Fudō arrived in the park shortly afterwards, finishing the job. Did he form some sort of an alliance with Vitesse? Fudō could have been pursuing him, and just happened upon the bodies – or maybe the entire sequence was nothing more than a coincidence.
“So what if they are working together,” Brynja asked, “Vitesse and Fudō – what do we do from here?”
“I have no idea,” I replied. “But if I had to guess, Vitesse is monitoring the screens around the city, using the live simulcast to pick and choose his targets. I think he saw where Cole and Ozaki were, waited until they were injured towards the end of their fight, and sprinted in for the kill.”
We wanted to discuss things further, but time was ticking away. As we cautiously stepped out of the alley and searched the area for other competitors, I spotted a holo-screen on the side of a building across the intersection. We approached in time to catch the end of an announcement by Cameron Frost. It was nothing special; he was spouting a generic, PR-friendly statement where he expressed his overall satisfaction with the tournament, and was pleased with the honor displayed by the competitors.
I wasn’t sure how much ‘honor’ was at play when Vitesse stabbed one of the competitors in the back, or when Fudō bisected another when she was nearly defenseless. While Frost and I shared some common interests, I was beginning to see where our philosophies severely differed.
When his segment ended, the simulcast feed resumed. It cut to a wide open street, and two competitors snapped into focus. Brynja and I, standing in front of a holo-screen, unarmed.
“How smart are you?” Brynja whispered, trying to prevent her voice from being picked up by the long-range microphones.
I have my moments, I thought.
“Good,” she said with a small nod. “Because we’re gonna need a plan in the next couple seconds, and it’d better be a good one.”
I had an idea, and for the first time I was one step ahead of the competition. I knew exactly where we were going, and exactly what we required in order to pull off my plan.
The trick would be to pull it off without getting killed.
Brynja and I searched the expansive underground parking garage, which was only one of four in The City without functioning security cameras.
The cams were under maintenance after a power surge that struck two nights before, and they still hadn’t been repaired due to a labor dispute (that’s what you get when you try and save money by low-balling electricians from the Dark Zone instead of paying a fair wage). I knew this because I read the message boards of every condo corporation in Manhattan; most of which weren’t password protected and always seemed to offer a generous amount of helpful updates for their residents.
It was a little surprising. For a group of paranoid rich people living in heavily-armored buildings they sure played it fast and loose with their private information. I have a feeling that after my break-in, they’d want to patch up the gaping hole in their security protocols.
The building that stretched ninety-three stories above us was particularly affluent for the area, and that’s saying a lot when you’re in Manhattan. Like many inhabitants of The Fringe, I wasn’t a big fan of the wealthy jerks that lived here – locked away from the rest of the world in their pristine silver towers. They often came off like royalty, perched atop a castle turret, looking down at the peasants below.
Despite all that, there’s one thing I always admired about the privileged: they knew how to shop. Each car in the garage was more exotic and expensive than the last; a streamlined BMW sports model that ran on solar power, a Ferrari from the early 1980s that was meticulously restored, a prototype of a hover-car that didn’t even require wheels to glide across the streets. I wasn’t even a car enthusiast, but these machines were absolutely gorgeous. I had to resist the urge to slide my all-access gold card into one of their ignition slots and drive off, just for the sheer joy of the experience.
“I still can’t believe you did this to me,” Brynja shouted from the adjacent aisle, staring into the rear-view mirror of a Porsche SUV. “My hair is blue, and it’s totally your fault.”
“How is that my fault?” I shouted over my shoulder, continuing to inspect each parking spot as I walked down the aisle.
“You imagined me into reality,” she replied. “And you subconsciously decided on my appearance. So that makes my hair your responsibility. For whatever reason, you wanted me to look like this, so instead of being a redhead, now I’m a ... bluehead.”
I was fairly certain there was a remorseless killer racing towards our location, ready to slice us into bloody pieces. Brynja’s hairstyle seemed a little low on the priority list. “Maybe we should call up Cameron Frost,” I suggested. “Ask him for a time-out so you can have one of his stylists give you a dye and a trim?”
“Not funny, Mox! This thing is being simulcast all over the world.”
“Well maybe you’ll start a new trend,” I shouted back. “Everything goes in cycles, right? Thirty years ago, blue was hot: The Smurfs, Avatar, Blu-Ray Discs ... maybe the color will make a comeback.”
I heard a small chuckle from across the parking lot. “Wow,” she shouted, “I must have lucked out – I ended up partnering with a stand-up comedian.”
Before I could answer, I found what I was looking for. I tugged the oversized dust cover from the vehicle and tossed it aside, revealing a 2041 model Toyota Firehawk – the fastest commercial racing cycle on the market. The bright yellow design with dynamic black streaks would definitely stand out, and for the purposes of my plan, that’s exactly what I was banking on.
As with all newer model vehicles, it featured a key slot. If you had a regular owner’s card, it required an additional six-digit code for ignition, but if you had a government-issued gold card like mine, it was as simple as insert and drive.
Brynja joined me as I admired my new ride. She whistled and nodded with approval, running her hand along the sleek lines of the cycle. “Nice. So you’re a bike guy, huh?”
“Yup,” I said with a small nod, pressing my lips together. “That’s me. Big into the bikes. All bikes, all the time.”
She looked up and placed her hand on my shoulder, eyes narrowing. “But you do have your own motorcycle, right? You have a licence and stuff?”
I hesitated for a moment. “No, not so much.”
“But you’ve driven one before ... right?”
“Yeah, for sure,” I replied. “Not a Firehawk, but my neighbor lent me his Vespa once. I had it up to fifty on the open road. I figure this can’t be all that different. They both have handlebars, two wheels ... so ...”
Her blank expression conveyed a serious lack of enthusiasm.
“Look,” I said, “this isn’t perfect, but we either go with my plan, or we fight Fontaine hand-to-hand, with nothing but a lone bullet and your grappling hook.”
Brynja nodded, reluctantly agreeing to my strategy. I had to admit that I was worried about my level of skill on a motorcycle, especially since we’d have to travel at speeds in excess of eighty miles per hour – enough to outrun the fastest superhuman in recorded history.
My armor was another issue. I didn’t have a helmet since I’d lost it in the ambulance crash, and the acid from Serafina’s blood forced me to abandon my gauntlets. My chest plate, shoulder pads, leg guards and boots were still in decent shape, if not a little worse for wear. I could still sustain a gunshot or a strike from a sword in most places, but at the time, my concern was the level of protection the suit would provide if I bailed from the bike during a hairpin turn; there was nothing to prevent massive internal damage if I wiped out or to cushion my skull if it bounced violently off the pavement.
That would certainly fit the definition of irony: a regular guy enters a death match with superhumans, survives a bunch of crazy life-threatening battles ... and then dies in a traffic accident.
Brynja had a concern of her own: she was currently in a solid physical state, and wasn’t sure if she�
�d be able to fade out on command if she was in danger. “I feed off of your focus,” she explained. “The more in sync we are, the more of your energy I can use to control my transformation.” It was my intention that originally gave her mass and form, and for better or worse, I was now linked to her.
It made sense, or as much sense as things were generally making up until that point, but I wasn’t sure what the solution was. “I’ve been with you for a while ... doesn’t that count for something?”
She nodded. “I need to know more about the real you. Then I can dive deeper into your psyche and use your energy to fade in and out. It’s all about connection, and connection begins with honesty.”
I shifted uncomfortably and folded my arms over my chest. “How honest are we talking about, here?”
She replied with a cynical smile. “Take it easy. I’m not asking for you to tell me your browser history. But I do need something personal. The way to open your mind is by revealing a secret, like some deep fear or desire that you hide from the rest of the world.” Brynja explained that, even though she can read surface thoughts, she was unable to dig any deeper without the other person allowing her access.
It was the most vague request I’d ever received. I wanted to help, but wasn’t sure what to say – if I knew what my deepest fears and desires were, I wouldn’t be so screwed up in the first place. “Well, I know that I have commitment issues,” I said with an awkward shrug.
She leaned back on the hood of a car and shook her head. “No shit. You’re a guy. Plus you have that look about you. It’s pretty obvious.”
“What makes it obvious?” I asked.
“I don’t know, it’s just a quality you have. Girls can always see the commitment-phobes from a mile away. And it just gets worse when you start dating them.”
“If you know a guy is a ‘commitment-phobe’ then why would you date him in the first place?”
“Because when it comes to romance, we’re hopelessly optimistic,” she said with a pronounced sigh, followed by an even more pronounced eye roll. “And for some stupid reason, we think we can actually fix you guys. It’s a girl thing that doesn’t make a lot of sense ... I don’t have time to explain it. Just tell me something really personal. Something that you’ve never said out loud.”
It actually didn’t take that much digging. I said something that scared me, and that I was embarrassed to admit, even to myself. I felt like I’d be a terrible person if I said it out loud, but revealing it now could save someone’s life. It wasn’t the time to hold back. “I have a tumor in my head, and it’s killing me. I need money for the surgery, and it’s the only reason I’m here, risking my life in this tournament.”
Brynja’s eyebrows raised and she sat up straighter. For someone who was seemingly unfazed by the strange and unusual, I had managed to legitimately shock her.
“But it’s also the thing that makes me smarter than everyone else. It’s like my ‘superpower’, I guess. If I get it removed, the surgery won’t just be saving my life ... it’ll be stripping away my power. Everything that makes me who I am.”
“Damn,” She whispered. For a moment she didn’t know what else to say.
I leaned back on the motorcycle, letting my arms dangle at my sides.
“So that’s why you’re here,” she said quietly, “risking your ass when you don’t have any actual powers. I just figured you for some kind of an adrenaline junkie, like Kenneth – living out the ultimate ‘Live Action Role Playing’ fantasy.”
I was spilling everything, so there was no use in keeping things buried. “Well, there’s a little of that. If I’m gonna go out, go out with a bang, right? At least I can die with my name in the history books. It’s not like I’m leaving anything else behind.”
“So you’re sure the tumor is what’s making you smart?”
The truth is that I wasn’t completely certain, but it was the only logical explanation. “That’s what my doctor thinks. It’s been pressing on different parts of my brain for my entire life, giving me advanced math and problem solving skills. If I get it removed, then I’ll become like everyone else. I don’t know if I can handle it.”
“Why not?” she asked, with genuine concern etched into her voice. “It can’t be all that bad. I sure wouldn’t mind being a little more normal.”
“If I had what other people had, like a family, a job, or some grand purpose in life, it might not seem so bad.” I ran my fingers through my hair and looked up at the ceiling. “But sometimes I feel like this is it.”
Her smile grew bitter. “So you’re telling me that you’re here, fighting for your life, just because you want to retain your super-sized IQ? There’s nothing else worth living for?” She pushed herself off the hood of the car and stepped towards me, placing her palm flat against my chest plate. “What about her?”
“Her?”
She clacked her fingernail into my breastplate, directly over my heart. “The rings you’re wearing around the chain. I saw you tuck them back into your armor before I found you in the alley.”
I didn’t even realize I’d done it; the rings must have fallen loose when I fell from the rooftop.
“You’re scared of commitment,” she continued, “but, for some mysterious reason, you’re wearing a necklace with rings on it. Either you’re married, which seems unlikely, or some girl gave you the rings before you came into The Arena. Someone you legitimately care about ... and that scares the shit out of you.”
I didn’t know whether Brynja had gathered all this information from her observations, or was retrieving it from inside my head; either way, she seemed to know exactly what was going on. “Her name is Peyton. We’ve been friends for years, and recently we had this night ... this amazing night together, but then I started pulling away. I was just thinking about everything that could go wrong. The fact that her brother is my best friend, and if something happens between us and it goes south ... it’s just too big a risk.”
Brynja hopped up onto the hood of the Ferarri and leaned against the windshield, placing her hands behind her head as if she were sunning herself on a poolside lounge chair. “So, what you’re saying is that your best friend would rather see some idiot hook up with his sister than you, a great guy that he obviously trusts?”
I sagged against the motorcycle, staring down at my armored boots. “It’s more than that.”
“Mmm.” She nodded, prompting me to continue.
“It’s like, she’s this worldly person who goes to college, and travels, and speaks different languages and volunteers at an animal shelter. And she’s brave. And experimental. One time she dated a girl...”
Brynja let out a tiny chuckle. “And you’re upset she never let you watch?”
I shook my head. “No, it’s not that at all. She’s just this amazing person who’s already done so much, and lived this exciting life. It’s just that I just don’t understand what she would ever ...”
“See in someone like you?” she interrupted. “And you think once you start dating and she gets to know the real you, she’ll realize that you’re not good enough for her. Then it’s game over.”
“It’s the logical outcome. I’ve done the math.”
She hopped off the hood of the car and walked back to me, resting her hands on my shoulders. “If you think that people falling for each other has anything to do with rational thought, you’ve never really fallen for anyone. I sure as hell didn’t love my last boyfriend … most of the time I downright loathed him.”
I tilted my chin up, forcing a smile across my lips. “Sounds wonderful.”
“It was,” she said insistently. “At the beginning. And then we got to know each other, and before long it sucked. But that’s the way it goes: you put your cards on the table, let the chips fall where they may – insert any hackneyed gambling cliché you can think of here. But that’s what you gotta do: just go with your gut and trust yourself.”
I exhaled loudly through my nostrils and
massaged the back of my neck. “And if it doesn’t work out?”
“Then it doesn’t work out,” she said in a child-like voice, tilting her head to the side as her eyes widened. “And your tender little heart gets smashed into a million tiny pieces.” After a beat, she narrowed her eyes and patted me on the side of the head. “You’ll get over it, cupcake. Now stop making excuses. That shit ain’t flattering.”
“I’m not making excuses. Things just ... I don’t see it working. Sometimes people just aren’t right for each other ... right?”
“And yet, you’re wearing a ring – a ring from this girl that you don’t want to be with.” She shook her head slowly. “For someone who’s supposed to be a super genius, you’re a huge dumb-ass.”
The security gates slid quietly into the ceiling and we raced out of the parking garage. I rode with Bryjna behind me, her arms wrapped tightly around my waist and her face buried into my back. She was still in solid form, and it made her nervous. I didn’t blame her. Hopefully I’d given her enough of a personal connection to allow her the ability to fade out when it mattered most.
When we reached the top of the ramp, I planted my feet into the sidewalk to keep the motorcycle upright, scanning the streets on either side. They were clear. Vitesse hadn’t arrived yet, but he had to be somewhere in the immediate area. Seeing us on-screen, unarmed, would be too much of a temptation.
Before I was able to pull into the road, a powerful gust of wind blew pebbles and dust along the sidewalk, peppering my face. I wiped my watering eyes with the back of my hand, blinking hard to loosen the debris. When I focused my vision, I came face-to-face with a floating nightmare.
A blue lion – the size of a pit bull – hovered at eye-level, flapping a pair of sinewy dragon wings. A scorpion tail swayed behind him, capped with a wicked barb. It was another manticore. Like a clone of the mythical creature that The Living Eye had manifested before he died, but much smaller, and sporting a flowing, white mane.
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