Deadwave

by Michael Evans

  “He may have been forced into it,” Riva utters. She is sitting on the floor with her legs crossed, brushing a strand of her unbrushed hair out of her eyes. “There is no telling what they did to him. But either way, he is a victim, that is for sure.”

  “No,” my dad says. He holds himself back from yelling at her. “He’s not a victim. He’s weak. He fell for their lies. He betrayed all the love, all the support my family has given him over the years. He sold himself out because he chose to believe them, not because they forced him to. And now we won’t be able to build this empire.”

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Bennet, but that’s not true.” Riva had an understanding character to her voice even when she effectively clapped backed at him.

  “Who are you to know what he has been through?” My dad sits forward, his way of attempting to assert his dominance over anyone he is arguing with. I shoot him a stern look, urging him to stay calm.

  “Because I have been through the same thing. They tried to force me away from Sam, but I’m still here.” She glances at me, and if not for the tension of the moment, I would have smiled.

  “You’re different than Jake.” My dad pauses, shifting back on the couch. Even he has to concede this argument to Riva—she is right. “You’re right about what you’re saying. But they treated Jake differently than you. See, all of this was a game.”

  “Explain, please,” I press him before he shuts down into his emotionless wasteland.

  “All of the events before were all part of a plan. A plan that I didn’t know until after they put it into action, but one I consented to. They want you to become one of us, and this was their way of seeing how you handle the pressure. They wanted to see if you could be trusted, and see if you could still perform despite what feels like the weight of the world on your shoulders. They are grooming you to become one of their leaders, one of their most influential ones. That’s what I was supposed to be until some events happened. But that’s a story for another day.”

  He takes a breath in between his words before continuing speaking. “This was all supposed to be a test, but now that they have Jake against me and practically killed Riva, I know it isn’t. I had this suspicion all along, but after London, I forced myself to dismiss it. But I was right. This is their way of hurting me. This is their plan to turn against me, and to try and end me. That is all clear now. And I’m afraid they are going to succeed. I’m afraid my days are numbered. I fell for their trap. I should have never allowed any of this. I should have taken their warnings more seriously. I’m afraid it’s all going to be over soon. This may all be a game, but I’m scared we are going to lose. And if we lose, everything is over; the dream I’ve worked for my entire life, the future of this entire world, is dead.” He pauses and looks at me, his eyes narrowed with anger and sadness. “But I have a plan. One final plan. And it has to work. They sometimes forget that I’m the one with the power.”

  My head spins in a different direction with each new sentence he says. “You did this. You allowed this to happen. You let them torture your own son!” I stand up, readying to walk towards the door. I suppose this is my apartment, so he should be the one who has to leave, but walking out seems like the only natural option.

  “It’s not as simple as that.” He now stands up too.

  “You sure? It sounds like it. It sounds like you let them do this all to me to breed me to be the Chief Executive Officer of Chimera when you’re done. You always cared more about your company doing well than me. But I never thought you would put its performance over my life.”

  “Sam, that is simply not true.” He reaches out his hand to console me. “I care about you more than anything in this world.”

  “You do a horrible job of showing it, then.” I shake my head and look away from him in disgust, the anger inside me fuming out of my nostrils.

  “Sam, wait!” Riva calls out as I put my hand on the door handle. But it is too late, her words have no power over me. Everything I tried to hold back has already taken hold of me. I can’t let anyone see me like this. I need to be alone.

  My feet echo against the stairs as I make my way down the few flights to the first floor. Once there, I know exactly where I am walking: to the cliffs at the end of Point Loma. To the same place my mother died.

  I breathe in the fresh, chilly air of the night, carefully thinking about each word I said about my father. It’s not that I’m that angry at him. He was deceived, just like me. He is at the mercy of these people just like me. I’m angry with myself.

  I’m angry that I betrayed him. I’m angry that I fell for the same trap, a web of lies and fiery intimidation. In the end, I betrayed myself. I’m going to have to kill the one man who has taught me more than anyone, and the one man who I look up to as my sole idol.

  And if I can’t kill him, then they will kill me.

  But part of me will die either way.

  Chapter 32

  “Now I’m thinking about this, and I feel so stupid.” Riva puts a hand on my thigh as we both sit down on a couch in my own personal dressing room. With the finals taking place in Madison Square Garden, it has been an insane last few hours.

  We left along with my dad at six in the morning (just as I got back from my extended run) to catch a flight to New York. After arriving, we made it in time for the press conference at the arena, where all five of the finalists were all interviewed by dozens of reporters on a panel. Being up on that stage with the podium in front of me and all the reporters below with cameras and microphones clamoring for my attention was an invigorating experience. Although some of the stops on the season tour and certainly the semifinals got a lot of attention from mainstream media, nothing has ever been quite like this. When living in the bubble that Deadwave provides its players, it’s easy to think that Deadwave is the entire world. But I have never been one to think that; I have always known that most people in the world don’t care about Deadwave, just as most people in the world don’t care about any one thing.

  But this is different.

  Thousands of people waited outside MSG all day to try and get our autographs, while tens of millions had already pre-ordered the live stream for the event that had already begun its pre-game coverage. Our drama had become the front-cover news on tabloids and news shows, which meant that everyone knows about my horrid last week. Everyone knows about those five tragic deaths. That’s why when the press conference started, every reporter in the room seemingly was dying to ask me the same question: What happened at the party last Saturday night?

  Each time someone rephrases that question in a different manner, trying to get the juicy details out of me, I practice the lines my dad rehearsed with me for hours on the plane. I give a simple, yet sincere apology and condolences to the families and lives lost and emphasize each time how the whole thing was an act of God. Although that statement certainly could not be further from the truth, if corrupt oil companies can use that clause to get out of liability for disastrous oil spills, then I will use the same thing in regard to my house collapsing.

  I can’t help but silently curse myself every time I repeated that line, feeling more like a businessman trying to diffuse blame during a sexual harassment scandal than someone who is innocently being targeted by a shady group wanting to kill me. Except I can’t share the truth with the world—even though the whole world is watching. Three men in suits stood at the front of the press conference the entire time, their stares evidently fixed on me, standing as a constant reminder that if I open up my mouth and say one word, it will likely be my last.

  “Why do you feel so stupid?” I keep my gaze focused on the newly waxed floor tiles below me. I have been using all the energy from my environment to block out all my surroundings and let my mind become hyper focused.

  “I don’t want to compete against you. I don’t mind beating Jessie, or Astor, or Aiden, but I wish that we both could win.”

  “Yeah, I totally understand that.” I finally focus my eyes on her. We both have our bodysuits
on with our helmets on the floor, getting ready to go out onto the stage at the center of the stadium in minutes.

  “Yeah, I feel like maybe you had a point in the beginning.” She sighs and leans her head on my shoulder. “I know we both always knew this moment would come, and now it’s here and both our lifelong dreams are to win the World Championship. And it can only come true for one of us. There’s no saying we will ever be in this position again, especially since you’re retiring either way. The problem is, I can’t bring myself to stop you from winning, but I also can’t let myself lose either way. This is just impossible.”

  “This is hard.” Those feel like the perfect words to say even though for me this isn’t hard at all. All I am focused on is winning, I don’t care who I have to take down in the process. I have successfully suppressed all my emotions, my fear, all the memories, to become hyper focused on my sole goal. I just wanna see my dad tell me for once in my life that I am right once I win, I want to finally feel happy and a little less guilty after I can finally believe that the sacrifice was worth it.

  But beating Riva won’t be easy. Winning, especially after not having played for a week, will be my greatest challenge yet.

  “I wish everything could be easier.” Her body seems to deflate as she looks at herself from afar in the mirror on the opposite side of the rather large dressing room. With five of us competing on this global stage, we are all effectively getting royalty treatment, with personal bodyguards and assistants assigned to each one of us.

  “I do too. I do too,” I say. “But you can’t think about that now.” I can see all the pain and exhaustion staining the skin beneath her eyes. “We need to focus. We both have to do our best.”

  “What about us, though?” The anxiety creeps into her voice. “What if I do that and end up winning? How would you feel?”

  “I’d probably move to the Amazonian rainforest and devote my entire life to painting the barks of trees in the forest. Or maybe I’d move to that trailer park in the middle of the desert that has no laws and spend my time making sweaters. Bottom line, I’d never talk to you again.”

  “C’mon.” She has a slightly startled expression on her face, although I’m pretty sure she can sense my sarcasm.

  “I am so kidding.” I sigh, then awkwardly pause. In all honesty, I have no idea how to answer her question. Certain things you don’t think about until they smack you in the face. This is one of those things.

  “I figured, I more picture you being an igloo type of guy.”

  “I didn’t know igloos are a type,” I say.

  “Eh, you’re not really a type. If there were more guys like you, well, that may be a good thing and a bad thing, but the world would be much different. And an igloo fits your vibe.”

  “What? Boring, cold-hearted, and pale as fuck?” I smile, knowing she doesn’t mean that. But I can’t say that I don’t mean those things about myself.

  “No, no, no, you would like the peace and serenity. The possibilities that the wide-open expanse of land brings. It’s almost like an uncharted world, and I think someone like you would tend to want to do things other people are too scared to do.”

  “I’m guessing that’s a compliment.” I look at the clock; we have less than sixty seconds to go out on stage. Likely the door will be opening any second. I should be a politician. I grin. I successfully distracted her from her question. Now I have to make sure I win, so that I never have to deal with her beating me.

  “It was. You are braver than I ever could be.”

  “That’s a lie.” I shift in my seat. “I don’t have another option. Like right now, we have no other option. We have to go.” I feel the butterflies and adrenaline rush through my stomach as the clock counts down.

  We both stand up, and I wrap my arms around her, letting her feel all the care I have for her for what might be the final time. I kiss her softly on her lips for a second. I suppress the fear of the suited men breaking in and forcing me to kill my father right now and push back the massive knot of emotions inside me that I don’t know how to express.

  “Once we leave this room, we are competitors,” I say. “Don’t forget that. And good luck with everything.”

  “I won’t.” The familiar fire has returned to her eyes, and the energy seems to come back to her body with the pounding inside the arena, audible even deep inside it. “And good luck to you too. I know you will do amazing.”

  We pick up our helmets off the floor and emerge from the room. A team of people waits there to escort us to the arena.

  Everything passes by in a blur. Dozens of people call my name, wishing me good luck. Random cameras flash in my direction, and a crew of people rush to fix my hair even though for most of the event no one will be seeing anything but my avatar.

  I stand stationed at the end of the tunnel. I can see out into the sea of thousands upon thousands of cheering people, the familiar lights display that occurs before every Deadwave game causing the crowd to light up in bright neon colors. Loud dubstep music blares over the speakers, but it pales in comparison to the deafening roar of the crowd.

  A rush of endorphins floods my body unlike anything before. I feel weightless, like the most powerful man in the world. And when the announcer calls my name, causing the crowd to go into a frenzy, I can feel my entire lifelong dream playing out right before me.

  This is it. This is all I have ever wanted.

  My head pounds with anticipation as I walk on the path through the crowd. The steps up to the white platform in the center of the arena that contains all five portals on it glow. The amount of people in the audience is truly breathtaking. Hundreds are jam-packed around the platform, their hands waving in the air as Riva follows behind me onto the platform.

  The crowd erupts into the loudest chant I have ever heard.

  The massive arena and all the metal beams making up the catwalk dozens of feet above seem to shake with intensity. I take a deep breath and step into the cell, trying to take every second of the chaos in. This is the only time I will ever get to experience this.

  I shiver as the countdown timer begins. Maybe it’s just me, but I always feel like right before we come out on stage, they turn the temperature ten degrees lower just to mess with us. Either way, my shivering isn’t stopping. I probably look like a shaking fool to the millions at home watching my entire torso subtly vibrate. I try to picture everyone in the audience as naked, which is way more disturbing than helpful. Then I try to tell myself how this is all no big deal and that it will all be okay.

  But I would be lying to myself.

  Instead, I put my helmet on, and let the blackness of my helmet block out the blinding spotlights directed at the stage. The countdown timer continues, and I can hear the dull clank of the portal doors closing.

  I let determination overcome me, hoping that its power will work to eradicate every ounce of fear inside me.

  The countdown timer hits zero, and the landscape transforms around me. Instantly, all my worries flee as I let the pressure force me into action.

  If I lose, I won’t be able to handle it.

  If I lose, I won’t ever be able to speak to her again, I won’t be able to keep going. This is all I have left, and if I can’t hold on to this dream, I’ll be gone.

  I’ll be dead.

  Chapter 33

  I’m standing on a bed.

  For most people, a bed may bring up a calming feeling of rest or flashbacks to some wild, amazing memories. For me, beds mean death—at least now they do. Beds mean something bad has happened, and I can’t help but look around, worried, as the soft mattress beneath me hugs my feet.

  Only once before I spawned on a bed, and I’ll have you know it did not go well. This time better be different.

  I step off the bed, knocking the jumbled-up covers off with me. The ugly, fuzzy green carpet on the floor presses up against my feet, its stiff texture feeling more like hardened, stale vomit. I quickly scan the room, which appears to be a small, rundown motel room.
The white paint on the walls of the room peel off in scale-like marks, leaving the black mold beneath it visible.

  In fact, one of the couches has dust matted all over it in a vile, thick covering. This place is creepy, even for Deadwave. My heart jumps at the sound of the faucet dripping in the bathroom with its floor tiles torn off, leaving only a layer of cement visible.

  I check the bathroom. No weapons in the mildew-infested shower and no armor or any other items beneath the sink. There needs to be something in here. I listen for noises outside, but don’t hear any. However, I know the moment I step foot out of this dark, cramped room with no windows, I am a sitting duck for anyone to try and kill.

  Luckily, when I open the small closet at the far corner of the room, I find steel armor and a killer baseball bat (as it is popularly called) inside. I take off my drawstring bag, hurriedly throwing on the steel armor plating over my avatar’s clothes. Although it will slow me down when I run, the fact that it suppresses over twenty percent of hit impact is well worth it. And the killer baseball bat, although a solid fifteen pounds, is an almost unfair weapon. It is a thick, ironwood-plated bat with four-inch nails lining almost every square inch of its barrel. To call this thing deadly is an understatement, and it is mine.

  I search the rest of the room, under the bed, behind the couch, and even in all the drawers of the rotting dresser that stands in front of the bed, but find nothing. Then I check the most obvious spot for useful items—the nightstand. Inside its bottom drawer I hit a gold mine. I drop my baseball bat and open the drawstring bag, piling the half a dozen potions, which increase health by 50 points, and elixir, which ends the effects of poison, inside.

  Let’s go! I’m pumped now. As I walk towards the rusted door of the room, I feel the adrenaline and determination in my calves. They practically spring forward, catapulting my body outside, where I will inevitably find dozens of zombies and people waiting for their fate.