Countdown

I scowled at him. 'The name's Kira. Not sweetheart.'

His grin widened a fraction. 'Struck a nerve, did I? No pet names. Got it.'

I studied him for a moment longer. That scar across his left eye. I wondered how he got it. Probably in prison. Or maybe one of his victims 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. 'Let's get going, Kira.'

We walked. Slower than I would have liked, but it would have to do. With every step we took 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 as the minutes went by.

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

'A game?' I glanced at him and kept walking. My heart pounded loud in my ears. 'I didn't agree to play any game.'

'You didn't have to. The Countdown plays on the fringes of society. Very deep. Very secret. That's what makes it so appealing to the subscribers.'

'Subscribers?'

'Rich, bored elite who haven't gone to Offworld yet and want to be entertained by a modern Colosseum. Death matches.'

I shook my head. 'How is this even allowed? Wouldn't it be illegal?'

'I know that. You know that. But like I said, it's a secret game. It's not on any public network. Besides, cops wouldn't give a shit about what happens to criminals, anyhow. Makes their jobs easier, doesn't it? Subscribers are fitted with cranium implants so they can watch the show in their heads. It's like virtual reality, only they're just doing the watching, not the participating. Safer that way for them. Bunch of rich cowards who get off on violence.' His expression soured.

'How do you know all this?'

He licked his lips and didn't look at me. 'In prison. They recruit there a lot. Take a few lifers and give them a choice to play the game or die? Most will play the game.'

'That's how they got you.'

'That's right.'

I shook my head. 'It just doesn't make any sense.'

'It doesn't have to. The bottom line is that it exists. And we're right in the bloody 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 prison. I know you were into low-end crime and that you have no family, but still. You're too young. Too soft.'

'There's nothing soft about me.'

His lips twitched. 'Oh, 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 twisted. 'Who would want to watch this?'

'You'd be surprised. The subscription to The Countdown isn't cheap and it's based on how much they watch. And the cranium implant is surgery. Nothing to be taken lightly. The subscribers take it very seriously, and they expect to get their money's worth. Maybe that's why they had you join the cast. I don't think they've ever had a female contestant before.'

That wasn't terribly comforting. 'Lucky me. Maybe they think we'll make a good couple.'

He glanced at me. 'Maybe we will.'

'I wouldn'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 in prison for four years. 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 remaining poles on the corner ahead. Nothing was familiar to me.

Something flew out from behind a corner ahead of us. A silver ball. It was floating in midair and headed straight for us at lightning-fast speed. It stopped three feet in front of my face and bobbed in the air at eye level.

It was a camera. I could see myself reflected in the black iris of its lens.

I heard the voice again in my head.

'Level Two for Rogan and Kira is well under way. Let's take a moment to meet these two contestants.…'

Shit. 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 up 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. That was why I hadn't felt it. They'd put the implant in my head. That was why I'd been unconscious in the metal room. I'd been recovering from surgery.

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

'Kira Jordan, twenty-two years old, was left an orphan seven 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 being 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 sexuality to get exactly what she wants. The girl is 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. 'All of it or most of it?'

'Most.'

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

'Rogan Ellis, twenty-nine years old, was convicted of three counts of rape and nine counts of first-degree murder in what was to be known as the Dormitory Murders. After his one-night rampage that left nine female university students dead, he was sent to Saradone Maximum-Security Prison over four years ago, narrowly escaping the death penalty with a last minute plea of insanity.'

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 dull and suddenly void of emotion.

'All or most of it?' I asked shakily.

'Most.'

Rape and murder. Was that really what the voice said?

I felt ill. I felt like dropping to my knees on the cold, hard pavement and puking, but I knew there was nothing in my stomach to throw up. It was one thing to imagine what he was really 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 even sicker than I already felt.

Touch him, a small voice in my mind told me. Why would you believe