The International Gaming Council Headquarters in scope could be compared to a football arena. Where it failed in height compared to the skyscrapers around it, it made up for in girth. Its rounded, sleek architecture, prism display panels, and high quality materials made it a state-of-the-art wonder. In this world, at this time, it is the seat of power for video gaming dreams and legislation.
The news of Councilor Chad Mortimer's implementations to Chanterelle eventually made it to the public. The grievous crime came with scrutiny and bafflement. Even more so, the world watched with excitement, anxiety, and curiosity. Online outlets blew up when Mortimer's gambit with Gamer came to light. Reposts, opinions, and reactions flooded the streams.
A large crowd gathered before the front steps of the IGC HQ. A majority protested against Chad's underhanded tactics. Others were there to incite hostility or chaos. A few, either chilling at nearby establishments or watching along on broadcast news networks, silently observed. The types of people varied from your Joe Schmoe, to casual and hardcore gamers, to even cosplayers and furries. One furry, a young man wearing orange fox ears and sporting two tails on his backside, watched the broadcast screens carefully.
Nuckolls walked out of a nearby smoothie joint with two beverages in hand. He eyeballed the crowd and whistled. He complained the moment he joined Talis's side, "And here I thought the airport was bad. I was only in there for twenty minutes. How'd it blow up so much?"
Talis busied himself on his handheld device, "It's a paradigm shift in the gaming community. A family of cheaters trying to outdo each other. Question is; who will win?"
"I checked the socials. Lots of people are coming out to support Mortimer and downplay his actions. His lawyers are going to have a heyday," Nuckolls slurped on his smoothie and handed Talis his.
"The world is revolving," Talis sipped on his watermelon kiwi and kept his eyes trained on his phone.
News channels melded with the crowd and covered the event from afar. A helicopter team took to the skies and gave a bird's-eye view of the headquarters and protest.
The field reporter in the helicopter adjusted his headset and prepared to speak. They were coming back from commercial break, and after the countdown beeps, he heard the studio newscasters welcoming everybody back. They then professionally hot potatoed to the reporter for an update.
The reporter smiled and started, "Thanks, Qathy! As you can see, due to the volume of gathered protestors, the police have set up a perimeter. Hologram tape is up, and mobile enforcement units have been deployed. The artificial police are armed with LRAD shotguns, which project high-intensity sound waves that disorient or even harm those shot. They wish to remain non-lethal, especially since this is a peaceful gathering with no obstructions. It's more of a statement that this high-profile case is being taken seriously."
Qathy responded through the headset, "And what of Chad Mortimer himself? His arrest was warranted for today but we've yet to see him taken into custody."
"That is developing as we speak. We have Martha on the inside to report from Councilor Mortimer's office."
The newscasters went on to inform the globe about the upcoming live footage of Chad inside the building. The councilor permitted coverage of his arrest as a timestamp.
Inside the building and on the higher levels, tucked near the back with the rest of the CEO-mindset lobbies, was Chad's private suite. He sat in his office, complete with a mahogany desk, whiskey and cigar bar, a leather-bound chair, and a wonderful four-screen computer display. The whole place smelled like cashmere and money. Chad's two robotic guards stayed by his side, but were at ease in the presence of four officers. The rest of the office floor was being monitored and investigated. The law wanted to ensure that if Chad had any accomplices, they'd be brought to justice, too. Until the investigation was over, Chad remained at his desk.
A female reporter and cameraman sat in one of the corners in lounge chairs. The cameraman set up for the broadcast, while Martha touched up her makeup.
Chad busied himself with a Rubik's cube. A metal bracelet reminiscent of handcuffs adorned one of his wrists. It rattled against his desk, and he sighed with annoyance. He asked one of the officers, "Is this really necessary? I give no resistance."
"It is part of the procedure. Please, be patient."
"Very well," Chad laid the completed cube down.
"We really appreciate your allowance," Martha said while chewing gum. "You are very well composed, considering the gravity of this gambit."
Chad tilted a glass of whiskey and stared at the disruption of ice, "The only reason you are here is to document the moment I win. Until then, remain quiet."
Though his words were as cold as ice cubes, his aura made Martha blush harder than alcohol could. The cameraman envied the councilor.
Outside, a problem spurred up near the perimeter. A rowdy, seemingly drunken, man yelled at the robot units. He tempted fate and got too close to one, disregarding warnings from the robots and crowd alike. This warranted the robot to fire its shotgun. The blast of sound debilitated the rioter, and caused many nearby to panic away. As the person fell over in pain and clutched their ears, another stepped out of the crowd.
The man dressed to impress. He wore a long, stylized coat over a white button up, pressed pants, and polished dress shoes. He walked with age, supported by a thunderbolt cane, and squinted with wrinkled eyes. His facial hair and afro were greyed, but groomed. A golden, Greek-designed comb stuck out of the afro.
"Please stand back! Unauthorized personnel will be apprehended," one of the automated police warned the stylish man. The one who was shot was detained and carried away by the human police.
"All's well for me, then. Authorized and approved," the dressed man flashed a pass document. It was a gamer's license, "Elroy Jenkins. I'm here to meet my son."
"Welcome, Mr. Jenkins. Please proceed," the robot enforcer stepped aside.
Elroy thanked the unit and made his way up the many steps and through the rotating doors of the headquarters. His appearance sent a wave of noise across the crowd. They called out Elroy's name, and his avatar's. Questions were sent his way, but Gamer's ally ignored them and entered the building.
"Things are about to get crazy," Nuckolls chuckled at Elroy's arrival. Talis switched feeds to the interior broadcast. Martha gave general exposition with Chad framed in the background.
The front lobby stretched up and across like an auditorium. Ads and trailers for video game-related products and merchandise laced the walls and screens throughout. The mix of businesspeople and casual wear players, and all the styles of their cultures, truly brought out the international part of the headquarters.
Elroy maneuvered to the security check-in. He went through the screening process, with the only thing flagged being his cane. While he awaited it to be returned, he overheard two receptionists past the security behind a welcome desk. They chatted about the news report of the Mortimer family dispute.
"...all I'm saying is that his cheating feels dirty in comparison. It isn't as fun to watch," one receptionist with short brown hair, Caucasian, and LED pupils said defensively.
"Who cares?" his cohort, a long, straightened red hair Caucasian man, showed disinterest. "Councilor Mortimer played the cheater like a fiddle. He deserves what comes to him."
"It's been interesting, that's for sure," the first appeared to have wanderlust.
Three security officers brought Elroy his cane. The one to hand it over said, "Thank you for cooperating. Due to current events, you'll be escorted through the building. And no, Mr. Jenkins, you may not meet with Mr. Mortimer."
Elroy leaned on his cane with relief, "Quite alright, gentlemen. I'm here to meet with my son, Dimitri. Lead the way."
"What's your business with him today?"
"Family business," Elroy kept it simple.
They moved over to the receptionist's desk and signed in. The lead officers told his men, "Take the lift to the third floor, hang left, and you'll see the Paragon offices down the first hall. Keep him in line."
"Many thanks," Elroy bowed slightly. He followed his escorts. They strolled over, called the lift, and ventured up to the third floor.
The wanderlust receptionist peeked at the name on the sign-in sheet, and his eyes bugged, "Yo, that's Dimitri's father!"
"So?" his cohort shrugged.
"He's the minotaur guy. He's Asterion!" this made both receptionists gawk at the news monitor. "I wonder why he's meeting with his son..."
"Probably trying to pull strings to get Councilor Mortimer to relent," his cohort speculated.