by Matt Doyle
It did lead me to Maria though. I'd just finished a job at the Kieriaki Space Port and was heading back to Fenrir when I caught part of an ongoing argument. I didn't need to hear the whole thing to see what had happened. A bunch of unlicensed morons had screwed someone over and were trying to get as much as humanly possible out of her. I figured that if they were acting like that then she was probably an Offlander like me, so I stepped in and convinced them to back off. She told me once that I was like a knight in shining armour, like a real life hero. It still makes me smile to think of that, even if she did turn out to be from Earth.
We kinda just fell into a relationship after that. I don't know whether it was a slow thing that snuck by us or if it just happened overnight and we didn’t notice. Since then, I've made an effort to keep my anger in check. I mean, I always figured that if I did settle with anyone then they'd have to just deal with me as I was because I'd be fucked if anyone was gonna change me, but … I guess I didn't bank on wanting to change myself. It's stupid, but I just don't want her to think less of me. Heroes don't get pissy at every little thing.
They shouldn't break down like this either.
I lift my head and rest it against the wall. "It has to be her," I say, my voice more weary than I expected.
"And what if it isn't?" she asks softly.
"I don't know," I say, I turning my head towards her.
"OK, what if it is her?"
"I don't know," I say again, shaking my head.
Maria closes her eyes. She does that when she needs to think something through quickly, you can tell by the slight wrinkling of her forehead. It’s the little things like that make her cute. I’ve only just realised that she’s been carrying my crutch along with her. "Let's head back to our changing room,” she says with a nod.
"But …" I begin, but I don't know what else to say and just end up trailing off.
"It's OK. It's just so you can calm down a little and think things through. Once you’ve calmed down a bit, I can drop by the main desk and find out where their changing room is too, maybe see if they can tell us anything before we go over."
It hadn't even occurred to me that I don't know where their changing room is. I was I just running blindly … damn it. "OK," I say with a sigh as I haul myself to my feet. "OK. We'll do that."
MEERA THORNE - 15:20
My feet wanted to start running before the entrance curtain can even finish swinging shut.
I thought I was OK, I really did. I mean, all the time I was out there and the crowd were cheering for me, I was nervous but it was kinda fun. They all like me, that's what I kept telling myself over and over again and every time I heard someone cheer or whistle it made it seem real.
The moment I got back through the curtain though, it all hit me at once. It was like my brain had been storing everything up and keeping it all locked away so it wouldn’t affect me, but it got too full and just exploded. All those people were staring at me, I look ridiculous, they could all see my bra, I was panicking and they must have noticed, my Mott card is really creepy and seeing it come to life on the field really, really scares me, I don’t know what I’m doing out there, I'm not good enough to be here, I only won because Dorian walked out.
I don’t belong here. That keeps coming back. I don’t belong here.
The medical staff kept looking at me like there was something wrong with me too, even when they were saying I was fine. At least they left quickly.
“I’m gonna go and see if anyone can explain what just happened,” Hong Chan says. “It was probably a pre-planned character thing, in which case they wouldn’t have told us because they’d want our reactions to be genuine, but it would be nice to know for sure. You OK?”
“I’m fine,” I lie. “It wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be.”
“I’m glad to hear it. Can you get yourself back to the changing room, or do you need me to go with you?”
“I’ll be OK,” I reply. “I know the way now.”
“As long as you’re sure,” he says, “if you run into any trouble, give my mobile a quick call, OK?”
I nod and he gives me supportive pat on the back before heading off down one of the corridors.
I should run. I know I should run. So I do. I run and run and run until the next thing I know I’m back in the changing room, hunched over in a corner, trying desperately to vomit because then I can pass this all off as sickness and I'll feel better about what just happened, what I'm doing right now … but I can't even do that right. All I can managing is a dry retch.
I collapse onto all fours and my coughing gives way to quick, heavy panting.
I need to calm down.
I need to calm down.
I need to calm down and breathe. Properly.
Rolling into a sitting position, I lean back on my hands for support, close my eyes and concentrate on getting my heartbeat to slow. The lighting in here is a lot gentler than it is in the arena. It's almost blinding out there, and really hot too. Not really blinding. If they were really blinding I wouldn't have been able to see the crowd, only hear them. Would that have been better? No, probably not. It would have been like being watched by thousands of ghosts. At least this way I can see what I'm facing. That stops my mind exaggerating things.
Some things at least.
My head lolls forwards, a deep breath forcing its way through my trembling lips. I'm really dry I realise. My throat feels like I've been gargling sand. I should get some water. Hong Chan says I should make sure I keep hydrated because I dry out so easily. He probably won’t take long either and I don’t want him to see me like this. I want him to know that he’s right about me and that he isn’t wasting his time by trying to help me.
I haul myself to my feet and start sniffling. That’s habit more than anything. Normally, I'd be crying by now but I think I'm OK. I'm actually OK.
Hong Chan said I can do this. He said I can do anything if I tried, but I didn't really believe him. I thought he was just saying what you’re supposed to say.
But here I am. I went out there and I'm fine. I am fine. I am, I really am.
There's a big standing mirror at the other end of the room. I don't want to get too close to it in case I catch how nervous I still feel, but from back here if I pose a little I can kinda see how I must have looked to the crowd. I still don’t like my costume and I still feel too bare, but the fans seem to like it.
It looks good I guess. It’s not worth freaking out over. All those people told me it looked cool.
Will Fahrn see something different though? When we battle, she’ll be facing Laqueta, but it’s not Laqueta that needs to speak with her, it’s me. I need her to see me. But what will happen if I panic like I did just now? I didn’t even have to compete and it felt like it was too much to handle. I mean, I know that I was just being silly, but it still happened. And meeting Fahrn really is more important than the tournament for me. I struggled to do something small. How am I supposed to deal with something that actually matters?
I’m such a mess.
But that’s the point, isn’t it? That’s why I’m putting myself through all this. I don’t want to be a mess any more. I want to get better, and to do that, I need to speak with Fahrn. Everything started with her, all the stuff that they said was good for me even though it felt bad. I don’t understand any of it, but Fahrn will, I know she will. She can tell me what I’m supposed to do, I need her to explain everything that happened when she found me on The Wandering Halo. I need to know what it all meant and I need to know what Fahrn really is … an Angel or a Demon.
JOHN FORRESTER - 15:23
With a majestic swish through the air, the remote does its duty and extinguishes the TV screen. OK, so it was the click of the power button and not the wide swing that made it happen, but that doesn't mean that the theatrics don't hold value. I mean, the whole world's an OTT trashy soap opera and we are all but local heroes and villains, giving the common person something to aspire to. Or something like that.<
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"Bet the forums are loving that one," I say, turning my head back towards Carnival.
Carnival for her part continues to swipe through screens on her tablet without returning my glance, but does give a short, clear 'heh' of a laugh accompanied with a malicious grin.
No doubt, all the usual suspects are currently exploding into little balls of virtual rage all over the networks. I mean, so far this year they've had both a change in the running order and a walkout, so they'll be getting pretty miffed right about now. My guess would be that the vocal-but-never-use-their-real-names-brigade will be jumping back and forth between declaring how disgusted they are with Dorian's actions, complaining that they're now replaying the old 'Wick: How To Play' documentary from three years back instead of going straight to Connor Ford's match, complaining about the complainers because they're convinced that the whole show is fixed anyway so why moan about it, and of course the old favourite, 'we could do it much better'.
Keyboard warriors. Clearly they are indeed the wisest of the wise and thoroughly deserving of being the officially self-sanctioned spokespeople of all fans.
The thing is, Carnival doesn't exactly share their viewpoint. In fact, she's very much of the opinion that said keyboard warriors are less fonts of all Spark Form knowledge, and more easy prey. Yup, Carnival likes to snack on an overly opinionated fan or two pretty much every chance she gets. Not in a literal nom-nom-nom yummy-yummy sort of way, more in a 'let's see if I can rile them up slash make them leave the site slash knock them down a peg or two' sort of way.
Judging by the glint in her eye and the excitable way the tips of her ears are twitching, she's finding plenty of playmates for her next foray into the world of ongoing, non-professional commentaries on the tournament.
Seeing her like this, I can't help but smile. Normally, she'd have been enjoying herself all day but since we found out about Meera, she's been really down. Jumpy too. Looking at her right now though, you'd never know anything was wrong.
"So," I begin, but a knock at the door cuts me short. Carnival then heads off any further reply by casually clicking her fingers and pointing roughly in the direction of the wannabe intruder while making a vaguely disinterested grunt.
"Of course my lady," I reply in my best mock fancy butler voice as I get to my feet and drop into an exaggerated bow. "I, your humble servant, shall answer the door. Will my lady be accepting visitors this day or shall I dissuade them from standing before you?"
At that, Carnival starts to giggle, and when I look up I see that she has buried her muzzle in the table in an attempt to suppress the noise.
"Ah, my apologies. I can see now that you are clearly rather busy. I shall take my leave and deal with our guests myself."
And with that, I make a dash to the door just in time to intercept the second knock by flinging the door halfway open and swinging my way through the gap, pulling the door shut as I spin out to face none other than Finn McCourt.
That surprises me for two reasons. One, because opponents don't often mingle during shows in case the press are hanging around, and two because the second I committed to my swing-through entrance I realised that I may end up flying into the person knocking, which means that he either anticipated me answering the door like that or he has really good reflexes. Given the lack of thought that I generally put into things like opening doors in weird ways, I doubt that he second guessed me, so that means he either thinks and acts quickly or he has really good instincts.
Knowing that is actually a big help to me. The implants that allow us to play at speed really just boost our natural abilities so if he's already moving like that it means that, unless something goes horribly wrong, he's going to be pretty sharp out there, which in turn means that I need to be at my best if I want to avoid Carnival taking too much damage.
That could be good though. It'll keep me on my toes in general in the lead-up, which could be a great help given our current situation. Well, either that or I'll be burnt out after the match, which isn't so good.
"Mr Forrester, can I come in?"
I barely best the temptation to say 'Ooh, how forward', and instead settle for a reply of "Nah, Sorry. The door's locked."
"No Mr Forrester, it's not," he replies, tilting his head to the side.
"No," I confirm, "It's not."
"That being the case, may I come in?"
"Nope," I say with a smile.
"Mr Forrester, there is a matter that we need to discuss and doing so now will save us all time later on."
"Finn," I say, casually placing my hand on his shoulder. The moment my fingers brush his suit, I understand. I nod and drop the full list of ridiculous responses I had in mind. "If the press see us entering a private room together they'll be crying fix long before our match is over."
"This is an urgent matter Mr Forrester. Is there nothing I can do to persuade you otherwise?"
"Nope. Sorry Finn, gotta stay professional."
"A shame," he replies with a nod. "My associate and I are in hotel room 63. I believe that it's on the same floor as your own, is it not? Perhaps you could pay us a visit later this evening? You would of course be welcome to bring your companion."
"Sure thing."
"Very well then. I will collect you at eight and escort you there. Good luck tonight," he says, turning to walk away. "To you and Carnival."
I don't wait to see him turn the corner before making my way back into the changing room. I knew that Carnival would hear the whole conversation, and judging by the concerned way she's staring at me right now, she's picked up on the same thing I did. "Yeah," I say, pushing the door shut. "That's two."
Carnival doesn’t move. She just looks at me for a moment then rests back into her chair, her hands going up and brushing her bangs out of her face. “At least we know that he knows about you,” I say, stepping towards her. “And I’m guessing his associate is Meera. That helps. It means that we can start making plans.”
Carnival turns her face towards me, her eyes searching mine for any doubt or concern. I meet her gaze with as much confidence as I can but the truth is, I am worried and as good as I am at hiding negativity in general, I know full well that she’ll know. Sure enough she blinks, grunts sadly and goes back to her tablet, quickly tapping away a few times before pausing to stare blankly at the screen.
“We’ll be fine,” I say and mean every word if it. I may be worried, but I won’t let them do anything to her that she doesn’t choose to have done. Besides, we don’t know that they want to cause trouble yet. They could just be curious.
A light ripple runs down Carnival’s ears. She wants me to know that she’s listening. She breathes deeply, gives the table a quick rap of her knuckles then turns to me with a relaxed smile, nods and beckons me over to check out her latest round of forum assaults.
She trusts me and I intend to keep repaying her for that.
CONNOR FORD - 15:30
"And you're sure she's here now, are you? She's not forgotten her sodding clothing or something ridiculous like that that's going to mean she has to swan off again, no?"
"No Sir, Miss De La Cruz is all set to go now. So, um, if you could please make your way to the entrance area, it's almost time now," the latest toy they've sent me replies with an apparently mandatory squirm. Honestly, the way they're all acting around me I'm beginning to suspect that they've been instructed to act cowed just to appease me. Either that or the youth of today are all carbon copies of each other.
"About bloody time," I growl, intentionally refusing to budge from my arm chair. "Fine then, you're dismissed, go, leave."
He flinched at my waving him away. Now that wasn't a trained reaction that much I could tell at least. "But," he whines, "Aren’t you coming too, Sir? I mean, we really don't want to keep the fans waiting …”
Wrong move fool. "Don't we now? Well, I suppose that much should have been obvious to me, shouldn't it? After all, it's not like I was supposed to be first on or anything ridiculous like that, was it?"
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His body language has changed. The slumps of his shoulders and the foot shuffles are a little bit more jittery now. I think I may have actually rattled the little shit this time, or at the very least left him more than a little frustrated.
Good. Send me an actor and I'll more than figuratively break his bloody leg. I am not some child that needs to be made to think he's getting his own way. "Oh, just go," I grumble as he opens his mouth to respond. "I know where the damned entrance area is. It won't take me more than five minutes to get there. Or does that idiot Carlston think I'm infirm now?"
"No Mr Ford, you are clearly not infirm," he says with a resigned shake of his head. "Good luck tonight."
And finally, he leaves.
It had to be the bloody feet too, didn't it? If it had just been my hands, I would have had my fun on the way to the entrance area rather than shouting across the room at the sod. Once the implant is online, that should sort the issue at least.
I sigh, fumbling the bottle of pills in my pocket. I'll give it five minutes, and if the numbness hasn't passed enough to walk I'll just have to call for help. "Oh, the bloody indignity of it all," I yell, whipping the bottle out and throwing it at the opposite wall, only to watch it fly off to the side and land with a mocking rattle over by the table.
My subsequent inwardly aimed rage erupts from my throat as a bout of hacking coughs that leave me doubled over and boring a hole in my feet with my eyes. I swear, if I didn't need the damnable things, I'd have binned every last pill long ago.
No.
I don't need them.
My hands do. My feet do. My heart does.
My heart is a fucking addict.
And all these little side effects that the rest of my body is lumbered with weren't present during the opening of the tournament when I was supposed to be competing, when I could be sure that I could hold out until tomorrow for the grand finale.