"A game?" Envy laughed, the sound sharp and grating against the sterile silence of the control room. "You are a prisoner in a chair, bleeding on my floor. You have nothing to wager."
"I have the only thing you want," Vance said, his voice steady despite the lingering tremors from the electric shocks. "I have the answer to the question keeping you awake at night. Is there anyone else inside your walls?"
Envy's laughter cut off instantly. His magnified eyes narrowed behind the thick lenses of his headset. That was his obsession. His nightmare. The blind spot.
"If I win," Vance continued, "you answer one question for me. A simple location."
"And when you lose?" Envy asked, leaning forward.
"Then you can take a piece of me." Vance spread his fingers on the metal armrest of the chair. "A finger. An eye. Whatever satisfies your urge."
Envy looked at Vance's hand. He waved his fingers, and a surgical droid descended from the ceiling. Its arm ended not in a clamp, but in a micro-laser scalpel, glowing with a precise, needle-thin blue light. It hovered millimeters above Vance's left pinky finger.
"I accept," Envy whispered, the smell of Vinegar spiking with sadistic anticipation. "The rules?"
"Simple. I will make three statements about District 9. Three truths hidden in the noise of this city."
Vance locked eyes with the paranoid king.
"You have 10 seconds to verify each statement using your system. If you find it, and prove I'm telling the truth, you win. That means your eyes are as sharp as you claim. I get punished."
"But if you can't verify it... if your system fails... then I win."
"My system never fails," Envy hissed. He spun his chair back to the massive console, his fingers hovering over the holographic interface. The wall of thousands of screens shimmered, ready to obey his command. "Begin. Round One."
Vance took a deep breath. The air tasted of ozone and impending pain. He needed Envy confident. He needed him arrogant.
"Statement One," Vance said clearly.
"In Sector 4, Industrial Zone, Sub-level B, the secondary sewage pipe numbered 88-Alpha has a hairline fracture. It is currently leaking methane gas at a rate of 4 PSI."
It was an absurdly specific detail. A piece of trash data that no human should know or care about.
"Sector 4... Sub-level B..." Envy muttered.
His hands became a blur. On the main screen, the mosaic of feeds shifted instantly. Maps zoomed in. Schematics overlayed thermal imaging.
3 seconds. Envy isolated the industrial zone. 5 seconds. He accessed the subterranean maintenance sensors. 7 seconds. The screen displayed a grainy thermal feed of a rusted pipe in a dark tunnel. A small plume of gas was venting from a crack.
Envy tapped a key, pulling the sensor telemetry.
"Methane concentration rising. Pressure variance... 4.1 PSI."
Envy spun his chair around, a triumphant, manic grin splitting his face.
"Found it," Envy declared. "You told the truth. I saw it."
"You have good eyes," Vance said, his face expressionless.
"I have the best eyes," Envy corrected. "I see the rust on the bolts. I see the gas. I see you."
He looked at the surgical droid hovering over Vance's hand.
"You lost the bet. You said I couldn't verify it. I did."
Envy flicked his finger.
ZZZT.
The micro-laser fired.
It was a clean, precise burst of high-intensity heat. It didn't cut the whole finger. It sliced through the nail bed of Vance's left pinky, cauterizing the nerve endings instantly.
"Nngh!"
Vance jerked against the restraints. The pain was sharp, hot, and blinding. It wasn't the dull ache of a bruise; it was the specific, high-definition agony of a burn in the most sensitive part of the hand. The smell of Burnt Keratin filled the air, acrid and sickening.
Vance gasped, sweat breaking out on his forehead instantly. His hand trembled uncontrollably under the magnetic clamp.
"Painful?" Envy watched him with fascination, savoring the reaction. "Precision is my specialty. That was just the nail. Next time, I take the joint."
Vance looked at his smoking finger. The pain was a white noise in his brain, threatening to drown out his thoughts. He bit his tongue, using the new pain to anchor himself.
He looked up at Envy. He forced the corners of his mouth to lift.
"Not bad," Vance rasped, his voice tight. "You're faster than I thought."
"I am a god in this tower," Envy gloated, the vinegar scent of his insecurity vanishing, replaced by the sweet, intoxicating aroma of Pride. He was winning. He was in control. The intruder was just another bug to be dissected.
"Ready for Round Two?" Envy asked, his finger hovering over the laser controls again. "Give me something harder. Make it a challenge."
Vance nodded slowly. The trap was primed. Envy had tasted blood. He was no longer questioning the game; he was addicted to the victory.
"Round Two," Vance said, his voice dropping to a whisper.
"Let's look a little closer to home."