“Pfft… Easy.”
Something else bothered me. There was less than an hour left. Any unforeseen delay and we might as well go home — latecomers were disqualified.
A flyer approached us, still recognizable as a Lamborghini Freccia beneath the black and gold police paint job. In districts like this, even the police zipped around in premium superflyers.
“Good evening, gentlemen!” a pleasant female voice greeted us. “What is the purpose of your visit to Snowstorm Lakes?”
“I’m entering the Demonic Games,” I answered.
“Wow! Another one! And you, pilot?”
“I’m a pilot of the Awoken company,” Hairo answered honestly. That was one of the security officer’s official roles. “I’m dropping the kid off and then heading back.”
“Please display your left wrists and look this way…” Without a doubt, the police already knew who we were, but protocol was protocol. “Thank you! Alex Kieran Sheppard, dependent category-F citizen, you are on the list. Welcome to Snowstorm Lakes!” A short pause and then the policewoman’s voice again: “Hmm… Mr. Morales, we have some questions for you. Please leave the pilot seat and approach the exit.”
The guiding beam landed our flyer on the checkpoint platform. It had checking services, additional inspection zones and even paid parking — far from all flyer models met the high standards of the upper-class district. The passengers and pilots of those were forced to leave their vehicles and continue on a community flyer.
Hairo left the cabin, but didn’t close the hatch behind him. He stuck his head back inside:
“I don’t think they’ll let me go any further. I’m not good enough for ‘em,” he chuckled. “You fly on, Alex.”
Glancing at the clock, I answered:
“Alright. Almost out of time… How are you going to get back?”
“Willy ain’t far. He brought Malik in this morning, then went to see an old army buddy of ours in the Polish district. He’ll pick me up. Anyway… Good luck, Alex!”
The door closed. I switched to the pilot’s seat, fought the urge to switch the flyer to manual for a moment before common sense took hold — I didn’t know this district and could easily get lost. Hairo had set the route back in Cali; all I had to do was press the ‘Continue flight’ button.
Europe… I’d been here on vacation after grade six. My parents had just finished a big project and saved enough for a decent getaway. They decided to make the trip both fun and educational by taking a tour round Europe. The vacation ended up mixed — a few days on beaches in Spain and Greece and tours through the historical places of Italy, France and England. My favorite part of that trip was a night in the restored Colosseum, where we went to watch the Global Gladiator League battles. Robots fought against robots and non-citizens against non-citizens — to the death. I remember mom covering my eyes at the worst moments. Why are they doing this? I thought in confusion. Now I know why. They fought for citizenship. The top gladiators joined the elite of society.
I looked down on Snowstorm Lakes without much curiosity. The district was in the Bavarian area, with high mountains in the background. Unlike Dubai, there were no skyscrapers, and it was hard even to call the place spread out beneath me a city. A huge zone of untouched nature with dewdrops gleaming on rich greenery — that’s how the lakes looked from above as they reflected the sunset. Luxury villas, mansions and whole castles hid among the trees.
One of those was the Ruhm und Ehre hotel, chosen by Snowstorm to host the Demonic Games this year. I’d seen holographs of the interior — only the outer walls of the castle remained, with everything inside done up in a modern style.
Ruhm und Ehre wasn’t Snowstorm’s only hotel. The corporation owned dozens of such establishments all over the world, so the Dis developers had never held the Demonic Games in the same place twice.
I spotted the castle hotel from afar. It was hard not to notice it. It stood out clearly against the background of the virgin forest, although it somehow didn’t look out of place. It seemed the huge and ancient ten-story structure had stood there untouched since medieval times. A stone arch decorated the brick castle wall, with turrets of rough stone at its corners, and beyond them the castle itself, dotted here and there with more turrets and towers of all sizes, piercing the gray clouds like daggers. The old stone walls were moss-covered and worn by bad weather and the burning sun, or at least they seemed to be. And somewhere down there far below, green firs brushed the stone monolith of the foot of the castle…
A couple of minutes later, the flyer slowed and landed softly in a parking lot in front of the castle that fit elegantly into the landscape, hidden behind tall firs and pines and almost invisible from above. The parking lot looked out over a clear view of the mountain gorge and drawbridge.
“Destination reached: Ruhm und Ehre hotel, Snowstorm Lakes district,” the on-board AI reported. “Ambient temperature at…”
I didn’t bother listening to the weather report, just jumped straight out of the flyer, almost knocking over a bellboy — a real one, not a robot — and running along the path leading to the gates, where a crowd of reporters and herds of camera drones hovered.
Sheppard, confirming, came a commanding voice from one of the security guard’s comms. The hotel’s security service encircled me, keeping the journalists, streamers and bloggers back as they rushed to meet me. Paying no attention to the flood of questions and the microphones pointed at me, I walked through the gates into the inner courtyard. There were no reporters here, but there was a whole cordon of police droids.
A massive imposing man towered over me:
“Mr.
