Countdown

by Michelle Rowen

  Any socializing between them was being done on screen— and it looked as if there were a lot more people playing than the handful in this room. I knew those gamers could be anywhere on the planet if they had the cash or connections to get on a good network. Each screen showed a different piece of the digitized action. Each player was fitted with a visor that hooked into his computer. Oliver told me once that he owed a small fortune to the owner of this place for the extra equipment, but it made everything seem more real—as if he was really playing a game of life and death.

  Having experienced the real deal, I had to say that playing for your life wasn’t nearly as much fun as he might think.

  There was a stale smell of sweat in the basement, along with something sweet and a little sickening, and a very faint odor of urine.

  Lovely.

  I didn’t always stay in the nicest, cleanliest five-star resorts, but this was not up to even my low standards. In fact, I’d rather not see what might be crawling around in here if they ever turned on the overhead lights.

  “Nice place,” Rogan whispered to me as he surveyed the room. “You come here often?”

  “Oh, yeah,” I replied drily. “Every day. Can’t get enough.” “There’s your friend.” He nodded in the direction of Oliver, who was hunched over with his back to the stairwell.

  “Wait here,” I said to him. “Or somebody might recognize the infamous Rogan Ellis.”

  “Wouldn’t want that.”

  The f loor was carpeted and seemed a little squishy under my boots. Gross. I glanced back at Rogan while I moved through the dark room—luckily not quite dark enough to trigger anything but a niggling sensation of my phobia. As long as I could see what was going on around me, I was fine. Mostly fine.

  Oliver was completely focused on his computer screen. His hands, encased in cybergloves, gestured, pointed and waved as he worked his way through the game. Onscreen, his game avatar walked down a darkened hallway with dirty walls. The tip of a weapon was visible at the bottom of the screen—a big gun, maybe even a f lamethrower.

  Despite my disinterest in the gaming world, I recognized the game. It had something to do with the bad guys trying to take over the world and the good guys trying to stop them.

  The first thing you had to do was decide which side you were on.

  “Oliver.” I reached forward and closed my hand over his shoulder.

  He shot up from the seat and let out a hoarse scream. Onscreen, the door in front of the computer-Oliver burst open, and I could see the outline of a figure who immediately opened fire. Digital blood trickled down from the top of the game screen.

  Words then appeared:

  YOU’RE DEAD, LOSER! NUCLEARXXX KILLED YOUR SORRY ASS! EVIL REIGNS!

  Oliver swore and whipped off his gloves. Then he took off his goggles and furiously spun around to face whoever had just made him lose his fake life.

  His eyes widened when he saw it was me.

  “Kira!” he squeaked. “What are you doing here?” I grimaced and nodded at the screen. Typed-in taunts were

  coming in from other players. He wasn’t being mourned for his great on-screen sacrifice in his battle for good, that was for sure.

  “Sorry about that,” I said.

  He looked regretfully at the screen, where the latest mes

  sage read: LMAO UR A LOSER!!!!!!

  “Yeah, well, whatever.” Then his gaze shot back to me.

  “Kira, what are you doing here?”

  I bit my bottom lip. “I need your help.”

  His brows drew together. “Didn’t you ask me for help in

  the mall before you went all psycho and took off? I thought

  you were mad at me or something.”

  Definitely or something. “No, I’m not mad. The psycho thing

  might be debatable, though.” I’d wanted to keep from drawing him into this mess, but now that the game part was over

  for me and Rogan, Oliver could be just the help we needed.

  “I’ve been really distracted lately. I’m sorry if I seemed like a

  bitch to you.”

  “You told me to leave you alone.”

  I forced a smile. “I was having a really bad day.” Fear slid behind his gaze. “You were with that guy—” He hadn’t seen Rogan yet, standing to the side of the room

  cloaked in shadows. “Oliver, listen to me. I need your help.” “She needs help. Nice.” Another kid next to Oliver peeled

  off his visor. “You need some time alone? Oliver, I didn’t

  know you had a girlfriend. She’s hot, too.” His gaze raked

  me from head to foot.

  “She’s not my girlfriend,” Oliver said very coldly. “She’d

  rather be with guys who have police records. Sorry I’m not

  up to par yet, Kira. Where’s your new friend?”

  “Right here.” Rogan appeared at my side. “Is there a problem?”

  I sighed. I didn’t think his presence would be very helpful when it came to getting Oliver to talk. Call it a hunch.

  But too late now. “I thought I asked you to wait over there.” He raised an eyebrow at me. “I guess I don’t take orders

  very well. Sound familiar?”

  I shot him a look. He was still pissed that I hadn’t gotten

  on that shuttle.

  Rogan looked at Oliver. “Now, I believe that Kira was

  asking you for some help. Are you really saying no to her?” Oliver’s eyes widened. “I…I…don’t know. Um…” “Just chill,” I said to Rogan, getting worried now. “We

  don’t need everybody in here freaking out right now.” The other kid took a step closer. “You’re Rogan Ellis.” He didn’t seem to be freaking out. Which was a good start. Rogan studied him for a moment. “That’s right.” “You can call me Snake.”

  Rogan eyed him. “Snake?”

  “It’s my screen name and I prefer it to my real one. Dude,

  I can’t believe this. Rogan Ellis standing three feet away from

  me.”

  My mouth went dry. I didn’t want a confrontation right

  here. Not now, there wasn’t time.

  “Let me guess,” Rogan said drily. “You collect the signa

  tures of convicted murderers like me.”

  “Nope.” Snake shook his head. “You totally didn’t do it.” Rogan’s eyebrows shot up. “I didn’t?”

  “No.” The kid frowned. “Why, are you saying that you

  did?”

  “No…it’s just—” Rogan closed his mouth for a moment,

  and his gaze f licked to mine. “It’s just that everybody always

  assumes I’m some kind of monster.”

  The kid f licked his hand dismissively. “You were set up. It’s

  obvious to anybody with half a brain. I have a website devoted

  to proving the conspiracy that got you locked up.” I eyed Oliver. “Did you hear about this?”

  Oliver nodded. “Yeah, but Snake’s theory is that it has to

  do with aliens. I never took it too seriously.”

  Snake glared at him. “Shut up, loser.”

  Oliver didn’t even look at the kid; he stayed focused on

  me. “I tried to show you one of those sites a few months ago

  as a joke but you blew me off. Said you weren’t interested in

  some dumbass rich kid. Guess you’re interested now, huh?” Rogan glanced at me for my response. “Dumbass rich kid?” I cleared my throat. “Well, um…right. Now that you mention it, I think I do remember.”

  Hindsight sure had a strange sense of humor.

  “Listen, Oliver,” I said, trying very hard to get us back on

  track. “We’re looking for somebody you might know. Somebody named Joe. Do you know him?”

  Another gamer had taken off his visor and gloves and stood

  to the side watching our interaction silently. The remaining

  seven players continued on as if nothing existed ou
tside of

  their videogame.

  “I’m Joe,” he said. His expression was anything but friendly.

  “And you’re Rogan Ellis.”

  Rogan eyed him. “Then you’re the one I’m looking for. I

  was told you could be found here.”

  “I’m always here. I own the place.” He scanned Rogan

  slowly. “I’m glad to meet you.”

  The owner of the place Jonathan had a business card for

  was glad to meet Rogan. That had to mean something. Hopefully something good.

  “Glad to meet you, too,” Rogan replied.

  “A lot’s changed since the last time we saw each other.” Rogan now studied the guy suspiciously. “We’ve met before?”

  “Not officially. I saw you in passing three years ago when I

  came in to interview for a job at Ellis Enterprises.” Joe leaned

  back against the table. “We shared an elevator.”

  “Sorry.” Rogan shook his head. “I don’t remember.” “I’m sure you don’t. But I do.”

  “Oh, yeah?”

  “I was completely f loored to be sharing the same air as you.

  For a kid barely fifteen, you were so…I don’t know. Impressive, I guess. Thought I’d take a moment and try to break the

  ice, so I commented on your father’s secretary’s ass. She had a

  very fine ass.” His lips thinned. “When we got off the elevator you told your father not to hire me. I heard you.” Rogan forehead creased as if he was trying to think back.

  “I don’t remember that at all.”

  Joe shrugged. “Hey, whatever. It’s been a long time. You’ve

  been through hell since then, I know that. You’re out of juvie

  already? Were you proven innocent of those crazy charges?” “Yeah. Something like that.”

  I looked at Oliver. He was watching the conversation intently. The other kid, Snake, had gone back to playing his

  game.

  Oliver gave me a pinched look. “I can’t believe you’d want

  to be with this guy.”

  There was dark venom attached to those words—and more

  than a little palpable jealousy.

  If you asked me, the hairy eyeball he was giving Rogan

  probably had less to do with the fact that Rogan was a wrongly

  convicted murderer and former spoiled-rich-kid drug addict,

  and more that he was a good-looking guy in my company. “Oliver—” I began.

  He held up a finger. “I have to take a leak.”

  He turned his back on me and left the room.

  “Okay,” I said slowly. “Never mind.”

  “So, what are you doing here?” Joe asked.

  Rogan reached into his pocket and pulled out the business

  card. “A man named Jonathan gave this to me. He told me to

  find you, that you might be able to help me. He worked for

  Ellis Enterprises, too.”

  Worked. Past tense. I shivered.

  Joe shook his head. “Sorry, I have no idea why he’d give

  you that card. I don’t have anything to do with Ellis Enterprises. I mean, I don’t work there, do I?” He gave Rogan a

  humorless grin. “No hard feelings, of course.”

  Rogan studied him for a moment. “Have you ever heard

  of something called Countdown?”

  “Rogan…” My heart pounded. It felt almost like a magic

  word; say it too loudly and the bad guys would bust in and

  grab us or something.

  I waited, but nobody busted in. I was embarrassed to real

  ize how relieved that made me feel.

  “Countdown,” Joe repeated slowly. “Now, you could be referring to a listing of the top pop songs of the week, or you

  could be referring to a death game on a secret televised network. Given your expression, the second seems more likely.

  Survive or die, right? Yeah, I’ve heard of it. Thought it was

  just a rumor.”

  “Just a rumor?” Rogan said. “Then why do you have a

  folder on your desktop labeled Countdown? Just a crazy coincidence?”

  Even in the half darkness I could see Joe blanch. He swore under his breath as Rogan grabbed his shirt and

  threw him against the table. All the computers shook. The other gamers removed their goggles to see what the

  disturbance was.

  Rogan glared at them. “All of you, get out of here right

  now.”

  He said it with enough menace to clear the room immediately. They f led up the stairs and out of the building. Joe didn’t fight back against Rogan, but he looked a bit

  more afraid now.

  “Talk,” Rogan growled.

  “Okay, okay. After I didn’t get that job, I was pissed. And

  I wasn’t pissed at myself. I blamed you one hundred percent.

  That was a wicked opportunity my father set up. He said it

  was a sure thing and then some smart-ass rich kid had to blow

  it for me. I hated your guts, and I admit I celebrated when

  your life took a nosedive.”

  Rogan didn’t let go of him. “So you hated me. Join the

  club, it’s a big one. What then?”

  “I went home and sank into a mega depression. I worked

  hard on a little present for Ellis Enterprises to get back at you—

  and everyone else. I was bitter, of course. And, hey, I had a lot

  of time on my hands being unemployed. At the time I lived

  with my father—him and Mr. Ellis went to college together.

  That’s how he knew your father well enough to get me the

  interview. Same circles and all that. I’d heard a rumor about

  Countdown, and that’s where I wanted to be. I wanted to be a

  part of something for real that I normally just played online.

  It would have been so sweet.”

  “What was the present you’re talking about?” I asked. He eyed me. “Well, first I had to hack the Ellis mainframe

  before I could do anything. Took me a while to do that until

  I finally got in.”

  There was silence in the room.

  “And when you got in, what did you do?” Rogan asked

  quietly.

  “I uploaded a virus. A nice juicy one I’d made specially

  for you. One that would know its way around and sink into

  everything and start eating all of Ellis Enterprise’s precious

  data. I uploaded it and waited to hear news of the system going

  down. Of your future fortune going up in f lames. But other

  than the blackout that night, there was nothing. However, the

  next day you got your ass arrested for those murders. I figured my virus was a failure, but karma had worked its special

  magic, anyway.”

  My eyes had widened with every word he’d said. The virus.

  The virus that had seeped into the artificial intelligence program and uploaded itself into Gareth Ellis’s implant during

  the power surge.

  The thing that had ruined Rogan’s life.

  All because of a job opportunity lost for a throwaway sex

  ist remark.

  A f lap of a butterf ly’s wing turning into the proverbial

  hurricane.

  Rogan laughed then, and it sounded just this side of insane. “What is it?” I managed. “What’s so funny?”

  Rogan finally let go of Joe. “My father’s secretary—she was

  really nice to me whenever I came to the office. Now I don’t

  even remember her name.”

  Joe shook his head. “She had a great ass.”

  I couldn’t believe this. Jonathan must have known. He’d

  known that Joe was the one responsible for the original virus.

  That’s why he’d
told us to come here.

  But why? Why would he care who created the virus? What

  difference would it make now? And, if it could make a difference, why hadn’t Jonathan come to Joe himself?

  Maybe this was his last resort if he couldn’t find another

  solution. And maybe Jonathan was being watched too carefully. I mean, one wrong step today had gotten him killed. I moved closer to stand at Rogan’s side. Joe was pale and

  breathing hard, but he didn’t look guilty for what he’d done;

  he looked annoyed that he’d been caught after all this time. He didn’t know what had happened. He honestly thought

  his virus hadn’t worked.

  “Is there an antivirus?” Rogan asked.

  Of course! An antivirus. That had to have been what Jonathan was after.

  Joe raised his eyebrows. “An antivirus? After all this time?

  Why would you even care anymore?”

  He had asked; so Rogan told him. Rogan told him all of it—about the virus, the blackout, the corruption of his fa

  ther’s implant.

  It wasn’t long before sweat slid down Joe’s forehead. “You’re

  serious, aren’t you?”

  “Trust me,” Rogan said. “I wouldn’t joke about this.” “Ever since my virus failed…” Joe paced back and forth in

  the small, dark space. “Or since I thought it failed, I’ve been

  obsessed with all things Ellis, especially anything to do with

  Countdown. I even reapplied for a job there a few months ago.

  Your father interviewed me personally, which surprised me

  since he’s, you know, Gareth Ellis, the freaking all-powerful

  billionaire. Anyway, he offered me the job. Then he told me

  about the implants. Still sounded cool, so I got fitted with one

  while I made my decision on the job offer. I got to actually

  watch a few levels of Countdown. Man, I was so stoked.” He

  rubbed his hand vigorously over his forehead. “But then I saw

  somebody get eliminated. They killed him right on camera.

  Mr. Ellis laughed it off like it was nothing. Told me that this

  was the future and I should get used to it. He showed me the

  contract. He pretty much wanted me to sign in blood. Then

  somebody approached me. He told me that he’d help me get