Emotions drew me in: dirty, filthy feelings, anger, betrayal, rage. Certainty, pleasure, lust.
Deeper, deeper, just like with Rogan’s father, I moved into his mind, peeling away layers. Searching for more than what could be found on the surface.
I needed to know the truth.
I began to sort through pictures in his mind like f lipping through an album, memories, sensations, experiences—something I’d never done before, but it came naturally to me, like breathing. So many f lashes, dark and bright, until I found what I wanted. A f lickering image of a familiar man in a dark hallway—my father—a fight, a gunshot. His body slumping to the ground, blood forming a pool beside him. My mother’s terrified face, my sister coming to her bedroom door before he gunned them down.
Now I’ll kill her. I’ll collect the other half of my money when it’s done.
I was getting more than emotions and images, now. Thoughts. Actual thoughts.
The pain tore through my brain and I let go of him. It was even worse than before. Even worse than with Gareth. I was momentarily blind with the pain of entering this bastard’s mind. He was everything he appeared to be—scum of the earth.
And I now knew for sure that he was the one who stole my life two years ago.
When my vision cleared and I was able to focus again, I saw him staring at me with awe.
“It’s true. You can do it. I felt it. You saw into my soul.”
I cast a fearful look over at Rogan and Mac. Rogan was bleeding, but he was still fighting hard. I returned my attention to the bastard facing me.
“Yeah. I saw into your soul.”
He pulled his knife out of his front pocket. “All the more reason for me to slice you open and watch you bleed.”
“Kira!” Rogan yelled.
When Kurtis f licked a glance in his direction, I slammed my fist into his injured shoulder as hard as I could. He screamed in pain and dropped his knife, but before I could twist away from him he grabbed my shoulders so hard I thought he was going to crush my bones. I fought back against him, as hard as I’d ever fought before. Nails, teeth, fists; everything was in motion as I slashed and hit anything I could touch. I tried to trip him, winding myself around his legs, and succeeded in making him fall.
He still had a hold of me as he crashed against the side of the roof, and we rolled across it, and then suddenly there was nothing under my feet. I screamed and scrambled to grab on to the edge of the building as we fell off the side.
My already short fingernails broke. My hands were sweating, slippery, but I clung to the building, trying to get a foothold below me.
The countdown began to thunder in my brain.
“45…44…43…42…”
“Kira!” Rogan yelled again.
Hand over hand, scraping roughly over brick, I tried to pull myself back up to the roof. Just before I got a firm hold on the siding, I felt a hand on my ankle and then a heavy weight. I looked down. Kurtis was dangling off the side of the building, a few feet lower than I was, and he had a hold of my left boot. He stared up at me, his expression frantic.
My hand slipped a little as I struggled to hold on.
“Help me!” Kurtis pleaded. “Please don’t let me fall!”
“21…20…19…”
I forced the words from a throat that felt more like screaming. “I read you, Kurtis, with my disgusting Psi mutation. And do you want to know what I saw deep inside of you? Deep inside your soul?”
“What?”
“Nothing worth saving.”
His hand slipped off my boot, and he was hanging on to the side of the building for a few seconds by only a couple of fingers. And then, with a terrified scream, he fell thirty stories to the street below.
Just before he hit, I heard a loud bang from the roof. It scared me so much I almost lost my remaining grip.
“Rogan?” I managed. “Rogan, are you still there? Are you okay?”
It felt like an eternity, but it was only a few seconds until I felt hands gripping my arms, pulling me back up to the roof. Rogan, bloodied and beaten but still alive, crushed me against his chest.
“Congratulations, Rogan and Kira, for completing level five successfully.”
“What happened?” I asked after a moment, pulling back enough to look at his injured face. I touched it gently, wincing.
“Ninety-foot implant rule,” he said. “When Kurtis fell, he broke it.”
I braved a quick look to the other side of the roof. A body lay there, very still, a dark stain where its head should have been.
I rested my head against Rogan’s shoulder. “The song ‘Pop Goes the Weasel’ is playing in my head right now for some strange reason.”
“I think that’s very appropriate.” He managed to give me a small grin.
I sighed, feeling bone-weary. “Kurtis begged for his life at the end. I couldn’t help him, but even if I could have, I don’t think I would have. I’m glad he’s dead. Is that wrong?”
“Not in my books. The bastard had it coming.”
“Rogan and Kira have only one more level to complete before they are considered the second set of winners ever in the history of Countdown. Will they be successful? Or will the last level finally pull them apart forever? Stay tuned, Subscribers. This game isn’t over yet!”
That freak seriously sounded as if he was introducing a baseball team. Or doing an infomercial. Not hosting a game where death was the consolation prize.
I frowned. “Rogan, I really need to talk to you about your father.”
His eyes lost their warmth. “What is it?”
“I was able to read him—and it was so strange. I don’t know what’s really going on. But he’s not really—”
Just then, Rogan clutched his head and roared in pain just before his eyes rolled back into their sockets, and he fell to his knees before slumping over on his side unconscious.
Wide-eyed, I waited for them to trigger my own implant to knock me out, but nothing happened. I looked around at the three silver cameras that circled the area.
“What now?” I yelled at them. “What do you want from me now?”
The announcer’s voice boomed through the darkness. “Kira Jordan was given a choice earlier. If she eliminates her partner on camera she will automatically win the game and receive everything she’s ever desired—a new life, riches beyond her dreams, a bright future. What do you say, Kira?”
“What do I say? How about this?” I gave the cameras a good shot of my middle finger.
One of the cameras hovered closer. A small spotlight shone down on the roof, highlighting the knife that Kurtis dropped there earlier before he, well…dropped.
“Pick it up, Kira,” the cheerful voice urged.
I resisted, but then felt a jolt of electricity zap through my implant. I stooped down and snatched up the knife.
Rogan lay on the ground, his face bloodied but peaceful in sleep. His arm was sprawled across his chest, almost as if he was lying in a comfortable bed.
If I killed him, I could have everything I ever wanted.
“The Subscribers want you to kill him, Kira. According to a recent poll, they want you to win.”
A long breath hissed out between my clenched teeth. If I killed Rogan in cold blood right now, I might get everything I ever dreamed of. But it wouldn’t really be winning.
I’d never do what they wanted me to do. I didn’t care what the penalty for that would be. They didn’t own me. And they didn’t control me—nobody did.
I turned my face up toward the digicam. “Tell the Subscribers to go screw themselves.”
I threw the knife over the side of the building.
There was deadly silence for a full ten seconds.
Then pain ripped through my brain, and everything went black.
“KIRA, WAKE UP.”
I woke slowly. I was lying somewhere soft. Rogan was next to me. His hand was on my forehead, stroking the hair off it. I blinked slowly until he came into focus.
“Morning,” he said.
“What…” My voice was thick with sleep. “What’s going on? Where are we?”
“Not entirely sure about that.”
“How long have we been here?”
“Not sure about that either, but it’s light outside.” He nodded toward a window to the left.
I focused further and saw that we were in a small bedroom. It looked like a motel, a cheap one. But everything seemed clean enough at first glance. A small amount of light shone through the window through gray clouds overhead.
A quick check under the sheets told me that I was still fully dressed, even wearing my boots, and so was Rogan.
“We must have been asleep for hours.” I tried to sit up. My body ached from head to foot, so I settled back down on the comfortable bed. “I still feel like crap.”
“Me, too.”
I touched his face, studying it for the first time up close since yesterday. He was covered in bruises and small cuts. “Ouch.”
“Yeah,” he said f linching. “I’m a wreck. As if this damn scar wasn’t bad enough.”
He touched the scar that bisected his eyebrow and ran down to the center of his left cheek.
I grabbed his hand. “You must have been really vain when you were a rich pretty kid. I hate to even tell you this, in case it swells your ego any further, but scars are hot.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Is that right?”
I nodded solemnly. “In fact, I don’t think you have enough scars. This game has obviously not been difficult enough for you.”
“Yeah, it’s been great. I can hardly contain how much fun it’s been so far.” His smile faded, and he looked around the room. “Listen, yesterday in the reward room…”
My stomach clenched. “What about it?”
He gave me a sidelong look. “I’m not sure what happened.”
“Really? Because it was pretty clear to me. Don’t worry about it. It’s not like anything serious happened. Luckily, right?” I said it jokingly, but inside I felt a twinge of something. I wasn’t sure I wanted to hear his reply to that.
He didn’t say anything for a moment. “Nothing happened?”
“Well, I mean, stuff happened, but nothing…like, regrettable. Or…I don’t know. Whatever. It doesn’t matter now.” I hated this. I hated feeling awkward about something that had felt so right at the time, but now, knowing they’d been recording us, seemed wrong.
When he didn’t answer, I finally chanced a look at him, surprised to find that he was smiling at me.
“You’re kind of funny, aren’t you?” he said.
My cheeks heated. “Yeah, hilarious. My goal in life is to amuse you.”
“You’re definitely amusing…for starters. It’s kind of a new thing for me.”
“What’s a new thing for you?”
“You are.” He captured my gaze for a moment that made my breath catch. Then his expression darkened, and he looked away. “For two years I’ve lived a life where it felt like nobody cared if I lived or died. Even my own father. Damn it. Why would he turn his back on me like that? I would have been there for him. If the situation had been reversed, even if I thought he was guilty—” He shook his head. “I can’t see myself totally abandoning him like he did me.”
He needed to know there was something wrong about his father—something that was beyond the real Gareth Ellis making him do these horrible things. And that the real Gareth was still in there somewhere trying desperately to survive… just like we were.
The thought made my blood run cold.
“Where do you think the cameras are?” I whispered.
“Don’t know. They could be anywhere. They’re probably recording us right now.” He pressed back into the bed and stared up at the ceiling. “Those digicams…they have artificial intelligence programming chips in them. That’s why they move like they have minds of their own. Because they do.”
My mouth felt dry. “Like that robot did?”
“Not exactly like that. Just enough that they can f ly about on their own, keeping us as their targets. They have receivers on them. Our implants are connected to the digicams. And the digicams are connected to the game’s network at Ellis Enterprises.”
I pulled him closer so I could whisper into his ear. “Why can’t we just run? As long as we stick together our implants won’t mess us up.”
His jaw tensed. “They’d know.”
“So, there’s no way of getting away?” I was saying it so softly. If there were cameras hidden in the room I didn’t want them to hear me.
“Not with those damn cameras around.”
“Rogan,” I whispered quieter. “I need to tell you something. It’s important.”
“What?”
My heart began to race. “You said that you didn’t understand why your father would abandon you like that. Well, I—I think I know why. Part of it, anyway.”
“Why?” There was strain in his quiet words. “Tell me.”
Then a loud alarm sounded, and the room we were in split down the very center. Right through the middle of the bed. The room parted as if on wheels, and Rogan stared at me with shock as we moved farther and farther away from each other.
The roof rolled back, and instead of stucco, it showed the cloudy skies overhead.
I realized with a sinking feeling—a feeling I’d gotten used to having on a regular basis in this game—that the motel room we’d been in was actually a set. All fake, like something out of Hollywood. All created to be the background for our “emotional pillow talk scene.” There must have been microphones all over the place. Hidden cameras. They’d probably been hoping for another explicit make-out scene, but instead when I’d been about to reveal what I knew about Gareth, they’d put an end to it.
Frozen with shock, I watched as my side of the bed moved away from Rogan until we were stretching our ninety-foot rule to the limit.
“Kira!” Rogan jumped up from the half bed. Another step took him off the makeshift set and onto the pavement of yet another abandoned street. He looked around at the surroundings quickly before focusing again on me.
“Welcome back to Countdown! Kira and Rogan are all rested up for the final level—level six!”
Three silver ball cameras zoomed into view, bobbing and moving along the street. They got to Rogan first and circled him like a nest of wasps as he glared at them.
“In a recent poll amongst our beloved Subscribers, Rogan Ellis received only a thirteen percent approval rating. This is as low as any contestant in the history of the game. It is obvious to anyone watching that, despite his attractive appearance, a cold heart lurks inside this boy’s chest.”
The cameras left Rogan’s side and swarmed toward me instead. They spun around my head, and I could see myself ref lected in their black, shiny lenses.
“Kira Jordan has been a very popular player on Countdown. It goes to show that, despite her fragile exterior, a female competitor is not necessarily going to be outplayed by her male counterparts. Kira has earned a seventy-two percent approval rating, a rating that improved with every successive level.
“Kira, do you have anything you want to say to the Subscribers who have enthusiastically supported you in the game so far?”
One camera came down to eye level. It ref lected me from my waist to the top of my head.
“Absolutely.” I forced a smile to my lips. “I just wanted to let you know that every one of you Subscribers disgusts me. Why do you sad, pathetic scumbags keep watching this? They’re forcing us to play. We have no choice. You want to see people killed? You’re sick! All of you are sick!” I literally spat at the camera.
There was a long pause.
“We are very sorry, but we lost our audio feed for a moment. We strive to bring you the best of entertainment, but we are slaves to our cameras, I’m afraid. Kira wanted you all to know that she appreciates your support and that she’s thrilled to have been able to bring you hours of entertainment. She would love to thank you all personall
y if she could, but there simply isn’t enough time. Not if we want to get on with the show!”
I tried to calm down. It just made me sick and furious to know that the Subscribers, however many of them there were, were sitting back comfortably watching in their mind’s eye as Rogan and I fought for our lives.
“Everything has led to this final level. Kira and Rogan have forged a partnership, found common ground, learned to work together and nearly given in to their desires. We have been thrilled to share all of this with you.
“They helped each other when the other was down, for without one’s partner, one is nothing in Countdown.
“That is, until level six.”
The digicams separated. One stayed in front of me, another zipped through the air toward Rogan, and the third hovered between us.
“Weapons have been placed under each side of the bed. Will the contestants please retrieve these weapons now?”
I looked over at Rogan. He stood next to his side of the bed, his fists clenched at his sides, while I hadn’t moved an inch from where I lay. The sheets tangled around my legs.
A digicam zoomed closer to me.
“Please, retrieve your weapon, Kira.”
I glared into the black iris of its lens. “Please, kiss my ass.”
Three small green lights just above the camera’s lens swelled slightly in intensity. I f linched as I felt a zap of pain to my implant. A warning.
I forced myself up off the bed and crouched down to look underneath. It was a gun. I wrapped my fingers around the handle of it and pulled it out.
I stood there next to the half a motel room, right next to the gray of the pavement, holding the gun, and tried to fight past the rising panic in my brain to figure this out.
Rogan had his gun in hand as well. He held it loosely at his side.
“Rogan and Kira have fought side by side in victory thus far, but now they must fight against each other. For only by defeating the other can one of them win the game.
“Rogan fights now to clear his name of his crimes. Should he win, he will be able to start life with a clean slate, a clean record and the forgiveness of his father.
“Kira fights for a fresh start, as well—in the Colony. There she will find her new life awaiting her, including a luxury apartment and enough money to last her to her dying day. The only thing now standing in her way—in either of their ways—is each other.
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