I barked out the most painful cough of my life and my red-rimmed eyes snapped open, stinging from smoke and bits of gravel. Gavin, Peyton and McGarrity were already aboard.
“Matt! Are you all right?”
“Dude, that was gnarly!”
“Can you breathe? Do you need water? I’ll get water...”
Concerned voices blended together as my head spun, multi-colored streaks lining my vision.
“I’m okay,” I assured everyone, waving them off, coughing into my fist a few more times. “Just...give me some space.” I wandered around the passenger bay for a moment, regaining my bearings. Once I’d wiped my eyes clean and drank some water, Peyton insisted on a quick medical exam. I knew she’d want an explanation for swapping out the guns, but in the moment she was just relieved that I’d made it back alive.
I excused myself and went to the cockpit, shutting the door behind me. I wanted to thank Karin for her quick thinking, and for her advice over the com. In my current mental state I don’t know if I could’ve done it alone, and her quick thinking probably saved my life.
I’d never been enthusiastic about hiring a pilot who was barely old enough to have her driver’s license, let alone the experience and qualifications necessary to helm a multimillion dollar aircraft. It wasn’t just the fact that she was practically still a zygote. It was also the fact that she possessed superhuman abilities. Peyton had hired her without my knowledge or consent, never once thinking that I might have just the slightest trust issues with yet another super powered being continuously and unavoidably in my orbit, especially after what had happened with Valentina. My previous bodyguard took a bribe in exchange for selling me out to Valeriya Taktarov, resulting in a near-death situation for myself and Peyton. This made her decision even more baffling. ‘I felt good energy from her’ was Peyton’s primary reason for the hire, as if positive vibes were tantamount to a thorough background check and a psychological evaluation. ‘Say no more!’ told her. ‘I didn’t realize you had a warm fuzzy when you met this mystery girl. No more vetting required.’
No, not all superhumans are evil. But they have power – terrifying and unbridled power that, in the wrong hands, could result in me and my girlfriend being flattened into meat pancakes. At the time, having a superhuman head of security sounded like a logical (and kind of bad-ass) move, but it proved to be a near fatal mistake. I wasn’t keen on doubling down on that error.
Though now that Karin had proven herself to be a competent pilot and great under pressure, I owed her a debt of gratitude – and a long-overdue apology.
I sank into the co-pilot’s chair next to her. “Karin,” I began slowly, “I need to tell you something. When I was down there—”
“Wow,” she cut in, rotating towards me. She was brushing crumbs off of her bomber jacket from whatever she’s just finished wolfing down. “That was so lucky, right? That thing you did with the gun...and the explosion? Even with the technical glitch you pulled that one out of the fire.”
“Technical glitch?”
“Yeah, the coms,” she explained. She reached out and poked a button on the transport’s dash, illuminating a tiny red light. The speaker belched out a long crackling hiss that filled the cockpit. “After your teleporting jet appeared below me on the hoverpad our communications just died. I don’t know if it was an EMP they activated, a signal jammer or what...I’ll have to run an diagnostic later. I kept yelling at you to stand still so I could target you with the bungee, but nothing got through.”
I dug a fingernail into my ear and pried out the jellybean. “Yeah, right…that’s what I wanted to tell you. Down there on the street all I heard was static. I gotta talk to the tech guys when I’m back in China because these pieces of shit are useless.”
“That was it?” She asked curiously. “You seemed like you had something else on your mind, boss.”
“No, just...thanks. For the pick-up, and stuff.” I patted my stomach with both hands. “I put on a couple pounds over the summer, but the bungee still fit like a glove – no recalibration needed. So...there’s that.”
“All right, well happy to help,” she said cheerfully, accompanied by an even more cheerful salute. “And sorry again about the coms. Wish I could’ve been more helpful, or that I could’ve said something that would’ve helped you down there.”
I stumbled out of the cockpit, through the passenger bay, and into the bathroom, slamming and locking the door behind me.
“Matty?” Peyton asked a few moments later, gently rapping on the door. “Are you okay in there? You seem like you’re glitching out a little.”
“I’m fine,” I lied, for the third time today.
“Matt,” she pleaded, “please open up, baby. Let me in.”
As the rapping persisted I leaned forward on the sink. I stared into the mirror, studying my face under the fluorescent lights. I felt like I could see right through my eyes and into my brain...my rotting, cancerous brain that was falling to pieces inside my skull, corroding like an abandoned car left on the interstate. There was no repairing it. No repairing me. Before long I’d be a husk; a shell of my former self, unrecognizable to everyone who cared about me.
It was time for my back-up plan. As soon as I’d cleared my name, it was time to open the box.
Chapter Six
Our transport skimmed over the clouds in relative silence, so steadily it felt as if we were barely moving. Travelling at twice the speed of sound, the typical ten-hour flight from the UK to the Bahamas would take us less than five.
I yawned, eyes fluttering. It was after midnight and I needed rest; without noise or turbulence sleep should have come easily, though convincing my brain of those simple facts was an uphill battle. Everyone else had retired to the sleeping quarters in the back while the passenger bay remained empty; a wide-open space with windows flanking me on either side, illuminated by the silver-grey disc suspended in a starless sky.
Staring out at the scarred chunk of rock that orbited our planet, my battered brain continued to churn out calculations. I’d been alive for 11,146 days. Plenty of time to gaze at a full moon – or any type of moon, for that matter – even taking into account time spent in a busy metropolitan area where the moon was invisible, washed out by the overpowering glare of manmade lights. But when did I bother? When did I last take the time to seek out the moon, or a sunset, or a sunrise, or stop to appreciate anything? I was struck with a pang of existential sadness when I realized that, even with my photographic memory, I couldn’t recall. I’d spent so many nights trying to turn my brain off and ignore the world around me that I’d missed the chance to soak any of it in.
My wrist-com chimed, the blinking green light filling the dim room.
“Mox, it’s Todd.” Detective Dzobiak appeared on the small glowing holo-screen, smiling as if he were a model in a toothpaste commercial.
The goofiness of his grin was infectious; even in my current state of mind I was able to manage a tiny smile of my own. “What’s the joke, detective?”
“No joke man: I’m still buzzing from the ruckus you caused here. Breaking that STC bastard’s nose and knocking Santiago on her ass in the same day?” He balled his fist and joyously smacked it into his palm. “Damn! I just wish I could’ve been there to see that shit. I doubt you’ll get many officers to admit it, but you’re secretly their hero after that. You’re sure as hell mine.”
Dzobiak explained that he didn’t believe in the trumped up accusations that have been leveled against me, and that there was something much larger at play. Thankfully, he had a lead.
“I took your advice and canvassed some local shops. We came up with this.” He held a transparent evidence bag in front of the cam, showing off a small wad of Euros. The multi-colored bank notes rarely cropped up on this side of the pond, and were generally not accepted anywhere except for banking institutions, and yet, for the last several days, the homeless had been using the fluorescent orange bills to pay for everything from fresh fruit to cigarettes at con
venience stores across The Fringe.
“Did you question anyone who actually paid using the Euros?”
“Not yet,” Dzobiak said. “But we’re rounding up a few street kids now. The trick is getting them to talk to a cop...it’ll take some finessing, but I’ll keep working on it.”
It wasn’t a lot to go on, but it was a strong start. I’d guessed that the attack was set up well in advance, though the use of European currency was an interesting wrinkle. I’d already narrowed a short-list of people who had the means, influence, and motive to pull off this series of attacks, but I didn’t want to start pointing fingers until I’d gathered some more evidence.
“So,” Dzobiak said in between sips of coffee. “You’re all over the simulcasts after that fight with Paul Glendinning in England.”
“Who?” I blurted out, though I knew exactly who the detective was referring to. During the carnage I swore it was him, though I told myself it was impossible. “Sergei Taktarov dropped him from space. He fell through a bridge, into the Hudson.”
Paul Glendinning – or ‘Dozer’, as he was aptly nicknamed – was eliminated early in the original Arena Mode. His ability to coat his skin with an impenetrable bronze-like surface was world-renowned, and made him one of the early favorites to win the competition...that is, until an angry Russian dragged his two-thousand pound frame into near orbit before releasing his grip, dropping him on Manhattan like a human bomb. It was a wonder Taktarov even managed to land him in the continental US, much less the same city. In the aftermath of Arena Mode, Dozer had become ever more well-known, though for much different reasons. Once the city had been repaired and the bridge reconstructed, a new type of tourist attraction emerged: visitors were welcomed to embark on submarine excursions to the floor of the Hudson where they could catch a glimpse of a muscular bronze statue – the well-preserved remains of Paul Glendinning – embedded waist-deep in the murky sea bed.
“It turns out he doesn’t need air to breathe,” Dzobiak explained. “Some Norwegian oil tycoon wanted Dozer for a trophy in his game room, so he gave the mayor a sizable cash donation and paid a team to have the body extracted from the river. It wasn’t easy, but once they got Glendinning up on shore he just coughed out some water and stood up. Walked off like nothing had happened. It’s like the oxygen just revived him.”
In a day filled with surreal events, this was possibly the strangest thing I’d heard. “So now he’s working for the asshole who’s framing me?”
“Mmm,” Dzobiak mumbled, taking a final sip from his mug. “Maybe. Still piecing that one together. But hey, at least we’ve positively IDed someone involved.” He paused for a moment and pressed his lips together. “You were all in Arena Mode together – Brynja, Glendinning...could they have met there? Did they interact in any way before you two met up?”
“Sure. It’s possible...theoretically.” The cameras didn’t catch every single interaction between the competitors. Brynja could have encountered Dozer at some point early in the competition, or before the event had even started. They might have shared a transport before parachuting into the city for all I knew. I’d spent months alone with Brynja at Fortress 23, where we’d become very close; we shared so many stories that it felt like I’d learned almost everything about her. But like everyone, Brynja had her secrets.
“Just watch your ass,” Dzobiak warned me. “I don’t know how she’s involved yet, but I assume you’re searching for her right now.”
“Yeah...but how did you know?”
He grinned and leveled his brown leather wallet to the cam, letting it flip open to reveal his gold shield. “Detective, remember? But I don’t need to be Sherlock Holmes to know she’s your last good lead. And if I know that, so does the dude who has your jet.”
And whoever has my jet has the advantage...because with the press of a button they can be anywhere, at anytime. Within two minutes of discovering I was at The Savoy in London there was a superhuman hit-man barreling down the hallway towards me. I had no way of predicting who the next assailant would be, but I had a feeling they’d be doubling down on the reinforcements after I was able to evade Dozer.
Dzobiak drew in a deep breath and leaned close to the camera. “And let’s address the elephant in the room, man.”
“I’m not following.”
“Yes you are, Moxon.”
“Come on,” I sighed, trying to massage the ache from my temples. This shit again: first Peyton, and now Dzobiak. I didn’t know why everyone was so dead-set on pinning the blame on Brynja. I knew Peyton had personal issues with her, but I relied on the detective to actually detect things – not just throw out wild theories and crazy accusations.
“Wake up, man,” he said sharply, snapping his fingers. “You think you know this chick, but she’s a ghost; she dropped completely off the grid before all this craziness started going down. You don’t know what she’s been up to, or what she’s doing with that jet of hers.”
“Right,” I said swiftly. “That’s why I have to find her. Maybe she’s under duress, or maybe she’s being controlled somehow – like telepathically. And if someone is pulling the strings...”
Dzobiak shook his head. “That’s a shitload of ‘ifs’ and ‘maybes’, man. Just keep your head down and your ass covered. You don’t know what you could be walking into when you track her down. Or who she’ll be with.”
He was right. He was irritating as all hell at the moment, but he was absolutely right. I retreated into a defensive shell whenever someone accused my friends of anything; Peyton, Gavin, Brynja – they’re my only family, and I’d defend them to the death. But I couldn’t dismiss evidence, even if it was circumstantial at best.
Catching sight of my crumpling expression the detective relented, softening his deep baritone voice. “By the way,” he added, “I don’t know if you’ve checked out the Vegas Gambling Network, but you’re the hottest game in town.”
I snorted. “Wait – I’m what?”
“After the battle against Dozer, Vegas starting taking bets on you: whether you’d clear your name, end up arrested, flattened, shot, decapitated...everything you can imagine.”
I couldn’t say I was surprised. “Sounds tasteful.”
“Same shit, different pile,” he said with a shrug. “If there’s a tragedy, they’re ready to cash in on it. But if it makes you feel any better, I put a hundred on you pulling out of this thing.”
“And what are the odds of that happening?”
Dzobiak’s pearly-white smile returned, wider than before. “According to the bookies? Let’s just say if you do survive, I’m gonna buy that solar powered BMW I’ve had my eye on.”
“Awesome,” I said flatly. “Well, thanks for the vote of confidence, even if you’re the only person who believes I’ll make it to the end of the week in one piece.”
“Hey, me and the boys downtown are all rooting for you,” he said with complete sincerity. And it meant more to me than he probably realized. “I’ll keep my ear to the ground and buzz you if I hear anything else.”
Our holo-chat winked off.
I spent the remainder of the overnight flight staring listlessly out the window, rolling scenarios over in my mind, but I couldn’t help but think back to the battle in The Fringe that had started this all just hours ago: superhumans with incredible speed, strength and agility beating each other to a bloody pulp; cars sailing through the air and helicopters falling from the sky; tourists bursting into flames like Roman candles...and me, standing just a few feet away, boots locked into place. My heart didn’t race, my pulse didn’t pound. I never even flinched. I’d stared down the barrel of a gun so many times that the possibility of an excruciating death no longer fazed me because I thought that day would never come.
When those sirens blared past Excelsior and the gunshots rang out, something clicked inside my head. I was tweaking. I’d suddenly become an addict looking for a fix. I’d spent almost ten excruciating months in seclusion, just waiting for something – anything – t
o happen; I just didn’t realize how mind-numbingly bored I’d been until that very moment. And when I saw the fight break out, and the quiet residential streets I’d grown up on transformed into a blood-drenched battleground, a big part of me was horrified. I felt for the families of those who died, and for the store-owners whose livelihoods went up in smoke. But another part of me felt like it was Christmas.
In Arena Mode I was an out-of-shape cancer patient, fighting for my life amongst opponents who were tantamount to gods. To the surprise of practically everyone (myself included) I not only survived, I actually won. A few months later I battled an army of extremists at Fortress 23, and walked away virtually unscathed. I’d say that I was bullet-proof, but I didn’t need to be. With the streak I was on, I felt like I could dodge them. Assassination attempts, explosions, hand-to-hand combat with the most powerful beings to have ever walked the Earth? No worries. None of it could finish me off. And each time my shoulder brushed with Death I walked away a little brasher, a little bolder, and a hell of a lot more reckless.
Ever since I’d discovered my tumor I’d been playing the rush: I’d gone all-in every chance I got, throwing my life on the craps table without a moment’s hesitation. Crazy? Absolutely. But I rationalized my lunacy by consistently lying to myself: I’d conditioned my diminishing brain to believe that the most fundamental rule of gambling no longer applied to me. I told myself that I was special, a superhuman in my own right, despite a complete lack of superpowers. I even told myself I’d beaten the tumor, despite a team of neurosurgeons warning me otherwise. My mantra had been one simple sentence – three words to be exact – and not coincidentally, it was the same three words that every addict repeats in their head with absolute, religious certainty before they lay down a bet that could cost them everything: ‘I can’t lose’.
Everyone loses.
Everyone throws up a brick now and then, or plays a lame hand. And every streak comes to an end. It’s just math. When I heard that calm, reassuring voice in my ear that I never once suspected was actually my own, it was my wake-up call. I’d lost. Though at that point, I’d never suspected just how much I had to lose.
Final Empire Page 8
