Arena Mode (33 page)

Letting me leave would mean not only a financial loss, but losing face. I had no doubts that in Frost’s twisted mind, having competitors simply walk away would make Arena Mode look weak.

I couldn’t leave. I couldn’t call the police. And if Peyton or Gavin tried to run, they’d certainly be gunned down. But staying and competing, even if I survived, would be meaningless. There’s no way that Frost would let me, or my friends, live after the conversation that just occurred. Whether I had proof of his involvement in a conspiracy to commit murder or not was irrelevant. I knew too much – I was a loose end.

Until then, I didn’t realize how deranged Cameron Frost was, but during the conversation when we first met, he got one thing right: to survive Arena Mode, I needed something to push me through when I felt there was no reason to carry on. Before it was my friends: Peyton and Gavin and Kenneth and Brynja – but not anymore. As I stormed towards the east coast of Manhattan, my lifeline became vengeance.

I had a plan to use my gold card, access Frost Tower, and march back into his office on the top floor. I didn’t care about the money anymore, or even getting this tumor out of my head. I’d die in a prison cell if I had to, rotting away in solitary confinement while my brain turned to oatmeal.

But before that happened, I wanted to kick Cameron Frost out of his wheelchair, smash his face in, and choke every last breath from his body.

I don’t know why people call it ‘blinded by rage’ because my mind had never been so clear.
There was only one thing I needed to do, and I was focused on it with laser-sharp determination. My plan was simple, and I had the one item I needed to carry it out.

Of all the items hidden throughout The Arena – guns, knives, swords, explosives – I never imagined a gold key card that I happened upon would prove to be the most dangerous weapon. It wasn’t just an all-access pass to every car, door and elevator in Manhattan, but it also afforded me the element of surprise; I wouldn’t need to storm into Cameron Frost’s office, guns blazing. I could sneak in quietly, and before he knew what was happening, I’d have my hands wrapped tightly around the bastard’s neck.

He was in his office, I was sure of it. I instantly recognized the surroundings when he appeared on video, including his prized katana, prominently displayed in the background. He wanted to be nearby, close to the action. It explained why he was so insistent on hosting Arena Mode in Manhattan.

I found a nearby delivery truck and drove it across the city. I pulled up to Frost Tower, stepped out, and made my way towards the entrance. One swipe of my card disabled the alarm, and the oversized glass doors slid open with a welcoming chime.

The brightly-lit lobby was modern and immense and so well maintained it was practically sparkling. Floors, walls, reception desks – every surface was snowflake white, and so pristine you could eat off of them. Once you’ve crossed the football field-sized foyer, you could choose between dozens of escalators, criss-crossing in every direction, some stretching ten stories up. An endless supply of elevators lined the walls, each numbered with a roman numeral.

The tower’s lobby was typically buzzing with activity; at any one point a thousand executives, security guards and maintenance workers were rushing in every direction – it was like a miniature city within The City. But thanks to Arena Mode, like the rest of Manhattan, it was empty.

I strolled across the polished marble floors, my armored boots clanking with each heavy step. Squat, dome-shaped maintenance robots hummed and chirped, cheerfully waxing and polishing as I walked by.

Bypassing the main bank of elevators, I found the one I was looking for, at the very far end of the main level – the private, wheelchair accessible lift that was separated from all the others. When I approached, the motion sensors detected me, and the reflective brass doors slid open with a soft ping. I stepped aboard the cylindrical mirrored lift and discovered there were no buttons on the control panel. None were necessary. It was only designed to make one stop, and it was only accessible by one person. I slid my card into a horizontal slot located low on the panel, and the doors slid shut.

< Good evening, Mister Frost, > the elevator said cheerfully.

The hydraulic lift shot me to the top level in a flash. The doors silently pulled open, directly into his office. When I stepped out I, was confronted by Jerry Epstein, who’s small, shallow eyes became the size of saucers. I don’t know if Frost’s well-dressed lawyer recognized me from our hovercraft ride together several weeks ago; he barely acknowledged me for the entire flight, so it was possible he’d forgotten. If he didn’t know who I was before, he sure as hell wasn’t going to forget me after this visit.

Without hesitation, I pointed the K9 at his leg and fired, blasting a wad of corroded metal shards into his thigh. He screamed and fell, rolling in agony.

“Frost!” I called out, my voice resonating up the thirty-foot walls. My eyes flicked in every direction – the office was empty. There was medical equipment set up against the far wall, and some random tools and metal parts were positioned in a makeshift workstation off to the corner, but Frost was nowhere to be found.

“Where is he?” I asked, turning my attention to the blood-soaked man writhing at my feet.

“Where’s who?” he said, in between sobs.

“Really, dude? Are you sure you want to play this game?” I stomped on his thigh and callously twisted my heel, grinding the shards deeper into his muscle. He bellowed out a high-pitched shriek that I didn’t know was humanly possible.

I took a longer look around without lifting my boot. I noticed that Frost’s workstation had a camera mounted on it, along with a few small monitors. I grabbed a fistful of Epstein’s grey pinstripe jacket and dragged him across the floor, pulling him around the far side of the desk.

The monitors were set up to review multiple feeds of the tournament and were tracking the remaining competitors. Winston Ramsley was still in play; he’d bandaged his bad arm and was walking with a noticeable limp, but had somehow survived being mauled by a manticore. Melvin was nowhere in sight.

Fudō was flying low to the ground, circling the streets with his katana in hand.

Epstein was nervously flicking his eyes between the monitors and the space behind me. He was trying to hide something.

I slapped the button beneath Frost’s desk, triggering the wooden stand to emerge from his floor. The katana was gone.

I holstered the K9 and lugged Epstein to his feet with both hands, folding him backwards over the desk. The back of his head cracked off the wooden surface with a loud thud.

“What the hell is going on here?” I shouted. “Frost
gave
his sword to Fudō?
Why?
”

“He didn’t give it to Fudō,” he groaned, wincing in pain. “He
is
Fudō.”

I dropped the bleeding lawyer and raced out the side door, down the torch-lit medieval corridor, and up the ramp to his rooftop hover-pad.

My mouth hung open when I saw it: Frost’s wheelchair, sitting abandoned on the platform.

And Frost was nowhere to be found.

Storming back down the hallway, I stopped just short of the office’s threshold,
where a replica of two medieval knights stood guard on either side of the door. I wrenched the broadsword from the hands of one of the displays and carefully inspected it. I was pleasantly surprised to discover that it was a sharpened steel blade and not just a convincing prop.

Inside the office, Epstein had dragged himself within arm’s reach of the elevator. A messy streak of blood left a trail behind him, pouring from what must have been a punctured artery in his leg.

Letting my sword clank to the floor, I kneeled and curled my fingers around a chunk of Epstein’s greying hair, jerking his head back. “Listen up, Jerry,” I said coldly. “I know you’re a lawyer, so I’m not even gonna
try
and negotiate with you. I know I’ll get my ass kicked in that department. Instead, I’m going to offer you an ultimatum.”

“Please, just don’t kill ...”

“Shh. You’re going to want to listen to this part
very
carefully. See this?” I pulled the K9 from my hip, jamming the barrel hard into his temple. “This is one of those guns they use in the Dark Zone. You know, that filthy place across the Hudson where you and your buddies dump your trash and hire your minimum-wage labor? I don’t have any bullets for it, but lucky for me, it has this secondary barrel.” I pulled the gun away from his face and tapped my fingernail into the metal cylinder just inches from his widened eye. “I can stick whatever I want in here. I haven’t had much time to play with it, but I’d love to experiment. Maybe grab a few pens from Frost’s desk and fire them into your ...”

“All right!” he shouted, his voice hoarse and strained. “Ask me anything and I’ll tell you. Just
please
... don’t.”

It wasn’t long before I knew everything.

Frost had been investing in robotics companies for years with the hopes of regaining his ability to walk. Stem cell research was making incredible progress, but it was still more than a decade away from curing paraplegics. He was able to design and construct a multi-million dollar exoskeleton that allowed him a full range of motion. At close to seven feet tall and nearly eight hundred pounds, it was far too bulky to be practical for everyday use, but with some minor modifications, it would function perfectly as an armored battle suit.

Frost had also invested in Cerebral Dampening Units. He had the devices miniaturized to use as portable weapons, having them installed into the palms of his armored gauntlets. During their confrontation, it explained why Frost was able to block Kenneth’s powers, causing his manifestation to disappear.

Aside from the Fudō exoskeleton, he had made several other arrangements to tilt the tournament’s odds in his favor. Vitesse was given a map indicating the locations of every medical station, with the instructions to take out the doctors and nurses. As it turns out, Frost didn’t need them: he had access to his office, with all the medical supplies he required. He could even repair his suit if it were damaged. The rest of the competitors would have to fend for themselves, suffering with their injuries for the duration of the tournament.

Winston Ramsley was also given some assistance. He was dropped right on top of a pile of supplies, including a cloak that would refract light, making him essentially invisible to the other competitors. He would no doubt last until late in the competition, where Frost could finish him one-on-one, uninterrupted.

A decorated swordfighter, Ramsley had been vocal in the press about his distrust of Cameron Frost, and even accused the billionaire of ducking him during a Full Contact Swordfighting competition several years ago. In addition to winning Arena Mode, Frost would kill his most hated rival in spectacular fashion, not to mention achieving his lifelong goal: breaking Miyamoto Mushashi’s record of sixty lifetime victories with a katana, becoming the most prolific swordfighter of all time.

As the lawyer continued to explain Frost’s plans, his wrist-com began to chime. Our eyes met. We both knew who it was.

I dragged him back to the desk, and emptied a handful of silver pens into the barrel of the K9. I jammed the weapon into his neck and nodded. “Audio only.”

“Mister Frost,” Epstein said, with a small rattle to his voice.

“What took you so long to answer? For a thousand dollars an hour you’d think I could at least get a hold of you by the second chime.”

“I’m sorry sir, I was ... occupied.”

“Where is the holo-screen?’ he asked suspiciously. “Why am I only on audio?”

Epstein hesitated, so I pushed the barrel harder into his throat. “Oh, it’s ... broken. I can only get sound for some reason ... must have damaged it during racquetball this morning.”

Frost let out an exaggerated groan before continuing. “We might have a problem. Moxon disappeared from the cameras. Last I saw him, he was heading towards The Tower.”

Epstein cleared his throat and loosened his tie. “Um, no, he’s nowhere near the building, sir. He might have tried to access the lobby but I’m looking at the main level security cams right now. No sign of him.”