world of gaming and their group had an unwritten rule not to make it any harder on Aim.

Is he still bugging her about it?

Don't know. She slash ignored all of his toons in Sundering and trashed his account from the VOIP server. You think that'll be enough?

I hope so, Sam replied. I never thought he'd try something like that.

Me neither, Joss agreed.

Where are the rest?

Dante tweeted something about a tooth ache this morning, but nothing after that. Didn't hear from Aim, but I don't even have her email or cell phone.

You should ask her for it, Sam taunted.

Yeah, right. I don't want to get G-kicked too.

Twin beeps in Sam's headset announced that another member had joined the conversation. Dante's voice now filled their ears.

Shit, I'm stuck at New Athens - need a summon.

We need another to complete the circle, Joss said.

Fuck me. I thought you were outfitted for short summon.

Only when within sight of an Oracle Stone... Joss replied defensively.

Just start flying this way, we'll summon you when Aim gets here, Sam said.

That's fine, Dante said. My tooth is really killing me.

Joss fell for the bait, Did you take some aspirin?

I don't do painkillers, asshole. Pain is in the mind; the mind can overcome.

I feel you man, my phone took a piece out of my finger earlier tonight, Sam deadpanned.

Fuck you, Dante replied.

It's a big night, Sam said with a smirk none could see. Sure you're up to it?

I don't have any choice, do I?

You could always - I don't know - go to a dentist?

A dentist won't help this.

You have a tooth ache, Joss said. Sounds like a dentist is just what you need.

"Yeah, well it sounds like having a Grey's Anatomy meet-up would be a great way to get a date, how did that work out?"

Joss sighed.

Sam checked the game map.

Dante, have you even left New Athens yet?

Damn this tooth - what?

Are you still screwing around in New Athens? Get your ass over here!

"I need to get some things. I'm out of Health Vials - just summon