Assault or Attrition

by Blake Northcott

  Judy, our resident nurse, was situated directly to my left. Her eyes darted nervously around the room. I rapped the glass to get her attention and said she’d be fine. My voice was hollow, echoing off the interior of the pod, but I think she read my lips. She nodded and exhaled deeply.

  “This is it,” Frost’s hologram boldly announced, apparently to no one. His arms were spread wide, chin pointed upward as if playing to an invisible audience that surrounded him on every side. “The competitors are prepared for their descent, and the battle begins now. Remember: this is more than just a physical challenge. It will test every part of you, and only the warrior who knows himself can claim the reward. The victor will receive something more valuable than money; they will be awarded the ultimate freedom.”

  The pods began to drop. Starting clockwise at the far end of the room, Brynja’s pod disappeared into the floor, being sucked through the pneumatic tube. The circular tunnel closed itself off, and Mac’s pod followed, suddenly disappearing with a pressurized pop. Then Chandler. Then Anton, the chef.

  And then, before the next pod could escape, a thunderous crash rattled the floors. A crumpled metal door sailed into the center of the room, spiralling to a stop.

  Heavily armed men stormed the room, and the sound of gunfire was deafening. London was cut down in the crossfire; orange spheres clanging to the floor, sparking as they billowed black smoke. Peyton pressed her hands flat against the inside of her pod and screamed as it disappeared into the floor. Bullet holes riddled the wall where she had been just a heartbeat before.

  A spatter of red coated the interior of the pod to my left. It happened so suddenly that I hadn’t seen the hail of bullets bisect the chamber, tearing Judy to pieces.

  Chapter Seventeen

  “He’s still here!” Someone screamed. The voice was muffled by gunfire, and the partial soundproofing of the pod. Two bearded men with toolkits scrambled towards me. They knelt at the foot of my pod, threw open the lids and began riffling through their equipment.

  Before they could begin to extract me I disappeared into the tunnel below, transported at the speed of gravity. The floor sealed shut above and I was in a free-fall, pitch black and silent. A million questions raced through my mind during the drop: did everyone survive the drop? How did the Red Army find us so quickly? And what the hell smashed down the door? Whatever it was would no doubt be following us into The Spiral. There was so much to figure out. I tried to focus on what lay ahead, and push the sight of Judy out of my mind – or what was left of her.

  A few rapid seconds ticked by and my dizzying ride came to an end, ejecting me into an open field.

  I was thrown clear. The landing was surprisingly soft, and a patch of damp grass cushioned my fall as I rolled to a stop. A few rapid blinks adjusted my eyes to the dimmed light. I stood and took in my surroundings – I was in a rain forest. Like the tropical paradise that Frost had artificially engineered in the dome that sat atop the fortress, this was an ecosystem designed to mimic a jungle. The dense foliage surrounding me extended further than I could see in every direction, and it was brimming with life and activity. Insects buzzed, birds chirped. Even the air, thick with moisture, was a perfect re-creation.

  While the plant life and its inhabitants were no doubt real, the sky above was completely artificial. Streaming down a diffused silvery glow, the endless expanse of stars that cluttered the sky were nothing more than a convincing hologram, projected a few hundred feet above my head. It was impressive either way. If I hadn’t been fully aware that I was underground, there would be nothing to give away the meticulously crafted illusion.

  I couldn’t be sure what awaited us on the first level of The Spiral, or if anyone was listening in, so I whispered into my wrist-com, careful to keep my voice low. “Peyton? Can you hear me?”

  A moment passed. I repeated the call, hearing only the faint drone of static through the com. Brynja, Mac, Chandler, and the rest of the staff were either out of range, or their coms were unresponsive. The silence of the coms was replaced by swarming insects, serving only to irritate me as the heat began to rise inside my suit. Cameron Frost was a sadistic bastard, but to include actual mosquitoes inside his artificial ecosystem was simply beyond evil.

  I paced back and forth as I continually checked my com, keeping a watchful eye out for any signs of movement in the surrounding trees. I couldn’t be sure of who, or what, awaited us down here – if the Red Army had already figured out a way to get down to this level we could be engaged in a firefight sooner than later. And I couldn’t completely dismiss the notion that Frost would set a few traps of his own just to keep competitors on their toes.

  As I strode around the knee-high grass, my boot clanked something as my foot swung forward: a box. It was a metal casket, like the ones that had been scattered throughout the original Arena Mode back in Manhattan. It was one of Frost’s little additions to make the games more interesting (as if superhumans beating each other to a pulp on a live simulcast wasn’t interesting enough.) A number of the boxes, containing everything from bullets to explosives, were accessible throughout the island, giving participants the opportunity to cause even more bodily harm to one and other. It was like a fully-realized video game, but without the reset button.

  Brushing aside the damp grass I inspected the edges of the box, carefully running my fingers along every seam and gap. In the previous Arena Mode, half of the caskets were wired to explode – a fact that led to the demise of more than one competitor. This casket seemed harmless, so I proceeded to flip open the lid. Inside I found a pair of transparent plastic devices; they were roughly the size and shape of surgical masks, attached to small silver canisters. They looked like miniaturized gas masks, or possibly some type of portable SCUBA gear. I clipped them to my belt and prepared to move on.

  The area was enormous, so finding the others wouldn’t be easy without the use of our coms. My best guess was that they were disabled by a sensor when we entered The Spiral. Letting competitors communicate using electronic devices would take a lot of the tension away from the narrative, I suppose. If it’s not dramatic enough, you lose viewers.

  Making my way towards the center was my best chance at finding everyone, assuming that there was a larger opening where visibility would be better. The brightness of the starlight at my back indicated that I was at the edge of the level. It was a subtle distinction, but I noticed that the roof of this level had a dome-like structure like the fortress above. The closer to the center of the level, the weaker the lights became since they were situated higher into the ceiling. The ground sloped slightly downward as well, where condensation was draining; it was likely that water was running towards the center, where my teammates would be drawn when the sweltering heat led to dehydration.

  I drew the rifle from my back and prepared to make my way through the darkened forest. Using a dim light from my gauntlet I navigated through the dense trees, stumbling on roots and loose rocks along the way. After a short hike I arrived in an open space at the edge of a lake. It was immense. The body of water was so wide I could barely see the trees that dotted the shoreline on the opposite side.

  Movement caught my attention at the perimeter of the lake a few hundred feet to my right. I stepped back, retreating into the darkness of the tree line, until I realized who it was. Chandler, who appeared to be nursing a sprained ankle, hobbled along with the assistance of Peyton, her pink hair glowing like a beacon beneath the starlight.

  I jogged along the grassy shore and waved them down, careful not to make too much noise.

  “I don’t know why it happened,” Chandler mumbled. “I mean, what happened, not why. I know why, it’s just—”

  “Are you all right?” I asked, offering my arm for support.

  He nodded and attempted to turn his painful wince into a smile. “I fell from the pod. I landed hard on a rock, and something popped...in my leg.”

  I assisted our injured friend to a soft patch of grass under the canopy, where we’d be les
s visible from the clearing. At least if someone approached we’d have the option to shoot first.

  Peyton explained that she’d heard Chandler screaming in pain and ran to his aid. Luckily, her pod had deposited them in close proximity to each other. Neither had seen Brynja or Mac, and the remaining staff was missing as well.

  Chandler asked about Judy and if she made it down. I didn’t have the words to describe what I’d seen – and if I did, I wouldn’t say them. I just shook my head. He nodded back, eyes welling with sadness. It never occurred to me that while Judy and the rest of the staff were merely acquaintances of mine, he had spent over a year getting to know them. I didn’t bring up the fact that Ortega and Anton – wearing heavy plastic suits that were about as subtle as Christmas ornaments – were the next most obvious targets. Hopefully they’d removed their armor to increase their mobility and help with camouflage.

  Hours passed and nothing happened. A bird would occasionally pass overhead, or a shooting star would streak through the sky (all part of the artificial light show built into the ceiling) but there were no signs of our teammates, or anyone from the Red Army.

  Twelve hours had rolled by, according to my com, and I realized that the ‘sun’ wasn’t going to rise. We were trapped in a level that was locked in perpetual night. With reduced visibility we were more vulnerable, and the chances of locating our friends were far slimmer.

  I was about to embark on a recon mission to scout the surrounding area when I heard rustling in the trees. Mac stumbled from the forest behind us, exhausted and dehydrated. I rushed to his side and he crumbled, falling to a knee. For an out-of-shape man in his mid-forties, my pilot could party like a teenager, but hiking for half a day over rough terrain will take its toll on anyone – especially without water.

  Dragging his feet with each step, Mac made his way to the shoreline and knelt in shallow water, scooping handfuls into his mouth. Once he’d rehydrated he joined us in our makeshift campsite under some low-hanging branches. He hadn’t heard from anyone, although he had stumble across a container of his own. When he flipped the lid he discovered a handheld cylinder with yellow markings that resembled a grenade. I inspected the small print that marked the sides. It was a flash bang; a high-powered distraction more than a weapon, it was used to create a bright flash of light to blind and disorient enemies in combat.

  I wanted to begin a search for Brynja and the staff, but we’d all been awake for so long – we were exhausted and needed rest. After a few hours of sleeping in shifts, alternating who kept watch over the lake and shoreline, we heard the first signs of life. It was screaming; a guttural, high-pitched squeal that started faintly in the distance, and rapidly grew louder.

  Mac, Peyton and I raced from beneath the tree line and stood at the edge of the lake, watching it approach: a bright yellow object, soaring high overhead.

  It was coming straight towards us.

  And it looked exactly like a GoBot.

  Ortega, flailing and screaming, had been catapulted across half the level.

  “Wait,” Mac asked, squinting into the sky, “can those suits fly?”

  Ortega slammed into the rocky shoreline a hundred feet away, his body contorting violently as it made impact. He twisted and bent, limbs folding into unnatural positions when he finally rolled to a stop.

  The color drained from Mac’s face at the gruesome sight. “I guess not.”

  Before the shock of what we’d seen could penetrate, a new set of sounds reverberated over the body of water. The sound of trees toppling into each other was growing louder, and we could see the tops disappearing from down the shoreline. Whatever had launched Ortega miles to his death was now tearing a swath through the forest – and it was barreling towards us.

  Chapter Eighteen

  I detached the rifle from the magnetic strip on my armor’s spine and leveled it, pulling the stock firmly into my shoulder. Mac followed my lead, taking aim at the edge of the woods.

  Without warning the crashing ceased, and in the deafening gulf of silence that followed I felt my heart pounding inside of my chest. For a moment I thought would crack my ribcage if it beat any faster. I was suddenly hyper-aware of every detail that surrounded me: a mosquito’s circling around my right ear; drops of perspiration rolling from my hairline down the back of my neck; and my index finger, poised over the trigger, vibrating with nervous tension.

  “Matthew Moxon!” a voice called out. “It’s really you!” A young man emerged from the darkened forest and stepped into the clearing, beaming with excitement. A pale kid with a head of rumpled blond hair and a crooked smile, he couldn’t have been a day over twenty.

  I lowered my weapon.

  “A friend of yours?” Mac asked, re-attaching the gun to his holster.

  Unless this was my short term memory loss playing tricks on me, I didn’t think so. Although the kid was wearing ripped jeans, sneakers and a time-worn Batman t-shirt – which basically matched the description of every second person who walked through the doors of Excelsior Retro Comics back in The Fringe. For all I knew we’d been introduced at some point while I wasn’t paying attention. I was more curious about how this kid had arrived in The Spiral, without a weapon or any back-up. He seemed significantly less homicidal than the rest of the Red Army, and aesthetically he didn’t quite fit their profile.

  “You don’t know me,” he said, approaching with an extended hand, “but I love your work.” I shook it and nodded politely as he continued. “When I saw you in Arena Mode I knew I wanted to do the same thing: shoot people, blow shit up...” The kid looked me up and down, before adding, “It’s amazing that you won since you have no powers whatsoever. And your size...well, you looked a lot taller on iTube.” He had so much energy it was almost radiating from his skin; his wild hand gestures and hyperkinetic speech had an exhausting effect after just a few moments.

  “Thanks,” I replied curiously. “And you are?”

  He laughed, playfully smacking himself in the side of the head. “Right, my name. It’s—”

  “Steve McGarrity!” Chandler shouted. He was hobbling towards us, eyes wide with excitement.

  “You know this guy?” I asked.

  “Do I know him?” Chandler exclaimed. “Everyone knows him. He’s the guy with the video game, the...he’s the champion. The one! With the trophies – from the IG-Net!”

  “Interactive Gaming Network champ from 2033 to 2035,” McGarrity stated with pride. “Highest cash earner in the First-Person-Shooter and Holo-Strategy divisions...no big deal.” He extended his hand and Chandler rapidly shook it, nearly swooning in the process.

  “What an honor,” Chandler added breathlessly. “This is...wow. We are so happy to have you here. I never dreamed that Murder Lion 14 would come to visit me. Well, not me, specifically, but...either way. You’re here.”

  “Your name is Murder Lion 14?” Peyton asked, creasing her face into a perplexed frown.

  “It was my gamer ID,” McGarrity explained. “Back when I played professionally. I added the 14 because ‘Murder Lion’ was already taken.” His tone leveled off, and his expression grew more serious. “But lately I’ve been workshopping some new names...I’m thinking something really bad-ass that plays off of my Scottish heritage – like ‘Braveheart’.”

  “I have a feeling that name might be copyrighted,” Peyton noted. She kept a safe distance, remaining a few paces behind Mac and Chandler.

  “I never said it would be Braveheart,” he replied without missing a beat. “I said something like that.”

  Mac cocked his head. “So you’d paint your face blue and wear a kilt?”

  “I never said there’d be a kilt, either,” McGarrity chuckled. “Can you imagine? Fighting crime in a dress?” He gestured towards Peyton before adding, “No offense, darling.”

  “Steve, is it?” I lowered my voice and chose my next words very carefully, speaking as politely and diplomatically as possible. “Before we get off on the wrong foot, maybe you can tell us what the fu
ck you’re doing here?”

  He smiled wryly, as if I was asking a ridiculous question that I should already know the answer to. “I’m here to be on the simulcast. Get to the bottom of The Spiral...you know, claim the prize? The Hall of Victors?” He raised his eyebrows, before adding, “Remember: ‘the ultimate power, the ultimate freedom’?”

  Mac, Petyon and I exchanged glances, unsure of how to respond. How could he possibly know what Cameron Frost’s hologram said to us before we descended into The Spiral?

  “The simulcast,” he repeated slowly, enunciating every syllable. “Live. As in, what’s going on. Right now.” He spread his hands and gestured around him, looking in every direction, although I wasn’t sure what he was gesturing at.

  Peyton crinkled her nose. “I’m not following. How are we on a simulcast, exactly?”

  McGarrity explained that our journey into The Spiral – everything starting with Cameron Frost’s pre-recorded speech before the event, right up until this very moment – was being captured on hidden cameras, and broadcast around the world just as Arena Mode had been. We just weren’t aware of it.

  It got creepier. When we dropped into The Spiral, it triggered something inside of Fortress 23 that automatically distributed our security footage to all the major news networks, so many of our conversations leading up the event were being replayed as well.

  Our new friend recently discovered that he possessed superhuman abilities, and was awaiting his opportunity to join the next big event – so when the second Arena Mode began broadcasting just under twenty-four hours ago, he hopped the first flight from Austin to Alberta and entered the same way as we had, through the pneumatic tubes where we’d registered.

  “What about the Red Army?” Mac asked. “Weren’t you worried they’d shoot you or something?”

  “Nah,” he said casually. “They’re only concerned with capturing Mox here. No one gave me a second look. But when I gave Valeriya a little demo of my powers, she let me into one of the tubes. There’s only five left, so she’s not letting the Muggles down here.”