2 | GREEN LIGHT. [SPENCER REID]

TWELVE.

There was something in the back of his mind that told him that this wasn't right. It left a pit in his stomach. Why WarGames? Everything Kyle Masters did was because of some greater meaning. Why was this relevant?

This time, more hesitiantly, Connor began typing. Later. Let's play Global Thermonuclear War.

Like Connor, the computer was slower too. "Fine," it's voice said. The screen erased completely, blanking enough for Connor to see his reflection in it. He was no longer tired. He was in the game.

The computer then began to draw lines across the blank page. He was taken back as he didn't see the pixels make a picture of the United States and the Soviet Union as in WarGames. Instead, he was able to make out the shapes of a galloping horse and a clenched fist holding some sort of thorned flower in it's hand. Connor swallowed harshly.

The text below followed, the voice seeming to echo through his small office. "Which side do you want?" Connor shuddered as it listed the two teams beneath the question.

1. The Horsemen.

2. The Commission.

He didn't dare move. There was no telling what would happen depending on which side he chose. Though he was curious, it was too risky to experiment with the system at this time. This was dangerous. His curiousity couldn't result in people getting harmed or these two groups getting what they want.

Connor watched as the screen suddenly went blank. The pictures disappeared, the questions and choices following close behind. The computer looked as if it was an old television turning off, then quickly turning back on. This didn't feel right. Something had happened.

A single word flashed across the screen. Log-on.

Connor typed carefully, his hesitance radiating off of him. Sticking with the WarGames theme, he entered, Joshua.

Scripts began running across his screen. Codes flashed before his eyes, as if something were downloading on to the computer. Connor felt his heart begin to race, breathing becoming heavier. What did he just do?

He pressed the 'off' button on his monitor and on the tower to no avail. His screen kept flashing. Connor panicked, unsure of what to do. He couldn't unplug everything. If the Interpol server were shown to be down, that would leave proof for Scotland Yard to completely cut them off from this case. His hands began to shake. Fuck, fuck, fuck. He couldn't let his coworkers down.

His hands still shook when the flashing stopped. He awaited anxiously for something to pop up on screen. Some sort of video, image, anything for him to see.

Instead, he recieved the same format as he had seen before.

Greetings Connor Mallory. Shall we play a real game?

His blood ran cold. Connor knew for a fact that he was now speaking directly to one of the Horsemen. He didn't know who it was; Masters, Acker, Higgins, Chevalier, a higher or lower member, it could be anyone. All Connor knew was that he was currently in deep water.

Another message typed out. Chess? Tic-Tac-Toe? Cluedo? Isn't that what you call it?

Connor didn't reply. He was frozen, too afraid to respond. Text appeared once more. I know you're there, Connor. You can't hide.

Shaky fingers met keys that Connor now felt were too small. I'm not playing any of your games.

He could practically hear laughter from the other end. You've been playing this game for years now, Connor. You started right when Quinn Carson wound up working with you. It's a shame how much can be blamed on her.