26

THE REST OF THE event was a blur. Mark remembered shaking Cassidy’s hand, the man trying to look as strong and confident as he did in his films, but with a tiny hint of terror behind his eyes.

Mark heard the other names called, cheers, gasps, and so on. Moses was fighting Mendez. Ethan was fighting Jordan. Aria was fighting Easton. That last one made him a bit ill. The bracket quickly filled up, but he’d have to process it all later. He had to fight in less than twenty-four hours, and immediately after the lottery concluded, he was led away by CMI staff to meet with Arthur, who had finally finished crafting his armor and weapon.

“Sorry for the delay,” Arthur said, “But there were some materials complications with all the suits. Your practice gear, however, should allow you to slide into the new suit with ease, and swordplay should be easier, if anything, given the blade I’ve designed.”

Mark just nodded, still trying to process the pairing with Cassidy. He didn’t particularly like the man, but he’d been watching his movies half his life. The first part of the Max Rage trilogy had been his third date with Riko at the makeshift theater on base. The man was an icon.

But most importantly, he was not a killer.

The Crucible roster was full of soldiers and criminals who had killed before. But the athletes and this actor? This was when they were at an innate disadvantage. Cassidy excelled at training, Mark had seen that much, but it was another thing entirely when you were being asked to plunge that very real blade into very real flesh. Could Cassidy do it? Could his time at the Crucible graduate from publicity stunt to a murderous rampage through the bracket? Mark doubted it, but he’d underestimated Cassidy before, and he knew he shouldn’t again. Who knew what kind of man was really lurking behind that pretty face? The fact that it was the kind who’d sign up for something like this worried Mark.

“Just slip this on first,” Arthur said, offering him a fiber undersuit. “It will help make it all more comfortable.”

Mark snapped out of his daze and stripped, zipping himself into the base layer. After that, Arthur began pulling armor out of boxes. The black plates that looked nonsensical by themselves, but as Mark watched in the mirror opposite him, they began to take shape the more of them Arthur added. He was rattling off all sorts of stats about their chemical composition, but Mark couldn’t process most of it.

“Will it stop a blade?” Mark asked plainly. “That’s the main concern.”

“That depends on the blade, and the angle,” Arthur said, speaking in his usual rapidfire. “There’s a difference between being poked with a shortsword and crushed with a greataxe. Protect your joints and the cracks, that’s what your instructors tell you. You don’t have a shield, but I would avoid using your arm for direct blocking, as appealing as that option may be in a pinch. A sharp blade could get through even the dense plating there. And my blades are sharp.”

Mark swung his arms in and out, and walked around in a circle. The weight was the same as the practice gear, but this refined suit was much more comfortable. The plates didn’t jostle for position on his body; they glided in and out of one another effortlessly. It was masterful engineering.

“You gave up some protection to be mobile,” Arthur continued. “But you’ve still got plenty. Hell, these plates could actually deflect bullets from most angles.”

Arthur was finishing up with the final few pieces. Armored to the neck, Mark looked like a cross between a combat droid and a superhero. It was much more modern than he was envisioning, given Crayton’s obsession with the past. The matte black made him look rather terrifying. Arthur handed him a helmet that looked like it had been pulled off the body of an intergalactic bounty hunter. Mark had to admit, it was pretty cool. He tried it on and found the entire interior of the helm was translucent, giving him a full field of vision. That was without question military-grade tech, as Arthur had hinted at earlier.

“Well, it’s not a wolf’s head,” Mark said, taking the helmet back off. “Where is the wolf anyway? I thought that was mandatory.”

Arthur smiled.

“Don’t you see it?”

Mark peered at himself in the mirror. Suddenly, like an optical illusion, the visage appeared to him. The overlapping plates on his chest, shoulders and abdomen were arranged in a way that gave the vague impression of a wolf’s face, eyes, ears, snout. It was almost seamlessly integrated, both menacing and beautiful at the same time.

“That’s fucking fantastic,” Mark said, unable to hide his excitement about the ensemble. “Great job.”

Arthur beamed.

“But now, the pièce de résistance!”

He opened a long, flat box that had been sitting near them the whole time.

Arthur lifted the sword out like it was a holy relic, and it certainly looked like one. It was long, maybe a centimeter or two longer than the practice bastard sword he’d been using. The hilt was black to match his armor, but the blade was such an intensely mirrored silver it was practically white in the brightness of the lab. The crossguard and pommel were stylized to match his plating. The effect made it look like a futuristic movie prop rather than anything medieval, but Arthur assured him it could do some very real damage.

Mark took it into his hands, and found that it was exceptionally light. At least half a pound under the practice sword.

“I know, I know,” Arthur said, seeing his reaction. “I was supposed to match the weight of what you’ve been training with, but when I found those extra ounces I could shave off, I couldn’t resist.”

“I mean, that’s great,” Mark said, turning the sword over in his hands. “If you didn’t sacrifice durability. This thing’s not going to snap on me, is it?”

“Never!” Arthur said. “No way. Or you get your money back.”

“It’s free, and I’ll be dead,” Mark said.

“Yeah, uh, bad joke,” Arthur said, scratching the back of his neck.

Mark practiced a few quick stances, and Arthur hopped back to be as far from the edge as possible. He could be fast with this, Mark realized. Very, very fast. He was kind of in love, even from the first few swings.

“That blade might be my favorite of all of them,” Arthur said. “I can’t wait to see it in action. Err …”

Mark ignored the perceived offense.

“What can you tell me about what Cassidy’s using?”

“Ah, yes, I’m meeting with him right after you.”

Mark eyed another pile of crates nearby. Another long flat one sat on the floor.

“But I’m not allowed to discuss that,” Arthur said, his eyes darting to the side.

“Not even a hint?” Mark said, snapping the sword into a magnetic holster on the back of his armor.

“Well … I’m not breaking the rules to remind you that he was in Shogun Rising.”

“Riiight,” Mark said, eyes narrowing.

“So you may have some … flashbacks to that film when you face him in the arena.”

He’d settled on the katana then. Mark had seen him use a multitude of weapons, but he stuck with that one the most. And it probably meant lighter armor as well.

“That’ll do,” Mark said, and Arthur breathed a sigh of relief he wasn’t going to be interrogated further. Mark began stripping the plates off and Arthur reassembled them on a nearby mannequin. As he reached for his leg plate, Arthur stopped.

“Oh, and before I forget,” he said. He grabbed a long, thin piece of plating near the calf and something clicked. A foot-long, flat knife slid out of the shin.

“For emergencies.”

A crazed Hollywood superstar was about to try and decapitate him with a katana as 250,000 people cheered live. Mark’s entire existence was a nonstop state of emergency.

Mark had a few hours later that night to practice with the new armor and sword to get used to them more. He was amazed how comfortable both felt, and despite the added weight and a complete lack of electronic-motorized assistance, he felt he could still move pretty damn well. His days of doing backflips during fights were probably over, but Arthur had delivered on the promised mobility. The training gear had been adequate for the summer, as now all the forms, stances, attacks, and parries he’d been practicing came even easier. It was like training with weighted gloves, then finally being able to slip on the real thing, and punch twice as fast. Or at least, that’s what it felt like.

He was tempted to practice all night, but knew that wasn’t smart. He needed sleep, though that was going to be hard to come by. He thought a drink might help, but decided the wiser course was probably to just walk around the grounds for a bit to settle his nerves.

Though the cameras were gone with the bracket being the last episode of Heroes and Legends, security was heavier than ever, and Mark passed an entire battalion of patrolling Glasshammer guards as he made his way toward the lake. He thought of Axton and the woman in the basement, and how the man would probably do the same thing to him if he was discovered. CIA or MSS, Crayton seemed like a nation in and of himself as of late, and he would protect his interests accordingly.

Mark made his way to Shin Tagami’s meditation bluff, but stopped midway up the hill when he heard music drifting down to him and saw a shadow moving up near the top.

As he drew closer, he realized it was Aria. The music was classical, a score to a ballet he’d never seen. Wearing a flowing crop top and fitted yoga shorts, she was performing to an audience of crickets and fireflies, the drones having long fled. Mark crept into the shadow of the tree, not wanting to disturb her as she pirouetted and … well, that was the only vaguely ballet-related term he knew.

But it didn’t matter. The language she was using transcended actual words. It was mesmerizing as she moved against the low moon, her long limbs moving gracefully with the melody. It wasn’t all ballet, he thought. She simply went where the music took her, which resulted in all manner of hypnotizing movements. It was tantalizing without being overtly erotic. It was raw talent without being showy. She was simply made to do this.

Mark forgot all about the impending doom of the next day. He had to refrain from bursting into applause when she finished, and shut the music off from her phone on the ground.

She didn’t jump when she saw him. Just smiled.

“You should be sleeping,” she said.

“This was better,” Mark said. “I … needed that.”

“To spy on me dancing?” Aria teased.

“To see something beautiful.”

“Quite the line there, Mr. Wei,” she said with a weak smile,

“No line,” Mark said. Her expression changed and he could tell she believed him. The darkness crept in and the playfulness departed.

“That was my sister’s routine,” she said. “The audition she never performed. I memorized it just from watching it once. That’s how stunning it was. It’s seared in my mind and strangely, it’s the only dance that brings me any kind of peace anymore.”

“Brought me some as well,” Mark said. He noticed she didn’t seem shaken at all from her pairing with Easton on Sunday. She was one of the last fights, but lord knew he didn’t want to bring any of that up now. He looked behind her toward the wall. The snipers were invisible in the darkness. The statues weren’t lit tonight, making the whole estate nearly pitch-black outside of security flashlights and insomniacs in the mansions.

“First time I’ve danced all summer,” she said. “I didn’t want to with the cameras still around.”

“Can’t blame you for that,” Mark said.

Neither of them wanted to mention the previous night. Not to rave about it. Not to decry it as a mistake. They were both just content to let it be what it was. He felt something for the girl in front of him. But it wasn’t just one thing. Attraction, pity, friendship, sadness, love, and guilt. He hadn’t been with anyone else since Riko. Not until last night. All of it was a tempest inside him. It was paralyzing.

“Can you tell me about her now?” Aria asked, reading his mind. “Now that the flying cameras have gone?”

She gestured above them to a night sky free of drones.

Mark hesitated. He knew what training said. It was a risk. To him. To the mission. Even to her. He couldn’t.

But he did.

“The car just exploded,” he said, his voice low. “Bomb wired straight to the battery. They didn’t even pretend it was a malfunction. I was in a meeting. Another debrief. The endless fucking debriefs. I didn’t believe it when I got the call. It was US soil. That was a fucking act of war. It was impossible. But then I saw the mangled pile of ash and bone. I saw the crater in my driveway.”

Aria looked confused.

“Why?”

“It was supposed to be me. For something I’d done. I was going to take the car that day, but I was worried about fucking parking because I got a ticket last time since I’d lost my pass. Jesus, how stupid.”

Aria stood silent.

“It wasn’t just her,” Mark said. “It was both of them. It was my entire life.”

“A child.”

“A daughter.”

Silence.

“Did you find them? The ones that did it.”

“It was one man. He was just angry. At me. For what I’d done. They killed him trying escape by boat. Nuked him with all the brimstone a Hellbird could offer. I saw his pile of ash and bone too. It didn’t help. Nothing could.”

“Nothing but this,” Aria said. The Crucible, was the implication. His penance.

She didn’t understand. Not fully. How could she? He’d already said way too much. But if she was a Crayton plant, he was dead already. And he was practically past the point of caring.

But there was no hidden mic. No security team emerged from the shadows to take him down and torture him until his mangled cover story broke. It was just her, with tears in her eyes, feeling that same mix of pity and love, perhaps.

“Do you think you’ll see them again?” she said. “If you fall tomorrow?”

“I don’t know,” Mark said, feeling lightheaded. “I wish I could believe that.”

“Was last night …” she began, finally daring to broach the subject.

“It was what I needed.”

“And what do you need now?”

“I don’t know. This is all starting to feel like some kind of fever dream.”

“I know.”

“I’m sorry if …”

She stopped him with a hand on his chest.

“No apologies. Right now just stay with me here. It’s just us and the stars. No more eyes. No more ears.”

Aria led him by the hand to the base of the colossal tree that overlooked the lake. She peeled off his shirt, and then her own. She was even more beautiful in starlight. Mark knew he was sober this time, but everything was drifting between fantasy and nightmare. Nothing felt real. Like he could just wake up at any moment.

“Forget the pain,” Aria said. Brooke said. Riko said. Their faces blurred together as one.

“Remember the love. Remember what it was like to live.”

Mark felt like he was falling. She whispered, “Oblivion can wait.”