Mindsweeper

Cameron looked at the clock and sighed. Another late night at the computer desk, vainly attempting to save his world from destruction. As if the wolf didn't have enough to bother about, the janitor had already come by his cubicle and given him the usual hell.

"Another late night, eh sonny?"

"For the last time," Cameron remembered growling, "don't call me sonny, gramps."

"Sounds like someone has their neck scarf too tight around their pencil neck!" The old lapine janitor laughed at him. "I'd sweep your cubicle for trash, but I don't have a dustpan big enough to fit yer ass in."

Cameron tried not to let the old furson see his frustration and flicked his tail. "Yeah yeah, whatever. Don't you have a window to clean or something? I have real work to do."

"Ooh," the janitor snickered, wiping his nose off on a cruddy red apron, "don't let me stop you mister bigstuff! Just don't let the boogie man get'cha when I lock this place up."

"Shove it," Cameron snorted, "or better yet, shovel it. I hear someone left a pile of shit in the bathroom, why don't you go take care of that, eh?"

The janitor pushed his cart by, whistling a little tune to himself. He mumbled under his breath, "Seems like the only pile of shit around here is you."

Cameron pretended to ignore him, turning to make his fingers fly over the keyboard at lightning speed. The office building was dark, save the light coming from his computer and the one over his cubicle. Cameron worked at a modest computer company whenever he wasn't late or sleeping in. The other day, his boss slammed him with an ultimatum to either finish his project or find another job. Of course, the boss had also 'beneficently' cut the deadline so that Cameron had to work overnight for the last three nights. His mate hadn't been too thrilled about the arrangement, but grudgingly agreed that it was necessary for him to keep his job for their young cub's sake.

Cameron decided he needed a break and activated the built in Minesweeper game. It had been a favorite pastime, and ever since his programming marathon, became the only thing that helped him keep going. After running into irate janitors and having worn the same shirt and tie for the last three days, Cameron felt the beginnings of insanity creep into his mind. More than once he had accused his coffee cup of a sordid affair with the generic powdered creamer. And he was sure that his keyboard kept playfully switching the keys around to slow his progress. So when the phone started ringing nigh on midnight, Cameron was about ready to throw the piece of equipment across the room – if he wasn't dead certain it would grow legs and haunt him with ringing for the rest of his days.

He picked up the phone. "Hello," he paused, "No one is available to take you call at the moment, but if you leave your-"

"Hello, Cameron," a scratchy voice said on the other end.

"Wh-who is this?"

"It doesn't matter who I am, I'm just happy to hear your voice. So very – very happy."

"Listen," Cameron moaned, on the verge of a breakdown, "I don't have time for this shit. I have work to be done at the moment, I'm getting closer and closer to the end and I just can't deal with solicitors at the moment-"

"Oh, I'm not a solicitor, Cameron," the voice said, emphasizing the syllables of his name, "you see, I've been watching you for a long time."

"Alright, what the fuck?!" Cameron screamed, "I paid my taxes, and no goddamn IRS flunkie is going to try scaring more money out of me at 12 fucking o'clock in the morning! Unless you start making sense, I'm going to choke the life out of this phone, god help me, I'll do it!"

The voice on the other end laughed. It was ominous, rolling, and deep. "I just want to wish you luck on your upcoming Minesweeper game. I'm sure that it will be a blast."

Cameron raised a brow suspiciously and frowned. "Look, whatever. Can I go now?"

"We'll talk shortly. Good luck, Cameron."

Click. The phone went off.

"Terrific," Cameron muttered, "now my phone is playing psycho in my mind." He picked up the little caller ID machine and frowned. "Not even a fucking 'unavailable' sign on the machine. It's like there wasn't even a goddamn call."

Cameron stood and took a deep breath, wringing his handpaws together and closing his eyes, "Alright, get a grip on yourself wuff." He shook his handpaws out and turned his neck to the side until it made a soft cricking noise, making the fur on his back rise "I just need a little break."

He returned to his seat and started looking at the Minesweeper game. The little smiley face grinned at him benignly, inviting him to play. Restarting at the Intermediate level, he sighed and began to click his way through. The numbers popped up in the little gray squares just like normal. Cameron was only three bombs away from victory, when suddenly he came across an impasse. Shrugging to himself, he clicked randomly and was rewarded with a juicy black bomb.

"Dammit!" he scowled.

The phone rang.

"DAMMIT!" he shouted again, picking up the phone. "Who is this?"

"Oh, I'm so, so sorry, Cameron!" It was that same malicious voice from before. "You lost."

Cameron spun around and looked a bit startled. "What the-? How are you doing this?"

"Now, now, there will be time for questions and answers later. For now, I want you to pick up that little television you keep hidden in the corner of your cubicle and put it on your desk."

Cameron froze, momentarily jumping back into reality. "Television?"

"Yes, you know? The one you brought in three days ago when you knew you weren't supposed to have one here?"

Cameron felt his throat knot up. "I haven't left this desk in three days, no one saw it. NO one. How do you-?"

"Do it, Cameron."

Cameron shakily reached under his desk and picked up the small portable television. Propping it up in the corner, he activated the switch to see the news anchor on the TV.

"Tragedy has struck without warning in our nation's capitol. A bomb planted at the Capitol Building has just exploded, rendering the entire area to rubble. This stunning event just occurred literally seconds ago while I was on site preparing a broadcast."

The scene shifted to the smoldering remains of the capital building, its steps crushed and awry. A large hunk of the domed structure could be seen lying on its side with flames bursting from the inside. Shattered glass and smoke filled the screen, and Cameron could only remain stunned.

"Officials are calling this terrorist act extremely suspicious, and are looking for any possible clues as to how it could have happened."

The voice seemed to cue off Cameron's horrified expression and grated back into the phone sounding quite smug. "I'm afraid you're going to have to do better than that."

"Me? What the hell?" Cameron felt fear race through his spine. "Did you do this??"

"No, Cameron," the voice replied, just as calm as ever, "you did."

Cameron reeled. "Bullshit. I was sitting right here the whole time-"

"You lost the game, Cameron. And all those people paid the price."

Cameron felt the blood drain from his face and grabbed the edge of his chair to keep from falling over.

"Now, now, Cameron. Don't go fainting on me now, there's still much more you have to do."

Cameron grabbed the caller ID machine and looked frantically. Still blank. It was like the infernal thing wasn't even connected! He felt himself hyperventilating, and had to force calm down his throat. "Aww, man. I'm just a computer programmer. Why does this shit have to happen to me?"

"Here's how it works, Cameron. We're going to play Minesweeper again. Each time you lose, some place is going to go up in smoke. Each time you win, many, many lives will be spared."

"You can't get away with this you bastard," Cameron found himself whimpering into the phone, "I don't have to do anything! You hear me!? Nothing!"

"Ooh, that's too bad, Cameron," the voice murred back at him, "I'm afraid that if you don't play, I can just detonate all the bombs at all the locations right now."

Cameron quailed, falling silent. He spun his chair around, looking frantically for where his tormenter could be hiding. As he stood to look over his cubicle for help, the voice purred in his ear again. "Oh don't bother looking for help. Your janitor friend is gone. I'm the only one who can see you now."

"You can't do this--." The programmer felt his tail smack painfully against the desk. He had a habit of swishing it a bit quickly when nervous.

"It's too late for can'ts, Cameron. I'm already doing it." The voice sounded even harsher than before, now adding a growl of demand to its previously purring sound. "Now, sit down in your maroon rolling chair and let's play, shall we?"

Cameron rubbed his forehead with the back of his arm, sinking into his chair. The hot phone on his ear felt like it was burning him with intensity, and the air seemed to be purposefully avoiding his lungs. He tried to get a grip on himself and looked at the screen. The grid was still there, complete with the red box where he'd bombed out. A little yellow face at the top, marked with crosses for eyes and a deadly frown, seemed to await his action. Shakily, the computer programmer reached for his mouse and guided it over the dead smiley.

"That's a good boy, Cameron." The voice seemed to beam over him. "I'll be in touch." Click. The phone went off.

Shakily, Cameron put the phone back on the hook, missing several times before the jet-black receiver finally clunked into place. He rubbed his muzzle and eyes with the heel of his free handpaw. On the computer screen, the smiley continued to wait.

"By the claw—" he murmured softly to himself as he activated the next game.

As the television droned on in the background, Cameron clicked his way through the logic of Minesweeper. Fortunately, he still had it on beginner; his heightened sense of urgency, combined with the simple ones, twos and threes that came up on the screen made for a quick game. Soon, Cameron was leaning back in his chair, breathing a sigh of relief as a pair of sunglasses appeared on the observing smiley face.

The phone rang.

Cameron let it ring four times before picking up.

"You should really be more prompt answering your phone," the voice commented coyly, "someone important might call."

"I never get important calls," Cameron spat acerbically, "just a number of psychos, crackpots, and terrorists."

"Touché," the voice purred at him. Cameron could almost detect a slight laugh behind the word, rendering his insult weakened beyond recovery. "Nonetheless, you should be congratulated. You just saved an entire subway stop."

Cameron put a handpaw on his head, horrified. "You unbelievable bastard. How can you put the lives of all those furs on the line over a simple game."

The voice grinned audibly. "When you accepted the challenge, YOU put the lives of the people on the line."

Cameron sat up abruptly, baring his teeth angrily at the phone. "Then why don't you play the fucking game and stop screwing with me!?"

"Temper, temper, Cameron," the voice advised, "I might find myself insulted and then I'd be forced to just start pressing buttons-"

"Alright!" Cameron exclaimed wearily, "alright, alright – just, don't go doing anything stupid."

"Funny you mention that, Cameron," the voice sneered, "I was going to advise you the same thing. You'll play on intermediate now, my friend. And that hospital down the street is your next challenge. Save it, if you can."

Cameron was shocked. "That's where they are bringing the injured from the first bomb! You can't-"

"Good luck, Cameron."

Click. The phone went off.

"DAMMIT!" Cameron shouted, throwing the phone onto the hook.

The wolf glanced at his screen, the 'cool' smiley face grinning back at him with a strange sense of pride and satisfaction. It wasn't to last, and Cameron wearily activated the File menu to change the game to intermediate. Before he knew it, he was staring straight into the pixel eyes of a fresh smiley; and a board that was four times as deadly. Taking a deep breath, the wolf cleared the blur of sleep deprivation from his eyes and settled into the unforgiving logic of the game.

He seemed to have luck on his side again, rapidly clicking to uncover and right clicking to mark with a flag. Cameron was about three fourths of the way through before he made a common mistake.

"NOO! That was a right click! That was a right click!!!"

The phone rang.

Cameron pounced on the receiver, yelling at it before it got to his furry ear. "That shouldn't count! That can't count! That was a mistake!"

"Ooh, I'm so sorry, Cameron!" There was a sadistic edge to the voice as it laughed at him. "Looks like you lose."

"No!" Cameron gasped, his throat constricting into a tight ball of anxiety. "NOOO!"

A few seconds later, the wolf heard a distant rumble like thunder, accompanied by a brief shudder in the floor. The lights of the building flickered imperceptibly before a sickening silence filled the air. Car alarms faintly whistled in the distance, set off by the vibration.

"I've always wondered," the voice mused casually, "when there's no hospital, where do sick people go?"

"You bastard," Cameron whimpered, near tears, "you evil, evil bastard."

"Probably to walk in clinics," the voice continued to comment, as if Cameron's admonition had gone unheard, "but the biggest problem with them is that they're too small to bomb."

Cameron slammed a fist on his desk, causing the small television to topple over and crash on the floor. He spoke, his voice breaking with emotion, "Who do you think you are? What gives you the right to do this?"

"What would football be like without referees? Or baseball without umpires? With every sport, there has to be some official to regulate rewards and punishments for the actions of the players. Don't get mad at me because you made a stupid mistake. I'm just the judge."

"Judge, jury and executioner!" Cameron exclaimed. "Making rules up for a sadistic game designed on your own psychotic mind! I didn't want to kill those people! I didn't want to play this game!"

"But you did, Cameron," the voice wheedled, "you did kill those people. And you're about to kill again."
This news struck Cameron like a sonic train. He sat back, becoming stiff. "Forget it. I'm not playing this anymore. You got to see your precious bombs go off, just leave me alone."

"There are two bombs left, Cameron," the voice said, "and one of them is going to go off depending on your final game."

"Didn't you hear me? I said I'm not going to play!"

"That's dangerous, considering you don't know where these bombs are. And for both of them to go off would be truly – catastrophic."

Cameron rubbed his brow, uncomfortably turning the fur back and forth across his head. "You know, fursons like you make life not worth living."

"Your final game will be on expert setting. If you survive to ten bombs left, then I will reveal the location of the final two. You have five hundred seconds. I'll be in touch, Cameron."

Click. The phone went off.

Cameron scowled at his computer, hanging his head with a pained expression. The sound of ambulance sirens could be heard in the distance like the cries of an abandoned pup with no place to go for refuge. A sob escaped his throat.

"Why?" Cameron croaked, turning his eyes to the ceiling. All alone in the darkened building, the wolf had never felt such a sense of isolation and responsibility in his life. With a heavy handpaw, he dragged the mouse over the menu bar and activated the expert setting.

Each second ticked by with the heavy authority of time as Cameron meticulously progressed square by square. Before long, the previously covered board was pockmarked with multicolored numbers and flags. Cameron swept for mines like his life depended for it. He negotiated the difficult 'flat slope', broke the logic of the 'mysterious three' several times, and cleared a difficult group involving four fours and a five. He put a flag on the tenth bomb and waited.

The phone rang.

"Alright," Cameron grunted, "I've played your game, now where are those final bombs?"

"First, I should congratulate you, Cameron," the voice beamed, "your play has been nothing less than masterful."

Cameron scowled and continued to work his way through a group of twenty-five squares that hid the final ten bombs. "Save it. Where are the bombs?"

The voice laughed. It was a horrible laugh, like a terrific joke had just passed him by. Something in the undertones made the fur on Cameron's neck stand uncomfortably. "You're going to love this one, Cameron! I thought I'd make this final game special for you."

Cameron's expression tightened.

"Guess what? There's a bomb in your building. In fact, enough explosives to destroy the entire place!" As the voice laughed, Cameron blanched, feeling the blood drain from his skull. "Don't faint on me yet, Cameron," the voice wheedled, "it gets better. You see, I also took the liberty of placing some explosives at your home sweet home."

"What?" Cameron mouthed.

"That's right, Cameron. Your mate. Your cubs…and I think little Jamie brought one of her friends over tonight!"

"No, this can't be happening. This can't be happening."

"And before you make the heroic decision to commit suicide, let me remind you that there is an active apartment complex right next to you. The explosion from this building just might wipe out half of that one."

Cameron was dumbfounded. "You- You!"

The voice was beside itself with glee. "Now that I think of it, it might destroy more! Isn't this just grand! I'll bet you're wishing you never opened that game, aren't you?"

More like he was never born. Cameron moaned. His heart burned in the throes of utter defeat and he looked at the screen. During the conversation, he'd clicked down to five bombs left.

"This will be your final challenge from me, Cameron. Five hundred lives and your own, or three lives? I wish you luck." The voice sounded so sincere it turned the wolf's stomach. "It's been fun playing with you, Cameron. Good-bye."

Click. The phone went off.

Cameron stared at the screen in silence. The smiley face's insufferable smile beamed at him expectantly, and the LCD style timer continued to tick the seconds of life away. Steadying his paw, Cameron moved the mouse over a safe box and clicked, marking the artificial expression of tension in the face of his yellow companion. He sat back with nothing left to figure out. The numbers all added up, and this was it.

Cameron knew which box concealed the final bomb of the game.
The picture of his family watched him from the corner of his cubicle in silence. Their proud smiles and kind features twisted his splintered mind as he tried to make the hardest decision of his life. Closing his eyes, he felt a single tear soak into the fur alongside his muzzle.

The wolf whispered in a broken voice. "I'm sorry…"

Cameron slowly guided his pointer over a gray box, and, watching the yellow smiley face, clicked the mouse.