He shows you a card, held between the thumb and forefinger of his right
hand, the seven of diamonds. His left hand holds the rest of the cards,
a tight, even, rectangular pack.
"This is the Jones Transfer," says the man. He is young, good looking, wearing a sharp grey suit, a white shirt and no tie. He flicks the card with the fingers of his left hand and the seven of diamonds changes to the ace of clubs. Impossibly. Remaining between thumb and finger. In a blink.
As if by magic.
And elsewhere, underneath your reality, data shifts like tectonic plates in fast forward. You feel it.
"This is the Jones Transfer," says the man. He is young, good looking, wearing a sharp grey suit, a white shirt and no tie. He flicks the card with the fingers of his left hand and the seven of diamonds changes to the ace of clubs. Impossibly. Remaining between thumb and finger. In a blink.
As if by magic.
And elsewhere, underneath your reality, data shifts like tectonic plates in fast forward. You feel it.
"How did you do that?" you say.
He smiles. Perfect white teeth.
"Wrong question," he says. Then his hands move together, inserting the impossible card into the pack, and then splitting the deck into five and rotating it in a move that makes your eyes slip off them with head spinning impossibility, cards flipping around fingers in a flourish extreme.
Thirteen nodes go down, and don't come back up. Elsewhere there is panic.
"The three of clubs," he says, somehow the deck is compact again in his left hand, the right hand holds the three of clubs. "Split it." With a gesture the cards turns into two cards, the ace of clubs and the two of clubs.
"It's not real," you say, "you're cheating."
He shakes his head. Half the continent descends into blackness.
"Check my physics model, no tricks, just skill."
Your mind is confused on two levels; the physical act of the trick appears impossible, whilst the maneuvers and exploits that the cards are avatars for are equally impossible.
"More?" he says, raising an eyebrow.
"I've seen enough," you say, and before he can move you have handcuffed his right wrist to yours. It's quick. He's shocked. Even more so when you grab the pack of cards and ignite them with the flick of a lighter, held in your free hand.
The cards catch but burn slowly, melting.
He laughs.
"I've logged everything," you say, "visual, debug logs, traces, packets sniffers."
His mouth drops open.
"I know a few tricks of my own," you say, over the wail of sirens closing in on your position.
"Studied escapology?" you say, then laugh when he doesn't reply.
He smiles. Perfect white teeth.
"Wrong question," he says. Then his hands move together, inserting the impossible card into the pack, and then splitting the deck into five and rotating it in a move that makes your eyes slip off them with head spinning impossibility, cards flipping around fingers in a flourish extreme.
Thirteen nodes go down, and don't come back up. Elsewhere there is panic.
"The three of clubs," he says, somehow the deck is compact again in his left hand, the right hand holds the three of clubs. "Split it." With a gesture the cards turns into two cards, the ace of clubs and the two of clubs.
"It's not real," you say, "you're cheating."
He shakes his head. Half the continent descends into blackness.
"Check my physics model, no tricks, just skill."
Your mind is confused on two levels; the physical act of the trick appears impossible, whilst the maneuvers and exploits that the cards are avatars for are equally impossible.
"More?" he says, raising an eyebrow.
"I've seen enough," you say, and before he can move you have handcuffed his right wrist to yours. It's quick. He's shocked. Even more so when you grab the pack of cards and ignite them with the flick of a lighter, held in your free hand.
The cards catch but burn slowly, melting.
He laughs.
"I've logged everything," you say, "visual, debug logs, traces, packets sniffers."
His mouth drops open.
"I know a few tricks of my own," you say, over the wail of sirens closing in on your position.
"Studied escapology?" you say, then laugh when he doesn't reply.