Assault or Attrition (18 page)

When we arrived
I brushed aside the sweeping strands like parting curtains, making
my way to within arms-reach of the willow’s thick, reddish-brown
trunk. A spoken access code triggered a hidden door within the
bark, sliding open to reveal a polished silver elevator. The
unblemished surface was completely devoid of any markings,
including a control panel.

Mac stuck his
head in, craning his neck to observe the interior. “This is some
serious double-oh-seven shit, man. There isn’t even a button.”

“Don’t step in
just yet,” I cautioned him. “As soon as it detects pressure it
might start its descent.”

“Copy that,”
Chandler said into his wrist-com. He was standing a few feet
outside of the tree’s canopy, signalling the remaining staff.
“We’ll see you guys in a couple minutes.”

We waited
beneath the tree for the remainder of our group. Brynja was anxious
to leave and take advantage of our head-start, but I insisted we
wait. Separating wasn’t going to help, and I refused to leave
anyone behind. I couldn’t live with myself if someone else died
because of the colossal mess that I was the center of.

Clanging up the
metal staircase, Judy emerged from the doorway that opened into the
clearing at the center of the dome. She was followed by the two
other staff members, Ortega and Anton. They wore armor suits as I’d
instructed, though they appeared markedly different than ours.

While our Smart
Fiber suits were form-fitting, sleek and dark, identifiable only by
the color-coded number that appeared on the chest, theirs were much
bulkier. Judy’s bright blue armor was more akin to a medieval
design, with thick, squared-off shoulder joints, and gauntlets that
could barely articulate. Ortega had a similar design in yellow,
while Anton’s was red. The candy-coated textures had a polished
sheen that reflected the dome’s interior light, and their stiff
movements resembled lumbering toy soldiers.

“I don’t know
what happened when we printed these things,” Judy remarked as she
twisted at the waist, wincing as she attempted to stretch out in
the heavy suit. “They’re like...”

Oh shit.
My short term memory loss. I forgot that I’d switched out the
material a few days ago when I was building a castle with Brynja. I
couldn’t conceal the surprised look on my face when I realized what
I’d done. “They’re Lego.”

“
Right
,”
she remarked, running her hands over the smooth surface. “It’s
strange, isn’t it? Almost like we
are
wearing Lego.”

“Not almost,” I
was quick to correct her. “Judy, you’re
actually
wearing
Lego. The polymer inside the printer, was left over from a couple
days ago, so it’s—”

“Wait,” Ortega
interrupted, extending a hand out towards me. “You’re telling me
that you guys are in state-of-the-art super suits, and the rest of
the staff are wearing
toys
?”

“I got a
regular suit,” Chandler said sheepishly, staring down at his
boots.

“Well good for
you!” Anton shouted frantically. “The guy who runs the place gets
the
real
armor, and the numbers who work in the subs are
stuck looking like Rock ‘em Sock ‘em Robots!”

“Hey,” Mac
exclaimed, pointing at Anton. “You guys
do
look a little
like those plastic punching toys. And kinda like GoBots, now that I
think about it.”

“I’m glad you
guys think this is hilarious,” Judy shouted, flailing her arms
overhead, “but
we’re
the one who are gonna be dead when the
bullets start flying!”

“All right,
take it easy,” I reassured her, “the suits are just a precaution.
There aren’t going to be any bullets. Let’s just get to The Spiral
and find this tunnel. Within a few hours we’ll be on a flight out
of here.”

As we boarded
the elevator I overheard Chandler whisper, “What’s a GoBot,
anyway?”

“You never
heard of them?” Mac replied, a little too loudly. “They were like
Transformers, only shittier.”

Judy glared at
him as the elevator door slid shut, and I quietly cautioned Mac
that maybe now wasn’t the best time for this discussion.

We began our
slow descent, and there was no indication as to how deep we were
traveling. Without screens on the interior there was no telling how
long the eight of us would be tightly sealed into this brightly-lit
cylindrical can.

Everyone
remained silent during the trip: The trio of angry GoBots exchanged
frustrated looks. Mac bounced gently on the balls of his feet,
brimming with nervous energy. Chandler hyperventilated, trying to
put as much distance between himself and the other passengers as
possible. And Brynja and Peyton stood at opposite sides of the
elevator, aggressively avoiding eye contact with each other. When
we escaped from the fortress and made our retreat, there was the
question of what would happen next. Of course we’d have to find out
where Gavin was, and make sure he was all right. My sister and the
kids were in police protection thanks to a few calls to my lawyer,
and I was confident they’d be fine until I could make alternate
arrangements. But once the dust settled, the riots had ceased, and
the raid on Fortress 23 had ended, the question weighed heavily on
me: what then?

Brynja had
become more than just a friend to me – in a lot of ways she was the
only person who understood me. I couldn’t imagine my life without
her...and Peyton – who challenged and pushed me, and made me a
better person – was here, and by happenstance I’d been given a
second chance with her. It didn’t take psychic abilities to know
what both of them were thinking, and to know that, in a matter of
hours, only one of them could remain in my life. This wasn’t a
crappy sitcom from the 90s – there was no way we were going to
exist in some idealized version of reality where the three of us
could do brunch on Sundays and exchange pleasantries over
mimosas.

The elevator
slowed to a gradual stop and the door silently pulled open,
revealing a long white hallway that illuminated with every step we
took. At the end was a single door – an oversized rectangle that
was embedded directly into the wall, without any knob or window.
There must have been a microscopic motion sensor located, somewhere
because it moved aside as we approached, leading us into a darkened
room. It was the entrance to The Spiral.

The lights
burst to life when we crossed the threshold, revealing an enormous
dome-shaped room. The bright expansive space made me feel like an
ant trapped inside a metallic igloo. Smooth metallic walls seemed
to emit a light all their own, although there were no visible
bulbs; the diffused glow bathed the eight of us from every
direction, muting every shadow. Gazing around, we searched for any
indication that there was an exit. As far as we could tell, there
wasn’t a control panel, a button, or anything that could trigger
the exit that was supposedly beneath the room – at least according
to London’s schematic. For the moment we were at a stand-still,
stuck in a dead end.

I turned to the
floating spheres that were perpetually at our backs. “Can you bring
up the schematic again?”

“
I’m
sorry,”
London replied apologetically.
“Mister Moxon, there
is nothing that I’d rather do that help you out of this
predicament. Truly, I would love nothing more than to—”

“What’s the
issue
,” I asked curtly.

“
My
permissions have been downgraded,”
it replied.
“As soon as
we entered this room I became unable to access any of the maps and
schematics associated with Fortress 23. I do, however, have some
news that you might be interested in hearing.”

“Is it about
his chiseled cheekbones?” Brynja asked with a chuckle.

“
No,”
London replied cheerfully.
“In fact, it’s in regards to the
sixteen unidentified intruders who are making their way up the
staircase towards the rooftop dome.”

I shook my head
in disbelief. “Shit, the Army must know where we are.”

“How?” Peyton
asked.

“I don’t know,”
I replied, “but this doesn’t feel like a coincidence. This place is
huge
– there’s no way they’d make a beeline straight towards
the hidden elevator unless they had a good reason.” We were stuck
at a dead end, and couldn’t turn back. I commanded the doorway to
close behind us and it immediately obeyed, sealing us inside.

And that’s when
it appeared.

Like the Great
and Powerful Oz, a massive disembodied head projected above us.
Enormous and imposing, it winked on and began to speak.

Being cordially
greeted by a blimp-sized head was shocking, to say the least. It
even caught
me
off-guard – and to put it delicately, I’d
seen some shit. But the real shock came a moment later, when I
realized
who
was greeting us. It was the face of the man
that haunted my dreams since I’d shot him to death nearly six
months ago: Cameron Frost.

“
Welcome,
one and all, to the second annual Arena Mode tournament!”
Cameron Frost’s smile widened, bearing a mouth full of pearly,
artificially-whitened teeth. “As the bravest superhumans from
around the world, you are about to embark on an amazing journey –
and for the winners, the rewards will be immeasurable.”

“What the
hell?” Brynja whispered. “I thought you killed this fucker?”

“It’s a
recording,” I whispered back without taking my eyes off of the
giant head floating above. It was so imposing I couldn’t have
averted my gaze if I tried.

Frost must have
set up this holographic message long before he entered the first
Arena Mode tournament. Everything leading up to this moment was
crystallizing: Fortress 23 wasn’t built as a sanctuary or a retreat
for the eccentric billionaire – it was created to host future Arena
Mode tournaments. The hangar, the lodging, the workout facility;
this entire structure was an Olympic village of sorts, meticulously
crafted into a single, stand-alone building that would serve as not
only a temporary home to the superhumans leading up to the event,
but as the battleground itself. And we were here, standing at the
starting line, receiving a posthumous pep-talk from the visionary
behind this perverse spectacle.

“As the winner
of the First Annual Arena Mode tournament in 2041,” Frost
continued, his voice welling with pride, “I can tell you that it’s
a sensation like no other. Money and fame and all of the
trivialities that go along with it are
nothing
compared to
that feeling – knowing that you are the best of the best. The
one
.”

Mac let out a
short laugh. “
Winner
? I guess Cameron was counting his
chickens a little early, huh?” He was quickly shushed by Brynja
with a sharp point of her elbow, jabbed squarely into his
shoulder.

“This
fortress,” Frost explained, “is the ultimate proving ground. The
island of Manhattan was a suitable stage for the previous Arena
Mode. But now, things are being taken to the next level, and I’ve
increased the stakes. An-all new, multi-faceted battleground has
been constructed, directly below your feet.”

The giant
floating head disappeared, and was replaced with a glowing hologram
of a blueprint. The rendering rotated slowly as Frost continued to
narrate, displaying Fortress 23 built into the mountain range, and
the architecture hidden within, invisible to the outside observer.
Underground chambers, impossibly large, descending hundreds of feet
into the earth. Three imposing layers, piled one on top of the
other, lead down to a small room at the bottom, labelled ‘The Hall
of Victors’. I had no idea what could be located in that room, and
at the time I didn’t really care. What
was
of particular
interest to me was the long, narrow tunnel connected to the Hall of
Victors that led outside, several miles West of the fortress. This
was it: our one and only option for escape. If we navigate our way
to the lowest chamber of this new underground arena, we have a
clear path to the outside.

As Frost
continued to espouse the glory of competition and the riches that
await us (his usual rhetoric when trying to talk people into
risking their lives for his profit and personal entertainment) a
dull thud began to echo throughout the chamber. It was coming from
just outside the door. The sound was unmistakable: someone was
trying to break in. The Red Army had tracked us down, and was
methodically beating down the door. Considering the speed in which
they barreled through the South Tunnel’s interior door leading into
the fortress, I imagined it was only a matter of minutes before
they’d find their way inside of here.

“We accept,” I
shouted at the ceiling, “We accept the challenge. Let’s get moving
– start Arena Mode.”

“One reminder
before registration,” Frost added. “Belief in others is as
important as belief in one’s self. To continue on in this journey,
you, the combatants will have to form alliances. Choose your
partners wisely, because this will be a battle like no other.
Trusting the wrong person could mean the difference between the
spoils of victory and a painful defeat.”

“Fine,
whatever,” I shouted. “Alliances, teams, trust – we got it. Let’s
keep this moving.”

“Registration
begins now,” Frost’s voice commanded. He reappeared in holographic
form, this time as a life-sized entity, wearing a tailored suit and
tie. He didn’t look like the Cameron Frost I remembered, though. He
was young and vital – probably ten years younger than he was at the
time of his death. Clean-shaven, well-dressed, and no longer in
need of a wheelchair, the 3D-rendered image strode confidently
towards us. “Name, please.”

“King Henry the
Sixth,” I replied, glancing back over my shoulder as the thumping
persisted. “Let’s
go
.”