The Prince & The Popstar

It Ends Tonight

"The walls start breathing
My mind's unweaving
Maybe it's best you leave me alone
A weight is lifted on this evening
I give the final blow"
— The All-American Rejects

     The unsteady tone of Vincent's voice registered concern in Rufus' mind; this was not the confident and calculated prince he had met on that fateful Friday night back in August. There was also this hint of frantic immediacy that struck Rufus strange.
     "Tell it to me, straight, Your Highness," Rufus said ever-so seriously. "What the hell is going on?"
     "When's the last time you watched the news or accessed your social media accounts?" Vincent asked, exchanging a question for a question.
     Rufus had to take a second and really think about it. He hadn't vegged out in front of a TV in quite some time; it had been months. And as far as social media was concerned, he long ago muted the notifications for the apps due to the fact they were ridiculously cumbersome.
     "I honestly couldn't tell you," Rufus replied. "It's been a while."
     "Well, it's time I brought you up to speed," Vincent said, feverishly typing on a different window, bringing up all of the coverage that had circulated news outlets around the globe.
     The Prince began sending link after link, showing Tyson's allegations, the leaked footage that had gone viral, and the opinionated views of the public which stemmed from the divisive situation. Rufus couldn't believe what he was seeing.
     "This is bullshit," he muttered. "I taught Tyson how to play that song. Where's that footage, huh?"
     "I would venture to guess that it's somewhere at the bottom of The Gulf of Mexico," Vincent retorted. "There's no way Tyson would ever let that surface."
     "That son of a bitch," Rufus said through clenched teeth.
     "Just so we're clear, the music in the video is in fact something of your own creation, yes? Tyson had no influence whatsoever?"
     "Yes, it's my song," Rufus asserted. "Tyson couldn't compose something even if his life depended on it."
     Vincent sighed. "Okay. Good. That's what I thought."
     "Besides the fact that it's morally reprehensible, I would never try to pull something like this, not after seeing what happened with Ed Sheeran and the family of Marvin Gaye or Joe Satriani and his attack on Coldplay. If you steal something in this day and age, somebody is going to call you out. That's just a fact. I've had the riff from 'Douchebag' in my head since I was a little kid; I just recently found a way to apply it the way I imagined it in my head. The music is mine... but, I just can't prove it."
     "I'm doing everything I can on my end to dig up something, anything that can discredit the proof that Tyson possesses. Is there someplace that you can think of that might have old sheet music or recordings or any kind of evidence that would hold up in court?"
     An idea immediately came to Rufus, but he was reluctant to share it. "Well... there's my grandma's house, but I can tell you right now, you're looking at 'a needle in a haystack' kind of scenario. I mean, my mother and I lived there for the first nine years of my life, but after we moved out, my grandma became something of a hoarder. The place looks like the worst train wreck you've ever seen."
     "If there's a chance I can find something of value, I'll gladly take it. I'm at the end of my rope right now."
     "Get Lena to help you."
     "Lena? She doesn't strike me as the manual labor type."
     "What did I tell you before? Don't underestimate her. Trust me, she'll be an invaluable resource. I swear, her spirit animal is Marie Kondo."
     "Okay. I shall enlist her help. Now, tell me—how are things in Verastoria?"
     For a moment, Rufus completely froze. "Well—um—things are—you know—going."
     "Wow, I feel as if I'm there," Vincent replied sarcastically. "Come on, give me something. How's The Crew? I know they have their quirks, but they really are fine, genuine people."
     "Yes. Yes, they are. I think they're incredibly special."
     Rufus simply couldn't tell Vincent the truth. What good could possibly come from it? Vincent was already in the middle of an impossible situation, he didn't need another one.
     "Where are you right now?" Vincent asked. "Judging by the blurry background, it looks like you're in The Palace. I figured you'd be at The Treehouse. The Crew did welcome you to The Island of Misfit Toys, did they not?"
     "Yeah, of course, they've been wonderful. I just came back to The Palace because I'm trying to track something down. Actually, maybe you might be able to help me."
     "I'm at your disposal, Mr. Spencer. Tell me what you need."
     "Well, you have a degree in Computer Programming, right?"
     "I do, yes."
     "Do you happen to know how to break into an encrypted device?"
     "Out of all the things I expected you to ask, this is probably one of the last things I'd guess. What's going on?"
     "Look, it's a really long story and I don't have a great deal of time, so if you can help me, please, just tell me what to do."
     While still actively curious, Vincent proceeded with his answer, "In my chambers, underneath the bed, there's a tackle box."
     Rufus, who was standing right in the middle of Vincent's chambers, dropped to the floor and found the old, slightly rusty tackle box. Inside, it was filled to the brim with nothing but flash drives.
     Vincent continued, "Each one of those are decryption programs. Now, I'm telling you right now that effectively hacking into something is nothing like what they show in the movies. It's a constant effort through trial and error. You have to take the time to load each program, then you'll have to wait around while it executes. This can take hours to complete, just for one program. If it doesn't work, take another flash drive and lather, rinse, repeat. Eventually, you'll find one that will give you the results you desire."
     "Thank you, Your Highness," Rufus said, exhaling. "You have no idea how grateful I am."
     "Why the sudden need for such specific technical knowledge?"
     "Later," Rufus pressed. "I'll explain all of it to you later."
     Vincent arched his eyebrow. "Well then, consider me anxiously awaiting our next conversation."
     "Yes, I promise I'll answer all of your questions when that time comes. You have my word."
     "You've given me no reason to doubt it, so for now, I'll let it be."
     "Thank you. Talk to you later, Your Highness."
     "I'm looking forward to it, Mr. Spencer."
     Rufus ended the web-call and immediately started the seemingly unending procedure of breaking into the encrypted Project Coeus flash drive. Turns out, Vincent was right. Hacking into something is a long, draw-out process and those who have devoted their lives to it ride the fine line between "sensible" and "insane". Rufus sat in Vincent's chambers for many days while he ran program after program, getting nothing but frustration and aggravation. But then, on the evening of December 15, 2023, the words he had longed to see finally appeared on the screen: Access Granted.
     Suddenly, a number of folders appeared with Project Coeus at the top of the list. Rufus opened the folder and found that the project was running through one of Verastoria's major businesses, Elkotech. The test subjects were being kept in a state-of-the-art mobile laboratory, moving every three days in order to keep the authorities chasing their tails. Rufus now held valuable information, however there were still some key components missing—where the lab was currently located and who had the unfettered access necessary to save Samuel. Rufus sighed, slowly coming to terms with the fact that all of this may have been too little too late. That's when he came across a folder labeled: Confidential Projects.
     Inside the folder were a number of documents with clearly marked headings, but the content was nothing but random words forming nonsensical sentences; it was a cipher. The only way to read it was with a key word or phrase, which could be absolutely anything. While Rufus found this discouraging, he did take a mental note of the headings which read: "THE STRIFE VIRUS | THE AURORA EXPERIMENT | THE DEVEREAUX CONTINGENCY | LEVIORA | DECRESCO", all of which had the Salchester watermark. The only word that really stuck out was "DEVEREAUX".
     "Ava... Ava Devereaux..." Rufus whispered to himself.
     Then, the large oak chamber door swung open. Quinn sauntered inside and immediately covered her nose and mouth with the sleeve of her power suit.
     "My God!" she exclaimed. "It reeks in here. When's the last time you showered?"
     "Not now, Quinn," Rufus said, holding his head in his hands. "If the smell is bothering you that much, you can leave or you can look inside my bug-out bag. I think there's a can of cologne in there."
     "And what, pray tell, do I do with it?" Quinn asked. "Spray it around so it smells like ocean-scented garbage? I swear, Kurt Cobain would be so disappointed that teen spirit actually smells like a combination of sweat and Axe Body Spray." She coughed a little as she opened the chamber door a little wider. "What are you working on there?"
     "Nothing. It's another dead end. I thought I was onto something when I came across this Elkotech file, but unfortunately, someone went to great lengths to keep the crucial details under wraps. I can't do this anymore!" He slammed his fist on the roll top desk and exhaled deeply. "Samuel's gone and it's all my fault. My life back home is imploding and the entire world has a front-row seat for when it completely falls apart. Tyson is going to experience a meteoric rise in fame and I'm sure he's gonna rub my nose in it. I let Henry down and I... I disappointed Ava. How did I let this happen? How did I go from being on top of the world to being in the middle of this shitshow sitting on a powder keg? Where exactly did I go wrong?"
     Quinn sighed, shaking her head. "When are you ever going to learn? If you find yourself in a situation, any situation, call me."
     "Quinn, you have many talents, but I don't think this is something that even you can fix."
     "I wasn't offering to fix it, but I do know someone who might be able to help you fix it. You should know by now that I'm fairly well-connected."
     "Wait, you have an in at Elkotech?"
     "Well, I can get us through the front door, but you're going to need someone with high-level access to get to any of the restricted floors. That's where they keep all their dirty little secrets."
     "Please tell me that you know someone with high-level access."
     "I do and he happens to be in The Palace as we speak."
     Rufus jumped to his feet. "Are you serious? Where?"
     "He's in the billiard parlor for The King's Game."
     "The King's Game?"
     "It's a quarterly poker tournament for members of Parliament, nobility, and business tycoons. Are you any good at cards?"
     Rufus scoffed. "Me playing poker is like fishing with dynamite or like the token Asian kid taking an algebra exam; it's just not fair for everyone else."
     "Then what are we waiting for? Let's go, hotshot." Quinn held up her hand before Rufus could take a step. "But, first—shower."
     After a good scrub and a change of clothes, Quinn led Rufus to the billiard parlor which was filled with the musky aroma of Montecristo cigars and the rowdy sounds of drunken elitists, who were sitting at one of the six round tables set up for The King's Game. They entered quietly and Quinn pulled Rufus close as he watched these members of the upper echelon gamble small fortunes with each and every hand.
     "Alright, now listen carefully," Quinn said, directing Rufus' attention toward a single table, which looked like a large green doughnut with the dealer standing in the center, while the players sat around the edge. "They're playing a variation of Texas Hold 'Em, known to Verastorians as Bravio. Each player is dealt two cards and there is a round of betting. Once the betting is completed, the dealer draws three cards from a mechanically shuffled deck and lays them down face-up on the screen of a technologically advanced projector, making them visible to every player at the table, having its image displayed on a number of screens surrounding the table. The point of the game is to use these three community cards, along with the cards dealt, to create the best five-card hand. After that, the players mind the porcelain badge on the table; it signifies who will first receive two additional cards which can be kept, exchanging either or both for one of the cards previously dealt, or they can be passed to the player on the left. After every player has had a chance to trade out cards, there is another round of betting. Then, the players reveal their hand to everyone at the table. And it goes without saying that the best hand wins. After collecting all the chips in the pot, the dealer moves the porcelain badge counter-clockwise and the whole process starts over."
     Rufus watched intently as a few hands were played. Then, he leaned toward Quinn and said, "Okay, I think I've got it. What do I do now?"
     Before she could answer, a voice boomed from one of the far tables. "My son!" The King shouted, several snifters of Brandy deep. "What brings you here? You didn't take in another stray, did you?"
     Rufus stood tall. "No, Your Majesty. I'm here to play."
     "Oh, is that so?" The King questioned. "Buy-in is 10,000 rings. Are you still game?"
     Rufus sighed, fully knowing that he couldn't pay the price of admission. That's when a hand firmly grabbed his shoulder and slightly shook him.
     "I'll stake him," said Uncle Tim, dressed in a modest suit with a cigar wedged between his teeth.
     "Far be it for me to tell you how to waste your money, Chief Weatherred," The King said as he folded his hand. "The Prince has never shown much promise in poker. He leans on probabilities and doesn't realize he shouldn't play the cards, he should play the man holding them."
     "I'll take my chances," Uncle Tim replied just before pulling Rufus to the side. "Listen, I know you stole that flash drive off my desk." Rufus was about to reply, but Uncle Tim quickly cut him off. "Please don't tell me what you're up to. The less I know, the better. But, I'm assuming your presence here has something to do with it."
     "Yes, it does," Rufus admitted. "I'm looking for someone with high-level access at Elkotech."
     "Ah, I see. That would be Dr. Taran Bornstein, the Chief Operating Officer. He's right over there." Uncle Tim pointed to a middle-aged, plump man with bright red cheeks. "Do what you need to do and do it fast. I'm afraid that the longer you're here, the more you're going to draw unwanted attention. Good luck, Your Highness." And with that, Uncle Tim pressed a roll of rings wrapped in a rubber band into Rufus' hand and slowly walked away.
     Rufus took a seat at Dr. Bornstein's table and placed the roll of rings on the table, switching them out for five stacks of chips. After a few hands, Rufus found his footing and began dominating the table, which was remarkably easy, due to the fact that he could read a bluff from a mile away. Within the hour, there were only two players at the table—Rufus and Dr. Bornstein, now playing heads-up.
     "So, Dr. Bornstein," Rufus said as the dealer laid out the three community cards. "You're the COO at Elkotech, is that right?"
     "As a matter of fact, I am," the doctor replied, staring at his hand. He had the porcelain badge, so he was dealt two cards to keep or toss. He kept one and pushed the remaining cards toward Rufus. Having not looked at his hand at all this round, Rufus swept the doctor's unwanted cards toward the dealer.
     "Are you working on anything promising?" Rufus asked.
     "We're working on bringing the technology of the future closer to today, so everything could be deemed as 'promising'," the doctor replied. "I bet a thousand."
     Rufus cracked a smile. "I see your thousand and raise you five more."
     The doctor looked at the community cards and then again at his hand.
     "Tell me, Dr. Bornstein," Rufus said as he could see the doctor physically sweating it. "What do you know about Project Coeus?"
     The doctor's rosy cheeks went pale. He cleared his throat and said, "I fold. Excuse me." He then proceeded to slightly stumble to the bar on the west side of the billiard parlor where he was soon cornered by Rufus and Quinn.
     "Okay, Doc, this is gonna go one of two ways," Rufus said softly, leaning in close. "You can either be the asshole who refused to help us, forcing me to send all of my findings to The VLG or you fork over your clearance card and let us put an end to this sick, twisted science project of yours. But, I can tell you right now, if even one of those kids doesn't pull through this, it will be my life's mission to drop all of the blame right on top of that head of yours. You have ten seconds to make the right choice."
     The doctor gulped as Rufus stood unflinching, staring deeply into his beady eyes. He slowly took out the clearance card from his jacket pocket and handed it over, saying, "We were going to use animals for testing, but I was outvoted. It was never supposed to go like this, I swear."
     "Well, you know what they say about good intentions," Quinn jabbed.
     Rufus tucked the clearance card in his back pocket. "I suggest you find a different line of work, Doc, because if you continue down this road you're on, I can guarantee you that we'll track you down again and—well—let's just say we'll get creative."
     Then, Rufus turned on his heel and walked out of the billiard parlor, ready to feel the tide finally turn. However, in order for that kind of transition to happen, he would need a little more help. And he knew exactly where to go.