Dietrich, The White King Viper
Dietrich stared at the papers on his desk, thrown everywhere and so disorganized he couldn't figure out which ones were present. But the one of focus was right below his towering body, and his face was tense. He sighed, frustratingly rereading the report. A White Bishop, whom he sent on scouting and tactical duties to find out more info on Black Chess, was murdered yesterday. And the worst part? No evidence to who did it. The only thing was the shell, which didn't help at all. But he knew who it was: Black Chess was sending them a message, albeit a silent one. But extremely effective. Dietrich knew this couldn't go unanswered. He quickly pressed the speaker button on his phone, paging his secretary, who showed up not 10 seconds later.
"Please call back all of the White Chess members. This is an urgent recall, no taking your time, no excuses. And make sure they get the 'urgent' part." His secretary left as soon as she entered, and he turned his chair around and stared at a painting he had. His hands at his temples, his mind thinking faster than some computers. Being the King, he had the responsibilty to watch over everyone, and even though his services were limited, that didn't mean that he was useless. And the only thing he knew about Black Chess is that they were probably structured the same, only in a mock representation: Get the King, and you win.
Easier said than done. This Bishop killing was good. Very good, in fact. No witnesses, no physical evidence, nothing. What made it worse was that White Chess couldn't help the police in anyway, since they were supposed to be confidential. The police would be stopped cold, and Dietrich wouldn't get an help from them. He just hoped he recalled everybody fast enough. They needed to regroup, think of a blitz-counter, something that could strike back at Black Chess fast enough so they wouldn't see it coming. Dietrich sat in his chair, and flicked his watch out from his pocket. It would be a while until they arrived.