Arena

by Holly Jennings

  “What?”

  “I have a question for you.”

  “You wanna chitchat through the match?” he asked. “Is that why you lost the last one?”

  I met his biting stare. When I held it for more than a minute, he rolled his eyes.

  “Before you ask,” he began, voice dull as if he’d repeated the words several times before, “I have hundreds of hours of experience in simulated battle situations—”

  “Are you racist or sexist?”

  He faltered, mouth hanging open for a second before he pushed more words out of it. “Excuse me?”

  “When Clarence asked if you had a problem with me as team captain, you hesitated. Now, you’ve been a complete pain in the ass since we’ve met for no reason other than you’ve had to work with me. So I’m asking, is the reason because I’m a woman or because I’m part Chinese?”

  He looked me up and down. “You’re only part Chinese?”

  Bingo.

  I took a breath. Okay, everyone has their gripes. Best way to deal with it is to show how we’re all the same, underneath. Still, something churned in my chest. Heartburn? No. Disgust. I swallowed it down and forced the next words out through my teeth.

  “I’m half-American, if that helps anything.”

  He studied me for a minute and returned to his staring contest with the wall. “It doesn’t matter.”

  “Because only completely American counts?”

  “Because I don’t care.”

  The trees rustled just outside the tower. Sharp, rough movements, not from any wind.

  Lily’s signal.

  The enemy approached.

  Rooke’s grip tightened on his swords and moved toward the tower’s entrance. I grabbed his arm and pulled back.

  “We wait here. Draw them in.”

  He shook his head. “That’s stupid.”

  “Forcing your enemy to fight on two fronts is not stupid. Lily’s got the rear.”

  “By herself?”

  “Trust me.”

  He stepped forward anyway, until I pressed my sword against his neck. He halted.

  “One more step, and I’ll take you out of the fight myself,” I warned.

  He stared me down, trying to call my bluff. But I don’t bluff. When I held his glare again, he scowled and took a step back.

  Footsteps echoed up the tower’s path. Rooke’s attention snapped to the entrance. My grip tightened around my sword. Two men and one woman appeared at the mouth of the tower. Pushing in with three. Because of InvictUS’s format during the Death Match, other teams were becoming bolder in their strategies as well.

  They advanced toward us. We held, waiting for Lily to appear behind them.

  They split into two as they approached, the larger male going for Rooke. He waved him forward, taunting him. Rooke went for it and met him in the middle. The clang of sword meeting sword echoed off the walls of the tower.

  Damn it. Fucking amateur.

  The remaining warriors bolted for me.

  The guy reached me first, several feet ahead. I bent at the knee and propelled myself into the air, kicking out with both feet. I hit him squarely in the chest. He went flying back. The axe tumbled from his hand.

  I landed on the ground in a crouching stance as the woman reached me. Swinging out with my sword, I sliced right through her kneecaps. She screamed as she collapsed to the ground, legless. I pounced on top of her and slit her throat. Her screams ceased, and her eyes glazed over. She went limp. Instant kill.

  Her teammate recovered, now on his feet. Axe in hand, he raced toward me. Metal clanged against metal as his axe smashed against my sword in rapid succession. He spun, locking my arms around his. His axe neared my face. He pushed his weight into it and barreled down on me. My legs trembled and bent. I grimaced and strained against him.

  My knee touched dirt. His axe inched closer.

  And closer.

  Steel grazed the skin of my cheek, piercing at the outermost layer. Cool. Smooth. It was nothing. A paper cut. I swallowed my gasp and pushed. My hands started to shake.

  He grinned.

  I’m dead. Game over.

  Lily appeared behind him, an axe gripped with both hands. She brought it down and sliced through his neck in one swipe. His severed head landed on my feet and rolled away. Blood gushed out of his neck as he fell forward and onto me. I kicked the body away, but not before blood doused me from head to toe.

  Lily helped me to my feet. I ran my hands down my body. Blood splattered on the stone floor in thick splats.

  Rooke pulled his sword out of his fallen opponent and turned to us. He gave me the once-over, taking in my drenched appearance, and offered a cocky grin.

  “Nice teamwork.”

  That asshole.

  I charged for him. As I neared without slowing, his grin faded. I raised my sword. He took a defensive stance, sword held horizontally in front of him. A grin tugged at my lips. Another one that had underestimated me. This would be oh, so sweet.

  Just as I reached him, an arm wrapped around my waist and lugged me back. Lily. Jesus, how strong was she? I struggled against the viselike grip around my waist, sword still pointed at Rooke.

  “What the fuck is your problem?” he demanded. He had the nerve to look pissed.

  Lily released me, and I marched up to him. “My problem? You disobeyed my orders.”

  “Lily didn’t round out the rear fast enough, which means we’d have to attack fast to gain the advantage. As team captain, I figured you’d have a better understanding of that.”

  “How can I lead someone who isn’t willing to be part of the team?”

  “You call this a team?”

  “Yes, and you’re lucky to even be on it.”

  “Lucky? I earned my way here.”

  “And you should be proving it, not questioning my authority.”

  “That’s enough.”

  The stark male voice cooled the heat of the argument and sent a chill up my spine. I turned to find exactly who I expected standing behind me. Clarence. In the pod room.

  The pod room?

  I blinked and looked around. I stood inside the concrete cylinder room, lined with metal and glass. The programmers peered around their screens at me. I glanced up at the screen above the doors. DEFIANCE: VICTORIOUS. Well, at least we’d won. But when had the match ended? When had I left the pod?

  Why couldn’t I remember the gap in time?

  I glanced up at Rooke in front of me, dressed in his white pod suit. He stared down at me, unwavering. Nothing had fazed him. Was I the only one who’d felt it?

  Around the pod room, my three other teammates and the programmers stared at us in the center of the room. Rooke and I must have looked just like Nathan and Derek when they used to fight.

  Clarence pointed a finger at the screen showcasing our victory. “What the hell was that?”

  “We won the match, didn’t we?” I protested.

  “You got lucky. And if it wasn’t for Lily, you might have lost. I’ve come to expect better from you. All of you.”

  Clarence’s gaze darted over the entire room, as if trying to pin each person to the wall. My teammates all looked at their feet, unable to meet his eyes. Even the programmers shifted away from the weight of his heavy stare. Finally, Hannah—either very brave or very stupid—made a move for the exit.

  “Where are you going? You have training.”

  “More?” Hannah asked, eyes wide. “We just trained nonstop all week.”

  “And you’ll do more tonight. This is completely unacceptable,” he barked. He waved a hand at the programmers. “Get out.”

  The programmers left. Quick patters of feet swept out the door. Having nothing to do with our physical training in this world, they were free from Clarence’s wrath. Lucky bastards.


  Clarence turned back to us, trembling so hard the veins in his skintight, plasma-injected forehead were about to burst. He took a breath, rubbing his temples with index fingers, then waved us toward the exit. “Get to the training room. I’ll have the coaches meet you there.”

  Gradually, my teammates made their way toward the door. I grabbed Lily’s arm as she walked past.

  “Lily, what the hell? Why did you wait so long?”

  Her expression grew solemn. “Sorry. When I jumped down from the trees, I landed wrong and just . . .” She glanced down at her swollen foot.

  I sighed. “Yeah. I understand.”

  “I thought I’d be able to handle the trees,” she continued. “The pain isn’t that bad once I plug in.”

  Nothing was that bad once you plugged in.

  “That’s okay,” I said. “It’s my fault as team captain. We’ll work on a different format for next week if it’s still bothering you.”

  She gave me a sympathetic smile and trudged after Hannah through the doors. I glanced at Rooke across the room and met his stone profile. He chatted with Derek as they headed for the exit. I scowled and marched after them, purposely keeping my distance from the rest of the team. Namely Rooke.

  “Kali,” Clarence called.

  I turned back. He waited to speak until everyone else filtered out of the room. Once we were alone, Clarence loomed over me and eyed me with his head still held high. Condescending jackass.

  “Get your team under control.”

  “My team? This is your team. When we go through a player change two days before a matchup, I think this is expected.”

  “For Christ’s sake, Kali. You know these fights don’t always go as planned. Look at last week’s matchup. You should be more prepared and learn to adapt when things go wrong.”

  “Look, I’m dealing with injured players and—”

  “Players?” he asked, emphasizing the letter s at the end. “Who else is hurt besides Lily?”

  I opened my mouth, and nothing came out. Lily’s ankle sprain was minor. If I exposed Rooke’s injuries, which seemed much worse, he’d be off the team. And we’d be done.

  “I just mean with Nathan gone and us having to reformat the team so quickly—”

  Clarence crossed his arms. “You are one of the top fighters in this competition. Possibly in the entire league. This shouldn’t even challenge you. Get it together.”

  I threw my arms up. “This is ridiculous. I didn’t sign up for this.”

  “Yes, you did. Now get this team in order, or you’ll be out the door.”

  I clenched my fists behind my back, so Clarence couldn’t see, and turned my gaze to the floor. He took a step closer, and I caught a whiff of his cologne, evergreen mixed with something else that I couldn’t quite put my finger on. Does money have a scent?

  Clarence loomed over me, veins in his forehead throbbing. My fingers itched to push them back in, so I jammed them into my pockets to prohibit any misdemeanors caused on their behalf. Clarence took a deep breath, but his neck and ears still blazed red. God, I’d really pissed him off. I’d never seen anyone that mad. Not even when I told my parents I wasn’t going to college so I could become a pro gamer.

  “Get to the training room,” Clarence barked. “Now.”

  —

  After everyone had left the training room for the night, I remained behind, pounding a punching bag as I imagined it was Clarence’s face.

  Fucking.

  Bam.

  Pigheaded.

  Bam.

  Jerk.

  Bam.

  With every punch, something tapped the skin just below my neck. I glanced down. My pendant dangled above my shirt. I tucked it in and continued assaulting the punching bag.

  Footsteps padded along the floor of the training room. I glanced back. Rooke walked through the room, along the far edge, the sweet stench of arrogance wafting right along with him. He looked past me at a spot on the wall. I must have been a blur to him, which means he’d never see my fist before I turned those pretty brown eyes black.

  Swiveling back to the bag, I pummeled it instead and let the rhythmic beat reverberate in my hands. Musicians had drums. I had bags of sand. Each made music to our respective ears.

  “You need someone to spot you,” Rooke said as he passed by. “Look at your stance. You’re off.”

  I gnashed my teeth together. Actually, I need you to stand in place of the bag, please. I stopped pummeling and glanced down at my feet. “The coaches are finished for the day.”

  “That’s no excuse.”

  “Are you offering then?”

  “No.”

  “You complain we don’t work as a team,” I said, raising my voice as he walked away, “and as soon as there’s a chance to help, you go off by yourself. Why don’t you shove—”

  I swallowed the rest of my sentence when he abruptly turned back. He braced his right shoulder behind the bag, giving himself enough leeway to peer around the edge. Most of him behind the bag, and his face right next to it. Looks like my target would improve after all.

  He nodded at me. “Go.”

  I pounded the bag, picturing him instead. Bam. Solid blow to the face. Bam. Swift hit to the ribs. Oh, don’t cry now. Here, just let me . . . Bam.

  “Your feet are still too close together,” he said, interrupting the fantasy. “Square them with your shoulders.”

  I paused and squared my feet, then returned to punching, focusing solely on the bag. At every punch rumbling up my arm. At every crunch of my knuckles against the leather canvas and the sand within. At the piercing brown eyes watching my chest with every movement.

  “What are you looking at?” I demanded. I really was going to punch him in the eye.

  Rooke took a step toward me, still staring. “Is that a taijitu?”

  “What?”

  I glanced down myself. My necklace hung over my shirt again. Since when did an American know the traditional name for a yin yang?

  I tucked the pendant inside my shirt and disregarded it with a wave of my hand. “Typical Asian symbol. They want me to play it up whenever I can. You know, for the cameras.”

  “And the cameras are here now?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

  I stared back, unwavering. Seconds passed before I answered. “You never know.”

  “Funny, because it’s also a symbol of someone who appreciates Taoism and the teachings of Lao Tzu.”

  I clenched my jaw to stop it from dropping. Where had he learned that? So few people made the connection. So few Americans, at least. I kept a straight face.

  “It’s just a necklace,” I said.

  “Your hair is up, you’ve got no makeup on, and you’re dressed head to toe in training gear. But you leave the necklace on for show?”

  Rooke stared down at me, his eyes searching my face as if looking for my soul. He wouldn’t find anything. I’d already sold it to Clarence.

  “Look,” I began, “whatever you think it means, it doesn’t. Not anymore.”

  “Why wear it then?”

  “I told you. It’s part of my image, all right? I forgot I even had it on.”

  He scoffed. “I don’t believe that.”

  “Well, then . . . it’s a good thing I don’t care what you believe.”

  Was this guy going to question everything I said? Bile burned at the back of my throat. God, he made me want to puke.

  “You really think your image is that important?” he asked.

  “Of course it is.”

  How could he even ask that?

  He shook his head. “You won’t catch me buying into that bullshit.”

  “You have to.”

  “Not a chance.”

  “You signed a contract, didn’t you?”

  He frowned.

  �
��I guess it’s bullshit only up to a certain point.” I cleared my throat. “Or, should I say, a certain price.” He shot me a look. “What? You gonna act like you didn’t know this is what it’s like being a pro? You’re about to become Clarence’s new poster boy. Speaking of, we have a photo shoot tomorrow. Pro Gamer Weekly, the cover.”

  With a circulation of over twenty million, Pro Gamer Weekly was the top gamer magazine in the world. Along with reviews of at-home games, its primary focus was the life and times of virtual pro gamers.

  It was owned, in part, by the VGL.

  Rooke blinked, unimpressed. I made a sweeping motion with my hand toward the door, as if to shoo him away. “You’d better go get your beauty sleep.”

  “How did you know?”

  “What? That you need beauty sleep?”

  His jaw set. Hard. “About the photo shoot?”

  I opened my mouth, and—to my surprise—a nonsarcastic answer trickled out. “Did Clarence issue you a tablet when you first got here?”

  “Yeah. I had to trade it for my cell.”

  Of course he did, along with his firstborn child.

  “Your tablet will be updated every morning with the team’s itinerary, usually a few days in advance. Expect this week to be a little chaotic, though.”

  Was I just helpful to him? I’d have to watch that.

  He nodded. “Yeah, thanks.” His expression softened a little then. “Look, for what it’s worth, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have questioned your authority, not in front of the team.”

  Huh. An apology. Okay, not bad.

  I kept a straight face.

  “That’s all right, as long as it doesn’t happen again.”

  His gaze flicked down to the necklace again. Or at least to where the chain disappeared under my training top. “Is it honestly just a symbol?”

  He met my eyes again, and for once, his own were brimming with curiosity instead of ice.

  “Yes,” I told him. “It’s a symbol. That’s it.”

  He looked a bit disappointed, but seemed to accept it. “Wanna go again?” He reached for the bag, then suddenly doubled over, as if he’d just been punched in the gut.

  “You okay?” I asked.

  After a minute, he shook himself and straightened up. “I’m fine.”