CHAPTER EIGHT
––––––––
The midnight hour is past,
And the chilly night-air is damp. . . .
—Ibid, Act II
“Amy, you’re being irrational.”
“I’m being irrational? I am? I’m not the one who failed to write a back door into the program. I’m not the one who wrote software so devious it traps innocent players in some sort of mental limbo. I’m not the one who created a world of murderous pirates so real that it was almost impossible to tell them from the real thing.”
Corbin glanced down to where I was holding his knife to his crotch. “No, but you are the one threatening to emasculate me if I don’t get you out. I’m doing my best, I assure you. And what do you mean almost impossible? Holder and I spent six months researching the history of piracy just so everything was accurate.”
“I don’t bel
