3 seconds left to live.

Once the countdown starts, it cannot be stopped.

2 pawns thrown into a brutal underground reality game.

Kira Jordan survived her family’s murder and months on plague-devastated city streets with hard-won savvy and a low-level psi ability. She figures she can handle anything. Until she wakes up in a barren room, chained next to the notorious Rogan Ellis.

1 reason Kira will never, ever trust Rogan. Even though both their lives depend on it.

Their every move is controlled and televised for a vicious exclusive audience. And as Kira’s psi skill unexpectedly grows and Rogan’s secrets prove ever more deadly, Kira’s only chance of survival is to risk trusting him as much as her instincts. Even if that means running head-on into the one trap she can’t escape.

GAME 0VER

The lights began to flash and an alarm sounded, so loud that I instinctively clamped my hands over my ears.

“What’s happening?” I yelled.

Rogan’s gaze darted around the room.

And then I heard something else. A metallic, computer-generated voice that seemed to come from every direction.

“Sixty...” it announced. “Fifty-nine...fifty-eight...fifty-seven...”

Rogan began struggling hard against his chain. “Kira, throw me that key. Right now! Do it!”

“Why? What’s happening?”

“It’s the countdown!”

Okay, I’d figured out that much all by myself. If I hadn’t been scared out of my mind, I’d have taken the time to roll my eyes at him.

“Which means what?”

He craned his neck to look wildly around the empty room as the lights continued to flash, plunging us into darkness and light like a strobe light in a dance club. “We’ve wasted too much time.”

“Fifty-two...fifty-one...fifty...”

“What happens when it gets to zero?”

He stared across the room at me, his gaze panicked. “When it gets to zero, we die. Do you understand? If you don’t throw me that key, in less than fifty seconds we’re both going to die!”

Countdown

Michelle Rowen

www.miraink.co.uk

Contents

Level One

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Level Two

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Level Three

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Level Four

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Level Five

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Level Six

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Endgame

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Acknowledgments

LEVEL ONE

Chapter 1

IT’S CALLED NYCTOPHOBIA. I looked it up once. It’s the official term for an abnormal and persistent fear of the dark. I’ve had it ever since my parents and sister were murdered during an in-home burglary while I hid under my bed.

In the dark I couldn’t see anything; all I could hear was the screaming.

And then the silence.

So, yeah. I’ve been scared like hell of the dark ever since. Go figure.

Unfortunately, that’s where I found myself when I opened my eyes. Frankly, I didn’t remember closing them. I’d been in the mall, I remembered that much. I’d just lifted a new pair of shoes—my old pair was worn out since all I do is walk everywhere in the city, day in and day out. This pair was nice. Red. With strong laces that, if necessary, could double as a weapon.

The streets were tough sometimes. Especially at night. Especially in the dark.

Like right now.

But this wasn’t the street, I knew that much. I was inside.

Somewhere.

Choking panic began to flood my body. I knew freaking out wouldn’t help, but sometimes you can’t stop yourself—or reason with yourself—when you’re in the process of freaking out.

I felt a pinch at my right wrist and reached over with my other hand, trying to feel my way through the inky blackness. It was a metal cuff. Attached to a chain. Attached to the smooth, cold metal wall behind me.

What the hell is going on?

Had I been caught shoplifting? Was this prison? I wracked my brain to try to remember being arrested, but came up blank. No, I’d grabbed the shoes, shoved them under my coat, and left the store to go into the half-abandoned mall where I’d put them on and thrown my old ones in a garbage can. And then...then what happened?

I remembered wanting to grab some food. I’d had two bucks to my name, so I’d figured I could buy a small order of French fries at one of the few restaurants that were still open. That would last me a day before my stomach would start complaining again.

Had I even made it to the food court?

I couldn’t have. I was still hungry. Starving. My body felt as if it was eating itself, but that was a bit of an exaggeration, I guess. Yesterday I’d had an entire meal. Ordered off the menu even, and then tried to skip out before the bill came. The owner of the diner had caught me, reprimanded me, and I’d figured that that was it—he’d call the cops.

Instead, he’d taken pity on me and made me wash dishes. It was a humbling experience, but I’d had a lot of those since my family died.

In the end, I appreciated his kindness. Washing dishes was a whole lot better than getting arrested.

Okay, breathe, Kira, I told myself. And I did. I took a deep breath in through my nose and let it out through my mouth. My heart thudded hard in my ears.

Why couldn’t I remember what had happened after I’d taken the shoes? Damn it. And where was I?

I seriously had to calm down. This wasn’t helping.

I took another breath in and out and forced myself to listen. For anything. There had to be something other than this total silence that told me absolutely nothing helpful.

And then I heard...something. I pushed my fears out of the way as best I could and strained my ears.

Breathing. I could hear soft breathing.

Someone else is in the room.

This realization did not ease my mind. Just the opposite. The thought that somebody was in the darkness with me scared me enough that I almost started to cry.

But I was tough now. At least that’s what I tried to tell myself every morning when I woke up to face another day. This shouldn’t be any different.

“H-h-hello?” Stuttering does not help the situation, I thought. “Who’s there?”

The breathing hitched. I heard something heavy shift against the floor about fifteen feet away.

Then the something spoke. “Wh...what the hell?”

A guy’s voice. His words were gruff and raspy as if he’d just woken from a deep sleep.

“Who are you?” I ventured again.

Why did I sound so weak? I hated that.

He cleared his throat and groaned. “Shit.”

Well, he did seem to have a fine command of the English language.

I strained to see something, but there was only black. “Tell me who you are.”

There was a pause, and then another groan. It actually sounded like a moan of pain as I heard him shift position again.

I frowned. “Hey, are you okay?”

He snorted. “Fantastic. I’m just fantastic, thanks for asking. And you?”

Sarcasm. Yeah, I recognized that.

“I’ve been better, actually.”

Chains rattled. Not mine, so that meant that this guy was also restrained. But why?

“I’m Rogan,” he said after a moment. “So pleased to meet you.”

“Where are we?”

“I tell you my name and you don’t reciprocate? Didn’t your mother teach you any manners?”

“My mother’s dead.”

That shut him up. Momentarily. “Sorry to hear that.”

“It was a long time ago.”

“Doesn’t make it any easier.”

Very true. Two years. Felt like forever—yet, at the same time, it felt like only yesterday. “My name’s Kira.”

“Well, Kira, where we are is anyone’s guess.”

I pressed back against the hard wall.

We could be anywhere, and there wasn’t a damn thing to give me a clue where that was. Except for the main drags, the city was so vacant that we could be in any one of dozens of abandoned warehouses or factories. And nobody would ever find us.

I’d heard about kids who’d vanished from the streets never to be seen again. I was sure they weren’t stories with happy endings.

“What’s the last thing you remember?” I asked. “Who brought you here? Are you chained, too?”

“I don’t know who brought me here. And, yeah, I’m locked up real tight.”

“Who would do this?” My voice caught on the words.

“Try to relax.”

“I’m relaxed.”

“Doesn’t sound like it to me.”

I banged the back of my head lightly against the metal wall and hugged my knees in close to my chest. “You sound relaxed enough for the both of us.”

“What can I say? So far this is a lot better than where I was scheduled to go in a few days.”

“Oh? And where’s that?”

He was silent for a moment. “You really want to know?”

Not really. I didn’t care. “Sure.”

There was another lengthy pause. “Saradone.”

My blood ran cold. Saradone was the maximum security prison just outside the city limits. Only the worst criminals were sent there; some for life, most for death. Horrible people who’d done horrible things. Luckily, they didn’t put girls who stole shoes there...yet.

He laughed at my answering silence. “Guess you’ve heard of it.”

I was in the same room with somebody bound for Saradone—so that meant he was dangerous. Criminally dangerous. Panic returned to swirl through me, constricting my chest, my breath.

Both of us were chained. What was this? What was going on?

A cold trickle of sweat slid down my back.

“Why were you going there?” I tried to make the question sound flippant, as if I was making conversation about the weather.

“My days at St. Augustine’s end in a couple days when I turn eighteen.”

St. Augustine’s. That name I also knew. It was a juvenile detention hall located on the west side of the city. If I ever got arrested, that might be where I ended up.

I’d heard that it was hell.

I hesitated to ask, but couldn’t help myself. “What were you at St. Augustine’s for?”

“Murder,” he answered simply.

“Oh.” My stomach churned as I tested the chains again. They were too strong. I wasn’t going anywhere. “Was it self-defense?”

“No.” There was a sharp edge to his voice now. “But what do you care?”

“I don’t.”

But I did. Of course, I did. I cared because I was trapped in this room with an admitted murderer—stuck in the dark with him, just as I’d been when my family was murdered.

Maybe I was just having a really bad dream. Maybe I’d fallen and hit my head in the mall and was passed out cold in front of the understaffed burger place in the food court. Maybe some gorgeous rich kid would find me. He’d fall instantly in love with me, kiss me like Prince Charming did with Snow White, wake me from my deep sleep, and we’d ride away into the sunset, away from my past and into a bright, exciting future, just the two of us.

I blinked against the darkness.

No, I was awake. Definitely awake.

Too bad.

“You’re quiet all of a sudden,” Rogan said. “Don’t want to talk anymore?”

“Not particularly.”

“Why not? Because you’re scared of me now?”

Pretty much, but I wasn’t going to let him know that if I could help it.

“No. Mostly because I’ve decided that you don’t know anything that can help me.”

“Doesn’t mean you have to be rude.”

“Rude?” I felt a flare of anger and then settled back, trying to remain calm. My ass hurt from sitting on the hard metal floor so I shifted to cross my legs. “Yeah, I’m so rude. Sorry about that. I guess you’ve been treated so nice at St. Augustine’s that my behavior’s a real shocker. Besides, sounds to me like you deserve rude. Or worse.”

He was silent so long that I felt even more uncomfortable than I had been to start with.

“And are you so innocent if you’re here with me right now?” His words were clipped, sounding as if I’d struck a nerve. “What did you say your name was...Kerry?”

“Kira,” I corrected. What a dick this guy was. “I’m not innocent, but I know I won’t end up at Saradone.”

“Don’t be so sure.”

I guess I could thank this jerk for keeping my mind off my fear of the dark. He was getting me angry enough that fear had moved a couple notches down the list.

I chewed my bottom lip. “I haven’t murdered anybody.”

“Not yet.”

“Not ever.”

“Yeah, we’ll see about that.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“They’ve got you now. They’ll make you do whatever they want you to do, and don’t kid yourself. You’ll do it.”

“They? Who are they?”

Rogan went silent.

My heart pounded in my ears. “You can’t just say something like that and not say anything else. Who are they?”

“The ones who put you here. Who put me here.”

“I thought you said you didn’t know who put you here?”

“I have an idea.”

“Want to share?”

“Maybe not. You’re not all that nice.” It sounded as if he was smiling now. Was he mocking me?

“I’m not all that nice?” I repeated.

“Is this a surprise to you? Do you normally charm the pants off the boys you meet? Because you’re failing big-time with me.”

“Who put us in here?” I said it flatly. I wanted him to realize I wasn’t joking around. If he didn’t tell me, then I was going to scream and keep screaming until they—whoever they were—dragged me out of there.

“They gave me a choice,” he said after a moment. “Go to prison for the rest of my life, or come with them and play their sick little game. At least here I might have a chance. A small one, but a chance. As soon as I agreed, they knocked me out. And then I woke up a few minutes ago to have this fascinating discussion with you. And...and I think they did something to me when I was unconscious. To my shoulder. I’m hurt pretty badly, but I’m not sure how. Or why. Probably to slow me down.” He snorted. “Playing fair isn’t exactly their style.”

“I didn’t agree to this.” I pulled at the chain until my wrist felt raw. “I want to leave.”

“I’m sure they’ll let you. Just like that. Sure.”

“You said they gave you a choice. Why didn’t they give me one?”

“I have no idea.” He paused. “You said your mother was dead?”

“Yeah.”

“And the rest of your family?”

“All dead.” My voice broke as I said it.

Silence again. “So you’re on your own.”

“When I have to be.” He didn’t deserve more of an answer than that.

I’d been on my own for the past two years, since I was fourteen. Before that, I was safe and relatively happy and free to do what I wanted with the love of my family to support me. But once they were gone, I had nothing.

The courts had wanted to put me into foster care, but I’d run instead. A friend of mine had gone into foster care a few years ago, and I never heard from her again. Not even an email.

“Why would they pick you,” Rogan said, but it sounded more like he was talking to himself than to me, “other than the fact that you have no family? What did you do?”

I hissed out a sigh of exasperation. “At the risk of sounding like I’m repeating myself, who are they?”

“You haven’t murdered before...so that’s out. Are you...” He paused and then laughed softly. “Of course. You’re a thief, aren’t you?”

I let the darkness answer the question for me.

“A female thief without a family. Perfect.” He let out a long, shuddery breath. “Well, thief-girl, I have to admit that I’m not feeling so great over here. Whatever they did to me...I don’t think they’ll have to worry about me finishing off my sentence. An eye for an eye and all that.”

I licked my dry lips. “You think you’re dying.”

“Feels like it.”

“Why do you sound so calm?”

“Because I’m not an idiot. There’s no escape. We’re both going to die.”

“Shut up. There’s a way out, I know there is.”

Just as I said it, light flooded the room, blinding me. Ironic. Didn’t these people believe in happy mediums?

I rubbed my eyes, which had started to water at the unexpected light. I blinked at the room as my vision slowly came into focus.

I sat against the wall in an entirely silver room. Floors, ceiling, walls, all made from smooth, cold metal. I’d never seen anything like it. The silver metal band that circled my wrist was attached to a silver chain secured to the wall. It was all very bland, very clinical, clean and pristine.

Almost all.

My gaze moved to the other side of the room and locked with that of the most dangerous-looking boy I’d ever seen in my life.

He stared back at me with a half smirk. His hair, plastered across his forehead, was dark and unkempt. He wore a shirt that might have once been white but was now torn and dirty.

A dark and angry red stain near his left shoulder stood out as the only color in the room. No, scratch that. His eyes. They were blue-green—the color of a tropical ocean and surprisingly jarring in their intensity.

There was a scar on his face that ran from the top of his left eye down to his cheek like an angry exclamation point. It was still reddish, as if it had healed recently. It didn’t do much to take away from his looks—which were incredible. Clean him up and I’d have to guess he’d be painfully handsome.

He wore faded jeans, also stained and dirty, and scuffed black boots with untied laces. A silver shackle led from his right wrist to the chain to the wall behind him.

Despite the good looks beneath the grime, he looked like a murderer. Like trouble. Like nobody I wanted to be trapped in a room with now or anytime soon. I was almost sorry that the lights had come on.

“You’re prettier than I expected,” he said, keeping me locked in his oddly hypnotic gaze.

I swallowed. It was exactly what I was thinking about him, too. “Well, you have been stuck in juvie for a while.”

He smiled. His teeth were white and straight, which struck me as odd for a confessed killer. Though, I suppose it was a bit of a cliché to expect him to have broken, rotting teeth—especially at his age.

“True. Sorry I look like hell.” His smile widened. “They didn’t even let me have a shower before they knocked me out and dragged my ass here.”

“Forget it.”

His gaze slid down the rest of me, black tank top, khaki cargo pants and my new red shoes. My face warmed at his blatant appraisal, until I saw his eyes move away from my body and toward my side. He frowned. I looked to the floor on my right and gasped.

There was a key lying there, only an arm’s reach away.

Chapter 2

“TRY IT,” ROGAN prompted.

I was way ahead of him. I’d already grabbed the key and found the small keyhole on my shackle, my heart drumming loud in my ears.

I frowned when it didn’t fit. I tried again. Why didn’t it fit?

I looked over at Rogan, who stared at me with a deep frown.

Something sparkled next to him, and I pointed at it. Another key. He grabbed it and tried his lock.

Nothing.

I heard a whirring and looked up toward the sound. At the top of the far wall to the left near the ceiling, a small shutter had opened and what looked like a security camera—only more modern, very sleek and silver—emerged.

“What is that?” I asked.

He looked up at it grimly. “Must be show time.”

I clenched the key so tightly that I knew it would leave an impression on my fingertips. “Why would they be recording us?”

“Because they like to watch.”

“Watch what?” I snapped. “Can you stop being so damn vague and just tell me what’s going on?”

But he wasn’t looking at me, he was looking at my key. “I’m going to take a guess here that your key fits my lock and my key fits your lock.”

I frowned. “How do you know that?”

“I didn’t say I know. I said I guess.” The nearly eighteen-year-old murderer smirked at me again. “Try to pay attention, would you?”

I gritted my teeth. “I don’t like you.”

“My heart is breaking. Now, why don’t you be a good girl and throw that key over here so I can test my theory?”

“Screw you.”

He shrugged and then grimaced as if the wound on his shoulder caused him massive pain. “We can do that, too, if you like, but I’ll need to be unchained first. Then again, we can bring the chains with us if you’re into that sort of thing.”

I gave him the look I always gave to guys who tried to pick me up. The losers and the freaks who thought sex was a sport and I was just somebody to score with. In the circles I’d hung out in lately, boys like that were the norm rather than the exception. All the good ones seemed to have left the city long ago. And you know what? With some of them, I played it as good as I could. I knew that I wasn’t ugly—that despite living on the streets a little more than I’d like, I’d developed a good body and a nice face that boys—and men—seemed to find attractive. I played them, and then I took their wallets when they weren’t looking.

So sue me. But not one of them had gotten in my pants yet.

This boy didn’t have a wallet as far as I could see. He had nothing I wanted. Nothing except that key.

I shifted my position into something a little more alluring. Chest out. Stomach sucked in. I raised an eyebrow and forced a smile to my lips. “Why don’t you throw me your key first?”

Not too much. Let’s not be obvious here, okay?

He studied me. I still wasn’t letting him have what he wanted, but the vibe I was giving off was much more...friendly. I mean, the guy had been in a detention hall I’d heard was worse than anything I could imagine—and with his record, I doubted he’d been in a coed wing. He had to be horny as hell by now, right? I could work with that. He should be putty in my hands.

Dirty, murdering putty. With nice eyes and—I hated to admit it—a sexy smile. An unusual combination, to say the least.

He licked his lips. “Oh, you’re good. If I didn’t feel like my arm was about to fall off, you might have me, but pain does help me focus. Your key. Throw it to me. Then I’ll throw you mine.”

My fake smile slipped. “And when I throw you my key, how do I know you’ll give me mine?”

“You’ll just have to trust me.”

“Give me one good reason why I should.”

He stared at me and then laughed that short, humorless laugh. “I’m coming up blank here.”

“Then I guess we’re both out of luck.”

“I guess so.” An unpleasant smile twisted his mouth, then he closed his eyes, and pain shadowed his face.

Damn. I didn’t want to feel sympathy for this guy. He was a murderer, just like the bastard who had killed my family. But if that blood was any indication, he was seriously wounded.

Then again, how did I know for sure? Maybe it was a trick. Maybe he was acting like he was hurt. After all, that camera had just appeared out of nowhere. What had he said a minute ago? Show time?

The camera whirred again as it changed direction to point at Rogan.

He pried his eyes open and looked up at it.

Then he gave it the finger.

Suddenly the lights began to flash, and an alarm sounded, so loud that I instinctively clamped my hands over my ears.

“What’s happening?” I yelled.

Rogan’s gaze darted around the room.

And then I heard something else. A metallic, computer-generated voice that seemed to come from every direction.

“60...” it announced. “59...58...57...”

Rogan began struggling hard against his chain. “Kira, throw me that key. Right now! Do it!”

“Why? What’s happening?”

“It’s the countdown!”

Okay, I’d figured out that much all by myself. If I hadn’t been scared out of my mind, I’d have taken the time to roll my eyes at him.

“Which means what?”

He craned his neck to look wildly around the empty room as the lights continued to flash, plunging us into darkness and light like a strobe light in a dance club. “We’ve wasted too much time.”

“52...51...50...”

“What happens when it gets to zero?”

He stared across the room at me, his gaze panicked. “When it gets to zero, we die. Do you understand? If you don’t throw me that key, in less than fifty seconds we’re both going to die!”

My stomach dropped. “What do you mean, die? How do you know that?”

“There’s no time to explain. I know you don’t trust me, but, please. Just do what I say so we can live.”

I stared at him. No. I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t trust him. If I threw him the key, he’d unlock himself and leave me here. He was a murderer. He’d admitted it. He’d told me that there was no reason he could give me to trust him. And I didn’t trust him. I didn’t trust anyone but myself.

“Come on!” he yelled.

“35...34...33...”

I stared blindly around at the metal-walled room. Who would want to kill us? It didn’t make any sense. None of this made any sense.

Rogan swore so loudly it hurt my ears over the alarm and countdown.

“Fine!” he yelled. “Take it! You go first.”

He threw his key at me, and it landed by my feet. Without thinking twice I grabbed it and worked it into my lock. The shackles popped open and I scrambled to stand up.

Just as my bindings unlocked, a door to my left swung open into more darkness. I eyed it before I took a step toward it.

“Wait—” Rogan held a hand out to me. “What about our deal?”

I hesitated. He was a murderer bound for maximum security prison the second he turned eighteen. I should leave him here, wherever here was.

“19...18...17...”

“Forget it. Leave me. Whatever.” He slumped against the wall and looked away, his chest heaving with each labored breath. He wasn’t going to beg.

He’d given up just like that?

He thought he was going to die—honestly, truly die—when the countdown ended. I’d seen it in his eyes. You couldn’t fake that. Whether it was true or not didn’t matter. He believed it.

I swore under my breath and ran back to grab my key off the ground. I sank down beside him and worked the key into his lock. It snapped open. I quickly got to my feet and turned to go, glancing over my shoulder at him. He was struggling to get to his feet. It was the shoulder wound—it slowed him down. He could barely walk.

“10...9...8...”

I turned back and grabbed him around the waist, practically pulling him through the room with me. He leaned heavily against me.

“4...3...2...1.”

We were through the door on the last count and it slammed shut behind us with a deafening, metallic crunch that shook the ground.

Rogan groaned and collapsed to his knees. I frowned and reached toward him to touch his shoulder to find it was knotted with tension.

“You’re seriously hurt.”

He blinked at me. “You thought I was faking?”

“I wasn’t sure.”

“Thanks for the help.”

I was about to say “anytime,” which would have been the typical response, but I stopped myself. There was no “anytime” with Rogan. This was it. We’d escaped the room and I was so out of there.

However, I still wasn’t sure where we were.

We’d entered another room. This one didn’t look much more interesting than the first one, but I could see the outline of a door with no handle. I walked to it and kicked it as hard as I could.

“Let me out of here!” I yelled. My voice echoed against the metal walls.

“That’s not going to do anything,” Rogan said.

“We’ll see about that.” I kicked the door again. And again. I finally stopped when my leg started to hurt and the door didn’t look any worse for wear. I hadn’t even made a dent.

Panting and sweating buckets, I turned toward Rogan and thrust a finger in his direction. “Start talking. I want to know everything you know.”

He blinked at me, holding one hand against his wound. “You came back for me.”

“Yeah. I did. Don’t make me regret my decision.”

“I thought you’d leave me to die.”

“You still think we would have died if we stayed in there.”

He nodded. “The grinding noise was the ceiling slamming down on the floor. I’m just guessing that might have killed us on contact.”

I stared at him blankly.

“How do you—?”

Before I could finish, I was interrupted.

“Congratulations, Rogan and Kira, on successfully completing level one of Countdown.”

The disembodied voice came through unseen speakers, just as the countdown had. It was almost as if the voice was inside my head. I couldn’t pinpoint the exact direction, and the sound of it physically hurt, like something literally being pushed into my brain.

Unlike the countdown, which had had a metallic sound that had betrayed it as a computer-generated voice, this one sounded very human. Very male. And very smug.

“You son of a bitch,” Rogan growled. “Let us out of here!”

“Level one—” the speaker continued as if he hadn’t heard Rogan’s comment or was choosing to ignore it “—was to test your abilities of reason and compatibility. You have won the chance to continue on to level two, and due to your performance thus far, we have teamed you as partners.”

My heart slammed. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I didn’t sign up for anything like—”

Suddenly, what felt like a bolt of lightning ripped through my brain. White-hot pain tore through me, and I screamed, clamping my hands on either side of my head as I fell to the ground.

Out of the corner of my eye I saw Rogan do the same.

The pain vanished as quickly as it had come, and I stared around the room, numb and in shock.

“Wh-what—?” I managed.

The voice continued as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. “Your implants have been activated and tuned to each other’s frequency. Kindly keep in mind that you are playing as a team and to separate more than ninety feet from your partner will lead to immediate disqualification.”

I scrambled to my feet and stumbled over to brace myself against the cold metal wall.

“I want to know what is happening,” I demanded, my voice hoarse. “I want to be let out of here immediately or I’m calling the police!”

It was an empty threat. The police wouldn’t give a crap what happened to somebody like me. I didn’t even have ID. They’d probably throw me in St. Augustine’s for causing a disturbance.

I was on my own.

Rogan was struggling to get up from the floor as I moved toward the door and kicked it again, knowing it wouldn’t help but feeling the desperate need to do something—to do anything! “Come on! Come on, you bastards. Let me out of here!”

I saw a flash of light out of the corner of my eye and turned around slowly. The lights in the room dimmed and a holoscreen appeared out of nowhere, showing an overhead view of the city.

The only time I’d seen anything like it was when I’d snuck in to see an old sci-fi movie at the only theater in the city that was still open. I hadn’t thought technology like this existed in real life. Could it be real?

Obviously it was, because I was looking right at it.

I walked around the screen, trying to see where it was projected from, but there was nothing. I touched it, and the image flickered and morphed as if I’d dipped my finger into a shallow pool of water. It was partially transparent, and I could see Rogan on the other side.

He looked at me and shook his head. “It begins.”

“What begins? What is this?”

On the map a round, white glow appeared at an intersection that was otherwise unmarked.

“Level one has been completed successfully.” The disembodied voice sounded enthusiastic. There was a creepy singsong quality to the words. “There are six levels to Countdown. Complete them all without suffering disqualification or elimination and you will be considered the winner. Your next challenge is to reach the marker you see on the map by the time the clock runs out. If you are not successful, you will be eliminated. Do not delay. You have thirty minutes to complete this level. Your time starts now.”

The map faded into the image of a ticking clock. Then that also disappeared, leaving me staring directly at Rogan. The lights came up, and a draft of cool air brushed my bare arms.

I turned to see that the door I’d been kicking had slid open. Beyond it was the outdoors. The city. Familiar territory.

“Kira!” Rogan called after me.

But I barely heard him. I was too busy running.

LEVEL TWO

Chapter 3

THE BEEPING BEGAN when I’d run almost a block. It was soft at first but grew steadily in volume and speed with every step I took.

I decided to ignore it for now.

I’d escaped. And the more distance I could put between me and whatever that had been was distance well traveled.

I looked around at the gray street and the gray buildings that reached high into the sky. Not another person to be seen.

Yeah. Welcome to my city.

Twenty-five years ago it had been a thriving and successful place of business—one of the most prosperous cities in the whole country. In fact, the whole world had been on an upswing then. Technology was increasing. The economy was thriving. Things were good. And just when everybody was feeling all positive about the future, the Great Plague swept across the world, and in a matter of weeks, sixty percent of human life was wiped out. Dead and gone, just like that.

Those who survived continued on—I mean, what choice did they have? The world kept turning. They rebuilt, they had children, but everything was different. The city swiftly became a sad and empty shell of what it used to be as many people chose to move away from the more dangerous urban landscapes, full of gangs and scavengers and illness, in order to risk living off the land instead, as people had done hundreds of years ago. The Plague was gone, but other illnesses ran rampant and killed off tons of people every year. City or country, either way there were no guarantees that life would be easy. Living in the city was all I’d ever known—my father was a scientist who taught classes at the university, so we’d never lived anywhere else.

Still, I couldn’t imagine living here when the city was crammed with people. It was still busy over in the village, a ten square block neighborhood where almost everyone who remained had congregated in a sort of mini-city. But the rest of the streets and neighborhoods were close to deserted, like this one apparently was.

However, another city had been built—one with money, jobs, opportunities...and closed borders. It was called the Colony—a shiny, beautiful, environmentally controlled domed paradise that everyone aspired to get to.

You could live a healthy and prosperous life in the Colony. A life with a future. A life with a chance for happiness.

There’s this secret shuttle that will take you on the first leg of your journey. But to get on board, you need to know the right people, have the right kind of money, get the right entrance data, including a special scannable ID implant, and have a whole lot of luck. Even with sixty percent of the population no longer breathing, there were still at least two-and-a-half billion people looking for a ticket to a better life. That would be a pretty damn big shuttle. And a really big city.

The Colony was the only place of its kind, at least on this continent.

And it was my dream to get there. Somehow. Someday.

“Kira! Stop!” It sounded as if Rogan was catching up, but I didn’t look. I didn’t need more problems in my life, and that boy was one big problem from head to foot.

“Kira!” Rogan shouted again. I looked over my shoulder. He was running after me. Well, actually it was more like a speedy shuffle. He was injured, possibly dying, and yet he was still trying to catch up to me.

I ignored the rush of empathy that thought triggered.

Why was he chasing after me?

It was the pain that clued me in. The stabbing pain through my head that stopped me dead in my tracks. The beeping was so loud now, I couldn’t think, couldn’t concentrate. I fell to my knees and pressed my hands hard against my ears to block out the deafeningly loud beeping—like an endless train roaring over the tracks—but it wasn’t going to do any good.

The noise had to be coming from inside my head. Nothing I did could block it out. And it was getting faster. And faster. I looked to my far left. Rogan had stopped running and was holding his head.

And then I remembered what the voice told us.

Your implants have been activated and tuned to each other’s frequency.

And what else? I racked my tortured brain.

To separate more than ninety feet from your partner will lead to immediate disqualification.

I crawled over the rough pavement toward Rogan. The beeping decreased the closer I got to him, as did the pain. He lay on his side, only his moving chest showing that he was still breathing.

“Rogan—” I grabbed his shoulder.

He blinked his eyes open and looked at me. “That hurt.”

“Tell me about it.”

He frowned. “You run really fast for a girl.”

“Faster than you.”

“I have an excuse. I’m mortally wounded.”

“So you keep promising.” I let out a long sigh, but it wasn’t from relief, it was from frustration. “This ‘disqualification and elimination’ that voice was talking about in there—he means death, doesn’t he?”

His throat worked as he swallowed, and he propped himself up on one elbow. “Smart girl.”

“If I was that smart I wouldn’t be here, would I?”

“True.”

I looked him over thoroughly now that we were outside. The light wasn’t all that great. The sky was overcast. It seemed to always be overcast these days. Something to do with global warming and pollution levels. I never paid much attention to the news feeds. All I knew was I hadn’t gotten a good suntan in ages.

At the moment, Rogan looked barely strong enough to hurt a fly, but there was still an undeniable aura of danger surrounding him. Something in those pretty ocean-colored eyes made me think that I shouldn’t turn my back on him if I could help it. I couldn’t trust him. Not now. Not ever.

I would never trust a murderer.

But apparently we were partners. That is, if I didn’t want my head to explode.

“I’m not going to beg,” I said softly. “But you’re going to tell me everything you know about this...this Countdown.”

He nodded and tried to get to his feet. He failed. I stood and offered him a hand. He took it, and I helped him up. He didn’t let go of me immediately. His hand was as dirty as the rest of him, but firm with long fingers that wrapped warmly around mine.

I let go first, pulling my hand back before it was too late.

Before it happened.

I’d had just about as much pain as I could deal with for one day.

It had been like this since I’d turned thirteen, this weird, freakish thing inside of me. If I touched somebody skin to skin and focused on them for too long...sometimes it hurt. My brain hurt, that is. And then I’d get these bizarre flashes zipping through my mind like electrical charges. Not flashes so much as...feelings.

Not my feelings, either. Their feelings.

I didn’t know what it meant, and I’d never told anyone about it. All I knew was that it hurt. And, call me crazy, but I liked to avoid pain whenever possible.

Whenever it happened, I got a horrible headache that lasted for hours. The scummier the person that I touched, the longer the pain lasted.

The last person I wanted to touch was somebody like Rogan.

His expression shadowed as if my actions had somehow hurt his feelings, and he stuffed his hands into the pockets of his torn, dirty jeans.

“I’ll tell you everything I know,” he said. “But we need to move.”

“There are twenty minutes remaining in this level of Countdown,” the voice said from out of nowhere.

When I didn’t immediately start walking, Rogan raised an eyebrow at me.

“Let’s get going,” he said. “I’m not in good enough shape to keep running. Better make it a brisk stagger, so we need to move now.”

“Okay, yeah. Then let’s go.” I frowned and tried to recall the map. Damn. I should have paid more attention. Fingers of panic dug deep into my stomach.

As if he’d read my thoughts, he forced a grin. “Don’t worry, kid. I know where we’re headed.”

I scowled at him. “I’m no kid, I’m sixteen. And the name’s Kira.”

His grin widened a fraction. “No nicknames. Got it.”

I studied him for a moment longer. That scar across his left eye. I wondered how he’d gotten it. Probably at St. Augustine’s, in a scuffle with another loser. Or maybe his victim had attempted to fight back before he’d mercilessly snuffed out his or her life.

Scumbag.

He caught me staring at his face and turned away so I could see only the good side. “Let’s get going, Kira.”

Vain, was he?

We walked. Slower than I would have liked, but it was fast enough to keep some of my panic at bay. With every step, I felt the clock ticking down the seconds we had left. What if we didn’t make it in time? Would they really kill us? Just like that?

I was finding it easier and easier to believe.

“Countdown,” Rogan began as we trudged along, “is just what it sounds like. A series of challenges with a set time frame and a win-or-lose outcome. It’s a game.”

I glanced at him and kept walking. My heart pounded in my ears. “I didn’t agree to play any game.”

“You didn’t have to. Countdown plays to the fringes of society over a top-secret televised network. That’s what makes it so appealing to the Subscribers.”

“Subscribers?”

“Bored rich people who haven’t headed to the Colony yet and want to be entertained by a modern Roman Colosseum. Death matches. There are a few other twisted games on the network to hold their interest. This is only one on the list.”

My gut started to churn with disgust. “How is this even allowed? It’s illegal.”

“I know that. You know that. But, like I said, it’s a secret. Even if it wasn’t, do you really think cops would give a damn about what happens to criminals, no matter how young those criminals might be? Makes their jobs easier in the long run, doesn’t it? Subscribers are fitted with cranium implants so they can watch in their heads. It’s like virtual reality, only they’re just watching, not participating. Safer that way.” His expression soured. “Bunch of rich cowards who get off on violence.”

“How do you know all this?”

He didn’t look directly at me. “I just know. The players used to be older prisoners recruited from Saradone, but recently it seems like the Subscribers prefer younger meat. I knew a couple kids who disappeared one night a month ago. The rumor was they were offered the chance to play the game.”

“Why would they agree to something like this?” I hadn’t been given a choice.

He shrugged. “At least with the game there’s a possibility you can win. A fresh-faced eighteen-year-old transferring to a prison like that—no matter what his crimes are...” His jaw tightened, and he finally offered me a sidelong glance. “His days are numbered.”

“That’s how they got you. You didn’t want to go to Saradone if there was a way to avoid it.”

“Basically.”

I shook my head. “It doesn’t make any sense.”

“It doesn’t have to. The bottom line is that it exists. And we’re right in the middle of it now.” He eyed me. “I don’t get you, though.”

“Right back at you.”

“No, I don’t understand why you were recruited. You weren’t in detention. You haven’t been arrested. You’re into low-end crime, and you have no family, but still. Only sixteen...” His brows drew together. “You’re too young. Too soft.”

“There’s nothing soft about me.”

His lips twitched. “I don’t know about that.”

“Keep walking.” I put one foot in front of the other. “You’re sure you know where we’re going?”

He nodded. “Yeah, it’s not far from here.”

This was insane. All of it. “So, if we finish—how many levels again?”

“Six.”

“If we finish six levels like the voice said, we’ll win. What does that mean?”

“Freedom. Money. I don’t know what else. It depends on the player, I think.”

“And if we mess up—”

“No freedom, no money and a bullet in the brain. That’s if we’re lucky.”

My stomach lurched. “Who would want to watch this?”

“You’d be surprised. A subscription to the Network isn’t cheap, and it’s based on how much they watch. And the cranium implant that gets them access has to be surgically implanted. It’s not easy to do. The Subscribers expect to get their money’s worth. Maybe that’s why they had you join the cast. I don’t think Countdown has had a female contestant before.”

That wasn’t terribly comforting. “Lucky me. Maybe they think we’ll be a good team.”

He glanced at me. “Maybe we will.”

“Don’t bet on it.” I looked away. “Are we almost there?”

He nodded. “I think so.”

“You think so? I thought you were sure where we were going?”

“I’ve been out of commission for a while. Things change. Do you know this neighborhood?”

“No.”

I took a good look around. Gray on gray. No trees, no parked cars. Even the street signs were broken off the poles on the corner ahead. Nothing was familiar.

Something flew out from behind a corner ahead of us. A silver ball. It floated in midair and headed straight for us at lightning fast speed. I ducked so it wouldn’t hit me, but it stopped three feet in front of my face and bobbed at eye level.

A flying digicam. Yet another thing I’d never seen before in real life. It reflected me in the black iris of its lens.

The voice spoke again in my head.

“Level two for Rogan and Kira is well under way. Let’s take a moment to get to know these two contestants....”

It was an implant. That was what the voice said earlier, didn’t it? They’d put one of the implants in my head. I reached into the tangle of my dark brown hair and felt around until I found the stitches over a two inch cut in my scalp. The area surrounding it was numb. They’d put the implant in my head. That’s why I’d been unconscious in the metal room. I’d been recovering from surgery.

Outrage swelled inside me.

We didn’t have time for this. I attempted to get past the digicam, but it blocked my way.

“Kira Jordan, sixteen years old, was left an orphan two years ago after her family was brutally murdered. But don’t let her sob story or good looks fool you—she’s made her way in the world by becoming a street thief and pickpocket who would steal from her own grandmother if she still had one. And she isn’t afraid of using her body to get exactly what she wants. This girl’s as cold as ice.”

I felt the color drain from my face, and I glanced at Rogan.

“That’s not true,” I said.

His expression was guarded, but there was an edge of curiosity in his gaze. “All of it or most of it?”

“Most.”

The camera then whirred over to block Rogan’s path.

“Rogan Ellis, seventeen years old, is guilty of nine counts of first-degree murder in what is now known as the Dormitory Murders. After a one-night rampage that left nine female university students dead and dismembered, he was sent to St. Augustine’s Detention Hall for dangerous youths until his eighteenth birthday, when he was to be transferred to Saradone Maximum Security Prison to serve a life sentence with no chance for parole.”

Rogan glanced at me with an unfamiliar expression playing across his face, but I’d gone cold and silent.

“That’s not true, either,” he said, his voice suddenly void of emotion.

“All of it or most of it?” I asked shakily.

“Most.”

Nine girls. Dead and dismembered.

I felt ill. I could have dropped to my knees on the cold, hard pavement and thrown up, but there was nothing in my stomach. It was one thing to imagine what he was guilty of, but another to have it sent across the airwaves directly into my brain.

He was horrible. He was a monster, like the man who’d murdered my family.

And if I didn’t stay with him I was going to die.

The thought made me feel even sicker.

Maybe they’re lying, a small voice in my mind insisted. Why would you believe what they say? They totally exaggerated who you are. Maybe he didn’t do it.

Why would I even think that? Because he had nice eyes? Because he was vaguely charming and injured, and I wanted to make it out of this alive—and to do that, I needed him?

Yeah, something like that.

“Tell us, Rogan Ellis, do you feel any remorse for what you’ve done? And how do you feel your sociopathic tendencies will serve you in Countdown, especially now that you’re teamed with Kira—a girl who lost her own family to a brutal murder?”

I tried to catch his eye, but he wouldn’t look at me, instead staring daggers at the camera, refusing to answer any of the “get to know you” questions the voice was asking on behalf of the audience.

“Ten minutes now remain in this level of Countdown.”

The time update was like a slap in the face.

I grabbed Rogan’s shirt again. “We have to get going. Now.”

The camera moved to block our way, and I swatted it with the back of my hand.

“We’re not far,” Rogan said.

“We better not be.”

“You didn’t tell me your family was murdered.”

“Forget it.”

His brow furrowed as we hurried along the road. “Kira, what they said about me...”

“Let’s get one thing straight. I don’t care who you are or what you did. I just want to live. And if it means that I have to put up with a piece of garbage like you, then that’s exactly what I’ll do.”

“I understand.”

“And one more thing—” I squeezed his shoulder hard, under the collar of his shirt just above his wound, and he let out a gasp of pain “—you try anything or you even look at me funny? I swear to God I’ll kill you myself.”

He knocked my hand away, his gaze fierce. “Sounds fair enough.”

I wiped a drop of his blood off my hand and ignored the mild flash of pain in my head. I’d touched him. Touched his skin. I’d concentrated as best as I could considering the situation I currently found myself in—

And I’d tried to feel something, some feeling. Some clue to help me.

There wasn’t time to get much more than a headache and a jumble of confusion.

All I knew for sure was that there was more to Rogan’s story. Much more. But right now there was no time to figure it out.

If we didn’t hurry, in less than ten minutes, we were going to die.

Chapter 4

“HOW MUCH FARTHER?” I took a quick look over my shoulder to see that Rogan was about twenty feet behind me. I ran fast. Currently, he didn’t. Since I couldn’t let him lag too far behind—thanks to the brain implants from hell—it was becoming a problem.

His already strained face creased into a deeper frown. He stopped walking and looked around the gray, deserted street.

“We should almost be there” was his final proclamation, but he sounded uncertain.

“We better be,” I muttered. “Which way?”

“Take a left at the next intersection.”

I took the left along the street up ahead. None of it looked familiar to me. The area was desolate; there was no one around—unless you counted the spherical silver digicam whizzing around that I already hated enough to fantasize about smashing into a million little pieces.

I’d taken a swipe at it a minute ago when it got too close. The thing was faster than it looked—and it looked pretty damn fast.

This whole situation was so bizarre I just couldn’t wrap my head around the fact that it was actually happening to me. But it was. If my heart wasn’t pounding so hard that it hurt and if I hadn’t already experienced enough stress and pain to fill up five lifetimes, I would have sworn that I was dreaming.

Rogan cursed.

I looked back at him with alarm. “What now?”

He scanned the dead-end alley we’d just walked into. “It’s not supposed to be like this.”

“Like what?” I didn’t try to hide the hard edge of panic in my voice. “And hurry up, because we’re almost out of time.”

As if in reply, the voice in my head announced, “There are two minutes remaining in this level of Countdown.”

Rogan brought a hand up to his wound and swayed on his feet. I ran to his side to support him before he keeled over.

“Did you hear that?” I asked.

“I heard it.”

“So?”

“I could have sworn this was the right turn. I know this neighborhood. At least, I used to know it. It’s been a while, though. Things change.” His dark brows drew together.

I was now bracing his full weight against me to keep him from toppling over. “Yeah, you’re a whole lot of help.”

“I guess we won’t be winning the grand prize, will we? Knocked out at level two. It’s embarrassing.” He said it so wryly that I knew he was joking.

Joking. At a time like this? He was even crazier than he looked.

He was also very pale, and there was a sheen of perspiration on his grimy face. My hand was pressed to his chest to hold him steady, and his heart beat erratically. I pulled at his shirt to take a quick peek at the wound underneath. It looked raw and open, as if it had been inflicted with a sharp object like a big butcher’s knife. Definitely not from a gun. I’d seen bullet wounds up close and personal before—the image seared into my brain forever, along with my father’s glazed, unseeing eyes.

Blood oozed steadily out of Rogan’s shoulder.

“You’re a mess,” I informed him.

“Tell me something I don’t know.”

“You stink, too.”

“Again, well aware. Like I said, they didn’t give me a few hours at the spa before locking me up in that room so I could smell like a flower for you.”

My throat thickened with panic. “You really think this is where we should be? Are you sure?”

“I was. But there aren’t any doors. There’s nothing. And if we’d reached the finish line, you’d think there’d be some sort of sign.” His words finally betrayed a sharp edge of strain.

“I’m going to let go of you now,” I said.

“Thanks for the warning.”

He eased back against the concrete wall behind him, and I stepped away to stand in the middle of the alley. I turned around slowly, trying hard to ignore the ticking that was potentially counting down the last seconds of my life.

“I used to watch TV shows like this,” I said. “Not exactly like this one, of course, but they have the races and the puzzles to solve. Usually at this early level of a game, it’s still fairly easy. Or at least, not insanely impossible to figure out.” I glared at the camera hovering in the air four feet from my face.

“You don’t know the people who set this game up. It’s all about the losing, not the winning, for them.”

“I’m just saying that it can’t be the end. Not yet. What’s the fun in eliminating contestants in level two?”

I scanned the alley. Two brick walls. One concrete wall, gray and unyielding, behind Rogan’s hunched-over frame. I looked up. A sliver of slate-gray sky showed above the thirty-story buildings that surrounded us like cold, emotionless sentries.

“What did you think we were running toward?” I asked. “What did you see on that map?”

He looked around. “It was an office. I remember it from before I got sent away. I could have sworn it was right here.”

“One minute remains in this level of Countdown.”

“59...58...57...”

There was a Dumpster to the side of us, full to overflowing. Strange, considering that the neighborhood was deserted. A rotting apple core lay to the side of it, the fruit turning brown. No flies, though. It didn’t seem as if anyone or anything lived here anymore, but that piece of fruit didn’t seem as old as it should have, considering the surroundings.

“What kind of office was it?” I asked.

“What?”

“What kind of office?” I repeated, loud enough to be heard over the countdown.

“It was a...a doctor’s office. A psychiatrist.”

“Let me guess, your doctor?”

Rogan’s expression shadowed. “I had a few appointments there, yeah.”

“Obviously he wasn’t very good at what he did if you went psycho, anyway.”

He glowered at me.

A doctor’s office. Right here. But now it was gone? Was Rogan tripping out, or was he remembering something important?

I sure hoped it was something important. We didn’t have time to be wrong.

I went toward that Dumpster and jumped in.

“What are you doing?” Rogan demanded.

“Trying very hard not to die.”

I plunged my hands into muck and filth. Rotting food, discarded boxes, plastic bags filled with rancid garbage. Living on the streets had given me a necessary talent for Dumpster diving. You could find some really good stuff if you had the time and motivation to go searching.

Currently I didn’t have the time, but I sure as hell had the motivation.

I didn’t know what I was looking for. Even when I found it, I still wasn’t sure.

“24...23...22...”

It was a bell attached to a sign that read: Please ring bell and the receptionist will be right with you.

Okay, it was something.

I held my breath and rang the bell.

Nothing happened for a moment, and what little hope I had started to fade, but then I heard something. A heavy, metallic sound.

“Kira. Look.” Rogan pointed at the ground.

I looked over the edge of the Dumpster to see that a door in the ground had slid open. I hadn’t even noticed the edges of it before.

“10...9...8...”

I launched myself out of the garbage like somebody possessed and grabbed Rogan’s arm. There was a flight of stairs leading down. I pulled him with me, and we quickly descended into the semidarkness below.

“3...2...1...”

The door above us slammed shut with the force of a guillotine. When nothing else happened, I quickly continued down to the bottom of the stairs. A short hallway led into a white room.

Rogan met my gaze. “I don’t feel dead yet. Should we be celebrating?”

I thought about that as I tried to bring my breathing back down to a normal pace. “If we’re dead, then death wasn’t nearly as bad as I thought it would be.”

“Congratulations, Rogan and Kira, on successfully completing level two of Countdown.”

I rubbed my temples, finally allowing myself a measure of relief. “Is he going to say that every time? Because that’s going to get old really fast.”

Another camera appeared and whipped past my face. I watched my eyes narrow in the shiny surface. By no stretch of the imagination did I look happy. My dark brown hair was matted and tangled, and my long bangs were slicked against my forehead. My jaw was clenched tightly, and my dark eyes flashed with anger. I hated that digicam. Hated it more than I remembered hating anything for a very long time.

“You shouldn’t look directly at it,” Rogan advised, touching my arm with the hand that wasn’t clasped to his injured shoulder.

I shrugged away from him. “Why not?”

“You don’t want to give the Subscribers more than their money’s worth. They want you to look at them that way. It gets them off to see you suffer.” He pulled me away so that I wasn’t staring right into the lens anymore. “How did you know to ring the bell?”

I finally looked at him. “Lucky guess.”

“Yes,” a voice said. “Very lucky indeed.”

I turned to see that a door had opened and a man had entered the white room. He was tall and skinny, with short black hair and a trimmed goatee. He wore wire-framed glasses and a white doctor’s coat and he held a clipboard.

“Who are you?” I forced myself not to step backward. He was the first live person I’d seen other than Rogan since this nightmare had begun.

He stopped walking. “My name is Jonathan. I’m your liaison to Countdown.”

“What does that mean?”

He didn’t answer me. Instead, his gaze flicked to Rogan. “You’re injured.”

“I’m surprised you didn’t know that already, being our liaison and all.” Sarcasm mixed with the pain in Rogan’s voice.

“It’s worse than I thought it would be.” Jonathan let out a long sigh and shook his head. “We will have to wait a moment first.”

I looked around the room. He wasn’t moving, just staring straight ahead.

“What are we waiting for?” I asked.

Jonathan held up a finger. “One moment.”

Every muscle in my body was tense and ready to run, but instead I waited, standing silently in place. After a couple of minutes, a small door in the wall to my right opened up, and the silver ball camera left the room. The door closed behind it.

“What happened?” I said.

“Countdown is now on an official break,” Jonathan explained. “We have a little time to prep you for your next level.”

“I won’t last another level,” Rogan said.

Jonathan nodded. “I know. I’ve been monitoring your vitals.”

He left the room briefly and returned with a white box.

“Sit,” he instructed, and Rogan sat down in a white chair next to him.

I swear, everything in the entire room was white and scrubbed immaculately clean. It felt like a hospital—or, at least, the kind I’d once seen in an old movie.

Jonathan pushed away the material that covered Rogan’s wound. Then with no sound from the murderer other than a pained groan, Jonathan cleaned the wound and sprayed it with some sort of colorless substance. The skin around the cut turned a sick shade of green.

“Ah,” Jonathan breathed, peering closer. “The knife they used on you was tipped with calcine poison.”

“That would explain why I feel like my insides are melting,” Rogan grumbled. “Because they are.”

“What’s happening?” I demanded again. My fists were clenched so tightly at my sides that my fingernails dug painfully into the palms of my hands. Instead of relaxing, I let it happen. The pain helped me stay focused.

“What does it look like?” Jonathan asked, glancing up at me.

“Why are you helping him?”

“Kira,” Rogan growled. “Didn’t you hear the part about my insides melting?”

“But—”

“I can’t play this damn game if I have melting insides. Do you get that?”

“Of course I get that. But why is he helping you? Doesn’t he work for the damn game?”

“I do.” Jonathan nodded. “But that doesn’t mean I always agree with their idea of entertainment.”

With a syringe, he injected a blue-colored solution into Rogan’s shoulder. Rogan clenched his jaw. “That should be enough antidote to halt the damage and hopefully reverse it. You’re not going to feel great, but you’ll feel a lot better than you have.” He peered at the now clean wound. “The antidote will also help the wound knit rapidly. You shouldn’t require any stitches.”

“Thanks.” Rogan pulled away from Jonathan the moment he was finished.

He seemed oddly at ease with the man—as if they’d already met.

Jonathan closed the box. “Are you well, young lady?”

“Am I well?” I repeated. “No, I am not well. I want out of this game right now.”

“That’s not possible. But you’re doing fine so far. I anticipate that you will last several more levels.” He looked away.

My breath hitched. Could I fight him to escape from this place? If I had to? “I don’t belong here.”

“None of us belong here, Kira,” he said wearily. “Sometimes we need to do the best with what we’re given.”

“I would have to disagree with you there,” Rogan said.

Jonathan looked at him sharply. “Time has a tendency to change many things, Rogan.”

“Not as many as you might think. But time does have a way of making things a lot clearer.”

“If you say so.”

Rogan glowered at him. “I do.”

I watched their exchange with growing certainty. “Do you two know each other?”

Rogan flicked a glance at me. “No.”

Like hell they didn’t. I wasn’t that blind. Before I could ask any more questions, he turned to Jonathan.

“Are you going to get in trouble for fixing me?”

Jonathan didn’t answer the question. “We need to talk about level three.”

“I’d rather have a long nap in a comfortable bed,” Rogan said with a humorless snort.

“I’m sure you would. And you’re partially in luck. Since the broadcast is on a break, you’ve just entered a mandatory rest period.”

Rogan’s throat worked as he swallowed. “That’s not necessary.”

“I thought you said you wanted a nap?”

“On my own terms, yeah.”

Jonathan pressed a button on the wall and another holoscreen appeared in the middle of the room. The image of an average-looking man flickered into focus. “This is Bernard Jones. He is forty years old, has been married for fifteen years, and has one child. He makes his living as an accountant. He has dreams of moving to the Colony with his family and opening a restaurant there.”

My heart jumped into my throat. Another mention of the Colony. I was starting to believe it really existed—somewhere. Sometimes I wondered if it might just be a rumor.

“Sounds like a fun guy,” I said, trying to shield my interest in the secret city. “So, what are we supposed to do, get him to do our taxes?”

“No. To successfully complete level three you are required to assassinate him.”

My mouth dropped open. “Assassinate him?”

“That’s right. There will be no weapons provided for this level. You will have to use whatever means are available to locate and eliminate this target. You will be informed on your timeline once the level begins. That’s all I can tell you. I wish you good luck.”

Rogan was frowning. “Jonathan, there has to be some way out of this. You have to let me speak to—” He broke off and yelled, clutching his head. The next moment he crumpled to the ground, unconscious.

I watched him fall and then raised my horrified gaze to Jonathan.

“I’m very sorry,” he said.

I opened my mouth to say something, I wasn’t even sure what; but before I got out a word, the lightning-fast pain ripped through my brain and everything went black.

LEVEL THREE

Chapter 5

I OPENED MY eyes slowly and blinked until everything came back into focus. Along with my vision, my anger returned in full force.

I absolutely hated the idea of somebody out there with their finger on a little button that could cause me pain like that. However, I did like the idea of finding whoever was in charge of that little button and giving their groin a nice, sharp introduction to my knee.

My head hurt. Badly. But at least I still seemed to be in one piece.

I glanced around and realized I was somewhere more populated. Not another empty, clinical room. I could hear voices. There was a faint sound of clothes swishing and rubbing together as a few people passed, nearby but out of sight.

There was a heavy weight pressing on my shoulder, and I slowly realized that it was Rogan—specifically his head. He was still out cold and currently using me as a pillow. We were both sprawled against a wall like a couple of homeless people. Pretty accurate, really. But this wasn’t the street. Linoleum tile felt smooth and cool against my hands. We were inside. Somewhere.

I know this place.

And then it dawned on me.

We were in the mall a few blocks north of the village. One of my main haunts. The same place I’d been when this nightmare first began—when I’d stolen my new pair of shoes. I looked down at my feet to see that the bright red sneakers were still there.

I jostled him. “Rogan.”

He didn’t wake up.

I moved my hand to the back of my head and took a moment to feel the incision mark. Then I felt for the same thing on Rogan. His dark hair slid through my fingers.

Strange. I felt not one but two incision marks on his scalp. Why were there two?

He appeared so innocent while asleep—and very nearly handsome. His eyelids fluttered, and I wondered what he was dreaming about. I looked closely at the scar on his face, and traced the line with the tip of my finger.

“Are you really as much of an evil bastard as they say you are?”

I glanced around the hallway. No one was within spitting distance, and as far as I could see, neither were the flying digicams. I wasn’t sure how long this fleeting moment of privacy would last.

I felt at his throat for his steady pulse, warm and alive beneath my touch. Then I slowly trailed down to his collarbone and under the edge of his ripped T-shirt to press my hand against his chest. Skin to skin. And I opened myself up to whatever it was I could do.

I didn’t think I was psychic or anything. But then, it couldn’t be my imagination. The pain made it real. Before, on the street, I hadn’t sensed anything from Rogan but a jumbled mass of...something.

Something.

I needed to know if I could do it again. If I could figure it out, get more this time. If I could get some sort of sense of just how bad Rogan Ellis really was and how much I should hate his guts.

All I knew for sure was that bad guys had this bad vibe that was impossible to ignore when I did this, like a cold blanket of darkness that sucked the warmth right out of me.

I didn’t know what this strange ability of mine actually was. What it meant. But I needed it to work.

I closed my eyes and tried to concentrate.

Then I suddenly found my hand in his as he pulled it away from his chest. “Hey—I’m out for a few minutes and you suddenly can’t keep your hands off me?”

I scowled at him. “Hardly.”

A glimmer of amusement lit up his ocean-green eyes. “Then what were you doing?”

“Just making sure you weren’t dead. FYI...you’re not.”

He gave a humorless laugh and glanced around wearily. “Where are we now?”

“We’re in the mall.”

“The mall,” he repeated with a frown. “Why are we in the mall?”

I reached back to feel my incision again. “We need to get these implants out.”

Rogan grabbed my wrist. “Don’t do that.”

“Why not?”

“You can’t tamper with it or it will kill us.”

“Who told you that?”

“Nobody. But it makes sense, doesn’t it?” He rose to his feet and held out a hand to help me up. I ignored it and got up on my own.

“You have two incisions. Does that mean you have two implants?”

He raised an eyebrow. “Do I?”

I nodded, surprised at his calm reaction to such a strange—to me, anyway—observation.

He reached around to the back of his head to feel. “Maybe they made a mistake when they were digging around. Put it in the wrong spot.”

“Maybe.” My gaze traveled to his wound. “What Jonathan did to you back there. That antidote. How do you feel now?”

He gingerly touched his shoulder. “It worked. I feel stronger already. It doesn’t even hurt much anymore.”

I couldn’t figure it out. “Why did he do that? Seems kind of risky for him to help somebody he doesn’t even know. Just another contestant.”

“Don’t know.” A grim smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Must be my charm. I’ve always been able to win people over. Make them do whatever I want.”

“Yeah, sure,” I said. “It’s working so well with me so far.” I glanced around again. I could see the main mall from where we were, but they’d tucked us down a hallway that was roped off for maintenance. I looked at Rogan. He wasn’t hunched over anymore, and I got a better sense of his height. He was tall—I’d guess a couple inches over six feet. Also, even with all that dirt and grime he was...well, I had to admit that he was far from ugly. I wondered what he might look like all cleaned up.

Like a cleaned-up mass murderer, probably.

I was fooling myself if I thought there was more to this guy. Wouldn’t matter if he was the most gorgeous boy in the universe. What he’d done made him hideous.

He seemed to flinch at my appraisal. “You don’t seem to like what you see.”

That wasn’t entirely true, unfortunately. But it was better for both of us if he believed that. “Should I like you, Rogan?”

He gave another half laugh that sounded pained. “Absolutely not.”

“Then I guess we’re in agreement.” I turned my back to him and tried to focus. The mall. I hung out here all the time and so did a good friend of mine. “Come on. I think I know someone who might be able to help us. Got to find him before that camera catches up to us.”

Before I got too far, his hand on my shoulder stopped me. “What are you talking about?”

“I know a guy, he’s like a computer genius. At least that’s what he’s always telling me. If I find him, he might be able to help us get rid of the implants—disarm them, remove them, whatever—and we can end this once and for all.”

“You think it’s that easy?”

“I think it could be.” I tried to pull away from him.

His grip on my arm increased. “You touch these implants, and unless you have the right tools, they’ll explode. Turn your brain to goo that’ll drip out your ears while you finish dying. Is that what you want?”

I grimaced at the thought. “You sound pretty certain. I guess I didn’t get the manual when I woke up on the do’s and don’t’s of implant ownership. Did they give you a quick course in juvie?”

He glared at my sarcastic tone. “People talk.”

I turned away again. “Doesn’t mean I have to listen.”

Without waiting to find out if he was or wasn’t going to follow me, I made my way out of the hallway and into the mall. Finally, I was somewhere I knew. It felt good, like I’d been returned home. It gave me some sense of control in this crazy situation.

Pre-Plague, this had been one of the largest malls on the east coast. Over a thousand stores in a complex that spanned blocks and blocks. Now there were about thirty stores still open. Three places to eat in the food court. Some old people said that it had an eerie, ghost town kind of feeling for them, just like the entire city now did. It didn’t seem that strange to me since I’d never known any other way. It was a good place to hang out indoors, and that was all I cared about.

I glanced over my shoulder. Rogan trudged after me. Just looking at him made me realize that we’d better make this quick. We didn’t have too much time before we got kicked out. Security wasn’t all that tight, but torn, dirty and bloodied clothes did not represent your average mall shopper. Luckily I knew where I was headed.

The food court. My friend Oliver hung out there a lot. If he wasn’t there, then he was at his other main haunt, some basement in the city where he disappeared for days at a time to play networked games with other geeks. I meant that term fondly.

I actually let out a small whimper of relief when I saw him sitting in his usual spot, tapping away on his laptop, an extra-large soda in front of him on the table. There were about ten other people in the large food court, scattered around at different tables. A clock hung from the ceiling in the center of the court. The glass on it had been broken months ago but hadn’t been fixed yet. It still worked, though. It was just after five o’clock.

I walked right up to Oliver and stood in front of him. He didn’t immediately look up from his screen.

“Oliver,” I said.

He finally glanced at me, and his eyes widened. “Kira, hey. I’ve been looking all over for you. You totally disappeared yesterday.”

Yesterday? How long had I been unconscious before I woke up in that room? How long had I been unconscious before this level?

I let out a shaky breath. “I need your help. Badly.”

He raised his eyebrows. “You look serious.”

“You have no idea.”

“Are you in some sort of trouble?”

Rogan’s hand curled around my arm. “Kira, this isn’t a good idea.”

Oliver’s gaze shifted to him, and his eyes widened again. “New friend?”

I looked at Rogan and then back at Oliver. Rogan outweighed the shorter, scrawnier kid by at least fifty pounds of muscle.

“Uh, this is Rogan Ellis.” I gulped. “We both need your help.”

“Rogan Ellis...” Oliver’s eyes widened even more at hearing the name. I guess I was the only one who hadn’t heard of his crimes before today. “Kira, do you have any idea who this guy is?”

“Yes, but you have to listen to me...” I trailed off. I suddenly felt something. A strange sensation like we were being watched.

I glanced over my shoulder and was positive I saw a silver digicam slide behind the far corner.

“We can’t involve your friend in this,” Rogan whispered only loud enough for me to hear. “Unless you want to get him killed.”

Oliver’s knuckles were white, and he gripped the edge of the table. “Look, I don’t know what’s going on, Kira, but if you need my help, you know I’d do anything for you. But him—” His voice caught a little with fear. “I don’t want him anywhere near me.”

Oliver had a crush on me. Thankfully, he’d never acted on it, but it was always there, an undeniable presence in the room with us. And I’d admit it, I took it as a compliment. It was nice to feel wanted. I was banking on that crush to make him want to help us. To help me. But the last thing I wanted to do was to put him in danger.

And that was exactly what I was doing by even talking to him.

Damn. Rogan was right.

“Where do you want to go?” He closed his laptop and stood up from the table.

“You know what?” I swallowed and shook my head. “Never mind.”

He moved a step toward me. “Kira, you look really stressed. Tell me what’s wrong.”

I took a step back and felt Rogan behind me. “This was a mistake.”

He eyed Rogan with a mix of fear and hate. “Is it him? Is he forcing you to do something?”

“None of your business what I’m doing,” Rogan growled.

Oliver’s jaw tensed, and he turned his glare from Rogan to me again. “I can help you. You just have to come with me.”

“Help her? Yeah, you look so tough.” Rogan snorted. “You think you can save her from me?”

I really wanted him to shut up and not make this worse than it already was.

“If I have to.” Oliver gave me another confused look. “Is he hurting you?”

I shook my head. I had to back away. I couldn’t get Oliver involved in this. It had been a mistake to approach him. “No...Rogan and me...we’re together.”

“Together?”

I nodded. It was better to hurt him now if it would keep him safe in the long run. “I just wanted you to know so you...so you stop bothering me.”

He put a hand to his chest. “I’m bothering you?”

“Just leave me alone, Oliver.”

He blinked. “He’s a murderer, Kira. Don’t you know that?”

I gave him a blank look and turned my back to him. “Maybe I don’t care.”

Wow, what a huge lie that was.

“Kira—”

“Don’t follow us,” Rogan snarled at him.

“Or what?”

“Or you’ll regret it. Trust me on that.”

I didn’t look back as I left the food court with Rogan at my side. I never should have gone there in the first place. Oliver must hate me. I hadn’t wanted to hurt him. He had nothing to do with the mess I’d somehow gotten myself into.

Tears of frustration slid down my cheeks. “You didn’t have to be such a dick to him.”

“I did what I had to do.”

I brushed my tears away before Rogan could see I was crying.

Two men in security uniforms approached us.

“We’re going to have to ask you to leave the premises,” one said. He had a hand on the gun at his side. “Now.”

Rogan’s lips twitched. “My, how times have changed. How do you know I wasn’t about to do some shopping with my daddy’s gold card?”

One of the guards eyed his dirty clothes and the bloodstain on his shoulder and then glanced at me. “Is this boy bothering you, young lady?”

They didn’t seem to recognize Rogan like Oliver had.

Tell them! my mind screamed. Tell them everything. They can help you.

I caught a flash of silver out of the corner of my eye. The digicam.

“The level’s already begun, hasn’t it?” I asked Rogan quietly.

“Yeah, it has.”

I knew then, without a shadow of a doubt, if I told the security guards what was going on, I would be severely and painfully punished. And the guards themselves would probably not walk out of here alive.

“He’s with me, actually.” The words felt thick and unnatural leaving my mouth.

The other guard grabbed my arm. “Then you’ll both have to go.”

“Fine. We’ll go.” I wrenched away from him.

We cleared the food court and headed down a mostly abandoned hallway toward the exit. More tears burned my eyes, but I forced them back. Crying wouldn’t solve a damn thing.

“What are they doing to us?” I asked after a moment, mostly to myself. “How could anyone find this entertaining?”

“You’d be surprised. Some people are sick.”

Yeah, he should know. “Why did they even put us here in the mall? Just to mess with our minds?”

“Something like that.” Rogan’s arm tightened around my waist then, as if he was trying to comfort me. Weird. A moment later, as if he realized what he’d done, he pulled away from me and crossed his arms over his chest. “Do you remember what Jonathan told us this level is all about?”

I tried to think back through the thick storm cloud of memories. “The accountant.”

He nodded. “Take a look.”

I looked in the direction he pointed to see the man who had been featured on the holoscreen. Bernard Jones. I recognized his balding head and bland features. He emerged from an electronics shop with a bag of purchases, then turned left and started walking toward the same exit we were headed for.

I heard the whir as a camera moved behind us. It was moving behind things to stay hidden from any regular people.

Rogan’s attention was fixed on the man. “We’ve got to follow him.”

“He’s got a wife. And a kid.”

“Yeah, you’re right. And we can’t let him leave our sight.”

“There are ten minutes remaining in this level of Countdown.”

I turned to meet Rogan’s gaze.

“You know what we’re supposed to do,” he said, his jaw tensing. “And we have ten minutes to do it.”

To successfully complete level three you are required to assassinate him, Jonathan’s instructions echoed in my mind.

I shook my head. “No. It’s not going to happen.”

“Do you want us to die?”

I blinked at him as a sick churning steadily grew in my gut. “I don’t want us to die. But I also don’t want to kill a man I’ve never met before. Somebody who doesn’t deserve it or even see it coming. There’s no way.”

“Come on.” He grabbed my hand and pulled me along with him. “We can’t let him get away.”

“You can’t kill him.”

“It’s him or us.”

“I don’t care.”

“We’ll see if you’re still thinking that way in a few minutes.”

“I’m not capable of murder. I’m not like you.”

Rogan let go of my hand but kept walking. He didn’t look at me. “You don’t know what I’m capable of. You don’t know me.”

“I don’t want to know a sick bastard like you.” I pressed my lips together to keep from saying anything more. That had sounded crueler than I’d wanted it to.

That earned me a sharp look. “We’re running out of choices. Get that through your pretty head. There are no choices. We do what they tell us to or we die.”

“Maybe I don’t care. My family was murdered. I’d never do that to another person’s family. I’d rather die first.”

“I’m not in the mood to argue with you, Kira. We don’t have the time.”

I watched as Bernard Jones exited the mall through the swinging doors.

“So you’re going to follow him and then what?”

“And then I’m going to kill him.” He raised an eyebrow. “But then again, I am a sick murdering bastard, right?”

“So it’s that simple for you?”

His fists clenched at his sides. “You’re acting as if I have a choice.”

“There’s always a choice.”

“Not for me,” he said grimly. “Not anymore.”

And with that he stalked out of the entrance to follow his prey. I raced to keep up with him.

Kill or be killed.

There had to be another way. And I needed to figure it out. Fast.

Chapter 6

BERNARD JONES WALKED down the sidewalk outside of the mall completely oblivious to the fact that he was being stalked.

“Where’d the camera go?” I looked around the area, gray and bland, and noticed that we were alone again.

“It’s around, I’m sure.”

“You seem to know a lot about how this game works.”

He raised a dark eyebrow. “Do I?”

I narrowed my eyes at him. “Yeah. You do. Who are you, Rogan? Who are you really?”

“I’m nobody.” He flinched and looked away from me, but not before I saw a hint of pain slide through his gaze. “You’re imagining things.”

Was that a moment of vulnerability? It was enough to unbalance me again. “I—I’m not imagining anything. I swear I’m going to figure out what your real story is.”

“Sure. Good luck with that.” His gaze returned to mine, but this time it was more guarded. “You think you can figure out what makes me tick other than the countdown in my head?”

“Don’t make fun of me.”

“But you make it so easy.” He gave me a sideways glance, a bit of humor returning to his eyes. “Do you give all the guys in your life such a hard time?”

“There are no guys in my life.”

“What about your boyfriend, Oliver?”

I made a face. “He’s not my boyfriend.”

“And what the announcer said about you using your body to get whatever you want?” His gaze slid down the length of me.

I ignored the sudden heat in my cheeks. “It’s not true. And even if it was, it wouldn’t get me what I want right now.”

“Which is?”

“To get out of this game.”

“So, that’s all you want? To get out of this game?”

“Yes.”

“And then what?”

Bernard slipped behind a corner of a crumbling building ahead.

“Then I want to figure out how to get into the Colony,” I said.

He smiled thinly. “Everybody wants to get into the Colony. What’s so great about that place, anyway?”

“It’s not here. It’s a place where somebody can make a fresh start and have a chance at a better life.” I crossed my arms as I trudged along. I didn’t want to reveal too much of myself to Rogan, considering how little I knew about him. It made me uncomfortable. “What about you? If you don’t want to go to the Colony, what do you want?”

“Revenge.” He said it so quickly that it surprised me.

“Against who?”

He smiled cruelly, showing his perfect white teeth. “Against everyone who’s screwed me over. Trust me, it’s a long list.”

His cold words chilled me. “I’ll try my best to stay off it.”

“Good idea.”

“There are seven minutes left in this level of Countdown,” the disembodied voice announced.

Rogan’s shoulders tensed, and he picked up his pace.

“Wait.” Panic welled in my chest. “There has to be another way.”

He met my gaze, and I could see his was strained. “I have a theory. This guy...this Bernard Jones...he’s a plant, a paid actor. Something. Maybe he’s not as innocent as you think. Maybe he knows what’s going on, and this is just another test.”

“Why would you think that?”

He shook his head. “I’m not positive. But, the game...they don’t bring in outsiders. They don’t target civilians who have nothing to do with Countdown in the first place, it’s just not their style.”

“You keep talking about the game like you know all about it. How?”

“You’re going to have to take my word for it, Kira. Just listen to me. If they start bringing in unassuming civilians, then they run the risk of being exposed. The last thing the Subscribers want is to have their friends and family learn their dirty little secret—that they pay money to see torture and murder on live TV.”

It made sense. Even though the cops might not care what happened to criminals, they’d definitely care what happened to the regular civilian. The city might be a mess, but it wasn’t total chaos.

“So, you think all we need to do is confront him? Get him to admit who he really is?”

He nodded. “That’s my theory. I’m hoping like hell I’m right.”

Before I could say anything else, Rogan stopped walking and shouted, “Bernard Jones!”

The man halted and turned around. We were currently in the middle of a city parking lot that was totally abandoned. No cars. Nobody was even in the pay booth. Dusk had begun to creep in and the shadows grew longer in front of us.

Even from a distance I could see Bernard’s wariness as he saw the teenage boy who’d called out his name.

“What do you want?” he asked.

“Just to talk,” Rogan said.

“Who are you?”

“I’m Rogan. This is Kira. We need some help.”

He shook his head. “Not from me, you don’t.”

I looked back in the direction of the mall, but it was blocked by other buildings. This part of the city was vacant.

No witnesses.

No witnesses except for the cameras, that is. Two of them approached from behind us, parting and moving to either side of the parking lot.

Multi-view. How convenient.

“Who are you, Bernard?” Rogan asked.

“Wh-what do you mean?”

“I mean, who are you? Who sent you here? Tell me what you know.”

Bernard shook his head. “I don’t have any idea what you’re talking about.”

There was a sharp, discarded piece of metal on the ground, and Rogan snatched it up. He moved closer. “You have very little time. Tell us who you really are.”

“There are five minutes remaining in this level of Countdown.”

Bernard’s eyes widened, but he said nothing to give any indication that he was a game plant.

Oh, God, I thought. He is just a civilian.

“Rogan, what are you doing?” My heart was pounding painfully against my ribs.

He didn’t look at me. “I already told you. I’m doing what I have to do.”

I shook my head. “You can’t. Please. My family—”

“What happened to your family has nothing to do with this.” He glanced over his shoulder at me and met my gaze. “I’m sorry, Kira. There’s no other choice. Not if we want to live.”

His eyes held a look of despair, which quickly closed off to cold blankness. Then he tore his gaze from mine and stalked toward Bernard.

Bernard froze as Rogan approached, weapon in hand.

Why wasn’t Bernard running? We didn’t have him cornered.

“You’re Bernard Jones,” he said.

“Yes. I already said I was. I don’t know what this is about. I—I don’t want any trouble.”

“Neither did I.”

The man blinked nervously. “Listen, you can have my money. All of it. Just don’t hurt me.”

“Money doesn’t do me any good anymore.”

I’d approached on Rogan’s left side, and I touched his arm, which felt every bit as hard as that metal bar would.

“Rogan...” He was going to kill this man in cold blood. I could see the icy determination in his eyes. I felt as helpless as I had the night my family was killed, when all I could do was hide in the dark and wait for the horrible silence to finally come, the silence that meant it was all over.

“Please!” Bernard’s voice shook as he eyed the shiny weapon. “I have a family who needs me.”

“Do I look like I care?” Rogan’s voice caught on the last word.

“I recognize you,” Bernard babbled. “You...you’re Rogan Ellis. You killed people. Girls. Killed them brutally. Some while they were asleep in their beds. I remember seeing it on the news.”

A tremor went through Rogan at his words. “Do you believe everything you see on the news?”

“You’re going to kill me, too, aren’t you? Aren’t you?” He fell to his knees and shielded his face with his hands.

“Rogan, please don’t do this,” I begged. I didn’t understand why this man was giving up so easily, without a fight. Without any physical resistance at all. “Please!”

Rogan’s chest heaved in and out. Then he raised the piece of metal above his head as if he would bring it down in a death blow.

But...something stopped him. Slowly he lowered the weapon back down to his side.

He looked at me, his brows drawn tightly together over haunted eyes. “Do you believe everything you see on the news, too?”

My breath caught. “I don’t watch the news. But, no. I make my own decisions. And you...I—I don’t believe you’re a bad person—no matter what they say. I don’t. You’re better than this. I know you are.”

I meant every single word. Somehow, I just hadn’t realized it before this moment.

His hands were shaking. “I can’t do it, Kira. I can’t do it. I can’t kill an innocent man. Even to save us. We’re going to lose.”

The deadly piece of metal fell from his grip.

“There are four minutes remaining in this level of Countdown.”

I pulled Rogan to me and hugged him tight. “It’s okay. This isn’t losing. If you’d done it, that would be losing to me.”

Bernard was fumbling around in his pockets. He let go of his shopping bag, and it hit the cement with a thud. Pieces of paper and old tissues fell out of his jacket pockets.

What was he looking for? His wallet? His ID? A piece of gum?

Then he pulled out a gun and raised it up to Rogan’s head.

When he smiled, there was something unnatural about it. “Other contestants have taken me out in less than ten minutes.”

Rogan tensed and swore under his breath as he let go of me, shoving me behind him. “I knew it.”

“You are supposed to be a remorseless murderer. I expected that you would have no problem at all with this level. She—” he nodded at me “—was the wild card. She’s not a murderer. It would have been interesting to see if she tried to stop you, but she didn’t.”

“I did,” I said as confusion slid through me over this unexpected turn of events. “I didn’t want him to kill you.”

He shrugged. “You didn’t put up much of a fight. He would have killed me, and you would not have stopped him. Unfortunately, Rogan Ellis is a coward. The Subscribers will be horribly disappointed. According to a recent poll, they had very high expectations that you would survive this level.”

Rogan eyed the gun. “Ask me if I give a shit what the Subscribers think.”

Bernard smiled that strange, steady smile. “It is fine. The Subscribers will be sated when I eliminate both of you for failing to complete the level successfully.” He moved the gun toward me. “Perhaps I will start with you, Kira Jordan.”

Rogan put an arm in front of me. “What are you?”

I frowned at his choice of words: What, instead of who.

Bernard’s head swiveled toward him. “I am highly surprised you don’t already know the answer to that, Rogan Ellis. I am an Ellipsis Cyber Drone, model number 6.1.”

What kind of an answer was that? What did that even mean?

“An Ellipsis Cyber Drone?” Rogan’s eyebrows shot up. “But—but how?”

“There have been many advancements made in artificial intelligence in recent years, Rogan Ellis,” Bernard said evenly. “I am only one of them.”

“What does that mean?” I asked, breathless, my hands raised in front of me, shaking. This was too much to understand—my head spun with confusion and frustration.

“He’s a robot,” Rogan growled without taking his eyes off Bernard. “With a very advanced artificial intelligence program. I knew there was something wrong, but I guess I just don’t trust my instincts anymore. Of course they wouldn’t make us kill a civilian.”

“Three minutes remain in this level of Countdown.”

Bernard’s fake smile slipped back to reveal more of his bright white teeth. “Rogan Ellis, a murderer scheduled to be transferred to Saradone Maximum Security Prison in three days, could not bring himself to kill an Ellipsis Cyber Drone. For that, both of you shall be eliminated from the game.”

A cold line of perspiration slid down my spine.

The robot smirked, and suddenly I could see what he truly was. Before I’d been too much in shock to see that this guy didn’t look human after all. He was too shiny, too seamless. His eyes reflected no inner personality. His voice had a slight metallic tininess to it that reminded me of the computer countdown in my head.

“Rogan Ellis, willing to risk his life to compete on Countdown rather than go to prison. Did you fear it? Did you have nightmares of what might happen to you there? My database tells me that the scar on your face is from a fight with two of your roommates at St. Augustine’s. They wanted to kill you. Instead, you killed one of them with your bare hands. You are a killer.”

“You’re right,” Rogan growled, before flicking a look at me. “I am a killer. Don’t doubt it. And I’d kill that son of a bitch again if I got the chance.”

“Self-defense,” I whispered, my throat tight. “It’s different.”

“Didn’t feel different to me.”

“There are two minutes remaining in this level of Countdown.”

“You know what, robot?” Rogan said with zero emotion in his voice. “I still have two minutes left to reduce you to a pile of tin cans. You can’t kill us until after the level’s done, right? So, we still have time.”

The robot nodded with a firm jerk of his head. “This is true. I cannot kill you yet.”

He lowered the gun and pulled the trigger.

I fell to the ground, screaming and clutching my leg where the bullet had ripped into my upper right thigh.

“Kira!” Rogan roared.

“However,” the robot continued. “I can still entertain the Subscribers as we wait for the level to come to its conclusion.” He chambered another round. “Rogan Ellis, I would have believed that you would appreciate watching another young girl writhing around in agony before her inevitable death. Why do you look so unhappy?”

I could barely hear him. My leg was on fire, and it was all I could do to wrestle through the pain. For a moment, my vision went completely white. I couldn’t hear anything except the countdown, now at one minute.

One minute until there would be no more pain.

“59...58...57...”

Rogan rushed Bernard and grabbed his arms, wrestling him to the ground. The gun skittered across the pavement, coming to rest an arm’s reach away from me.

“Son of a bitch!” Rogan snarled as he pounded his fist into the robot’s face. Through my blurred vision I saw a glimmer of metal show beneath the artificial skin.

With a metallic roar, Bernard flipped Rogan onto his back, effortlessly pinning him to the ground. A viselike metal grip fastened around his neck.

“Do not fear, Rogan,” the robot said in an eerily calm voice. “It will all be over soon. You failed. You failed Kira Jordan and you failed yourself.”

“30...29...28...”

I reached out and wrapped my hand around the gun, and then staggered up on my left leg, doing my best to ignore the searing pain in my right leg. Nausea nearly forced me back down to the ground. Swaying unsteadily, I somehow managed to stay upright. Bernard looked up at me from where he had Rogan pressed against the hard ground. I could see the robot underneath the skin. Just multicolored wires and smooth silver metal like the cameras that spun around the area taking in every angle of the scene. His skin must have been plastic. Just plastic.

All of it was fake.

I’d been ready to die to protect somebody who didn’t even exist.

“10...9...8...”

I raised the gun and pulled the trigger over and over until it was empty. I hoped it would be enough.

It was. It blew Bernard’s robot head clean off his body.

I dropped the gun, collapsed back to the ground, and let the pain wash over me. Rogan crawled to my side.

“Kira.” There was a red mark around his neck where the robot had almost choked him to death. “Are you okay?”

His hand clamped down on my thigh, attempting to slow the bleeding.

I tried to speak but found that I couldn’t form any words.

What I wanted to say was: Okay? Do I look okay to you?

Just before I passed out, I heard the voice in my head:

“Congratulations, Rogan and Kira, on successfully completing level three of Countdown.”

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