“Anderson, have you gotten the information I wanted?” The Chessmaster greeted, his voice like a refined businessman’s to anyone listening.

“Yes,” the middle-aged man rasped out.

The reluctant shuffling movement continued as Anderson moved towards the Chessmaster. The shuffling stopped and the Chessmaster felt something cold on his temple. He turned to look, a gunshot rang out.

“Yo –“ the word could not even be completed as he fell backwards onto the polished roof, eyes open in shock and blood trailing from the side of his head, trickling down his neck, staining the pristine white shirt. His death was instantaneous.

“Suicide, Mr Thief?” Anderson asked lightly, patting the cheek of the Chessmaster with his gloved hands and inserting the gun into the Chessmaster’s clenched fingers. “Don’t worry; I’ll look after your business…” Gus eyes gleamed as his smile widened.

Prising off his gloves, he lifted them over the railings of the roof and took out his lighter. Watching as the ashes flew across the night sky, riding on the night breeze, he took a deep breath. It was now time for a show.

“The Sir has committed suicide!” he hollered, twisting his face into a stricken, panicked look.

Panic, was a wonderful tool, he thought as the police brought his blubbering self to the station for questioning. It would be a long night……

When he finally reached what was now his house, he let himself in silently, so as not to disturb the child and woman that had posed as his family. Picking up the blocks the child had left behind earlier, he began to stack it up slowly, The meeting, the picture, gaining the Chessmaster’s trust as a pathetic human…he finished stacking up the blocks. Yes, it was merely a child’s play.