Herokiller

by Paul Tassi

  “Better get out of here before the Heroes and Legends audience starts buzzing about us,” Brooke said with a half-smile.

  “Ah, whatever,” Mark said. “It’s nice seeing you outside of an S-lens, you know.”

  Brooke turned back toward Mark, and leaned against the door.

  “You could stay, you know,” he said.

  Something unspoken passed between them. They both knew what it was.

  “I think someone might not like that,” Brooke teased, defusing the tension. “Miss Rosetti?”

  “What?” Mark asked.

  “I caught the episode from the night of the invasion. They put a nice little spotlight on your moment by the lake before they cut out all the other footage. I’m sure she was whispering something quite nice in your ear.”

  Brooke was smiling, but her eyes were a bit sad.

  “No,” Mark said. “It wasn’t like that. It isn’t like that.”

  “Mark,” Brooke said, her tone changing into something sharper. “Why do you think that matters to me?”

  “You know why,” Mark said. And there it was. He didn’t even have to be drunk to say it.

  “It’s not …” Brooke said. “It can’t be …”

  She looked frustrated at not being able to find the words. Mark had moved closer to her, but the look on her face made him stop. It was pain, pure and simple.

  “You heard about the mountain team, right? For Spearfish?”

  “I, uh, of course. I know they succeeded,” Mark said, caught off-guard by the topic change. “They never told us anything about the other Spears. Deniability. Why?”

  “It was a team of three,” Brooke said. “They were supposed to set charges after infiltrating the base to blow the whole thing up with General Lin inside. The first piece of the puzzle.”

  “And they did,” Mark said. “But what does—”

  “Once they got out,” Brooke continued. “They realized there was too much shielding in the walls for their remote detonation signal to go through. They only had one choice.”

  Mark stared at her.

  “One volunteered to sneak back in. Actually, they all did, as the story goes. But in the end, they drew straws, as they only needed one to bring the remote back inside the base.”

  “I don’t understand,” Mark said. “How do you know all this? You weren’t even in the Agency back then, and they don’t share that shit with anyone.”

  Brooke blew out a sigh.

  “It was my brother, Ryan, who detonated the charges himself. He was a field op like you, hand-picked for the mission. They never recovered his body, as it was either blown up by the blasts or crushed by the collapse of the mountain itself. He’s still there.”

  Mark blinked, stunned.

  “My family buried an empty box. My parents were told he died in a training accident, and they begged me to drop out of the military altogether. They didn’t know I was also training for the Agency. They already lost one child; they couldn’t lose two.”

  “I stayed. I resisted field work for their sake, but then Gideon put an assignment on my desk. One of the Spears needed a monitor. One of the few who made it back. Deep, deep cover. Had seen and done some of the most serious shit of the entire op. He’d returned to the US, but then lost his wife and child to Chinese retaliation when his cover was breached. He was an asset too valuable to cut away completely, and they needed an eye on him. His new name was Mark Wei.”

  Brooke paused. Mark didn’t even know what to say.

  “I know you’re not Ryan. I don’t view you like that. But that’s why I signed up, and what you’ve meant to me. Needless to say this whole thing is pretty … complicated.” She lightly touched his arm. “We can’t make it any more complicated.”

  Mark’s heart broke a little bit. Partially for Brooke, what she’d lost, and what she’d done to try and help him. Partially for himself, as he knew she was right.

  “I’m sorry,” was all he could say, though it spoke to all manner of things.

  She nodded and left.

  CAMERON CRAYTON CALLED IT the “Heroes and Legends Ball.” Everyone else in the compound was calling it the “End of the World Party.” Eat, drink and be merry, for tomorrow we die.

  Sunday night came too soon for those who had shown up to say good-bye to their gladiators. But the party was the final hurrah, one last bash before Monday brought with it the anticipated (or dreaded) lottery, which would determine the tournament bracket and official match-ups.

  It was a black tie affair, of course, since it was Cameron Crayton they were talking about. He was also celebrating the fact that the president had finally signed his Athletic Protection Act, meaning the Crucible could proceed without legal ramifications. Mark dressed in his tux, and found Carlo looking similarly stylish. Brooke was jaw-dropping in a short gold dress with professionally applied hair and makeup, but Mark realized he needed to stop looking at her like that.

  The party was everywhere. It started in one of the main manor’s great ballrooms, but spilled out into every other room soon enough. Rarely a second went by where a waiter didn’t pass by with a tray of top shelf drinks, and Mark allowed himself to indulge for a night after a summer of cleansing purity. After just a few bourbons, he was already feeling pretty great, and he realized that his tolerance had dipped dramatically.

  All the children and elderly visitors had gone to bed, the party not even kicking off in full until eleven. The camera drones were everywhere, documenting the events of the evening for the grand finale of Heroes and Legends. Soon enough, Brooke split off from the main party area to “do some snooping” as she put it, determined to use her in-person access to Crayton’s security and data stores for good purpose. Lord knew Mark hadn’t been able to pry anything that useful from the compound, and maybe she’d have better luck.

  Crayton had allowed a few of his VIP friends to join the festivities. Mark saw a few well-known CEOs and celebrities, and at least one sitting senator among the crowd. But more eye-catching was the full roster of Crayton’s Muses, the porn-stars-turned-performers that were to have a revived role in promoting the final Crucible tournament. They were unmissable in their sheer togas, each one physically flawless. He saw them flock toward the Crucible combatants in particular, and soon enough he watched Rakesh Blackwood steal away with two of them tucked under his arms. Mark didn’t need to imagine what Rakesh had in mind for them.

  “Hi!” someone shouted from behind him. He could barely hear over the blaring music. He turned and saw a stunning redhead with black streaks in her hair wearing one of the Muses’ signature white togas. The translucent fabric left little to the imagination, and he caught Ethan’s wife, Lily, eying her incredulously from a little ways off.

  “Hey there,” Mark said. “I’m Mark.”

  “And I’m Carlo,” Carlo interjected, sliding in his hand before Mark’s even reached her.

  “Nice to meet you both!” she said with a flawless smile. She couldn’t be older than twenty, Mark figured. “I’m Shyla. Cameron insisted that I meet you, Mark.”

  She rolled her head toward Crayton, who was standing a ways behind her talking to the senator. He recognized the gesture and raised his glass toward them with a wink. Mark had been out of the game a while, but he understood the implication.

  “I was wondering if you could show me where you practice?” Shyla said, all innocence. “I haven’t been to the gym yet. And I hear they have a pool!”

  Mark’s head danced with images that he quickly waved away. Standing next to him, Carlo’s eyes were wide, and he was barely masking a smile.

  “Actually, Shyla,” Mark said. “It would mean the world to me if you would let my friend Carlo here take you on that tour. I have a few things to take care of here. Is that okay?”

  Mark was almost offended that Shyla looked a bit relieved. She lit up when she turned to Carlo, who was grinning from ear to ear.

  “Of course!” she said, and Carlo offered his arm to her. “But will you, um, be sur
e to tell Cameron this is what you wanted?”

  There was a hint of fear in her eyes. Mark nodded, trying to be reassuring.

  “Absolutely,” he said.

  “It’s a pleasure,” Carlo said, his charm dial broken off at 11. “This way. And let me just say how much I love your work …”

  The two walked toward the ballroom exit, and Carlo turned back toward Mark, mouthing “thank you” with a look of heartfelt gratitude on his face. He was so skilled in his mech braces, he wasn’t even limping.

  “Mark!”

  He felt a hearty slap on his back that would have made him spill his drink if it wasn’t already empty.

  “Drink this whiskey.”

  Moses handed him a rocks glass of brown liquid. Mark downed it without hesitation.

  “Now drink this whiskey.”

  This one was from Nolan. Mark complied.

  “Settle a bet. Which is better?”

  “I don’t know,” Mark said. “I might need some more samples.”

  Both of them roared with laughter. In their tuxes standing a full head taller than him, they looked like a pair of action heroes presenting at the Academy Awards.

  “These Muses keep attaching themselves to me like barnacles,” Moses said. “I don’t think they got the memo.” He jerked his head toward Nolan.

  “I saw their queen bee talking to you,” Nolan said to Mark. “No interest there?”

  Mark shook his head.

  “In another life maybe. For now, I’m content to play wingman.”

  “Speaking of,” Moses said. “Where’s Aria?”

  Mark hadn’t seen her. He wondered what had become of her and her parents. He’d glimpsed them briefly over the course of the weekend, but only from afar.

  “Don’t know,” Mark shrugged.

  “And that pretty blonde one,” Nolan said. “Where’s she?”

  “Around,” Mark said, with a smile. “But to answer your next question, she’s just an old friend. Nothing more.”

  Moses eyed him suspiciously.

  There was a loud roar and Mark turned to see that Drago Rusakov and Ja’Von Jordan were grappling in the corner, their respective entourages trying to pry them apart. Rusakov had Jordan by the throat and shoved halfway up the wall by the time security swarmed them.

  “Trouble in paradise?” Moses asked. It was unclear what had sparked the conflict between the Prison Wars vets.

  “I suppose it’s too late for them to get thrown out of the tournament,” Mark said.

  “Tonight, I’m guessing anything goes,” Moses said.

  25

  MOSES WASN’T WRONG. AS the night progressed, the event devolved from an initially stuffy black tie affair into something much more primal. Mark stumbled around the mansion. He’d lost track of how many drinks he’d had, but if he was conscious, he deemed that it wasn’t enough. Many of the Muses weren’t even wearing their togas anymore and writhed unencumbered on top of antique furniture to pulsing bass. Mark saw Naman Wilkinson and Kells Bradford making out forcefully against the parlor wall, the SEAL finally having come out of her shell on the eve of despair.

  Mark wandered the halls aimlessly. He stumbled toward a doorway only to have a shirtless Dan Hagelund get up in his face before he could enter.

  “Private party, Wei.”

  Mark saw fuzzy shapes behind him that snapped into focus. Soren Vanderhaven was stripped to the waist and wrapped around Asher Mendez. Fire burned in her eyes as she caught Mark’s gaze. Hagelund slammed the door in his face.

  So much for that fairy tale romance, Mark thought, thinking of her summer-long courtship with Chase Cassidy. Though lord knew what he was doing. Last he’d seen him downstairs, there’d been a half-dozen Muses swarming him like gnats.

  Mark swung by his room, desperate to change his shirt, which was covered in brown liquid he hoped was liquor. He stumbled inside and tore his shirt off like a crazy person shedding a straitjacket. He jolted upright when he heard a splash. Creeping around the corner, he peered into the cavernous bathroom. The tub was full, overflowing actually, and bubbles danced like clouds on the surface.

  “Finally,” a feminine voice said from the bubbly mist. “I thought you’d never show up.”

  A woman stood up, stark naked, suds and water sliding off her pale skin. She was Asian, Japanese, Mark guessed. As she walked closer, Mark saw that she looked like … she looked a lot like … No, no way. Not Riko. Don’t even think it.

  “I’m Kay,” she said, “I’m a friend of Shyla’s. And Mr. Crayton’s. They said I should come see you.”

  She was slurring, badly. She slipped on the wet tile, and almost lost her balance entirely, her sexy strut turned instantly chaotic. Mark jumped in to steady her. She took that as an invitation to fall into his arms, and pressed herself to his bare chest.

  “You should come in the tub,” she giggled. Up close, she still looked a little like her. It was eerie, almost. It made him sick.

  Her eyes were unfocused. She was definitely on something. Heroin, maybe. Ecstasy. That new party cocktail that had been on the news lately. Paradise? Paralyze? Mark couldn’t remember. For all his vices, he wasn’t up on his designer drugs.

  “You should sleep,” he said. More giggling. He scooped her up in his arms and carried her toward the bed.

  “What? Okayyyy, this is good too,” she said. “I’m gonna make you … I’m gonna make you feel …”

  But she was already passed out by the time he lay her down and covered her with the comforter.

  Mark brought up the TV display and called for a medical alert. He buttoned up a new shirt and slipped out of the room as a pair of staff EMTs arrived. They could deal with her.

  THE ORDEAL WAS SO bizarre, it was almost enough to sober him up, so he slammed a few more drinks before he made his way out of the mansion entirely. After that, things started to get patchy. He was in the dark forest. By the lake. Then at a guest mansion. He knew where he was going.

  The party’s tendrils hadn’t reached this place, and the manor was quiet, dark. Mark stumbled up the stairs and found the door he was looking for. He knocked. Too hard.

  On the third attempt, she answered. Aria was wearing a fringed black dress with lace heels that made her nearly as tall as him. Her hair was long and one side was tucked behind her ear. A thin silver chain was around her neck.

  “Hey,” Mark said.

  “Hi,” she replied.

  “You didn’t go to the party,” he said.

  “I did,” she said, “But it was getting weird, to say the least. And Moses said you’d already left.”

  She was looking for him?

  “You were looking for me?”

  “Maybe,” she said. “My parents finally left. We spent half the weekend fighting. It was exhausting. I needed a break. Come in.”

  Mark entered, mentally sobering himself up as much as he could manage. He was walking straight, at least.

  Aria’s room was as spacious as his own, but she had a balcony overlooking the row of statues back by the main mansion. They were lit up from underneath at night, and looked like giants trying to stab at the stars.

  “Drink?” she asked, motioning to her expansive bar cart. Mark noticed a bottle of wine already open and half empty.

  “Actually, just water. Or coffee if there’s any.”

  Aria smiled. She reached into the fridge and pulled out two bottles, one clear, one full of chilled cappuccino. Mark took sips from both. They hit the spot in the desert heat. He was suddenly embarrassed to be this drunk, a kind of guilt that rarely plagued him.

  “She’s not your girlfriend, is she?” Aria said. “Brooke.”

  Mark laughed.

  “You’re the only one to guess that right so far,” he said.

  “And she’s definitely not the one you lost.”

  Mark darkened.

  “No.”

  “I know why you’re here,” she said.

  Mark was silent.

  “And you probably kn
ow why I was trying to find you.”

  Still silent.

  “It isn’t real, you know. What we’re feeling. It’s just this place. It’s what we’re doing. It’s what we’re about to do.”

  “I know,” Mark said.

  “It won’t fix you.”

  “It won’t fix you, either,” he said.

  “I know.”

  “Then why are we here?” Mark said. “What are we doing?”

  “Because this is all we have,” Aria said, wet green eyes shimmering in the dim light of the room. “These little moments, where maybe we can pretend someone still loves us.”

  Mark swallowed a hard lump in his throat.

  “I should leave,” he said, getting up.

  “You should,” she said, rising with him. Before he could say anything else, she took two steps forward, and her lips were on his.

  “Make me believe,” she whispered, pulling away. “Make me believe it’s okay if the world ends.”

  She reached behind her back and with a twist of her wrist, her dress fell to the floor.

  “I will,” Mark said, breathless at the sight.

  For tomorrow we die.

  IT WOULD ACTUALLY BE Tuesday before anyone died. Monday was the lottery, and the tournament itself began the next day. Mark woke tangled in Aria’s sheets. She was already gone, as he might have guessed. He hitched an autocart ride back to the main mansion, where Crayton’s staff were hard at work cleaning up the disaster that had befallen the place last night. Mark stepped over a passed out Russian mobster and made his way to his room. Thankfully, there was no one in it this time. Even his tub had been emptied and scrubbed, his wet sheets replaced. He showered and shaved and took a half dozen aspirin to quell his pounding headache. He wished he had some of the doc’s drexophine, that was how bad his skull and eyes ached. It had been a long while since he’d had to deal with the misery of a hangover. He certainly didn’t miss it.

  Once he was cleaned up, he heard a knock. He opened the door, and Brooke walked in.