Kill Switch: Final Season

by Sean E. Britten

  Sean E. Britten

  2019

  Kill Switch – Final Season

  © Sean E. Britten 2019

  Cover Design © Christian Bentulan / Covers by Christian

  All Rights Reserved

  This book is a work of fiction. All people, places, events, and situations are the product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental.

  For Tess

  Endless Love

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Epilogue

  Chapter One

  Voices howled, bars crashed in their frames and the thump of flesh on flesh pounded through the prison. Shafts of grey sunlight crossed the central room, thick with dust. Cells lined the outer walls. Overcrowded and falling into disrepair, the prison stank of rot, mold and bodily fluids. Four men circled a concrete floor covered in dark bloodstains, old and fresh. Guards patrolled caged hallways overhead, making bets on the action.

  “Come on, you lot! One at a time or all together!” The prisoner in the centre said.

  The prisoner was a large, heavily built man with face half-hidden behind a wild beard and tangle of hair. He spoke in a thick Australian accent. The other three prisoners moved just outside the range of his fists.

  “They call you the Digger, right, hombre?” One of the circling prisoners said, “That’s good, you can dig your own grave!”

  The second prisoner was another big man with a shaved head and a mouth full of rotten teeth. His voice was American. The other two prisoners on the American’s side were locals, Thai. The two Thai prisoners were shorter than the Australian or the American but hard and muscular, experienced fighters who weren’t wasting any time on threats.

  “What? When I’m dead?” The man called Digger said.

  “What?” The American replied.

  “Assuming that was meant to be a threat, mate, that I can dig my own grave, which I’m assuming it was given context.” Digger said, “Meaning you’re about to kill me, but how am I going to dig my own grave if I’m already dead? You numb cunt?”

  Scars cut across what could be seen of Digger’s face behind the beard and hair, and worked their way down his right arm. The American shook his head as if trying to clear it.

  “Fuck you!” The American said.

  The American prisoner threw himself at Digger, fists flailing. Digger absorbed the American’s big, meaty blows on his raised forearms. The two local men circled the foreigners. Turning with the punches, the Australian twisted around, waiting for an opening, and swung. The American’s rotten teeth crashed together and he staggered backward. Digger gripped the American by the shoulder and slammed one foot into his knee, causing it to collapse from under him with a wet pop. The American screamed.

  Before Digger could press his advantage, the two Thais moved in behind him. One of them went low in an attempt to take out Digger’s legs while the other kicked him in the kidneys. Digger reeled, keeping his footing, but the two men attacked in a flurry of punches and kicks.

  “Right, enough of that!” Digger said.

  Digger drove his elbow into one Thai prisoner’s face. The man’s nose flattened with a burst of blood, head rocketing back on his neck. Lashing out with a foot, Digger kicked the Thai backward into the bars bordering the room. Digger threw himself into the second Thai. Monstering over the second man and wrapping him in his arms, Digger let himself drop. He shoved the other prisoner to the ground and drove his face into the concrete. The Thai’s head rebounded with a sick crack.

  “Get that into ya!” Digger shouted.

  Spitting blood and flecks of teeth, the American recovered as Digger picked himself up. Launching himself at the Australian with his one good leg, the American hit Digger while he was still mid-rise. The two big men crashed to the floor again. Their violence was thrashing and frenzied, hitting and clawing as they rolled across the fighting pit. Other prisoners were roaring for blood but it was all just background noise. Ribbons of toilet paper, pieces of trash and even arcs of piss and shit were hurled out of cells and splattered the pit. Someone threw a jar of urine that hit the wall and shattered, the rim of the broken jar clattering to the ground.

  Under the American, Digger laughed off his punches. Digger slammed the American in the throat and then twisted the other man’s wrist backward. Climbing on top of the American, he started punching down into his face. The American’s head rebounded off the concrete with every blow. Digger beat the man into unconsciousness as the two Thai prisoners got back to their feet. They were bloodied and unsteady but moved in on Digger again. The prison thundered with bloodlust.

  One man lunged at Digger’s exposed back. He went to wrap an arm around Digger’s neck but Digger turned and grabbed him by the throat instead. Wrenching him into the air, Digger got to his feet and then body slammed the man into the ground. The prisoner convulsed and went still, blood leaking from the back of his head.

  “Play School’s over, mate.” Digger said.

  The second Thai swung at Digger’s head. Digger snatched at the man’s arm, getting him by the wrist, and twisted until he overpowered him. Holding the man’s arm out straight he drilled his other fist into the Thai’s elbow. The Thai prisoner’s arm broke with a wet snap and he shrieked. Pulling him down, the Australian drove his knee into the last man’s face.

  The crowd roared angrily, bars rattling. In corridors along the rooftop, money changed hands between the guards. Prisoners exchanged cigarettes, magazines, or negotiated for favours that had been wagered. Digger raised his arms and circled the filthy pit under a chorus of booing. The big Australian wasn’t even breathing heavily. The animal in his chest, the war beast that fed on violence and bloodshed, had barely stirred. Sometimes, in the middle of a fight, it was almost like the animal took over, but it only did so when it was needed.

  “How’d I end up in the women’s prison, ey?” Digger yelled, “Fair go, can’t any of you put up a half-decent fight?”

  Across the room, one of the doors opened. A few prisoners dragged away the unconscious fighters, the two locals and the big American. Once the fighting pit was cleared a couple of guards led in another prisoner, only one, in a bright orange jumpsuit. Digger looked him up and down, not recognising him. The other man was half a head taller than the big Australian. Dark skinned with a swimmer’s build, broad shoulders and long limbs, a tapered waist. His chest and arms were heavy with muscle.

  “They grow them big where you come from, do they, mate?” Digger said.

  A thick belt was tightened around the new arrival’s waist and his hands were cuffed to it. One of the guards unlocked him and the prisoner flexed his freed hands, grinning at Digger. The man’s face was carved out of solid oak. It wasn’t until a forked tongue flicked out and skimmed across the man�
�s teeth that Digger was taken aback. Only then, in the dim light, did Digger notice the impressions of what might have been scales, shaped like diamonds, down the man’s arms.

  “Oi, you-, you’re a bloody mutie! Bloody mutant freak!” Digger said.

  Digger felt a flush of rage and heat. The animal in his chest was awake in an instant, panting and hungry. Since the African Bio-Wars, mutants and genetically engineered soldiers, as well as other failed science experiments, had been scattered across the globe. Bio-warlords and other factions had tried to outdo each other to create the next genetic weapon or perfect soldier. Fighting in the Bio-Wars and working in the aftermath as a mercenary, Digger had seen plenty of attempts. More than ever, at the sight of the mutant he wanted his knuckles pressed against flesh and blood on his teeth.

  “You ain’t getting inside my head, mutie!” Digger said, “I’ll fuck your test tube arse up!”

  “Fight! Fight!” Another prisoner yelled.

  Prisoners screamed in Thai or their own languages. More pieces of trash sailed through the air. Snarling, Digger circled the pit and threw himself at the mutant. He drove his fist into the supersoldier’s midsection as hard as he could. Digger’s fist rebounded off the bigger man’s stomach, his wrist aching, but the mutant showed no reaction. He grinned and Digger put all he had into a second punch aimed at the mutant prisoner’s jaw. One of Digger’s fingers let out a snap as the supersoldier’s head was wrenched to one side. As Digger shook out his hand, the man’s head came back as if on a swivel. Digger was about to throw himself at the mutant harder but the mutant grabbed him by the front of his prison uniform and hurled him across the room. Digger crashed into the wall and rolled onto the concrete.

  Head pulsing, Digger felt a wave of pressure building up behind his eyeballs until it was like they were going to blow out of their sockets. He climbed back onto his knees with his animal howling in his chest. If he let the berserker rage take him over though, Digger knew he wouldn’t survive the fight. Brute strength wouldn’t be enough, Digger would have to fight smarter. He darted across the room, muscles rigid, and came in low at the other prisoner.

  The other prisoner didn’t do much to defend himself. Digger tried to kick out the supersoldier’s kneecap like he’d done to the American but the soldier’s leg didn’t buckle. Forked tongue flicking from his mouth, the mutant rounded on Digger. The two of them grappled, Digger managing to wiggle out of the other man’s powerful grip. Digger landed several hard but ineffectual blows.

  The mutant supersoldier clipped Digger across the side of the head. Digger’s skull rang but he’d ducked the worst of it. The blow was the opportunity Digger had been waiting for. He snatched the soldier’s wrist, grabbing it with both hands, and then wrapped his hands around the man’s fingers. Trying to disable the hand, Digger yanked and twisted the fingers apart as if trying to pull open a lobster claw. In spite of the mutant’s superhuman toughness at least three of the man’s fingers broke, knuckles disjointing and the delicate bones of his hand snapping. Digger kept ripping at it until the mutant pulled loose and recoiled across the pit. Grinning in triumph, Digger raised his bloodstained hands mockingly.

  Keeping his distance, the mutant lifted his mangled hand so Digger could see it. After a few moments, with a crackling and popping, the supersoldier’s broken fingers and knuckles started to rearrange themselves. The bloody tear down the back of the soldier’s hand stitched itself closed before Digger’s eyes.

  “Oh, fair go!” Digger said.

  The other prisoner grinned. Scales on the back of his hand looked more pronounced than ever but the appendage was none the worse for wear. The man lunged, crossing the floor in three strides, and he swung the newly repaired fist into Digger’s chest. The blow was like a sledgehammer. It picked Digger up and threw him against the wall again. Managing to stay on his feet, Digger rolled to the side as the supersoldier kept coming. The man’s fist hit the wall instead. Flakes of concrete broke off from the impact and trickled to the ground.

  “Using superpowers is bloody cheating!” Digger said.

  Foaming at the mouth, Digger hammered the mutant soldier in the jaw. The mutant’s teeth crashed together but he swung around, backhanding Digger across the face. Digger’s head whiplashed to the side and he stumbled back. Kicking him, the mutant sent Digger flying for a third time. He hit the ground, flipping over backward, and let out a bark of frustration and rage. The berserk anger washed all his pain away but sent an insane fury clawing through his chest.

  The other fighter savoured his victory while the prison was cheering. Digger crouched and spotted the broken shards of the piss-filled jar someone had thrown into the pit during the last fight. The rim of the jar was still in one piece, a solid circle surrounded by wicked fangs of glass. Digger grabbed the rim, ignoring the urine and the points stabbing his fingers. As the mutant bent to grab him, Digger shot upright. The mutant hadn’t realised Digger had a weapon in his hand. Digger ducked one arm and tackled him from the side, jamming the rim of shards into the supersoldier’s throat.

  Tearing and twisting, Digger cut through the other man’s neck and ripped it open from side to side. The glass teeth caught on muscles and tendons but Digger kept sawing deeper as an explosion of arterial blood coated his arm. The supersoldier threw himself backwards but Digger clung tight and moved behind the other prisoner, forcing the bigger man to his knees. Dropping his makeshift weapon, Digger drove his knee into the back of the mutant’s neck and yanked his head backward. Doing so opened the passage of the wound further. Digger wasn’t sure if the mutant’s healing ability could repair the damage so he had to keep the wound open and spraying. Arterial blood shot across the floor in twin arcs, painting it a deep crimson. Digger kept his knee jammed into his opponent's vertebrae and both hands wrapped around the man’s skull. The mutant kept trying to fight back but his attempts got weaker and weaker. Eventually, the other man crumpled and passed out from blood loss.

  “Supposed to wear that red stuff on the inside, you arsehole!” Digger laughed, “Supposed to keep that red shit on the inside!”

  Digger threw the dying supersoldier to the ground. His hands were dripping with blood as he gestured wildly. Other prisoners kept yelling and jeering but some had fallen into shock.

  The guards were agitated, yelling in Thai from the corridors above. Guards allowed the fights to go on and even bet on them but weapons weren’t supposed to be involved. A prisoner getting beaten to death with fists was one thing but they didn’t want to have to explain other types of injury. A couple guards pointed compact stun cannons through the bars. The concussive blasts launched Digger backward again, throwing him to the ground. As he recovered his breath, Digger started to laugh a braying, hyena laugh. Another blast pinned him to the ground and he choked but continued giggling. Across the pit, the door opened and half a dozen more guards surrounded Digger, beating him with batons and dragging him from the room as he continued to bray with victory.

  xXx

  In solitary, Digger hummed to himself as he scraped a small rock up and down the wall of his cell. Cutting into the concrete, he created a large letter ‘T’ that stood about a foot tall. Once he was satisfied with the letter he moved on, snaking the rock back and forth to create an equally large ‘S’. There was only one tiny window high on the wall for ventilation. Air in the cell was stale and it was almost totally lightless. One of Digger’s eyes was swollen shut, and bruises and contusions from the fights and from the guards’ batons covered his body. Still, the Australian seemed happy in his own little world.

  Footsteps and hushed conversation vibrated from the hallway outside. One of the guards banged on the door of the cell and shouted something in Thai. Digger turned as the creaking door was forced open. Two uniformed guards stood in the corridor with stun cannons. Grey light flushed the cell, revealing the words scratched into the wall in full for the first time. The guards gestured at Digger to back up but he stayed where was, holding the small stone. A third man stood b
etween the guards, compact and athletic in a lavender shirt and expensive suit. His skin was exceptionally dark and a gold earring winked in his ear in contrast. Thick rings covered the man’s fingers as he ran a hand over his shaved head.

  “Digger Dundee.” The man said, “Have I got that right?”

  “Save the jokes, I’ve heard them all already.” Digger said.

  “My name is Zachariah Hawthorne, I’m the new head producer of a little reality television program you might have come across, called Slayerz.” The man said, “I’m sure you heard about what happened last season-, well, after that the network obviously had to make some changes in management.”

  “Don’t get much TV in here, mate.” Digger said.

  Zachariah gave him a thin smile. Standing in the doorway, he produced a small hologram emitter from his jacket which came to life in his hand. A page of text floated in front of Zachariah as he kept talking.

  “Point is, I’m glad I decided to make the trip myself. We’ve been going a lot further afield for contestants this season. After last year’s fiasco we’re not allowed to have the arena anywhere near the Americas but a lot of new doors have opened, and I think we’re making it work.” Zachariah seemed like he loved the sound of his own voice, “Let’s see, Digger Dundee, ex-Australian Special Forces, wanted for the deaths of four other members of your unit. Instead of facing trial you escaped and found work as a mercenary behind enemy lines in the aftermath of the African Bio-Wars. Picked up in Bangkok after a drunken bar brawl led to two deaths, a building fire, the loss of a factory megadont and evacuation of an entire city block. Since then you’ve been stuck here until the wheels of bureaucracy catch up and get you shipped home to face questioning over the original deaths and your dereliction of duty charges.”

  “They weren’t my fault.” Digger said, “Something got inside my head and made me do it.”

  “I wasn’t here for you but I’m told you killed the prisoner I was going to pick up a few hours before my arrival.” Zachariah said, “An ex-Bio-Wars soldier with an experimental reptilian healing factor.”