Countdown

"Congratulations, Rogan and Kira, for completing Level Five successfully."

"What happened?" I asked after a moment, pulling back enough to look at his face. I touched it gently.

"Ninety-foot implant rule," he said. "When Kurtis fell he went farther than that from Mac."

I braved a quick look to the other side of the roof. A large body lay there very still, a dark stain where its head should have been.

I rested my head against Rogan's chest. "The song 'Pop Goes the Weasel' is playing in my head right now for some strange reason."

"I think that's very appropriate." He managed to give me a very small grin.

I sighed heavily, feeling bone-weary. "Kurtis begged for his life at the end. I couldn't help him, but even if I could have, I don't think I would have. I'm glad he's dead; is that wrong?"

"Not in my book. The bastard had it coming."

"Rogan and Kira have only one more level to complete before they are considered the second set of winners ever in the history of The Countdown. Will they be successful? Or will the last level finally pull them apart forever? Stay tuned, subscribers. This game isn't over yet! "

I refrained from rolling my eyes. That freak seriously sounded like he was introducing a baseball team. Or doing an infomercial. Not hosting a game where death was the consolation prize.

This whole thing was sickening.

I frowned. "Rogan, I really need to talk to you."

He met my eyes, and his lost their warmth. "Is it about Gareth?"

"Yeah. I talked to him face-to-face."

His forehead creased. "What is it?"

"I was able to read him. I know what's actually going on, Rogan. He's not really-"

Just then Rogan clutched his head and roared in pain right before his eyes rolled back into their sockets and he slumped forward. I caught him in my arms and brought him down to the ground as gently as I could.

Breathing hard, my gaze darting everywhere, I waited for them to trigger my own implant to knock me unconscious, but nothing happened. I knelt there on the top of the roof for a moment, then got to my feet, looking around at the three silver cameras that circled the area.

"What now?" I yelled at them. "What do you want from me now?"

The announcer's voice boomed through the darkness. "Kira Jordan was told that certain information was not to be shared with her partner. If she doesn't comply with this rule then she will face severe penalties."

I gave the cameras a good shot of my middle finger.

"She was also given a choice earlier by the producers of The Countdown. If Kira eliminates her partner on camera she will automatically win the game. Her reward will he a first-class ticket to Offworld and enough money to start her wonderful new life."

One of the cameras hovered closer. A small spotlight shone down on the roof, highlighting the knife that Kurtis had dropped there earlier before he, well… dropped.

"Pick it up, Kira," the cheerful voice urged.

I resisted, but then felt a jolt of electricity zap through my implant. I stooped down and snatched up the knife, glaring up at the camera.

"Kill Rogan, Kira. Kill him now."

Rogan lay on the ground, his face bloodied but peaceful in sleep. His arm was sprawled across his chest as if he were lying in a comfortable bed.

And if I killed him I could have everything I ever wanted.

"The subscribers want you to kill him, Kira. They want you to win."

I swallowed hard and let a long breath hiss out between my clenched teeth. "The subscribers can go fuck themselves."

I threw the knife over the side of the building.

There was deadly silence for a full ten seconds.

Then pain ripped through my brain, and everything went black.

LEVEL SIX

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

"Kira," I heard Rogan say loudly. "Wake up."

I woke slowly. Extremely slowly. I lay somewhere soft. Rogan was next to me. His hand was on my forehead, stroking the hair off of it. I blinked slowly until he came into focus.

"Good morning," he said.

"What…" My voice sounded thick with sleep. "What's going on? Where are we?"

"Not entirely sure about that."

"How long have we been here?"

"Not sure about that either, but it's light outside now." He nodded toward a window to the left.

I saw that we were in a small bedroom. It looked like a motel, one of the cheaper ones. But everything seemed clean enough at first glance. A small amount of light shone through the window through gray clouds overhead.

A quick check under the sheets told me that I was still fully dressed, even wearing my boots. Rogan was also dressed.

"We must have been asleep for hours." I tried to sit up, feeling my muscles tense, but my body ached from head to foot, so I settled back down on the comfortable bed. "I still feel like hell."

"Me too."

I touched his face then, studying it for the first time up close since yesterday. He was covered in bruises and small cuts. I frowned as I softly ran my finger over them.

"I know," he said, flinching. "I'm a wreck. As if this damn scar wasn't bad enough."

He reached to touch the scar that bisected his eyebrow and ran down to the center of his left cheek.

I grabbed his hand. "You must have been really vain when you were a rich pretty boy. I hate to even tell you this, in case it swells your ego any further, but scars are hot. I wouldn't even look twice at a guy who didn't have scars."

He raised an eyebrow. "Is that right?"

I nodded solemnly. "In fact, I don't think you have enough scars. This game has obviously not been difficult enough for you."

"Yeah, it's been great. I can hardly contain how much fun it's been so far." His grin faded and he looked around the room. "Listen, we didn't have a chance to talk about what happened between us yesterday in the reward room. I… I know you probably regret it."

I frowned. "Why, because of the cameras?"

His expression shadowed. "Yeah, that. And … the fact that I couldn't control myself with you. I'm sorry. It's … it's just been so long … since I…"

"Are you trying to say that I was just a postprison piece of ass?" I said it jokingly, but inside I felt a twinge of something. I wasn't sure I wanted to hear his reply to that.

But my response didn't get the answer I thought it would. Instead of a hurried assurance, or another apology, I got a huge, deep belly laugh that made him roll onto his back.

I punched his shoulder. "It's not funny, you jerk."

He stopped laughing long enough to say, "Kira, you are definitely not just a … how did you put it? A postprison piece of ass?"

"So glad I amuse you." I forced myself to sit up and crossed my arms. "And just for the record, I don't regret it at all. Or at least, I didn't until now."

He reached for my hands again and brought them up to his lips. "God, even in this terrible situation-which quite honestly has capped off the worst years of my entire life- you have been one of the best things that's ever happened to me."

I felt something stir deep inside of me, and felt tears prick at my eyes, but it wasn't from sadness this time.

"Kira, I need to tell you something," he said, and when he raised his gaze to meet mine he wasn't amused anymore; he was deadly serious.

My stomach sank. "What?"

"I don't know how much time we have before they interrupt us." He scanned the room. "When you were meeting with my brother, Jonathan stopped by to talk to me." His jaw tensed. "He told me that if I killed you on camera that I could win the game. That I'd be free."