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Scepters, Stockfish, and SorceryLoading...
Daniel I.
The Player and the Patriot
Calmly resting in the library of his home in Oslo, Norway, Frode Magnussen reviewed his preparation for the upcoming Chess World Championship in Barcelona. He would be playing against Sebastien Lagrave, a Frenchman supported by his entire country.
Frode peeked out of the window at the bustling streets of the city below. The common folk walked through the streets, scum to Frode. Frode did not hesitate to share his views, so he lacked support from the public. However, Frode remained uninterested in the help of others; they would struggle to be of use to him as they held a far lower status than him in his eyes. Exhausted from hours on end of perfecting his opening repertoire, Frode stepped out into the brisk Norwegian air for a walk.
Meanwhile, in the French countryside, a man named Jean-Jacques Bacrot had just been released from a mental asylum. With “La Marseillaise” blasting through his home, Jean-Jacques paced through the halls, the buttons on his black jacket jingling with every step. Trotting past an image of the woman who had divorced him, he schemed on how to elevate his homeland to glory.
After Jean-Jacques had paced for hours, his
Frode peeked out of the window at the bustling streets of the city below. The common folk walked through the streets, scum to Frode. Frode did not hesitate to share his views, so he lacked support from the public. However, Frode remained uninterested in the help of others; they would struggle to be of use to him as they held a far lower status than him in his eyes. Exhausted from hours on end of perfecting his opening repertoire, Frode stepped out into the brisk Norwegian air for a walk.
Meanwhile, in the French countryside, a man named Jean-Jacques Bacrot had just been released from a mental asylum. With “La Marseillaise” blasting through his home, Jean-Jacques paced through the halls, the buttons on his black jacket jingling with every step. Trotting past an image of the woman who had divorced him, he schemed on how to elevate his homeland to glory.
After Jean-Jacques had paced for hours, his
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The Player and the Patriot
epiphany arrived. The World Chess Championship would have to be won by a Frenchman. Peering through his tinted spectacles, Bacrot retrieved his scepter, books of sorcery, and cunning as he plotted his next move.
Through the Firewall
Having returned to his home, Frode once again opened his laptop to find an image of a man wearing clothes darker than a Norwegian winter and holding an ominous scepter. “Monsieur Magnussen, I am Jean-Jacques Bacrot,” he proclaimed, his accent piercing Frode’s ears. “I will do everything in my power to ensure that Monsieur Lagrave defeats you.” The image cackled maniacally before disappearing from the screen. Terrified by the uncanny hologram which had made its way onto his computer, Frode slammed his laptop shut and threw himself onto his bed. Tossing and turning restlessly throughout the night, Frode could not comprehend how a mere commoner could have penetrated his computer’s defenses.
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Shattered Hopes
Groggy from his poor sleep, Frode forced himself out of bed and into the kitchen. After preparing his usual breakfast of a stockfish sandwich and a cup of coffee, he peered out of his window again to see the bright and sunny sky.
Having finished his breakfast, the Norwegian booted up his laptop to find that all of his opening files had vanished. Yet another message had appeared on the screen. The message simply read, “Vive la France! - Bacrot.” Livid, Frode defenestrated an antique Persian armchair onto the cobblestone street below. Blustering around his room, Frode cursed Bacrot and his antics.
Having finished his breakfast, the Norwegian booted up his laptop to find that all of his opening files had vanished. Yet another message had appeared on the screen. The message simply read, “Vive la France! - Bacrot.” Livid, Frode defenestrated an antique Persian armchair onto the cobblestone street below. Blustering around his room, Frode cursed Bacrot and his antics.
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Shattered Hopes
Skid to a Stop
A week later, after meticulously perfecting his endgame technique, the time had come for Frode to fly to Barcelona for the match. He packed his bags and loaded them into a limousine with his chauffeur in the driver’s seat.
As the car made its way through the green Norwegian landscape between Oslo and its airport, Frode battled his nerves. Throughout his six previous world championship matches, he had never experienced such feelings. A fickle leaf in Bacrot’s wind, Frode reassured himself with his previous success. Usually, he would just let his chess speak for itself, but something bigger than the game existed this time around.
Suddenly, a black Peugeot swerved into the road in front of the limousine. The cars collided with a crash, sending the limousine rolling into the trees by the side of the road. Frode exited the car without checking on his chauffeur, ready to face whoever had ruined his trip.
Jean-Jacques Bacrot ran out of his totaled Peugeot to see the status of his mission. Having seen Frode fuming outside of his limousine, the Frenchman
As the car made its way through the green Norwegian landscape between Oslo and its airport, Frode battled his nerves. Throughout his six previous world championship matches, he had never experienced such feelings. A fickle leaf in Bacrot’s wind, Frode reassured himself with his previous success. Usually, he would just let his chess speak for itself, but something bigger than the game existed this time around.
Suddenly, a black Peugeot swerved into the road in front of the limousine. The cars collided with a crash, sending the limousine rolling into the trees by the side of the road. Frode exited the car without checking on his chauffeur, ready to face whoever had ruined his trip.
Jean-Jacques Bacrot ran out of his totaled Peugeot to see the status of his mission. Having seen Frode fuming outside of his limousine, the Frenchman
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dashed off in hope of finding safety from his enemy’s wrath. Sprinting beside the highway, he attempted to channel the magic he had spent years in the asylum perfecting. Despite his efforts to escape, the wailing of police sirens grew louder by the second. Lost in his attempts to harness otherworldly forces, Jean-Jacques tripped on a weed before being engulfed by seven police officers.
After hitchhiking the remainder of the journey to the airport, Frode knew that his problems had subsided with the capture of Bacrot. Once his flight disembarked, a wave of tranquility flowed through Frode’s body, and not only from the lavish first-class seat.
With Bacrot gone, only chess remained to hinder Frode from retaining his title of world champion. With his worries gone, the hum of the engines slowly lulled Frode to sleep.
After hitchhiking the remainder of the journey to the airport, Frode knew that his problems had subsided with the capture of Bacrot. Once his flight disembarked, a wave of tranquility flowed through Frode’s body, and not only from the lavish first-class seat.
With Bacrot gone, only chess remained to hinder Frode from retaining his title of world champion. With his worries gone, the hum of the engines slowly lulled Frode to sleep.
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