Arena Mode (8 page)

- Dwayne Lewis
(The Phoenix Times Multicast, June 2041)

“This is where the crime is going to take place,”
Gavin announced with complete confidence. “And when you beat the bad guys and save the day, you’ll be New York City’s first real-life superhero.” He jammed a finger into the battered map that was unrolled on the counter, at the north-west end of The Fringe bordering the Dark Zone.

It was midday at Excelsior, and customers were browsing the store as we plotted our less-than-legal activities. It wasn’t the ideal situation, but the days were running short, and we couldn’
t afford to just strategize during the evenings.

Peyton volunteered to help us with the plan. She had far more experience with programming than Gavin or myself, and had even hacked a few networks before she moved to The Fringe and started her new life. At one point, Gavin alluded to his sister’s involvement with the ‘family business’ back in The Dark Zone, but left it at that – I didn’t dig for additional details, and he never offered any.

She swiped her hand across a translucent blue tablet, producing a holographic image of the area. “The location is perfect. Check out the intersection: three high-res security cams, but not a single cerebral dampener. It’s like it was meant to be.”

“No doubt,” Gavin said with a nod. “If any CDUs are in the area Frost will never believe you’re suped up.”

Cerebral dampening units became one of the largest expenditures of the US government over the last decade, second only to military defense. When it was discovered that superhumans existed, America spent billions trying to find the cause – the mechanism that gave a seemingly ordinary person extraordinary abilities. While no specific catalyst has yet to be discovered, a trait became evident that was unique to everyone who possessed powers: their brainwaves.

The human brain constantly emits electrochemical impulses of varying frequencies, often referred to as ‘waves’; beta, alpha, theta and delta. While the first three are emitted during times of stress, relaxation, anger, and every other emotional state, the delta waves occur only during sleep.

Superhumans, it was discovered through EEG measurements, emit delta waves at
all
times, cycling several hundred times faster than normal. This led researchers to posit that subconscious belief played a huge role in the transformation from human to superhuman; that the ability for someone to physically manifest their desires was a result of accessing parts of the brain that were, until recently, completely untapped.

If there was a way to bottle superpowers, the government would spare no expense to make it happen. A fortune had been spent on research, but little progress was made. Scientists were nowhere near the stage of being able to replicate superhuman abilities, but a seminal invention came from their brainwave discovery: the cerebral dampener. The device – a black sphere wrapped inside a striking bronze coil – disrupted the delta waves of anyone inside of a one mile radius. For a regular person it had no effect, but for a superhuman, the results were crippling: their abilities were greatly reduced – or ‘dampened’ – as long as they remained within the effective range of the device. It also caused a variety of other symptoms, like nausea and headaches.

The basketball-sized dampening units were installed at every government facility in the country, as well as in a number of areas that were flagged as potential targets for terrorism. The more affluent cities also invested heavily in the units, making them highly visible in public areas to attract consumers. With a skyrocketing crime rate at the hands of
regular
criminals, most of us weren’t any more concerned by the thought of being mugged by a superhuman. Still, that didn’t stop an endless supply of tax dollars from going towards their construction. More than anything, the CDUs presence worked as a stress reliever. In a country where paranoia was never in short supply, politicians fed the population a steady diet of hypothetical tales of future destruction; “With super-powered beings on the loose, a catastrophic attack is imminent.”

In the Fringe – an economic purgatory wedged between the prosperous island of Manhattan and the wasteland of the Dark Zone – there were a handful of CDUs installed on streets where business still thrived, and where some of the wealthier residents lived. The closer to the Dark Zone you travelled, the fewer units you’d see.

I was following his logic, but I wasn’t sure how Gavin was going to predict the
exact
time and location of a crime. I quietly questioned him. His eyes darted around the store to ensure that no customers were within earshot.

“All right,” Gavin said in a hushed voice, “I’ll tell you, but you have to promise
not
to freak out, okay guys?”

Peyton pursed her lips. “What the heck does that even mean? How can we promise not to freak out when we don’t know what you’re about to say? What if you
deserve
to be freaked out on?”

Gavin drew in a deep breath. “We can’t just wait around listening to police scanners for a crime to be committed because there are too many variables. We won’t know what kind of firepower we’d be dealing with, or if we’d be able to respond faster than the police...it’s just too risky.”

“All right,” I replied hesitantly, nodding slowly in agreement. “So, you
know
the guys who are going to commit a crime? They told you their plan?”

Gavin loosened the top button of his shirt and removed his jacket, taking his time to fold it neatly over the chair behind the cash register before continuing. “Well, it’s a little more involved than that. There’s a gang over in the Zone, the Petrovic brothers...and I
kind of
put them up to it.” He paused for a moment. “And supplied them with a getaway car. And sort of gave them some weapons.”

“Are you out of your mind?!” I shouted, unable to control the volume of my voice.

It drew a few glances.

“Keep it
down
,” Gavin whispered, his eyes widening. “I
had
to, okay? It was the only way I could make sure that we controlled everything. What if you stepped up against a regular criminal, and he was packing some serious firepower? Do you want to test your suit out against an exploding bullet?”

It was a fair question. “Okay. I guess it’s too late to change our plans now. When does this all go down?”

“Tomorrow, at the Union Street Liquor Store. Nine in the morning.” Gavin took a moment, glancing at Peyton and then back at me, steeling his resolve.

“Then that’s where we’ll be,” Peyton replied. “Matty, I hope you’re feeling heroic.”
 

We sat in a small, rented van parked across the street from the liquor store,
with Gavin behind the wheel, and Peyton crouched in the back seat clutching her tablet. The early morning sun beat down on the quiet neighborhood as a few pedestrians ambled around the area; some walking dogs, others sipping coffee – all completely oblivious to the chaos that was about to ensue.

The owner arrived on a cherry-red moped, parking and locking it just moments before nine o’clock. He unlocked the heavy steel gates that protected the entrance of the store and heaved them back. Within a minute the rumble of an old internal combustion engine echoed down the street. Say what you will about career criminals, but at least they’re punctual.

Gavin wiped his sweat-drenched palms against his pants. “You’re up, Mox.” He was acting even more nervous than I felt, which was saying a lot.

I pulled on my helmet and adjusted the visor. “It just occurred to me that we never really tested this equipment.”

He responded with a weak smile. “Well if you get shot in the face and die I’ll be sure to ask for a refund.”

“That’s not funny,” Peyton shouted from the back. “Why do you have to make a stupid joke about
everything?
”

“Everyone take it easy,” I said, doing my best to relieve the tension. “I’m on edge too, but this is going to work.” I paused, looked at Gavin and flipped up my visor. “This
is
going to work, right?”

“I’m definitely, almost
completely
confident.”

“I love this plan,” I responded flatly.

Gavin adjusted his earpiece and spoke into his phone. I could hear his voice clearly inside of my helmet.

An old dark sedan screeched to a halt outside the liquor store, and three men in black ski masks burst from the doors. They rushed through the store’s entrance brandishing modified handguns, leaving their getaway car with the engine running.

A few curious onlookers were already gathering, but maintained a safe distance.

Shouting echoed from inside the store.

I knew there were only seconds left.

I darted from the van and positioned myself in the street, facing the entrance of the store. The men emerged with guns drawn, and one was clutching a plastic bag that I assume was filled with the cash they’d stolen.

“Stop right there,” I shouted, for lack of anything better to shout.

<
Stop right there?
> Gavin repeated, his voice resonating through the com in my helmet. <
That’s
the best you could come up with? >

“Well we didn’t exactly write a goddamned script for this, did we?”

The robbers paused for a moment, momentarily caught off-guard by my appearance. One of them leveled their weapon and fired two rounds. The first bullet whizzed by my shoulder, striking a lamp post with a piercing clank. The second round hit my chest plate, throwing me off-balance. Thankfully it was the most heavily-armored part of my suit, but instantly I felt the swelling in my muscle, and the ache in my bones – it was like someone had dropped a bowling ball onto my ribcage. I instinctively reached down to touch the spot where the bullet had hit, and was relieved to find nothing more than a dent and some chipped paint.

<
Do it
, > Gavin instructed. <
Right
now
, and make it look good. >

I steadied myself and extended my hand. I tensed my body and struck a pose – the type of pose I’d seen illustrated across comic book panels my whole life, as if I was about to launch a bolt of electricity from my palm.

Their getaway car exploded.

The front window of the liquor store shattered, and the owner’s red moped spiraled down the street. The Petrovic brothers were blasted into the air, landing hard on the pavement.

When Peyton used her tablet to remotely detonate the bomb that Gavin had installed under the car, her timing was flawless: to any observer it looked as if I had used the power of my mind to cause the explosion.

I rushed to the masked men lying in the street and bound their hands with zip ties while they moaned in agony. They were injured, and one had his shirt completely burned off his back, but they all survived the blast.

The crowd surrounding the flaming car was growing, and a number of people were filming the event on their phones and wrist-coms. I heard murmurs about superhumans, and psychic powers. Things were going as planned.

I started to make my way back to the van when Gavin shouted into my ear piece, < You can’t just leave like
that
, Mox. Say something heroic. >

“Heroic?” I whispered. “What the hell?”

< Make an
impression
, > he said insistently.

I turned back to the scene of the crime. As one of the masked men shuffled to his knees, I sprinted towards him, burying my thick metal boot in the center of his chest. He fell over and hit the road with a dull thud. “That’s what happens when someone commits a crime in
my
town!” I shouted, raising my fist in the air.

< We
really
should have discussed catchphrases beforehand, > Gavin groaned.

Peyton dropped a smoke grenade outside the window of the van, creating some cover for my return. As I turned to leave, Gavin shouted once more, < You forgot, this is the big moment! >

Up to that point, what I was about to do was the most terrifying moment of my life; even more terrifying than being shot just seconds before. But it was the most critical part of the plan. Everything hinged on it.

I stopped, removed my helmet, and looked directly up at the nearest security camera.