Chapter 8
Time fractured.
SMG4 couldn't move, couldn't breathe, couldn't process the reality of what he was seeing. Boopkins—nervous, anxious Boopkins who loved anime and talked too much and had never hurt anyone in his life—was lying in a spreading pool of crimson, his eyes staring sightlessly at the flickering neon sign above.
Dead.
Actually dead.
"Four. Four." SMG3's voice cut through the static in his brain, sharp and urgent. Hands grabbed his jacket, yanking him backward behind the dumpster. "We have to move. Now."
The second shot hit the brick wall where SMG4's head had been a heartbeat earlier, sending chips of concrete spraying into the night air.
"Car! Now!" Meggy was already running, her military training kicking in as she zigzagged across the parking lot, making herself a harder target. SMG3 dragged SMG4 after her, and suddenly his legs were working again, adrenaline flooding his system like ice water.
They threw themselves into Meggy's car. She had the engine roaring before SMG4 even got his door closed, tires screaming as she peeled out of the parking lot. Another shot—this one taking out the rear window in an explosion of safety glass.
"Get down!" Meggy shouted, swerving hard.
SMG3 shoved SMG4's head down, covering him with his own body as they careened onto the main road. SMG4 could feel SMG3's heart hammering against his back, could feel the tremor in his hands, could smell the fear-sweat and gunpowder residue that clung to both of them.
"Are they following?" SMG3 demanded, his voice tight.
Meggy's eyes flicked to the rearview mirror. "I don't see anyone. But that doesn't mean they're not there."
She took three more turns, each one sharp and sudden, doubling back twice before finally pulling into an underground parking garage. She killed the lights and the engine, and they sat in the sudden, suffocating silence.
SMG4 could hear his own breathing, ragged and too fast. Could hear SMG3's matching rhythm. Could hear the distant drip of water somewhere in the concrete darkness.
"He's dead," SMG4 whispered. "Boopkins is dead. They killed him right in front of us."
"I know." SMG3's voice was hollow. He was still pressed against SMG4, still shielding him even though the immediate danger had passed. "I know."
"They were aiming for us too," Meggy said, her knuckles white on the steering wheel. "That second shot. That was meant for one of you."
The reality of it crashed over SMG4 like a wave. They weren't just investigating a theft anymore. They weren't just dealing with corporate espionage or blackmail. They were being hunted. By people with military-grade weapons and the willingness to use them. By people who had just murdered someone in cold blood to keep them quiet.
"We need to call the police," SMG4 said, reaching for his phone.
"No!" SMG3 grabbed his wrist, stopping him. "Think about it. Boopkins said government officials. Military-grade encryption. A sniper who knew exactly where we'd be and when. The police might be compromised. Hell, they might be the ones hunting us."
"So what do we do?" SMG4 demanded, his voice cracking. "Just run? Hide? Wait for them to pick us off one by one?"
"We go back to the studio," Meggy said firmly. "We get the others. We get every piece of evidence we have. And then we disappear until we figure out who we can trust."
"The studio might not be safe," SMG3 argued.
"Nowhere is safe," Meggy shot back. "But our crew is there. And I'm not leaving them sitting ducks."
She was right. SMG4 knew she was right. But the thought of going back, of walking into a building that might be under surveillance, that might have armed killers waiting for them—
"We do it fast," he said, forcing his voice steady. "In and out. Five minutes, maximum."
"Agreed." Meggy started the engine again. "And from now on, we assume we're being watched. Every camera, every phone, every computer. We trust no one outside this car."
The drive back to the studio felt like it took hours, though it couldn't have been more than fifteen minutes. Every car that passed felt like a threat. Every shadow held a potential sniper. SMG4 kept his hand locked with SMG3's, needing that anchor, that reminder that he wasn't alone in this nightmare.
When they pulled into the studio's back entrance, the building looked exactly as they'd left it—lights on in the archive room, Tari's car still in the lot. Normal. Peaceful.
It felt like a trap.
"Stay close," Meggy instructed, pulling a handgun from her glove compartment. SMG4 stared at it.
"Since when do you carry a gun?"
"Since always," she said grimly. "You just never noticed."
They entered through the back door, moving quickly and quietly through the darkened hallways. Every creak of the floorboards made SMG4's heart jump. Every distant sound could be footsteps. An assassin. Death waiting around the next corner.
The archive room door was still open, light spilling into the hallway. They could hear voices inside—Tari and Luigi arguing about something, Mario's distinctive laugh.
Alive. They were still alive.
"We have a problem," Meggy announced as they entered, and every head turned toward them.
Tari's eyes went wide. "What happened? You're covered in—is that blood?"
SMG4 looked down. His jacket was spattered with red. Boopkins' blood. He felt bile rise in his throat.
"Boopkins is dead," SMG3 said flatly. "Sniper. They killed him right in front of us to keep him quiet."
The room went silent.
"Dead?" Luigi whispered, his face going pale. "Like... actually dead?"
"They shot him in the chest," Meggy confirmed. "And then they tried to shoot us. We need to evacuate. Now. This building isn't safe."
"Where do we go?" Tari asked, her voice shaking.
"I don't know," SMG4 admitted. "But we can't stay here. We need to grab everything we have on the investigation—every hard drive, every note, every piece of evidence—and we need to scatter."
"Scatter?" Mario repeated. "You mean split up?"
"It's the safest option," SMG3 said. "If we're all together, we're one easy target. If we split up, they have to divide their resources."
"But we're stronger together," Luigi protested weakly.
"We're deader together," SMG3 shot back. "Look, I don't like it either, but we just watched someone get assassinated. These people are serious. They have resources we can't match. Our only advantage is that they can't be everywhere at once."
"He's right," Meggy said reluctantly. "We split up, lay low, and regroup when we have a plan."
Tari was already moving, unplugging hard drives and shoving them into a backpack. "I'm taking the encrypted files. If anyone can crack the rest of the security, it's me."
"I'll take the physical evidence," Meggy said. "The paper trail, the financial records."
"What about the actual footage?" Luigi asked. "The stuff we filmed that started all this?"
"I'll take it," SMG4 said. "It's my studio. My responsibility."
"Then I'm going with you," SMG3 said immediately.
"Three—"
"Don't." SMG3's voice was hard, brooking no argument. "Don't even try to tell me to go somewhere safe. We're in this together, remember? That was the deal."
SMG4 wanted to argue. Wanted to tell SMG3 to run, to hide, to get as far away from this mess as possible. But he also knew that look in SMG3's eyes. The stubborn set of his jaw. The way his hand had unconsciously moved to rest on SMG4's arm, protective and possessive at once.
"Together," SMG4 agreed quietly.
"This is so stupid," Luigi muttered, but he was already gathering his things. "We're going to die. We're all going to die."
"Not if we're smart," Meggy said. "Everyone takes a different route out of the city. No phones—they can track those. No credit cards. Cash only. And no contact for at least forty-eight hours unless it's an absolute emergency."
"How do we know when it's safe to regroup?" Tari asked.
"We don't," SMG3 said bluntly. "But if we're still alive in two days, we meet at the old arcade on Fifth Street. The one that's been closed for years. Midnight."
"And if someone doesn't show up?" Mario asked, his usual bravado completely gone.
No one answered. They didn't need to.
They worked in tense silence, dividing up the evidence, wiping down surfaces, destroying anything that might lead back to their investigation. SMG4 felt like he was moving through a dream—or a nightmare. This couldn't be real. This couldn't be happening.
But Boopkins' blood was still on his jacket. And that was very, very real.
"Got it," Tari said suddenly, her fingers flying across her keyboard. "I just cracked another layer of the encryption. There's a name here. Partial, but it's something."
"What name?" SMG4 demanded, moving to look over her shoulder.
"Senator Mitchell Carver," Tari read. "He was the Deputy Secretary of Defense until six months ago. Then he disappeared. Officially, he took early retirement for health reasons. But there were rumors—"
"What kind of rumors?" Meggy pressed.
"That he was about to blow the whistle on something big. Corruption, illegal weapons deals, something. And then he just... vanished." Tari's eyes widened. "Oh god. You don't think—"
"We filmed his murder," SMG4 finished, his stomach dropping. "That's what's on the footage. That's what they're trying to bury."
"But who killed him?" SMG3 asked. "Boopkins said the killer was even more important than the victim."
Tari pulled up another file. "According to this, Carver was last seen meeting with—" She stopped, her face going white.
"Who?" SMG4 demanded.
"Director James Hawthorne," Tari whispered. "Head of the National Security Agency. One of the most powerful men in the country."
The room went silent.
"We filmed the NSA Director committing murder," Luigi said faintly. "We're so dead. We're so incredibly dead."
"We need to move," Meggy said urgently. "If they know we're getting close to the truth, they'll escalate. We need to be gone five minutes ago."
They scattered like roaches when the lights came on, each taking a different exit, a different route. SMG4 watched them go, wondering if he'd ever see any of them again. Wondering if this was the last time they'd all be in the same room.
Wondering if they'd all be dead by morning.
"Come on," SMG3 said quietly, tugging his hand. "We need to go."
They took the fire escape, climbing down into the alley behind the studio. The night air was cold and sharp, carrying the scent of rain and distant smoke. SMG4's car was parked two blocks away—they'd have to move fast and stay in the shadows.
"Where are we going?" SMG4 asked as they hurried through the darkened streets.
"I know a place," SMG3 said. "Off the grid. No cameras, no paper trail. We can lay low there while we figure out our next move."
"How do you know a place like that?"
SMG3 gave him a dark look. "You think Coffee N' Bombs was my only business venture? I've had to disappear before, Four. I know how to stay hidden."
They reached the car without incident, though SMG4 couldn't shake the feeling of eyes on them. Watching. Waiting. He kept expecting another red dot to appear, another shot to ring out.
But the night remained quiet.
SMG3 drove, taking a winding route through the city, doubling back several times to make sure they weren't being followed. They ended up in the industrial district, a maze of abandoned warehouses and forgotten factories. SMG3 pulled into a garage beneath a building that looked like it had been condemned for years.
"Home sweet home," he said dryly, killing the engine.
The space was surprisingly well-maintained inside—a small apartment hidden in the upper floor of the warehouse, complete with a kitchenette, a bathroom, and a bed. It was sparse, utilitarian, but clean.
"You've been here before," SMG4 said. It wasn't a question.
"A few times," SMG3 admitted. "When things got... complicated. It's not much, but it's safe. No one knows about it except me."
"And now me."
"And now you." SMG3 locked the door behind them, engaging three separate deadbolts. "We should be okay here for a few days. Long enough to review the footage and figure out what we're dealing with."
SMG4 set down the hard drives he'd been carrying, his hands shaking now that the adrenaline was starting to wear off. "We watched someone die tonight," he said quietly. "They killed him right in front of us. And they tried to kill us too."
"I know." SMG3's voice was rough.
"This is insane. We're YouTubers. We make stupid videos about Mario doing stupid things. We're not equipped for this. We're not—"
"Four." SMG3 crossed the room, taking SMG4's face in his hands. "Breathe. Just breathe."
SMG4 realized he was hyperventilating, his chest tight, his vision starting to tunnel. SMG3's hands were warm and solid, anchoring him to reality.
"In through your nose," SMG3 instructed. "Out through your mouth. Come on, with me."
They breathed together, SMG3's forehead pressed against his, until the panic started to recede. Until SMG4 could think again.
"I'm scared," SMG4 admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.
"Me too," SMG3 said. "I'm fucking terrified. But we're alive. We made it out. And we're going to stay alive, okay? We're going to figure this out."
"How can you be so sure?"
"Because I'm not losing you," SMG3 said fiercely. "Not now. Not after everything. I just got you, Four. I'm not letting some government conspiracy take you away from me."
SMG4 kissed him then, desperate and clinging, needing to feel something other than fear. SMG3 kissed back just as hard, his hands fisting in SMG4's jacket, pulling him closer.
When they finally broke apart, both breathing hard, SMG3 rested his forehead against SMG4's shoulder.
"We should split up," SMG3 said quietly. "It would be safer. If they're looking for us, they're looking for us together now. Everyone knows we're... whatever we are. If we separate, we'd be harder to track."
"No," SMG4 said immediately.
"Four—"
"No," SMG4 repeated, more firmly. "I'm not doing that. I'm not leaving you. We're in this together, remember? That's what you said. That's what we promised."
"That was before someone tried to kill us."
"I don't care." SMG4 pulled back, meeting SMG3's eyes. "I don't care if it's more dangerous. I don't care if it makes us easier targets. I'm not losing you either. Not now. Not ever."
SMG3 looked at him for a long moment, something raw and vulnerable in his expression. Then he nodded. "Okay. Together."
"Together," SMG4 confirmed.
They spent the next hour setting up their makeshift command center, connecting the hard drives to SMG3's laptop, pulling up the stolen footage. SMG4 made coffee—terrible, instant coffee that tasted like burnt rubber, but it was hot and caffeinated and that was all that mattered.
"Here," Tari had said, pulling up the files with the exterior shots. "These are the ones that were stolen. The ones with the street scenes."
SMG4 started scrubbing through them, frame by frame, looking for anything that might be a murder. Looking for Senator Carver. Looking for Director Hawthorne.
It was tedious, exhausting work. His eyes burned. His head ached. But he kept going, because what else could he do?
"Wait," SMG3 said suddenly, leaning forward. "Go back. There. That frame."
SMG4 rewound, pausing on a shot from their Mario Kart video. It was background footage, filmed through the studio window while they were setting up. Just a random street scene—cars passing, people walking, nothing unusual.
Except.
"Zoom in," SMG3 instructed. "On that alley. Between the buildings."
SMG4 zoomed in, and his blood ran cold.
Two figures in the alley. One tall, distinguished, in an expensive suit. The other shorter, stockier, wearing a dark jacket. They were arguing, the taller man's face twisted in anger.
"That's Carver," SMG3 said, pointing. "I recognize him from the photos Tari pulled up."
"And the other one?" SMG4 asked, though he already knew.
SMG3 enhanced the image further, and the second man's face came into focus.
Director James Hawthorne. Head of the NSA.
And in his hand, barely visible in the shadows, was a gun.
"Next frame," SMG3 said, his voice tight.
SMG4 advanced the footage one frame. The gun was raised. Carver's face was shocked, betrayed.
Another frame. The muzzle flash.
Another frame. Carver falling.
Another frame. Hawthorne walking away, calm and unhurried, as if he'd just finished a business meeting instead of committing murder.
"We have it," SMG4 whispered. "We actually have it. Proof that the Director of the NSA murdered a government whistleblower."
"And now we know why they're willing to kill to get it back," SMG3 said grimly. "This footage could bring down the entire administration. It could start a constitutional crisis."
"What do we do with it?"
"I don't know." SMG3 ran a hand through his hair. "If we go public, we're dead. Hawthorne has the resources to make us disappear. But if we don't go public, Carver's murder stays buried. And Hawthorne gets away with it."
"There has to be someone we can trust," SMG4 said. "Someone in the government who isn't compromised. A journalist, maybe. Or—"
His phone buzzed.
They both froze.
"I thought we weren't using phones," SMG3 said slowly.
"We're not," SMG4 said, his heart starting to race. "I turned mine off."
But the screen was lit up, showing an incoming call from an unknown number.
"Don't answer it," SMG3 said.
But SMG4's hand was already moving, drawn by some horrible fascination. He put it on speaker.
"Hello, SMG4," a smooth, cultured voice said. "I believe you have something that belongs to me."
SMG4's blood turned to ice. "Who is this?"
"I think you know," the voice said. "You've been very busy tonight. Very resourceful. I'm impressed. Most people would have run by now. But not you. You had to keep digging. Had to find the truth."
"Director Hawthorne," SMG3 said flatly.
A low chuckle. "Smart boy. Yes, it's me. And I'm calling to make you an offer."
"We're not interested," SMG4 said, his voice shaking.
"Oh, I think you will be. You see, I know where you are. I know where your friends are. I know everything about you, SMG4. Your studio, your crew, your little coffee shop rival turned lover." The voice turned cold. "I could end all of you with a single phone call. But I'm a reasonable man. I'm willing to negotiate."
"What do you want?" SMG4 demanded.
"The footage. All copies. Every hard drive, every backup, every file. You give me that, and I let you live. You and your friends walk away. You go back to making your silly videos. And we all forget this ever happened."
"And if we refuse?"
"Then I stop being reasonable," Hawthorne said simply. "And you all die. Starting with the ones you love most. Tell me, SMG4—how much is SMG3's life worth to you? How much is Tari's? Mario's? Meggy's? Are you willing to sacrifice them all for a dead man's justice?"
SMG4 looked at SMG3, seeing his own fear and fury reflected back.
"You have twenty-four hours," Hawthorne continued. "Meet me at the old pier at midnight tomorrow. Bring the footage. Come alone. And maybe—just maybe—I'll let you live."
The line went dead.
SMG4 and SMG3 stared at each other in the sudden silence.
"He knows where we are," SMG4 said numbly. "He's been tracking us this whole time."
"The phone," SMG3 said, grabbing it and smashing it against the floor. "Fuck. He probably activated it remotely. We need to move. Now."
But as they grabbed their things, as they prepared to run again, SMG4 felt something shift inside him. A cold, hard certainty settling into place.
They couldn't keep running. They couldn't keep hiding.
Sooner or later, they'd have to make a stand.
And when they did, one of them wasn't walking away.
ns216.73.216.141da2
and then Add to home screen.