Kill Switch: Final Season

by Sean E. Britten

  Closing the distance, Tanai tackled Madaki to the ground. Madaki was also filled with new strength and rage from the kill switch injection, and stronger than Tanai. The two of them wrestled and Madaki punched Tanai several times in the face. Tanai spat out a splintered molar and wrapped both hands around Madaki’s neck. Driving his head into the dirt, Tanai stayed on top of the other man until his bracelet exploded and ripped the two of them apart, ending Madaki’s life as suddenly as his own.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  A young mother watches television with two cherubic children, a boy and a girl. On the vidscreen, a heavyset man wearing a squealing kill switch armband vomits blood and crumbles. A team of two, also wearing Slayerz-style bracelets, high five in the background.

  “That’s it for another exciting season of Slayerz!” The woman switches the TV off.

  “Aw, man!” Says the boy, “I wish I could watch Slayerz all year long!”

  “Do you ever wish you could watch Slayerz all year long? Or take part in the gruesome fun yourself? Well now you can, with ‘Slayerz: The Official Board Game’!”

  “Wowww!” The family gather around a holographic arena on their living room floor.

  “Create your own team of psychotic assassins, rapists and serial killers, and set them loose on your family and friends!”

  “My character is an attractive but mentally unstable young woman with a history of ultraviolence!” The young girl says.

  “Mine is a brooding antihero with a damaged sense of morality and a mysterious past.” The boy says.

  “I’ve got a Nazi serial cannibal with an artificial limb and maxed-out bloodlust stats who’s going to go blitzkrieg on your little butts!” The mother giggles.

  Tiny but murderous contestants race between broken buildings projected across the carpet as the family cheers. One hologram decapitates another with a toothpick-sized Claymore sword. Pixelated blood gushes from the wound like a fountain.

  “Compete in your choice of fifty different settings, including real Slayerz arenas such as Anchorage, Medieval Fun World, and The Murderdome. Both luck and skill are needed to survive!”

  “A bullet has severed your brachial artery and a firehose stream of blood is draining your body, threatening to kill you in minutes. Luckily a medpod has opened in your vicinity. Roll for Endurance.” The mother reads from her holopad.

  “Your white supremacist partner has triggered a booby trap connected to a canister of Zyklon B. Any movement could set it off. Roll for Resistance Against Irony.” The boy reads.

  “Slayerz: The Official Board Game! The family that slays together, stays together!”

  The screen on Digger’s sleeve blared and the Australian snapped his attention to it. Around him, Homer and the other contestants’ bracelets did the same. Kill switches were down but maps and updates were live.

  “What is that?” Layla said.

  “It’s not a regular update, looks like another team got taken out.” Digger said.

  He watched the screen as the two commentators nattered in the background. Kali and Tanai sprinted through Freeway Interchange to stay ahead of another heavily armed and armoured mech. They stumbled straight into an ambush by Madaki and Du Preez, and a group of battered sexbots they’d acquired somewhere along the way. Digger rooted silently for Kali and Tanai but it was quickly obvious they were being overwhelmed. He was disappointed. After their earlier truce they had broken away with no promises about what would happen if they ran into one another again, but now that the mercenaries were here their deaths seemed like a waste.

  “That means they’re down to five teams!” Layla said, “They’re going to introduce the Ringers, probably at the end of this update.”

  “So, what? Three more pairs of freaks for us to take out.” Digger said.

  “These ones are seriously bad news, they’re not going to go quietly.” Layla said, “You, the sniper, you’ve been checking the area for vantage points! Where would you go for the best line of sight into the central section of the arena?”

  DFN looked around and pointed to the tallest nearby building, “There, if you can get to the top levels you’ll see over the walls into City Center.” She said.

  “Guard the building!” Layla said.

  The leader of the mercenaries took off at a sprint toward the office tower DFN had pointed out. It was an oval skyscraper made of concentric rings of concrete and glass. The remaining mercenaries fanned out to cover Layla.

  Digger took off after Layla, yelling over his shoulder to Homer, “Stay here, mate!” He said, “Just going to check she doesn’t need a hand!”

  Sealed shut were a pair of glass doors at the front of the building. Layla ran at them without hesitation. Using her artificial arm, Layla shielded her face and rammed through the doors. Glass shattered and sprayed across the lobby. Layla continued across the room without slowing, searching for the stairwell. Digger stumbled through the broken door frame behind her.

  “Shocking stuff for Du Preez and Madaki though, Fred.” One of the commentator’s voices filtered from Digger’s bracelet, “Despite Kali Badami and Tanai Den’atsu being eliminated from the competition, Tanai got revenge, turning the tables and exterminating their attackers as well.”

  “Good on you, little guy.” Digger said.

  Layla found a stairwell over by the building’s out-of-order elevator bank. Servos in her arm and down her left side whirring, Layla sprinted up the steps. She thundered up the stairs two at a time and Digger followed at her heels, UMP45 ready in case of any threats in their path. Story by story they went with the commentary on Digger’s sleeve creating background noise.

  “Don’t look now, Rick, but I believe that double-elimination brings us down to less than one-third of our original teams.” The first commentator said, “And it looks like something is going on in the central section of our five-part arena.”

  “Uninvited guests notwithstanding, that’s right, Fred.” The other announcer said, “Just like last year we’ve got a twist in store for our contestants. Three new teams of two will join the arena! Only one team can win but the Ringers will have to wipe out the original contestants if they can manage it, and our uninvited guests, before being allowed to turn on each other.”

  On the roof of a square, sandy building in almost the exact centre of the arena, a hidden recess slid open and a platform rose until it was level with the rooftop. Six individuals, three teams of two, ascended into view. The scene was relayed on all the remaining contestants’ bracelet screens. Spotlights and lasers painted the corners of the building. Since it was mid-afternoon, however, the lights were dim and less effective than they were on last year’s Slayerz, when the Ringers were introduced at dusk.

  “Let’s meet this year’s Ringers!” One of the commentators said.

  In spite of her heavily muscled, cyborg bulk, Layla didn’t slow down as she charged up the stairs. She was still carrying her P90 and other weapons as well as her compact backpack. Digger struggled to keep up with her flight after flight of steps. They kept moving toward the top floors as the new contestants, the Ringers, were introduced.

  “No season of Slayerz would be complete without at least one cannibal-,”

  “Lost both arms in a tragic Rugby League accident-,”

  “Member of an undiscovered tribe of bloodthirsty-,”

  “Uplifted by a madman, and then-,”

  “Terror of the high seas-,”

  “Wings lined with razor-,”

  “Organs liquified by-,”

  “Death cult-,”

  “Polyamorous-,”

  Layla and Digger reached one of the top floors and ran toward the back of the building. They entered an office suite with floor-to-ceiling windows. From the suite they could see across the wall between the Towers and City Center sections. Faded spotlights flashed on the square building visible between other structures across the arena.

  Digger could see the Ringers on the screen that covered his right forearm. To the lef
t side was a massive bald man with a crazed look in his eyes, drool visibly leaking over his bottom lip even from a distance, carrying a rusty chain attached to a huge hook. His partner was shorter but still a big man, muscular, with both arms replaced by cybernetic prosthetics. In the middle, a wild-haired savage wearing primitive body armour adorned with bones and feathers, warpaint covering their face and arms, next to a hulking gorilla with a chrome cap covering the top of its skull. Only the second uplifted animal contestant they’d ever had on Slayerz, Digger thought. On the right side, a tall, scarred woman with a pair of enormous metal wings behind her back, in a horned helmet and neo-Viking armour, paired with someone in a sleek, black bodysuit and mask.

  Kneeling in front of one of the windows, Layla retrieved the hefty cylinder she’d been carrying around her waist ever since entering the arena. In spite of the run to get upstairs, breathing hard, Layla’s movements were controlled and unrushed. She popped the caps off both ends of the device. As she flipped it over, Digger saw the yellow ‘Radioactive’ warning on its side.

  “That is what I thought it was then.” Digger said.

  “FatBoy tactical miniature nuclear weapon launcher.” Layla said, “Don’t stand directly behind me while I fire this, will you? Maybe put something in front of your nutsack if you want to have kids.”

  Still kneeling, Layla calmly extended the FatBoy’s barrel then moved it to her shoulder. A small screen popped out of the side. Besides the radioactive warning, Digger could now read the message he had noticed earlier scratched down the weapon’s side. In addition to instructions printed on the casing in small, neat script, were the words ‘THIS MACHINE KILLS FASCISTS DAMN NEAR ANYTHING’ scrawled above Layla’s shoulder. Studying the aiming device, Layla pointed straight through the window. The Ringers hadn’t left the rooftop but they were getting ready to go.

  “The team that slays together, stays together!” Digger’s bracelet said.

  Layla fired and a thunderous backblast from the rear of the weapon wiped out the wall behind her, blowing a hole into the next room. A missile punched through the glass in front of Layla. Tail fins flaring, the miniature nuke roared out of the building and sailed across the arena walls into City Center. Layla and Digger shrunk away behind it, framed by the broken window. The nuke’s exhaust left an oily streak of smoke across the sky. The six Ringers, surrounded by hovering camera drones, had no idea what was coming.

  The miniature nuclear missile screamed over rooftops and deserted streets, and struck one of the central building’s upper floors. A blinding flash consumed the building. The top half of the structure was instantly vaporised by a ball of light that burned like the surface of the sun, roiling and brilliantly white. Moments later came the shockwave, ripping through the rest of the building and streets surrounding it. Shielding his face, Digger felt the wave hit. The blast ripped right through City Center, battered the wall in front of them, and for a moment the entire building he and Layla were standing in shook like a palm tree in a hurricane.

  Off to one side of the City Center section near the wall, the Nazi supersoldier named Boche and Uzi Kahneman took cover. Scorching heat and the concussion from the explosion slammed through surrounding buildings. Even at the outskirts of the section, Boche and Kahneman had to hide to avoid being liquified by the blast or shredded by the buildings and rubble turned into shrapnel by the shockwave. Meteoric pieces of burning debris streaked through the sky. Boche was burned by the flash and nearly blinded. He snarled at the darkening sky, seeing the explosion as a personal attack on their lives.

  “Holy shit!” DFN Jefferson yelled.

  On the ground near the building Layla Jackson and Digger had disappeared into, the other mercenaries and ex-contestants were also seeking cover. The arena walls protected them from the blastwave but a hot, tearing gale roared through the streets like they were being sandblasted. A cloud of smoke and debris towered over the buildings. Even the mercs, who had known what to expect, were stunned. Only Homer and Echo Three looked unshaken and vaguely bored by the whole thing.

  The giant orb of blinding light had given way to a growing mushroom cloud in the middle of the Slayerz arena. Pieces of the disintegrated central building, dust and rubble of the surrounding streets, had been pounded and picked up in a pillar that bloated across the top into a swirling ceiling. Undoubtedly pieces of the six Ringer contestants were somewhere in there too, but they would have only been identifiable under an electron microscope. Even miniaturised, the nuclear weapon had done incredible damage. A shredded crater extended for a block radius from the central point of the explosion, and everything within that radius had been utterly annihilated.

  “Jesus Christ, was that not a bit bloody extreme, was it?” Digger said.

  Digger’s ears were ringing from the initial launch and the much larger explosion. He straightened and stared down at the smoking maelstrom. Even with his eyes shielded, the strobing aftereffect of the nuclear blast played across his pupils.

  “Took out the Ringers and a lot of defenses we’d have had to deal with to get through to the main bunker in one blow.” Layla shouted over her own ringing ears, “Control centre is directly beneath the central building, same as always.”

  Layla carelessly disposed of the used FatBoy launcher, letting it drop to the office carpet. The wall at the back of the room was still burning. An almost perfectly round hole had been blown through it and set fire to the next room.

  “Don’t worry, we did our research on all the contestants they were going to use on this year’s show, and the Ringers were really bad people.” Layla said.

  “Right, because it seemed a little bit ironic. Rain on your wedding day and all that.” Digger said, “You lot turning up from People for the Ethical Treatment of People to rescue us poor unfortunates from this terrible show that decides who lives and who dies, then blowing those unlucky souls to smithereens. But I’ll just ignore that little bit of cognitive dissonance, shall I?”

  “Really, really bad people.” Layla smirked, “Come on, let’s get back downstairs before they send another drone after us.”

  Below, deep under the arena, the rumble of the explosion on the surface reached the control centre. Technicians throughout the room covered their heads, squealing and ducking as if they expected the roof to cave in on them. The Ringers’ camera drones and hundred of other screens around the centre of the arena had suddenly gone blind. Others, including the feed now thrown onto the main screen, showed the growing mushroom cloud directly above them, blackening the arena. The holographic map in the middle of the room flickered. The map of the arena was created in real time by orbiting satellites. Coming back on, it reflected the mushroom cloud glowing in the centre. Zachariah, the head producer, stalked through the middle of the room while it was shaking as if no bullet, no rubble and no blast could possibly touch him.

  “What the fuck is going on out there? How the fuck did we allow one of those mercs to totally destroy our Ringer teams and one whole chunk of our fucking arena?” Zachariah yelled.

  “Sir, you said you didn’t want to send more of the security teams after them.” One tech said.

  “Are you kidding me? Why did no one identify that weapon she’s been carrying this entire time? Why did no one come up with a way to neutralise it?” Spit flew from Zachariah’s mouth, “They just wiped out all six players meant to bring on our third act!”

  “Everything below level B2 is still intact but we’ve lost all the remaining security droids and almost all of our backup camera drones.” Another tech said, “We’re still broadcasting and servers are intact, but-, our ground level entry could be totally exposed.”

  “What about the Slayers? What about our special guests and their mechs?” Zachariah asked.

  “Fine, the green room and mech hanger are on level B4.” The tech said.

  “Get them ready to launch! Get the Slayers ready to go, now!” Zachariah said, “No, you know what? Fuck it, I’ll do it! And they’re going to stay out there until th
e job is done!”

  “I mean-, technically, sir, they signed waivers but they are just civilians.” Another producer said, “Are you sure now is the-,”

  “Get the mech suits ready now! They’re going to kill these assholes for us!” Zachariah said, “Get those trucks ready too, the trucks we were going to give the contestants to fight the mechs with. If we send out more security, we’ll send them out with those!”

  “Sir, if we put out a distress call to the nearest authorities-,” The first tech said.

  “No! No, we deal with this in-house!” Zachariah said, “The show must go on!”

  Two minutes later, Zachariah was moving through the main corridor on level B4, sweeping his dark hair back across his scalp. Bits of trash and equipment were scattered around the utilitarian halls, as if they’d just been through an earthquake. He entered a brightly lit room occupied by a long couch as well as several tables and chairs. Framed posters from previous seasons of Slayerz and other network shows lined the walls. A buffet of finger foods, fruits and snacks covered one table. Several plates and drinks had spilled off the table and onto the floor. Two civilians, a man and a woman, turned to look at Zachariah expectantly.

  “Shouldn’t there be three of you?” Zachariah said.

  The sound of a flush came from a door adjacent to the green room. The bathroom opened and a second man joined the other contest winners. All three were wearing padded but form-fitting uniforms. The second man held his stomach with a slightly pained expression.

  “Sorry, I’m-, you know, nerves, it’s making my stomach-, well.” The second man said.

  “I can’t believe this is really happening!” The first man said.

  The first man was the youngest of the three, with a mop of light brown hair and the neck of a t-shirt, some knockoff Slayerz merchandise, peeking out of the collar of his suit. The guy who had emerged from the bathroom was in his forties, portly and balding. The woman was in her early thirties, hard-eyed and with her hair pulled back in a ponytail behind her head.