Arena

by Holly Jennings

  “We’d do even better if we ran ahead and met these ones first,” I told him, pointing at the three men in front of me.

  “We?”

  I glanced back as I started to run. “If you can keep up.”

  He did.

  He caught up to my side in seconds, just as we reached the trio of attackers.

  As I ran, I dropped to my knees and slid, like I was surfing, spraying up waves of sand. Skidding past the first opponent, I lashed out with my sword, slicing through his calf. He cried out and stumbled face-first into the ground. I pounced on his back and slammed my blade through his spine. He grunted and went limp.

  I turned around to find Rooke fighting the other two at once. One had his back to me. Oh, this was just too easy. I jumped up on his back, rocked his head back, and ripped through his neck with my sword. He crumpled to the ground.

  Two down, one to go.

  I circled around Rooke and the remaining attacker as sword clanged against sword. Rooke deflected every move with ease. Damn, he had skill. The muscles in his arms rippled with each strike. Yup, could definitely watch that all day long.

  Rooke went down on one knee and smashed the side of his opponent’s leg with the hilt of his sword. The fighter screamed as his bone broke through the skin. He landed hard on his back, arms flailing as he wailed with pain. Rooke pulled back and motioned for me to take the kill.

  “Ladies first.”

  He had the audacity to give me a cocky grin.

  I grinned back.

  Pressing a foot into the enemy’s chest, I gripped my sword with both hands and slammed it through his heart. A puff of air wheezed out of his lungs, and his eyes glazed over.

  Around us, the crowd screamed with delight, pounding their feet into the stands until the stadium itself came alive with its own pulsing heartbeat.

  I yanked my sword out of the latest victim and looked for Rooke, who had started toward the remaining three warriors. He glanced back and nodded, signaling me to join him in the fight. I judged the distance between me and him, and the warriors closing in. Thirty feet. Then twenty. I shook my head.

  “Kneel down.”

  Rooke’s brow furrowed, like he didn’t understand the command. I bolted for him, full speed.

  “Kneel.”

  The word ripped from my mouth like a battle cry. He knelt, back toward me, shielding his head with one arm. I ran up his back and pushed off his shoulder. I flew, right over the three men. On my descent, I spun in the air, sword out. I became a whipping blade, cutting through my enemies’ backs like putty. I landed behind them in a crouching stance, one hand on the ground, one gripping my sword out and to the side.

  Perfect ten? Thank you, judges.

  I remained crouched as I listened to the wet, slopping sound of my opponents’ body parts raining down behind me until the last hit the ground.

  Silence.

  The world froze in that moment. Sand sprinkled the air around me. The wind looped through my hair and swirled around my figure. I took a breath. Cool, clean air pumped through my lungs. I smiled.

  Perfection.

  Nowhere was better than the arena.

  The crowd roared as they leapt to their feet. Glory rushed through my veins. I pushed up to my feet and presented myself to the mob, soaking in their applause. Applause that was mine.

  Over the pile of dead bodies, Rooke stood eyeing me with a cocky grin and his eyebrows raised, the look a man gets when he’s turned on. Given our recent fight, I thought I’d be disgusted. But I couldn’t ignore the ego boost I felt instead.

  I placed a hand on my hip, remaining casual. “You impressed?”

  He rubbed the shoulder I’d pushed off from and shrugged. “No. More surprised than anything. I didn’t think you’d weigh that much.”

  My mouth fell open as a flash of anger exploded inside. Rooke grinned and walked away, arrogance swirling around him like a genie’s puff of smoke. As I watched him leave, his unguarded back taunted me. The sword itched in my hand. My eyes narrowed on target.

  I went for it.

  Moving across the sand like the wind, Rooke didn’t hear my approach until I was inches away. He spun around and brought his sword up just in time to block my swing.

  The crowd erupted around us.

  We stood there, locked in the moment. Our eyes pinned on one another, his glinting with curiosity. His shoulders moved with heavy breaths as he watched me, waiting for my next move. And I had one. Plenty of them.

  I snapped forward, knocking an unsuspecting Rooke back half a step. His guard dropped and I punched him hard across the jaw. His head turned sideways from the blow and took longer than it should have to turn back. When he looked at me, wiping a dribble of blood away from his lip, I thought I’d see anger on his face. I didn’t. Fire erupted in his eyes. I’d fueled him. Unleashed the beast.

  He grinned wickedly and came for me.

  Sword met sword again and again in an endless battle. We mirrored each other. Move-for-move, foot-for-foot. A dance, in which neither led nor followed. Balanced. Even.

  Then the blazing sun seared my eyes just as he swung. I caught the blade with my own but stumbled and fell. The second I hit the ground, he was on top of me, pinning me down with his weight. I struggled beneath him.

  He glanced between us. “Now, here’s something I haven’t tried digitally before.”

  He grinned as he pressed down harder, and our lower halves melded together. I grunted in protest and wriggled again, discovering more of his weight rested on his right side. Victory. I hooked my leg around his left knee and rolled. He went easy and landed on his back with a grunt. This time, I grinned as I peered down at him.

  “A virtual virgin, huh?” I said. “I wouldn’t waste your time in here, but they have programs for that in the back rooms of strip clubs, if you can afford it.”

  He grinned. “I prefer most things the traditional way.” He glanced between us and back up at my eyes. “This isn’t bad, though. Can’t say I’m surprised you like being in control.”

  I laughed. “You couldn’t handle me.”

  “Couldn’t handle who? A role model for young women?”

  My grin fell, and I felt like punching him in the face for real. A sickening sensation slid through my stomach as I slammed back to reality while still in the virtual space. Damn it. I was here to elude the pressures of the real world. Was there nowhere to find peace? Nowhere left to escape?

  “Fuck you.”

  He reached for me. “Being a role model is a good thing. I didn’t mean—”

  I scowled, pulled off him, and marched toward the arena’s exit. The crowd booed. Standard programming. Suddenly, I hated standard programming.

  A computerized voice echoed overhead as I walked out of the arena.

  Simulation complete.

  I opened my eyes to the pod’s shimmering opal core. I took a deep breath and let it out slowly, as if the air were draining from every finger and toe. It didn’t help. As much as I tried to push my emotions away, the darkest ones kept resurfacing. Guilt. Anger. Betrayal. Virtual or real, Rooke’s words had struck home.

  When my pod opened, Rooke was already gone. I sat on the edge for a while, between the gateways of the real and the digital. This was a game. It was supposed to be fun. I’d tried so hard to make it that way for the team, but I no longer felt it myself.

  —

  I spent the rest of the week studying our opponents, prepping the team, and trying to sleep in between. While my teammates were living it up in the clubs and sneaking in bouts of classic video games in the rec room, I was straining to keep my meals in my stomach and my eyelids open, which conveniently only happened when I lay down to sleep. By that Saturday, the team was more than ready to kick ass and take this tournament home.

  I was a train wreck.

  For tonight�
�s matchup, Hannah and Derek had run ahead to the enemy’s tower while Rooke and Lily guarded our own. I was the middleman. The middleman did exactly that. Stood guard in the middle, taking out attackers as they advanced. Available to run forward or back depending on how the game fared. Offense or defense, on demand.

  The field ahead of me crunched, northwest of where I stood. Still crouching, I skirted through the stalks until I was parallel with the sound. I hunched down, drawing my dagger from its sheath. A single opponent appeared as fractured glitches of armor between the stalks.

  He never saw me.

  As he passed, I lashed out and sliced through his calf tendon. He yelped as went down on one knee. I jumped up, wrapped a hand over his mouth, and slit his throat. He crumpled to the ground instantly.

  Easy kill. I should be a freaking spy. Maybe next year, they’d introduce an assassin game into the VGL tournaments.

  Something crunched behind me, hard and rough. Another opponent. I ducked just as an axe whooshed over my head. I came back up and met his blade with my own. Metal met metal as we danced through the fields. Stalks whipped around us, slashing at my ankles and calves. A few hit my face. I ignored the sharp stings, trying to focus on the fight. My opponent phased between blurry and clear, the beige tones of his skin blending in with the sepia fields around him. I blinked and shook my head. My vision went hazier. Damn it.

  His sword caught my thigh, slicing a deep gash between my hip and knee. I cried out, unable to stifle the pain. Using the injury, I feigned a fall, hooked my good leg around his ankle, pushed. He fell.

  I pounced on him the second his back hit the ground and sunk my sword into his chest. Steel sliced through tanned skin to the deep red beneath, like cutting open a cherry pie. Air rushed out of his lungs. Limbs collapsed at his sides. Eyes glazed over.

  Dead.

  He didn’t suffer.

  I collapsed to my knees and rested my forehead against the hilt of the sword, panting. My chest tightened. Breaths went in and out but provided no oxygen. Since when was I so tired after a basic fight? I closed my eyes and focused on breathing. It’s okay. You’re okay.

  Everything is fine.

  A computerized voice echoed overhead.

  Match complete.

  I gripped the edge of my pod with shaking hands and pulled myself to my feet. My stomach lurched, and my head swam, but I managed to stay standing. On the screen above the pod doors, Howie and Marcus beamed.

  “What a match. Defiance advances and Celestial Elite goes home. While there are still several more rounds to go in the losers’ bracket, the winners’ bracket is quickly coming to an end . . .”

  Several more rounds before the championship. I could make it.

  I had to make it.

  Hannah appeared beside me, bouncing as if she had a pogo stick crammed up her ass.

  “Hey. Great match,” she said, brimming with energy. Must have been adrenaline from the fight. “Which club are we hitting tonight?” But as she gave me the once-over, her expression fell, and she stopped bouncing. “Are you all right?”

  I smiled. “Yeah. I just need something to drink.”

  She laughed. “After the conference, we’ll party. Hard.”

  Good. I needed it.

  Once again, I made it through the conference on autopilot, thankful for once I’d had the answers programmed into me. As soon as we were in our seats at the club and the waiter set down the tray of liquor and HP, I slammed back two shots in a row. Hannah laughed at me.

  “Not taking it easy tonight, huh?”

  “Shut up.”

  She laughed again, and I joined her.

  Across the club, the wallscreen blared with the VGL theme music. The scene cut in to Howie and Marcus, the VGL announcers.

  “Okay, ladies and gentlemen. We’re set to tune in to the final matchup from the winners’ bracket of the RAGE tournament. Whoever wins tonight secures their spot in the championship.”

  The winners’ bracket finals. Was that tonight already? Of course it was. The winners’ bracket always played out faster than the losing side.

  I sat back for the fight.

  The scene cut to the sepia fields of the digital arena. The VGL stamp appeared at the top of the screen, superimposed over the view inside the game. The tournament matchup stats flashed across the screen.

  WINNERS’ BRACKET FINALS

  PARADOX

  VS.

  INVICTUS

  The matchup’s stats faded into the rustling wheat stalks, like white noise on a dead channel. The camera angle rotated between several different views of the fields between the towers. No lines carved through the stalks. No warriors screamed out battle cries. The grass waved in the breeze. A bird fluttered past the screen, chirping softly. Just peace.

  The announcers’ voices overlay the footage.

  “I love this setting. No matter how many times I see it, it always gives me chills.”

  “I hear you, Marcus. The engineering here is just brilliant. Golf would be a lot more interesting if you knew people were about to beat each other to death with their clubs.”

  “Maybe that’ll be next season.”

  They shared a laugh.

  The camera angle changed as four members of InvictUS disappeared into the fields, the wheat stalks whipping around them as they ran.

  “Here’s the usual formation InvictUS has become known for.”

  “I’m surprised they’ve never changed it up, but so far no team has been able to crack them. Don’t mess with what works, right?”

  The camera flashed to the other team, mirroring the same formation. One in the tower. Four pushed in as they flew through the fields. The gap between the two teams began to close.

  “Looks like Team Paradox is trying to meet the brute force that is InvictUS head-on. We’re about to see an all-out brawl in the center of the fields.”

  The crunching of the wheat stalks rose to a crescendo as the teams raced toward each other. Thirty feet. Then twenty. Weapons came unsheathed, gripped tight in hands. Blades glinted in the soft, golden sunlight. Someone shouted, and soon, they were all shouting as they plowed toward each other.

  The camera flashed between the teams, back and forth, as they neared. My stomach curled tighter with each step they took. This would be a bloodbath, and I had a feeling I knew who’d end up the victims.

  The groups collided.

  One from Paradox went down instantly, an axe slicing through his throat. Already three on four. Not good.

  “Oooh, one from Paradox goes down hard. I keep telling you, Marcus, nothing can touch these guys.”

  “Hey, the fight’s not over yet,” Marcus protested.

  “It’s about to be. Check this out.”

  The rest went down in a matter of seconds as InvictUS ganged up on the remaining members of Paradox. Swords swiped through the air. Blood splattered the beige stalks of the fields. Screams of pain filled the audio. Not one from InvictUS took a hit. Not one scratch. These guys were an impenetrable wall of blades and death. When the last of Paradox had fallen with an axe to the back, InvictUS gathered up their weapons and charged for the tower.

  My heart sunk. Four on four was not the solution, and no one could push in with five and leave their tower unclaimed. If that didn’t take out InvictUS, what would?

  The scene cut to the single remaining member of Paradox inside the tower. His armor clanked as he shifted his weight, sword gripped in hand. His breaths were even. His eyes looked about, attentive but calm.

  Then footsteps echoed up the path. I flashed back to when I first heard those same footsteps when we’d faced off against InvictUS. I’d been naïve then, unexposed to the ruthlessness that was my opponent. But unlike me, this guy knew exactly what was coming for him. His calmness evaporated. Sweat beaded on his lip, and his knuckles turned white around his sword.
His breaths weren’t so even now.

  InvictUS burst through the entrance and surrounded him on all sides. His eyes went wide, and he swallowed thick. He brought his sword up in defense, for whatever it was worth.

  I squirmed in my seat, struggling to keep my eyes on the screen. My heart thudded in my chest. This is why people watched. The tension. The violence. And above it all, they could tell themselves it wasn’t real. Gamers, on the other hand, knew. We knew the pain that seared through our bodies with every slash of a sword or stab from a dagger. We knew the anxiety and the dread when the darkness crept in, and coldness captured our souls.

  Ignorance is bliss.

  InvictUS circled their prey, a wolf pack taunting the poor, baby sheep. They mocked him with false swipes of their swords. He tensed at each jab, too anxious to deflect moves that were nothing more than feints. Sweat poured down his face.

  InvictUS stepped closer.

  My stomach tightened.

  Their swipes morphed into more than just teases. One blade sliced through his calf. Another nicked his shoulder. He cried out and fought to stay on his feet. The audio filled with the sound of steel slicing through skin, again and again, until their target looked like he’d just run a mile through brush and thorns.

  Finally, one of the InvictUS fighters dove forward and jammed a blade through his neck from behind. The camera caught the perfect angle as the tip protruded through his Adam’s apple, blood spraying out like a busted faucet. My own throat gagged in response.

  Eyes wide, he clawed at his own neck until his eyes rolled back in his head, and he collapsed.

  InvictUS celebrated over his dead body with sword clangs and chest bumps, like jocks on the football field, and the corpse beneath them was nothing more than pigskin.

  The match’s stats appeared on the screen.

  INVICTUS VICTORIOUS.

  I knew it. I knew they’d win. Still, a rock settled in my stomach.

  The footage cut out to Howie and Marcus at their desk.

  “And InvictUS takes it in another knockdown fight,” Marcus exclaimed, reeling with adrenaline. “What a night.”

  “There you have it. InvictUS is your winners’ bracket finalist. The team that survives the losers’ bracket will be facing off against them for the championship.” Howie laughed. “Whoever it is, I hope they’re prepared.”