Lilith

Chapter 6 "Crime Scene"

Agent Smith's POV

The sounds of street banter echoed throughout the park like birds chirping accompanied by a distinct tapping sound, almost like two sticks smacking together with no apparent rhythm. Whispers clashed into each other, competing for approval as dueling glares stood unwavering at the crossfire. There I sat among the thick of cheap cigar smoke, treading through an open body of ceaseless chatter with a fixed gaze at my opponent's face. Flashbacks whisked me through memory lane on our epic encounters and how he would just obliterate me during my embryonic stage on this checkered felt. 

Then, I moved off to California for college.

"Hand me a Black and Mild, young blood," said a disenchanted voice among the small crowd that had gathered since the match started.

"I got five on it, homie," answered another voice.

"Yo, that whiteboy ain't got shit on Sid, though."

"You taking Sid for five?" 

"Fo sho."

I adjusted the pieces on the board before picking up a black clock. But this wasn't an ordinary black clock hung on the walls in the kitchen or in the back of a classroom; this device had a specific purpose. And, I had to make sure it was fully functional, tapping the buttons while observing the little red hands click down the time alloted. Usually, these clocks were set for five minutes per game, giving each opponent seconds to make a decision. Spending too much time on a specific play could be quite costly, especially later on in the game. In most cases, I would give my opponents time advantage, but not today.

"Is it to your liking, your majesty," said a scruffy voice from an African American male in his mid forties, staring at me the entire time I went through my ritual. 

I moved, tapping the clock to my right.

The tapping sounds of other clocks began to slow down as a murmur grew louder like a thick haze of smoke, rising from the ashes.

"He's a Grand Master," whispered a voice. 

"Didn't he play for the championship against Petrova?" said another voice in the crowd.

"Petrova is the best Grand Master in the world!"

"That guy played Petrova?"

"That's him?"

"That's ... him?"

"—That's him."

"What they don't know—is I taught you when you were just a snot nosed punk, running the streets," said the African American man, staring directly into the crowd before reverting his gaze back in my direction, adding, "Today, you play the top players in the world—and I'm supposed to be scared of you, now?"

"All that trash talking is going to run out your time. Your turn, Sid." I said, tapping my right index finger next to the chess clock.

"Don't worry about my time, Grand Master Smi—"

"—That's Agent Smith to you, Sid." I interrupted, continuing, "And, you never taught me the game. You were my sparring partner—now move."

The click of a button went off on the other side. I answered quickly, slamming my piece onto the little black button located on my side. 

Sid answered back aggressively as pieces were being tossed around the board. The crowd took notice as the tension grew heavy with competitive angst. 

After several cliddy clacks, wearing out the buttons on that little black clock, the game was transitioning as pieces were being sacrificed or traded. Moreover, both queens were removed from the board, bringing this game to its final leg. My position was better for a couple of pawns entering into Sid's kingside.