The world narrowed to a pinprick of cold calculation.
The gantry crane was a massive, rusted shadow, its slow, mechanical grind filling the entire cavernous space of the warehouse with the sound of chewing metal. My gaze snapped from its looming hook to the slow, shuffling wave of mind-controlled civilians—a wall of vacant expressions and improvised weapons moving directly into its path. And then, perched like a crow on a stack of industrial crates, was the source of that sickly music. Jokermon. His painted-on smile was the widest thing in the room.
My mind clicked into overdrive, a tactical flowchart scrambling to prioritize. Threat one: the crane, a collapse that would bury us and dozens of innocent people. Threat two: the civilians, a human shield that also needed saving. Threat three: the unknown, theatrical Digimon, clearly the architect. He wasn't just a threat; he was the game master.
"You can see the pieces," his voice echoed, smooth and amused. "The board is set. The performance is about to begin."
He gave an exaggerated bow, the bells on his coat jingling. "A humble connoisseur of dramatic performances, at your service. And tonight's grand dilemma is… well. Presented for your viewing pleasure."
He gestured grandly at the grinding crane and the oncoming tide of people, as if unveiling a masterpiece.
Gatomon shifted beside me, her tail giving a single, tense twitch. "That smile… it feels like a trap waiting to spring. Don't engage him directly, Ethan."
"It's a cheap parlor trick," BlackGatomon snorted, her claws gleaming in the low light. "All talk and no substance. Let's just smash through his little stage and be done with it."
I processed the split second they gave me. Gatomon's caution, born of experience and strategy. BlackGatomon's aggressive confidence, born of pure power. Both were right. Both were wrong. This wasn't a battlefield with clear lines.
"This is so unfair," Impmon muttered from my shoulder, crossing his arms. "Why is it always the annoying ones? Can't we just… I dunno, zip around this mess and punch Killgrave in the face? That's the real target, right?"
For a second, the simplicity of it was tempting. Bypass the puzzle, hit the boss. Then I looked at the blank faces in the crane's path. That wasn't an option. There was no "bypassing" this.
Jokermon clapped his hands together, the sound sharp in the metallic air. "The rules, my dear Cipher, are elegantly simple! Save the people, or stop the crane. Every heroic effort you expend on one… directly delays your progress on the other. And time, as they say, is the most precious currency. My patron, your Mr. Killgrave, is currently making excellent use of every second you spend here."
The words landed like ice in my gut. It was a perfect, brutal system. My own compassion, my need to protect, was being weaponized. It was a clock, and every tick was Killgrave getting further away with Jessica.
My eyes darted. The crane's hydraulic arm, a vulnerable point. The shuffling mass of bodies, too dense for a clean shot. Jokermon, perched out of immediate reach. A high-speed strike? I could probably blast the joint, but the energy wash would knock the people in its path off their feet, maybe into heavy machinery. A precise physical takedown? Too slow. The civilians were in the way.
I was stuck. The flowchart hit a dead end labeled 'Ethical Impossibility.'
Jokermon's painted eyes watched my hesitation. "Oh, dear. Is the great Cipher, breaker of codes and hunter of data, truly so predictable? Always choosing sentimentality over cold, hard practicality. Tell me… are a few pawns really worth losing the entire game?"
The taunt hit its mark, a spark of anger flaring in my chest. He was calling me weak. Calling my values a liability. I bit down on the reaction, forcing my breathing to stay steady. Giving him that anger was another point on his scoreboard.
He didn't wait for an answer.
With a subtle flick of his wrist, a small group of civilians on the edge of the mass broke away. Their shuffle became a direct, unthinking march. They walked straight into the grinding path of the crane's main track, placing themselves directly under the massive, rolling wheels. A direct strike on the crane now wasn't just risky—it was undeniably, immediately lethal.
The game master wasn't just talking. He was moving the pieces.
"Now!" I barked, the decision ripped from me.
Gatomon was a white and purple blur. She didn't attack; she guided. A gentle but firm shove with her gloved hands, a nudge with her shoulder, steering the straying group away from the metal jaws with the precision of a traffic controller. BlackGatomon was less subtle. She snarled, a shadowy streak as she bodily shoved two larger men clear, her strength sending them stumbling but unharmed into a pile of empty sacks.
"What's the play, Ethan?!" Gatomon called over her shoulder, never stopping her movements.
"We can't just dance around this clown all night!" BlackGatomon added, kicking a stray pipe out of a woman's hands.
Jokermon let out a light, airy chuckle. "Beautiful! Such beautiful choreography! Every rescue, every deflection… it adds another delightful flourish to the scene. And you know, the best performances always seem to last just long enough for the true master to finish his work backstage."
Every word was a needle. He was right. We were burning seconds. For every person Gatomon gently redirected, for every weapon BlackGatomon knocked aside, Killgrave was somewhere in this maze, undisturbed. The clock in my head was screaming.
"I've had enough of your yapping!" Impmon screeched, his patience snapping.
He launched himself from my shoulder, a ball of purple fury. "Night of Fire!"
A blast of dark flame roared toward Jokermon. The jester Digimon didn't even flinch. He simply sidestepped with a dancer's grace, a faint shimmer of mischievous energy around him. Impmon's attack sailed past and detonated against a stack of empty, rusty barrels twenty feet away.
BANG-CLANG-CLANG-CLANG!
The sound was huge, echoing through the warehouse, but the damage was zero. Just a lot of noise and smoke. Jokermon glanced at the settling debris and brushed a non-existent speck of dust from his shoulder.
"Temper, temper," he tutted. Then his eyes locked back on me, the amusement hardening into something colder, more transactional. "But since you seem… resistant to the artistic value of the game, let me offer a shortcut. A practical solution."
He gestured languidly toward the crane's central support pillar, then swept his hand across the densest cluster of civilians near it.
"A single, focused energy blast. Right… there. It would shear the pillar, disabling the crane instantly. The concussive force would also, conveniently, clear that entire section of the crowd. They'd be stunned, out of the fight. Your Digimon would be freed up. A clear, direct path to your precious Killgrave. You could think of it as… pruning the dead weight."
The air left my lungs. The cold, monstrous logic of it settled in the space between us. He wasn't just taunting me anymore. He was presenting a choice, framed in the most vile, pragmatic terms possible. Sacrifice a few to save the many. Sacrifice my conscience to save Jessica.
My stomach turned. I couldn't even form the words to refuse it yet; the sheer audacity of the proposal had frozen me for a heartbeat.
Jokermon saw it. He gestured again, a theatrical flourish from the helpless civilians to the dark depths of the warehouse where Killgrave hid. He let out a long, exaggerated sigh that was pure mockery.
"Ah. I see. The hesitation. The moral quandary. How… predictable." He shook his head, his painted smile never wavering. "Some heroes, it seems, just can't bring themselves to make the tough but necessary choices. They'd rather lose the war than sacrifice a single pawn. It's almost… cute."
Cute. He thought my refusal to murder innocent people was cute.
The cold fury that replaced my revulsion was clean and sharp. It cut through the paralysis. My voice came out tight, strained with the effort of control.
"No."
Jokermon's eyebrow quirked.
"Gatomon, BlackGatomon—keep managing the civilians. Contain, don't harm. Impmon—keep him busy. Harass, distract, do anything but let him set up another move."
It wasn't a great plan. It was the only plan I had that didn't make me into the monster Jokermon wanted me to
***
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