He had to get out of there; he had to save himself. There was a valiant effort on his part not to kill those two men, but he couldn't save anyone, he needed to save himself. They were dead, and he was next. Crusher's hand came for him, TK responding with another kick that connected with his palm, Crusher letting out a roar and recoiling. The monster was recoiling from the kicks, the sting of the barbed wire was burned into his mind. Just like that, TK's posture changed and there was a sense of confidence exuding from him, walking towards the monster this time, ducking under another swat of the hand and leveling at his ribs with another kick.
Crusher let out a scream, tumbling backwards and out of the ring onto his back. The crowd was in disbelief; the monster was actually running from something. Somehow he was hurting and was realizing the sting from those kicks was just going to keep coming back. The sound that he made, whatever device was in there, when he hit that metal it must have sent some sort of shock wave throughout his body. Crusher was retreating, TK hopping onto the monster's back in an overly confident move only for Crusher's elbow to drive into his injured ribs and sent him crashing into the sand. Crusher was still retreating.
"God damnit," Branch shouted. "Subdue him!"
Guards swarmed out from the tunnels with their stun batons, driving them into the monster who yelped with each one, it taking at least eight of them before he went down. While they dragged his limp body back into the bowels of the arena, TK pulled himself back up to his feet, looking like he had just survived hell, but alive. He pumped his fist up into the air and the crowd went wild, Branch storming away from his box while TK stood in the arena victorious and most importantly, alive.
Ten
The Brawler
Will's whole world was spinning out of control. The word had come down that Branch had lost it, that the event was over and Will felt like he was standing there with his dick in his hand. "Bill, what is this bollocks?"
"It's over, Will," Handsome Bill was securing the weapons and helping to herd the would-be combatants. "Call it a night."
"That was my ring out there," he said. "He fought in my goddamned ring and he defeated the fucking Crusher! That tosser got the win I had been planning on for bloody years!"
"He didn't kill him or anything."
"He had him down! They had to stop it so he wouldn't kill him!"
"There was an experimental mind control device installed in Crusher last night," Branch emerged from the shadows. "You may have heard some of the... complications from it last evening."
"Fuckin' hell I did."
"We thought that we had it under control—you saw him out there, didn't you?"
"That pisser Gabriel?"
"No, Crusher! Crusher, William. He was calm, serene even."
"Oh, well, that was the kicker innit?"
"It was working so well, then Gabriel had to kick him just in the right spot, just the right spot to interfere with our work, to disrupt his brainwaves, bring back memories, I don't know what it did, but Crusher is a mess now."
"You let him defeat the Crusher," Will said. "That was mine, we'd been teasing it for how long?"
"Crusher isn't dead yet, Will."
"Fuckin' hell. Everyone saw that wanker knock 'em down," he said, fuming. "They saw him fall to that pissant!"
"I'd watch your tone with me, Mr. Farrington," Branch scowled. "Your grasp on that crowd is tenuous at best right now. From what I saw, they seemed to be buying what Mr. Gabriel was selling."
"Erm, eh," Will felt like he had just been punched in the gut. "I didn't mean to, Mr. Branch, I just—"
"I've got more pressing matters to deal with than your bruised ego, Mr. Farrington. You and Mr. Gabriel will meet in that arena eventually, let's just hope that for both of our sakes that you emerge the victor. I'd hate to lose your... comradery."
Branch turned and strutted off, William left standing there, lost. He remembered the conversation that he had with Vera the night before about being careful and being aware of where Branch stood. That creeping thread of a thought in the back of his mind, of what would happen if things with Branch went south, even after all he did to help build up Branch's arena, was all he could focus on. William had been the avatar for everyone's hopes, dreams and fears after the apocalypse. He was the everyman who came from nothing and brawled his way to whatever was left of fame and fortune in Branch's new world.
All that was left for William in this bleak husk of a world was his glory in the arena. Without that, what was he but a British tourist in the wrong place for the end of the world? Stuart had found his calling in being a thug. In fact, it felt like the most natural thing ever for him. William had done everything in his power before the fall to ensure that Stuart kept out of trouble, which was more trouble than it was worth. In a way, the end of the world was beneficial for the both of them. Stuart was a natural with a machine gun slung over his shoulder and Will was a natural performer wearing an electrified gauntlet in front of thousands of people, blowing up the heads of the undead.
"I guess you didn't need that thing looked after anyway," Vera's voice broke him from his reverie.
"What?"
"I didn't get a chance to give that a full diagnostic last night anyway," Vera stood before him like an apparition. "So it's a good thing they don't want you out there, I'd say."
"What do you mean?"
"Well, your brother can probably answer that better than I can, but when I was looking over it last night he burst into my workshop and—"
"What the fuck do you know about my life, cunt?" Will was seething, unable to control himself.
"Whoa, hey, what the—"
"No, bugger the fuck off!" Something had snapped inside of him. "You want me to fail, don't you? This is all some fuckin' game for you. This is my damned life."
"Okay, first of all, you don't talk to me like that," she said. "I'm the one keeping you alive out there, that gauntlet is—"
"I said bugger the fuck off!" He shouted in her face, watching her recoil in disgust.
"Fuck you, Will," she said, storming off in a huff.
"Cunt," he hissed while she stormed off, finding himself pacing alone in the bowels of the parking structure. Bill had run off to tend to the fighters and to stow the weapons so they wouldn't try to use them for some sort of escape or uprising, meaning that it was just him and his thoughts. Will didn't need to worry about that, about being penned up before his time to fight, he had his suite to return to, he had the loving, warm and sometimes sticky embrace of Jenna to keep him occupied, but he felt like he just needed a drink. The gauntlet was still on his hand, he knew that he should return it to Vera, but he could always give it to her later. She was in a mood, and he had probably just fucked things up with her for a while. No need to make it worse. Walking around with it made him feel powerful, which was more than he could say after such a lousy day. He staggered towards the glass doors and the lifts, having had enough of lamenting on his grasp on the crowd and Branch's affections.
"Going up?" A voice came from in front of the elevator. William had somehow not seen him standing there, but knew who it was. His blood boiled. "Need a drink, then?"
"Fuck off," Will snarled.
"Whatever," Gabriel said, standing there without a shirt, his ribs heavily taped with blood-soaked wraps.
"You'll fall outta favor soon enough," William stared at the numbers above the lift, watching the light crawl down towards the B2 level like it was taking an eternity. "You'll see, fickle cunts, I've seen 'em eat poofters like you alive out there."
"I'm sure that you have."
"Well, what the fuck do you know?" Will gripped his right hand closer. He could in a single stroke be done with TK Gabriel once and for all. William glared up at TK, standing there watching the elevator, clenching his fist and imagining the blood everywhere. It would be murder, no doubt about it, but it wasn't like society still existed. This was Jordan Branch's society, and William had killed many in its name. What would one more be? William gave
himself some distance, lining up the shot with his eye when the lift chimed, the door sliding open.
"Oh fuck," TK said. "I forgot something, it's all yours." He motioned for William to step in, William doing so and sneering.
"Fuckin' cunt," he snarled, the door shutting. "If you only knew how close you came to losin' yer cocksuckin' head."
The lift stopped on the penultimate floor, William plodding out towards his room. Branch claimed to hate Gabriel, yet he gave him a suite after all of that? None of it made any sense anymore. Gabriel should've been down with the rest of the murderous scum at Bill's Den. At least he'd have Jenna, still. At the end of every day that was something that he knew that he could rely on; Jenna was always there, her loving embrace. In fact, he heard her laugh while he slinked towards his suite. She was out in the hallway still dressed up from the night out in the arena with a champagne flume in hand; she was talking with two men in suits that were also drinking. She was being friendly with them, perhaps too friendly.
"Oh god," she snorted. "That's just amazing and—"
"What the fuck, Jenna?" Will jerked her by the elbow.
"What?" She asked, tugging her arm back. "Don't do that, Will. This is Brett and Sean, Mr. Branch introduced me to them tonight."
"I don't care 'bout these poofters," he said. "Had a rough day, let's go back to the room."
"I can't now," she said. "I sang for them tonight in the box and they are talking about having me sing in the arena!"
"Who the fuck are they to do that?"
"Well, Mr. Farrington, or Will, can I call you Will?" The one with the slicked back hair reached out his hand.
"No," he swatted it away with the gauntlet.
"Anyway, we work with Mr. Branch in talent scouting for the arena and Ms. Passenier here is truly a marvel, you see—"
"Fuckin' hell," William raged. "He's gotten to you, too, Jenna? It's one night, one bloody night! He can't take it all away just like that, I'm William Fucking Farrington! I'm the Champion of the Arena!"
"What's wrong with you?" She asked. "Why can't you be happy for me?"
"You go suck both of their cocks for all I fuckin' care." He stormed off, slamming his right fist into the door to his suite, it bursting open. "Like I fuckin' care."
Everything was turning red. Everything in the suite reminded him of who he was, who he was supposed to be. The belt that he won on his first night in the arena hung up on the wall, William ripping it down and slamming it onto the table, empty beer bottles clanging and sliding off of the table with a crash. He rummaged around before finding a bottle of scotch, spinning the cap off and taking a mighty pull from it, sitting back into the chair and staring at that belt, at what it meant to him and all that he could lose.
"Motherfucker," he said.
Eleven
The Engineer
Will was a dick, she knew that, even if he did have a big heart that he guarded closely. He was still a dick, but she never figured him for flat out stupid. Yet here she was, inside of her workshop, stewing over how much of an idiot Will was. He had a rough night; she knew that, but she had warned him about getting too comfortable with Branch. Branch didn't become the ruler of their known wasteland by benevolence, he was the spark that led to this path of destruction. Branch created the powder keg, teased it, then lit it and watched the world burn, only to come back and say that he had all the answers.
That sort of malevolence was special. It took a certain kind of man to usher in the end of society and then rebuild it as a sympathetic god figure. Jordan Branch was easily one of the biggest villains in human history, playing world governments and old grievances like a fiddle for his own personal goals. Now whatever they knew was left of the world sat in his ivory tower hanging on his every word and spending their nights killing what was left of the poor for sport for his group of elite survivors. Vera's skin crawled at the thought of her being a member of that elite class, even if it wasn't her choice and that classification was hanging on by a thread now.
Vera sighed while she routed around on her desk, looking for something to keep her mind occupied. Returning to the suite for some shut eye sounded like a good plan, but walking in on Jenna and Will fucking for the umpteenth time on a night like this just sounded like more of a chore than anything else. It was times like this that she wished that she had something to sleep on down here in the basement, her workshop the closest thing to her own room and home. A knock came from her door, Vera cursing under her breath.
"Will, if that's you or your little stooge brother I don't want to deal with your shit right now," she called.
Another knock.
"It's not funny," she stood up, jerking the door open. "It's not—oh, wow. I didn't, uh. Yeah, I'm sorry, you aren't Will or Stuart."
"No," TK Gabriel said. "I just had a run in with your boyfriend."
"Yeah, he's got a bit of a temper right now and no, he's not my boyfriend."
TK just stared at her.
"I mean, look, do I live with him? Do I sleep with him? Fucked if I know what we are, but he's usually fucking that ditz Jenna and... Ah, sorry," she felt suddenly self-conscious as he stood there without his shirt, blood staining the bandages on his stomach. "You probably had a pretty rough night out there."
"Something like that," he said.
"What can I do for you, then?" She motioned for him to come in. "This isn't much, but this is my workshop."
"Last night," he said, "you told me you created Farrington's gauntlet."
"Oh right, yeah. That's me, creator of the gauntlet."
"I need you to make something for me."
"You need me to make something?" She asked. "I'm not sure what I can do for you, that was just a simple charged up piece of armor, really. I'm an aerospace engineer, I make rockets."
"That gauntlet does well enough for Farrington."
"It does, I mean, thank you, but what could I possibly make for you? Do you want a gauntlet of your own?"
"No," he shook his head. "Shin guards."
"Shin guards? I mean, doesn't Bill just have that kind of stuff?"
"Not the kind that I need, not the kind that keep me alive."
"Ohhh," she said. "So you want something with some flair to it."
"Spikes," he said. "A charge like Farrington's glove, preferably left leg, although I my right leg isn't bad."
"I can do that. It should be no problem. I dunno, I'm best at building propulsion systems, but here I am building these weapons and..."
"So you can do it?"
"Yeah, I can do it. I've got a backup gauntlet that Will never uses, I can just swap the casing and... When do you need it by?"
"I can wait," he said. "I suspect that I'll need it sooner rather than later."
"I guess so. I just... Look, I know that you and Will are going to have to duke it out at some point and he's a little rough around the edges. I get it, but could you possibly, I don't know, try not to kill him?"
"If and when I fight him he's going to do everything in his power to kill me."
"I know, but..."
"You saw what happened out there tonight. I didn't want to kill those men, I did everything that I could to save them, but it wasn't enough. If your friend wants to try to kill me, then that's his decision. I'm not here to kill anyone, well..." there was an uncomfortable pause. "At least not your friend."
"I guess that's the best that you can do," she said. "He's gonna get himself killed out there and Branch won't care at all."
"We are all dead already," he chuckled. "We just haven't accepted our fate yet."
"That's a morose way at looking at our lives. We survived, that's more than most can say."
"We died when everyone else did, we're living in a fantasy of survival."
"This is going to be a long night, isn't it?" She asked, not expecting an answer. "You should go get some rest, you are pretty banged up still."
He nodded.
With that he was out the door, leaving Vera to breathe a sigh of
relief. She didn't mind helping him out considering it was more sticking it to Jordan Branch than anyone else, but she knew that she could be creating the tool that ultimately kills Will, which in turn could be the end of her run in Branch Tower. No matter how much she hoped for a peaceful conclusion, she knew that it was utterly fruitless. She was now the creator of weapons, instruments of death used for the unfolding drama inside of Branch's idyllic society. Branch was the one that fostered the growth of this society, and Vera was the one helping it to thrive.
What other choice did she have? There was nothing else that someone with her expertise could do in this situation. They weren't launching anything into space or concerned with flight of any kind anymore. Instead, the concern was survival, of dealing with the steady influx of survivors from the wasteland looking for redemption at the place that they were told was the last hope for humanity. Those people were then tossed into a pit to fight for their lives and their right to live among the elite, usually it being known that they'd fail. Building weapons was the only thing keeping her going anymore.
After a few hours at her workbench, Vera leaned back and stared at her latest creation. Without a doubt it was more sleek than the contraption that Will wore on his hand, but she had a bit more experience with this kind of work now, that was bound to happen. The shin guard itself was made of plate steel, lined with padded leather with a few pressure-sensitive buttons on the inside. When it powered on and there was pressure applied, an electrical charge would run through and deliver a shock to who- or whatever was on the receiving end of it. Like he asked, there were a few sharp spikes attached to the front—metal to ensure that they conduct electricity as well—making it quite a mean looking contraption.
The Tower Page 11