Arena (17 page)

Once again, I made it through the conference on autopilot, thankful for once I'd had the answers programmed into me. As soon as we were in our seats at the club and the waiter set down the tray of liquor and HP, I slammed back two shots in a row. Hannah laughed at me.

“Not taking it easy tonight, huh?”

“Shut up.”

She laughed again, and I joined her.

Across the club, the wallscreen blared with the VGL theme music. The scene cut in to Howie and Marcus, the VGL announcers.

“Okay, ladies and gentlemen. We're set to tune in to the final matchup from the winners' bracket of the RAGE tournament. Whoever wins tonight secures their spot in the championship.”

The winners' bracket finals. Was that tonight already? Of course it was. The winners' bracket always played out faster than the losing side.

I sat back for the fight.

The scene cut to the sepia fields of the digital arena. The VGL stamp appeared at the top of the screen, superimposed over the view inside the game. The tournament matchup stats flashed across the screen.

WINNERS' BRACKET FINALS

PARADOX

VS.

INVICTUS

The matchup's stats faded into the rustling wheat stalks, like white noise on a dead channel. The camera angle rotated between several different views of the fields between the towers. No lines carved through the stalks. No warriors screamed out battle cries. The grass waved in the breeze. A bird fluttered past the screen, chirping softly. Just peace.

The announcers' voices overlay the footage.

“I love this setting. No matter how many times I see it, it always gives me chills.”

“I hear you, Marcus. The engineering here is just brilliant. Golf would be a lot more interesting if you knew people were about to beat each other to death with their clubs.”

“Maybe that'll be next season.”

They shared a laugh.

The camera angle changed as four members of InvictUS disappeared into the fields, the wheat stalks whipping around them as they ran.

“Here's the usual formation InvictUS has become known for.”

“I'm surprised they've never changed it up, but so far no team has been able to crack them. Don't mess with what works, right?”

The camera flashed to the other team, mirroring the same formation. One in the tower. Four pushed in as they flew through the fields. The gap between the two teams began to close.

“Looks like Team Paradox is trying to meet the brute force that is InvictUS head-on. We're about to see an all-out brawl in the center of the fields.”

The crunching of the wheat stalks rose to a crescendo as the teams raced toward each other. Thirty feet. Then twenty. Weapons came unsheathed, gripped tight in hands. Blades glinted in the soft, golden sunlight. Someone shouted, and soon, they were all shouting as they plowed toward each other.

The camera flashed between the teams, back and forth, as they neared.
My stomach curled tighter with each step they took. This would be a bloodbath, and I had a feeling I knew who'd end up the victims.

The groups collided.

One from Paradox went down instantly, an axe slicing through his throat. Already three on four. Not good.

“Oooh, one from Paradox goes down hard. I keep telling you, Marcus, nothing can touch these guys.”

“Hey, the fight's not over yet,” Marcus protested.

“It's about to be. Check this out.”

The rest went down in a matter of seconds as InvictUS ganged up on the remaining members of Paradox. Swords swiped through the air. Blood splattered the beige stalks of the fields. Screams of pain filled the audio. Not one from InvictUS took a hit. Not one scratch. These guys were an impenetrable wall of blades and death. When the last of Paradox had fallen with an axe to the back, InvictUS gathered up their weapons and charged for the tower.

My heart sunk. Four on four was not the solution, and no one could push in with five and leave their tower unclaimed. If that didn't take out InvictUS, what would?

The scene cut to the single remaining member of Paradox inside the tower. His armor clanked as he shifted his weight, sword gripped in hand. His breaths were even. His eyes looked about, attentive but calm.

Then footsteps echoed up the path. I flashed back to when I first heard those same footsteps when we'd faced off against InvictUS. I'd been naïve then, unexposed to the ruthlessness that was my opponent. But unlike me, this guy knew exactly what was coming for him. His calmness evaporated. Sweat beaded on his lip, and his knuckles turned white around his sword. His breaths weren't so even now.

InvictUS burst through the entrance and surrounded him on all sides. His eyes went wide, and he swallowed thick. He brought his sword up in defense, for whatever it was worth.

I squirmed in my seat, struggling to keep my eyes on the screen. My heart thudded in my chest. This is why people watched. The tension. The violence. And above it all, they could tell themselves it wasn't real. Gamers,
on the other hand, knew. We knew the pain that seared through our bodies with every slash of a sword or stab from a dagger. We knew the anxiety and the dread when the darkness crept in, and coldness captured our souls.

Ignorance is bliss.

InvictUS circled their prey, a wolf pack taunting the poor, baby sheep. They mocked him with false swipes of their swords. He tensed at each jab, too anxious to deflect moves that were nothing more than feints. Sweat poured down his face.

InvictUS stepped closer.

My stomach tightened.

Their swipes morphed into more than just teases. One blade sliced through his calf. Another nicked his shoulder. He cried out and fought to stay on his feet. The audio filled with the sound of steel slicing through skin, again and again, until their target looked like he'd just run a mile through brush and thorns.

Finally, one of the InvictUS fighters dove forward and jammed a blade through his neck from behind. The camera caught the perfect angle as the tip protruded through his Adam's apple, blood spraying out like a busted faucet. My own throat gagged in response.

Eyes wide, he clawed at his own neck until his eyes rolled back in his head, and he collapsed.

InvictUS celebrated over his dead body with sword clangs and chest bumps, like jocks on the football field, and the corpse beneath them was nothing more than pigskin.

The match's stats appeared on the screen.

INVICTUS VICTORIOUS.

I knew it. I knew they'd win. Still, a rock settled in my stomach.

The footage cut out to Howie and Marcus at their desk.

“And InvictUS takes it in another knockdown fight,” Marcus exclaimed, reeling with adrenaline. “What a night.”

“There you have it. InvictUS is your winners' bracket finalist. The team
that survives the losers' bracket will be facing off against them for the championship.” Howie laughed. “Whoever it is, I hope they're prepared.”

The rock in my stomach started rolling. Even if somehow we managed to make it through the losers' bracket and into the championship, we'd have to face off against InvictUS—the team that no one could touch. The team that gave new meaning to the term invincibility.

“That's it,” I said, reaching for the bowl of HP on the table. “I need a hit. Now.”

Hannah laughed at me again.

“It hits faster if you take it out of the capsule,” she said.

Good point.

I broke the capsule open, and drew out a line on the tray. Hannah handed me a straw and I dropped down to my knees.

I froze.

Here I was, on my knees, in the middle of a club, about to sniff some drug up my nose. As a role model. Had my own role model, Jessica Salt, ever done this? I couldn't remember her in the tabloids, cutting lines and downing shots. What I did remember in that moment was Nathan. Pulling lines up his nose. Like he needed it just to get through the day. Just to deal with life. Right before his ended. Permanently.

What the fuck was I doing?

I scrambled to my feet.

“Kali, where are you going?” Hannah asked.

I didn't answer. Hell, I didn't even know where I was going myself. I just had to get out of there.

I stumbled away and down the stairs into the dance floor, and began shoving my way through the crowd. I got halfway to the door when my elbow snagged on something. Rooke's hand. He dropped his grip on my arm and moved close, so I could hear him over the music.

“What's wrong?”

“I have to leave. Now.”

He glanced between me and the lobby. “I'll go with you. For the cameras. You shouldn't have to explain to Clarence why the tabloids are printing pictures of you leaving a club obviously upset and without me.”

Inwardly, I groaned. I just wanted to be alone. But I didn't want to deal with the paparazzi or Clarence either.

I sighed, and nodded. “Fine.”

“Just smile and act like we're together. For thirty seconds.”

He took my arm and led the way, threading a path through the crowd. Outside, the flashing started as soon as the cameramen picked up on us. I smiled that fake smile, for the cameras of the fake magazines, eager to photograph this fake relationship. We reached the SUV, and Rooke held the door and ushered me inside. When the door shut behind us, people swarmed the car and pounded on the windows like undead mobs. Cameras flashed at the same speed as hummingbird wings.

Was this my life now?

I covered my face with my hands, though it did no good against the onslaught of the press. Inside, I felt like I was drowning. Like I was completely detaching from it all. From reality, my life, and myself.

What the hell had I become?

“W
hat happened back there?”

Once we'd cleared the mobs, and the car had begun guiding itself through the streets of L.A., Rooke turned toward me. I didn't answer him.

“Kali?”

I glanced at him and looked away again. “Nothing.”

“Nothing? One second you were sitting beside me, and the next you were gone. I barely caught up with you.”

I fiddled with nothing in my lap. “I almost did a hit of HP.”

“And?”

“And? AND? Didn't you see me? I was on my knees about to snort it off the table like a freaking anteater.”

“Technically, I don't think an anteater snorts—”

“THAT'S NOT THE POINT.” I covered my face with my hands. “What's wrong with me?”

“You're an addict.”

I reeled. “An addict? Are you mental? I do a few hits of HP, and suddenly I'm an addict?”

“I'm not talking about the drugs. You're addicted to the virtual world. HP is just a means to an end.”

I scoffed. “I'm not addicted to the virtual world.”

“You sneak into the game off-hours.”

“That's just—”

“You can't sleep at night.

“Because Nathan—”

“You make constant excuses.”

“But—”

“You're missing gaps in time. You phase out even when you're not plugged in. Are you gonna argue with that, too?”

I didn't. I pressed my lips together and listened to him.

“I know the signs,” he continued. “It's the game, Kali. It's always the game.”

I scowled. “How would you know?”

“I know.”

“What?”

“I. Know.”

I met his eyes. He stared back, completely solemn. It was the kind of look you'd expect to see only inside a confessional. Coincidentally enough, one was coming.

“It starts with sneaking into the game,” he explained, looking out the window. “You convince your programmer to let you in off-hours. For extra practice. For the sake of the team. Only soon it's not enough, so you start hitting HP. And when that's not enough, you'll go for something harder.” He turned back and locked eyes with me. “Before I got here, I was so strung out, I couldn't tell you what was real.”

I scoffed. Yeah, right. Straight-and-narrow Rooke was a former druggie. Then, as his words solidified in my mind and the dots connected, I gasped.

“That's why you were so miserable when you first got here, isn't it? And why you seem like you're in pain sometimes. You're detoxing.”

He nodded so slightly, I might have missed it if I hadn't been looking at him dead on. I turned to the window, letting the situation sink in for a moment. No wonder he'd been so pissed when he caught me with the sleeping pills.

“Do I have to quit the games?” I began. “I can't quit. The team won't
make it replacing someone this late into the tournament. No, I'm the captain. I have to pull through this. You're getting through it, and you still plug in. What did you do? What do I do?”

He laughed, and not just a soft chuckle. I'm talking head thrown back, chest rumbling laughter. I frowned.

“Thanks, asshole. I'm kinda having a crisis here.”

“I'm laughing because if it were anyone else, I wouldn't know what to say. But you've studied Taoism, Kali. Look, if you don't believe in it anymore, then that's fine. We'll find another way. But if you do, then you have what you need. The core concepts of nature, balance, harmony.”

He took a breath and looked out the window again. “There's a well-known Native American story about how we all have two wolves inside us fighting for dominance. One is full of hate, anger, and everything evil. The other is full of peace, clarity, and everything good. The one that wins is the one we feed. I'm not saying the virtual world is evil, but you've filled yourself with so much of it, you can't see anything other than what's fake. You just have to balance it out and focus on what's real.”

“What's real?” I scoffed, and motioned at the city around us. At the plastic, the airbrushing, and the bubble lips. “What's real in this place?”

“Find it. A city can't exist without nature inside it. We can't breathe without air or drink without water, right?”

I stared at him, blinking. Then I looked out the window again. At first, the city was all concrete, glass, and traffic patterns. Slowly, the realness emerged. The wind whistled through the alleyways and whipped through flags. On the sidewalk, a man's cell phone unclamped and tumbled from his wrist as he walked along, unaware. A teenager with neck tattoos and body mods rushed to scoop it up.

“Hey, I think you dropped this.”

Even inside the car, the air-conditioning tickled my skin. The slow, drawn-out beat of the techno jazz streaming from the radio enveloped me like a warm bath and calmed my heartbeat. For a second, just a second, Rooke squeezed my hand. Not for the cameras. There were none here. They say even the smallest gestures can speak volumes, but this one said one thing.

I'm here for you.

Once we'd arrived back at the facility, we walked down the hallway toward our bunks. I stopped in front of mine, glancing between him and the door.

“Now what?”

“You need to take a shower.”

I frowned. “Hey.”

He smiled. “It'll make you feel better. Trust me. It's like a metaphorical cleansing. Just stay in there until the water turns cold. When you come out, you'll feel better, almost like you're on the other side of something.”

“And then?”

He shrugged. “I don't know. You have to figure that out on your own. But I do know that this isn't going to work if you're not honest with yourself. Do what feels right, not necessarily what seems right.”

“You mean listen to my heart more than my head?” I asked. He smiled again and nodded. “Yeah, okay. Thanks. For everything.”

He turned and started down the hall, glancing back as he walked away. “If you need to talk, I'll be in my bunk.”

I watched him leave, then disappeared into my own. When the door whooshed shut behind me, I leaned back against it and closed my eyes. My nerves jittered, and my stomach swirled. I was on the edge, teetering. How long had I been doing exactly that? On the edge. Teetering. Time to pull myself back.

I stripped down, stepped in the shower, scrubbed my skin, rough, like I was trying to clean all the negativity out of it. My father believes that water has a natural calming property. My mother believes it's good “to wash all the shit away.” Funny how, when I put those two together, it became “washing all the shit away to reveal the calmness beneath.”

After scrubbing, I sat on the shower floor. Droplets cascaded down my skin. Steam spiraled up from the stall's cool tiles to kiss the glass walls, turning them opaque. I did nothing but sit alone in the box of water and steam. Not thinking. Not moving. Just breathing.

A weight lifted, like my soul had pushed it out through my head and shoulders.

My soul. Hadn't I sold that to Clarence?

I didn't cry. I didn't scream. I just let go of all the frustration, and anger, and sadness I felt over everything. The tournaments. Clarence. The media. The sponsors. Even Nathan.

The water turned lukewarm, then cool, sending a chill across my skin. I wrenched the tap off. After toweling off, I dried my hair. In the mirror, my reflection didn't phase. Bags still circled my eyes, but my skin had a soft, subtle glow to it now. I smiled, just a hint curling up the corners of my mouth.

As I studied my reflection in the mirror, my gaze drifted down to my stomach. I touched just below my navel, where my chi should have been. Chi is a sort of life force, and my father always emphasized its importance. It didn't hold much weight in America other than in martial arts. How long had I gone without thinking about it?

After I finished drying my hair, I lingered in front of the counter as my gaze trailed across the banquet of liquor minis and pills. The pendant around my neck gained ten pounds. Alcohol itself was not a bad thing. It was just a drink, just an object. So were pills. Like sugar or salt, how much of it we ingested was what made it good or bad.

It was a matter of balance.

I ripped the lids off the liquor minis and turned them upside down in the sink. Every pill I could find chased the liquid down. After I'd cleared the counter, I crawled into bed. Even as the memory foam morphed around my body and cradled my head, I stared up at the ceiling and sighed. Would I sleep? I glanced beside me, where Nathan had once been before he died, and where I'd seen him several times after. But now, that side of the bed remained empty. I patted it with an open palm. I'd finally begun to let him go and accept what had happened. Mostly. Clarence and the sponsors were still wrong to bulldoze over his death—whether it was a drug overdose or not—but at least he'd left my nightmares now.

I scooped up my tablet and tapped it out of sleep mode. The default app for reading eBooks was blinking. Update needed. Well, wasn't that ironic? I okayed the update and browsed the online store for the
Tao Te Ching
. How long had it been since I'd read it? I downloaded it and started flicking
through the pages. When I was younger, reading a few pages of the book brought with it a sense of calm and peace. But that was before. Before life as a pro gamer. Before the virtual world. Before all the bullshit. After a few minutes, I sighed and dropped my tablet. This wasn't working. But it wasn't the book itself that was the problem.

I left my bunk, walked down to Rooke's door, and pushed the buzzer on his keypad. After some rustling inside, it slid open.

He was naked.

Fine, not completely. But I wasn't the only one who had just showered. A towel sat around his shoulders. Water dripped from his hair and slid down his neck to his bare chest, following the recesses of his muscular build. His pants hung so low around his waist that one little tug would have sent them sliding to the floor.

“Uhh . . .”

What was I here for? Oh, yes.

“Can I borrow your copy of the
Tao Te Ching
?”

He nodded and disappeared into his bunk. “That's practically the Taoist bible,” he called out. “Don't you have one?”

He returned to the door, book in hand.

“On my tablet, yes. But . . .” I took the book from him and ran my fingertips over the cover. “I needed something real.”

He grinned. “You'll have to tell me your favorite quote.”

“What's yours?”

“A man with outer courage dares to die. A man with inner courage dares to live.”

I considered it. “Not bad.”

“Do you want it on a sticky note?”

I almost punched him then. Or caressed his skin. Whichever.

“Pffft. My quote is going to own your quote's ass.”

He laughed, and his abs tightened. Oh my. Maybe I should have outlined every ridge and groove with my fingers. I mean, he was real. That counted, right?

“You gonna be okay?” he asked.

“I think, yeah. Thanks,” I said, and managed to push myself down
the hall and away from his slick skin. As I walked back to my room, I let a slow breath pass between my lips. I couldn't deny it. We could have been a real couple. There was a natural attraction there, and more than enough chemistry. Maybe the photographer at the magazine had picked up on it, too. Is that why they'd made us into a couple?

Was it time to make that real?

Okay, whoa. One thing at a time, captain.

Back in my own bunk, I climbed into bed and curled up with the book. It weighed heavy in my hands as my fingers glided across the pages. Smooth. Cool. Just like the air around me. In that moment, everything felt just a little closer to the genuine. Not so plastic. Not so fake.

I took a breath, a deep breath. My insides steadied. Energy pulsed through me in soft, soothing waves. No dizziness. No jittering nerves. No churning stomach.

Just calm.

I had a long way to go, but I was finally ready to start living again.

—

The next morning, I woke with the book making a tent across my stomach. I blinked a few times and turned my gaze to the ceiling. I'd slept through the night. Rubbing my eyes, I groaned. A dull headache roamed from temple to temple. Not the best night on record, but I'd slept—in my own bed and without any pills.

Before I'd fallen asleep, the book had reminded me of my life before now. I chuckled, remembering how much I protested the first time Dad unplugged my gaming console.

“What the hell?” I demanded, flailing my ten-year-old arms. “I finished my homework.”

Dad frowned, and not just at the cussword.

“You need more balance than that, Kali,” he said. “Go outside.”

I pointed at the now-black screen. “I was outside. My character just reached the Forest of Enchanted Truths.”

Dad shook his head. “You need some exercise. You know? Get your lungs and heart pumping.”

I grabbed the controller and flicked it with my thumbs. “If you bought me an immersive VR system, I'd get lots of exercise.”

I didn't get a VR system. I got martial arts classes.

“She's a stubborn little thing, but she has what it takes,” the instructor told my father. “She pinned one of the boys today. He cried.”

Dad glanced down at me out of the corner of his eye. I beamed as brightly as my crisp, white uniform.

“I think it would do her good to participate in some tournaments,” the instructor continued. He leaned in close to Dad, where he thought I wouldn't hear. “It might help with her discipline.”

Dad agreed.

They had no idea what they were creating. Dr. Frankenstein built less of a monster.

When I won my first tournament, my love of competitions exploded. One tournament became years of competing. Winning meant prize money—funds my parents thought I'd put toward an education. I bought a top-of-the-line VR system instead. The living room became my battlefield, where I'd tuck and roll with a visor strapped over my eyes and bands wrapped around my wrists and knees.