by E K Baxter
“Never!” Nightshade screamed.
She clasped her hands in front of her in the prayer position and began to chant in a low, deep language. Purple light leaked from her mouth and began to grow around her like a cocoon. In only heartbeats she was surrounded by crackling sorcery. Max had never seen the like. The very air became charged, the hairs on his neck standing on end.
This is it, he thought. He readied himself, feeling sweat sliding down his face. Here we go.
Nightshade flung her arms wide, purple light exploding out from her in a wave. Everything it touched was obliterated. As it reached them, Max’s illusions winked out of existence. Max waited until the very last second, until the wave was only centimeters from his chest, and then threw himself into a roll, ducking under the wave and coming to his feet on the other side. Nightshade’s eyes widened at the sight of him and she began chanting, weaving another spell. Before she could, Max pulled out Spirit Blade, imbued it, and then hurled it with all his strength across the room. All the hours of throwing practice in Hole Town. All the gold he’d spent on lessons. All of that had been for this moment.
The blade spun as it hurtled through the air, its silver blade catching the light, then buried itself in Nightshade’s chest. She staggered, staring at the blade sticking out of her chest. Her health bar dropped again, but not by much. This was only a blade after all—albeit an imbued one—and couldn’t do much damage to someone like Nightshade.
But that’s not what Max had intended. He dropped to the floor, pressing his palm flat against the stone.
“Fire,” he whispered.
He’d needed a way to get through her shield and the blade had provided that. She would shield from magic attacks and ignore physical ones, knowing they couldn’t harm her. Except when they could. Fire erupted along the sword’s length.
She screamed and her body convulsed, purple light leaking out of her eyes, nose, mouth. She collapsed onto her back, her health bar dropping to only 10%.
Max knew she would have lots of potions stored from the many victories she’d already won. He had to get to her before she could take any of them.
He scrabbled over to Nightshade. She was struggling to get up but Spirit Blade impaled her, leaching her strength even as she tried to replenish it. He stood over her and held the pose for a minute, knowing that the audience would lap it up. Then he activated Noxious Gases and glanced at Kalrick.
The man had recovered from Nightshade’s earlier attack. Now his eyes were hard and cold as he watched Max. He nodded once.
Max knew what he had to do.
He had to lose the game.
Max’s mind whirled to the day before the tournament had started. He’d been excited by the prospect of entering such a prestigious tournament and he’d been lounging in the players’ area when he’d been approached by three men—one of them Kalrick.
We’ve been watching you, they said. Seen how you’ve played. Seen how you combine stealth and cunning—just what the Corporation needs. If you get to the final stage you will face the champion. We want you to fight just long enough for people to begin to believe that Nightshade could be beaten. And then you lose.
The Corporation made gazillions of dollars out of these tournaments—from the subscription fees, the merchandising, the betting syndicates. They needed to keep it fresh. They needed to keep new entrants always wanting to try their hand. They needed those new entrants to think they could win, think they could beat the champion—tantalizingly close but never quite achieved, keeping the audience rooting for the next player who would stand in Max’s place.
Max hesitated, the spell swirling around his hand like green smoke. He spoke a word of power and it formed into a blade, shining like green glass. Nightshade’s health was beginning to restore. She was burning through her potions, replenishing at an alarming rate. In only a few heartbeats she’d be strong enough to fight.
Max glanced at Kalrick. The man was staring at him, a slight frown on his face. Max had been instructed to make a mistake with the killing spell, allowing Nightshade to beat him. From his expression, Kalrick was probably wondering why Max hadn’t done that yet.
A cold wave of anger surged through Max. Anger at Kalrick. Anger at the Corporation. But mostly anger at himself. He should never have agreed to this. How much money would they make from Max deliberately losing here? Far more than they were paying him, that’s for sure. How many others would be duped into joining the tournaments around the world? How many more would fritter away what little money they had on their subscriptions and the latest gaming equipment, thinking they could take on the Corporation’s champion? That the Corporation could be beaten? How many more would wake up one day and find they were addicted? That they couldn’t stop playing even if they wanted to? And how much more powerful would the Corporation become?
His hand tightened around the handle of the spell-sword. Max had always lived by his own rules, relying on nobody but himself. He was damned if he’d do differently now.
With a scream he plunged the spell-sword through Nightshade’s chest. Her eyes flew wide and she convulsed, blood trailing from the corners of her mouth. Her eyes sought Max’s and her lips opened, soft words escaping.
Max knelt next to her. Her face had gone pale and there was something in her eyes that startled Max. It was fear. She looked utterly terrified.
What the hell? Max thought. This is only a game. You can come back tomorrow and play again if you want to.
“Don’t let them take me,” Nightshade whispered, only loud enough for Max to hear. “They said if I lost they would take me.”
“Take you?” Max asked. “What are you talking about?”
“The Rogue Lands,” she gasped out in a choking whisper. “They will take me to the Rogue Lands. That’s where we all go.”
Max leaned closer, laying a hand on Nightshade’s blood-soaked chest. “I don’t understand. What do you mean?”
But her eyes rolled back in her head, her last breath escaping on a long exhalation.
Max rocked back on his heels.
A trumpet blared out, playing a jaunty tune. A loud voice suddenly boomed through the tower.
Congratulations! You have conquered the Tower of Despair and vanquished your deadly foe. You are the undisputed Champion of Taria. Ladies and gentlemen, we have our winner, Maxwell Jones!
In his feed Max saw that the audience was going crazy. His approval rating had gone through the roof. Slowly, he stood, a thrill of exhilaration flooding through him. He’d won! He was the new champion! He raised his hand in the air and did a fist pump.
“Yeah!”
The log-out screen appeared in front of his vision and he selected it. The last thing he saw as he logged out was Kalrick. The man was staring at him from across the room.
His gaze was as hard and cold as a snake’s.
Chapter 2
The VR pod opened with a hiss, the hatch sliding upwards and letting a draft of cool air into the temperature-controlled interior. As always after logging out of a game, Max felt a little woozy. A wave of nausea threatened to make him spill his dinner all over the expensive VR equipment so he sat still for a few heartbeats, taking deep breaths until it passed. The last thing he wanted to do was vomit in front of the audience. That would really make him look good wouldn’t it?
Once the nausea had passed, he took off the helmet and unstrapped the pads attached to his legs, arms and torso, the pads that sent electrical impulses to his body and mimicked the feeling of being immersed in the VR world. Grabbing the edge of the VR pod for support, he slowly climbed out and straightened.
A wall of sound hit him. Cheering. Clapping. People chanting his name. The blaring lights of the studio momentarily blinded him but he felt a wave of euphoria sweep through him at the adulation. He raised his arms over his head and gave a fist pump, enjoying the reaction of the crowd.
This is how Nightshade must have felt, Max thought. No wonder she kept going back to defend her title. This feels great.
As his eyes adjusted to the brightness, the studio came into focus. The VR pods sat in a circle in the center of the studio with the audience crammed onto tiered seats on three sides. Each seat had a small UI screen attached to it so that the audience could interact on the forums, place bets, watch odds, even send messages to the in-game players if they had enough money. Above the audience, ringing the studio, were big screens on which the game had played out. In addition to the studio audience, Max knew the feed from the screens had gone out live to anyone with a subscription.
A hiss filled the air and the other pods began to open. Mianna staggered out, looking pale and nauseated. Darla was grinning, pleased to have made it almost to the end. Eklon and Mandro were hugging, and now he looked at them Max wondered whether they might be brothers. They all had a right to be pleased. There would be winnings for all of them for getting so far—although not as much as Max of course.
Only Kalrick didn’t look pleased. He stepped from his VR pod fluidly, no sign of nausea or dizziness, as though he’d done this so many times that it didn’t affect him anymore. He said not a word, didn’t acknowledge any of the other players or wave to the crowd as the others were doing. He just stared at Max, a vein throbbing in his temple.
Max swallowed. A worm of fear wriggled in his belly.
The Corporation would not be pleased. He would just have to explain what happened, say he got carried away in the thrill of the game, Max told himself. Give back the money they paid him. It would be fine. It would.
Max’s eyes strayed to Nightshade’s pod. It was the only one that hadn’t opened. It sat there like a shiny black chrysalis, the blinking green light indicating that it was occupied. He waited, expecting it to open, wanting to greet Nightshade and congratulate her on a great game, but the pod still didn’t open.
Frowning, he took two steps towards her pod.
“Our winner!” a voice boomed by his ear.
He turned to see the announcer approaching. He was a tall, thin man wearing a sparkly suit and carrying a microphone. “Let’s hear it for Maxwell Jones, our new champion!”
The lights blared in his face again, obscuring the view of Nightshade’s pod. The crowd erupted into cheering and something was pressed into Max’s hands. The trophy. Max lifted it high over his head, unable to stop a stupid grin from spreading over his face.
One by one the announcer brought the others forward, having them stand in a line beside Max, giving them all smaller trophies. All except Nightshade. The announcer didn’t even mention her.
Kalrick came to stand beside Max. He didn’t say anything, how could he with everyone watching? But Max felt disapproval radiating off him in waves. Max fixed a grin on his face. The sooner this was over and he could get out of here, the better.
Finally, the announcer led them into the backstage area. After the noise and brightness of the studio its quietness was like a balm.
A hand settled on Max’s shoulder. “I want a word with you,” Kalrick’s voice hissed in his ear.
Max turned to face him. “Listen, I can explain—”
“There he is!” Max turned to see the tournament director approaching him. He was a huge fat man with a security badge that sported the Corporation logo hanging from his neck. “Maxwell Jones, the new champion!”
He threw his arm around Max’s neck as though they were bosom buddies. “How does it feel?”
“Um, great,” Max replied. “But where’s Nightshade? Her pod didn’t open.”
The director’s eyes slid to Kalrick for a second. “Don’t you worry about that! All you have to worry about is how you’re going to defend your title. Come, let’s go and discuss it.”
He led Max through a door and into an office. It was all white and chrome and a huge window looked out over the city. As the door swung shut, Max saw Kalrick staring after them.
The director bade him sit then poured two glasses of something that looked like whiskey, handing one to Max. He took it but didn’t drink. He placed his trophy on the glass table in front of him.
“That was quite a stunt you pulled in the end there. Nobody would have thought to employ those tactics as you did.”
Max said nothing. What was all this about?
The director took a sip of his whiskey. “I can see why so many of our subscribers were rooting for you.”
“When do I get my prize money?” Max asked. Sure, he’d reneged on the deal they’d struck so wouldn’t be getting that fat little payout but he’d still won the game, hadn’t he? He was still entitled to the winner’s prize.
The director’s eyes darted towards the door. “Soon. Very soon. After we’ve taken care of all the promotional stuff.”
Max frowned but said nothing.
The communicator on the director’s wrist suddenly beeped. He glanced at the display and a look of irritation crossed his face. Smoothing his features, he smiled at Max. “Would you excuse me for a moment?”
He heaved his bulk from the chair and hurried out. Max was sure he could see Kalrick’s shadow on the other side of the door. He heard angry voices, too muffled to make out what they were saying.
Max had lived on his wits for most of his life. Finding himself on the streets at the age of twelve after his mother died, he’d learned to read situations, to know when he was in danger. And right now his instincts were screaming at him that something was very, very wrong.
He crept to the door, gently turned the handle, and pulled it open a crack. Pressing his ear to the gap, he strained to listen.
“I don’t give a shit about your sensibilities,” Kalrick was saying. “He’s a liability. If you’re too squeamish to do what needs to be done, maybe you should find yourself another line of work.”
“You’re not listening to me,” the director replied. “He’s champion now. If he disappears people will ask questions.”
Kalrick snorted. “That’s easily dealt with. We’ll put out word he’s gone to live in some swanky harbor side apartment with a model. They’ll believe that. Hell, it’s what most of those mindless morons dream of. Give em what they want and they won’t ask any questions. He made a deal and broke it. That has consequences. We can’t allow him to defy us. It sends the wrong message to our other operatives. There’s no other choice. Maxwell Jones must be eliminated.”
Max’s heart leapt into his mouth. His pulse was suddenly hammering so loud he couldn’t make out the rest of the conversation. Quickly shutting the door, he scanned the room, eyes coming to rest on the window. With a quick glance at the door to make sure it was still closed, he crossed to the window and yanked it open. Outside was a narrow ledge and a fall of three floors to the ground. Max edged out onto it then carefully worked his way along the ledge until he reached the fire escape. Heart pounding, he thundered down the fire escape and as soon as his feet hit the ground, started running.
His trophy sat on the table, forgotten.
***
The building that hosted the tournament was part of a glitzy plaza full of shining high-rises and fancy walkways lined with gravel. Canals with little footbridges spanning them broke up the space. At any other time Max would have spent time marveling at such a place as it was so different to the rest of the moldering city. But now he barely noticed it.
A sense of urgency, almost panic, fuelled him. He had to get out of this place. It was owned by the Corporation and most of the people working here worked for them. Was that gardener watching him? That man wheeling out a cartload of trash? What about the woman walking by carrying a briefcase?
You’re getting paranoid, he told himself. They’ve probably already forgotten you.
He hoped that was true. A prickling sensation tickled the back of his neck but each time he looked around he couldn’t see anyone following. Soon the tournament building was just a speck in the distance.
Finally Max reached the edge of the plaza and walked under the arched gates and out into the city. It was like walking into a different world. Here the clean, shining f
acade ended and the grim reality began.
The refuse hadn’t been collected again and piles of garbage lay in heaps, hungry dogs fighting each other over the scraps. The streets were all but deserted, the residents sequestered inside their homes plugged into whatever was their game of choice, barely noticing as their houses crumbled around them. There was a grayness to the city, a sense of decay, its once-grand buildings slowly fading, its parks overgrown, its pavements cracked and weed-strewn. And nobody cared.
Covering his mouth to protect against the smell of rotting garbage, Max hurried down the street. After half an hour of walking he began to relax. He was far away from the plaza now and the Corporation seemed far away too, a hazy shadow rather than a real threat. They would hardly come here, would they? Into this shanty-town of rundown apartment blocks and dark alleys?
Max began to feel a little stupid for the way he’d reacted. Idiot, he told himself. You didn’t even get your prize money. What the hell are you going to do now?
He could always enter another tournament, one of the smaller ones not run by the Corporation. There were always betting syndicates looking for good players that they could use as plants. Max didn’t like it but there was little choice. He had to eat, just like everyone else.
He was mulling this over when he heard a sound behind him. He spun, scanning the alleyway behind. Nothing. No sign of anyone, no sound. He began to turn back but then heard it again. The sound of footsteps, moving slowly, trying not to be heard.
Then something ricocheted into the wall above his head, showering him with bits of brick. Max’s heart leapt into his mouth and he fled, pelting down the alley with as much speed as he could muster. Shadows fanned out behind him, three figures, one of them the unmistakable form of Kalrick.
Max ran. He reached the end of the alley and darted into the next one, hoping to lose his pursuers in the maze of backstreets. They were Corporation, he was a street-rat. They couldn’t know these backstreets as well as him, surely?