Arena (8 page)

“No.”

Wow. What the hell was that about?

Rooke stared at me and blinked once, emotionless. Then his gaze flicked back to Clarence and never left, as if the rest of us weren't even in the room. Jeez, he really was a statue, and had brought with him a front colder than anything that had ever passed through California. Was there any personality behind that stone façade? Hell, was there a person back there?

Or was it all just part of his image? A hard-ass. A stone-cold soldier. Sounded like something Clarence would come up with.

“We have only a few days before the start of the tournament,” Clarence said to the group. Like he had to make the announcement. To gamers,
these tournaments were religion. Except everyone in this room prayed to the gods of Xbox and PlayStation.

“I expect you to train a minimum of ten hours each day,” he continued. “I also expect you to be out every night. You need to be seen by every camera in the city.”

“Why?” Derek asked.

“Why?” Clarence spat. “First you lose, and now this little disaster.” He flicked a hand toward a poster of Nathan. “We have to damage-control this situation before no sponsor will ever touch us again. Expect a barrage of interviews and photo shoots and whatever else I can land us. If you can still see after all the camera flashes, then we haven't done enough. Is that clear?”

None of us answered, or argued. We all knew what was expected of us.

“Now, if you'll excuse me,” Clarence continued, “I have some announcements to make regarding our new recruit.”

When he exited the room and shut the door behind him, he left behind the awkward silence that usually accompanied him on the way out. I stood with my teammates on one side while Rooke stood alone on the other, a good five feet between us. No one made a move to welcome him. Oh wait, I was the team's leader now. Guess that was my job.

I took a step forward. Rooke stared straight ahead, as if admiring some spot in the wall beyond me. Heat burned in my chest, though not the enjoyable kind like earlier. My fingers itched to clamp onto his jaw and force his head down, to meet my eye.

Just then, his gaze flicked to mine, dark eyes penetrating right through me.

The good kind of heat was back. I ignored it.

Mostly.

Rooke stared at me, unwavering, with the same stone-faced look as always. Did this guy have another expression? Or did he really think he could intimidate me with that glare?

It was time for him to meet the warrior.

I stepped up to Rooke, closing the gap between us, folded my arms as I stared up at him, and let a cunning grin curl through my lips.

“Okay, pretty boy. Let's see what you can do.”

—

I worked with the new guy.

Well,
worked
was a generous word. It implied progress, like the kneading of clay. It starts out tough but gradually warms up until the sculptor and material become one. Rooke was nothing but a concrete block, refusing to mold at all. I felt like a toddler trying to smash the square peg into the round hole.

“Okay,” I said, standing across from him on the mats. “I'll attack first. I want to get a feel for your defensive skills.”

I took up my position and attacked.

So did he.

He swung, knocked my sword to the side, and rammed his shoulder into mine. I spun, lost balance, and hit the mat. Hard.

Okay, yeah. The guy had skill. But for everything he had in talent, he completely lacked in teamwork and personality. This guy belonged with InvictUS, not us.

I pushed up to my feet and retrieved my sword.

“You fight like InvictUS,” I told him. “And I mean that as a compliment. They destroyed us in the Death Match.”

“I saw it.”

Three words. That was the most I'd gotten out of him so far. I was starting to wonder if this guy was really on the team, or if Clarence was just paying him to test my leadership skills. And my temper. What the hell was I supposed to do with him? I was Kali Ling the warrior, not the diplomat.

After three more rounds exactly like the last, I called a break before I went all Incredible Hulk on his ass.

Leadership skill -5.

I plopped down on the nearest bench, scooped up a water bottle, and chugged half, straining not to crush the bioplastic beneath my grip. Across the room, Rooke pressed himself into a corner and stared at the floor. His jaw was clenched so tightly, it looked like he'd bitten his own tongue off. Did this guy have some kind of injury he was hiding? He didn't move
like it on the mats, but now, huddled in the corner, every muscle taut, he looked like he was trying not to vomit.

“How's training with the new guy?” Hannah asked, sidling up beside me.

“I think I'd rather chew scrap metal.”

She chuckled and glanced at him in the corner. “Maybe he's just nervous or feels left out. He is coming into this late.”

“Yeah. He's not exactly making it easy, either.”

She shrugged. “Well, you're good at finding ways to make this fun. Why not show him that?” She looked across the training room and caught eyes with her trainer. He hooked his finger at her, a signal to return to the treadmill. Her shoulders sank. “Fun. Heaven forbid.” She pushed up from the bench and started toward the trainer, looking back at me as she left. “I mean, isn't this supposed to be a game?”

As Hannah resumed her workout, I sat on the bench a minute longer, letting her words sink in. Make it fun. I took another swig of water before getting to my feet. As I walked toward the mats, I waved the recruit over. Rooke stood and met me halfway.

“Before we begin again,” I said. “Favorite classic video game. Go.”

He blinked. Come on, guy. Give me something. I crossed my arms and waited him out. Finally, he sighed.

“Final Fantasy VII.”

I resisted the urge to take a step back. The man had taste.

“Not bad,” I said, “if you like turn-based.”

I grinned. He didn't.

Arrrgh.

Kali! Smash!

The rest of the morning played out the same. I did everything I could think of to make it fun, trying to draw Rooke out from his rock-hard shell. All I got in return was a combo of icy stares and grumbled half sentences.

We had forty-eight hours to prep for the next round. Since the Death Match loss had landed us in the losers' bracket, one more loss meant we'd be kicked out. Every Saturday, another round of the tournament would air. Those victorious in the winners' bracket advanced. Those who lost
dropped down to the losers' bracket. Those who lost in the losers' bracket went home.

That afternoon, I gathered the team around and threw together a plan for the matchup on Saturday.

“Are you comfortable with going on offense?” I asked Hannah.

She nodded. “It's been awhile, but I've done it before.”

“Good. We're going two on three. Hannah and Derek on offense. Lily, myself, and Rooke”—I glanced at him—“we'll go on defense.”

Rooke stared back, expression cold, but didn't argue. Good. Given his unsportsmanlike attitude, I wanted to keep an eye on him.

“Three on defense?” Derek asked. “That's a little basic.”

“It's standard, but we've just reformatted the team. We need to play it safe.”

Derek considered it. “Yeah, you're right. Sounds good.”

We had a plan. Everyone on the team had their place. Too bad the next forty-eight hours didn't follow suit.

Derek and Hannah worked together in the training room with practice swords. Derek attacked, holding nothing back. He pummeled Hannah's sword again and again until she tumbled off the mat.

“What is your problem?” she demanded, pushing herself up.

“You have to fight hard on offense. Step it up.”

Hannah scowled and shook her head, but they paired off again. When Derek swung, he hit Hannah's weapon so hard it went flying to the side, where Lily sat watching. It smashed into her ankle. Lily's yelp echoed through the training room. The trainers had to carry her to the medical wing. A sprain. She'd be playing on a weak ankle. Even in the virtual world, the injury would carry over. The pain would be much less than here but would still affect her speed and mobility.

Fan-fucking-tastic.

Speaking of injured players, Rooke was definitely hiding something. During training, he'd grimace and grit his teeth when he thought I wasn't looking, had to take way too many breaks for someone in top physical condition, and was locked in his bunk any minute we weren't training together or doing media events. Even when we sat down for meals, he'd
take his food and leave, head held high like he was better than the rest of us. I felt like gouging out his eyes with my spoon.

The virtual simulations weren't going any better. Long after I'd jolted back to reality, I sat in my pod, shaking my head. We'd already wiped three times that morning.

Derek shot out of his pod the second the doors opened.

“Hannah, how many times do I have to say it?” he demanded. “You can't fight cautiously on offense. You have to charge, no holding back.”

She threw her arms up. “I haven't gone on offense since the amateurs! What do you expect? I need time to adjust.”

“We don't have time.”

“Guys,” I began. “Let's reevaluate the gameplay—”

“What do you want to do?” Hannah continued, staring straight at Derek. “Change our format?”

“We can't change our format. It's less than twelve hours until the matchup.”

“We're not changing our format,” I tried again. “Listen—”

But my words were drowned out by Hannah and Derek's argument. Every attempt I made at neutralizing the situation failed. I sighed and looked around the room. Lily stood off to the side, well out of the fight, leaning against a wall to keep the weight off her swollen foot. Rooke watched for a minute, too, and left, disappearing through the exit without a word to anyone. Goddamn recruit. I considered going after him; but what was the point? With Hannah and Derek screaming at each other, Lily not caring to get involved, and Rooke only focused on himself, something inside me simply gave up. I shuffled over to my pod, climbed inside, and buried my head in my hands. After a minute, I pressed my back against the seat, silently praying for the jolt out of reality, out of this situation, and out of my life. It wouldn't have mattered. There was no escaping the hopelessness of the situation.

We weren't a team, we weren't even close to being ready, and we were out of time.

THE
TOURNAMENT

F
or what seemed like the last time, I stood inside the tower. Now that the tournament had begun, and we were already sitting in the losers' bracket after the Death Match, one loss would send us home. After what I'd witnessed in the past two days, there was no way we'd make it through this round. Even if I'd had any inkling of hope of us working together and making it through the match alive, it had since been crushed by Rooke. As soon as we loaded into the game, he turned away from me and stared at the wall.

Teamwork. What was that again?

In standard play, the matches endured until the last man died or the tower was captured. For tonight's matchup, Hannah and Derek had run for the enemy's tower. Lily hid in the trees. Rooke and I guarded our tower. Two on offense and three on defense, as was the plan. For what it would be worth.

The match was thirty seconds in, and while InvictUS had shown how quickly a team could sweep through the fields, no one could make it to the opposing tower in under a minute. Which meant I had a bit of time to check Rooke out—for his injuries, of course.

I looked at him. Er, no—I dug holes into his bare back with nothing but my eyes. He wore plated armor, not much more than wrist bracers and shoulder armor, and enough leather to cover his feet and goody package.
Sunlight streamed in through the tower's barred windows and glistened across his tanned skin and on the dual short swords he wielded. Yup, a gladiator. Traditional to the core. But it was what I didn't see that bothered me. No wounds. No burns, scars, or signs of broken bones. Either his injuries were internal, or something else was going on with him.

Maybe he just plain hated working with me. I had two guesses why.

“Hey.”

No response.

Rooke kept his back to me. A quiet calm filled the tower, a direct contrast to my trembling fists and clenched teeth. I drew my sword from its sheath and smacked the flat side against his leg. He jumped and turned enough to glare at me over his shoulder.

“What?”

“I have a question for you.”

“You wanna chitchat through the match?” he asked. “Is that why you lost the last one?”

I met his biting stare. When I held it for more than a minute, he rolled his eyes.

“Before you ask,” he began, voice dull as if he'd repeated the words several times before, “I have hundreds of hours of experience in simulated battle situations—”

“Are you racist or sexist?”

He faltered, mouth hanging open for a second before he pushed more words out of it. “Excuse me?”

“When Clarence asked if you had a problem with me as team captain, you hesitated. Now, you've been a complete pain in the ass since we've met for no reason other than you've had to work with me. So I'm asking, is the reason because I'm a woman or because I'm part Chinese?”

He looked me up and down. “You're only part Chinese?”

Bingo.

I took a breath. Okay, everyone has their gripes. Best way to deal with it is to show how we're all the same, underneath. Still, something churned in my chest. Heartburn? No. Disgust. I swallowed it down and forced the next words out through my teeth.

“I'm half-American, if that helps anything.”

He studied me for a minute and returned to his staring contest with the wall. “It doesn't matter.”

“Because only completely American counts?”

“Because I don't care.”

The trees rustled just outside the tower. Sharp, rough movements, not from any wind.

Lily's signal.

The enemy approached.

Rooke's grip tightened on his swords and moved toward the tower's entrance. I grabbed his arm and pulled back.

“We wait here. Draw them in.”

He shook his head. “That's stupid.”

“Forcing your enemy to fight on two fronts is not stupid. Lily's got the rear.”

“By herself?”

“Trust me.”

He stepped forward anyway, until I pressed my sword against his neck. He halted.

“One more step, and I'll take you out of the fight myself,” I warned.

He stared me down, trying to call my bluff. But I don't bluff. When I held his glare again, he scowled and took a step back.

Footsteps echoed up the tower's path. Rooke's attention snapped to the entrance. My grip tightened around my sword. Two men and one woman appeared at the mouth of the tower. Pushing in with three. Because of InvictUS's format during the Death Match, other teams were becoming bolder in their strategies as well.

They advanced toward us. We held, waiting for Lily to appear behind them.

They split into two as they approached, the larger male going for Rooke. He waved him forward, taunting him. Rooke went for it and met him in the middle. The clang of sword meeting sword echoed off the walls of the tower.

Damn it. Fucking amateur.

The remaining warriors bolted for me.

The guy reached me first, several feet ahead. I bent at the knee and propelled myself into the air, kicking out with both feet. I hit him squarely in the chest. He went flying back. The axe tumbled from his hand.

I landed on the ground in a crouching stance as the woman reached me. Swinging out with my sword, I sliced right through her kneecaps. She screamed as she collapsed to the ground, legless. I pounced on top of her and slit her throat. Her screams ceased, and her eyes glazed over. She went limp. Instant kill.

Her teammate recovered, now on his feet. Axe in hand, he raced toward me. Metal clanged against metal as his axe smashed against my sword in rapid succession. He spun, locking my arms around his. His axe neared my face. He pushed his weight into it and barreled down on me. My legs trembled and bent. I grimaced and strained against him.

My knee touched dirt. His axe inched closer.

And closer.

Steel grazed the skin of my cheek, piercing at the outermost layer. Cool. Smooth. It was nothing. A paper cut. I swallowed my gasp and pushed. My hands started to shake.

He grinned.

I'm dead. Game over.

Lily appeared behind him, an axe gripped with both hands. She brought it down and sliced through his neck in one swipe. His severed head landed on my feet and rolled away. Blood gushed out of his neck as he fell forward and onto me. I kicked the body away, but not before blood doused me from head to toe.

Lily helped me to my feet. I ran my hands down my body. Blood splattered on the stone floor in thick splats.

Rooke pulled his sword out of his fallen opponent and turned to us. He gave me the once-over, taking in my drenched appearance, and offered a cocky grin.

“Nice teamwork.”

That asshole.

I charged for him. As I neared without slowing, his grin faded. I raised my sword. He took a defensive stance, sword held horizontally in front
of him. A grin tugged at my lips. Another one that had underestimated me. This would be oh, so sweet.

Just as I reached him, an arm wrapped around my waist and lugged me back. Lily. Jesus, how strong was she? I struggled against the viselike grip around my waist, sword still pointed at Rooke.

“What the fuck is your problem?” he demanded. He had the nerve to look pissed.

Lily released me, and I marched up to him. “My problem? You disobeyed my orders.”

“Lily didn't round out the rear fast enough, which means we'd have to attack fast to gain the advantage. As team captain, I figured you'd have a better understanding of that.”

“How can I lead someone who isn't willing to be part of the team?”

“You call this a team?”

“Yes, and you're lucky to even be on it.”

“Lucky? I earned my way here.”

“And you should be proving it, not questioning my authority.”

“That's enough.”

The stark male voice cooled the heat of the argument and sent a chill up my spine. I turned to find exactly who I expected standing behind me. Clarence. In the pod room.

The pod room?

I blinked and looked around. I stood inside the concrete cylinder room, lined with metal and glass. The programmers peered around their screens at me. I glanced up at the screen above the doors.
DEFIANCE: VICTORIOUS
. Well, at least we'd won. But when had the match ended? When had I left the pod?

Why couldn't I remember the gap in time?

I glanced up at Rooke in front of me, dressed in his white pod suit. He stared down at me, unwavering. Nothing had fazed him. Was I the only one who'd felt it?

Around the pod room, my three other teammates and the programmers stared at us in the center of the room. Rooke and I must have looked just like Nathan and Derek when they used to fight.

Clarence pointed a finger at the screen showcasing our victory. “What the hell was that?”

“We won the match, didn't we?” I protested.

“You got lucky. And if it wasn't for Lily, you might have lost. I've come to expect better from you. All of you.”

Clarence's gaze darted over the entire room, as if trying to pin each person to the wall. My teammates all looked at their feet, unable to meet his eyes. Even the programmers shifted away from the weight of his heavy stare. Finally, Hannah—either very brave or very stupid—made a move for the exit.

“Where are you going? You have training.”

“More?” Hannah asked, eyes wide. “We just trained nonstop all week.”

“And you'll do more tonight. This is completely unacceptable,” he barked. He waved a hand at the programmers. “Get out.”

The programmers left. Quick patters of feet swept out the door. Having nothing to do with our physical training in this world, they were free from Clarence's wrath. Lucky bastards.

Clarence turned back to us, trembling so hard the veins in his skintight, plasma-injected forehead were about to burst. He took a breath, rubbing his temples with index fingers, then waved us toward the exit. “Get to the training room. I'll have the coaches meet you there.”

Gradually, my teammates made their way toward the door. I grabbed Lily's arm as she walked past.

“Lily, what the hell? Why did you wait so long?”

Her expression grew solemn. “Sorry. When I jumped down from the trees, I landed wrong and just . . .” She glanced down at her swollen foot.

I sighed. “Yeah. I understand.”

“I thought I'd be able to handle the trees,” she continued. “The pain isn't that bad once I plug in.”

Nothing was that bad once you plugged in.

“That's okay,” I said. “It's my fault as team captain. We'll work on a different format for next week if it's still bothering you.”

She gave me a sympathetic smile and trudged after Hannah through the doors. I glanced at Rooke across the room and met his stone profile.
He chatted with Derek as they headed for the exit. I scowled and marched after them, purposely keeping my distance from the rest of the team. Namely Rooke.

“Kali,” Clarence called.

I turned back. He waited to speak until everyone else filtered out of the room. Once we were alone, Clarence loomed over me and eyed me with his head still held high. Condescending jackass.

“Get your team under control.”

“My team? This is your team. When we go through a player change two days before a matchup, I think this is expected.”

“For Christ's sake, Kali. You know these fights don't always go as planned. Look at last week's matchup. You should be more prepared and learn to adapt when things go wrong.”

“Look, I'm dealing with injured players and—”

“Players?” he asked, emphasizing the letter
s
at the end. “Who else is hurt besides Lily?”

I opened my mouth, and nothing came out. Lily's ankle sprain was minor. If I exposed Rooke's injuries, which seemed much worse, he'd be off the team. And we'd be done.

“I just mean with Nathan gone and us having to reformat the team so quickly—”

Clarence crossed his arms. “You are one of the top fighters in this competition. Possibly in the entire league. This shouldn't even challenge you. Get it together.”

I threw my arms up. “This is ridiculous. I didn't sign up for this.”

“Yes, you did. Now get this team in order, or you'll be out the door.”

I clenched my fists behind my back, so Clarence couldn't see, and turned my gaze to the floor. He took a step closer, and I caught a whiff of his cologne, evergreen mixed with something else that I couldn't quite put my finger on. Does money have a scent?

Clarence loomed over me, veins in his forehead throbbing. My fingers itched to push them back in, so I jammed them into my pockets to prohibit any misdemeanors caused on their behalf. Clarence took a deep breath, but his neck and ears still blazed red. God, I'd really pissed him off. I'd
never seen anyone that mad. Not even when I told my parents I wasn't going to college so I could become a pro gamer.

“Get to the training room,” Clarence barked. “Now.”

—

After everyone had left the training room for the night, I remained behind, pounding a punching bag as I imagined it was Clarence's face.

Fucking.

Bam.

Pigheaded.

Bam.

Jerk.

Bam.

With every punch, something tapped the skin just below my neck. I glanced down. My pendant dangled above my shirt. I tucked it in and continued assaulting the punching bag.

Footsteps padded along the floor of the training room. I glanced back. Rooke walked through the room, along the far edge, the sweet stench of arrogance wafting right along with him. He looked past me at a spot on the wall. I must have been a blur to him, which means he'd never see my fist before I turned those pretty brown eyes black.

Swiveling back to the bag, I pummeled it instead and let the rhythmic beat reverberate in my hands. Musicians had drums. I had bags of sand. Each made music to our respective ears.

“You need someone to spot you,” Rooke said as he passed by. “Look at your stance. You're off.”