The Gender Fall

by Bella Forrest

  She gave him a droll look, seemingly immune to his considerable charm, and accepted a clipboard from another guard, holding it out to him. One by one we wrote names down. Looking at it, she gave a satisfied nod, and then pointed us onward.

  My heart was still thudding hard against my ribs, even after we had passed through the checkpoint. I couldn’t believe this was all it had taken—she hadn’t even asked for any identification papers. If she had, we might have been toast. Thomas had recreated forgeries, but the coding had all been identical. If they had taken the time to actually scan them, it would have been game over. Still, maybe Elena’s arrogance was to blame for this oversight. After all, she did control the borders of the city; maybe she felt that was enough? Or, maybe she had too many things going on at once? It was either that, or we were walking into a trap. It wouldn’t have been the first time Elena and Desmond had outmaneuvered us.

  I kept my eyes peeled, searching for any indication that would spell our impending doom. But as we walked down the silent halls, empty and hollow without the bustle of fighters, managers, and press I had been used to when I’d patrolled here, I saw nothing to indicate any form of a trap. No cameras, no posted guards between checkpoints, no nothing.

  “Now, because of the Matrian queen’s new way of showing the news, I no longer get to make the announcements like I used to,” Cruz droned as we came around the landing to the next series of steps. “But I still know this stadium better than anyone else. Or at least, anyone still alive. A great number of the fighters in the PFL were caught in the fires that decimated the docks, valiantly trying to quench the hungry flames that threatened to consume the city.”

  “Were you there, Mr. Cruz?” Amber asked, her eyes wide.

  “Of course I was! I was lucky enough to survive, but many of those fighters were my friends. I…” He trailed off, his voice becoming soft. “Well, I do miss them.”

  Ms. Dale patted his hand sympathetically as we came to the second checkpoint, this one guarding the main stairs to the third story. It had the same basic setup as before, but this time, there were half a dozen women in the checkpoint area. I felt my breath catch in my throat as they looked at us—there were a lot of them to take on at once! —but after a cursory glance, we were waved on. Cruz continued to drone on as we moved, heading to the steps.

  It was all I could do to pretend I was even remotely interested in what he was saying. I was just glad Amber and Ms. Dale were there. They kept him distracted, asking questions here and there about the stadium and its history. All I could do was think about every shadowed nook and cranny and calculate how quickly I could get to the gun pressed against the small of my back.

  We came up the final landing of stairs and headed right, moving toward the next checkpoint. This one separated us from the control room. My eyes noted the sign for emergency exit 3C, which had an arrow pointed down the hallway, and I exhaled. We were on the opposite side of the stadium now, as far away as we could get from the hospital. Deep into hostile territory with what felt like an army between us and our borrowed getaway car. I prayed we had made the right choice with this mission, because if we hadn’t, we would all be dead soon.

  At the checkpoint, one warden—a captain, according to her insignia—came over to exchange a few softly spoken words with Cruz. I could see the curiosity in her eyes as she took in the rest of us, but she gave a tight nod, pointing at her watch and holding up ten fingers. Cruz flashed her a suave smile and nodded, and then began pushing us forward.

  “I’m sorry about that,” he said as we moved through the wide hall, passing the wooden double doors every fifteen to twenty feet that led to private balconies for wealthier patrons to view the fights, our footsteps echoing loudly. “They are very concerned about the equipment, so we’ll only have ten minutes in this area. Please hurry.”

  We walked in tense silence, moving around the stadium to the opposite side of the stairs. The hall continued on, curving around as we approached a final, sandbagged area right in front of what had to be the control room. I noted only two women guarding the light blue door to the projecting room, much to my relief. I exchanged looks with Ms. Dale, giving her an imperceptible nod, and we began to slow as one, drawing our steps out.

  If Cruz had even begun to notice, it wouldn’t have mattered, because Amber was already creating a distraction. “Mr. Cruz, can I ask you about that loss you suffered early on in your career? Not with the PFL, I know… This was a few years back. With Scarpelli?”

  It did the trick. Cruz groaned theatrically and began to launch into the inconsistencies of a ruling that had not been in his favor, citing ridiculous facts and statistics, as well as the referee’s loose familial ties with Scarpelli. I ignored it all, my heartbeat speeding up as we drew closer to the guards. I kept my body relaxed, my focus on the two wardens before me.

  As we came around the sandbags, Ms. Dale reached into her pocket, withdrawing a handkerchief, dabbing her forehead, and then replacing the white cloth. I watched as Amber leaned into Cruz, practically resting her chest against his arms, distracting the man further.

  There was no script for this next part, especially for Amber, Ms. Dale, and me—it was more of a gut feeling of when to go. Maybe to Jeff or Cad it seemed they’d missed a message, but in truth, there was none. One minute we were a group on a tour with a famous PFL fighter. The next, our guns were out and pointed.

  It took a second for it to register with our targets, which was good, because that gave Cad and Jeff a chance to catch up.

  Amber had her gun pressed against Cruz’s temple, and Ms. Dale and I had surged forward toward the guards, our sights trained on them.

  I saw one of them reach for her gun and gave her a warning look, tightening my grip on my gun. “Don’t.”

  The guard’s hand froze as she took us all in, and then her hand slowly withdrew, rising to the level of her shoulders. The second guard followed suit, her blue eyes growing wide with fear.

  “Good,” I said with a tight nod. “Now, each of you reach into your friend’s holster, pull out her gun, and set it slowly on the floor.”

  The two women exchanged glances, and then awkwardly reached over each other for their partner’s gun, most likely with their off hands. Good. Awkward meant they wouldn’t try anything.

  A few seconds later, the guns were on the floor, and the two women stood before us unarmed. I nodded to Jeff, who moved over and quickly patted them down.

  “Clean,” he said after several tense heartbeats.

  I nodded and holstered my gun. “Ladies, I am terribly sorry for the inconvenience, but can you please open the door? My associates here are ever so eager to see the control box.”

  There was another exchange of glances, and then, reluctantly, one of them pulled out a security badge that dangled from her belt, holding it up to a black sensor box on the wall behind her. There was a beep, followed by a metallic clunk, and Ms. Dale hurried over to the door, pulling it open.

  I took in the small room before us as a rush of adrenaline flooded my system. The room seemed strongly utilitarian, with an efficient and orchestrated feel. A line of windows into the stadium below stretched out across the opposite wall. Just in front of them sat a long black control panel, slightly longer than a desk, covered in rows of switches glittering with complicated little lights, sitting just in front of them. The walls were the same gray, but with pipes jutting out, presumably containing cables connecting to corresponding boxes on the control panel. And, currently its most useful feature, the room was empty.

  “Inside now, ladies,” I said. The wardens’ eyes were wary, but they followed my orders. One of them—the younger one—was shivering slightly as she slowly went into the room, her head turning back over her shoulder several times to eye the five guns trained on them.

  Once they were inside, I moved in, heading right for the control panel. I pulled a long black subvocalizer strip out of one of my pockets and buckled it against my neck, shaking my head against the tingle.
<
br />   We’re in, I transmitted on our channel to Thomas. But I’m going to need some help with these controls.

  A lot of help. I drew a deep breath, taking in the long black box, maybe five feet wide and three feet deep. It was filled with all sorts of blinking lights, gauges, digital readouts, and too many buttons to count. Thomas had better figure this one out, because the rest of us sure couldn’t.

  35

  Viggo

  “One second, one second,” came Thomas’ welcome voice through the earpiece, and I was relieved that he had, in fact, been able to go through with his part of the mission. “Okay. No alarm has been raised that I can see, so you’re good there. Now, what’s your problem?”

  This panel is really complicated, I vocalized through the collar. A small sound of discontent, a jingling, turned my head. I nodded, satisfied, when I saw Amber and Ms. Dale were currently on phase two of our plan: stripping the guards of their uniforms. Behind them, Cad and Jeff pushed Cruz, who had a stunned expression plastered on his face, into the room as well, the door swinging shut behind them.

  “Ah, yes,” Thomas’ voice came into my ear. “Is there a terminal in the booth?”

  My eyes scanned the console, stopping at the built-in monitor display with green lighting all around it.

  Yes.

  “Good. Go to it and type in what I tell you. I can’t crack this beast if I don’t know what it is.”

  I immediately headed over to the attached keyboard.

  I’m ready.

  In a rapid-fire stream, Thomas began listing out a series of letters, characters, and numbers—too many to count or remember—but I dutifully punched them in while Ms. Dale and Amber changed into the stolen guards’ uniforms behind me, Jeff and Cad redistributing the rest of our hijacked weapons.

  “You’re insane.”

  The announcement was soft, but carried a heavy load of tension, and I hit enter before turning to face Cruz, who was watching me. His brows were drawn tightly together, a zip tie cinched tightly around his wrists, securing him to one of the pipes running from the walls. The two female wardens sat next to him, looking somewhat less belligerent. I regarded him coolly, shrugged once more, then gave him a little wave before turning back to the computer.

  Is that all? I transmitted to Thomas.

  There was a long pause. “Huh. That’s interesting.”

  What’s interesting? Thomas?

  “Oh. Um. Well, it’s not really pertinent, but I think I may have found Tim.”

  My heart skipped a beat as I interpreted his words.

  Not pertin—? I choked. Wait, really? Where? Is he alive?

  “I think he’s alive, and yes, really. But, Viggo, the ‘where’ isn’t relevant to us.”

  Ms. Dale stepped over, tugging the stiff edges of her uniform down, and reached out to place a hand on my forearm. She and the rest of the team now wore their earbuds, so they could hear the exchange. But since they needed their voices for this mission, I was the only one with a subvocalizer.

  “Unless he’s in danger, then…” She hesitated, her gaze drifting suspiciously to our prisoners, and then continued. “Our tech guy is right—it is not a priority,” she said softly, meeting my gaze with an unwavering one of her own. I applauded her commitment to not using anyone’s real names, realizing we had overlooked giving Thomas an alias.

  I nodded, swallowing through the swoop of hope tugging at my heart. This wasn’t the time or the place.

  Thomas—is he in danger?

  “No, not that I can tell.”

  Can you… Would you be able to transmit the information back to our base? Not to Violet, though, if you can help it—she might go off half-cocked to find him.

  “I can do that. Should I attach a message?”

  Whatever you think is best, I replied, after struggling and failing to think of something to say that wouldn’t eventually make Violet angry I was covering this up. Ms. Dale gave me a nod, then hurriedly moved through the door and out into the hallway, Amber hot on her heels. The two of them, now dressed as the Matrian wardens who guarded the checkpoints, down to the electronic key fob and the identification papers—not that those would hold up under scrutiny—were going to do their job and guard the door.

  This was probably my least favorite part of the plan. Through the door to the room, Ms. Dale and Amber had no way of communicating problems to us beyond a simple tapping system we’d worked out. The two of them were on their own now, and while they were both more than capable, I knew anything could happen out there.

  Thomas, wait one second. Ms. Dale, test the signal for me, I communicated to her. After a moment, I heard a very small tap, followed by a long scratch, signaling that she had heard me. I read you clearly, I informed her. Go ahead, Thomas.

  “Okay. By the way, I now have some control over your console, although it’s just about understanding the coding. I can guide you from here, but I need a test of buttons, left to right, top to bottom.”

  I waved Cad over and pointed at the console, and he nodded, approaching it closely. Cad is waiting for your instructions, I transmitted. Jeff will be communicating with you while I deal with the hostages.

  “Okay.”

  I ripped off my subvocalizer and handed it over to Jeff, who fastened it around his neck. His eyes went wide as it activated, and I heard his voice coming over the speakers as I saw him mouth, Is this normal?

  It hadn’t occurred to me that Jeff hadn’t worn one before, but I nodded at his discomfort and gave him a thumbs-up, certain he could handle the adjustment. Moving over to the hostages, I noted that Ms. Dale and Amber had been kind enough to dress the women in their Patrian clothes, although the fit was poor at best. The three of them sat with their backs to the wall, their hands all secured by zip ties, their feet tied with their own shoelaces.

  Cruz was glaring at me, his eyes glistening with malice. “I get it. You’re working for them,” he spat. “The Daughters of Patrus or whatever those terrorist brats call themselves.”

  I checked my watch, my skin tingling. The tech hadn’t been up to the room yet, but according to Jeff’s information, there were only a few minutes before she was supposed to be here to load up the next news installment. It was very likely we needed the special case she carried with her, as it was coded specifically to connect to this terminal—without it, we couldn’t play our video. We were lucky to have figured that one out beforehand, thanks to Jeff’s information-gathering skills and Thomas’ strategic thinking.

  “Hey, I’m talking to you, you coward,” Cruz continued.

  “Jacob, people are starting to arrive,” announced Cad, turning back from where he sat at the control panel.

  I stepped closer, peering out the large panel of security glass. People were beginning to stream into the stadium, their paces sedate, picking their seats around the ring.

  “Tell everyone to get ready,” I told Jeff, and he nodded, his mouth moving. Already, I could see the strain of this amount of tension was getting to Jeff. Sweat was pouring off the older man’s forehead and dripping down his cheeks. I gave him a reassuring nod when I heard his voice come through the earbud.

  I turned to Cruz and squatted down. “I’m not part of a terrorist organization,” I told him calmly as I grabbed the roll of duct tape I’d seen in the beaten-up red toolkit sitting on the floor near the console. “I’m just a man trying to do the right thing.”

  “You’re betraying your own gender,” he hissed, his hands jerking against his bonds.

  I shook my head at him. “Well, maybe I am, but for the right reasons.” I yanked a strip of tape out, tearing it off, and proceeded to place a piece over Cruz’s mouth, ignoring his attempt to bite me. Then I moved on to tape the other prisoners’ mouths. I checked my watch again. Only two minutes left before show time—where the hell was this tech? Just waiting like this was alarming in its own right, and if Elena or Desmond had somehow caught on to our plan, this little room could become a trap very quickly. I imagined, for a moment, tr
ying to escape by breaking the security glass and leaping… first I’d have to find a way to break the reinforced glass; then, of course, would there even be something to hold on to—?

  A sudden tapping followed by two long scratches sounded at the door, and I whirled, my gun leaping out of the holster under my jacket, the sights trained on the door.

  “Get ready,” I whispered softly.

  I heard the muffled sound of voices, but it was difficult to make out what they were saying. Jeff and Cad stepped next to me, aiming for the door as well. A familiar beep sounded, followed by the metallic thunk I recognized from earlier. And then the door swung open, toward us.

  The tech strode in, flanked by two guards, and then paused, her eyes widening, as she saw us. The guards behind her nearly slammed into her, the whole group a tumble of chaos as they reached for their weapons.

  “I wouldn’t, if I were you,” said Ms. Dale from behind them. Her announcement was punctuated by a click as she pulled back the hammer of her own gun.

  The women froze, and, in a moment of déjà vu for me, raised their hands up. The technician regarded us. She was short, and pretty, with a round face and hair so blond it was almost white, cut artfully around her face in a short bob. She licked her lips, clutching the black case in her hands.

  “Who are you?” she demanded, her blue eyes watching us warily.

  Ms. Dale and Amber reached into the guards’ holsters, disarming them, and exhaled slightly.

  “My name is Jacob,” I said. “And I’m terribly sorry about the inconvenience, but my associates and I need the black box you are holding.”

  “Just over a minute ‘til broadcast time,” announced Thomas through the earbud.

  The woman looked down at the box in her hands and back up to us. I noticed the quiver in her chin that indicated her fear, but she seemed to push it back. “And if I refuse to give it to you?”

  I applauded her bravery, however misguided it was. It occurred to me how threatening we were, and the impression that might leave. Even though they were the enemy, I couldn’t bring myself to leave that sort of lasting impression on these women. Better to muddy up their perceptions with politeness.