Arena

by Holly Jennings

  “Fine.” I let out an exasperated sigh. Maybe I had been holding my breath. “I felt responsible. And selfish.”

  “These are normal emotions, Kali,” she assured me in an even tone, one I’m sure was supposed to keep me calm. “Everyone feels responsible when someone dies. Now, why did you feel selfish?”

  “Because I just sat there. I did nothing. I didn’t stop him from doing the drugs. I didn’t check on him before I went to sleep. And when I woke up the next morning and found him dead, I hid in the corner like a child.”

  “Most people would have reacted the way you did, especially those without medical training. Most people would have been afraid.”

  “Yeah, well, they aren’t warriors on television.”

  She smiled. “Most people on television are actors.”

  I recoiled, pressing myself into the chair. “So, that’s it. You think I’m acting all the time. You think on the inside, I’m actually a weak, little girl.”

  “No, no. I think you’re very strong.”

  I blinked. “Why?”

  “You came back here.” She waved a hand at the office around her. “You took charge of the team. You’re pushing through the situation the best you can.”

  “The best I can.” I scoffed. “I don’t even know what I’m doing. I’m supposed to know. I’m an adult now. I should be able to handle all of this, and I can’t.”

  “Being an adult doesn’t mean you know everything. Sometimes it means you know enough to admit when you need help, and you’re not afraid to ask for it.” She took off her glasses and leaned toward me. “Look, I pulled the M.E.’s report on Nathan’s death. As far as they can tell, he died in his sleep in the early morning. All he would know was that he went to bed next to someone he cared about. He didn’t suffer.”

  Good. That’s good. He hadn’t suffered. Though my stomach still churned at the thought, it buffered the blow to know his passing had been peaceful. I swallowed.

  “Thank you.”

  My voice squeaked. I pressed my lips together, hoping the doc hadn’t noticed. She replaced her glasses and made more notes on her tablet.

  “You know,” she began, “gamers in the RAGE tournaments are the most prone to psychological issues. You could participate in another branch of the VGL. Maybe something a little less violent?”

  I laughed. “What would you have me do? Special Ops? Dungeon raids? When you get down to the nitty-gritty, they’re all violent in their own ways. First-person shooters, RPGs, it doesn’t matter. The endgame is always the same. Kill the enemy.”

  Dr. Renner clicked her tongue as she looked over her tablet. “I’ll be honest, Kali. I’m concerned for your health. Experiencing gaps in time is a common symptom for those beginning to lose their grip on reality. I don’t know if you should go much further with this, and I have medical authority to pull you out.”

  My stomach dropped to my toes. “Are you saying I can’t stay in the tournament? I have to stay in. My teammates are counting on me. If they had to replace another player now, they’d never make it. This could ruin their careers.”

  Dr. Renner studied me for a minute, then smiled like she was proud. “What about your career?”

  Yeah, what about mine? Suddenly, it didn’t seem so important anymore. In fact, it hadn’t even crossed my thoughts. Did I just put the team before myself? Maybe I really was becoming a leader.

  A leader. Four other people were counting on me now. Counting on me to lead them through the tournament to victory. Their careers, hell, the rest of their lives rested with me. I could be strong. I could do this for the team.

  “I have to stay in the game,” I said. “Tell me what I need to do to fix this, and I’ll do it.”

  The doc leaned toward me again. “If you meet with me on a regular basis, so I can monitor you, then you can stay in for now. You need to come to me the minute you don’t feel right, understand?”

  I nodded. “I will.”

  I left the doc’s office feeling stronger than I had in a long time. Each step that pounded into the hallway’s metal floor sent another shock wave of perseverance through my body. This wasn’t just about me or my career. The team was counting on me to lead them to the championship. That’s what mattered.

  But the problem with living in a reality so plastic and fake and a virtual world so full of life was that the lines between what matters and what doesn’t get blurry.

  Fast.

  CHAPTER 12

  The next round of the tournament was announced on Sunday afternoon. As teams were eliminated, and there were fewer to match up, we were getting our opponents sooner than the previous week. Which was a godsend. Every step up through the tournament was a bigger challenge, and the more time we had to prepare, the better. This Saturday we’d be facing Celestial Elite.

  The week was a carbon copy of the former. Mostly. We worked out briefly in the morning and ran virtual simulations the rest of the day, whenever we didn’t have a media event.

  The evenings were something else.

  Since the Pro Gamer Weekly cover, publicity had become a nightmare. Actually, having a nightmare would imply that I’d slept sometime in the last several days. Despite new issues of the magazine being released every week, ours was still the top seller. On the carpets, in front of the cameras, Rooke had to lock his fingers through mine more than once to stop me from clocking someone. Yeah, okay, I was extra grumpy, but at least the paparazzi had a field day over us holding hands—which made me want to punch them even more. The shots in the club and hits of HP made reality bearable. Maybe if I could get a decent night of sleep, I’d be able to deal with everything even better.

  Luckily, I found my salvation on my way back to my bunk after an especially grueling morning training session.

  “Hey, Kali. Got what you asked for.”

  Reynolds, one of the security guards, waved at me as he approached. He slipped a package of sleeping pills into my hand. “That’s the first time any of you asked for that. Sure you don’t want something harder? I got a few things that’ll—”

  I held up a hand. “I’m fine. I just need to rest.”

  He laughed. “Yeah. The game can mess with your sleep. I get it.”

  “It’s not the game. It’s because of Nathan.”

  “Yeah, sure. Lemme know if you need more, or something else.”

  As he walked away, I studied the package. A feeling washed over me, like relief from finding a lost tablet or purse. Somewhere inside, I sighed. Finally, I’d sleep.

  Inside my bunk, I left the pills on my bathroom counter and changed into my pod suit. Just like the week before, we were running afternoon simulations against digital versions of our new opponents. But by the time the third simulation had ended, I sat inside the pod, shaking, begging my stomach not to revisit lunch. When the pod doors opened, I pulled myself out and wavered on my feet and shook my head. Dizziness spanned out around me, like rippling waves in an invisible pond.

  What was wrong with me?

  A hand landed on my elbow. I followed it up until I met Hannah’s face.

  “You okay?”

  I shook my head. “I’m going back to my room for a while. You’ll have to practice without me.”

  She looked me up and down. “Are you getting sick? The doctor’s always on call—”

  “No, no. I just need to go lie down. Do me a favor. Tell the others I was feeling a little weak and needed to rest. I’ll try to join you for supper.”

  She studied me through the narrow slits of her eyes and eventually nodded. “Okay. Let me know if you need anything else.”

  “Thanks.”

  I managed to slip out of the room, avoiding everyone else until I arrived at my bunk. The room swirled around me as I sat down on my bed, holding my head in my hands.

  It’ll pass. Just wait it out.

  The room stopp
ed spinning, but somehow, my body went numb and tingled at the same time. I pulled my hands away from my face and studied them. They trembled violently, as if I hadn’t eaten in days. Sweat beaded across my forehead. Hot chills washed over me in waves. What was happening to me? The flu. It must be the flu. I just needed to rest. That’s all. And now I had my pills again. I’d be fine.

  My tablet chimed on the bed beside me. I groaned. What now?

  Incoming call from San Diego.

  Shit. Only one person would call from San Diego. I gathered my strength, scooped up the screen, and tapped it. The face of a middle-aged woman with dark hair and fine lines tracing her eyes and lips appeared.

  She smiled. “Hi, Sweetie.”

  “Hi, Mom.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “Are you okay? You look pale.”

  From warm to hostile in a nanosecond. Nothing like a sick child to bring out the army general in any mother.

  “I’m fine. It’s just the screen.”

  Great. Now I was lying to my mom. Thumbs-up, Kali.

  “Oh, good. So, anything new? Any boys?” She drew out the last word and gave a suggestive tweak of her eyebrow. She’d seen the article. Or the billboards. Or the pictures scrolling across every digital bookstore and magazine stand.

  I rolled my eyes. “Mom, I told you not to believe what you read in those magazines. Most of it is crap, okay?”

  “I know, I know. And it’s a good thing, too. I don’t know what I’d do if my baby was actually out every night partying in those clubs.”

  My stomach twisted. I smiled, the fake one. “Right.”

  “Especially considering this opportunity you’ve been given. Not everyone who wants to become a pro gamer actually makes it there. I expect someone as smart as you to realize that.”

  How were mothers such experts at laying on the guilt trips even when they didn’t realize it?

  “Your father and I are very proud of you,” she added.

  I suppressed my scoff. “Really?”

  “Is this because we don’t watch the tournaments? You can’t expect us to. Imagine watching someone you knew getting a sword stuck in them.”

  It made sense when she put it like that.

  “I understand.”

  “Then why wouldn’t you think we’re proud of you?”

  “You didn’t seem too happy when I left.”

  She frowned. “Of course we weren’t. We just didn’t want to see you go. For you, it’s off on this big adventure. For us, it’s . . . what do they call that? Empty nest.” There was a pause. “But,” she stressed, “your dad pointed out that if you got drafted into the MLB or NHL, we’d be excited. How many people’s kids get to do that? What you’re doing is no different. It’s just . . . video games? It takes some time to get used to the idea.”

  Dad. The wise one. Sometimes I missed his talks and the sensibility of his thought process. But really, my parents had plenty of time to get used to the idea. I’d played games since I could hold a controller.

  “Mom, national gaming competitions have been around for over fifty years now.”

  “But fully immersive virtual reality didn’t exist when your father and I were kids. It’s still new to us. We don’t really understand all of this.”

  Most people didn’t, other than gamers and the fans, whose number was growing by the day. Not since poker at the turn of the century had the world seen such a fast-rising sport.

  “You know,” she continued, “the article in Pro Gamer Weekly said you’ve been named the team’s captain. Is that crap, too?”

  My eyebrows went up. “You actually read the magazine?”

  “Of course,” she scoffed. “You were on the cover.”

  Sure, but I never thought she’d look further than that.

  “Uh, yeah. I’m captain.”

  “So, what does that mean?”

  “I lead the team and instruct them on strategy. Things like that.”

  She beamed. “That sounds like a lot of responsibility. Are you sure you can handle it?”

  I gritted my teeth. “Yes, Mom.”

  She narrowed her eyes again at my strained expression. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

  “Yes,” I stressed. “We just ran through some simulations, and I’m a little tired. I know it’s not going to make much sense to you, but it drains you physically. I just need to relax.”

  “Oh, okay. I’ll let you go then.”

  “Thanks.”

  She paused. “I love you.”

  I smiled, not the fake one. “Me too, Mom.”

  The screen went black. I stared at it, blinking for a moment, trying to process exactly how the call had made me feel. Then, my hands trembled, and my stomach churned again. Sleep. I had to get some sleep.

  With Mom gone, I dropped the façade and gave in to the weakness, hand-crawling along the wall to the bathroom. Inside at the sink, my fingers fumbled as I struggled against the package of sleeping pills. One popped out, skipped along the counter, and landed in the sink. I chased it, but grabbed nothing but air. It looped around the metal basin like a marble in a funnel until it disappeared down the drain.

  Damn it.

  Damn it. Damn it. Damn it.

  A buzz came from my door. Hannah. Probably called the doctor despite my protest. Screw it. I picked up the package and pressed my fingers against another metallic bubble.

  The buzz came again. I sighed.

  “Hannah, fuck off and go away.”

  “Do you always talk to your friends like that?”

  Rooke. Shit. What did he want?

  I marched out of the bathroom and tapped the door control.

  “What?” I asked as the door slid open.

  Rooke stood on the other side, arms crossed, brow furrowed, looking remarkably cute for someone so concerned.

  “You okay?” he asked.

  I shook my head. “I’m not feeling so hot. I’m just going to lie down for a while.”

  “Do you need the doctor?”

  I spoke through gritted teeth. “No. I just need to rest.”

  Which doesn’t involve your being here.

  “I can go get someone for you,” he offered. “Or walk you down to the medical wing.”

  My teeth gnashed together so hard, they should have cracked.

  “I said I’m fine.”

  Why didn’t anyone believe me?

  Rooke studied me for a second, then shrugged. “Okay.” He started to turn away when his gaze locked on the package in my hand. “What’s that?”

  The pills. I’d never put them down. I couldn’t hide, so I defaulted to my own standard programming—sarcasm.

  “Hang on,” I said, bringing the fine print of the package up to eye level. “It says it’s fifty milligrams of None of Your Business. Take one or two before bed.” I dropped my arm, and the act. “They’re sleeping pills. The shrink prescribed them, okay?”

  There. No lies. A doctor told me to . . . even though the name on the package wasn’t mine.

  He sputtered. “But . . . I’ve seen you drinking at the clubs.” His jaw flexed. “Along with other things.”

  “So?”

  His eyes went wide. “Kali, didn’t you read the package? You can’t mix sleeping pills with alcohol and street drugs.”

  “Oh, like you don’t use,” I said, crossing my arms in defense. “Everyone who goes virtual does something.”

  “I don’t.”

  I thought back. He’d disappeared when we drank shots at the club, and I never once saw him inhale anything other than air, even while the rest of us were cutting lines and popping pills. Maybe he really was clean. That made him the only gamer in the history of the VGL not to dabble. God, was he really such a choirboy?

  I shrugged it off. “So I drink sometimes at the clubs. Get over it.”r />
  “Don’t you know how dangerous that is?” He took a step toward me. “What are you doing to yourself?”

  “Whatever I want with my life.”

  He looked directly into my eyes. His blank, stone-cold façade from when we first met was back.

  “You’re going to kill yourself,” he said. “You need to wake up and realize what you’re doing.”

  I stepped up to him. “You have no idea what happened to me. You know Nathan, the guy you replaced? He died next to me in bed. I woke up to a dead body. Can you blame me for having trouble sleeping?”

  “That’s no excuse for abusing yourself. You’re hiding from it, not facing it. You’re going to end up just like him. You’re not invincible, Kali.”

  Who the fuck did this guy think he was? He couldn’t tell me what to do. No one could. I wasn’t just an adult. I was a gamer. We ruled both worlds, the real and the virtual. No one could touch us.

  “Do you think this makes you a good leader?” he asked.

  I reeled. “And not sleeping makes me a better one? I’m doing this for the team, not despite them.”

  “And when you do a hit of HP at the clubs, is that for the team, too?”

  I ground my teeth together. Whatever I chose to do at the clubs was none of his fucking business.

  “You can’t keep going like this,” he stressed. The muscles in his neck went tight. “You could die, Kali. Don’t you see that?”

  Pffft. I waved him off. “We don’t die, you idiot. We never die. We just wake up. You know why the rest of us do this? Why we drink and party and get so high we can’t remember our own names? It’s just to pass the time until we can go back to what’s real.”

  He took a step back, and the color drained from his face. “What did you just say?”

  “Nothing. I don’t know.”

  He took my head in his hands and forced my eyes up. “Look at me. What do you see?”

  “An asshole.” I slapped his hands, but his grip only tightened on my jaw.