by Paul Tassi
“I don’t know,” Aria said, trudging up the hill a bit ahead of Mark. “Half the time I wonder if he’s an android. It’s like he’s simulating human emotion instead of actually feeling it. Every time I talk to him it feels like a performance. And hell, maybe it is, with these damn cameras always around.”
She pointed upward to one of the larger, bulbous drones in the sky.
They’d almost reached the top of the small hill, where a solitary tree branched upward toward the stars. Given the incline and the height of the tree, it even towered over Crayton’s monstrous warrior statues back by the mansion. Below them was the lake, sparkling with moonlight. It was almost impossible to believe this was all man-made.
“I can see what the old man likes about this spot,” Mark said as he sat down by the base of the tree. Lights flickered in the windows of the four mansions, and little beams indicated patrolling guards around the compound. In the distance, over the wall, was the dim glow of Vegas, poisoning the night sky with its neon. But even still, looking straight up, Mark could see the stream of the Milky Way through the branches of the hulking tree.
Aria sat down next to him, crossing her arms over her knees. She stared out into the dark water.
“This feels like some synthetic version of purgatory,” she said. “Waiting for either heaven or hell on the other side.”
“But most of us are damned,” Mark said.
“No, we all are,” she said. “Why else would we be here? We are the lost.”
“The lost?”
“Lost in anger. Or grief. Or greed. Or vanity. Or all of it.”
Mark looked at Aria, her profile flawless in the moonlight. Her wavy brown hair was black in the darkness and fluttered behind her as a hot breeze blew over the wall. She was heartbreakingly beautiful, and Mark hated that he could literally think of nothing else besides that when she was around. And yet, he’d become almost addicted to her presence. She was a ray of light in the darkness of this insane and increasingly terrifying mission. Ethan and Moses were as well, he supposed. But Aria, she was something else entirely.
“Can I ask you something?” Mark finally said. Aria turned toward him and brushed the hair from her face. “Why the hell are you here?”
Aria turned back to the lake.
“I mean,” Mark continued, “everyone’s got their reasons, but most are public knowledge, and if not, at least people are telling the right kind of lies. But not you. Never anything. Not even an inkling.”
Aria remained silent.
“From what it sounds like, you had it all. One of the best dancers in the world. A supportive family. A great life.”
“Jesus, Mark,” Aria finally snapped. She flashed him a look of anger he’d never seen her wear before. “You think you know me because you watched the CMI recut of my life they turned into fight promos?”
“No!” Mark protested. “Shit, sorry. I just meant, you don’t seem like one of the damned. I want to know the real story.”
More silence.
“But I understand if that’s something you want to hold close,” Mark continued. “Believe me, I understand.”
Mark felt like an idiot, pushing so hard. But Aria was a mystery he actually wanted to solve, unlike Crayton and his box of teeth and the rest of this mess of shit.
After another uncomfortable silence, Aria pivoted around to face Mark, sitting back on her knees. She bent in close, her hair brushing past his cheek. When she spoke, her lips were almost grazing his ear.
“This isn’t a story for the cameras,” she said. “This isn’t a story for anyone, really. But you hurt the way I hurt. I can tell. I can see it in your eyes, every day. So I’ll tell you. Only you.”
“How do I hurt the way you hurt?” Mark whispered back. “What do you mean?”
“Listen, and you’ll know,” Aria said.
Mark fell silent.
“My sister, Olivia, and I have always been competitive. She’s two years younger than me, so always a little slower, a little weaker. Not by much, but enough.
“My parents thought we could make each other strong, so they pitted us against each other our entire lives. Dance, sports, martial arts, anything they could think of where we could push each other to be the best.
“It worked. I constantly beat Olivia in nearly everything, first because I was older, meaning stronger and faster, but later because of the confidence I had believing I was the best. That let me beat her and other girls even when age became a hindrance instead of an advantage.
“It worked for her, too. Because she was always chasing after me, it made her strong. She dominated the competition in her age group, because I was always the standard. She never reached me, but never stopped trying.
“But when we were adults, it took a dark turn. Our parents kept pushing us. We’d audition for the same the same companies, the same roles even. I’m pushing thirty, and I felt like I was thirteen again. Our parents demanded that I show no mercy on her. It’s for her own good, they always said.
“Eventually it started to seep into Olivia’s skin and bones like a disease. The years of successes that felt like failures because she wasn’t quite as good as me. She practiced harder, longer than ever before. She was determined to beat me. To win.
“We were both up for principal dancer in the Metropolitan Ballet Company, one of the best in the world. I trained for months, and so did she, but she wouldn’t even speak to me by then, after so many years of competition that had mutated into life or death struggles for the love of our parents and our own sanity.
“I snuck into one of her solo rehearsals anyway, and I was stunned. She was brilliant, beautiful, and absolute perfection. She performed a routine so complex, so physically eloquent, it was hard to fathom. It was career-making.
“I went to my audition shaken, but did well. Better than well. I made the other girls look like first year Juilliard students. But I was afraid of what was coming from her after what I’d seen.
“But she never showed up. She skipped her audition entirely, and a day later I was awarded the spot.
“I celebrated, I partied with my friends, I thought the world was mine.
“A week later, I got a phone call. I could barely recognize my mother’s voice, her throat was so raw from sobbing. Olivia had broken her leg in one of her final rehearsals the day before the audition. She was admitted to the hospital, her leg was set, and she’d be starting therapy once it healed. While her doctors were confident she could eventually walk normally again, the break was so bad they told her she wouldn’t be able to dance professionally going forward. For fun, sure, but not at the level she’d been training for.
“When she finally was released from the hospital, Olivia went home to her apartment in the city, took a hot shower, and dragged a razor blade through an artery in her injured leg. Her roommate found her body the next morning.
“I tried to dance after that in my new role as principal for MBC, but it was hollow. The joy was gone. My drive, my inspiration, had evaporated. It was her. It had always been her. Even when I thought I hated her as we grew older, I was lost without her. I quit, and my parents lost their minds. It was only then I realized what they’d done to my poor sister all these years. What I’d done. Who we’d turned her into.”
Aria pulled back from Mark, her whispered story finished.
“See? I am one of the damned after all.”
Mark couldn’t hide the tears in his eyes.
“So you punish yourself here, like this?” he asked. “Why?”
“It’s the ultimate irony, isn’t it? It’s only punishment if I die. If I’m not the best for once. But then I can see her again. Perhaps if I make it through, I can lift the darkness from my life, but it’s so hard to see the other side. You know that feeling, I think.”
Mark’s eyes narrowed.
“Why do you say that?” he asked. “I’m here because of—”
“Gambling debts?” Aria said, eyebrow raised with skepticism. “Maybe that’s tr
ue, but you’ve lost someone too, haven’t you?”
Mark said nothing, but his poker face was slipping. Aria’s story had knocked the air out of him.
“That kind of loss attaches itself to you,” she said. “It’s invisible to most, but can easily be seen by someone else who has it too.”
“What does my loss look like?” Mark said, his whispered voice breaking.
“The loss of love, I think” Aria said softly. “The loss of more love than anyone should have to lose.”
Fuck.
“And something tells me it’s a story you’ll never tell.”
Aria and Mark were jolted out of the moment by the dull, piercing wail of an alarm sounding in the compound, echoing off the walls. It was a rising sound like an air raid siren. One by one, floodlights came on everywhere, illuminating the grounds in faux daylight. The purgatory paradise was suddenly a military base on full alert.
“What’s going on?” Aria said, standing up and surveying the surrounding area. From the hilltop, they could effectively see the entire camp.
Mark squinted and saw figures sprinting from a side entrance of the main manor. There were three of them, clad in black, and they fled inhumanly fast toward the outer wall. Behind them, guards emerged, led by Wyatt Axton. He let loose with a stream of silenced SMG rounds, and his fellow guards followed suit.
“Holy shit,” Aria said, craning her neck to get a better look, but Mark pulled her down. A stray bullet could go anywhere.
The three figures reached the wall and began to scale it like spiders, with no ropes Mark could see. They had some sort of grappling gear attached to their hands. Two made it up the wall in record time, but Axton took aim at the third as he neared the top. Mark couldn’t see where the figure was hit, but he fell backward from the wall twenty feet to the ground. Axton and the others swarmed him, and Mark heard the roar of engines being revved outside the base. Axton flung his hand out to a unit of approaching guards, apparently directing them outside.
Axton plowed his fist into the injured invader, who went limp. He grabbed him by the neck and dragged him back to the mansion, where they disappeared through the same side door they’d emerged from. The alarm continued to sound. Mark wanted nothing more than to slide in his S-lens and ask Brooke what the hell was going on.
“Did they just shoot someone?” Aria asked, eyes wide with panic. “Who were they?”
“I don’t know,” Mark said as calmly as he could manage, “but we need to get inside.”
CAMERON CRAYTON HIMSELF APPEARED on Mark’s TV when he reached his room later that night after escorting Aria back to hers. His smile was faded, reduced to a mere grin, and the alarms had long stopped blaring, and the lights had returned to normal.
“Apologies for the late hour,” Crayton said, the message playing on every screen in the compound Mark was sure, and probably on TV as well. “But there was an incident at 10:30 p.m. this evening, and I wanted to ensure everyone who may have glimpsed it during the stream that there is no cause for panic.”
Only Crayton would be a dressed in a suit this late with his hair perfectly combed. Mark was eager to hear his official explanation.
“A small group of overly zealous Crucible fans managed to gain entry into my estate and slip past security. It seems their intent was to pay one of our combatants, the enigmatic Mr. Cassidy, a visit. Chase has long been the target of such … enthusiasm from fans, so this isn’t out of the ordinary. Fortunately, we don’t believe the parties involved had any ill-intent toward him. They have been apprehended and turned over to local authorities. We wish them no harm, but I must state emphatically that this kind of behavior is unacceptable. We all love our brave fighters, but we must respect the law and the bounds of good taste.”
Mark rolled his eyes at that.
“Thank you for your attention, and I know the rest of you will respect the sanctity of our training area in the future.”
Mark stared hard at Crayton’s eyes. He could see something in them, a tiny hint of fear.
“Well, what did you make of that?” Mark asked Brooke in the S-lens after the broadcast went dark.
“You saw more than me,” Brooke said. “Not only did the intruders not pass by any of the cameras on the way in, all the footage from when the alarms sounded was cut from the livestream. Past that, even though I’m in their network, they wiped everything almost as soon as it happened. Maybe if I’d checked ten minutes earlier I could have grabbed something, but I was eating a late dinner. Sorry.”
“Well I can tell you what I saw,” Mark said. “And it wasn’t any ‘crazed fans’ who moved like that. I’m pretty sure they were wearing lizard suits to get over that wall.”
“Lizard suits” was slang for the LZ-600 series, a tactical espionage loadout where flat surfaces could easily be climbed with thousands of microscopic hooks on the hands and knees.
“And that wasn’t rubber Crayton’s security was shooting at them,” Mark continued. “I bet there’s someone scrubbing blood off the wall right now. I’m guessing the other two got away and they have the third on lockdown, if he isn’t dead.”
“What are you saying?”
“I think you know.”
“A hit team?”
“Well they sure as hell weren’t here to molest Chase Cassidy. These guys were pros.”
“If this is China …”
“I didn’t think they’d take it this far. I know Crayton’s security has been tight, even for a billionaire, but this? A potential hit? Christ. This is big.”
Mark rubbed his eyes, which temporarily blacked Brooke out of his vision.
“So what happens now? Isn’t the enemy of my enemy my friend?” Mark asked.
“Langley won’t see it that way. They need to know whatever the hell’s going on between Crayton and China, if that’s actually what this is. They’re starting to really crack open that investment data I showed you. More Chinese connections defunding the competition of his start-ups, or otherwise screwing them over via proxies. A pattern is forming.”
“And Gideon still thinks he’s on the hook for Justice Wright, doesn’t he?”
Brooke nodded.
He couldn’t stop thinking about the lethal effectiveness of Wyatt Axton. If anyone could do his wetwork …
“Alright,” Brooke said, yawning. “I can’t stare at these damn video feeds any longer. I’m going to bed.”
“Before you do, try to see if they stashed that guy they shot somewhere in the compound,” Mark said. “If they’re keeping him onsite, I could question him and might be able to break this thing open.”
Brooke was still finishing her yawn, but nodded.
“Alright, alright. I’ll pore through data all night and you can just relax on that giant-ass pillow you call a bed.”
“Thanks,” Mark said with a smile. Brooke blew out an annoyed sigh and killed the feed.
If it really was an assassination attempt on Crayton, Mark was a little sad it had failed.
23
VISITATION DAY ARRIVED. FOR many, it meant a joyous reunion with friends and family after a summer apart. But what it really meant was that the following week they’d all start hacking each other to pieces in Crayton’s arena. It was amazing how fast time had flown, and despite a thickening intel file on Crayton, one final order from Gideon told him that they still needed more for any of it to be actionable. That meant Mark, and all the rest of them, would have to fight. And he would have to keep hunting, however he could.
As for the weekend itself, he’d actually invited Rayne, but she was busy opening up a second bar in the city now that the Blind Watchman’s popularity had exploded. Brooke flying out for a neighborly visit was still not advisable given that they didn’t want Crayton or his security digging into her.
Still, Mark was curious to see who arrived for the other guests, and it was always fun to watch new arrivals to the compound stare at Crayton’s towering statues like the estate was a new wonder of the world. Mark supposed the Coloss
eum itself actually was.
Starting Friday morning, limos began rolling up through Crayton’s gates and unloading friends and family members of Crucible combatants. The first to arrive was Soren Vanderhaven’s enormous clan, with two younger sisters, eight cousins, and a mother, all as gorgeous and blonde as Soren. All nearly fainted at the sight of Chase Cassidy. He and Soren had been something of an unofficial item for a good long while now, which the Heroes and Legends audience ate up with a spoon.
Let’s hope she doesn’t have to jam that spear down his throat in the first round, Mark thought. He wasn’t entirely convinced their romance was genuine, as both seemed to know exactly how to play to the cameras, and he suspected Soren especially was just trying to get inside Cassidy’s head. Under all that sweetness and light and makeup, he could sense something dark and ugly. She reminded him a bit of Crayton in that way, forever putting on a performance to hide what lurked under the surface.
Mark planned to leave and simply train by himself all weekend, trying to get a competitive edge over those who had visitors. Out on the grounds, he could already see Shin Tagami practicing his different stances, and Kells Bradford sprinting around the path as she always did. They weren’t expecting visitors either, then. Manny had disappeared entirely, and rumor had it that Crayton’s security had him confined somewhere, though Brooke hadn’t managed to track him down.
As Mark turned to head to the gym, Moses stopped him.
“Wait, wait, wait,” he said. “He’s here!”
A limo door opened and a tall man with wavy, dark-blond hair swept back over his ears stepped out. He broke into a wide smile as soon as he saw Moses, and the two jogged to a quick embrace and a kiss. They separated, and they walked toward Mark, Ethan, and Aria.
“Guys, this is Nolan,” Moses said, beaming. “Nolan, this is …”
“Of course I know!” Nolan said. He had a slight Australian accent. “I watch the show, don’t I?”
He extended his hand to Mark.
“Mark, pleasure. Moses won’t stop talking about you,” he smiled, his tan face crinkling. He was exceptionally handsome and built like a rugby player. He and Moses looked less like a couple and more like a professional wrestling tag team.