Arena of Doom (Clone Squad #1)

by Connor Brixton

  As tall as an elephant, each hairy limb a thick as his body.

  Logan gripped his plasma cutter tight as the giant tarantula scuttled into the Arena of Doom.

  Definitely not boxing.

  Chapter 6

  Logan took a few instinctual steps back as the pincers of the giant tarantula clicked in excitement. He’d seen a lot of strange wildlife, bouncing between different planets in the Chaucer system. Each terraformed planet had its quirks, and animals adapted differently to the strange and unique environments.

  He’d seen scorpions as big as puppies, but so malformed they dragged their heavy bodies across the ground at a snail’s pace. He’d seen snakes that spat out their fangs like darts, hurling their venom from yards away. He’d been to a moon that had run experiments before the system government had been put in place, the lands filled with hippos the size of cats.

  Logan had never seen a tarantula as tall as a fully grown elephant.

  His heart somehow started beating faster as the thousands of people in the colosseum started to cheer, scream, go wild. The tarantula tried to scuttle back through the iron gates, clearly frightened by the noise, the vibration.

  For all the confusion Logan was feeling, for a moment he felt worse for the tarantula. It was supposed to be the size of his hand, not the size of an elephant. It was clearly confused, unsure what was happening. Maybe even scared. At least Logan could think rationally, hopefully get answers from Victor at some point.

  Or maybe the tarantula was super smart like Victor? Maybe Logan was in a place that played with genetics? That would explain a couple of things, like why Victor was a doctor, and why the tarantula as big as an elephant was smacking its two front arm thingies into the iron gate. Logan knew they had a proper biological term, but from where he was standing (on nearly the other side of the colosseum) he could see eight giant legs, two smaller arm things by the mouth, and the giant pincers.

  He couldn’t see any of the eyes, the tarantula turning to face the gate behind it. Which meant Logan had the chance to dart into one of the stone ruins, crouching down into an alcove.

  Genetic experiments. Okay. That would explain the dinosaur and the giant tarantula.

  But not how he’d survived exploding the mainframe. Or the strange Viking lady covered in blood. Or the dead Nazis that had been in the arena before him. Or the guy who looked like Adolf Hitler in the medical wing.

  Or why his scars and tattoos were missing.

  Or why his arms and legs suddenly felt like they were searing in acid.

  Logan winced, almost dropping the plasma cutter as he looked down at his arms. His bicep was smaller than usual, and of course missing the tattoo of a cobra eating itself.

  But as his muscles felt like they were being dissolved in acid from the inside out, Logan was sure he saw his bicep start to grow, inflate like a small balloon.

  The muscle growers. Victor had said they’d be working for the next five minutes. Why Logan needed them in the first place was beyond a mystery.

  Unless he’d been in a medical bed for longer than he thought? Victor had said something about a hundred years, right?

  But he must have been exaggerating.

  Right?

  He was so wrapped up in his thoughts, he almost didn’t hear the crowd begin to boo. He glanced out from behind his cover as the tarantula lifted its back legs to the top of the colosseum wall. It was hardly a stretch for the giant beast as the sack at the back spurted out some webbing, the back legs beginning to spin a web.

  Logan looked back at the plasma cutter in his hand, the handle slick with sweat. If he was supposed to fight this thing, he was going to wait until he was in the best tactical position. Until his muscles were fully grown. If he snuck up while the tarantula was building the web, he could probably get in some good slices before it even knew he was there.

  He felt sorry for the beast, but he also got the distinct feeling only one of them was allowed to leave the colosseum alive.

  Or was it the Arena of Doom? That was what the sign said, flashing neon.

  Logan turned to look back up at it when suddenly the ground beneath him began to shake once more.

  Was the terrain changing again?

  Logan wiped the sweat off his hands, gripping his plasma cutter tight as metal poles rose out of the ground around him. Four in total.

  Two of them started flashing red lights.

  The other two started blaring their sirens, so loud Logan felt his eardrums begin to sting.

  “Shit!”

  Logan wasn’t a biologist, but he guessed any animal would check out the sudden noise and lights.

  He started running out of the alcove he was in as the boos from the crowd changed to a series of mild claps. Like they were no longer disappointed, but were still waiting for something more exciting to happen.

  As Logan glanced over his shoulder, passing between two sets of ruins, he saw the tarantula. The entire body of the giant beast went still, all twelve inky black eyes focused in on him.

  He went silent as the two stared at one another, waiting for the other to make a move.

  Logan looked down at the plasma cutter in his right hand. It was getting lighter by the moment. He’d seen what they could do up close. They could slice through the hull of a spaceship in less than three minutes. There was no way, even with an exoskeleton, that the tarantula’s skin was thicker than the hull of a spaceship.

  But as Logan looked up from the plasma cutter, craning his neck to look at the twelve eyes of the tarantula, only one thought came to mind.

  “Fuck this!”

  He bolted for the nearest ruin as he heard the pounding footsteps of eight legs sprinting across the arena. He chanced a glance behind him, seeing small craters where the tarantula had pounded its giant legs into the ground.

  “Nope nope nope nope nope!”

  The pounding grew louder as Logan dived into the nearest set of ruins. It was basically a stone corner, Logan hurling his body down inside. Nine feet of stone on either side, the tarantula lunged its head towards him.

  The shoulders of the beast slammed into the edges of the ruin, dust and debris raining down on Logan as the muscles in his legs started to burn.

  The pincers snapped helplessly in the air, the two arms near the head flicking out. It was then Logan saw the sharp claw on the end. A pad in the middle, two sharp bones jutting out on either side.

  One arm swung at Logan’s head. He crouched down, his knees up to his chest.

  The other claw swung out, catching Logan in the ankle. Stabbing pain mixed with acidic burning as blood spurted out from the black uniform, a chunk of flesh landing on the sandy ground next to them.

  Logan heard a groan from the audience. Like they were reacting to the injury.

  How could they even see what was happening?

  It was then Logan noticed the small metal ball floating in the air, hovering between the pincers of the tarantula and Logan.

  He lashed out with the plasma cutter, slicing the ball in half. The debris landed next to his ankle as Logan watched in fascinated horror as the chunk of his ankle flesh on the ground was continuing to grow, undulating and seeping blood as it doubled in size. Or almost looked like a chunk of steak. Except a lot bloodier.

  He guessed the muscle growth process worked even when the muscle was detached.

  As three camera balls took the place of the wrecked one, the tarantula lashed out with the clawed arms by its face, snarling at the floating balls. Distracted, Logan stayed crouched down, spinning around behind himself and swinging his plasma cutter into the stone ruin.

  It moved through the stone like Logan was swinging his arm through thick, muddy water. The hole big enough for him to scramble through, he did just that, dragging the plasma cutter behind him.

  Out the other side, Logan swung his plasma cutter upwards on either side of the hole. It cut enough of the stone ruins that it began to crumble down, the heavy concrete smacking the giant tarantula on the top of
the head.

  The crowd cheered as the tarantula flailed its legs, clearly stunned as the ruin collapsed onto the beast.

  Now was the best tactical moment. He could jump in, probably cut off a leg or two.

  Leaving the tarantula with six legs. And giant pincers that could stab into Logan with ease.

  So instead Logan pelted across the arena, his calves still searing as his muscles began to bulge against his black trousers. Logan swung his plasma cutter into the stone wall, cutting through the material with ease.

  His hands still shaking, his entire body soaking in sweat, Logan began to swing over and over again. Pouring his frustration, his anger into every swing through the white stone. He ignored the boos, chunks of white stone landing at his feet. After half a foot, his plasma cutter slammed into the energy field, the weapon blasting back so fast it hurled out of Logan’s sweaty grip.

  The boos from the crowd grew larger as Logan took a step back, looking up at the thousands of people around him.

  “Why are you people even here?!” he called out to no one in particular. “What do you want?!”

  As the crowd suddenly cheered, Logan clenched his jaw tight, turning around to the pile of rubble. The giant tarantula pulled itself out from underneath.

  They wanted to see Logan fight the giant tarantula.

  Fine, then. He’d exhausted every other option. There was only one thing left for a soldier to do.

  Logan picked up the plasma cutter, the burning in his arms and legs finally subsiding.

  They wanted a show. He’d give them a show.

  Chapter 7

  Logan Rexington had no idea how he’d ended up in the Arena of Doom, a plasma cutter in hand, fighting against a giant tarantula. But he knew it would only end with one of them dead.

  And it sure as hell wasn’t going to be him.

  The giant tarantula pushed itself out from the rubble, dents and scrapes on the exoskeleton as it turned to look at Logan.

  Maybe the same trick would work twice?

  Logan dashed towards the nearest set of ruins. A straight stone wall, probably ten-foot across, just as tall.

  Without even looking behind him, Logan swung the plasma cutter into the bottom, carving out a small hole for him.

  He turned around as the tarantula shook off the last of the rubble and began to scuttle across the arena, pounding all eight giant feet into the ground.

  Logan waited for the last possible second before spinning around and diving into the hole.

  He slid onto the other side, kicking up sand as he jumped back onto his feet.

  And sprinted headfirst into the hairy tarantula leg slamming down in front of him.

  He stumbled back, his heels kicking into the stone behind him, the tarantula climbing over the wall with ease.

  It was already learning. But Logan hadn’t showed it everything yet.

  He swung out with the plasma cutter into the leg in front of him.

  A deep squeal erupted from the tarantula as Logan’s plasma cutter slid halfway into the hairy leg, yellow viscus goo bursting from the wound, steaming as Logan’s plasma cutter came to a stop.

  The tarantula was putting all its weight down, keeping Logan from moving the plasma cutter from side to side.

  Which was why Logan spun the handle in his hand, changing the direction. The string of superheated plasma now faced vertically down.

  He went down on one knee, slamming the plasma cutter into the ground in front of him. The tarantula’s leg, as wide and thick as Logan’s whole body, split apart like a banana. The viscus goo rained down as the tarantula backed away. One half of the split dropped on the ground, the edges of the exoskeleton red hot from the plasma cutter.

  The other half of the split stayed flapping on the leg, dangling as lumps of muscle fell out. It remind Logan of the very few times he’d eaten crab legs, digging the flesh out of the shell.

  The crowd cheered as Logan couldn’t help but smile to himself. It was nice to get some positive reinforcement on the battlefield for once.

  Logan would have preferred actual reinforcements, however, as the tarantula slammed one of its seven other perfectly good legs into his chest. The claws smashed into his chest armor, the hardened material splintering like thick glass as the claws dug into his polycarbon armor.

  The leg flicked out, Logan flying high into the air.

  His military training took hold.

  He couldn’t guarantee a safe landing. Not with the plasma cutter in his hand. He could risk holding onto it, and also risk losing a limb. Or risk cutting himself in half from the thigh to the shoulder.

  So instead he trained his eyes on the tarantula, hurling the plasma cutter back at the beast as he sailed through the air.

  His weapon spun towards the beast. Logan turned back to the ground, watching as it hurled towards his face.

  He kicked out with his legs, bending at the knees as he landed, rolling forward. He heard his piece of chest armor crack as he rolled, coming to a stop on his knees.

  The tarantula roared this time, Logan turning around as the plasma cutter landed on its large sac. It bounced away, webbing beginning to seep out of the wound on the top as the tarantula charged towards Logan.

  He jumped up to his feet, looking for another set of ruins to hide in, use the terrain to his advantage.

  But it was only the walls of the colosseum behind him.

  He darted to the left, the tarantula slamming down one of its many uninjured legs in front of him. Followed by another leg on the right.

  Logan dived down, trying to get under the beast, when the two front arms flicked out, slamming him back into the wall.

  He grunted in pain, trying to breathe as the tarantula stabbed out with one of its front arms. The claw dug into Logan’s shoulder, tearing into the freshly grown muscles as Logan screamed.

  His feet helplessly flailed as he was lifted up, heading towards the pincers.

  Two of the camera balls came hovering in. Logan lashed out, hoping to grab one, use it to slam into the beast. But they were just out of arms reach, expertly darting out of the way.

  Instead Logan slammed his balled-up fists into the arm, his flesh bouncing off the hardened skin of the tarantula arms.

  He had to have something else on him, right? A soldier didn’t go out into the battlefield with just the one weapon.

  But there was no pistol on his thigh, no knife in his belt. Just the plasma cutter, lying on the floor fifty feet away. They’d only given him the one weapon.

  And his armor.

  Three feet away from the drooling pincers, Logan looked down at his chest. At the cracks in the metal-plastic blend, the chunks threatening to break off.

  Logan dug his hands in, the jagged edges pinching into his fingers as he tore a sharp piece off and hurled it at one of the tarantula’s dozen eyes.

  It squealed in pain once more, Logan kicking into the pincers, dislodging the claw from his shoulder. He landed with a thud, blood bursting from the wound as he kicked back up onto his legs, running underneath the giant beast.

  The sun above blocked out by the giant body, Logan ran as fast as he could. His muscles still burned, but in a different way. Like he’d just run a marathon, instead of dissolving in acid.

  Not daring to look behind, putting all of his energy into the sprint, Logan reached the plasma cutter, picking it up, carrying on running.

  He ran around the wall he’d cut a hole in, heading to the first ruin he’d sliced into.

  The chunk of muscle the tarantula had torn from him. It was larger than both his fists balled together, clumps of blood drying in the sand as it pulsated, carried on growing.

  Logan picked it up as he heard the pounding of seven giant feet once more. He spun around, the tarantula thirty feet away as Logan spun the plasma cutter in his hand. He turned the string of superheated plasma to face behind him, throwing the chunk of his own flesh up into the air, and swinging his weapon like a baseball bat.

  The meat hurle
d through the air, a light splatter of Logan’s own blood misting as it hurled towards the tarantula.

  The two arms at the front caught the meat, the tarantula pausing for a moment, fifteen feet away.

  Its body went still, the crowd quieting down, waiting to see what it would do next.

  The tarantula held the meat out in front of it, goo dripping from its injured eye, half a leg still flapping from the torso.

  The tarantula ferried the meat forward, putting it between the pincers.

  Which was when Logan dashed forward, swiping out with his plasma cutter as he closed the distance between him and the huge beast.

  Logan swung up with the plasma cutter, spinning the string of heat plasma just in time. The two arm thingies of the beast fell off, yellow goo raining down as they landed behind him. The tarantula squealed, scuttling back a few feet.

  As Logan jumped up, swinging the plasma cutter above him, the string of superheated plasma landed between the pincers.

  It dug in a few inches, even slicing into one of the inky black eyes near the bottom. The ball of liquid sizzled before popping, splattering Logan in the neck with the uncomfortably hot liquid.

  All seven and a half legs began to flail, twitching as the giant body slid down a few feet.

  Logan grimaced, pushing the plasma cutter in another inch. Another foot.

  Five more eyes had popped open before he stopped, the giant body no longer twitching. His plasma cutter dug into the beast by at least four feet.

  Logan breathed in heavily as he took a step back, pulling the plasma cutter out of the giant tarantula. Not wanting to take any chances, he swung out, slicing off the pincers. He then jabbed the plasma cutter into the open wound, the thin band at the top cutting a path as he pushed it deep down, submerging his elbow into the sickly warm goo.

  Without a doubt piercing the brain, Logan slid his arm back out, his shoulder searing in agony, his ears ringing from the adrenaline.

  But as the danger faded, he became more aware of his surroundings.

  At the sound of cheering.