Herokiller

by Paul Tassi

  “Excuse me, ladies and gentlemen. The house staff will begin directing you to your rooms, where you will be allowed to freshen up after the day’s events. Dinner will be served in the main manor in two hours, and you will be joined by Mr. Crayton himself, who relays he has very exciting things to share about your stay here. He has asked to convey his deepest gratitude that you’ve joined him here in his home, and he looks forward to seeing you all tonight.”

  After that, the group split, and Mark was surprised to find he was assigned to the main manor while others were being carted out to the guest houses. He saw Cassidy and Blackwood were staying there as well, and possibly a couple others, but they disappeared down winding hallways before he could be sure. The place was a maze of ornate wood, precious metal, and expensive stone, and Mark’s room ended up being even more lavish than he imagined. It was as big as his entire condo, with an emperor-sized bed (was that even a size?) and a full entertainment suite that took up one of the towering walls. Even the bathroom seemed to stretch on for miles and had a shower with about two dozen heads along with a tub that could comfortably fit ten. Mark suspected that it had likely been filled to capacity at some point, given the stories he’d heard about Crayton’s gatherings.

  He blinked through the messages on his S-lens, but found nothing. Though phones and lenses weren’t banned on the grounds, he was waiting to hear from Brooke, who was supposed to hack Crayton’s network when Mark entered, and set up a secure feed they knew couldn’t be monitored. It must have been taking her longer than they expected, so for now he was on his own.

  Mark used his phone to sweep the room for cameras and audio bugs. He couldn’t find any, but knew he’d have to search more thoroughly later. He checked every wardrobe door and drawer, and found nothing but an endless amount of clothing tailored to exactly his size. There was everything from gym attire to a full tuxedo. Mark laughed out loud when he saw a screen on the inside of the closet that had a picture of “recommended dinner attire,” pointing him to a specific sport coat and shirt combination hanging nearby. Mark guessed that Blackwood and Cassidy didn’t have these kinds of suggestions, and it was just for the rubes like him who had never dined with a billionaire before. Mark wondered how the women might react to Crayton’s fashion algorithm picking out their dresses and heels for them.

  Mark showered, blasted from all sides by the jets of hot water in the sauna-sized enclosure, and put on the recommended outfit because he really didn’t give a shit if Crayton wanted to play dress-up with him. He glanced at a loaded bar cart at the foot of his bed, but thought better of mixing a drink. After a few beers and hundred-degree heat, all he wanted was water, and naturally there was a fridge full of it nearby.

  Mark was still inspecting the room when he realized time had flown and dinner was calling. Dinner was quite literally calling, as his TV turned on and the microthin screen displayed a message read by a soothing female voice telling him that he should make his way to the “second dining hall.” It also showed an overhead map of where exactly that was, and Mark made a mental note of the blueprint of the manor, which would undoubtedly be useful later.

  He walked through the halls, passing a host of maids and manservants, all of whom stopped what they were doing and greeted him with a polite smile and nod as he went by, which he did his best to return.

  On the way to the dining room, he caught a glimpse of Kells Bradford, the Atlanta winner and second female combatant to qualify. She was one of only a handful of female SEALs who had ever completed the program, and Mark was not eager to talk to her. His cover story had also made him an ex-SEAL, and he didn’t want to be pressed on the finer points of the program by the genuine article. But when they saw each other, she simply met his eyes momentarily and kept walking. She was wearing a long violet dress that displayed impressively muscled arms, but she looked more than a little uncomfortable in it, and was clearly unsteady in her heels. It seemed talking to Mark was the last thing on her mind, and he was content to let her wobble on ahead of him in silence.

  Finally, they reached the dining room, which had vaulted ceilings and expensive-looking paintings lining the walls. The table was enormous and was probably carved from a redwood. Eight seats were on either side, with one at the head. Other combatants had already filtered in and were either chatting or taking their seats. Many, like Bradford, appeared perfectly content sitting in silence. Others were deep in conversation, and Mark saw Ethan and Moses chatting in the corner. Moses waved at him as he entered.

  Mark hated dinner parties enough as it was, but this was something else entirely. They were in some billionaire’s twisted dollhouse fantasy, and not to mention everyone in the room was either a murderer, or had signed up to become one. Mark really wished Brooke was in his ear right about now.

  He circled the seats and found his nametag on the middle on the left side of the table. The place settings were exquisite, naturally, with more utensils than he had any idea what to do with. Above the plate was something rather odd. It was a beautiful marble sculpture of a wolf, about a foot and a half tall, howling toward the vaulted roof of the dining hall. An interesting decoration, though one he wouldn’t have thought to find at a dinner like this. A quick cursory glance revealed other stone animals around the table. A tiger. An elephant. Mark was a bit confused, but a chime sounded and he took his seat. On his left, Drago Rusakov sat down and threatened to snap the legs of his chair. Mark met his eyes briefly and felt a cold chill creep through his spine. The man said nothing, simply glared, stroked his thick beard, and turned away.

  On his right was a far more pleasant sight. The dancer from Charlotte, Aria Rosetti, slid into her chair and ran her fingers over the statue in front of her, a horse reared up on its hind legs.

  “Hi,” Mark said with a half-smile. Rosetti turned toward him and her lips parted in a polite smile.

  “Hello,” she said, and pulled a lock of curled chestnut hair over her ear. She was wearing a sparkling blue dress that clashed with every other color in the room, but still managed to look great. He opened his mouth to say something else, but was interrupted by another chime. Cameron Crayton entered the room.

  “You found it!” Crayton said, raising his arms and flashing his trademark smile. “I know it can be quite the labyrinth in here. Don’t worry, we only hire the best minotaurs for security!” He nodded toward Wyatt Axton, his silver shadow, lurking near one of the exits.

  The joke drew few chuckles, though Moses Morton guffawed loudly. He was seated on the end next to Soren Vanderhaven and looked like he was having the time of his life. Vanderhaven, her blonde hair done up in elaborate, winding braids, looked bored, and kept glancing across the table at Chase Cassidy.

  “I wanted to thank you all for joining me here,” Crayton said. “Apologies for having to use the second dining hall, but the first is still being renovated.”

  Mark looked around the opulence and could only imagine what the first dining hall might look like by comparison.

  “I’m sure you’re all starving, but I just wanted to go through a few things before we begin this journey to the Colosseum. You’ve all been instrumental in making this show a hit, and I know you will continue to do so!”

  Mark sipped his wine and stole a glance behind him at Rosetti, who was resting her chin on her hand, regarding Crayton with curiosity.

  “You may be wondering why you’re staying here for the next three months until construction is complete on the Colosseum. This is for a few reasons, but first and foremost because Phase II of the Crucible is about to begin. We’re calling it ‘Heroes and Legends.’”

  That matched what limited intel Brooke had managed to extract from CMI.

  “Over the course of the summer, your life here will be streamed live across the world. Crucible fans will watch you train, and see how the most fearsome fighters in the country interact with one another, for better or worse.”

  “A reality show?” Cassidy called out from his spot six down from Crayton.


  “Of sorts,” Crayton said with a knowing smile. “One that will introduce the world to our formidable roster of champions.”

  “What about those who need no introduction?” Rakesh Blackwood said, smirking.

  “Then they will perhaps see a side of you they don’t know,” Crayton said, his tone cutting.

  “Can we opt out?” Kells Bradford said, rubbing the back of her shaved head with her hand.

  Crayton shook his head.

  “The paperwork you’ve already signed gives us license to broadcast your time here for Heroes and Legends. If you protest, I’m afraid you’ll be replaced by your runner-up, and forfeit the money you’ve already earned to them.”

  That made Bradford’s eyes widen. She kept silent, indicating that perhaps the live show wouldn’t bother her that much.

  “There are no recording devices in your rooms, which allows you privacy there. Elsewhere, we have cameras and microphones embedded all over the property, as well as a few drones you may see buzzing around from time to time. No pesky camera crews will be crawling all over you, don’t worry.”

  On cue, two miniature gyrodrones flew in from the outer doors of the room and slowly drifted in a line down each side of the table.

  “Say hello to America,” Crayton said. “We’re live right now.”

  As the drone passed Moses, he waved at it eagerly, mouthing “Hi, Nolan” into the lens. Chase Cassidy gave a mock salute. Soren Vanderhaven’s expression changed from melancholy to upbeat in an instant as she beamed at the camera drone. Mark simply nodded at the one that passed by him, while Aria Rosetti gave it a little wave.

  “You won’t be able to watch the broadcast yourself, but just know that unless you’re in your room or using the lavatory, chances are you’re on television in front of an audience of millions. Do with that information what you will,” Crayton said.

  The drones vaulted upward and took up orbiting positions around the crystal chandelier.

  “There will be few rules while you live here, but there are rules. First, unless you’re training, there are to be no physical altercations amongst you. We wouldn’t want to spoil things for the tournament itself. Second, you must remain on the premises until the Crucible begins in earnest, and are only allowed visitors during a predetermined period in the future. Other than that, your time is more or less your own as you prepare for what lies before you.”

  Mark scanned the table, and was surprised to see someone he hadn’t noticed at all yet. Hunched between Naman Wilkinson and Ja’Von Jordan was a small, older Asian man. Shin Tagami, Mark remembered. He’d probably been around all this time, on stage at the conference and here now, but it was genuinely the first time Mark had consciously seen him. It probably didn’t help that he was at least a head shorter than everyone else at the table, the women included. He looked dramatically out of place, but was sitting contently across from a graceful stone statue of a crane.

  “What’s with the animals, Crayton?” Rakesh Blackwood said, addressing Crayton informally as only a fellow billionaire could. But he voiced something they were all wondering.

  “Ah,” Crayton said, his eyes lighting up. “A creation of our marketing department. These statues were made for me by the sculpting genius who also created the towering wonders outside. Each represents a symbol that will be now be associated with each of you going forward in this tournament.”

  Mark stared at his wolf. Next to it was Rusakov’s hulking, horned bull.

  “The idea is that now that all of you have risen to fame, it’s good to have something to associate with your ‘brand,’ as it were. Sports teams have icons and symbols as we all know, and merchandise flies off the shelves as a result. We thought a similar approach would work in the Crucible. So grow familiar with your symbol, as it will be with you until the end.”

  Everyone was now paying special attention to the statues, which suddenly held much greater significance.

  “Should I be insulted?” Aria Rosetti said, turning to Mark as she gestured to the horse in front of her.

  “It’s very pretty,” he offered, which drew a smirk.

  Chase Cassidy eyed his roaring stone lion with pride. Ethan looked similarly pleased with his bald eagle, wings spread. Others were less satisfied.

  “Is this a … jackal?” Blackwood said, gesturing at the beast in front of him. “A bit of a low blow, don’t you think, Crayton?”

  “I did not choose the symbols,” Crayton said with a twinkle in his eye which indicated to Mark that probably wasn’t true.

  “Uh, gross, what is this?” Soren Vanderhaven said, eyeing something that looked insect-shaped in front of her. “A bee?”

  “It’s a hornet, dear,” Crayton said.

  “Can I trade?” she asked, looking stricken.

  “No trading.”

  “So, are you a pack wolf or a lone wolf then?” Aria said, examining his statue.

  “The latter,” Mark said. “At least that’s how they view me, I imagine. Your stallion really is quite nice, you know.”

  “Oh, don’t placate me,” she said with a grin. Mark smiled involuntarily.

  “I don’t want to get off track here,” Crayton said as the table started muttering among itself about their assigned creatures. “As the most important announcement is yet to come.”

  Everyone hushed up at that.

  Mark’s mind immediately raced to the “changes” referenced in the hacked emails. This all was already insane enough as is. He couldn’t possibly imagine anything else that could make the Crucible any more surreal. The camera drones hovered expectantly above them.

  “As many of you may have guessed, I have something of an attachment to ancient Rome. It’s a fascinating period in history that, I’d argue, has never seen its equal.”

  Crayton reached down and delicately grabbed something that Mark couldn’t see, as it was obstructed by a floral centerpiece.

  “I’ve collected many treasures throughout my career, but this remains my favorite.”

  He raised the item, and Mark could see it clearly. Balanced atop Crayton’s open palms was an ancient-looking shortsword.

  “This gladius belonged to Marcus Attilius, a gladiator who fought for the emperor Nero in 64 AD. It’s nearly two thousand years old. No doubt many archaeologists watching are screaming at their sets that I have this out of its case.”

  Mark’s eyes narrowed. Where was this going?

  “With it, he killed two undefeated gladiators, and managed to absolve himself of all his debts, which is why he’d stepped into the arena in the first place. Not a slave, a volunteer. It’s a priceless weapon, and a true artifact of history, having thrilled untold crowds in millennia past.”

  He paused.

  “I want the Crucible to have artifacts of its own. I want our crowds to cheer and worship you like those gladiator-gods of old. That can only be accomplished one way. A way to give the people what they really want to see, but are too timid to admit.”

  His eyes glinted.

  “Today, I’m announcing that when each of you stands on the sands of the Colosseum, you will not fight with your fists. You will be armed and armored.”

  Mark felt every heart in the room stop.

  19

  Dear Mom,

  Today was the first day of gladiator camp. I made a few friends. One is named Ethan who’s from Colorado and the other is Moses from Utah. They’re really nice. There’s a girl here who I think is kinda cute. Also, they said we’re going to slaughter each other with weapons when camp ends, so that’s fun. Gotta go, training starts early tomorrow.

  Love,

  Mark

  MARK LAY IN HIS bed, staring at the ceiling. His stomach was dissolving bits of lobster and steak, but he’d left most of it on his plate, unsettled after Crayton’s announcement.

  In truth, it wasn’t the ceiling he was looking at, it was Brooke, who had taken up residence in the corner of his S-lens. She’d managed to excavate an encrypted pipeline into the compound, and they we
re now able to speak freely without risk of interception or eavesdropping.

  “Seriously? Weapons?” Brooke said. “Given his hard-on for Rome, I guess we should have seen this coming. And Prison Wars had weapons, I guess.”

  “Those were lead pipes and glass shivs,” Mark said. “These are fucking swords and axes and I don’t even know what else. Medieval shit. That’s half the reason we’re here for this long. They’re flying in instructors to train use to use goddamn melee weapons and fight in full plate armor.”

  “Do people still know how to do that?” Brooke said.

  “You’d be surprised,” Mark said, thinking of how Moses positively lit up when the news was announced. Someone like him who had at least held these kinds of weapons before would have a big advantage. The rest of them knew how to fight with their fists and feet, but weapons? That was something else entirely. Mark had done some extensive knife training, obviously, and learned how to make use of improvised objects in hand-to-hand combat. But the concept was almost entirely foreign. No one had ever put a battle axe or broadsword in his hand at the CIA, that was for sure.

  “We need to shut this down, fast,” Mark said. “This tournament cannot happen. Some of these people, they’re not what I thought they’d be. They shouldn’t be here. No one should.”

  “I know,” Brooke said. “I looked into what you told me. I started pulling investment records for all Crayton’s early seeds, looking for a Chinese connection.”

  “And?”

  “Zero. Not even a whiff.”

  “Goddamnit.”

  “But,” Brooke said, the word filling Mark with hope for a brief moment. “I thought I’d look into these companies’ early competition.”

  “What? Why?” Mark said. “What would that show?”

  “Not a lot so far, but I’m still looking. In at least one case, though, the Crayton-backed robotic surgery company PrecisionPoint was neck and neck for mass adoption with another company, Exoware.”