COUNTDOWN

MICHELLE MADDOX

LEVEL ONE

CHAPTER ONE

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 and I hid under my bed.

In the dark I couldn't see anything. I could just hear the screaming.

And then the silence.

So, yeah. I've been scared shitless of the dark ever since. Go figure.

Unfortunately, that's exactly where I found myself when I opened my eyes. Frankly, I don't even remember closing them. I'd been in the mall--I remembered that much. I'd just lifted a new pair of shoes because my old pair was practically 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.

I couldn't concentrate, though, due to the choking panic that began to flood my body. I knew it wasn't going to do a hell of a lot to freak out, but sometimes you just 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, blindly 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 was going on here?

Had I been caught shoplifting? Was this prison? I racked my brain 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 put them on, throwing my old shoes in a garbage can. And then ... then what happened?

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

Did I even make it to the food court?

I couldn't have. I was still hungry. Starving. My body felt like 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 caught me, reprimanded me, and I figured that that was it--he'd call the cops.

Instead he took pity on me and just 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 did appreciate his kindness. Washing dishes was a hell of a lot better than going to prison.

It was just me now. For the past seven years, on my own since I was fifteen. Not a good time to lose your family, not that there's ever a good time for that. We weren't rich, but we weren't poor, either. My father was a scientist who taught classes at the university and he made decent                                                                                          enough money. Back then 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 wanted to put me into foster care, but I'd run instead. A friend of mine went into foster care a long time ago and I never heard from her again. Not even an e-mail.

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. I could hear my heart thudding hard in my ears.

Why couldn't I remember what happened after I took the shoes? Dammit. And where the hell was I?

I seriously had to calm the hell down. It wasn't helping.

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

I listened.

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

Breathing. I could hear breathing. Very softly.

Somebody else is in the room with me.

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

But I was a tough chick now. At least, that was 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 around fifteen feet away.

Then the something spoke. "Wh-what the fuck?"

A male voice. His words were gruff and raspy, as if he'd just woken from a deep sleep.

"Who are you?" I ventured again.

Dammit. 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 his position again.

I frowned. "Hey, are you okay?"

He snorted at that. "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 dryly 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."

No, that was very true. I swallowed hard. "My name's Kira."

"Well, Kira, where we are is anyone's guess."

I pressed back firmly 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 lots of stories about girls who vanished from the streets, never to be heard from again. 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 remember enough, but not precisely who brought me here. And yeah, they've got me locked up real tight."

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

"Hey, there. 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 behind me and brought my knees in close to my chest so I could hug them against me. "You sound relaxed enough for the both of us."

"What can I say? So far this is a hell of a lot better than where I came from."

"Oh? And where's that?"

"Saradone."

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

He laughed at my answering silence. 'That's the reaction I thought I might get."

I shouldn't even be talking to this guy. Why would they put somebody like him in the same room as somebody like me? Both of us chained? Like putting a cobra in with a sarcastic mouse. Not exactly evenly matched.

A line of perspiration slid down my back.

"What were you in for?" I tried to make it sound very light and flippant, as if I were just making conversation about the weather.

"Murder," he answered simply.

"Oh." I cleared my throat.

"Not just murder, mind you, but first-degree." There was an edge of weariness to his deep voice. "Nine counts of first-degree murder. They locked me up in Saradone for... I believe the sentence was five hundred years. Kind of funny, if you ask me."

My throat felt thick. Just the thought that I was in the same room with a murderer made me feel like throwing up. I tried to push the memory of my family out of my mind. Why was he sharing this with me? I seriously didn't want to know these things. "What's so funny about it?"

"Five hundred years in prison? It's stupid. A man lives to what, eighty, maybe ninety years old, and that's not even when he's in maximum. In there, if you're not tough enough you're lucky to live to the end of the fucking week."

His sudden humorless laughter seemed to echo off the metal walls.

Okay. So I was trapped in a pitch-black room, chained to the wall, with a mass murderer who found a joke in long-term prison sentences.

Maybe I was dreaming. Yeah. Just having a really bad dream. Maybe I fell 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 nice, rich, and handsome man would come by and help me. He'd fall immediately in love with me and take me away from it all. Kiss me on the lips like Prince Charming did with Snow White, wake me up 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.

Shit.

"You're quiet all of a sudden," Rogan said. "Don't want to chat 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, you know."

"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, and I shifted position to cross my legs. "Yeah, I'm so rude. Sorry about that. I guess you've been treated so nice at Saradone the past little while that my behavior's a real shocker."

"Four years."

"What?"

'The past little while you spoke of? Four years. That's how long I was in there."

"No offense, but it sounds like you deserved it."

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

"And are you so innocent?" 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 sure as hell won't end up at Saradone."

"Don't be so sure about that. You never know where you're going to end up."

I guess I could thank this asshole for keeping my mind off my fear of the dark. He was getting me angry enough that fear was the last thing on my mind.

I chewed my bottom lip. "I haven't murdered anybody."

"Not yet."

"Not ever."

"Yeah, we'll see about that."

"What the hell is 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.

I could feel my heart pounding in my ears now. "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." He sounded as if he were 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 men you meet in the dark? Because you're failing big-time with me."

"Who put us in here?" I said it flatly, with no humor or lightness implied. I wanted him to realize I was serious. I wasn't joking around. If he didn't tell me, then I was going to scream and keep screaming until they--whoever the hell they were--dragged me out of there.

"They gave me a choice," he said after a moment. "Stay in jail for as many of my five hundred years as I lived for, or come with them and play their sick little game. What choice did I have? 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 here just a few minutes ago to have this fascinating discussion with you. And ... and 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." Another snort.

"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 a little as I said it.

Silence again. "So you're on your own."

"I have friends. Sometimes. But it's safer to be alone. I can move quicker that way if I have to."

"What did you do? Why would they pick you, other than the fact that you have no family?"

It sounded as if he was talking to himself.

I hissed out a sigh of exasperation. "At the risk of sounding like I'm repeating myself, who the hell are they?"

"You haven't murdered before... so that's out. Are you ..." He paused and then laughed softly. "Of course. You must be 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, little thief, I have to admit that I'm not feeling so good over here. Whatever they did to me ... I don't think they'll have to worry about me finishing off my five hundred years. An eye for an eye and all that."

I licked my dry lips. "You're dying."

"Sure as hell feels like it."

"Why do you sound so calm?"

"What else can I be? There's no escape. Sometimes it's best just to accept your fate."

"Bullshit. There's a way out of here, I know there is."

Just as I said it, the lights flooded on in the room, blinding me. Ironic that since the darkness blinded me the light would, too. Was there no such thing as a happy medium?

I rubbed my eyes, which had started to water at the unexpected light. When I'd gotten used to it, I blinked around 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 before. A silver metal band was around my wrist, and it 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 man I'd ever seen in my life.

He stared back at me with a half smile on his coarsely beard-stubbled face. His hair was dark and shaggy and unkempt, plastered across his forehead. He wore a shirt that may have once been white, but now was torn and dirty.

An angry red stain on his chest near his left shoulder stood out as the only bright 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, 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, but enough time hadn't passed to turn it to the whitish color of old scars. He wore faded jeans, also stained and dirty, and scuffed black boots that were untied. A silver shackle led from his right wrist to the chain to the wall behind him.

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. "Well, you have been in prison for four years."

He smiled. His teeth were white and straight, which struck me as odd from a hardened criminal. Though I suppose it was a bit of a cliche to expect him to have broken, rotting teeth.

"That is true. Sorry I look a bit of a mess." 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 slowly down to the rest of me, black tank top, khaki cargo pants, and my new red shoes. I felt my face warm 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 right there, only an arm's reach away.

CHAPTER TWO

"Try it," Rogan prompted eagerly.

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

I frowned when it didn't fit. I tried again. Why the hell didn't it fit?

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

"Shit," he said.

Something sparkled next to him and I pointed at it. It was another key. He grabbed it and tried his lock.

Nothing.

Then I heard a whirring and I looked up toward the sound. A small shutter at the top of the far wall to the left near the ceiling had opened, and what looked like a security camera--only modem, very sleek and silver--emerged.

"What the hell is that?" I asked.

He looked up at it grimly. "Must be showtime."

I clenched the key so tightly that I knew it would leave an impression in my fingertips. "Why would they be taping 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. "Now, if I used my great big brain and thought this through, I would have to guess 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 murderer smirked at me. 'Try to pay attention to the class, 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, then grimaced, as if the wound on his shoulder caused him massive pain. "We can do that too if you like, sweetheart, 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 gave to men 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, guys 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 had a good body and a nice face and that men were attracted to me. I used it, I played them, and then I took their wallets when they weren't looking.

So sue me.

This guy 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. Boobs out. I sucked in my stomach. I raised an eyebrow and forced a smile to my lips. "Why don't you throw me your key first?"

He studied me and my sudden change in demeanor. 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 prison for four years. He had to be a walking hard-on by now, right? I could work with that. A little estrogen thrown his way and he should be putty in my hands.

Dirty, murdering putty. With sexy eyes and a great smile. An unusual combination, to say the least.

He licked his lips and let out a long sigh. "Sweetheart, you're good. If I didn't feel like a pile of shit and that my arm was about to fall off, you might have me, but pain does help one to 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 do the same in return?"

"You'll just have to trust me."

"Give me one good reason why I should."

He stared at me and laughed that short, staccato, humorless laugh. "I'm coming up blank here."

'Then I guess we're both shit out of luck."

"I guess so." A smile twisted his mouth. Then he closed his eyes and pain shadowed his face.

Dammit. 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 just a ruse. Maybe he was acting like he was hurt. After all, that camera did just appear out of nowhere. What did he say a minute ago? Showtime?

The camera whirred again as it changed direction; it turned 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 on and off and an alarm sounded, so loud that I instinctively clamped my hands over my ears. From complete silence to a maddening noise in a split second.

"What's happening?" I yelled.

Rogan's gaze darted frantically around the room.

And then I heard something else. A metallic, computer-generated voice could be heard from speakers I couldn't see, but seemed to come from every direction.

"Sixty..." it announced. "Fifty-nine . . .fifty-eight. . . fifty-seven ..."

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

"Why? What's happening?"

"It's the countdown!"

Okay, I figured out that much all by myself. If I wasn't so scared out of my mind I'd take the time to roll my eyes at him.

"Which means what?"

His face looked wild. Panicked. He craned his neck to look around the empty room as the lights flashed on and off, plunging us quickly back and forth into darkness and bright 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. "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!"

"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.

"Thirty-five . . . thirty-four... thirty-three..."

I stared blindly around at the metal-walled room. There had to be another way out of here. Who would want to kill us? It didn't make any damn sense. None of this made any damn sense.

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

"Fine!" he yelled. "Take it! You go first."

He threw the 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 immediately.

Just as my bindings were unlocked, a door to my left swung open into more darkness. I eyed it with uncertainty, but just for a moment, 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. Mass murderer. I should leave him there, wherever there was. My family's dying screams echoed in my memory.

I pushed any sympathy I might have away and gave him a cold stare and said nothing.

"Nineteen . . . eighteen .. . seventeen ..."

Suddenly, swearing loudly, he slumped back against the wall and looked away from me, his chest heaving with each labored breath. He wasn't going to beg me to help him.

He gave 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 the key off the ground, then closed the distance between us. I sank to the ground and worked the key into his lock. It snapped open. I quickly got back up to my feet and turned away, glancing over my shoulder at him. He was struggling to get to his feet. It was the shoulder wound--it hurt him badly. He could barely walk.

"Ten . . . nine ... eight..."

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

"Four. . . three.. . two ... one."

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

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

"You're seriously hurt."

He blinked at me. "You thought... thought I was faking in there?"

"I wasn't sure."

'Thanks for the help."

I was about to say, "Anytime," which would be the typical response to the statement, but I stopped myself. There was no "anytime" with Rogan or any other murderer. This was it. We'd escaped the room and I was so out of there.

Only there was a little problem.

I still wasn't entirely sure where "there" was.

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

"Let me out of here!" I yelled as loud as I could. The sound of 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. Until my leg hurt but the door didn't look any worse for wear. I hadn't even made a damn dent.

Finally, panting hard and sweating buckets, I stopped and turned around to Rogan. I thrust a finger in his direction. "Start talking. I want to know everything you know."

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

"Yeah. I did. And 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 gravely. "The grinding noise? That was the ceiling clamping down on the floor. Twenty thousand pounds of pressure. I'm just guessing that might have killed us on contact."

I just stared at him for a moment blankly.

"How the hell do you--"

Before I could finish asking him how he'd know something like that, I was interrupted.

"Congratulations, Rogan and Kira, on successfully completing Level One of The Countdown."

It was a disembodied voice coming through unseen loudspeakers, just as the countdown had. I couldn't pinpoint the exact direction, but the sound of it physically hurt, and I cringed against the words.

Unlike the countdown itself, which had a metallic sound that 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 voice continued, as if it couldn't hear Rogan's comment or was choosing to ignore it, "is 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."

"What the hell is going on here?" I demanded. "I don't even 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. I screamed and clamped my hands on either side of my head and fell to the ground as white-hot pain tore through me.

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

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

"Wh-what... ?" I managed. My throat hurt.

The voice went on as if nothing out of the ordinary had just 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."

Implants? Frequency? Disqualification?

I scrambled unsteadily to my feet. I felt dizzy and disoriented and I stumbled, finally bracing myself against a cold metal wall.

"I want to know what the hell is happening here," I demanded hoarsely. "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 any ID. They'd probably end up throwing me in jail for causing a disturbance.

I was on my own.

Rogan looked over at me. He hadn't bothered getting up from the floor. Maybe he was a lot smarter than I was.

"Give up," he said.

"Like hell I will." I moved toward the door and kicked it again, knowing it wouldn't do anything helpful, but feeling the desperate need to lash out. "Come on! Come on, you bastards. Let me the hell 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.

"What the hell?"

The only time I'd ever seen anything like it was from sneaking in to see an old sci-fi movie at the only theater in the city that was still open. Shit like this didn't exist in real life. Did it?

Well, obviously it did, 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 just 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," he said.

"What begins? What the hell is happening?" I felt a tear of frustration slip down my right cheek.

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

"Level One has been completed successfully," the voice returned. It sounded enthusiastic, and there was an odd singsong quality to the words. "There are six levels to The Countdown. Complete all without suffering disqualification or elimination and you will be considered the winner. Your next level 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 from The Countdown. Do not delay. You have fifteen minutes to complete this level. Your time starts now."

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

I turned to see that the door I'd been kicking had opened up. 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 THREE

The beeping started when I'd gone nearly a block away. Soft at first, but growing steadily in volume and speed with every step I took.

I decided to ignore it.

I'd escaped. Holy hell, I'd escaped. I didn't know where I'd just spent who knew how much time, but I was glad I was out of there. And the more distance I could put between me and whatever the hell 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. In fact, the whole world had been on an upswing then. Technology was increasing. The economy was thriving. A new world had even been discovered that had the same life-sustaining properties as Earth. And just when everybody was feeling all positive about the future, the Great Plague swept across the world, and in a matter of weeks 40 percent of human life was wiped out. Dead and gone.

Those who survived continued on--I mean, what choice did they have? The world kept turning. They rebuilt, they had children, but the world was sure as hell not the way it used to be. The city, once prosperous and filled with life, was now a sad and empty shell of what it used to be. It was depressing, sure. But it was all I'd ever known since I was born almost three years after the plague was over with.

I actually couldn't imagine living here when it was crammed with people. It was still busy over on Paragon Avenue--as if everyone who remained here congregated there in a sort of minicity. But the rest of the streets and neighborhoods were close to deserted, like this one apparently was.

As far as that new world that was discovered, over the past twenty-five years it had grown a lot. People referred to the new colony as "Offworld," and it was this shiny, beautiful paradise where everyone aspired to go and start a new life.

Apparently there's some kind of a shuttle that will take you there. But you need to know the right people, have the right kind of money, and have a hell of a lot of luck. Even with 40 percent of the population no longer breathing, mat still leaves three billion people looking for a ticket off this dying world. That would be a pretty damn big shuttle.

Finding out more about that shuttle and how the hell I could get myself on it was my biggest dream. So far, no dice, though. Apparently I didn't travel in the right circles to get any solid information on the subject. Big surprise.

"Kira! Stop!" I heard Rogan yell from behind me, but I didn't look. I was out of there. Away from there and away from him. I didn't need any more problems in my life, and that man was one big problem from head to foot.

Maybe I'd use this bizarre "countdown" experience as a catalyst to turn my life around. I mean, I was almost twenty-three now. Not a kid anymore. I could get a job. A real job. Make a real living. Contribute to society instead of stealing from it. Give up the dream of going to Offworld and just find a nice guy and settle down over on Paragon Avenue. Maybe pop out a couple kids of my own. Maybe I could be happy if I let myself. Forget about my past. Run away from it like I was running away from the metal room and the dangerous-looking man with those hypnotic blue-green eyes.

If it just wasn't for all the damned beeping I might feel like a new woman.

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

I ignored the rush of empathy that thought triggered.

What the hell was he chasing after me for?

And then I knew. 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 blinding, fast beeping--it was like an endless train roaring over the tracks--but it wasn't going to do any good.

The noise was coming from inside my head. 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 started to crawl on the pavement toward Rogan, trying to ignore the blinding pain as much as I could. It wasn't easy but I finally made it. The beeping decreased the closer I got to him, as did the pain. He had collapsed on his side; the only thing moving was his chest going up and down with erratic 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 bastard 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?"

"Touche."

I licked my lips and gave him a good look now that we were outside. The light wasn't all that great It was overcast It seemed to always be overcast these days. Something to do with global warming and pollution levels. I never really paid much attention to the news. All I knew was that it had been years since I got a really good suntan.

Yeah, the world was dying. Tell me something I didn't know.

Despite his hard-to-ignore rock-hard build under those dirty clothes, at the moment Rogan barely looked strong enough to harm a fly. But there was still an undeniable aura of danger that surrounded him. Something in those pretty eyes that made me think that I shouldn't turn my back on this guy if I could help it. I didn'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 warmly wrapped around mine. I didn't pull away.

I considered using my ability on him, but I'd had just about as much pain as I could deal with for one day.

Back when I was still a teenager, I realized that I had a very special talent. If I touched somebody skin-to-skin and flexed my mind in precisely the right direction, I could get a read on them. As I've gotten older, my talent has gotten better and better. It's a very useful tool, actually.

The only thing I could compare it to was those Magic Eye posters that were popular years and years ago. It just seemed like a jumble of pattern and color unless you looked at it just right. Looked just beyond it and then suddenly the true picture appeared as clear as day.

I wasn't really psychic, I didn't think. It wasn't like I could actually read minds or anything. I knew that. But it scared the hell out of me, and I used it as little as I possibly could, but I did have it, quite literally, at my fingertips.

I could tell who somebody really was in their--it sounded stupid--but in their soul. If they were honest or if they were lying. If they were hiding something. Not exactly what they were hiding, but I'd know if there was something just waiting to be found.

Every now and then, when I was very desperate, I used my ability, my flex, as I liked to call it, to pick my marks. If there was any doubt in my mind that the men I was about to steal from were scum, I'd do the flex and find out for sure. I didn't like stealing from nice guys. Lucky for me, and unlucky for them, I hadn't met a nice guy in a really long time. I figured they'd all gone to Offworld.

The only side effect was a wicked headache. The scummier the guy was, the worse the pain was. Not something I needed right now.

Besides, I already knew that Rogan wasn't a very nice guy. I didn't need the migraine to prove it.

And knowing that, why the hell didn't I want to pull away from his touch? What was wrong with me?

I didn't like to be touched if I could help it. But this . .. this wasn't touching, really. It was just a helping hand.

To a convicted mass murderer.

With that thought, and another flash of my family's faces, I yanked my hand away from him as if I'd had it submerged in a vat of piranha.

His expression shadowed, and he stuffed his hands deeply into the pockets of his torn, dirty jeans.

"I'll tell you everything I know, sweetheart. But we need to get a move on."

"There are ten minutes remaining in this level of The Countdown," the voice said from out of nowhere.

When I didn't immediately start moving, 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."

I frowned and tried to recall the map. Shit. I should have paid more attention. I felt fingers of panic dig into my stomach.

As if he had read my thoughts, he forced a grin. "Don't worry, sweetheart. I know where we're headed."

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 what they say? They totally exaggerated who you are. Maybe they're lying. Maybe he didn't do it. He just told you most of it wasn't true.

Why? Because he had nice eyes? Because he was vaguely charming and injured and I wanted us both to make it out of this alive? Because, despite my brain telling me to run as far away from this freak as I could, something else was telling me that there was more to the story?

Yeah, something like that.

"Tell us, Rogan Ellis, do you feel any remorse for what you've done? And now do you feel your sociopathic tendencies will serve you in The Countdown, especially now that you 're teamed with Kira--a woman who lost her own family to a brutal murderer?"

I tried to catch his eye, but now 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 subscribing audience.

Rape and murder.

No. My gut was telling me there was more to him. I always depended on my gut to help me discern the real from the bullshit. It rarely failed me, but this? This was too much.

"Five minutes now remain in this level of The Countdown."

The update was like a slap in the face.

There was no time to think about anything. Only time to run.

I grabbed Rogan's shirt again. "We have to get going. Fast."

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."

"What..." His brow furrowed. "What the voice said back there about me--"

"Forget it"

I saw him moisten his lips with the tip of his tongue as we hurried along the sidewalk. "I just want you to know--"

"Let's get one thing straight. I don't give a damn 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 shit 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 small gasp of pain. "You try anything or you even look at me funny? And I swear to God I'll kill you, myself."

He nodded with a stiff motion of his head. "Sounds fair enough."

I pulled my hand away from him, wiping off the bit of his blood I'd gotten on myself and ignoring 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 flexed my mind.

I hadn't gotten very much at all, and what I did get was very jumbled and unclear. Just a brief flash of insight into the mind of Rogan Ellis.

I knew my gut had been right. 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 up, in less than five minutes we were going to die.

CHAPTER FOUR

"How much farther?" I took a quick look over my shoulder to see that Rogan was well behind me, probably twenty feet. I ran fast. Currently he didn't. Since I couldn't let him lag too far behind at risk of death--thanks to the implants from hell--it was proving to be 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.

"We better be," I muttered. "Which way?"

'Take a left up there."

I took the left along the street up ahead. None of it looked familiar to me. All I knew was that the area we were now in looked like it was recovering from a nuclear bomb attack. The buildings were mostly rubble, crumbling like old ruins. It was deserted; there was no one around-- unless you counted the silver camera ball whizzing around that I already hated enough to fantasize smashing into a million little pieces.

I'd even taken a swipe at it a minute ago when it got too close. Damn thing was faster than it looked--and it looked pretty damn fast. Another thing I'd never seen before in my life. A flying camera?

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 weren't pounding so hard it hurt and I hadn't experienced stress and pain enough to fill up five lifetimes already, I would swear that I was dreaming.

"Shit."

I looked back at him. "What now?"

He was staring around the dead-end alley we'd just walked into. "It's not supposed to be like this."

"Like what?" I couldn't 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 The Countdown."

Rogan brought a hand up to his wound and visibly swayed on his feet. I ran to his side 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 four years. Things change. I can't... I can't figure out..." 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 hell of a lot of help."

"I guess we won't be winning the grand prize, will we?" He said it so wryly that I knew he was joking.

Joking. At a time like this? The guy was crazier than he looked.

He was very pale, and there was a sheen of perspiration on his grimy face. My hand was on his chest to hold him steady, and I could feel his heart beating fast and erratically. I pulled at his shirt to take a quick look at the wound underneath. It looked raw and open, as if it had been inflicted with a sharp object, like a big butcher knife. Definitely not a bullet wound. I'd seen those up close and personal before, unfortunately. Blood oozed steadily out of his 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, sweetheart."

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 already reached the finish line you'd think there'd be some sort of indication." His words finally betrayed an edge of strain.

"I'm going to let go of you now," I said.

"Thanks for the warning."

He eased back against the crumbling 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 potentially indicated the last seconds of my life.

"I used to watch TV shows like this before," I said. "Not exactly like this one, of course, but they'd have the races and the puzzles to solve. Usually at this level of a game it's fairly easy. Or at least, not insanely impossible to figure out." I glanced 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."

I scanned the alley. Two brick walls. One concrete wall, gray and unyielding behind Rogan's hunched-over frame. I looked up. There was a sliver of slate gray sky up 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, anyhow?"

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 The Countdown." "Fifty-nine . . .fifty-eight.. .fifty-seven ..."

There was a Dumpster to the side of us, full to overflowing. Strange, considering that the neighborhood was deserted, that there would be a full Dumpster just waiting for the garbage collectors to show up. A rotting apple core lay to the side of it, the fruit turning brown. No flies, though. Didn't seem like 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 shrink."

"Let me guess, your doctor?"

His expression shadowed. "I had a few appointments there, yeah."

"Obviously the quack wasn't very good at what he did."

He glowered at me.

A doctor's office. Right here. But now it was gone? Was Rogan tripping out? Or was he remembering something extremely important?

I sure as hell hoped it was something important. We didn't have enough time to be wrong.

I didn't think about what I was doing; I just did it. I went toward that Dumpster and jumped in.

"What the hell are you doing?" Rogan exclaimed.

'Trying very hard not to die."

I plunged my hands into the muck and filth I found in there. Rotting food, discarded boxes, plastic bags filled to overstuffing with rancid garbage. Living on the streets for as long as I had gave me a necessary talent for Dumpster diving. You could find some really good shit if you had the time and inclination to go searching.

Currently I didn't have the time, but I sure as hell had the inclination.

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

"Twenty-four. . . twenty-three . . . twenty-two . .."

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

"What are you doing?" Rogan shouted at me.

I held my breath and rang the bell.

Nothing happened for a moment, and I felt what little hope I had start to disappear, but then I heard something. Something heavy and metallic.

"Look." Rogan pointed at the ground.

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

"Ten . . . nine . . . eight. . ."

I launched myself out of the garbage like a woman possessed and grabbed Rogan's arm. There was a flight of stairs leading down, and without thinking twice I pulled him with me and we quickly began descending into the semidarkness below.

"Three ... two . . . one ..."

The door above us slid shut. I froze and waited. When nothing happened I continued down to the bottom of the stairs. A short hallway led into a white room.

"I don't feel dead," Rogan said. "So 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 it wasn't as bad as I thought it would be."

"Congratulations, Rogan and Kira, on successfully completing Level Two of The Countown."

"Is he going to say that every time?" I asked. "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 the long bangs were slicked against my forehead. My jaw was clenched tightly, and my dark eyes flashed with anger. I hated that thing. Hated it more than I remembered hating anything for a very long time.

"You shouldn't look directly at it," Rogan advised, and he touched my arm with the hand that wasn't clasped to his injured shoulder.

"Why not?"

"You don't want to give the subscribers more than their money's worth. They want you look at them that way. It gets them off to see how much they're making you suffer." He pulled me away so that I wasn't staring right at the camera anymore. "How did you know to ring the bell?"

I finally looked at him. "It was just a lucky guess."

"Yes," a voice said. "Very lucky. And very smart."

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

"Who the hell are you?" I asked, forcing myself not to take a step backward. He was the first live person I'd seen other than Rogan since this nightmare began.

He stopped walking. "My name is Jonathan. I'm your liaison to The Countdown?"

"And that means what?"

He didn't answer me. Instead his gaze flicked to Rogan. "You're injured."

"I'm surprised you didn't know that, being our liaison and all." Sarcasm mixed with 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 more moment."

Every muscle in my body was tense and ready to run, but I waited, standing silently in place like the two men were. 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 the hell?" I said.

"The 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.

I swear, everything in the entire room was white. It felt like a hospital, only way cleaner.

I watched Jonathan push away the shirt material that covered Rogan's wound. Then, with no sound from the murderer other than a halfhearted groan of protest, Jonathan cleaned the wound and then 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 Isouliije poison."

"That would explain why I feel like my insides are melting." Rogan sounded strangely calm. "Because they are."

"What the hell is going on?" My fists were clenched so tightly at my sides that my fingernails dug painfully into the palms of my hands. 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 fucking 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 stupid game?"

"I do," Jonathan said. "But that doesn't mean I always agree with their idea of entertainment."

He injected a blue solution into Rogan's shoulder. Rogan flinched and 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."

"Thank you." Rogan pulled away from Jonathan the moment he was finished.

I frowned as I watched their interaction. "Do you two know each other already?"

Rogan's eyes flicked to me. "No."

My frown deepened. For some reason I wasn't convinced.

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

"Am I well?" I repeated. "No, I'm 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. "Look, I don't know what I can do to convince you, but I don't belong here."

"None of us belongs 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 things as you might think. But time does have a way of making things a hell of a lot clearer."

"If you say so."

Rogan glowered at him. "I do."

I watched their exchange with growing confusion. Like hell they didn't know each other. I wasn't that blind.

"You weren't supposed to fix him, were you?" I asked.

He glanced at me. "No, I wasn't."

"Are you going to get in trouble for it?"

He didn't answer the question. "We must talk about Level Three."

"I'd rather have a nap," Rogan said with a small, humorless laugh.

"I'm sure you could. And you're in luck, because since The Countdown 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. "First I need to tell you about your next level." 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 Offworld with his family and opening a restaurant there."

"Sounds like a fun guy," I said dryly, my arms crossed tightly over my chest. "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. "Kill him?"

"That's right." Jonathan's voice was suddenly void of any emotion. "There will be no weapons allowed for this level. You will have to use whatever means are available to locate and eliminate this target. You will be informed of what is your time line for this once the level begins. That is 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--" His voice broke off as he yelled and clutched his head, and then crumpled to the ground, unconscious.

I watched him fall and then raised my wide-eyed gaze to look at Jonathan.

"I'm very sorry," he said.

I opened my mouth to say something, I wasn't even sure what, but lightning pain ripped through my brain and everything went black.

LEVEL THREE

CHAPTER FIVE

I opened my eyes slowly and blinked until everything came back into focus.

My first thought was, Implants--not a good thing to have.

I absolutely hated the idea of somebody out there with their finger on a little button that could cause me pain like that. It just didn't seem fair. However, I did like the idea of finding whomever was in charge of that little button and giving their groin a nice, sharp introduction to my knee.

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

Where the hell was I now?

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

There was a heavy weight 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. But no, this wasn't the street. Linoleum tile felt smooth and cool against my hands, which were flattened on the floor. We were inside. Somewhere.

I frowned. It was somewhere familiar to me.

I know this place.

And then it dawned on me.

It was the mall. One of my main haunts. The same place I was when this nightmare first began--when I'd stolen my new pair of shoes. I looked down at my feet to see the bright red sneakers were still there.

"Rogan." I jostled him.

He didn't wake up.

I moved my hand to the back of my head and took a moment to feel the incision mark where they'd inserted the implant. Then I moved to see if I could feel the same thing on Rogan's scalp. His dark hair felt surprisingly silky slipping through my fingers.

My frown deepened. I felt not just one but two incision marks on Rogan's head. Why were there two?

I took a good look at him then. He looked so innocent while asleep. 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 down to his lips.

"Are you really as bad as they're trying to convince me you are?" I mused out loud.

Why the hell didn't I want to believe it? I was being totally irrational.

He wasn't accused of stealing bubble gum from the corner store. He was accused, and convicted, of rape and murder.

I glanced around the hallway. Nobody was around. Not one person was within spitting distance, and as far as I could see, neither were the flying cameras.

I pressed my hand against his throat and felt his steady pulse, warm and alive beneath my touch. Then I slowly trailed down to his collarbone and then right over his muscled chest to his heart. Skin against skin.

Dammit. I didn't want to be this close to him. He was a very bad man who had done very bad things--unforgivable things--and it shouldn't feel this good to touch him.

But I didn't feel threatened or afraid when I was this close to him--and not just when he was unconscious. Why was that?

It was that damn flash I'd had when I'd done my flex on him on the street. First impression? He was seriously fucked-up. But really bad guys had this bad vibe that was hard to ignore, like a cold blanket of darkness that sucked the warmth right out of me. I hadn't felt much with Rogan--there hadn't been enough time--only warmth and pain and a little bit of sadness.

He hadn't felt like a bad guy.

But maybe I'd been wrong. It had been only the briefest of touches, but first impressions are lasting.

It would just take a moment. Just one moment of complete concentration to know all I wanted to know about my partner and I'd be certain one way or the other.

I closed my eyes and tried to concentrate on using my flex.

"Hey," he suddenly rasped, and I found my hand in his as he pulled it away from his chest. "I'm out for a few minutes and you start to get frisky on me?"

I scowled at him and pulled away. "Hardly."

"Then what were you doing?"

"Just making sure you weren't dead. FYI... you're not."

He gave a short, humorless laugh and glanced around wearily. "So where the hell are we now?"

"We're in the mall."

"The mall," he repeated with a frown. "Why are we in a 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..." He hesitated. "It... it may kill us anyhow."

I frowned. "Why do you think that?"

"It makes sense, doesn't it?" He shakily got 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," I told him. "Does that mean you have two implants?"

He raised an eyebrow. "Do I?"

I nodded.

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 over to his shoulder wound. "What Jonathan did to you back there. That antidote. How do you feel now?"

He gingerly touched his shoulder and moved it up and down. "It worked. I feel stronger already. It doesn't even hurt much anymore."

"Why did he do that? Save you? Seems kind of risky for him to help somebody he doesn't even know. Just another convict contestant. Are you sure you two don't know each other?"

"Positive." His ocean-colored eyes glimmered, and then a grim smile turned up the right corner of his mouth. "Must be my charm. I've always been able to win people over with it. Make them do whatever I want."

"Yeah, I bet." 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 again. He wasn't hunched over anymore, so it gave me a better judge of his height. And he was tall. If I was five-seven--and I was--then I'd have to guess he was a couple inches over six feet. Also, even with all that dirt and grime he was a very handsome man. I wondered briefly what he'd look like all cleaned up.

Like a cleaned-up rapist and murderer, probably.

Shit. I was just fooling myself if I thought there was more to this guy. Wouldn't matter if he was the best-looking man in the universe. What he'd done made him ugly.

I wish I'd been able to get a full read on him, but there wasn't enough time. All I had to go on was the flash earlier--enough to make me think that there might be another explanation for what he went to prison for.

Or was that just wishful thinking?

He seemed to flinch at my appraisal. "You don't look like you like what you see."

That wasn't necessarily true, actually. 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."

I felt his hand on my shoulder to stop me before I got too far. "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 bullshit 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 dos and don'ts of implant ownership. Did they give you a quick course in prison?"

He glared at me. "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, somewhere I knew. It felt good, like I'd been returned home. Some sense of control in this crazy situation.

Twenty-five years ago it had been one of the largest malls in the country. Nearly eight hundred stores in a complex that spanned blocks and blocks. Now there were about twenty stores still open. Three places to eat in the food court. Some people said that it had an eerie, ghost-town kind of feeling, but the way it was now was all I'd ever known it to be, so it didn't seem that strange to me. It was a place to hang out indoors; that was about it.

I glanced over my shoulder. Rogan trudged after me. Christ, just looking at him made me realize that we'd better make this quick. I figured we didn't have too much time before we got kicked out of the mall. Security wasn't all that tight, but torn, dirty, and bloodied clothes did not represent your average mall shopper, even these days, when the small selection of stores were thrilled with any potential customer. But I knew where I was going.

The food court. My friend Colin 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 sometimes for days to play networked games with other tech-heads.

I actually gave a small whimper of relief when I saw him sitting there, tapping away on his laptop, an extra-large soda sitting in front of him on the table. Just looking at it made me realize how thirsty I was. Other than Colin there were about ten people in the large food court, scattered at different tables. There was a clock hanging from the ceiling in the center of the court. The glass on it had broken years ago but had never been fixed. It still worked, though. It told me that it was just after five o'clock.

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

"Colin," I said.

He finally looked up. "Kira, hey. I've been looking for you. I wanted to tell you about this awesome job offer I got. You totally disappeared yesterday."

Yesterday? God, how long had I been unconscious before I woke up in that room?

"Colin, I need your help. Badly."

His eyebrows raised. "You look serious."

"You have no idea."

"Are you in some sort of trouble?"

"You could say that."

I felt Rogan's hand on my arm. "Kira, this isn't a good idea."

Colin's gaze shifted to him and his eyes widened. "New friend?"

I looked at Rogan, and then back at Colin. Rogan outweighed him by about eighty pounds of muscle.

'This is Rogan," I said. "We both need your help."

"Rogan ..." Colin's eyes widened even further. "Kira, do you have any idea who this guy is?"

"Yes, but you have to listen to me..." I trailed off. I felt something then. Something very strange. A feeling like we were being watched.

I darted a glance over my shoulder and was positive I saw a silver camera slide behind the corner.

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

Colin's knuckles were white as 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."

Colin had a crush on me. Fortunately he'd never acted on it, but it was always there, like an unignorable presence in the room with us. And I'll admit it, I took it as a compliment. It was nice to feel wanted. I was banking on that emotion 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.

"Where do you want to go?" He closed up 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. "No, Kira, you look way stressed. If I can do anything I will. Just 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? I can help you. You just have to come with me."

Rogan snorted. "You think you can save her from me?"

"If I have to."

"Brave kid."

"I'm not a kid," he snapped, and then looked at me again. "Is he hurting you?"

I shook my head. "No ... Rogan and me ... we're together."

"Together?"

I nodded. "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, Colin."

He blinked. "He's a fucking murderer, Kira. Don't you know that?"

I gave him a blank look and turned my back to him. "Maybe I don't care."

"Kira--"

"Don't follow us, kid," Rogan said. "Or you'll regret it. Trust me on that."

I didn't look back. I left the food court with Rogan at my side. I never should have gone there in the first place. Now Colin must hate me. I didn't want to hurt him. He had nothing to do with the mess I'd gotten myself into.

Tears slid down my cheeks, and I pushed them away before Rogan could see that I was crying.

Two men in security uniforms approached us.

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

An almost-smile twitched on Rogan's lips. "My, how times have changed. How do you know I wasn't about to do some shopping with my gold card?"

One of the guards eyed Rogan's dirty clothes and the bloodstain on his shoulder and then glanced at me. "Is this vagrant bothering you, miss?"

They didn't seem to recognize Rogan like Colin had.

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

I saw a flash of silver out of the corner of my eye. The camera.

"The level's already begun, hasn't it?" I asked Rogan quietly.

"I think so."

I knew then, without a shadow of a doubt, that 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 there alive.

I knew it.

I was too scared to risk it. The people running The Countdown seemed to know absolutely everything.

"He's with me, actually," I said instead. The words felt thick and unnatural leaving my mouth.

'Then you'll both have to go." The other guard grabbed my arm.

I wrenched away from him. "Fine. We'll go."

I didn't say anything else as we cleared the food court and headed down a mostly abandoned hallway toward the exit. I felt like crying again, but I forced the tears back. Crying wouldn't solve a damn thing.

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

"Some people are sick," Rogan said.

"Why did they even put us here in the mall? Just to mess with our minds?"

I felt Rogan's arm tighten around my waist then, and it was a strange feeling. Like he was trying to comfort me. Weird. As if he realized what he'd just done he pulled away from me.

"Do you remember what Jonathan told us this level is all about?" he asked.

I tried to think back through the thick cloud of memories. "The accountant."

He nodded. 'Take a look."

I looked in the direction he pointed to see the man who had been on the holoscreen. I think his name was 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. No one even gave it a second glance.

Rogan's attention was fixed on the man. "We've got to follow him."

"He's got a wife. And a kid."

Rogan looked at me. "And we can't let him leave our sight."

"There are ten minutes remaining in this level of The Countdown."

I turned to meet Rogan's gaze.

"You know what we're supposed to do," he said. "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?" Rogan asked.

I blinked at him. "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."

He moistened his lips with the tip of his tongue. "It's him or us, sweetheart."

"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 you." I bit the cruel words off. They sounded worse than I wanted them to.

That earned me a look. "We're running out of choices. Have you got 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 murderer, 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 if there was, I needed to figure it out. Fast.

CHAPTER SIX

Bernard Jones walked down the sidewalk outside of the mall, completely oblivious to the fact that he was being followed.

"Where'd the camera go?" I looked around the surrounding area, gray and bland, and noticed that we were all alone again.

"It's around, I'm sure."

"You seem awfully sure about a lot in this game."

He raised a dark eyebrow. "Do I?"

I narrowed my eyes at him. "Yeah. You do. And I'm going to figure out what your real story is, Rogan. Don't think I won't."

He snorted at that. "Ah, so you're actually an intrepid reporter at heart, are you? Going to get to the truth behind the man? Find out what makes me tick, other than the countdown in my head?"

"Don't mock me."

"But you make it so easy." He gave me a sideways glance. "Do you give all the men in your life such a hard time?"

"There are no men in my life."

"What about your boyfriend, Colin?"

I made a face. "He's not my boyfriend."

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

I pressed my lips together. "It's not true. Besides, even if it was, it wouldn't exactly 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 Jones slipped behind the corner of a crumbling building ahead.

'Then I want to figure out how to go to Offworld," I said.

He smiled thinly. "Everybody wants to go Offworld. What's so great about that?"

"It's not here. It's a place where somebody can make a fresh start and have the chance at a happy life." I crossed my arms as I trudged along. I didn't like revealing too much of myself to this guy. It made me feel uncomfortable. "And what about you? If you don't want to go to Offworld, what do you want?"

"Revenge." He said it so quickly that it surprised me.

"Against who?"

He smiled cruelly to show his perfect white teeth. "Against those who've done me wrong, sweetheart. And it's a mighty long list."

I swallowed at his cold words. "I'll do my best to stay off that list."

"An excellent idea."

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

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

"Wait," I said, panic welling in my chest. "There has to be another way."

He met my gaze, and I was surprised to see his was strained. "I have a theory. This guy... this Bernard Jones ... he's a plant. Maybe he's not as innocent as you might 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 The Countdown in the first place. It's just not their style."

"You keep talking about the game like you know all about it."

"You're going to have to take my word on this, Kira. Just listen to me for a second. If they start bringing in unassuming civilians, then they run the risk of being exposed. The last thing the subscribers would want is to have their friends and family learn their dirty little secret of spending money to see torture and murder."

I ran it through my mind. It made sense. Even though the cops didn't care what might happen to criminals, they'd care what happened to the regular Joe on the street. The city was a dying, crumbling mess, but it wasn't out-of-control chaos.

"So you think we just need to confront him?" I asked. "Get him to admit who he really is?"

"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 had walked a couple of blocks from the mall and were currently in the middle of a city parking lot--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 six-plus feet of danger who'd just called out his name.

"What do you want?" he asked.

"Just to talk," Rogan said.

"Who are you?"

"Name's Rogan. This here is Kira. We need some help."

He shook his head. "Not from me."

I turned around to look back in the direction of the mall, but it was blocked by other buildings. This part of the city was totally vacant.

No witnesses.

No witnesses except for the cameras, that was. They approached behind us, two of them, parting and moving to either side of the parking lot.

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, and tell me right now."

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. Just tell us who you really are."

"There are five minutes remaining in this level of The Countdown."

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

Oh, God, I thought. He was just a civilian after all.

"Rogan, what do you think you're 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--"

"Your family has nothing to do with this." He glanced over his shoulder at me and met my gaze. "I'm doing this whether or not you understand. 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 blankness. Then he tore the look off and stalked toward Bernard before I could say another word.

Bernard froze in place as the convicted murderer approached, weapon in hand.

"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 do not hurt me."

"Money doesn't do me any good anymore."

I'd approached on Rogan's left side, and I touched his arm. It felt as hard as I'd imagine the metal bar would.

"Rogan ..." I was crying now. He was going to kill the man in cold blood like it meant nothing. I could see the determination in his eyes. I felt as helpless as I did the night my family was killed and all I could do was hide in the dark and wait for the silence.

"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. Women. Killed them brutally. Some while they were asleep in their beds. Lots of them. I remember seeing it on the news."

I felt a tremor go through Rogan at his words. "Do you always believe everything you see on the news?"

"Yes! You're going to kill me, 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 managed. "Please!"

Rogan's chest heaved in and out with labored breathing. 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. His jaw twitched and he slowly lowered the weapon back down to his side.

He looked at me, his eyes glistening. "Do you believe everything you see on the news, too?"

I shook my head. "No. I make my own decisions. And you ... I don't believe you're a bad man. I don't. You're better than this. I know you are."

A tear slipped down his face. "I can't do it. Fuck, Kira. I can't do it. I can't kill him. Even to save us." He was shaking. He dropped the piece of metal and it hit the ground.

"There are four minutes remaining in this level of The Countdown."

I pulled Rogan to me and hugged him tight, feeling his chest go in and out, his entire body tense.

I nodded and pulled back, rubbing my thumb along his cheek to wipe the tear away. "I know. It's okay."

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?

But then he found it.

My eyes widened as I watched him pull out a gun and aim it at Rogan's head.

He smiled, and there was something very unnatural about it.

"Other contestants have taken me out very easily in less than ten minutes," he said.

Rogan tensed even more under my touch. "I knew it. I knew there had to be a catch to this."

"You are supposed to be a formidable 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. "I didn't want him to kill you."

He shrugged. "You didn't put up much of a fight. He would have killed me, but you would not have stopped                                                                                             him. Unfortunately, Rogan Ellis is a coward. The subscribers will be horribly disappointed. They had very high expectations."

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 six-six-five-five-point-one."

What did he just say? What kind of an answer was that? What did that even mean?

"An Ellipsis Cyber Drone?" Rogan's eyebrows went up. "But... but how--"

"There have been many advancements made in artificial intelligence since you were incarcerated, Rogan Ellis," Bernard said evenly. "I am only one of them."

"What does that mean?" I asked.

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

"Three minutes remain in this level of The Countdown."

Bernard's fake smile slipped back over more of his teeth. "Rogan Ellis, convicted rapist and murderer, could not bring himself to kill an Ellipsis Cyber Drone. And for that, both of you shall be eliminated from The Countdown."

I felt a line of perspiration slide down my spine.

The robot smirked, and suddenly I could see what he truly was. Before I was in too much shock, too much fear, to see that this guy didn't look all that human after all. He was too shiny, too seamless. His eyes reflected no inner personality. His voice had a slightly metallic tinniness to it that reminded me of the computer countdown I couldn't run away from because it fed directly into my brain.

"It will not be long now," the robot said. "Rogan Ellis, my database tells me that you have been wishing for death for many months. You do not like Saradone Maximum-Security Prison? I know that the scar on your face is from fighting off four other inmates who wanted to do very bad things to you. You killed two of them before the guards stopped the fight and placed you in solitary confinement. I think that you are lucky you received only a mark on your face. I am not surprised that you agreed to come on The Countdown instead of facing life back in the regular prison population. I would say that you would not have lasted another week."

I looked at Rogan. That was how he got his scar? Trying to fight off other inmates? I felt a flood of pity fill my chest but tried to push it away.

I couldn't even wrap my head around how wrong all of this was. From holoscreens, to flying cameras, to robots posing as fucking accountants--it was so messed up my brain couldn't even process it all.

"There are two minutes remaining in this level of The Countdown."

"You know what, robot?" Rogan said, and there was 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 felt the bullet rip into my upper right thigh and I fell to the ground, screaming and clutching my leg.

"However," the robot continued, "I can still entertain the subscribers until the level comes to its conclusion." He chambered another round. "Rogan Ellis, I would have believed that you would appreciate watching another woman writhing around in agony before her inevitable death. Why do you look so stern?"

"Kira!" Rogan called out to me, his voice hoarse.

I could barely hear him. My leg felt like it was on fire, and all I could do was wrestle with the pain. It hurt so horribly that I couldn't see anything but white. I couldn't hear anything except the countdown, now at one minute.

One minute and no more pain.

"Fifty-nine.. .fifty-eight.. .fifty-seven ..."

I blinked and tried to focus as tears streamed down my face. Rogan had 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 tear-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 the large man 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."

Rogan moaned and swore incoherently. "Don't hurt her!"

"It is my job to hurt her."

"Thirty.. . twenty-nine . . . twenty-eight..."

I reached out and wrapped my hand around the gun, then staggered up on my left leg, doing my best to ignore the searing pain in my other leg. I felt nauseated and weak and ready to drop back down to the ground. I swayed unsteadily but 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.

"Ten . . . nine . . . eight. . ."

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

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

I dropped the gun and collapsed back to the ground and let the pain take over again. 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 the words.

The words would have been something along the lines of: Okay? Do I look okay to you?

Just before I passed out, the last thing I heard was:

"Congratulations, Rogan and Kira, on successfully completing Level Three of The Countdown."

CHAPTER SEVEN

It was dark that night. So dark.

"Mom? . . . Dad?" I said, too softly for anyone to actually hear me. I was scared. I'd gone to bed early, mad that I couldn't get something--new jeans, a new purse .. . didn't matter anymore. Didn't matter then.

My bedroom door was closed. Locked. I didn't want to talk to anybody. Not even my friends, who were sending me text messages. I ignored the soft vibrating sound my new phone made every few minutes.

It was after midnight on a school night. I remember I had a big test the next day that I hadn't studied for. Math, I think. Or Neogeography. I didn't care what happened-- if I passed or failed. I actually couldn't think of one thing in the stupid, boring city I really gave a shit about.

But suddenly I did care about something. The creaking sound of somebody moving around in the hallway. I knew that it wasn't either of my parents--I just sensed that it wasn't. It wasn't my older sister returning from a late date and sneaking back in the house so she wouldn't get in trouble for breaking the new citywide curfew of eleven o'clock. She'd gotten back from the movie theater hours earlier.

It was somebody else.

Somebody bad.

For a moment I thought it might just be my imagination, my overwrought, overworked brain that always came up with the worst-case scenario. My mom said I should be a writer, since I always made up such crazy, overdramatic stories. Made mountains out of molehills, she 'd say. But even before I had my flex--or at least, before I'd learned to use it--/ had this sense. A sense of impending doom. The ability to tell if something wasn't right--that something felt off.

And that was how I felt when I lay in my bed that night with the sheets pulled up to my nose, listening to the footsteps outside my door.

Something was off'. Horribly off.

And then I heard my father move into the hallway to investigate the noises. I listened to shouting as he must have confronted the intruder.

And then I heard the gunshots--two gunshots--and the thump as my father's body hit the floor.

Then I heard the screams as my mother. . . and then my sister--oh, God, both of them--were confronted by the intruder. More shots rang out. My whole body shook as I fell off the side of my bed and crawled underneath, tears streaming down my cheeks. My whole world narrowed in on that moment. Those three minutes that felt like three years.

When all was silent, when my family was dead, I heard my door rattle as the murderer tried to get into my room. My door was locked, but he would have no problem busting it open.

I'm going to die, was all I could think. And I was afraid. So afraid.

But suddenly there was the sound of police sirens, and the intruder fled without another sound, without a word, into the night, where he was never caught.

I never appreciated my family until they were gone forever. I hadn't even said good night to them.

And ever since that night, the inky darkness just reminded me of how close to death I had come. How powerless I was.                                                                                          How it felt like hands clutching at my neck, holding me down, forcing me to relive my family's murder when I didn't do anything except hide.

I woke slowly but saw only blackness. The pain in my leg immediately alerted me to the fact that I wasn't sleeping. Or dead.

At least, not yet.

"No," I murmured, feeling those familiar tears of panic prick at my eyes as I felt the darkness close in on me. "No ... please. Not again."

"Kira," a voice said, familiar and deep. "It's okay. You're going to be okay. Open your eyes."

I felt a warm hand on my cheek, wiping away my tears. Soft lips brushed my forehead, and fingers stroked the hair back from my face.

"It's okay," the voice murmured again. "I'm with you."

My eyes shot open. I thought they'd been open before, but I must have been only half-awake. Half dreaming. I squinted as the soft light of wherever the hell I was became less blurry.

The first thing that came fully into focus was Rogan. He was sitting on the edge of the bed I was lying in. He looked like hell, still dirty and bloody and a total mess, but the sight of him made me feel happy, chasing away my nightmares.

He frowned. "What's that?"

"Wh-what's what?" I managed. My voice sounded croaky.

'That thing on your face."

I tried to reach up. "What is it?"

"I think it's ... yes, it's definitely a smile."

I let out a long breath and rolled my eyes. "Obviously a total mistake. There's no reason for me to be smiling right now. Is my leg still attached?"

He glanced down the length of my body and then looked back up at me with a half smile on his own face.

"For now." The smile faded. "You were having a bad dream."

"I can't imagine why. We've been having so much fun." I tried to look around, but didn't see anything other than a bland room with a small window that only looked out to another building. "Where are we now?"

"They brought us to a medical station. I guess you getting shot wasn't in the script."

"There's a script?"

He shrugged. "Who knows?" His gaze met mine, and I noticed for the first time since I woke up how filled with anguish his was. "I was worried about you."

"That makes two of us."

"Don't joke." His voice caught, and he brought his hand back up to stroke my face gently. "You have a knack for working your way into somebody's life real fast, you know that, sweetheart?"

"I thought I asked you not to call me sweetheart?" I was only half-serious as I said it.

He smirked. "Sorry." He didn't move his hand, and I didn't push it away. In fact, I moved my face to nestle closer to him.

"So now what?" I asked.

"So now we're waiting for somebody to check your leg and release us, I guess. They took the bullet out already and patched you up. They gave you some pain meds, which is probably why you were out so long."

"How long was I out?"

"A long time. Almost eighteen hours."

My eyebrows raised. "Eighteen hours?"

He nodded. I raised the white sheets to look down at myself. My clothes were gone and I was now wearing a white, scratchy hospital gown. My right thigh was bandaged.

"So you've ... you've been here the whole time? With me?"

"Yeah," he said. "They said I should wait outside, but I refused. I thought they'd beat the shit out of me for giving them attitude, but they didn't. Don't know why. Let me sit in here with you after they were finished patching up your leg."

"For eighteen hours? You've been sitting next to me the whole time?"

"I dozed for a bit myself, but otherwise, yeah." He looked away, and then back to me. "I didn't mind. It's not a bad view, after all."

I felt my cheeks heat. He'd been watching me sleep. That should have totally creeped me out, but instead it made me feel... feel... I don't know. It made me feel secure for some reason. Like he was looking out for me. Making sure nobody hurt me.

Which didn't make a damn bit of sense at all.

Why would a convicted murderer want to be my guardian angel? Why did being around him fill me with anything but the fear I should be feeling with him? Why did I trust him not to hurt me when I was completely helpless? Why did I like the feel of his hand on my face?

Because I didn't believe he was guilty, that was why. He was nothing like the man who'd murdered my family. I'd seen no indication at all that he was cruel or heartless, and he couldn't bring himself to kill Bernard when he thought he was just an innocent civilian.

He didn't do it.

The clear thought was like a revelation that pushed all my fears away.

That would probably be the reason that I found myself placing my hands on either side of his face and drawing him down closer to me. I put a hand on his chest, which was going in and out with his increased breathing, and I could feel his heart pounding hard and fast.

"Kira," he managed, just before our lips brushed together in an achingly soft kiss.

It wasn't much at all. Just the briefest touch before he pulled back. The look on his face held such confusion and awkwardness for such a small thing as a kiss, it almost made me laugh.

And then I realized what I'd just done.

Oh, my God. What was I thinking?

It was the painkillers. Yeah. Had to be the drugs. They were totally tripping me out and making me do things I would never normally do in a million years.

Dammit. I wanted to kiss him again.

I pressed my lips together, still stunned by how good he'd felt.

I looked up at him. "Can I ask you a question?"

Eyes still a bit wide and his hand hovering over his mouth, he stared down at me. "Uh ... of course you can."

"When we were out there with that robot thing ... you looked at me and asked if I believed everything I saw on the news."

He looked away, his mouth forming a thin line. "Yeah."

"What was that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing. I was stalling for time. Didn't work. The bastard shot you anyhow." He moved away as if he were going to stand up from the bed. "You said no, right? That you didn't believe everything the news says."

"That's right. I don't."

I reached up and grabbed his shirt to force him to look at me. Being the messed-up mass of emotions I currently was embodying, there were now tears on my cheeks again.

Smile, cry, smile, cry.

Pick one.

"I'm going to ask you something, and I want you to tell me the truth. You hear me? The truth. And I want to hear it from you." I sounded surprisingly strong for somebody stuck on her back with a bullet just pulled from her leg.

"What?"

"Did you do it?"

His eyes narrowed. "Do what?"

"What they said you did."

His jaw clenched and he looked away. "I'm going to check on what the hell is taking them so long--"

I grabbed for a tighter hold of his shirt. If he was getting up, he was taking me with him. "Those nine girls. Did you murder them like they said you did? And the three counts of rape? Is that true? I don't believe you did it, but I want you to tell me. God damn it, Rogan. Tell me the truth."

He blinked. "You ... you don't believe it?"

I shook my head. "No."

His face was so tense it looked like it might shatter. "No one's ever questioned whether or not it's the truth before. Everyone just assumes I'm guilty as sin. Why wouldn't you?"

"Because they're the scumbags who plucked me out of my normal life and are trying to kill me in their stupid game. Why would I believe anything they tell me?"

He was silent for a long time, and then: "I'm a very bad man, Kira."

I slid my fingers into his dark hair. "Just being a bad man doesn't necessarily mean that you did what they said."

He licked his lips and wouldn't meet my eyes.

"Just tell me," I said. "It's simple, really. You either did it or you didn't."

He shook his head. "Nothing's simple. Nothing in my life has ever been simple."

"Did you rape them? Three of those girls?" I said it so softly I was surprised he heard me.

I watched a tear slip from his left eye, tracing the line of his scar. "No. I've never raped anybody. Ever. I swear to you."

"Did you kill them?"

"No." He shook his head as he met my gaze--his filled with so many conflicting emotions I couldn't even begin to pinpoint them all.

But it didn't matter. I felt a huge weight lift off my chest. Even without using my flex, I trusted my ability to read people's faces. Some liars managed to still get past me, but they were few and far between.

Rogan wasn't lying. I would bet my life on it. In fact, I think I already had.

"You believe me," he said very softly. "You don't know how much this means to me, Kira."

"Why would they say that if it wasn't true?" I asked. "Why would you let them?"

"It's complicated."

My gaze softened, and I touched his face, tracing my index finger gently along his scar. "So you went to prison for something you didn't even do?"

He swallowed hard and took my hand in his. "I told you already. I'm a very bad man. If you knew the truth about me, you wouldn't be looking at me like that. You'd hate me. And you'd sure as hell not want to kiss me."

I shook my head and twisted my fingers into his hair to draw him closer to me. 'Tell me, Rogan. I promise I won't hate you."

Just then the door opened to my right and Jonathan walked in. Two men dressed all in white accompanied him but stayed by the door while he approached my bed. I tensed and Rogan straightened up. My hand fell to my side.

"You're awake," he said, and then adjusted his wireframe glasses.

I glanced at Rogan, then back at Jonathan. "You're very observant."

He smiled. "I'm to tell you that your next level is a reward level. Should you complete it successfully, you will receive something very special."

We both looked at him blankly.

He cleared his throat. "Rogan, would you mind giving us a few moments alone?"

Rogan's expression tensed. "I'd rather stay here."

Jonathan's smile grew. "To protect her from me?"

"Maybe."

"Trust me, that won't be necessary." He paused. "I really would prefer you leave of your own free will because I asked nicely, Rogan. If not, then there are other methods I can use to remove you from the room."

The silent white-clad men stood at the doorway with their arms crossed.

"It's okay." I touched his arm to find that it was tensely corded muscle.

He met my gaze and nodded once, then rose from the side of the bed and, with a last look at Jonathan, one edged with warning, he brushed past the men.

With a nod from Jonathan, they, too, left the room, closing the door behind them.

We were alone.

"Who are you?" I asked after a moment had gone by.

"We already met earlier. Jonathan, remember?"

I rolled my eyes. "I remember vividly everything that's happened. Consider it all burned into my brain forever, but it still doesn't explain a damn thing."

The smile still played on his lips, and I was finding it annoying, to say the least.

"What's so funny?" I demanded.

"You are, Kira."

"Is that so?" I straightened up in the bed, my fists unconsciously curling tightly beside me.

"Don't take it as an insult. I mean it as a compliment." The smile faded around the edges and I noticed that it didn't include his eyes. They were very serious. "Most normal women would not have lasted as long as you have in The Countdown. When you were chosen to play I had my doubts, but they are dissipating with every passing level."

"Normal women?"

He spread his hands. "We've had men play, exclusively. Criminals who are accustomed to a life of struggle and violence, whom no one would miss should they be ... unsuccessful. Some rise to the challenge and others crumble under the pressure to perform or face the consequences of failure. We've never had a female competitor before."

"Why was I the lucky chosen one? I'm sure there're a lot of women in prison who would have jumped at the chance to come on this reality TV show from hell."

"Is that what you think this is? A reality TV show?"

"Isn't it?"

"This competition may bear a slight resemblance to the television programs available decades ago, but that was then and this is now. The Countdown is nothing like those innocent survival games."

I glared at him. "Yeah, Rogan was telling me something about 'elimination' meaning death. And that robot guy put a bullet in my leg to prove it."

He looked down at the white sheet that covered me from my chest down. "How is your leg? May I see?"

"No, you may not."

He let out a long breath. "I know you don't trust me, Kira--"

"Oh, should I trust you? As far as I can tell you're just one of the bastards who put me and Rogan in this situation in the first place."

"You include Rogan. Have you come to care for his safety as well as your own?"

I slunk down in the bed. "That's none of your business."

"It is curious to me how a vibrant young woman like yourself would so quickly come to care for someone like Rogan. You are aware of what he was in prison for, aren't you?"

I frowned at him. "'Crimes that I'd never forgive anyone for."

"Yes, given your history and what happened to your family, I can sec that. But you care for him anyhow. And why is that?"

"Because he's innocent."

"Are you so sure of that?"

"I'm sure."

"Did you use your psi ability on him? Your ability to connect empathically with another?"

I went very cold and still at his words. Nobody knew about my flex. Nobody.

He waved a hand. "Don't be alarmed. It isn't common knowledge. In fact, I am one of the very few connected with The Countdown who know of your hidden talents."

"How did you--"

"How did I know? We know everything. All doctors keep very special records on their patients. A large percentage of female children born after the plague are psychically gifted."

"A large percentage?" I asked. This was the first I'd ever heard of this.

He nodded. "Your abilities are marked down as low-level, which typically would not cause much of an interest from the scientific community." He walked toward the small window overlooking another gray building. "Many of the other girls with high-level psi powers were taken to Offworld as soon as they were discovered so they could grow up in a much more stable environment. Those with the low-level abilities such as yourself were mostly ignored. But it is still in your markup--your DNA profile. I thought your abilities might help you along in the game in some small way. I may have been wrong. He doesn't believe it makes any difference at all."

There was no smile on his face anymore as he turned from the window to look at me again.

I struggled to sit higher up in the bed. "Who are you talking about?"

"Gareth. The producer of The Countdown. He is pleased with your showing so far but doesn't feel that your psi abilities have anything to do with your success. Our subscribers are also very happy. We've had a 20 percent increase in viewing time since your game began. And the more they view, the longer they use their implants, and the more they pay."

I tried to process everything he'd told me. If my doctor had written in my profile that I had psi abilities, did that mean my parents knew? They'd never discussed it with me. It had been a total and complete surprise one day when I was sixteen and I happened to tap into it quite by accident when I touched somebody. It had hurt so badly that I hadn't attempted it again for six months.

There was no reason Jonathan had to share all of this with me. All he had to do was patch me up and let me get back to the game, but I swear I saw concern in his gaze as he looked at me.

I felt an unbidden tear slip down my right cheek. "Jonathan, you have to help me. Help us. I don't want to die."

He nodded grimly. "I know you don't." He took in a deep breath and let it out. "Please, Kira, let me see your leg."

I shook my head.

He rolled up his right sleeve and thrust his forearm at me. 'Touch me. Use your ability if you don't trust me. See that I mean you no harm."

I studied him for a full minute before I decided to do as he said. I touched the skin of his arm just below his elbow, pressing my fingers against his flesh. I could feel his quick but steady pulse.

I closed my eyes and tried to push out all other thoughts from my mind. This took a couple of minutes, since my mind was currently rather full.

And then I flexed.

The images and sensations came to me in flashes. Nothing coherent or totally understandable. It wasn't home movies of the mind. Just flashes. Words. Thoughts.

:::::::::Tired

Angry:::::::::

:::::::::Determined

Sincere:::::::::

:::::::::Sad

Hopeful:::::::::

:::::::::Guilty

A wash of goodness swept over me. Sadness. Angst and despair. A good man forced to do things he didn't agree with. Someone who wanted to help to make things better.

Then a spear of pain lanced through my head and I let go of him, pressing my palms against the sides of my head.

Agony.

Par for the course. One of the reasons I tried to use my flex as little as possible.

After a moment I felt a cold cloth on my forehead and opened my eyes slowly. The fluorescent lights above now seemed too bright, and I squinted. Jonathan held a wet towel against my forehead. He stared at me with wide eyes.

"Did you sense anything?" he asked breathlessly. "I felt you ... I felt you in my mind."

"Did it hurt?"

"No, it was a curious feeling, but it wasn't pain. Perhaps you're not as low-level as indicated in your records. Are you well?"

I pushed his hand away. "Well enough, I guess."

I pulled at the sheets that covered me and bared my legs for him.

He undid the bandages and inspected my right thigh.

"Very good. It has healed as well as I'd hoped."

I frowned and looked down. Where I expected to find an oozing bullet wound was only a soft, bright pink mark that had already nearly healed over. It didn't even hurt when he touched it gently.

Rogan had said I'd been out for eighteen hours. But even eighteen hours wasn't long enough to heal a bullet wound.

"How--" I began.

"We have a great deal of technology at our fingertips here, Kira. The company I work for has always had a hand in research--be it computers and artificial intelligence or medical research. That is why I originally came on board ten years ago. Unfortunately, due to recent rules and regulations, I'm unable to share this research with anyone outside of the corporation at this time."

I touched my leg, running a finger along the wound. It was flat. I was healed. From a wound that felt as if it had torn my leg clean off.

"What kind of a company is this, anyhow? And who is this Gareth guy? He has people doing secret medical research? He's the one who's in charge of this game? He sounds horrible."

"He wasn't always." Jonathan's eyes glistened and he turned away, took in a shuddery breath, and then turned back to me. "Now I am to fill you in on the reward level of The Countdown!'

Tears pricked at my own eyes. "But I can't keep playing. You need to help me. Please, Jonathan."

His jaw clenched. "Kira, please. The only way you can escape the game is to win it. You read me. You must know that there is nothing I can do to change what is."

I had read him. The overwhelming feeling I'd gotten from him before my head nearly exploded was hopelessness. He was despondent about his lot in life.

We were silent for a moment.

"Jonathan ..." I began. "If I win ... if me and Rogan both get through all six levels--"

"It doesn't have to be both of you anymore," he said.

"What?"

"I know the rules were never properly explained to you. The fact is, after Level Three, if you make it to the end together or separately, then you will be considered the winner."

I let this information settle over me. "And if either or both of us do finish successfully ... we can ask for whatever we want?"

He nodded. "The champion or champions get to choose his or her own prize."

I licked my dry lips. "I'd be able to ask for a one-way ticket to Offworld?"

The smile reappeared on his face. "A first-class one-way ticket. Definitely."

"First-class," I repeated. "I like the sound of that."

Jonathan smiled. "I think you'd do very well on Offworld, Kira."

I let all the wonderful possibilities, the dream of freedom and a brand-new life, drift through my mind. "Maybe Rogan would like it there, too."

He frowned suddenly. "You said that you believe he's innocent."

I nodded and arranged the sheets back over my legs. "That's right. One hundred percent."

"Did you use your psi ability on him?"

"A little. But not fully. I haven't had time to concentrate long enough to use it. I asked him. He told me. I believe him."

The grim expression on Jonathan's face was not setting my mind at ease.

"I see." He rubbed his fingers against his small black goatee, his forehead furrowing into a deep frown.

"You see what?" I looked over at the door. Was Rogan still waiting outside? Had those men taken him away? He couldn't have gone too far, since my implant wasn't giving off a signal.

Jonathan didn't say anything for so long that my anxiety grew into a tight, dark ball in my stomach.

"You see what?" I said again, louder this time.

"It is not my place to say. In fact, I've stayed with you too long already. I was to check your leg and inform you that the next level is a reward level."

"I don't care about any reward unless it's a shuttle to Offworld and out of this game." My voice had gone shrill and harsh. "What are you keeping from me? What do you know about Rogan?"

He shook his head. "I should say nothing else, Kira. Time is running out. I must leave soon."

I touched his arm and forced my gaze to soften. I commanded myself not to cry. "I got a read on you, Jonathan. I know you're a good man inside, no matter what this Gareth guy is making you do. But if there's something I need to know about Rogan ... He's ... he's not really guilty of those horrible crimes, is he?"

I was afraid to ask the question and open myself up to the potential that I'd been an idiot to trust him, to trust my heart, which told me that he wasn't evil or capable of such terrible things. I felt something for him. I knew it was fast, but I felt a ... a softness for Rogan. My heart, which had been closed up tight ever since my family had been murdered, had opened up just a little. I believed in him. I wouldn't believe in an evil man.

"I knew Rogan," Jonathan began, "before any of this insanity began. We were friends once."

"I knew you knew each other," I said. "I could tell earlier, when you helped him with his wound."

He nodded curtly and began pacing the sterile white room, wringing his hands in front of him. "We were both only children when his parents died and he was sent to live with an uncle. The uncle ... he wasn't a good man. His cruelty led Rogan to experiment with Kerometh as an escape from the abuse."

I inhaled sharply. Kerometh had been the drug of choice ever since the plague. Expensive, but easy to acquire, easy to take. I'd never personally experimented with it, but I'd heard that it put you into a state of disorientation. A deep, mindless bliss. But it lasted only a short time--a few hours, tops. After that you immediately plunged into the painful withdrawal that could last weeks unless you got another hit. If you didn't, then violence and anger-- they called it Kerometh fury--took over.

"There's a reason you were chosen to be Rogan's partner, Kira," Jonathan said, his expression twisting into one of pain.

I shook my head. "He didn't kill those girls. He couldn't have." I swallowed hard past the thick lump in my throat. "Please don't tell me he was lying to me."

Jonathan shook his head. "No ... he was telling you the truth. The murder of those nine poor girls was not his doing. He was charged and convicted of it, but he didn't do it."

I let out the breath I hadn't even known I'd been holding, and a great sense of relief flooded over me. "He's innocent?"

Jonathan was so still I thought that somebody might have hit his pause button. "He's innocent of those murders, Kira, but he is a murderer."

Something in his tone made me tense up. 'The ... the robot said that he'd killed two inmates. But it was in self-defense."

Jonathan shook his head. "There are more."

I shook my head. I didn't want to hear what he was going to say next.

"Kira," Jonathan continued, his face a study in despair, "I know you've grown to care for him. That's why it's vital that I tell you this now, before it's too late. You have the right to know." He hesitated, as if summoning something inside of himself to speak the words that followed. "While he was in the throes of Kerometh fury seven years ago, Rogan ... Rogan is the man responsible for murdering your family."

The silence that followed that statement was deafening.

"What?" I managed. My heart pounded, a thundering sound in my own ears.

"He murdered your mother, father, and sister. They were not the first or last of his victims that night. He doesn't know that you were connected to this act at all. He'd never seen you before you met at the beginning of The Countdown. His mind is clear now from spending these past four years in prison. He's drug-free. I'm not even sure if he'd be capable of murder anymore, but it doesn't change the past."

"What?" I was crying now the tears that I'd held inside so long. Sobbing hard and rocking back and forth, feeling just this side of crazy. I felt as if my entire life had just imploded and taken everything I knew with it.

It made sense. It made such horrible sense. Of course that was why they made us partners. Of course.

Rogan, the man with the beautiful ocean-colored eyes, the man my gut told me was innocent, the man I'd wanted to kiss so badly my lips burned, the man I'd believed in heart and soul even after knowing him only such a short time.

He killed my family and took everything from me. He should have killed me, too. I wished he had.

I'm a very bad man, Rogan had told me only minutes ago. If you knew the truth about me, you wouldn't be looking at me like that. You'd hate me. And you'd sure as hell not want to kiss me.

He killed my family.

Still, something deep inside of me refused to believe it. No. It's not true. Jonathan's lying to you. They're all lying to you.

I rocked back and forth for a long time, my knees against my chest, and I hugged them tightly against me.

Jonathan, the man my flex had revealed to be truthful and honest and filled with guilt about the job he had to do, patted my back and gently wiped my tears away.

"I'm sorry, Kira. I probably shouldn't have told you, but I could see you growing closer to him. Too close. I cared for him once myself, but after the Kerometh ... the Rogan I knew was gone forever. He may not have killed those girls, but he did deserve to go to Saradone, you see? You don't deserve any of this, and I'm so sorry. All I can tell you is what I told you before...." He trailed off.

I waited for him to continue, but he didn't. I raised my head. "What?"

He cleared his throat before he spoke again. "Only one of you has to live to the end of The Countdown," he told me, stony-faced. "If Rogan dies it won't be held against you. You'll still get your ticket to Offworld. Do you understand what I'm telling you?"

I just stared at him. "I... I think so."

He nodded and took out a small black remote control from his pocket. It had a series of red and yellow buttons on it. "I'm very glad to hear it."

"Wh-what's that?"

His face was set in grim lines. "This device is connected to your implant. Now that I've determined you have healed enough, I'm afraid we must continue on to the reward level. Are you ready, Kira?"

I shook my head. "No, I just need a little time. Just a little--"

"I'm sorry," he said, and pressed a button. "It's already begun."

Everything went black.

LEVEL FOUR

CHAPTER EIGHT

I woke but still saw only black. I was wearing a blindfold and my hands were bound behind my back. I stifled a whimper.

Dammit. I hated the darkness. I hated it.

I willed myself to stay as calm as possible and concentrated on the announcer's voice in my head. The one whom I'd come to despise, although it was the only thing at the moment keeping me from freaking out.

"Yesterday in Level Three," he said, "Kira received a bullet wound to her upper femur. Without proper medical intervention she would have died from blood loss. She has now recovered enough to continue.

"She has performed to an exceptionally high level, and the producers of The Countdown are thrilled with your reaction to her and realize you are hungry for more information about our first ever female competitor.

"Kira Jordan is twenty-two years old. Some of her interests include long walks on the beach and wearing sexy lingerie. It excites her to know that you, as subscribers, are watching her every move as part of The Countdown, as she and her handsome but deadly partner, Rogan Ellis, fight for their lives in the anticipation of winning the game.

"On the streets since she was fifteen, Kira has survived as best she could using her brain and her body to get what she needed to survive. Desperate and destitute at the age of fifteen, she decided to use that body to aid her survival. This is a path taken by many lost girls, and it's a story that typically ends in tragedy. Prostitutes rarely trick only once, and even if they have a pimp to protect them, they could be beaten or murdered. At the very least they usually succumb to Kerometh addiction.

"The client Kira found on her darkest day was an older man in search of a young girl--a lawyer who was the lead partner at his firm. His wife had already gone to Offworld and he was to join her in the days to follow. Little did Kira know that he planned to kill and dismember her--a hobby that he'd recently developed--after their sexual tryst.

"However, after a few initial gropes, Kira decided that a life of prostitution was not for her. When she rebuked his actions he struck her and she fell to the floor, where he prepared to take her forcibly.

"The lawyer's wife collected priceless antique china. A bowl had fallen to the floor next to Kira's prone form. While the man was distracted by attempting to force her legs apart, she curled her fingers around the bowl and swung it toward his head, an act that succeeded in knocking him unconscious.

"Before Kira fled the scene, she searched the man's body for his wallet and took all the money that was there, which amounted to just under thirty dollars.

"The altercation was recorded by security cameras the wife had installed to catch her husband, whom she suspected to be cheating. She had no idea that she was married to a demented murderer who was to become, four years later, a formidable contestant on The Countdown. He made it all the way to Level Five before being eliminated.

"Through this event, Kira Jordan realized that stealing would help her live to face the next day. To fight for survival in a dying world. It has also led her here, to this very moment, to the next level of... The Countdown."

The blindfold was ripped from my face and I blinked. The skies were darkening with an approaching storm. A fork of lightning arched across the sky. I felt shaken at hearing one of the lowest points in my life broadcast in a friendly, almost singsong voice. I had no idea until a minute ago that that bastard had wanted to do anything but rape me, as if that wasn't bad enough. He had been ready to kill me, too? I shuddered at the thought.

My wrists burned as the bindings were released, and I felt a shove at my back that made me stagger forward a few feet until I found myself at the edge of a building.

I stifled a scream and struggled to maintain my balance as I saw where I was.

At the top of a skyscraper. On the very edge of the roof. If I'd taken another step I would have dropped at least forty stories to the street far below.

My stomach lurched.

"Kira!"

It was Rogan's voice, and I craned my neck to the left to see that stretched between the tops of two skyscrapers was a small bridge not more than eight inches wide. It went fifty feet across between the two buildings. In the exact middle was Rogan, lying on his back with his arms out above his head. His wrists were bound to the platform.

I looked down at myself. I was fully dressed again in the clothes I'd worn before. The cargo pants were ruined with the bullet hole and dried blood on the thigh. My tank top had seen better days.

"Welcome to Level Four," the singsong voice continued, "a reward level in which Kira is to rescue her partner by crossing a narrow and dangerous bridge high above the city streets, and then the two must continue on to the other side to complete this level successfully. There is no safety gear for this, no ropes, no tricks. All Kira has to work with is her sense of balance and self-preservation. Should they finish they will be well rewarded for their efforts. Our competitors have ten minutes to complete this level. Enjoy! "

I didn't move. I stood in place and stared out at Rogan. I always thought that I only had a fear of the dark. Who knew about this nagging little fear of heights I'd just developed in the past two minutes?

My mouth went dry.

Okay. So I had precisely ten minutes to rescue the man whom I'd been told had killed my family and try not to fall dozens of stories to our deaths.

Splat.

I shuddered and looked around the rooftop I was currently standing on. Whoever had removed my blindfold and bindings had disappeared. I was all alone. Nobody to push me to do this. Nobody to force me.

"Nine minutes remain in this level of The Countdown."

Fuck me.

I made my way to where the platform began--it was even narrower than I'd originally thought. I tried to breathe.

When I was ten years old I took gymnastics. I remember balancing on the beam, trying not to fall off. I'd been pretty good at it then, even been able to do a cartwheel or two. But the floor had been padded in case there were any tumbles.

That had been a long time ago.

The platform seemed fairly stable. I tested it with my foot and it gave a little, but not much. My upper thigh ached dully from where I'd been shot, but I suppose it was better than still bleeding.

These Countdown people wanted their contestants to be in top shape before their precious subscribers got to watch them die.

So sporting of them.

"Kira!" Rogan shouted again. He had his head up and looked at me. "Be careful!"

I ignored him. Thinking about him right now was only going to distract me. There was no time for me to be distracted. To say the least.

Just don't look down, I told myself.

Which left me with very few options. The platform was so narrow that when I focused on it, I couldn't help but see the street so far below me.

My right foot shook as I placed it on the platform, and I wavered for a second, holding my arms out to either side of me as I established my balance. I let out a long breath and tried to center myself.

Just like gymnastics. I needed to pretend that I was competing at the Olympics, if they were still being held. I wanted that gold medal.

Focus on that gold medal, I thought. Think of nothing else.

"Eight minutes remain in this level of The Countdown."

The voice seemed louder in my head than usual, and it surprised me. I shook a little before I steadied myself. I took another tentative step and let out a long, shuddery breath.

"You're doing great, Kira," Rogan said. From what I could see from twenty feet away, his expression was strained. He pulled at his bindings and the platform shook.

"Don't do that!" I yelled. "Just stay still."

"Sorry!"

"Yeah," I muttered under my breath, and a line of sweat trickled down my forehead and onto my nose. "You're going to be sorry, you son of a bitch."

No, don't think about anything negative, I thought. Nothing. Just focus on putting one foot in front of the other--

"Seven minutes remain in this level of The Countdown."

--and doing it quickly.

Christ. That voice was so distracting.

I took another step.

A silver camera buzzed past my face, so close that I felt the wind from it. I glared up into its lens and it came back for another pass.

"How is Kira feeling right now?" the voice asked. "Ready to win The Countdown and receive her ultimate prize of a first-class ticket on the Off world shuttle?"

"Fuck off," I told it. "Pretty please."

It flew away and out of my peripheral vision, but I could still see two other cameras moving around in the air nearby.

Jonathan had told them what I wanted. Okay, so that made it official. I was playing for keeps. I wanted that prize more than I wanted anything else in the world.

Another step. Balance. Another step. Balance.

I raised my gaze to look at Rogan, who was much closer now, his head still propped up, and he watched me as I approached. His jaw was tense, the muscles in his arms tight. The closer I got, I could see a small grin appear on his lips.

"What the hell are you smiling at?" I managed.

"Just the fact that you've come to my rescue. Does that make you my knight in shining armor?"

I didn't smile. "I haven't rescued you yet."

His grin faded. "Just watch your step. Don't fall. Here comes another camera."

It buzzed close enough that it almost touched me. "What the hell? Are they trying to knock me off this thing?"

"They're not trying to give you a helping hand, that's for damn sure."

"Why'd you let them tie you up like this?"

He pulled at the bindings. The platform shook slightly. "Like it was my idea. They took me outside the room and knocked me out again. I woke up here. Trust me, it was a hell of a shock."

I studied the ropes that tied him. "This is going to be tricky."

"I don't think the knots are too tight. It's just awkward."

I studied the face of the man who may have killed my family. He looked up at me with those blue-green eyes framed with dark lashes and that fading scar. He wore the same clothes as before: bloody, dirty, ripped. I still saw the handsome man under the ruin, the one I'd let charm me into believing in him.

His dark brows were drawn together as he frowned up at me. "Why are you looking at me that way, sweetheart?"

I blinked back tears. "Just shut up. I need to concentrate."

I thought back to gymnastics. One lesson had been how to kneel down on the bar without losing balance. It had taken me forever to learn that without falling off, but I had finally gotten it. However, that was more than ten years ago, and definitely not a skill I used all the time. Unfortunately.

I slowly crouched down far enough that I could fumble with the bindings around his ankles just above his worn black boots.

His body took up the entire width of the platform and then some. He couldn't move without shaking everything around, and I couldn't get past him.

He eyed his wrists. "Now what?"

A camera whizzed past my ear and I swatted at it, hitting cold metal.

"Five minutes remain in this level of The Countdown."

I met his gaze and saw there was more than a trace of fear behind it. There was concern. For me.

My heart wrenched. Why was he concerned for me? Dammit. I hated that I'd convinced myself he was a good man--and even now, after everything, I still had doubts about his guilt. Was it because I wouldn't allow myself to believe I could be attracted to the man who may have murdered my family?

"I'm thinking."

He blinked. "What they said earlier... about what happened with you and that lawyer scumbag--"

"It was true. All of it."

His jaw tensed. "If he wasn't already dead I'd find him and rip his heart out."

I willed myself to stay focused on the platform. "Nothing happened. I learned my lesson the hard way."

"I'd still kill him."

"It's that easy for you? Killing?" My voice broke on the word.

His expression darkened. "I'll do it for a good cause. For the right reason. To protect myself or somebody I care about."

"Are you saying that you care about me?"

"Sure." He averted his gaze. "And now I care that you untie me so we can get this fucking level over with."

"Don't forget it's supposed to be a reward level."

"I couldn't give a smaller shit. I just want us to get through this in one piece. Now you're going to have to climb over me and untie me so we can keep going. There's not much time left."

I put a hand on his jeans-clad thigh and slowly eased myself lower. He spread his legs so his feet dangled off the side of the platform to give me space to maneuver. Now on my knees, I slid myself closer to him until I couldn't go any farther. I placed my hands on his hard-muscled abdomen, then one at a time on his chest, sliding up to his shoulders. I grabbed the platform above his head on either side of his arms. Our bodies were now firmly pressed against each other. I heard his breathing hitch and felt his cock harden against my stomach.

"Is it wrong that I'm enjoying this a little bit?" he rasped.

"Yeah, it's wrong."

My breasts rubbed against his chest, and he inhaled sharply and let out a low groan. "Dammit, Kira."

I leaned in closer and whispered in his ear, "Jonathan told me that you're the one who killed my family."

He tensed and pulled his face away so he could stare into my eyes. His were wide. "What?"

"You heard me. Seven years ago when you were a Kerometh addict." A tear slipped down my cheek and fell into the empty air beneath us. "You broke into our home in the dead of night and shot my mother, father, and sister. And you would have killed me, too, if the cops hadn't arrived."

He shook his head. "No, Kira--"

"Shut up. Just shut up. That's why they picked me to be your partner. Because they knew what you did to me. They knew. Jonathan told me--"

"Jonathan's a fucking liar," he spat out. "He's one of them. Don't you see? He's lying to you. I didn't kill your family. I swear to God I didn't."

"And I'd believe you? Why would I believe you?"

"You have to believe me."

"I don't have to do anything." I shook my head and slid past him, going hand over hand, pulling myself clear of his body. "I can leave you here. I don't have to save you, as long as I save myself. You can die and I'll live."

Something in his expression shattered. "You're the only one who's given me the benefit of the doubt in years. Please don't take that away."

I just held on to the platform and closed my eyes tightly, trying to stop any more tears from spilling.

He craned his neck to look at me. His eyes glistened. "Kira, I've done bad things. I'll admit that. I've killed before. But I haven't killed anyone who didn't deserve it"

"Maybe you have a lousy idea of who deserves to die."

"I swear, Kira, I didn't kill your family."

"How would you even remember? If you were in the middle of a Kerometh fury, then you wouldn't be thinking too clearly."

There was deep anguish in his expression as he strained to keep me in his gaze. "I've never taken Kerometh a day in my life."

I brought the back of my hand up to wipe at the tears on my cheeks and frowned so hard that it hurt. He'd never taken Kerometh before?

"There are three minutes remaining in this level of The Countdown."

I'd read Jonathan. I knew he was telling me the truth.

The truth, I thought. How did I know for sure it was the truth? Because he read as being an honest man? Even honest men could lie when they had to.

What else had I felt? Guilt. Jonathan felt a deep sense of guilt, but I didn't know why.

Maybe he felt guilty that he was being forced to lie to me about Rogan. If Rogan had killed my family and left me as an orphan who almost had to sell her body to get enough money not to starve to death, then I hated him.

But if he didn't do it... if he was innocent...

I couldn't know for sure. Not now, and not with less than three minutes to go in this level. I didn't have enough time or the ability to concentrate to touch him, to read him, and even if I did would that tell me anything? I'd gotten a great read on Jonathan, but that only left me with more questions. More confusion.

Unless ... unless Jonathan believed what he told me was true. Just because he believed it didn't necessarily make it true, but it would explain what my flex had told me.

Dammit. I didn't know.

I let out a cry of frustration and started working on Rogan's wrist bindings until they dropped away. I watched them fall, the ropes getting farther and farther away as they got closer to the street. I felt dizzy suddenly and tried to get up to my feet, but my hand slipped on the wet platform. It had started to rain. I hadn't even noticed until now.

Rogan gripped my wrists and held me in place just before I fell off the platform. We waited, facing each other on our knees until the platform stopped shaking. I stared into his eyes as the rain fell around us, soaking through our clothes.

"I would have fallen," I said, willing myself not to look down again.

"I know." His eyes were moist, and not just from the rain. "You're the only one who's ever believed in me, Kira. Please believe me now."

"Two minutes remain in this level of The Countdown."

He didn't wait for me to say anything else. He slowly and carefully got to his feet. He held a hand out to me, and I took it and stood up.

"Let's go," he said.

I nodded and swiveled carefully to face the other building. I took a step, and then another step, and then another.

"Fifty-nine.. .fifty-eight.. .fifty-seven ..."

"Don't think about the countdown," Rogan breathed from behind me into my now damp hair. "Don't think about the rain. Don't think about anything but surviving."

I swallowed hard. "I think I'm afraid of heights."

"So am I."

I almost laughed at that.

I took another step, and another. A camera whipped past me at a breakneck speed and I stopped. I felt Rogan's hand at my back to steady me.

"You're doing great, Kira. Just keep going."

"Five... four... three ..."

With a last step I touched the roof. Another step and I was on it completely and jumped down off the ledge. Rogan landed next to me. I turned to face him and felt an odd sense of relief that we'd both made it to the other side in one piece. Streams of rain hit the rooftop around us.

He reached out as if to touch me, but then pulled his hand back. "Kira, I--"

"Congratulations to Kira and Rogan on completing Level Four of The Countdown successfully. This was also a reward level, so we hope that you will enjoy what we have in store for you next."

I braced myself for the blinding pain that usually preceded being struck unconscious by our implants, but instead I could hear a helicopter approach. My wet hair whipped around on all sides. Rogan grabbed my arm to pull me closer to him as the helicopter landed next to us.

Three men in white coats jumped out. They held guns. I couldn't hear anything because the sound from the helicopter's propellers was too deafening. The men in white were yelling something and waving the guns. I turned away and tried to run, but one of the man grabbed me around my neck. I fought him, but he dragged me to the helicopter and pulled me inside. I couldn't see where Rogan was. I yelled his name but couldn't even hear my own voice.

The helicopter lifted off from the roof and flew into the dark, stormy sky.

CHAPTER NINE

I heard Rogan yelling my name from the near distance as the blindfold covering my eyes was ripped off and I was pushed into a room. The door slammed shut behind me.

A gun was on me. "Strip," the voice behind it said, masculine, gruff, and his eyes slithered down my body.

My gaze darted around the room that, other than being totally white, had no other distinguishing features. "You're going to have to shoot me, asshole."

White Coat smirked. "Don't you want your reward?"

"I don't want any reward that starts with me getting naked in front of people holding guns."

He cocked the gun. "Strip now, bitch."

The door opened again and Jonathan walked in. Despite the fact that I now considered him a total lying bastard, I was surprisingly happy to see him.

"Is everything well in here?" he asked blandly, barely even glancing at me.

"Is everything well?" I repeated. "Are you fucking with me?"

He regarded me then with a neutral expression. "I'm sorry this has been difficult for you, Kira. Congratulations on finishing the reward level. I'm sure you'll be very pleased to enjoy some privacy after four difficult levels."

I narrowed my eyes. "You lied to me. Didn't you? About Rogan?"

He didn't confirm or deny it. He nodded at another man in white who threw something at me, and I couldn't do anything except catch it. It was a robe, a bathrobe. White.

Big surprise on the color choice.

Jonathan nodded at the men. "We'll give you some privacy. Leave your clothes in here."

"Where have you taken Rogan?" I asked.

Instead of answering me, he turned and followed the men out of the room. The door closed solidly behind him.

I stood there, shaking, looking at the terry-cloth robe draping off my arm. Then I dropped it and ran to the door, pounding my fists against it.

"Where's Rogan?" I yelled. "What have you done with him?"

I turned around and looked at the small white room, my chest heaving in and out. And I waited.

For a long time.

But nothing happened.

There was no sound. No movement. Nobody came in to force me to take my clothes off. I was alone with nothing to distract me except my racing thoughts.

I felt the back of my hair, now matted and stringy from being caught out in the rain. I touched the incision where the implant was. It wasn't giving off any warning signal.

He must be close.

Dammit. I wanted to talk to him. Why had I trusted Jonathan when I saw it was now obvious that he was the liar?

If only I'd done a true flex on Rogan, I wouldn't have doubted him at all--but I'd found it so difficult to concentrate around him. Especially in this crazy situation. No man had ever confused me as much as he did. As he does.

I felt sudden concern for him twist in my stomach.

Okay, I guess it was obvious that I believed him. I wouldn't be concerned for him if I thought it was all true.

I've never taken Kerometh a day in my life, he'd said.

Jonathan had lied to me so the level would be extra entertaining for the subscribers.

I hated being lied to.

And that look Rogan gave me out there on the platform when I accused him of killing my family ... He hadn't looked guilty or shocked or dismayed by what I said.

He looked disappointed. Completely, devastatingly disappointed that I would think that of him after telling him I believed in his innocence.

I bit my bottom lip and drew my arms around myself and hugged while trying to breathe normally.

"Hello?" I said out loud. "Announcer guy? What's going on now?"

There was no answer.

It was quite obvious, actually. They were waiting for me to change my clothes, and nothing would happen until I did.

Make them wait, I thought bitterly.

And so I waited--another ten minutes.

Then, as quickly as I could--using the robe to cover myself as I did so--I slipped out of my wet, dirty clothes and let them drop heavily to the shiny white floor. I kicked off my stolen red running shoes. I tied the sash of the white robe tight around my waist and stood there in bare feet.

"Now what?" I growled from between clenched teeth.

There was a whirring sound and the door to my right opened, moving from floor to ceiling. It was dark beyond. I approached it cautiously and looked inside.

It looked like a luxury hotel room. Large and grand, with rich fabrics and beautiful artwork. A large four-poster bed was to the right. To the left an archway led into a huge bathroom. A large window looked out to a red, orange, pink, and yellow sunset over a tranquil rippling lake. Trees waved gently in the breeze. I approached closer and touched the window. The image flickered. It wasn't a window at all, but a large display screen. I could see the slot on the right side where the disk containing the image files went. The moving picture it displayed looked just like I'd imagined Offworld would look--absolutely perfect.

Looks so real, I thought absently.

Next to the screen and spread across a table was a feast unlike anything I'd ever seen before. Fruit, breads, meat, lobster, shrimp, cheese. A large bottle of wine sat in a silver bucket surrounded by ice. I reached out, noticing that my hand was shaking, and plucked a green grape from the table and brought it to my mouth, crunching down through the skin. The sweetness burst in my mouth. I felt as if I hadn't eaten in days. And I hadn't. Not really. Not like this.

Level Four is a reward level, Jonathan had said.

This was my reward. Food and a bit of privacy. I hadn't even realized how hungry I was until I saw real food.

Where was Rogan? I wondered, and my stomach twisted again with concern. Was he in a room just like this one?

After another minute of worry, my hunger won out.

I started to shovel the food into my mouth. Cheese, crackers, more grapes. Ignoring the wineglasses I grabbed the bottle and tipped it back, chugging the wine down my throat.

After a few minutes at the feast filled me enough to concentrate on something else, I moved toward the bathroom and gasped. There was a large bathtub, more like a Jacuzzi, filled near to overflowing with bubbles. The scent that filled the warm air was sweet and floral, like roses dipped in honey.

I looked around, trying to see where the cameras were, but I couldn't see any.

Was Jonathan serious that part of my reward was some privacy? It seemed too good to be true. I wouldn't let myself believe it, and my suspicions only worked to make my now-full stomach more upset.

I paced for several more minutes, waiting for the other shoe to drop. Waiting for the cameras to burst out of the walls.

But there was nothing.

I listened carefully to the silence surrounding me and wondered for the eightieth time where Rogan was. My implant wasn't giving off any strange beeping signals. Wherever he was, he was less than ninety feet away.

I slowly became aware of an unpleasant smell and realized that it was me. I'd been running and sweating hard for two days now, and even after being drenched from the rainfall, I felt completely disgusting.

Finally I let the robe drop to the floor and I eased into the tub, letting out an audible sigh. It had been so long since I'd had a real bath. I'd gotten by on quick showers whenever and wherever I got the chance. This was pure ecstasy. Still paranoid, I waited for a silver camera to fly up and catch me naked in the bathtub, but there was only blissful silence.

I thought of Rogan then as I sank down deeper into the calming water. Was he receiving the same treatment?

There were two bottles, one of shampoo and one of conditioner, and I quickly made use of each one, slipping beneath the surface of the water to rinse my hair clean.

When I was finished I got out of the tub, toweling myself dry and putting the robe back on. I went back out to the main room and tried to organize my thoughts.

There was no time for relaxation. Even after the food and the bath, I still felt on edge. I had to use this time to figure out how to get out of this game before it killed me.

The door burst open and Rogan appeared behind it. He stepped inside the room just as the door slammed shut behind him.

My eyes widened at him. He wore a matching robe to mine. His hair was slicked back off his face, which was now grime-free. His eyes stood out like blue-green jewels in the dim lighting.

Damn, I'd been right. He did clean up really well.

He stared at me for a moment and then eyed the room, including the buffet table. He stormed toward me and grabbed my arms.

His expression was intense. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm ... I'm fine. And you?"

"Did you eat any of this food?"

"Yes."

He shook his head. "Didn't it occur to you that it might be drugged?"

I raised my eyebrows. "Actually, now that you mention it--"

He glared at me. "It could have been poisoned."

"I was starving to death. And I'm fine. See?" I turned around. "Not dead yet."

He gave me a look of relief and sat down on the edge of the bed. "No, I guess you aren't."

"Maybe a reward level is simply that. A reward. No poison. And apparently no cameras, either."

"Forgive me if I'm a bit suspicious of anything that happens to us."

God, and I thought I was tense. Rogan seemed to be the definition of the word.

I eyed his white robe. "They gave you a bath, too?"

"More like a hosing off."

"You smell nice for a change."

He looked up at me. "So do you." He moistened his lips with the tip of his tongue and frowned deeply at me. "But you're okay? They didn't hurt you?"

"No. I'm fine."

"I'm very glad to hear it." His expression softened, and he reached up to touch my face and almost seemed surprised that I didn't pull away.

His hand felt warm against my cheek. "About what happened on the platform ..." I started.

He pulled his hand away and stood up from the bed. "I guess you have some questions for me, don't you?"

I nodded.

He started to pace the room, his expression darkening. "I didn't kill your family, Kira. You have to believe me."

"I believe you." I tried to meet his gaze but he looked away.

"I don't want there to be any doubt. Not anymore. But I don't know how to prove it to you so you won't doubt it again."

I bit my lip. "Actually, there's a way. If you're willing."

His frown deepened. "If it'll prove to you that I'm innocent then I'm open to anything."

"Are you sure about that?" I finally captured his gaze and took a step closer to him.

He nodded stiffly. "I'm sure."

"You might want to sit down, then."

He eyed me curiously but didn't argue, and sat down in a nearby plush burgundy chair. I walked around to stand behind him.

"Just try to relax," I suggested.

I leaned closer and slid my hands under his robe on either shoulder, and then down to his chest. Full skin on skin. I felt his heartbeat quicken under my touch. His breathing increased. He was so warm and still damp from his shower.

"What are you doing?" he asked, his voice a little gruff.

I moistened my lips and whispered into his ear, "Shh. I need to concentrate."

And I did.

And I flexed.

I heard him gasp softly as I entered his mind.

The sensations flooded over me. The true Rogan was revealed beneath my fingers and into me.

::::::::Alone

Tired::::::::

Angry::::::::

::::::::Revenge

Despair::::::::

::::::: Disappointment

Betrayal::::::::

::::::::Guilt

Sadness::::::::

::::::::Desire

It didn't hurt yet, and I sensed something else inside of him. I slid deeper into his mind.

No... I didn't do it. . . . She doesn't believe me.... She hates me.. . . She's so beautiful. . . so brave ... so strong. . . . I need to kill him. . . . He needs to be stopped. . . . I need to stop this once and for all. . . once and for all... all my fault... all of this is all my fault. ..

I pulled my hands away from him as the pain suddenly knifed through my brain, and I fell to the floor holding my head and moaning.

Oh, God. The agony! It spread around my entire brain, squeezing and squeezing until I thought my head would burst. But then it finally eased, leaving behind a pain deep enough that I had to keep my eyes shut, grinding my fists into them to focus myself.

Were those actual thoughts? Did I just read Rogan's mind? But they couldn't be real thoughts. They were disjointed and didn't make any sense. They were all over the place.

It was more like an imprint--like a snapshot--of who Rogan truly was in words.

Painful words.

"Kira," Rogan murmured as he fell to the floor beside me and gathered me into his arms. He kissed my forehead softly and stroked the still-damp dark hair back from my face. "Are you okay? What was that? I felt you. I felt you in my head."

Without saying anything--I wasn't sure I could have if I tried--I let him hold me, and I wrapped my arms tightly around him. I wasn't lying before. He smelled good, so very good. I let his scent fill my senses, and it helped to chase the pain away until I could think straight again.

Finally I moved back, but he held my face in his hands, staring at me so intently. His robe gaped open at the front, and I could see the smooth line of muscled chest down to his waist.

"You definitely didn't do it," I said simply, and a great relief filled his gaze.

He shook his head. "No, I didn't."

"I believe you."

"So I'm guessing you're a psi."

"Good guess. I was low-level, but it seems to be getting a hell of a lot stronger as time goes by, if you ask me."

He stroked the dark hair off my forehead again. "That was a hell of a lot sexier than a regular palm reading."

I smiled weakly. "What can I say? I aim to please."

He gave me a lopsided grin. "All right, now that we've established that I'm innocent once and for all, now what?"

"Now I want you to tell me what you're really guilty of."

His grin fell away. "What do you mean?"

I met his gaze and held it, while my head continued to throb. "You said yourself that you're guilty as hell of something I probably wouldn't forgive you for. And I just felt it right then. It's eating you alive inside. Whatever this is, you hate yourself for it, and you think I will, too. And if it isn't the rape and murder of innocent women, and if it isn't killing my family, then I don't know what else it could be."

He tried to look away, but I grabbed his collar again.

'Tell me," I said, firmer. "We're not going anywhere until you do. And I don't want to use my flex on you again, because my head just might blow up next time." I frowned.

"What is it?"

"It's just... just that I've never heard the person I'm reading before. It's always just been flashes of insight. Moods or feelings or... I don't even know how to explain it. But with you, just then, I could almost... read what you were thinking down deep."

He raised an eyebrow. "And what was I thinking?"

My cheeks warmed. "You were thinking that I'm beautiful."

He made a barking laugh noise. "Now that she's all bathed and shampooed, she's gone conceited on me."

I just looked at him.

He cleared his throat. "Well, that's a given, really. You're gorgeous, and I'm sure you damn well know it. How can I not notice that? So what else did you mind-read on me?"

"That you want revenge on somebody so badly you want them dead. And that you feel deeply responsible for something horrible that happened. That's happening."

His jaw tensed and he didn't say anything.

I stood up from the floor and moved toward the spread of food again, thinking hard. "You know, ever since this game began, you seem to have known a hell of a lot about it. Little insights and little helps that I wouldn't have guessed. I mean, right at the beginning you knew that the room we were in had collapsed on itself, remember? But you didn't actually see that. How could you know?"

His throat worked as he swallowed. "Kira ... just forget it."

"No, I'm not forgetting it. You said you came from Saradone. But how do I know that's true?"

"It's true." There was no more lightness in his voice. "I was in there for four goddamned years. Don't tell me that you're doubting me again. I thought we established that I'm not lying to you."

"No, but you're not telling me something. That's different from not lying."

"Just forget it. Trust me, Kira. You don't want to know."

There was silence between us for a moment.

"Do you know somebody named Gareth?" I asked suddenly.

His face went as still and expressionless as stone. "How do you know that name?"

"Jonathan told me that he's the producer of The Countdown." I crossed my arms. "Jonathan told me a lot of things, and even though I now know he's a liar, it doesn't mean everything he said was untrue. I'm just wondering how connected you are with this game. Why did this Gareth guy pick you? Why did they try to injure you at the very beginning so you wouldn't last long? What's so damn special about you if you were just in jail for something you didn't even do?"

His expression had darkened considerably. "You ask a lot of questions."

"And I'm not done yet. Tell me who this Gareth guy is."

He studied me for what seemed like an hour but was probably no more than a minute. "Gareth is my brother."

CHAPTER TEN

I stared at him. "What did you just say?"

Rogan's throat worked as he swallowed. "You heard me."

"But... but how is that even possible? Why would your brother put you in this game? Does he even know you're here?"

He hissed out a long breath and went to stand in front of the display screen with the fake view of that perpetually setting sun. The warm colors reflected against his handsome, scarred face. "He knows. It's ... it's complicated."

"How could you have a brother who would create a game like this that kills people for the amusement of the subscribers?"

He laughed then, and it was a hollow, soulless sound. "See, now you come to the true secret, Kira. The one I would rather you'd never found out about me. You really want to know how fucked-up my life is? Maybe then you can go back to hating me."

"What are you talking about?"

He still refused to look directly at me. His arms were tightly crossed in front of him. "My brother didn't create The Countdown. I did."

My eyes widened. "What are you talking about?"

"Look at me, Kira." He turned to face me completely. "Do you see this ruin of a man in front of you? I wasn't always like this. Ten years ago, when my parents died, I was one of the richest people in the world. Have you heard of Ellis Enterprises?"

I blinked, trying to process what he was telling me. Have it make some sort of sense. "I... I think so. Sure. I have. It's the huge company that used to make all the computers."

He nodded. "Yeah, among other things. I took the money that my father had built up over a lifetime. Shit, the man made money even during the worst days after the plague. Nobody made money then. But he ..." He shook his head, his expression pained. "He managed to squeeze out every penny he could. And when I inherited his fortune, did I do any good with all that money?"

"Rogan ... are you serious about all of this?"

"Yeah, I'm serious. You've wanted to know more about me since we met. Well, guess what? You're going to get the fast-forward in the Rogan Ellis School of Losers right now. I had billions of dollars, Kira. Billions. I could have made such a difference to the world with that kind of money. But I just spent it on selfish things. Entertainment, cars, property, women." He spat out the words. "Forget Kerometh, I got to try all the fancy drugs that didn't have any side effects. But none of it made me happy. I was so bored with my life that I couldn't think straight."

I shook my head. "No, it couldn't have been that bad. You couldn't have been that bad."

He snorted. 'Trust me, I was. But then I had an idea. I created a game. Six levels. And I got people to volunteer to go on it. Then I got people to pay to watch it. I spent a ton of my father's money on developing this thing, but regular cameras weren't good enough. It needed better technology and a better edge. I sank more money into developing an artificial intelligence program."

"Wait... artificial intelligence? Like the robot from Level Three?"

He pressed his lips together for a moment and then nodded with a jerk of his head. "Yeah, almost got taken out by the same thing I helped develop in the first place. If that isn't irony, then I don't know what is."

I took a deep breath in and let it out slowly. "Okay, keep going."

"Are you sure you want to hear the rest?"

I frowned at him. "No. But keep going anyhow."

He raked a hand through his dark hair and paced to the other side of the luxurious room. "We didn't do so well with the game in the beginning. There was too much competition from the other networks that were still on the air. Jonathan was my friend back then, and he was the head of the Ellis medical research department. It probably made my father feel better about his greed to put some money into something altruistic. Jonathan randomly suggested one day that I take things underground. Make it secret and exclusive, so that only certain people had access to it. Together we started to develop the cranium implants."

I touched the back of my head to feel the incision mark on my scalp. I didn't interrupt again. I sat on the edge of the bed and listened to him, the knots in my stomach getting tighter with every word he spoke.

His mouth twisted. "It was great for a while. Word of mouth spread about this supersecret game. My brother helped me out with the show and testing out the implants. We both got fitted with a prototype--that's the extra mark you found on my head--but they never worked properly. The next ones we developed did, though. We paid off the prison to let us use their inmates. If they won they got a reduction in their sentences. But then, one day, one of them was killed by accident on camera during one of the levels. I thought the incident would shut us down and that would be the end--I'd lose everything I'd worked hard to gain. But instead the show got even more popular, and the addition of the implants only made it cooler to the subscribers. But then they wanted more blood, more death, more everything."

He paced to the other side of the room. "I didn't even think I had a conscience until it was tested. I wasn't going to be the producer of a show that killed people for the amusement of others."

He turned to me then, as if expecting me to have a look of disgust on my face. When I didn't, he looked away again.

"It made me a little crazy, I guess," he said. "Late one night a little over four years ago, I started pulling the plugs on the network and breaking the computers. My brother was there and he tried to stop me, but I knocked him into a bank of computers and there was a power surge--a huge one that shut off the electricity citywide for a couple days. When my brother got up I thought he was going to see logic and maybe help me, but... he didn't. Instead he called the police and had me arrested. When I was in jail waiting for my hearing, I heard the newsbreak. Pictures of me, video captures--all fake-- and the story was about the murders of those poor girls."

He rubbed a hand over his mouth, his eyes haunted by memories. "My brother turned his back on me. He disowned me. Then there was the trial, and the jury deliberated for all of ten minutes before they sentenced me to five hundred years." He let out a short, humorless laugh. "Here I thought Gareth never wanted to see me again, and yet he's dragged me back into the game after all these years. I don't know what the fuck he's playing at, but I don't find it funny at all."

He stopped talking and I just stared at him, trying to take in everything he'd just said. Process it. Figure it out and make sense of it.

"Your brother hated you that much?" My voice shook as I said it. "Enough to frame you to get you out of the way? What did you do to him?"

He frowned deeply. "Nothing. My brother and I got along just fine before that night. Fought like cats and dogs, sure, but that's just how brothers are." He shook his head. "The last time I saw him was when he had me arrested. He never showed up for any of the trial. Never to visit me. Nothing."

"I can't believe this."

He raised his gaze from the floor. "Believe it."

"Everyone thinks you're a rapist and a murderer."

"That's right."

I chewed my bottom lip. "When I read you, I did feel guilt. But you feel guilty about creating this game."

"It's all my fault," he managed. "All of these people who've died playing it. More than four years Gareth's been in charge, and it's just gotten worse and worse."

"Just to make money."

He shrugged. "I don't know anymore. Maybe he gets off on the violence, like the subscribers do. Maybe he likes seeing people who don't have a choice make the last mistake of their lives. He never used to be like that. Maybe he's just greedy. I guess he's a lot like me."

My jaw clenched. "I don't think he's anything like you."

He blinked at me. "How can you say that after what I just told you?"

I felt a line of anger move through me. "Because it sounds like you were a self-involved rich boy who was bored and created a game to entertain himself. That makes you an asshole, but it doesn't make you a monster."

"That's entirely debatable."

"Whatever's happened to this game in the last few years is Gareth's fault, not yours."

He shook his head. "No, it's not true. It's my fault."

I tried to think. "You need to talk to Gareth."

He laughed. "He won't talk to me. I've tried to contact him before."

"Do you know anything about the game that could help us get the hell out of it?"

"If I did, don't you think I would have done it already?" He shook his head and then looked at me strangely. "Why are you even still talking to me? I thought you'd want to kill me for what I've just told you."

"I don't want to kill you. Well, not too much, anyhow."

"Then you should hate me. As much as I hate myself."

He looked so despondent at revealing his deep, dark secret that I touched his cheek and stared up at him and felt a swell of emotion. I was surprised that I wasn't angrier about what he'd just told me. But I wasn't. All I wanted to do was take his pain away. He'd just revealed a hell of a lot to me. But it didn't make me hate him.

Not at all.

I placed my hands flat against his muscled chest, spreading the robe to the sides. He didn't pull away.

"What are you doing?" he breathed as I pressed myself against him. I felt his cock immediately harden against me. "Why would you even want to be close to me after what I just told you?"

I licked my lips. "Because when I look into your eyes I see sadness, and such a deep, aching loneliness that all I want to do is make it go away."

"Kira ... please ..."

I didn't say anything, instead allowing my hands to roam freely over his chest, his arms, his stomach. I pressed my lips against his shoulder--the wound he'd had at the beginning of the game that had already almost magically healed to a flat red mark--and along his collarbone to the center of his chest. He felt so warm.

I slid my hands down his sides to the sash of his robe and untied it, then moved my hands back up to his shoulders and pushed the robe off him, letting it fall to the ground.

He was fully nude in front of me, clean golden skin over tight muscle, and all I wanted to do was to touch him. God, he was beautiful. My heart filled with strange emotion for him, which had only grown since he'd told me his story. Shared his pain with me, thinking it would make me run away from him, when all it did was bring me closer.

He looked at me with some uncertainty and a bit of fear. Couldn't he see in my eyes how much I wanted him? How I'd always wanted him but been too afraid to trust my own feelings? He didn't pull away from me or my hands as they slowly explored his body.

"Just kiss me, Rogan." I rose up on my toes and crushed my mouth against his. A small groan escaped his lips. His hands moved down to my waist.

I slid my tongue into his mouth and tasted him, swirling my tongue around his. He didn't pull away or try to say anything to stop me.

I broke off the kiss, feeling breathless, and our gazes met. His was filled with passion and deep, dark need.

"Kira ..." he murmured again. "You don't have to do this."

"Oh, but I want to. Very, very much."

I gave him a wicked grin, then sank down to my knees in front of him. I wrapped my fingers firmly around his length and was greeted by a gasp from his lips. Before he could say anything to either stop me or urge me on, I swirled my tongue over the head of his cock, then slowly took him into my mouth.

His knees buckled, but he stayed on his feet.

"Oh, God, what are you doing to me?"

Hmm. If he didn't know the answer to that he'd been in jail for longer than I thought.

Every moan I coaxed from his lips, every groan of pleasure made my heart swell. I'd never wanted anyone as much as this man I'd been through hell with.

Forget the damn buffet. Rogan was my reward, my tarnished prince, and all I wanted was to make him happy.

After another minute he grabbed my upper arms and yanked me up to my feet, covering my mouth with his, touching, tasting, licking, my hand still curled around him, working him with smooth strokes until he pulled me away from him.

For a moment I thought that he was trying to end this, but instead he yanked at the tie at my waist. My robe slipped off and I stood naked in front of him. For a moment I felt terribly exposed. I'd been with only two other men in my life, but it was in shadows and silence, and out of necessity or mild fondness. Not this ... this need I felt for the man who stood in front of me, looking at me with such dark, aching hunger. I'd known him for only two days, but I wanted him more than anything else in the world.

"Kira," he whispered against my lips. "You're so beautiful. I want you so much."

Then he kissed me again, slow and long and perfect. Our tongues slid against each other, deeper and deeper. He backed me up until the backs of my legs hit the bed and eased me back onto the soft surface. He moved his mouth down to my breast and captured a hard nipple, biting down on it gently, and then moving his tongue around it in slow circles.

I moaned at the sensation, starting to feel out of control, and gasped as his right hand found its way between my thighs and the evidence of my raging desire for him. I felt him smile, his rough whiskers teasing my breast, as he looked up into my heavy-lidded gaze.

"You like this?" he asked, as the fingers teased and then slid slowly inside of me.

I arched off the bed with a soft scream. "Oh!"

"Do you want me, Kira?" he breathed into my ear.

I just nodded, barely able to speak. Barely able to think. "Yes ... now. Please!"

His smile grew. "No, not quite yet."

I raked my hands through his dark hair as he traced his mouth lower on my body, my breasts, my stomach. He nudged my legs farther apart so I was fully exposed to him. And then I felt his tongue against me while his fingers still moved deep within.

That did it.

My world exploded--fell apart completely as I came over and over, screaming his name, and I reached behind me to grab on to something, anything. When I didn't think I could take it a moment longer, when the pleasure was too intense, I felt his mouth on mine again, kissing me deeper and harder than before.

He entered me then, slowly stretching me to accommodate his width. I spread my legs farther and grasped at his firm ass as he began to pump in and out of me.

Oh, God, it was too much. He felt so good. Nothing had ever felt this good in my life.

"Kira, oh, Kira..." My name was hardly recognizable as it left his lips, slurred with passion and hard-edged lust.

The dam of whatever self-restraint he had broke, and he began to lose control. Each thrust deepened and was more forceful--Rogan was a man who had been isolated in prison and had not known physical contact in years, and I felt the dark need begin to overwhelm him.

It made me realize how lonely I'd been, too. When I was with Rogan, I wasn't lonely anymore. We were in this together, just the two of us, and we would find our way out. Somehow.

I wrapped my legs tightly around his waist and I stared up into his eyes, now glazed with desire. He felt so good, so incredibly good as I ran my hands up and down his hard, muscled back and arched again, each thrust of his body bringing with it a wave of pleasure. I never wanted this to end--I wanted him inside me forever.

But then with a hoarse cry and a last deep thrust of his hips he collapsed on top of me. I wrapped my arms around him, holding him close until his breathing came back to normal and his mouth found mine again and he kissed me over and over.

We gazed at each other for a long time as we lay side by side in the warm, comfortable four-poster bed. I traced the scar on his cheek with the tip of my finger, and then followed that with a line of kisses along it that led back to his lips.

"I'm very glad you're my partner," he murmured in my ear. "I think I'd hate to have a reward level like this with some guy named Biff."

I bit my bottom lip to keep from smiling too widely at that. "You do realize I only had sex with you because now I know you're really rich."

He laughed, a rich sound deep in his throat. "I figured as much."

"We're getting out of this, Rogan. You and me. We're going to win this."

He kissed me, pulled me closer, and I wanted him again so very badly.

"And with Kira and Rogan enjoying the afterglow of their mid-Countdown tryst, we hope that you enjoyed the bonus footage, subscribers."

I felt cold. "What was that?"

Rogan pulled the sheets up to cover my nakedness, his gaze wildly scanning the room. "I didn't see any cameras. I swear I didn't."

I clutched the sheets against me and my heart began to thud even harder. "Neither did I."

The door opened and five men in white coats marched in. Jonathan came in last.

"Sorry to interrupt," he said. "But the reward level is officially over."

What had just happened with Rogan had been broadcast to the subscribers? Oh, my God. The thought made me sick.

"You said that I'd have privacy," I managed as my face grew warm with embarrassment and anger. "It was part of the reward."

His expression was grim. "You must know by now that I'm a liar, Kira. There is no privacy in this game. Get dressed."

He nodded at one of the men, who then threw a pile of clothes at us. But they weren't the clothes I had before: cargo pants, tank top, and my stolen red sneakers. These clothes were new and black, with black boots that hit the floor by the bed.

"You have three minutes," Jonathan said. Then he turned around and left the room.

"Fuck," Rogan said under his breath. "Kira, I'm sorry. I didn't see any cameras. I honestly thought we were alone. Stupid of me."

"How do we get out of this? You created this show. How does a competitor get off it?"

His mouth straightened into a thin line and he slid his hand into my hair. "Used to be just by losing, but now there are only two ways off the show: winning or dying."

He swung out of the bed and grabbed at the new clothing. He pulled on a pair of black pants and slid a black shirt over his head. The clothes fit tightly against his body, almost like a costume. He sat on the edge of the bed and laced up the boots.

"You look like a superhero," I said.

"If you say so." He met my eyes, then leaned over to snatch the rest of the clothes off the floor. He threw them to me.

I turned the pieces over in my hand. "You've got to be kidding me."

"You'll look like a superhero, too."

As if things couldn't get worse. "Yeah, a slutty superhero."

He raised an eyebrow. "What the subscribers want, the subscribers get."

"Christ."

My costume consisted of a pair of thong panties. A skimpy bra. A short pleated skirt that barely covered my ass. A tight long-sleeved shirt, low-cut in the front, thigh-high stockings, and knee-high combat boots.

All black.

Since my other choice of outfit at the moment seemed to be bedsheets, I slowly put on the clothes.

Rogan eyed me when I was done. "It's wrong that I think that outfit's hot, right?"

I glared at him. "This is no time for jokes."

He was fighting to keep a grin off his face. "You'd be beautiful no matter what those bastards made you wear."

Then he bent over and kissed me. I wrapped my arms around his neck and held on to him tightly.

"We're in this together," he whispered against my lips. "Don't ever forget that."

I kissed him again. "Easy for you to say. You're not wearing the thong."

The door opened again and Jonathan appeared. "Rogan, we're going to have you wait for a bit. Kira, I'm going to need you to come with me."

"Why?" I asked warily.

"Because somebody wants to meet you."

I chewed my bottom lip. "Not really in the mood to meet anybody right now."

"That's too bad. Gareth, however, doesn't grant an audience to just anyone. Consider it a great privilege afforded to no one else."

Rogan tensed and he grabbed my hand. "I'm coming with her."

"No," Jonathan said, and he had his remote control out. "You're not."

He pressed a button and Rogan cried out in pain before he fell to the floor in a heap.

I collapsed beside him and touched his face to assure myself he was only unconscious.

I glared up at Jonathan. "I can't believe I ever trusted you."

His face was expressionless. "If I told you I was truly sorry for all of this, would you believe me?"

"No."

"Then it is pointless for me to say anything at all. Come with me. Don't put up a fight."

I decided to put up a fight just for the hell of it. But after a few moments the men in white coats easily managed to restrain me, and dragged me kicking and screaming from the room.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Gareth Ellis sat in a large white room that had a small table in the middle. It reminded me of a sterilized prisoner interrogation room, like the ones I'd seen in my parents' DVD collection of old movies. The men in white coats shoved me into the room and slammed the door behind me.

Gareth, unlike the room, was all in black. I restrained myself from rolling my eyes at the appropriateness of that color. After all, he was the bad guy in this piece, right? He must have personally chosen our new Countdown uniforms. I tried to stop myself from pulling the skirt down to cover the bared tops of my thighs.

If I weren't so damn angry I'd be embarrassed.

Gareth Ellis was a handsome man--but how could he be anything else with Rogan as his brother? They looked very similar. I couldn't tell which of them was older. There must have been only a year or two between their ages. Gareth's hair was a shade lighter, a lot shorter, and he was clean shaven. If Rogan was currently sporting the convict-chic look, his brother was all about business. Very crisp. Very professional. Very suave and perfect.

His eyes were also the same color as Rogan's--a jarring ocean blue-green.

Yeah, there was no doubt that they were truly brothers.

"Kira," he said. "Come sit with me."

"I'll stand, thanks."

"I wasn't asking you; I was telling you." His expression hardened for an instant, but then a small smile appeared on his lips. "If you please."

Okay, so this wasn't going to be fun.

Without taking my eyes off him I slowly approached the table and slid into the seat across from him. He studied me as if I were a project in a science lab, his gaze resting on everything from my hair to my cheeks to my nose, lips, neck, and the rest of me visible above the white tabletop.

"Do you like your new outfit?" he asked.

"No."

"I'm sorry to hear that. I think you wear it well."

I just glared at him.

"You're our first female competitor," he said after a moment.

"I know."

"How are you enjoying the game so far?"

"Enjoying the game?" I repeated. "Enjoying it? You must be fucking crazy if you think I'm enjoying your sick little game."

He cocked his head to the side. "You were enjoying it half an hour ago. Quite vocally, in fact."

I clenched my fists at my sides. "Go to hell."

He smiled thinly. "A girl with a bit of spirit. It's refreshing, actually. Most of the women I meet nowadays are so wrapped up with the desire to go to Offworld that they'll say anything if they think it could help them achieve that goal."

"I guess I'm not most women."

He didn't reply, but continued to study me in a way that made me extremely uncomfortable.

"So what now?" I asked. "Are you going to stare at me all day?"

"Just trying to see what my brother sees in you, while he was at one time a ladies' man, he never settled for only one. In fact, he preferred dozens. He used women for their bodies and they used him for his money. It made things very simple."

I just looked at him.

"Have you fallen in love with Rogan?" he asked. "Or was it just sex?"

"I don't know the whole story about what you did to screw Rogan over, but what I have heard doesn't make me want to have a long, detailed discussion with you about my love life. So, sorry."

He raised an eyebrow. "I know that he told you what happened."

"Are you going to try to deny it?"

He shook his head. "No. Rogan got in the way of The Countdown becoming everything it could be. I had to stop him from ruining my plans. It's that simple."

Simple. Sure. This guy was obviously off his rocker.

"Are we done here?" I asked blandly.

"No, we're not." He stood and came around to lean against my side of the table. "I don't believe in psychic phenomena, Kira. I believe in science."

"I don't really give a shit what you believe."

He hit me hard across my left cheek. I hadn't even seen it coming. I pressed my hand against my face and looked up at him, the shock quickly changing to anger.

"I believe that you are a liar and a thief, Kira. Four weeks ago you picked my pocket on the street. You took my wallet, removed the money from it, and threw the rest away. I followed you and saw the squalor that you lived in. But I liked the way you moved, the sheer desperation in your actions. I knew you had what it would take to be on The Countdown. And then I asked my employees to research you. We got a sample of your DNA, and I know more about you than you probably know about yourself. I analyze, Kira. I analyze and I study and I learn. And I use all of that to help The Countdown grow stronger and stronger and better, and better until one day it will spread itself across all of this city, this world, and Offworld itself." He leaned forward and banged his fist against the table. "Are you listening to me?"

I blinked heavily. "Sorry, I think I just fell asleep a little bit, that story was so damn long. Were you saying something about your wallet?"

His mouth twitched, and it reminded me disconcertingly of Rogan when he smiled. Only with Gareth it wasn't pleasant, and there was something much darker behind it.

"You truly believe you are a psi? If you had any significant abilities at all you would be in a study program Offworld. Scientists would be prodding you daily, trying to figure out what makes you tick."

"Oh, well." I tried to sound as bored as I could when my heart was beating so fast I was afraid he'd be able to hear it. He didn't believe that I had my flex. I was surprised Jonathan hadn't confirmed that to him yet.

"So all you have is your ability to compete on The Countdown. You should be thanking me."

I blinked. "Thanking you? You're kidding, right?"

"You dream of going Offworld. With your means and background, winning The Countdown is the only way you'll ever achieve that goal, and my brother's only chance to stay out of prison."

I gripped the side of the table so hard my fingers felt numb. "Why did you frame Rogan for something he didn't even do? Something so horrible. There had to be another way, you heartless bastard."

"We're not talking about Rogan, are we? We're talking about you."

I bit my lip. "Whatever."

"But now that you brought him up, I have a little proposition for you. Something that, now that the two of you are lovers, will make for an interesting side challenge."

I glared up at him.

He drew closer to me and I could smell his expensive aftershave. "There is very little chance of your surviving to the end of The Countdown. In four years we have had nearly eighty pairs compete. Only one of those pairs finished to the very end to receive their ultimate reward. You will die, Kira. And I promise you it won't be pleasant."

"Fuck you."

He grinned and leaned back against the table. 'The subscribers seem to like you a great deal. It may have something to do with that little attitude of yours, maybe that little body that has been bared and exposed now for all to see and enjoy." His gaze slid down my new low-cut black top. "Maybe it's the growing relationship between you and Rogan, I don't know for certain. But they like you. They want you to win."

'Then I'll win."

He shook his head. "No, you won't. You will die. In Level Five or Level Six. It won't matter. The odds are against you." He paused. "But I'm going to give you another option."

He waited until I made eye contact with him again. "Oh, yeah, and what's that?"

He licked his lips and moved closer still until I could feel and smell his breath against my face past the musky scent of his aftershave. "You will kill Rogan on camera. He's strong so he might get the upper hand unless you're sneaky. But I know you can be sneaky when you have to be. The subscribers don't like him. They believe, along with the crimes he was in prison for, that he also murdered your family, and they want you to seek revenge for this."

I frowned hard and shook my head. "But Rogan and I talked. He's innocent of all of those crimes. If the subscribers were watching they would have heard that."

He looked at me smugly. 'The audio portion of some of your little talks may have been temporarily unavailable. Technical difficulties, I'm sure. The subscribers are now wondering why you would let the man who killed your family fuck you on camera like a whore." He smiled. "But to each their own, I suppose."

I could barely control the fury that curled through me like fire. It burned the way my face still did where he'd struck me.

"I'm not killing him," I said evenly, trying like hell to keep my patience.

"If you kill him you will win the game and you will start your new life Offworld."

I steadied myself, trying to breathe normally, in and out, in and out.

This man couldn't be so horrible, could he? He was Rogan's brother. That had to count for something. But I'd never met anyone I hated more on contact, and I hated a whole hell of a lot of people.

He was sitting so close. Could I get a read on him? Could I push past my anger and frustration and concentrate enough to do it quickly?

If I had to, I would. And I did have to.

Breathe. Relax. Focus yourself.

He studied me with a small frown. "Are you certain that you refuse my offer?"

I breathed out and tried to still my mind. "Positive."

"Then we're done here. At your inevitable elimination, don't say I didn't give you a chance."

As he was about to get up, my hand shot out and I grabbed his wrist and squeezed.

Please work, I prayed inwardly.

I closed my eyes and flexed.

Nothing.

I frowned. There was nothing but darkness and silence in his mind.

"What do you think you're doing?" he growled, but he didn't pull away.

I flexed deeper, peeling away the layers I found within him like a black, rotting onion. Layer after layer of darkness until finally I could see something down deep. Sense it. Feel it. A small kernel of light hidden under so much black.

:::::::::Fear::::::::::

That was all it was. Just a small piece of fear smothered under a blanket of darkness.

My head began to ache but I ignored it. Gareth's arm was tight and he tried to pull away, but my grip was too strong. I dug my fingers into his flesh and sank deeper into his mind.

There was something else there. Something small and barely discernible.

Help me . .. please. ... Can you hear me?... You have the gift. .. maybe ... just maybe. .. I don't know...

"I can hear you," I bit the words out past the growing pain and opened my eyes to look into Gareth's cool blue-green gaze.

"Let go of me before I call for my guards." He spoke quietly, but his words were edged with danger.

I felt so confused. "But you were--"

Listen ... please listen ... please listen to me, Kira...

I stilled myself and strained to understand the thoughts, words, images, projections that slid through my mind. They were very quiet, very distant... but very precise. Each word was like a knife in the soft recesses of my brain, and I steeled myself against the pain, trying to hold on for as long as I could.

Too much money spent on research... development... greed... too much... We created an artificial intelligence program. . . and it was perfect. .. but my brother tried to destroy everything. . . . There was an energy surge... and a virus.... It got into the program ... then into my implant. .. my prototype implant. . . . It took over my mind. .. my life. .. . It feeds on the game... on the brain waves of the subscribers.... It feeds like a leech,... It wants more.... It wants to take the game and the implants wider.... Offworld... It wants everything.... You must escape.... There is a way... a safe house.... You must take Rogan there.... Please ... there's no time....

An image appeared in my brain--an address: 358 Paragon Avenue. It was a fleeting thought that I had to grab hold of and pin down before it faded away.

I'm sorry, Kira ... so sorry. ... There is nothing I can do.... Four years and the virus only grows stronger.... It has me.... It must be destroyed....

And then there were men in white coats in the room pulling me off of Gareth, but my fingernails scored his arm enough to draw blood. I was crying from the pain, shaking so badly that they couldn't keep me on my feet. I sank down to the floor sobbing and clutching my head.

My nose was bleeding, too; the warm thickness of it came away on my hand as I wiped at my face. My head felt as though it had split open right through the middle and my brain was oozing out. I had to reach up and touch it to know that wasn't the case.

The artificial intelligence program tainted with a computer virus that had possessed Gareth Ellis for over four years stood in front of me holding his injured arm, looking down at me. "Perhaps all is not explained by science after all."

I stared up at him. Did he know what had just happened? Did he hear Gareth's plea from deep within him?

He did. I could see it in his cold gaze as he looked down at me. He no longer looked amused with me, just annoyed. He leaned over and grabbed my face in his hand and squeezed hard enough for me to pay attention.

"If you know what's good for you, you won't share any of what you've learned with Rogan."

He let go of me and wiped his hand on his black pants as if to remove any trace of me from his stolen skin.

And then I was half dragged, half carried out of the white room.

LEVEL FIVE

CHAPTER TWELVE

Another blindfold. More darkness.

You'd think I'd be used to it by now, but unfortunately phobias don't work that way. You don't simply get used to what you fear. It gets worse and worse and harder to deal with every single time. Even if you tell yourself it's irrational to be afraid.

The darkness made me hear my sister's cries and my mother's screams again, replaying like a horrific song, over and over and over.

But suddenly something made the darkness even harder to deal with.

My implant began to beep, and a sweep of pain brushed through my brain.

The rules replayed in my mind: To separate more than ninety feet from your partner will lead to immediate disqualification.

Where was Rogan?

"Rogan? Where are you?" I said aloud. There was a man at my back who had my arms pinned behind me as he pushed me ahead of him. He was big and strong, and I'd given up fighting against him several minutes ago when they led me out of the building I'd been in and into a car. I couldn't see anything, but we drove for about ten minutes before stopping again. I didn't know where I was, but I knew it had stopped raining. The wind was cool on my face.

I felt something else move past my face with a metallic whirring sound. A camera.

And so it begins again, I thought.

I felt a deep weariness then. Was Gareth right? Was I doomed to die in this game? Was my only chance to try to kill Rogan?

He'd offered me everything or nothing at all. A privileged life or certain death. That was my choice to make.

Knowing what I did now about him, it would be like selling my soul to the devil.

I was still hoping beyond hope for a third option to present itself.

Soon would be good.

I heard something heavy and metallic clang against the ground close by, then felt a shove at my back and I staggered forward, going over on my ankle as I tripped on something. My right ankle twisted and pain shot up my leg as I fell, hitting the ground hard. Instead of shouting out in pain, I yelled with anger, almost a war cry, and I forced myself to get back up on my feet.

The beeping from my implant was disorienting me, and I had to take a moment to steady myself, hands out at my sides.

I kept my weight on my left leg now and braced myself lor the next horrible thing to happen, but nothing did. It was silent then. Too silent.

"Rogan?" I said aloud. "Where are you?"

I felt for the back of the blindfold, hurriedly untied it, and let it fall to the ground. I blinked around. It was dark outside. Night. I could see a dim glimmer of the moon hidden behind the clouds and layers of pollution. Only one star could be seen, and not very well at all. The North Star.

I wished on it.

Please help me. Give me strength.

Perhaps not so much a wish as a prayer.

I looked down at what I'd tripped over. A long, thin piece of metal with a hook on the end of it. A crowbar.

Terrific. Just what I needed. So much for praying.

"Welcome to Level Five! Rogan and Kira are all rested up after their sexcapades, and raring to go on to the next level. The question is this... will Kira find Rogan before time runs out? Or will she go in the wrong direction and find nothing but death by straying outside of her ninety-foot boundary? The ties that Rogan and Kira have developed in their strange relationship--the murderer and the thief--are now more tangible as the farther apart they go, the closer to death they are. Kira has five minutes to locate her partner. The first part of Level Five commences now. Enjoy! "

The first part? I thought, my heart sinking. That wasn't fair. Now they were doing sublevels?

Cheating. Totally cheating.

Yeah, like Gareth cared about fairness. He didn't even care about the game, after all, did he? All he wanted was the subscribers using their implants as much as possible so he could feed off their brain waves.

The thought made me sick.

The sharp pain in my ankle helped me to focus.

I scanned the empty street. The darkness was oppressive, but at least I could see. The streetlights hadn't been properly maintained, and every third or fourth one along the street was dark, either broken or simply burned out.

"Four minutes remain in this level of The Countdown," the announcer said merrily.

"Is this fun for you?" I asked aloud, speaking directly to that bodiless voice that tormented me with its inane cheerfulness. "Do you enjoy your job?"

There was no reply.

Big surprise.

"Rogan!" I yelled as loud as I could, and began to limp along the street. After a few feet the beeping in my head got louder, the pain so acute that I couldn't think straight, so I stopped and changed my direction.

It was like that old children's game my sister and I played once upon a time, where we'd hide something and the other would try to find it. Warmer, warmer... colder... very cold. The warmer you were the closer you were.

Okay. Well, in this version of the game, warmer meant no beeping and I was close to Rogan; colder meant that my implant beeped and hurt; very cold meant that it was moments away from exploding.

Not as much fun as the game was in the good old days.

I tried not to think about how many ways Rogan could be hurt or injured or worse that would make him unable to respond to me. If what I'd been told about the implants was true--the ninety-foot rule--then he couldn't be very far away.

But where the hell was he?

I remembered his hands on my body. Warm hands, so gentle yet so passionate. Dammit. That shouldn't have happened. Even though it had felt so right, so perfect being in his arms, it just complicated things. This situation was complicated enough without bringing sex into it.

All contrived, too. Everything about this game was a setup--especially the reward level. I mean, I didn't know how I hadn't seen it. Food, wine, all spread out in a beautiful room with a big bed? And the huge bath just waiting for me to slide into it to relax. Put me in the mood. The whole thing had we want you to have sex with Rogan so the subscribers can watch written all over it.

And, stupidly, I'd done just what they wanted me to.

I wished I felt worse about it, but I didn't. Just the thought of him touching me, kissing me ... it had been worth it. And the look on his face when he realized how much I wanted him? Just a little bit of pain and sadness had left his eyes.

My heart twisted. "Rogan! Dammit, where the hell are you?"

I'm not falling in love with him, I thought.

I'd steeled myself against that useless emotion years ago. Too dangerous. My heart was still mending from losing my family. I couldn't lose anyone else I cared about. So I wouldn't care about anyone else. It was as simple as that.

So simple.

"Three minutes remain in this level of The Countdown."

Dammit, where was he?

I slowed down and stood in the middle of the street.

Think, Kira, I told myself sternly. You've made it through four levels of this stupid game. Think.

I ran as quickly as I could, my ankle shooting with pain as I went, and pounded on every door I could. All locked. I called Rogan's name out again and again.

Nothing.

I turned around and around but there was no clue. No cars. No trees. No high wires. No platforms. All the doors were locked. I couldn't see any sign of him.

And yet my implant had stopped beeping.

That meant he was close.

My ankle throbbed. Did that guy mean to shove me so I'd twist it? The bastard. I glanced down at it, thinking I might be able to see the swelling through my new black lace-up combat boots, when I saw something a few feet away on the ground.

A sewer grate.

"Two minutes remain in this level of The Countdown."

I hobbled over to it and crouched down, pressing my fingers against the edges of it. It was awkward and heavy. There was no way I'd be able to lift it.

"Rogan," I called, trying to peer through the narrow openings. "Are you in there?"

There was no answer, but I knew he was. I just knew it. I'd never been more positive about anything in my life. If I had money, I'd bet it all.

But it was hopeless. How was I supposed to remove the cover to check?

Then I gasped.

The game had rules, after all. Structure. It wasn't a free-for-all chaos session. Gareth was controlled by a computer now--one that believed in science and logic. Science had rules.

In the beginning, we'd been given the keys to our locks; we simply needed to figure out how to use them properly. The Dumpster had the bell to ring that opened the door into Jonathan's office. The man we were supposed to kill in Level Three wasn't an innocent; he was a robot.

The game gave us the tools and clues to help us get through the level. We just needed to figure out when and where to use them.

I hobbled back to where I'd tripped and grabbed the crowbar, and then hurried over to the sewer grate.

"Forty-five . . . forty-four. . . forty-three . . . forty-two .. ."

It took me only a few seconds to pry up the cover. After it was partially removed, I could get my fingers under it and move it to the side. It made a heavy, scraping sound against the cold, hard pavement.

I peered down into the darkness and it gave me chills.

"Rogan?" I asked, but was still met with silence.

I felt a wave of fear come over me. Would I have to crawl down into the darkness? What if I was wrong? What if I was wasting time I didn't have right now?

I forced myself to reach down inside and felt about for something to hold on to. It was warm and moist in there. My hand brushed the underside of the opening, and it felt slimy.

"Twelve ... eleven ... ten ..."

Oh, God. There was no time. I had to hurry....

I plunged my hand farther into the darkness and touched the metal bars of the ladder.

"Rogan..." A tear slipped down my cheek. "I'm sorry ... I'm sorry I'm too slow...."

Suddenly something grabbed hold of my wrist and I screamed. It was something firm and like an iron vise. It squeezed tightly. I tried to pull away but couldn't.

"Five.. .four... three... two..."

Rogan's face appeared through the darkness. He held my wrist tightly in his hand as he climbed up the ladder and flung himself onto the pavement.

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

I collapsed to the ground next to him and started beating on his chest with my fists.

"You asshole!" I yelled. "Why didn't you say anything? Why didn't you tell me it was you down there? Goddammit, Rogan!"

He stilled my hands and pulled me into a rough hug until I finally relaxed against him.

"I'm sorry," he murmured into my hair. "When you were meeting with Gareth they had me in another room. They told me that if I said a word to help you locate me they would kill you on the spot. I wasn't willing to take that chance. It nearly destroyed me trying to remain silent waiting down here. I couldn't reveal where I was until you touched the ladder." He pushed me back from him so he could look into my eyes. He brushed the hair off my face. "Are you all right? Did Gareth hurt you?"

I shook my head, then touched his cheek. "Did they do that to you?"

His face bore a red mark that ringed his left eye. Before too long it would darken to a bruise. His bottom lip was cut and slightly swollen.

He grinned, but then grimaced from the pain it caused. "Let's just say that when they make a point they try to make it a memorable one."

I cupped his face in my hands and kissed his forehead gently, then lightly kissed his lips until he responded, parting them. After another moment I pulled back a couple of inches. "On the bright side, you weren't down there long enough to smell like a sewer."

"Good. I'd rather not be subjected to another hosing down in the near future."

He kissed me again, quickly, and then got back to his feet, holding out a hand to help me up. I took it.

He frowned as he watched me limp a few feet away. "What happened?"

I shrugged. "Went over on my ankle. I'll be fine."

"They did that, didn't they?"

"Maybe I'm just clumsy." I scanned the street. It was still vacant, still very dark. The shadows and light from the street lamps slid across the road like ghosts. "Rogan, I need to talk to you about Gareth--"

I heard a sound then. A hard, metallic sound like the crowbar hitting the pavement earlier. I turned in the direction of the sound and looked down the street. In the distance I could see the shapes of two figures standing a block away. I couldn't see much except for the fact that they were large and male. The metal sound was indeed another crowbar that one of the men tapped against the ground. They stared at us, but didn't say anything.

I got the strange feeling that I shouldn't wave my hand and try to be friendly.

"Who are they?" I whispered.

He shook his head, not taking his attention from the silent figures. "Not sure."

I felt a line of perspiration drip down my spine, and my heart pounded hard against my chest.

"Welcome back to The Countdown," the announcer piped up finally, and I jumped at the sound of his voice cutting through the inky silence. "Rogan and Kira continue to make a terrific team as they work their way through every level with ease.

"We've met Kira already. Now let's give you some insight into the mind of convicted rapist/murderer Rogan Ellis.

"Born into a life of privilege and leisure, Rogan grew up attending only the best private schools in the country. His father, Bertrand Ellis, the CEO of Ellis Enterprises, built his company to be a forerunner of all things technical, including the creation of the Ellipsis computer that, just before the plague, had taken over sales of both Microsoft and Apple. His two sons, Gareth, now thirty-two, and Rogan, twenty-nine, were the pride and joy of a loveless marriage to socialite Lissa Bartholomew Ellis.

"But before too long it was evident that the eldest son was the favorite and was being groomed to take over the family business. Rogan, still a teenager at the time, didn't seem to care. His interests lay in areas of a more base nature. He spent several years in San Carolinas, an exclusive mental hospital for the very rich, for schizophrenia and drug abuse, and his family feared he would never recover enough to properly function in society."

"Lies," Rogan hissed between clenched teeth.

I squeezed his arm.

"The day he was released, his parents picked him up from the hospital to bring him back to the Ellis mansion. Rogan was reportedly irate and acting erratically, and tried to take control of the car, which spun out of control and careened off the side of a cliff. His parents were killed instantly. Rogan's back was broken in three places, and he came very close to being a paraplegic from the accident."

My throat constricted, and I looked at him.

He blinked hard. "That's how they died. But it was a slippery road. They picked me up from private school that day." His eyes glimmered under the street lamp. "My father said the whole time that he should have just sent a driver, but my mother insisted they come and get me together." His Adam's apple jumped as he swallowed hard. 'Took me a year in the hospital to fully recover from that accident."

"After their deaths, Rogan became more despondent, and despite continuous help offered from his elder brother, he began a life that sank deeper into drugs and violence. Gareth Ellis is quoted as saying, 'Had I known what my brother would be capable of, I would have had him locked up in San Carolinas and the key thrown away before he could harm anyone else.'

"He refers, of course, to the night of terror when Rogan, high on Kerometh, broke into the city university dormitory and systematically went door to door in his path of heinous violence. A nineteen-year-old woman who escaped that night said she returned the next day to 'walls coated in blood,' the word bitch scrawled over the dorm room wall of every girl Rogan murdered that night, three of whom he also raped in his drug-clouded, misogynistic rampage. This was the same night four years ago when there was a city wide blackout that lasted three full days, and Rogan used that darkness to his advantage.

"He returned home that night drenched in the blood of his victims. His brother recalls Rogan laughing at what he'd just done. Sickened, Gareth knew there was no helping Rogan. He called the police and turned his brother in. In the ensuing years, Gareth has contributed over fifty million dollars to a fund in the murdered girls' names for the prevention of violent crimes against women, both here and Off world.

"After a quick and sensational trial, Rogan was sentenced and sent to Saradone Maximum-Security Prison. Eight months ago Rogan participated in an unwarrantedkilling spree that left two inmates dead and two injured. Rogan was sent to solitary confinement, where he has remained until being released to take part in The Countdown. "

Rogan shuddered. I wished I could block out the sound of the announcer's voice, shield Rogan from having to hear these horrible things being said about him, but the feed was directly through my implant and into my head, so there was nothing I could do but listen.

The other men continued to stand in place in the distance, one tapping the crowbar against the ground.

"Rogan has been unaware until now that two other Saradone inmates were also given the chance to be contestants on The Countdown, in a game that has run tandem to their own, and have also successfully completed four levels in this competition."

"No," he murmured. "Not possible."

"Mac Zebowitz and Kurtis Grimm were both convicted of first degree murder, as well as a laundry list of other crimes, including mob enforcement and Kerometh trafficking. They were the two men injured during Rogan's prison rampage, and it was their cellmates whom he murdered. They have sworn revenge against Rogan, and today they will have their chance.

"Level Five is an official death match. Only one pair shall go on to Level Six, the final level. Competitors, your countdown begins at twenty minutes. Kill or be killed. And to our subscribers . . . enjoy!"

At last it was silent except for the sound of my heart thudding loudly in my ears and the crowbar hitting the ground in the distance.

"Those men," I managed. "They're the ones who gave you that scar?"

He nodded. "I fought for my life against them and almost lost. I was damned lucky. I never thought I'd see them again."

I stared at the dark silhouettes. "So what do we do now?"

"I'm thinking."

"Think fast."

"Rogan!" one called out from a block away. "You're ours now. And you know what? Twenty minutes is a long time. We can play with you and your girlfriend lots before we cut your throats to win this level."

I didn't want to know the details of what he planned to do that would fill that time. I was willing to bet that it wasn't reminiscing about the good old days over a beer and a plate of nachos.

"How's that plan coming along?" I asked.

"Slower than I'd like." His voice shook. "Sorry, I... I'm not sure what to do."

I moved closer to him so I could feel the warmth of his body. I touched his face. "We're going to be okay, Rogan. We're going to make it."

He shook his head. "I don't know. I... I don't know if I can kill again."

I swallowed. "What are they waiting for?"

The crowbar tapped a steady tattoo on the street ahead, every five seconds without fail.

His hand closed around mine and squeezed tightly. "I won't let them hurt you, Kira."

I didn't hear the tap anymore. I watched the shadowy figures warily.

Suddenly, with a yell, both of the murderers started running toward us as fast as they could.

"Shit," Rogan breathed, and grabbed hold of my arm, spinning around. "Come on, we have to run. We have to run now!"

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

We ran past the shifted sewer grate cover and I snatched the crowbar off the ground. Rogan started toward a door to one of the surrounding buildings.

"They're all locked," I told him. My ankle cried in pain with every step. My hand was sweating, but Rogan clutched it tightly in his as if he didn't want to let go of me.

"I'm sorry for all of this, Kira," he said.

"I don't blame you."

"Yeah, well, you should. If I hadn't created the game in the first place--"

"Then I never would have met you."

He looked at me sideways and his lips actually quirked. "And that's a good thing?"

"Ask me again when we're finished running for our lives."

Because of my twisted ankle I wasn't running as fast as I could, and the men were gaining on us. Fast. I could hear them shouting from behind us, their heavy boots slapping against the road as they ran.

Rogan glanced over his shoulder at them. "I'll try to hold them off. You just hide."

"Bad plan."

"Why's that?"

'The ninety-foot rule? You go too far away and our heads will explode, remember?"

"Dammit."

"And besides, I'd rather not stand by and watch them beat the shit out of you."

He raised an eyebrow at me. "You assume they'd have the upper hand? I did kick their asses in prison."

"That was then and this is now. Besides, wouldn't want to tear your new outfit."

"Give me the crowbar," he said.

I decided not to argue, and handed it to him just as my already injured foot hit a piece of gravel. I stumbled, and Rogan caught me before I hit the ground. We didn't stop moving, but we slowed considerably as we turned the next corner. Another dark street with no cars. All concrete and cold stone and brick.

There was the shadow of something in the middle of the road ahead, though. Something much larger than a piece of gravel.

I picked it up, feeling the cold black metal in my hand.

A gun.

The show provided what we needed to finish a level. Just like the crowbar earlier. I stifled a feeling of gratitude toward whomever had left it there for us to find.

So, as I clutched the gun with both hands, Rogan at my back holding the crowbar, the men were on us. I saw their shadowy faces, the hiss of breath hitting the cold night air. They were also wearing the new black Countdown uniform. It looked much better on Rogan's tall, muscular frame than on their thick, oxlike bodies. They were grinning.

"That didn't take long at all," one of them said. He had a shaved head and thick eyebrows that met between his eyes. "Damn, Rogan, she's even prettier up close. Almost prettier than you are."

I noticed that one held the crowbar while the other had a short-bladed knife. They walked in a slow circle around us, six feet away. Rogan and I were back-to-back as we turned, keeping an eye on the two murderers.

"Mac, I don't think he has anything to say to us," the other guy, Kurtis, said. His dark, stringy hair was long, practically to his ass, and only emphasized his receding hairline. He smiled, showing off a mouth that was missing a few teeth. "Is that right, Rogan? You got nothing to say?"

"Nothing immediately comes to mind," Rogan growled.

"Did you miss us?"

"No."

"We missed you the last eight months you were in solitary. We had big plans for when you got out."

"Yeah, I bet you did."

"Okay," I said out loud, trying to keep my teeth from chattering. My arms already ached from trying to hold the heavy gun steady. "Look, guys. We're all in this together. We don't have to fight one another. Maybe we can get out of this if we work together."

Mac laughed hard at that. So hard that he had to stop walking and put his hands on his knees to support himself. "That's priceless. Where did they find this bitch? I thought Sesame Street went off the air decades ago."

My jaw clenched. Okay, so much for trying to make friends with the enemy.

Kurtis eyed me slowly, from the toes of my combat boots, up my thigh-high black stockings, to the bare skin the ridiculous skirt showed off. It barely covered the thong underneath. He licked his lips.

"Long time since I had me a woman," he murmured. "I miss how they screamed for mercy while I fucked them."

Mac laughed. "How about I let you have her first? We got time."

"Lay one finger on her and you'll be spending the rest of the level searching the city for your severed cock." Rogan's voice held no humor.

"Don't be jealous, Rogan. We'll get to you, too."

To say this was a bad situation would be an understatement. The food I'd eaten in the reward room churned unpleasantly in the pit of my stomach.

"I don't mean to interrupt," I said. "But I do have a gun. See?" I waved it. "Why don't I shoot the both of you and we end this level right now?"

Kurtis was staring at me and absently rubbing the crotch of his pants. "Kira, right? Yeah, during a rest period the show let us tune in to you and Rogan getting to know each other a bit better earlier. You give great head, honey. Made me hard as a rock just watching."

I felt bile rise in the back of my throat at the thought of him watching us.

Mac's grin widened. "And your skin's so perfect. I can just imagine this knife sliding over your neck while I take you from behind."

"Shut up." Rogan's voice quaked. "Leave her alone."

The men's taunts were making my hands shake even more than they already were, but I tried to focus. I raised the gun a little and pulled the trigger. The bullet hit the wall just over Mac's right shoulder. His eyes widened and he took a step backward.

"Didn't think I'd do it?" I snapped at him. "I'll do it. I'll shoot the both of you. I'm thinking it's no big loss for humanity."

"There are fifteen minutes remaining for this level of The Countdown."

"She's got some spirit to her," Kurtis commented. "That why you like her, Rogan? Does she remind you of the women you killed?"

'That was a lie," I said. "He's innocent."

"Is that why you spread your legs for him? Did he convince you he was wrongfully convicted?" Kurtis snorted. "Yeah, we're all innocent here, aren't we? That's why we're playing this game."

"Go to hell," Rogan growled.

"We're glad to be here," he said. "And we love to watch you, Kira. We were watching when Jonathan told you that Rogan killed your family."

I went cold inside. Of course there were cameras in the room with us then. There was no privacy in this game. Everything was fair game as entertainment for the subscribers. After all, if they tuned out, Gareth wouldn't be able to get his juice, would he?

Dammit. I needed to tell Rogan about that. He had to know his brother was trapped somewhere inside that thing and wasn't responsible for betraying him four years ago.

Kurtis lightly rubbed his blade along his chest, as if the act gave him pleasure. "See, the funny thing is that your convo with Jonathan made me remember something."

I looked at him. "Oh, yeah? And what's that?"

He had a grin on his ugly face. "Just before I went to prison seven years ago I'd been hired to kill a little girl with psi abilities."

My stomach turned at his words, but I kept my face blank. "Fascinating."

He laughed. "My employers hated psi freaks. So do I. They're a dark stain on humanity--a product of the plague. They singled out those they thought were of special interest and hired guys like me to take care of the problem." His expression darkened. "Your daddy put up a good fight trying to protect you. He knew it was only a matter of time before somebody came to get you--he knew what you were. He had tickets for your whole happy little family to go to Offworld later that week. Did you know that? He managed to take a hunk out of my leg with a big butcher knife. I wasn't going to kill him or your mother and sister, but I shot them all. Unfortunately your mama was still slightly alive after I'd finished with her, and she managed to call the police before she finally croaked. I had to bolt before I got to you, but I've remembered you all this time." He took a step closer and peered at me. "So, I'm curious. Can you read my mind, you psi bitch? Can you see into my soul like they said you could?"

I squeezed the trigger, and he jerked backward. Blood flowed from his shoulder wound, although it was barely noticeable against the black fabric that covered it in the darkness of night. But he was standing just under a street lamp and I could see I'd gotten him. Not good aim, though. I'd been shooting for his heart.

He yelled and clamped a hand to his shoulder, his face contorted in anger and pain.

Pure red rage filled my vision and pushed all other thoughts out of my head. "You're the one? You killed my family?"

"Kira ..." Rogan said, still pressed up behind me. He was breathing hard. I felt the muscles in his back tense tighter than they were before.

"I'm going to kill you!" I yelled, and I aimed and squeezed off another shot at the murderer.

The chamber clicked empty. I pulled the trigger again and again, but there was nothing.

Only two men.

Only two bullets.

The show had given us just enough to kill them and nothing more.

"Dammit!" I threw the gun at Kurtis, who had slumped down to his knees, staring at the blood that gushed out from between his fingers. I heard Rogan's crowbar make contact with Mac's, a crash of metal against metal, and then a grunt of pain as Rogan managed to clobber Mac. He dragged me behind him as we began to run again as fast as we could, trying to put distance between us and the two injured murderers.

I was shaking with fury. He'd admitted what he'd done so freely, as if he were proud of it.

"I'm sorry that had to happen," Rogan said, his words pinched.

"Stop apologizing for everything," I yelled, directing my anger at him instead of the man behind us.

"Here." He stopped running in front of a door, and I skidded to a halt next to him. The streetlight was angled like a spotlight showing us the way. There was a chain across it, and he whacked it a few times with the crowbar until it broke. He tried the handle and it swung open. "Let's go inside."

"I'm sorry I yelled at you." My cheeks were wet with tears of frustration and rage. I wasn't sad; there was no time for that. I'd finished being sad a long time ago, and now there was only anger left behind.

"How about neither one of us apologizes anymore." He squeezed my hand. "At least not to each other, okay?"

I nodded shakily. "It's a deal."

We went into the building and he shut the door behind us. Then I felt his arms around me, hugging me against him while I sobbed against his shoulder. He slid his hands through my hair.

"I'm right here with you. I'm not going anywhere."

I finally stopped crying and nodded against his shoulder. There wasn't much light inside, only some from a bare bulb dangling from the ceiling, but it was enough to see we were in a small foyer that led to a staircase. Rogan moved toward the door and slid the lock across about two seconds before there was a loud, resounding bang on it from the other side.

"We know you're in there!" Mac yelled.

Bang.

"Come out, you little bitch!" Kurtis bellowed louder, but there was a tense, pained quality to his voice. Getting a bullet in the shoulder would do that.

I exchanged a look with Rogan.

"He doesn't sound too happy," Rogan said.

I swallowed and tried to force myself to calm down, to breathe slower, or I was going to hyperventilate. "He killed my family."

Rogan nodded grimly. "I'm so sorry, Kira." He closed the distance between us again and touched my face gently. "I wish I could take your pain away."

I looked up into his eyes. "Right back at you."

There was a creak as the door gave a little with the last pounding.

"We'd better move," Rogan suggested firmly.

"And where do you suggest we go?"

He eyed the stairs. "Looks like we only have two options: through those assholes out there, or up the stairs."

"Not much of a choice."

"I know."

I swallowed. "I vote stairs."

"Good choice."

Rogan started taking the stairs two at a time until he remembered that I was hobbling around on an injured ankle and he thundered back down to my side. He put an arm around my waist and helped support me as we went up flight after flight of stairs. I was in pretty good shape, but by the time we got to the top of twenty-five flights, I was panting, my heart slamming inside my chest.

Rogan pushed open the door at the top and we burst out onto the roof. I sucked in fresh air until I got my breath back. He ran over to the side and looked over.

"There's a fire escape over here. I think we can climb down."

"Seven minutes remain in this level of The Countdown," the announcer said loud and clear in my head.

"What are we going to do then?" I asked him. "We can run, but isn't the whole point of this level for only one team to survive?"

"That's true," Rogan said. "But you did shoot Kurtis already. And I hit Mac really hard. You don't suppose that counts, do you?"

"No." Mac emerged from the roof door. Kurtis limped behind him, still holding his hand against his shoulder. He glared at me from a very pale face. "It sure as hell doesn't."

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Mac was bleeding from his temple, but he still held the crowbar in his right hand.

"Five minutes remain in this level of The Countdown," the announcer said loud and clear in my head.

"How time flies when you're having fun," Kurtis said, although the sound of his voice, raspy and out of breath, didn't really fit the words. He clutched his left shoulder, dark red and shiny with blood from the bullet wound.

He noticed where I was looking. "You got me good, bitch. Are you proud of yourself?" He took a few steps closer to me. Rogan cut him off and stepped in front of me.

"Back off." He raised the crowbar defensively.

Kurtis managed a shallow laugh. "Never pegged you for the knight-in-shining-armor type, Rogan. Is she that good in bed?"

"I'm warning you."

"You're dead, rich boy."

Rogan's eyes narrowed. "You first."

Kurtis smirked at him through his obvious pain. "Nah. You first."

I saw the swing of the crowbar out of the corner of my eye as it came toward Rogan's head. He saw it at the last moment and was able to turn away from Kurtis, blocking the death blow from Mac with his own crowbar. The metal crashed together with a deafening sound.

Mac's fist made full contact with Rogan's jaw, and he went sprawling to the other side of the roof, the makeshift weapon knocked out of his hand. He got to his feet quickly and stormed at Mac, grabbing hold of the other man's black shirt.

My attention was now on Kurtis, who moved toward me slowly, his eyes never leaving my face.

"Hey, bitch," he snarled. "You don't have any weapons now, do you?"

I hadn't even realized I was backing away from him until my legs hit the side of the roof.

"Three minutes remain in this level of The Countdown."

He pulled his hand away from his shoulder long enough to crack his knuckles. "I've killed many people with my bare hands. I'll even tell you how I'll do you. I'm going to put my hands around your neck and I'm going to squeeze until I hear something pop. And then I'll keep squeezing until your tongue rolls out of your mouth, until your eyes bug out from your face and you go limp. Then I'm going to throw you off this roof and watch as your pretty red guts smear the pavement down there."

I felt the cold brick against my hands. The edge came up to the backs of my thighs. "Were you serious when you said that you killed my parents?" I blinked back tears. "Or were you told to tell me that to get a reaction for the cameras?"

He smirked. "Don't you believe me?"

"I don't know what to believe anymore."

He grabbed my hand in his. "I'll do you a favor before I kill you, bitch." He thrust my hand against his neck. "If you're really a psi, why don't you give me a read?" He laughed. 'Take a look at my soul and you tell me if I did it or not."

I searched his face for something that would indicate that he was lying. That he wasn't a horrible man who'd ruined my life. I wanted to see a glimmer of hope in his gnarled, scarred face.

I glanced over at Rogan and Mac, fighting hand to hand on the other side of the roof. Rogan looked over at me and shouted my name when he saw I'd been cornered by a man twice my size. He tried to move toward me, but Mac stopped him, pushing him back, and swung the crowbar like a baseball bat. I heard Rogan yell out in pain.

"Two minutes remain in this level of The Countdown."

My hand was still against Kurtis's neck. He was smiling at me, but it wasn't friendly or warm. It was amused, as if he were daring me to try something violent. My despair and confusion amused him.

"Can't do it after all, can you?" he said.

"Oh, yes, I can."

I closed my eyes, flexed my mind, and ripped into his.

::::::::::Filth

Disgust::::::::::

:::::::::::Anger

Betrayal:::::::::

:::::::::Rage

Certainty::::::

... and I'd do it again.... Love to take her now... no time left.... I'll win this fucking game.... So easy... bitch shot me... Want to kill her... like I killed her family. ... Watched them bleed.... What a laugh.... I'll kill them all again.... Give me the chance.... Go to Offworld and do the same there....

The pain tore through my brain and I let go of him. It was even worse than before. Even worse than with Gareth. I couldn't see anything but white for a moment; I was blind from entering this bastard's mind. He was everything he appeared to be--scum of the earth.

And I knew for sure that he was the murderer who'd stolen my life seven years ago.

When my vision cleared and I was able to focus again, I saw him staring at me with widened eyes.

"It's true," he said. "You can do it. I felt it. You saw into my soul."

I cast a fearful look over at Rogan and Mac. I could see that Rogan was bleeding, but he was still fighting hard.

"Yeah," I said. "I saw your soul."

He pulled his knife out of his front pocket. "All the more reason for me to slice you open and watch you bleed."

"Kira!" Rogan yelled.

Without thinking twice about it, I lashed out and punched Kurtis in his injured shoulder. He screamed in pain and dropped his knife, but before I could twist away from him he grabbed my shoulders so hard I thought he was going to snap bone. I fought back against him as hard as I'd ever fought before: nails, teeth, fists, slashing and pounding anything I could reach. I tried to trip him, winding myself around his legs, and I felt him fall.

He still had ahold of me as he crashed against the side of the roof, and we rolled across it, and then suddenly there was nothing under my feet. I screamed and scrambled to grab hold of the building as we fell off the side.

My already short fingernails broke. My hands were sweating, slippery, but I clung to the building, trying to get a foothold below me.

The countdown began to thunder in my brain.

"Forty-five . . . forty-four . . . forty-three . . . forty-two ..."

"Kira!" Rogan yelled again. "Kira!"

Hand over hand, scraping roughly over brick, I tried to pull myself back up to the roof. Just before I got a firm hold on the siding, I felt a hand on my ankle and then a heavy weight. I looked down. Kurtis was dangling off the side of the building, a few feet lower than I was, and he had hold of my left boot. He stared up at me, his expression frantic.

My hand slipped a little, and I struggled to hold on.

"Help me!" Kurtis pleaded. "Please don't let me fall!"

"Twenty-one . . . twenty.. . nineteen ..."

I forced the words from a throat that felt more like screaming at the moment. "I read you, Kurtis, with my tainted psi ability. And do you want to know what I saw deep inside of you? Deep inside your soul?"

"What? What?"

"Not a whole hell of a lot."

His hand slipped off my boot, and he was hanging on to the side of the building for a few seconds by only a couple of fingers. And then, with a terrified scream, he fell twenty-five stories to the street below.

Just before he hit I heard a loud bang from the roof. It scared me so much I almost lost my remaining grip.

What the hell was that?

"Rogan?" I managed. "Rogan, are you still there? Are you okay?"

It felt like an eternity, but it was only a few seconds until I felt hands gripping my arms, pulling me back up to the roof. Rogan, bloodied and beaten but still alive, crushed me against him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This whole thing was sickening.

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

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

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

His forehead creased. "What is it?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Kill Rogan, Kira. Kill him now."

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

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

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

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

I threw the knife over the side of the building.

There was deadly silence for a full ten seconds.

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

LEVEL SIX

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

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

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

"Good morning," he said.

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

"Not entirely sure about that."

"How long have we been here?"

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

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

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

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

"Me too."

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

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

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

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

He raised an eyebrow. "Is that right?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

My stomach sank. "What?"

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

I blinked slowly and looked up at him. "And what did you say to that?"

"What did I say? I told him to go to hell."

I felt cold. "Gareth told me the same thing."

"That if you killed me you'd win."

I nodded.

He cleared his throat. "Well, since I'm still breathing, then I'm going to assume that you disagreed with that plan."

"I did."

A small grin elevated his mouth. "Is it wrong that I'm really touched that you don't want to kill me?"

I glanced around the room. "It's a little strange. But this entire situation is strange to start with."

"For over four years I've lived a life where everybody wanted me dead or tortured. Even Gareth, my own brother." His expression darkened. "Dammit. Why would he turn his back on me like that? I would have been there for him. If the situation had been reversed, even if I thought he was guilty ..." He shook his head. "I can't see myself abandoning him like he did me."

God, I wanted to tell him. I wanted to tell him the truth so badly that it was like a huge, painful lump in my chest. But they couldn't know. They couldn't hear me.

"Where do you think the cameras are right now?" I asked.

"I don't know. They could be anywhere. As far as we know they're taping us right now." He pressed back into the bed and stared at the ceiling. "When I was in charge they were still handhelds. Now they're remote-controlled. In fact, I wouldn't be surprised if they had a bit of artificial intelligence programming in them; they move like they have minds of their own, don't they?"

My mouth felt dry. "You really think so? Like the robot?"

Like Gareth's implant? I thought.

"No, not exactly like that. Just enough that they can fly about on their own, keeping us as their focus. I got a good look at them last time, too. They have receivers on them. I'd be willing to bet that our implants are connected to the cameras somehow. And the cameras are connected to the game's network at Ellis Enterprises."

I pulled him closer so I could whisper into his ear, "Why can't we just run?"

He tensed. 'They'd know."

"So there's no way of getting away?" I was saying it so softly. If there were cameras hidden in the room I didn't want them to hear me.

"Not with those damn cameras around."

"Rogan," I whispered, quieter, "I need to tell you something. It's important."

"What?"

"You said that you didn't understand why Gareth would abandon you like that. Well, I know why."

"Why?" There was strain in the quiet word. "Tell me."

Just as I was opening my mouth to tell him the truth, words that would probably change his life, a loud alarm sounded, and the room we were in split down the very center, right through the middle of the bed. As if the entire thing were on wheels the room parted, and Rogan stared at me with shock as he moved farther away.

The roof rolled back, and instead of stucco it showed the cloudy skies overhead.

I realized with a sinking feeling--a feeling I'd gotten used to having on a regular basis in this game--that the motel room we'd been in was actually a set. All fake. All created to be the background for our "emotional pillow-talk scene." There must have been microphones all over the place. Hidden cameras. They'd probably been hoping for another explicit love scene, but instead when I was about to reveal Gareth's little secret they put an end to it again.

Why the hell was Gareth so intent on Rogan not knowing the truth? Would it really make any difference?

My side of the bed moved away from Rogan until we were stretching our ninety-foot rule to the limit. Any farther and I was going to bolt off the bed and start running toward him. The memory of the red stain on the roof where Mac's head should have been haunted me. I didn't want to die that way. Not after everything we'd been through.

"Kira!" Rogan called, and he jumped up from the half bed. Another step took him off the makeshift set and onto the pavement of yet another abandoned street. He looked around at the surroundings quickly before focusing again on me.

"Welcome back to The Countdown! Kira and Rogan are all rested up for this, the final level: Level Six."

Three silver ball cameras zoomed into view, bobbing and moving along the street. They got to Rogan first and circled him like a nest of wasps as he glared at them.

"Rogan Ellis never thought he 'd be one of the privileged few to reach the last level of The Countdown. Some of our original subscribers will recall that Rogan himself is the creator of this game, although it has improved a thousandfold since then in quality and excitement. If Rogan had any say in the matter, the game would no longer be available to entertain you, our glorious subscribers! Just before his incarceration for rape and nine counts of murder, he attempted to pull the plug on this show, but luckily he was stopped before any irreparable damage was done.

"Such is the case with Rogan. He is a selfish man. As a bloodthirsty hedonist, he cares only for his own pleasures, and it doesn't matter to him who might get hurt. In an early poll amongst our subscribers, Rogan received a 3 percent approval rating. This is as low as any contestant in the history of the game. It is obvious to anyone watching that despite his handsome appearance, a cold heart lurks beneath his chest. There is no humanity or possibility of redemption within this poor excuse of a man."

I wasn't close enough to see the expression on Rogan's face, but I was betting that it wasn't a happy one. This was what he'd been subjected to for all these years? This uncensored verbal hatred toward him? That must have destroyed something inside of him. All I wanted to do was take that pain away from him. I felt a small sense of pride knowing that I knew the real Rogan. That he was innocent. That he wasn't selfish or bloodthirsty. That he was wonderful in every single way.

And that was about the moment that I realized I'd fallen completely in love with him.

"Dammit," I said under my breath. "Not a good time for realizations like these, Kira."

That would explain why my heart twisted with every hurtful thing that was said about him. Why I felt his pain and all I wanted to do was hold him and tell him that it was all going to be okay.

I didn't even have to be using my flex to feel empathy for him. I felt for him because I was in love with him.

Tears stung at the corners of my eyes and I shook my head. So inconvenient. Especially now. Especially here.

The cameras left Rogan's side and swarmed toward me instead. They spun around my head and I could see myself reflected in their black, shiny lenses.

"Kira Jordan has been a very popular player on The Countdown. It goes to show that despite her fragile exterior a female competitor is not necessarily going to be outplayed by her male counterparts. Kira has earned a 74 percent approval rating, a rating that has improved with every successive level.

"A thief, a sultry vixen, and a woman who can lure men to their deaths, as evidenced in Level Five . . . this is a true Countdown competitor to be admired. Footage of her reward-level bubble bath, among many other memorable X-rated moments, is available in the archive section of our subscriber feeds for you to enjoy over and over again.

"Kira, do you have anything you want to say to the subscribers who have enthusiastically supported you in the game so far?"

One camera came down to eye level. I could see myself reflected from my waist to the top of my head.

"Absolutely." I forced a smile to my lips. "I just wanted to let you know that every one of you subscribers disgusts me. Why do you sad, pathetic sacks of shit keep watching this? They're forcing us to play. We have no choice. You want to see people killed? You're sick! All of you are sick!" I spat at the camera. There was a long pause.

"We are very sorry," the announcer piped up. "We lost our feed for a moment. We strive to bring you the best of entertainment, but we are slaves to our cameras, I'm afraid." He chuckled. "Kira wanted you all to know that she appreciates your support and that she's thrilled to have been able to bring you hours of entertainment. She would love to thank you all personally if she could, but there simply isn't enough time. Not if we want to get on with the show! "

I tried to calm myself. It made me furious to know that the subscribers, however many of them there were, were sitting back watching in their mind's eye as Rogan and I fought for our lives.

I wondered what they'd think if they knew their implant-provided brain waves were Gareth's version of a power lunch.

It was like something out of a nightmare.

"Everything has led to this final level," the announcer said. "Kira and Rogan have forged a partnership, found common ground, learned to work together, and given in to their carnal desires. Never has there been a better team on The Countdown and we are thrilled to have been able to present them to you.

"They have worked together, helping each other when the other was down, for without one's partner, one is nothing in The Countdown.

"That is, until Level Six."

The cameras separated. One stayed in front of me, another went to Rogan, and the third hovered between us.

"Underneath both sides of the bed, there is a gun. Kira and Rogan, please retrieve your guns now."

I looked over at Rogan but didn't make a move to get up yet. What was left of the sheets was still tangled around my legs.

I studied the camera closest to me.

"Please retrieve the gun, Kira."

"And what if I don't?"

Three small green lights just above the camera's lens swelled slightly in intensity. I flinched as I felt a zap of pain to my implant. Not too much. Just a warning.

I forced myself up off the bed and crouched down to look underneath. There was a gun. I wrapped my fingers around the handle of the gun and pulled it out.

I stood there next to the half a motel room, right next to the gray of the pavement, holding the gun, and I waited, every muscle in my body tense and on edge.

Rogan had his gun in hand as well. He held it loosely at his side.

"There is only one way out of Level Six. There can only he one winner of The Countdown. Kira and Rogan have fought side by side in victory thus far, but now they must fight against each other. For only by defeating the other can they win the game.

"Rogan fights now to clear his name of his crimes. Should he win, he will be able to start life with a clean slate, with his half of the Ellis fortune returned to him to do with as he wishes. He will have the freedom to remain here or to continue on Offworld.

"Kira fights for a fresh start as well. Her desire is to leave the city by shuttle to go to Offworld. There she will find that her new life awaits her, including a house and a small fortune that will see her to the end of her days in luxury.

"The only obstacle they face is each other. Whoever is standing at the end of Level Six... whoever is still breathing . . . shall be crowned the winner.

"Should neither of them succeed in killing the other in the time allotted, the level will be forfeited and both competitors shall be eliminated.

"There is a five-minute time limit for this level, which starts right now. Enjoy!"

When the announcer stopped talking I stood there, completely stunned. I looked at the gun in my hand.

They wanted me to kill Rogan.

And Rogan was supposed to kill me first. That was what they said, right?

Kill or be killed.

And if we didn't kill each other, both of us were dead anyhow in five minutes.

A line of fury ripped through me and I almost screamed, but I held it in. The rage burned just beneath the surface. I was sure that as I raised my gaze to look in the lens of the camera, any subscriber would be able to see what I was thinking. How much I hated them, those faceless, bloodthirsty bastards somewhere out there, watching every move I made.

I was lost in my thoughts for a moment, so distracted that I didn't hear Rogan approach. At the last second I heard his boots slam against the pavement as he neared me.

I automatically raised the gun and pointed it directly at him, and he stopped running. He held up his hands.

"Easy, Kira, easy."

"Easy?" I managed. "There's nothing easy about this. You heard what he said."

"Yeah, I did." He still held his own gun loosely at his right side.

"Just stay back."

"There are four minutes remaining in this level of The Countdown."

He frowned. "Kira, listen to me. I'm not going to shoot you."

My hands shook. "But that's what they want. They want us to try to kill each other."

"I don't give a shit what they want. I'm not doing it."

A million different scenarios sped through my brain. There had to be a way out of this. I looked at the cameras that were greedily taking everything in.

The cameras watched everything. All they cared about was getting a good shot. Providing good entertainment so the subscribers kept watching.

Everything seemed to revolve around those cameras.

Dammit. I had an idea but I needed like hell for him to play along. "Do you trust me Rogan?"

He eyed the gun. "Yeah, I trust you."

"Then you need to trust me right now. Point your gun at me. There's no other choice."

He frowned deeply, staring into my eyes. It seemed to take him forever, but then slowly he raised his gun toward me. "Like this? Is this what you want?"

"Three minutes remain in this level of The Countdown."

"Yeah, that's exactly what I want. They picked us to be partners, Rogan. They knew that we were both damaged inside. How else could somebody make it through this game to the end? If it were a normal person they probably would have shut down. They couldn't handle the hell we've been through without giving up."

He swallowed. "That's right. We're special."

I glanced at the cameras, now circling us, recording our last conversation, to be replayed over and over again for the entertainment of the subscribers.

"Do you think that you can kill me, Rogan?" I asked simply.

He didn't answer for a moment. "Why are you even asking that?"

"If it meant your life or my life--and guess what, it does--then can you pull that trigger?"

His hand shook and he began to lower it. "You're going to have to kill me, Kira."

"And I will. You murdered my family. I'll kill you and not even blink."

His eyes widened. "But I--"

I pulled the trigger and shot the ground next to him. The cameras had spun behind me and didn't catch me rolling my eyes at him.

I mouthed the words, Please play along.

He stared at me for a long moment before he finally raised his gun again. "Okay, have it your way."

I tried to stifle my sigh of relief. "Yeah, thanks for joining us so late in the show."

He snorted. "I guess I'm a bit of a slow learner."

"Obviously."

"Maybe this won't be as difficult as I thought it was. You pull your trigger. I pull my trigger. Whoever's the best shot wins, right?"

Damn. My arm was beginning to burn from holding the gun up.

"But it is difficult," I said steadily. "If it wasn't, then there wouldn't be any point, would there? I want to know something first. Was I ever more to you than just a ... what did you laugh at earlier... a postprison piece of ass?"

He gave me a very convincing sneer. "I've been in jail a long time, sweetheart. A hot little piece of flesh willingly spreads her legs for me? What am I supposed to do, refuse?"

"I knew it."

"You're so perceptive. So now that the truth's out you're going to shoot me?"

"Maybe I am," I said. "Are you going to do something to stop me?"

"Maybe I'll shoot you first. Got enough ammo in this gun to make sure I don't miss. They haven't taken any chances this time."

"No." I glanced around at the cameras. "Can't take any chances."

"Two minutes remain in this level of The Countdown."

"Are you a good shot?" I asked him.

"I used to do target practice in my teens. And you?"

"I'm okay."

His lip curled. "Wait, I remember that you missed Kurds and shot him in the shoulder. Either that was a precise hit or you're a lousy shot. I'm going to go out on a limb and say that you're a lousy shot."

"Okay, now you're just being mean. I can hit something if I have enough ammo. Don't worry about that."

"Are you going to shoot me or just talk about it?"

"In a minute."

"Fifty-nine . . .fifty-eight. . .fifty-seven . . ."

Rogan's jaw tensed. 'Time's ticking away, sweetheart. Hope you know what you're doing."

"I thought I told you not to call me sweetheart?"

"If you're going to shoot, can you do me a favor?"

"What's that?"

'Try not to miss." He smirked at me, but an edge of worry slid behind his blue-green eyes.

"The time has come," the announcer said, and his normally singsong voice was a little bit breathless. "The facade of friendship and caring has faded away, leaving only two raw competitors behind. Who will he victorious in the remaining seconds?"

"Thirty .. . twenty-nine . . . twenty-eight..."

"So sick of that fucking guy," Rogan growled.

"That makes two of us. And if I never hear another countdown it'll be too damn soon."

"See, we still agree on a couple of things."

"Yeah, I guess we do."

"So, I'll do you one last favor, sweetheart." He raised an eyebrow. "You can take the first shot. Lead the way."

My hands were sweating.

"Ten . . . nine . . . eight.. ."

"Sounds fair," I said, and my voice shook on the words. "Are you ready?"

His eyes narrowed and his grip tightened on the gun. "Do it, Kira."

I swung my arm around and pulled the trigger. The camera that was in the process of getting a close-up of my face, of any potential emotion that might be found there, went flying backward.

"Now, Rogan! Now!"

I heard gunfire, shot after shot after shot. I focused on the one camera on the ground, sputtering and sparking. I shot it until my gun was empty before I looked back at Rogan. Two silver cameras had crashed to the ground near him. He looked over at me, his chest heaving with every breath he took, a sheer gleam of perspiration on his forehead.

"We should probably run now," he said.

"Good idea."

I picked a direction and started running as fast as I could, with Rogan at my side.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

"Where are we headed?" Rogan yelled, and I tried to ignore the pain from my sprained ankle as we thundered along another side street.

I had the brief glimmer of the location in my head--the safe house that Gareth had given me when I'd done my flex on him. It wasn't much to go on, but it was all we had.

"A place close by. We're almost there."

"How did you know to shoot the cameras?" he asked.

"Just a lucky guess, actually. I was hoping that you were right about their being the things controlling our implants."

"Since we're still conscious, I'm guessing we were right. But they'll be after us on foot."

"That's why we have to keep running."

The safe house was at 358 Paragon Avenue. I was betting everything I had on the vision from Gareth being right.

"Up ahead," I said. 'Turn left on that street."

Paragon Avenue was the main street of the city and about a mile away from the street we'd been on for Level Six. We slowed to a jog as we turned the corner. My ankle throbbed.

It was like day and night compared to where we'd just come from--a deserted part of the city that made me think that nobody else in the universe existed except for Rogan, me, and the disembodied voice of the announcer. Here on Paragon Avenue I was reminded that the city and the world around it, while definitely dying, were not yet dead.

A steady flow of people moved along the sidewalks. The road was trafficked with cars and mopeds. However, there was a general feeling of malaise--these were the people who either couldn't afford to go to Offworld or had too many obligations--job, family, whatever--that kept them right where they were.

There was a man on the street corner with a long white beard. He begged for money from the passing pedestrians but was ignored as if he were completely invisible.

We weeded through the crowd while getting some sideways stares at our costumes. Black, shiny, and tight didn't really go with the business casual we were bumping up against. An old woman eyed my black thigh-highs and short skirt, sneered with disapproval, and muttered some insult I couldn't hear.

I wanted to run up to her and grab her hands and beg her to help us, to hide us, but I stopped myself. I took a deep breath and let it out slowly as I clutched Rogan's arm tightly and continued to hobble along, favoring my right ankle. I knew that we couldn't drag anyone into our problem. No one would offer us sanctuary. Nobody would believe us. Everyone was too busy worrying about their own lives, their own problems, their own safety. I knew that very well after being on the streets for seven years. I was used to being like the man on the corner: invisible, insignificant.

A nobody.

"Up ahead," I said to Rogan. "Number Three Fifty-eight."

He led the way without questioning me again. We'd tucked our guns into our waistbands. The black of the weapon blended against the black of our Countdown-supplied outfits. The cold metal against my skin gave me a meager sense of calm, although it didn't help my heart to stop beating as fast as it was. It felt so loud that I was sure the people passing us would be able to hear it.

Just before we reached the address, a man stepped in front of us. I felt Rogan tense up as he blocked our way and gave us a huge smile.

"You two look like fun people," he said.

"Get out of our way," Rogan growled.

"Now, now, I have something you might be interested in."

"What is it?" I asked, my voice strained.

He produced a trifold flyer printed on light blue paper. "Have you been wanting to get away? Want to figure out how to finagle a seat on the Offworld shuttle while you're on a working-class budget? Well, I have just the thing for you right here."

"Not interested," Rogan said. "Get yourself and your scam away from us."

"Scam? Not even slightly. In my course I will give you the top ten ways to get to Offworld and away from it all. There are always other options, other solutions. Just picture it: sun, sand, green grass for miles around. A perfect place for a perfect life, Offworld is. And you can get there with my help."

"It's a course?" I asked, feeling oddly disappointed.

"Yes. It's called Ten Weeks to Paradise. Five hundred dollars and you, too, can realize your dreams." He thrust the flyer at me.

"Not interested." Rogan's hand tightened at my waist. "Get out of our way. I'm asking you for the last time."

The man cleared his throat and withdrew another flyer from his inner jacket pocket. "Not interested, I can understand that. Perhaps a vacation a little closer to home? I can provide you with a steady supply of Kerometh to make every day a holiday--"

Rogan pushed him out of our way and we started walking again.

"Scumbags," Rogan said under his breath. "I almost forgot they're found outside of prison as well as inside."

I looked wistfully back at the man. How many people had he conned into taking his course that gave no promises? He just preyed on the dreams of the people stuck here. People like me.

Not that I ever would have had five hundred bucks to spend on a course.

I pushed those thoughts out of my head as we closed the distance between us and our destination. The numbers 358 were carved out of gold, very large above the door.

"What is this place?" Rogan asked.

I tried the door and was surprised when it swung open at my touch. We slipped inside and closed it behind us. The noise from the street outside vanished. We were now in an unadorned hallway lit only by the small window on the outer door. I felt Rogan's hand close around my own and squeeze reassuringly, and we began to move along the passageway.

"This is supposed to be a safe house," I whispered. "Someone ... someone reliable told me about it."

"Reliable? Who?"

"I'll explain more in a minute. Come on."

Every time I'd mentioned Gareth I'd been overheard and stopped. I knew that the cameras were long gone-- otherwise we wouldn't have made it this far--but I wasn't prepared to risk it. Not yet.

The passage went along straight for about twenty feet and then turned sharply to the right. It was as if the front of the house that faced Paragon Avenue were just a facade.

Finally, ahead of us, there was a modest amount of light. Luckily we hadn't been walking in complete darkness, because I wouldn't have been able to function as well as I was in this half-light.

"Sorry my hands are sweating," I whispered.

"So are mine. Mostly because you won't tell me what the hell's going on."

"If I knew for sure, I'd tell you."

"Yeah, that's reassuring."

Ahead of us was another door. It was red and it had a doorbell next to it. On the door were the numbers 358 again. I assumed this was the true front of the safe house. At least, I sincerely hoped so.

"Now what?" Rogan asked.

I bit my bottom lip so hard I thought I'd draw blood. Then I raised my hand and pressed the bell. The sound of a buzzer was deafening.

I half expected the door to swing inward into darkness and some monster to appear, grabbing us and dragging us inside.

But nothing happened. Absolutely nothing.

We waited in silence for five full minutes.

"Okay," Rogan said then. "So how long should we wait here? And what exactly are we waiting for? I'm trying to be patient, Kira, really I am. But you'll excuse me if I'm not feeling all that calm at the moment."

I turned to face him and put a hand on his chest. I could feel his heart beating rapidly beneath my fingers.

And I told him. Everything I could about his brother. Everything I'd learned from my flex that slid down into the part of Gareth that still existed past the virus that had taken him over. How he'd slipped this address into my mind at the last moment. How nothing he'd done was his fault, but the fault of the artificial intelligence computer program that had been screwed up by a virus and had taken over his implant.

Rogan listened to me in silence, his expression like stone. When I was finished I waited for his reaction.

It took a moment.

"Why didn't you tell me this before?" he asked quietly.

"I tried to... on the roof after Mac and Kurtis ... just a little while ago before the room split. They were listening. They didn't want me to tell you, so they wouldn't let me."

He nodded solemnly. "I see."

"So your brother didn't really sell you out. He didn't abandon you. He's not in control of what he's doing."

His forehead creased into a deep frown. "It must have happened when I tried to destroy the computers four years ago. The power outage... it must have sparked something in Gareth's prototype implant... and if there was a virus in the AI programming at the time ..."

I watched the different emotions play on Rogan's face: disbelief to anger to the slow, steady realization that this was what had truly happened. That everything began to make sense in his terrible past.

"You know, all this time I thought I'd wasted all that money in artificial intelligence research. I only did it for the game in the first place." He laughed, and it was a hollow sound. "Shit. Be careful what you wish for, right? I'm the one who invented the thing that killed my brother and ruined my life."

I shook my head. "But Gareth's not dead. He's still in there somewhere. He's the one who told me to come here. He wants you to be safe."

His eyes shifted back and forth as he tried to process all of this information. "Jonathan must have known. Of course. He was the main researcher in the AI programming. Maybe he was the one who added the virus to the mix. I don't know. He is Gareth's right-hand man now. And he didn't raise a finger to help me when I was in prison."

I touched his face and made him look at me. "But he gave you the antidote for the poison in your shoulder."

He frowned. "Yeah, that he did. If he hadn't I would have been dead by now; I have no doubt about that. Gareth wants me out of the way, but he wanted to play with me a bit first." He laughed that hopeless laugh again. "Guess he was afraid I might try to pull the plug on him again."

"I read Jonathan and I felt only honesty from him. If he's doing what Gareth wants, then it's against his will."

"I have faith in your abilities, Kira, but there might be a way for him to fool you. I'm ... I'm just worried that you may have read Gareth wrong, too. Maybe this is a trap."

I swallowed. "Don't say that."

He looked at the door again, at the buzzer I'd pressed almost ten minutes ago. "We need to get out of here right now. There are other places we can hide." He reached around to the back of his head. "Shit. I wish we didn't have these implants. It won't be long before they'll be able to pinpoint our location down to the square foot. They must have some precautions set up in case competitors manage to escape--some sort of alternate plan. We can't stay in one place for too long."

I looked at the door again, and my high hopes for something miraculous to happen began to wane. "Dammit. Maybe you're right."

He reached down and took my hand in his. "There's only one person I'm going to trust, Kira, and it's you. I hope you feel the same way about me."

I nodded, and he leaned forward to kiss me lightly on my lips. The warmth of his mouth burned through the chill I was feeling.

I trusted him. I did. More than anybody in the world.

We turned back to the passageway just as we heard the door leading to the street slam shut and heavy footsteps begin to approach.

"Somebody's coming." Rogan pulled his gun out of his waistband.

I reached for my own gun.

Just then I heard a popping sound, and something in the back of my head began to tick.

A metallic voice spoke up: "Unable to detect implant signal. Please return to the proper signal range. Not complying will result in implant self-destruction in ten minutes. Countdown begins now."

I looked at Rogan with wide eyes. There was a gleam of sweat on his brow. He raised an eyebrow. "Just keeps getting better and better, doesn't it?"

"What do we do now?"

"Get your gun out and aim. Let's deal with one thing at a time."

I ignored the ticking in my brain and fumbled at my gun. I was out of bullets, but whatever was coming didn't know that. I gripped the weapon in both hands and pointed it at the half darkness of the hallway. Shit. I hoped Rogan still had ammo. The footsteps increased in speed and volume until finally somebody appeared in front of us. He was also holding a gun.

Jonathan. He was dressed in dark pants and a long-sleeved shirt but wasn't wearing his white coat at the moment. His forehead was shiny with sweat.

"Drop your weapons!" he commanded.

"You first," Rogan snarled.

"Rogan, you need to do as I say and drop your weapon."

"Not exactly taking orders from you right now, asshole. I will pull this trigger and waste you."

Jonathan's gun shifted in my direction. "You shoot me and I'll shoot her."

Rogan's breathing increased. "Don't even think about it."

"Jonathan," I said. "How did you know we were here?"

He was sweating. "Are you going to listen to reason, Kira? Or are you going to be stubborn like Rogan?"

"Well, since you just threatened to shoot me, I'm not so sure what I'm going to do."

I studied him for a moment, holding my useless gun so tightly that it began to cut into my skin. I remembered when I used my flex on him. He gave the distinct impression of being honest and truthful, but there was a ton of guilt mixed in. Despite all the lies I knew he'd told, my gut was still insisting that he wasn't one of the bad guys.

"What are you guilty of, Jonathan?" I asked. "Answer me that right now."

My question surprised him, I could see it in his expression, but he didn't lower his gun. "Guilty? I'm guilty of a lot of things. I don't even know where to begin."

"But you feel bad about what you've done."

His expression darkened. I noticed that his gun was trembling slightly. "I feel bad. That's why I'm here. That's why you need to hear me out. There's no time. You have to trust me."

I stared at him for a moment longer, then dropped my gun and held my hands out before me.

"Kira, what the hell are you doing?" Rogan growled.

'Trusting my instincts."

"Your instincts are going to get you killed."

Jonathan's gun was still trained on me, and I eyed it warily. I felt a line of perspiration slide down my spine.

"Consider that a show of faith," I told him. "Now talk."

"Your implants have probably started their self-destruct countdown, haven't they?" he asked. When neither of us confirmed it, despite the constant ticking I was dealing with and the recent notice that there were eight minutes left, he continued. "I was notified the moment you escaped the game and moved out of network range." A smile twitched on his lips. "Well played, by the way. Well played."

"No thanks to you," Rogan said, every word coated in venom.

Jonathan licked his lips nervously. "I've done what I can. I healed you, Rogan. I healed Kira's leg after the shooting. I prevented the other men from abusing Kira just before the reward level." He raised an eyebrow at me. "They aren't terribly fond of you anymore."

"I'm sorry to hear that." Sarcasm dripped from my voice.

"So they know you've escaped. They know you must still be in the city."

Rogan glared at him. "And let me guess. You've notified them that we're here. Isn't that convenient."

Jonathan shook his head. "No. They don't know. I'm the only one who knows you're here."

'Then I strongly suggest that you drop your weapon," Rogan said again. "Right now."

"I want to help you, Rogan, but I'm also quite concerned for my own well-being. Can you understand that?"

"More than you know. I was fairly concerned with my own well-being the four years I was in prison."

Jonathan winced. "Some things were unfortunately unavoidable."

"Yeah, unfortunate. That's a word. Now lower your weapon away from Kira, or I swear to God I'm going to fill you with enough holes that you'll be able to see out of your own ass."

I almost laughed at that. Obviously I was just short of hysterical.

"I don't think Jonathan wants to hurt us." I reached out to touch Rogan's arm.

He flinched and looked at me out of the corner of his eye. "Why, because of your instincts?"

"Yeah."

"Not good enough."

"Fine." Jonathan let out a loud sigh of exasperation. "There's simply no time for this." He bent over and placed his gun on the ground. Rogan stormed toward him and grabbed his arm, swinging him around to push him up against the wall next to the door. He pressed his gun against Jonathan's head.

"Now tell me why you're here."

"I'm here"--Jonathan's words were partially muffled by the fact that his face was squashed against the wall-- "because you pressed the buzzer."

"Which means what?" Rogan snapped.

"The buzzer is connected to a device I wear at all times. It informs me if someone has found the safe house your brother had me set up three years ago."

Rogan grabbed Jonathan's shirt and swung him back around roughly. "Explain more."

"Your brother is not himself. There was an accident."

"I know."

"You know?" Jonathan's eyes widened. "You know about the virus in the artificial intelligence program that took over his implant?"

"Old news."

"How long have you known this?"

"About ten minutes. But I'm ready for something that will actually help us right now."

Jonathan's chest heaved. "Then you may not know that there were times in the beginning when the real Gareth was able to come forth and give instructions without the virus knowing. He attempted to stop what was happening. In the end he lost the battle for control of his body, but he was able to do some small things, such as set up this safe house for worthy contestants who wanted to escape. You are the first to have made it this far."

"Six minutes until implant self-destructs," the tinny, metallic voice in my head announced.

Rogan looked at me, and I could see the strain in his face.

"We need these implants out," he said.

Jonathan sighed. "Yes, you need them out or you're going to die. Now take your damn hands off of me and come inside so I can get to work."

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Rogan still had his gun held up defensively as Jonathan unlocked the door and touched the light pad inside before hurrying into the small house.

"Come with me immediately," Jonathan said before he disappeared into another room through a narrow archway.

"Five minutes remain until implant self-destructs."

With that announcement I began to feel a small burning sensation at the back of my head, and I was again reminded of what was left of Mac's body on the roof after his implant exploded. I shuddered at the memory and followed Jonathan into the next room, a kitchen with a stove, refrigerator, and long wooden table.

"Sit there." He nodded at a single chair to the side of the table.

I didn't argue and did what he said, easing myself onto the hard, unyielding wooden chair.

Jonathan produced a piece of fabric, which he unrolled on the table in front of me. There were several silver medical instruments, all very sharp, all very dangerous-looking.

"If you hurt her--" Rogan warned.

"If you keep distracting me with that gun, I may do just that by accident." Jonathan had a syringe in his hand, and he filled it with a small amount of clear liquid from a tiny glass vial. "There's no time to put you completely under, Kira, so a local anesthetic will have to do."

I eyed him uneasily.

"Wait." I held up my hand as he approached. "Rogan, didn't you say that the implant will detonate if removed improperly?"

Before Rogan could say anything, Jonathan replied instead. "That's absolutely true. However, I am one of the very few people trained in removing such devices properly. But you must hold still and stop talking."

Okay, so even though Jonathan had lied to me several times, I was putting my life in his hands because I had a "hunch" he was a decent person. Was that enough?

Dammit. It had better be. There weren't any other choices at the moment.

"Put the gun down!" Jonathan commanded Rogan. "Or I won't do this at all."

I glanced at Rogan, who met my gaze. Finally, the muscles in his arms flexing, he lowered the gun and placed it on the counter next to the stove. His expression didn't change from that of menace. I knew if Jonathan made one wrong move, then Rogan would reach over and break his neck.

Oddly enough, the thought was surprisingly reassuring.

Any thoughts, reassuring or otherwise, disappeared from my mind as I felt the jab of the needle to the back of my head. A few seconds later my eyesight went a bit blurry, and a numbness began to spread across the back of my scalp to my ears, then to my cheeks and jawline.

Rogan sat down next to me and reached for my hand.

"It'll be fine," he said, and his voice was muffled, as if he were speaking to me from another room.

"Sure it will." My words were so slurred it sounded like I was drunk.

It will be fine, I repeated internally, trying to focus on anything other than the ticking in my head. Three minutes wasn't a lot of time.

Jonathan reached forward and chose a scalpel. I squeezed Rogan's hand and closed my eyes. Despite the anesthetic, I could still feel the knife score my skin, right where the original incision was. I felt an ooze of warm blood slide down the back of my neck before it was wiped away.

The instruments rattled together as Jonathan took something else from the selection. First he dabbed something on the wound.

"I'm neutralizing the connection," he said. "It should prevent the implant from exploding when I remove it."

"It should prevent it from exploding?" Rogan repeated. "You better damn well be sure."

I squeezed Rogan's hand tighter, and then I felt a strange pulling sensation.

Then there was a pain so intense and pronounced that my eyes snapped open and I inhaled sharply.

"Dammit." Jonathan's voice was strained. "Please hold still!"

I felt a series of painful snaps, and then for a moment I saw nothing at all. I'd gone completely blind, and the total darkness felt as if it were smothering me. Just as that thought was settling in, my automatic fear of the dark closing in around me, my vision cleared and I heard a metallic thunk as Jonathan tossed my bloody implant into a metal canister filled with a clear liquid.

He grabbed another instrument; this one was red-orange on the end, and I knew it was because it was extremely hot. He pressed it to the incision, and I smelled my flesh burn as he cauterized the wound.

I couldn't hear the ticking countdown anymore. It was gone. I felt a small sense of relief, but we were only halfway there.

I looked down at Rogan's hand. I'd clutched it so hard that I'd made little half-moons that filled with blood from where my fingernails dug in.

"I'm sorry," I managed, my words still slurred from the drug.

He brought my hand to his lips and kissed it. "You're a very brave woman."

"Thank you." I managed a small smile. "You're next."

"There're two minutes remaining," Rogan tensely told Jonathan.

"Then please hurry," Jonathan said, anxiety coating his words.

Rogan and I switched places and I held his hand, being careful not to hurt him again as Jonathan began working on him. Rogan kept his eyes open through the operation, breathing steadily through his mouth.

I didn't want to look, but couldn't help myself as Jonathan cut a line into his scalp about two inches long. He held back the flaps of skin to reveal the implant, which was an inch square. Little blue and red wires as thin as hairs disappeared into the skull itself.

Jonathan dabbed the implant with the colorless neutralizing solution and then used another tweezerlike instrument to pluck those metallic hairs out of the tissue connecting it to Rogan's skull. When they were detached, the implant itself finally gave way.

"What about his other implant? The prototype one from years ago?" I asked as Jonathan closed the wound and used the cauterizer on it. Rogan squeezed my hand tightly as the smell of burned flesh wafted under my nose.

Jonathan shook his head. 'There's no time. That would be a deep cranium operation. I'd need to saw out part of his skull to get to it. I don't have the time or the facilities to accommodate an operation of that magnitude. Besides, that implant never worked. It's not a priority right now."

I eyed the implant dangling from the end of his silver instrument. "So we're clear?"

"Not quite." Jonathan flipped Rogan's implant into the now pinkish water along with mine, grabbed the container, and took it over to the counter. He dumped the concoction into a blender and hit the on button.

With a churning, metallic grinding sound the implants were destroyed.

"Now, that should do it," Jonathan said, flicking the machine off. "Not terribly scientific, but it works."

I let out a long, audible sigh of relief.

"Are you okay?" I asked Rogan as I stroked his face, which had paled considerably during the operation.

He raised an eyebrow. "I'm still breathing. And you?"

"Never felt better."

"Glad to hear it." He glanced at Jonathan. "Thank you for helping us."

"You're very welcome." Jonathan came over to the table and sat down heavily in a chair facing us. "Now we must see what we can do about getting the two of you to safety."

Rogan's eyes narrowed. "That's all you have to say to me? After everything that's happened? I am grateful for you removing our implants, but that doesn't change a damn thing from the past."

"No, I don't suppose it would. What would you like me to say?"

"Maybe an explanation of what the hell's been going on?"

Jonathan's lips thinned. "It's quite simple, really, and you already know most of it now. An unexpected computer virus attacked the Ellis mainframe and attached itself to the artificial intelligence program that we'd been creating. It took over Gareth's implant and has been using his power and influence to grow stronger with every passing day. It feeds off the brain waves of the subscribers through their implants. Every year he's gotten more powerful. And with the Ellis fortune to back him, all he has to do is throw money around and he has a league of employees willing to do whatever he wants. Most of them believe they're simply working for a power-hungry boss with very little moral fiber."

"How has The Countdown remained a secret all this time?" I asked.

"Very simple," Jonathan replied. "Fear. Those who come to work closely with Gareth sign a confidentiality agreement, which, if broken, will result in the torture and death of an employee's family first, the employee second. There has not been one instance of an information leakage. Currently we have over fifteen thousand subscribers fitted with implants, who each pay upward of one million dollars a year to be a part of the feed." He snorted softly at that. "Ironic. The feed that feeds Gareth. And there is no end to his appetite."

I did the math in my head. The Countdown was grossing a minimum of fifteen billion dollars a year.

Jonathan continued: "Now that the implants and his ability to feed from the subscribers is perfected, he plans to drop the subscription fees and widen his network, even spreading to Offworld. All he needs is people who want to be entertained and are willing to be fitted with the implant."

"Why haven't you tried to stop him?" Rogan clenched the side of the table. His knuckles were white.

Jonathan pressed his lips together. "What makes you think I haven't? I have been secretly working behind Gareth's back on a plan to put an end to all of this before it gets even worse."

"I can help you," Rogan said.

Jonathan shook his head. 'The best thing for you to do is to get as far away from here as possible."

"I disagree," Rogan said firmly. "He's my brother--"

"All the more reason for you to stay away. You're too close to the situation. You will only interfere with what I have planned. Besides, it's my duty to do what I can. After all this time, I've waited too long...."

I watched the different emotions play on his face. "And you feel guilty about it. I read you when I was in the hospital room."

His jaw clenched. "Yes, all I feel now is guilt. So much time has passed, and I haven't known what to do. I've watched the true Gareth slip away and a monster take his place, and all the time my fear for my own safety has kept me from taking the necessary action to stop it." He blinked, and then met my gaze. "I'm still amazed by your abilities, Kira. Can you tell me more about them? You were marked down as a low-level psi, but if that were true you wouldn't have been able to read me so well. I am wondering if perhaps your father, since he, too, was a scientist, may have manipulated the data so you would be able to stay under the radar for so long. There are those who wish harm to anyone who may be different from them."

I thought of Kurtis. He'd wanted to kill me for what I was. What I am. He'd been hired to take me out seven years ago. Maybe my father really did hide how strong my abilities were--and not just from me.

"I don't know. I... I've never really used my ability much before. A little here and there, but it always hurt, so I didn't really explore the possibilities. But now that I've been using it a lot, playing this game, I can do way more than I thought I could."

I licked my dry lips. "I can get pictures, words.... It's as if I'm actually reading somebody's mind ... or more like a blueprint of what their thought patterns are. But I've always been able to tell if somebody's a good person or a bad person down deep by touching them."

"Like a flesh-and-blood lie detector?"

I shrugged. "I don't know if you could say that. I read you as being honest, but you've lied to me a bunch of times."

His expression darkened and he looked away. "I'm sorry for all of that."

"But it doesn't mean you're not honest. You obviously want to do the right thing by trying to stop Gareth. A few lies doesn't change what you are deep inside."

"I hope you're right. I really do." Jonathan sighed deeply and then stood up from the table. "I've arranged for two tickets on the next shuttle to Offworld for the both of you. Once there you will be able to go your separate ways."

"Separate ways?" I repeated, glancing at Rogan.

"Of course." Jonathan nodded. "Now that you're not bound together by the ninety-foot implant parameter, you're free to part company."

There was silence for a moment as I let that little piece of information settle in.

"When docs the shuttle leave?" Rogan asked.

"It will be here in four hours, at precisely three o'clock. Out back of this safe house is a set of train tracks. The shuttle appears as a regular commuter train so as not to incite a riot of people wishing to leave. It will stop here for only two minutes and then take you to the docking station, where you will leave for the journey to Offworld." He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out two folded pieces of paper. "Here are your tickets."

We each took one. I stared at the small printing on it. So official. This was what I'd been wanting for so long now that it seemed surreal to actually be holding it. This was all it took? This little piece of paper was enough to change my life forever?

"I've written the name of a man you should contact once you've arrived, Kira. He's a scientist who specializes in helping women like you who are have higher-level psi abilities. He will pay you well for your cooperation in his studies. I promise that the studies themselves will cause you no pain. In fact, the more you use your ability the less pain you should experience. It's like exercising a muscle, you see."

I bit my bottom lip. "And then what?"

"And then the sky's the limit, really. I can see you potentially working in law enforcement." He smiled. "What better way to find out someone's guilt than to see into their very soul?"

"Law enforcement?" I smiled at the absurdity of the suggestion. "Are you serious? Won't they mind that I've picked a few pockets in my time?"

He smiled. "I think they might forgive you." He turned his attention to Rogan, and I noticed that his eyes were shiny with emotion. "As for you, Rogan. I cannot express to you how sorry I am for all the pain you have been through these last four years."

Rogan's throat jumped as he swallowed. "The past is over. I'm free now."

Jonathan nodded. "As I said, Gareth has had a few sentient moments over the years. He was able to arrange for a bank account to be set up for you in the new city in your name. I personally arranged to have your criminal record cleared, so your name will cause no red lights upon your arrival on Offworld. You should be able to access the bank account number I've written on your shuttle ticket without any problems. Gareth wanted you to have enough money to last the rest of your life."

Rogan stared at the ticket. "He ... he did this for me?"

Jonathan nodded. "You should know that he begged me once to kill him while he was in control of his body, but I couldn't do it. The virus within has always looked at me with suspicion since that day. He doesn't trust me. He has associates with him ... bodyguards ... every time I'm in the same room with him."

"And how were you able to get away today?"

"After your escape, Gareth was furious. The headquarters were in chaos. I had a feeling that you might be headed here, and when you pressed the buzzer I was able to simply slip away. I'm afraid I won't be able to stay for much longer, though. In fact, I must leave immediately."

"I'm coming with you," Rogan said firmly.

"No, you're not. My plan does not involve you. I must do it myself."

"What is your plan?"

His expression was tense, and he was silent for a moment before he fished into the front pocket of his pants and pulled out a small card. "I will contact you in a week to tell you if I was successful. However, if you don't hear from me, then it means that I failed. Wait a couple of weeks until everything has calmed down and then go to the location on this business card, even if you must return from Offworld."

Rogan looked at the card. "Why can't I help now?"

"It's too dangerous. Especially with your recent escape. The moment they see you they will kill you. They'll kill both you and Kira."

I held on to Rogan's arm and glanced at the card. It had a strange H-like symbol on it and an address here in the city.

"What is this place?" I asked.

Jonathan lips thinned. "Just a small glimmer of hope after years of darkness."

"You do talk in riddles, do you realize that?"

He gave me a meager smile. "It's one of my talents, actually."

Rogan took a step closer to Jonathan. I wasn't sure what he was going to do until he thrust out his hand toward the other man. Jonathan took it and shook firmly. Then Rogan grabbed the other man into a rough hug.

"Thank you," he said. "And I wish you luck with your top-secret plan, whatever the hell it is. Please do what you can to save my brother."

"I will." He nodded and his eyes were sad. "But I should have done more. Sooner."

"Hell yeah, you should have. But better late than never."

I gave Jonathan a hug, too. "See, I knew you were a good guy after all."

"I wouldn't go that far." He pulled away, and I could see that his expression was sad.

"Thank you for the tickets," I said.

He nodded. "You have four hours. Stay inside this house until then. Understand? There are clean clothes upstairs if you would like to change. Good-bye." He turned away and left the kitchen. A moment later I heard the door slam behind him.

Rogan looked at me.

I stared back at him.

"My head is fucking killing me," he said. "I have no idea why."

"It might be because a big piece of metal just got yanked out of it."

"Yeah, that could be part of it." He looked at me for a moment longer. "I shouldn't have let him leave. I should be helping him."

"You heard him. He has a plan."

"I wish he would have told me what the hell it was." His expression was grim, his attention on the path Jonathan had just taken to leave the safe house. "But you're right. It would be crazy to interfere. Right now, after everything we've been through, I just want to get as far away from here as possible. I want you to be safe."

"I'm really sorry about your brother," I said.

He didn't look at me. "Yeah, so am I."

I reached around to the back of my head and felt the hard ridge of cauterized skin. "I can't believe the implant's gone."

"I know."

"And here I thought I was going to have to get used to having you within ninety feet or less of me for the rest of my life."

His smile faded at the edges. "Good job they're finally out, right?"

"Yeah. I'm ... I'm going to go upstairs and look into that change of clothes Jonathan mentioned."

"You do that."

I swallowed hard and turned away from him, leaving the kitchen. Around the next comer was a flight of stairs to the second floor.

Once we got to our destination we'd go our separate ways. Was I thinking there would be another outcome to this story? Rogan had enough problems to deal with without having me--one big problem magnified a thousand times--in his life. He was better off without me.

And I was better off without him.

After all, I was getting my wish. I was getting the chance to go to Offworld, just like I'd dreamed of doing for years. I was going to go where my father had planned to take me and my mom and my sister all those years ago. I wondered what my life would be like now if that plan had gone through. If, instead of living on the streets of this dying city for seven years, I'd lived those years on Offworld, the start of a new civilization with tons of potential and future happiness.

However, I wouldn't have met Rogan.

I pushed the thought away. We'd been thrust together-- neither of us had had any choice in the matter--and we'd dealt with it the best we could, and now it was over. It was just dumb luck that I'd fallen hard for him.

I'd never been in love with anybody before.

It sure hurt like hell.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

I took the stairs up to the second floor of the safe house very slowly, as if there were weights attached to my feet. At the top I tapped the light pad on the wall so I could take a better look around. The house was small, but fully furnished. In some ways it reminded me of the house I grew up in. Or maybe it was just the fact that it was a real house, not some crappy place where I could crash for the night to get off the streets.

The stairs behind me creaked, and I realized that Rogan was following me.

"I haven't had a chance to check the clothes yet," I said.

He was frowning. "I know. I just wanted to tell you that since we have a few hours until the shuttle arrives, we should probably try to get some rest if we can."

His words were dry and fairly clipped. He wasn't making eye contact with me anymore, which was a little strange. I swallowed past the lump in my throat.

'That sounds like a good idea," I said, and turned away from him.

"Kira..."

I turned back. He climbed up the rest of the stairs until he was standing next to me in the hallway on the second floor. I waited for him to say something else.

He didn't.

"What is it?" I prompted.

His throat worked as he swallowed. He studied a small picture of a lake and an overhang of trees on the wall over my shoulder. "Will you see the scientist that Jonathan mentioned when you get to Offworld?"

"Yeah, I think so. I mean, sure I will. I want somebody to help me with my abilities. All my life I never even realized anybody else was experiencing similar things to what I did. I thought I was some sort of a freak."

"You're not a freak."

'Thanks for the vote of confidence." I smiled weakly. "And what about you? Now that you don't have to have me tagging along with you everywhere you go, what are your plans?"

"That's a very good question. I'm going to wait for news about my brother, and after that..." He shook his head. "I guess I'll have to see where life will take me."

I nodded and pushed away the sadness that I'd probably never see him again. "Well, I wish you luck."

There was silence for a moment, and I began to feel very awkward, and at a loss for words. I didn't want to say anything I might regret. He'd moved to block my way to the back rooms, where I assumed the clothes might be.

I eyed him uneasily. "Can I get past you or do I need to pay a toll?"

His lips curled. "Of course."

But he didn't move.

"Urn, hello?" I said. 'The moving-out-of-my-way thing we talked about? We do have four hours, but time is fleeting."

He snorted softly and looked up at me, finally capturing me in his gaze. "It's going to be a little strange."

I bit my bottom lip. "What's going to be strange?"

"Not having you around anymore."

My heart began to pound faster. "I thought you'd be glad to finally get the hell away from me."

"Glad isn't exactly what I'm feeling right now."

He was acting so strangely, I didn't know what to make of it.

I took a deep breath. "What are you feeling?"

He shrugged and looked away again. "Forget it. I know the past couple of days have been really rough for you, Kira. To say the least. Getting stuck with a guy like me isn't exactly a picnic, even on a good day. Don't worry; just a few more hours and we don't have to be together anymore."

I touched his face and forced him to look at me.

"But we're together right now," I said, and slid my fingers into his dark hair.

He studied me warily for a moment, as if he wasn't sure what to make of that last comment. Then he closed the remaining distance between us and crushed his mouth against mine in a hard, deep kiss that made me gasp against his lips from the sheer force of it. He pressed me up against the wall, and the picture of the lake went crashing to the floor.

He ate at my mouth, devouring it, sliding his tongue between my lips.

All of the stress, panic, fear that I'd felt over the last two days parted to make way for the single-minded passion I felt for the man in front of me. If this was going to be the last time I got to touch him, to kiss him, before we got on the shuttle, then I damn well had to make it worthwhile. I didn't want him to forget me.

At that thought, my heart ached. I hadn't known Rogan a few days ago. He hadn't been a part of my life. Now he'd managed to become the most important part. The thought both scared me and thrilled me. I had thought I was dead inside, but he'd managed to prove that that wasn't true. He made me remember that I was alive.

With a growl I felt against my mouth, he moved to kiss me down the side of my neck to my collarbone. My hands were on his back, pulling him closer to me, bringing his face back against mine, and I kissed him.

I felt as if I couldn't get enough of him, his taste, his smell, the feel of his body pressing into me. Nothing could stop the flood of desire I felt for him. There was just this moment. Just Rogan and me, and nobody else in the world existed.

Suddenly he broke off the kiss roughly, stared into my eyes for a moment, and ran his thumb along my bottom lip, which now felt swollen and very tender.

"Do you want me to stop?" he asked.

I could barely speak, so all I said was, "No. Don't stop."

He drew closer and whispered against my lips, "I'm very glad to hear it."

I thought he'd kiss me again, but instead he sank to his knees in front of me, and I felt his hot breath against my bare thighs. He didn't say anything else and was totally silent as he slid his hands under my short black skirt, catching his fingers at the sides of my game-provided black thong. Then he tore it off.

He parted me with his hands, and I gasped out loud as I felt his mouth and tongue on me. I arched against the wall and tangled my fingers into his hair, trying not to pass out from the intense pleasure.

Stars exploded behind my closed eyelids.

"Rogan ..." I moaned his name. After another minute I screamed as an orgasm ripped through me and shattered my world completely.

He rose slowly to his feet and captured my mouth again in another rough kiss that swept through my senses and made my body shake with need. I felt weak and had to cling to him to stay on my feet. What was left of my thong twisted around my ankles, and I clumsily stepped out of it.

"Kira," he managed, and my name was harsh, an almost guttural sound whispered against my lips. "Kira, I want you so much."

I felt his hands on my breasts, his thumbs sliding roughly against my hard nipples, which were very visible through the thin fabric of my low-cut black Countdown top.

I couldn't speak, just nodded in agreement. Nothing mattered to me anymore except his hands, his mouth, and the feel of his hard cock rubbing against my thigh.

He let go of me briefly to fumble at the front of his black pants. Then he pressed me back more firmly against the wall and lifted my right leg up over his thigh. I felt him against me--hard and thick--and then with a deep thrust he was inside of me, driving his length in and out, in and out....

I clung to him, moaning his name over and over as he took me against the wall of the safe house--holding him tightly, my hands in his hair, on his shoulders, clutching at his back as he kissed me over and over and over, and I knew then that I never wanted to let him go.

****

I figured that finding a new outfit could wait for a while. What can I say? I was a bit distracted. For two or three hours.

My lips felt bruised. For that matter so did the rest of my body--but in a very good way this time. I peeked at Rogan from behind a pillow. Yes, we'd actually found our way into a bedroom eventually.

He grinned at me. "Like I said before, the best post-prison piece of ass in the city."

I whacked him with the pillow. "That's so funny. You should be a comedian."

He grabbed the pillow and threw it to the side and then pinned me down to the bed. I looked up at him. He stroked back from my eyes the hair that had fallen onto my face. "What am I going to do with you, Kira Jordan?"

I smiled. "Well, you haven't been doing badly so far. I would have to vote for more of the same, please."

He kissed me slowly. We'd progressed from fast and hard to slow and steady and everything in between. He trailed his tongue up my throat and along my jaw line until he came to my ear.

"We'd better get ready to catch the shuttle."

My smile widened. "My, how time flies when you're busy fucking your brains out."

"Such a sweet talker," he murmured. "Even if it wasn't time to catch the shuttle, I'm completely exhausted. You're a lot younger than me, you know."

"I'm almost twenty-three." I frowned. "Now that you mention it, I guess I am. How old are you? Almost thirty?" I made a face. "I think many of the things you just did to me are against the law."

"What I just did to you?" He raised an eyebrow. "Sweetheart, I now have scratches where scratches should never be."

I inspected my fingernails. "Weapons of mass destruction, at your service."

He leaned over and kissed me again. I could get very used to the way Rogan kissed me: slow and precise and warm and firm. His mouth made my toes curl. I'd definitely developed a Kerometh-like addiction to the man's lips in record time.

"Get dressed," he said.

"Yes, sir." I got up on my side of the bed and walked over to the wardrobe. I slid open the door and inspected the clothes inside. "I guess Jonathan never planned on a woman using the safehouse. These are all men's clothes."

"You see anything in there for me?"

I threw him a pair of jeans and a dark green T-shirt. He could still wear the black boots he already had. I took a pair of dark blue pants that were in the smallest size possible and slipped them on. They were still very loose around the waist, so I grabbed a belt, which helped a bit. On top I chose a long-sleeved light blue shirt, which I tucked into the pants.

I turned around.

"Looks good to me," Rogan said.

"Not exactly high fashion, but I've worn worse." I slid on my old black combat boots again. They'd do for now. "How much time do we have?"

He glanced at the digital clock that was next to his side of the bed. "Forty-five minutes."

Just then I heard a slamming sound from downstairs. I froze. Rogan didn't waste any time. He grabbed the gun he'd placed on the bedside table, and we were out of the room in a flash.

We turned the corner at the bottom of the stairs to see that Jonathan had just entered the house and stood by the sink in the kitchen.

I let out a long breath. "Jonathan, thank God it's only you."

He didn't say anything. The lights were off in the kitchen, and Rogan tapped the wall to turn them on.

I gasped. Jonathan looked terrible. His face was as white as snow and damp with perspiration. The skin around his left eye was dark purple, the white of it filled with red. He clutched at his upper chest with his right hand and supported himself against the counter with his other.

"What the hell happened?" Rogan demanded, coming to his side.

Jonathan shook his head. "There's no time. I learned that the shuttle would be early and had to tell you. You must leave now ... you have only minutes. Gareth and the others--they know.... They're ... they're coming for you...."

"What? They know about this place? Did you tell them?"

"They know that I... that I helped you." He backed up until he was against the kitchen counter. "They've been suspicious ever since I gave you the antidote. They think I helped you escape."

He slid down to sit awkwardly on the floor.

"What did they do to you?" My heart was banging painfully against my ribs. "What can we do to help?"

He gave me a very weak smile. "Just be safe."

Then his expression stilled and his eyes glazed over. His hand dropped away from his chest to reveal a large, bloody wound.

Rogan dropped down beside him and pressed two fingers to Jonathan's throat. He looked up at me grimly. "He's dead."

My eyes filled with hot tears that spilled immediately to my cheeks. "What? He can't be dead!"

His expression was stony, his jaw tense. "They killed him. Dammit to hell." He leaned forward and closed Jonathan's eyes, and then got to his feet. "We need to leave right now."

I shook my head. I didn't want to believe it, but it was true. Jonathan was dead. He was the only one who had helped us. The only one who cared enough ... and they killed him because he helped us. I tried to swallow but my throat was too dry.

Rogan's hand closed around my upper arm and he pulled me along with him out of the kitchen. Then I heard banging on the front door. Someone, or a lot of someones, was trying to get in. They were from The Countdown. They were trying to get in and to get me and Rogan and take us back or kill us or--

"Kira, come on," Rogan urged, and I shook my head, trying to clear it enough to put one foot in front of the other. We slipped out the back door just as I heard the splintering of the red door behind us. The back of the safe house looked out on a backyard. Beyond a small fence was a set of train tracks.

A train was stopped there, and my heart lurched at the sight of it.

'That's the shuttle," Rogan shouted. "Come on: we have to hurry."

Why was it early? Maybe they changed their schedules at their whim. How did they even know where to stop? At first glance it didn't look any different from a normal train on the line that crossed the country, but it was different. It was here just for us.

A white-haired man reached out to me from the side of the shuttle. "Do you have a ticket?"

I nodded and showed him the ticket Jonathan gave me, then wiped at my tearstained cheeks with the back of my hand. He eyed the ticket, then eyed me. If he saw anything strange or suspicious, either he didn't show it or he didn't care.

"Welcome aboard," he said.

I climbed up on the shuttle and turned around to look at Rogan.

"Ticket?" the man asked Rogan.

Rogan was looking back at the house.

"Rogan!" I tried to get his attention. He turned slowly to look up at me, and I reached my hand out to him. "Come on, there isn't any time. They're coming."

He rubbed his lips together. "I know."

The man frowned down at him. 'The shuttle's leaving, sir. On or off?"

Rogan didn't tear his gaze from mine. "I'm sorry, Kira. I can't go with you. Now that Jonathan's gone I have to stay. My ... my brother. I can't just leave him behind, knowing what I now know."

I felt panic clawing at my chest. "What? No, you have to get on this shuttle right now. We can think about what to do later, when we're somewhere safe. Those men--"

"Those men are being controlled by something evil that needs to be stopped." His expression was strained. "I'm sorry, Kira. I want to come with you, but I can't leave. I have to stop him."

The shuttle let out a sharp whistle. I felt frantic. No. We were on the shuttle. It was here. It was about to leave to take us somewhere we'd be safe. My dream come true of starting a fresh new life, finally, after all these years.

But of course he was right.

"I need to go now," Rogan said, still staring into my eyes. "Please don't be mad."

"Mad?" I managed. "Mad doesn't even begin to cover it, Rogan Ellis."

I jumped off the shuttle. God help me.

"I can't wait any longer, miss," the man said.

I turned to look at him grimly. "I understand."

He nodded and blew a whistle. The shuttle began pulling away from where we stood.

"What in the hell do you think you're doing?" Rogan growled. "You were on the shuttle. You were leaving."

"I know. And now I'm off the shuttle and I'm staying." I clenched my jaw. "Now, are you going to stare at me all day, or are we going to get the hell out of here before those white-coat-wearing freaks figure out where the back door is?"

He chanced a glance back at the safe house and then looked at the departing shuttle.

"That was a stupid decision, Kira." His voice caught on my name. "Dammit."

I sighed. "You're probably very right."

'There's no guarantee you'll be able to find another shuttle."

"Well, that's just the chance I'm going to have to take." I glared at him. "What, do you need a literal countdown all the time to get your ass in gear, or what? Let's go!"

His arms were crossed in front of him, his gun tucked into the waist of his new jeans, and he started walking along the outer line of the fence. We didn't say another word until we found an opening and were able to dart through a neighboring yard and then along a side street that took us back out onto Paragon Avenue. A cool wind had picked up, and it blew my dark hair around my shoulders as we emerged on the populated street.

"They're going to be looking for us," Rogan said.

"Obviously. So what's the plan?"

"The plan is to get you somewhere safe, and then I'm going to the location on the business card Jonathan gave me to see if it gives me any answers. Shit, I just wish Jonathan had told me more. Stubborn bastard." His expression was shadowed with anger and grief.

"You want me to go somewhere safe?" I repeated.

"That's right."

'Think again. I got off that shuttle for one reason and one reason only, and that's to help you stop the virus and save Gareth."

He laughed at that.

I narrowed my eyes. "What's so damn funny?"

"Save him?" he repeated. "Actually, my plan is to kill him."

"What?"

"You heard me. Jonathan said it himself. Gareth begged for Jonathan to kill him when he had the chance. It's the only way to put him out of his misery and to get rid of the virus once and for all before it goes through with its plans to take The Countdown even wider than it already is." His throat worked as he swallowed. "It's the only way."

I shook my head. "There has to be another way."

His gaze tracked sideways to me as we hurried along the crowded sidewalk. We walked past the homeless man, and I noticed there were a few coins in front of him now.

"Oh? And please tell me, being as you're so technically savvy."

I gave him a look. "Sarcasm is not terribly appreciated right now. I don't know anything about computers or viruses or anything, but I can't believe the only option is to kill him."

He hissed a breath out between his teeth. "Don't make this more difficult than it has to be."

"You're not a murderer."

"I killed two men in prison."

"Only because you had to. But this is your own brother."

He glared at me again, and his eyes were shiny with emotion. 'This is difficult, Kira. Don't think it isn't. Why didn't you stay on that shuttle? Then at least I'd know you were safe. Dammit. Why did you have to jump off?"

Because I love you.

But I was too much of a wimp to say that out loud. "Because you need my help. I'm in this just as much as you are, you know. And just because I make it to Offworld doesn't mean that Gareth's men will stop looking for me. After all, I know all about the real motive behind his little game. Can you promise me that they won't look for me? That they won't try to kill me no matter where I am?"

He didn't reply.

I crossed my arms and kept walking. "No, I didn't think so."

My now implant-free brain was working overtime. Computers. Viruses. Artificial intelligence. Stuff that could have been out of my parent's sci-fi DVD collection of old movies. I'd seen things while playing The Countdown that I'd never seen before in my life--things I hadn't even thought existed. Holoscreens, cranium implants, a freaking talking evil robot that shot me in the damn leg.

It was all way, way out of my league. I could pick a pocket or con somebody into buying me lunch on a good day, but that was about where my talents ended.

"Wait," I said after another moment, looking around the street. This area seemed extremely familiar to me suddenly. "Where are we going?"

He handed me the business card. I studied the logo that looked like an H again. I knew I'd seen it somewhere before, but I couldn't place it.

"Somebody there knows something," he said. "But I don't know who or what."

My eyes widened. "I think I know who. Well, I'm sure it's not exactly who Jonathan was dealing with, but I know this place. I know somebody who goes there all the time."

"Who?"

"Colin. The guy from the mall, remember? I've been friends with him for years. He's totally into computers. This .. . this place ... I know it because he wears the logo on a T-shirt. It's an underground computer gaming network. He hangs out there for hours, sometimes days."

Rogan didn't look convinced. In fact, he looked rather disappointed as he stared at the business card. "A computer gaming network? How in the hell is that supposed to help us?"

I shook my head. "No idea."

"Maybe it's a mistake. Maybe Jonathan gave me the wrong card to throw me off so I wouldn't get in his way. Hell, maybe he didn't have a plan to stop Gareth in the first place."

I touched his arm to stop him from walking. "We can check it out. Maybe Colin will know something."

He looked grim. "Yeah, maybe."

"Considering that your other option at the moment is storming into one of the biggest office buildings in the city and trying to take out the CEO by force, I'd say this is something that we look into. I don't suppose you're on the VIP list at Ellis Enterprises anymore, are you?"

'To say the very least. In fact, they'd probably shoot me on sight."

I nodded firmly. 'Then let's go to this place and hope like hell that Colin's there. If anything seems off then we're out of there."

He didn't say anything for so long I was sure he was going to argue with me some more. "Fine." His forehead creased. "I still think it was a bad move for you to jump off that shuttle, Kira. But... but thank you."

I nodded and ran my hand down his tense, muscled arm. "Oh, and just for the record, Rogan?"

"Yeah?" He raised an eyebrow.

"I really don't think we should have gotten out of bed so soon." I moved my fingers up to his hair and pushed it off his worried face. "I'd say that things were pretty great up until then."

He let out a small bark of a laugh. "Yeah, I have to agree with you there."

I put my arms around him and pulled him close to me in a tight hug. His heart beat fast and loud, keeping pace with my own. He kissed me, and for just a moment I was very glad I jumped off that shuttle.

Then suddenly we were jostled and I had to break my hold on him.

"Watch where you're walking," an old man snapped as he gave us the evil eye. "Get off the sidewalk and get a room. Damn useless kids."

Rogan raised an eyebrow. "See, he doesn't think I'm old."

'The man has to be over a hundred."

"Still." He leaned over and kissed me again lightly on the lips, and it burned right through me.

After a moment I pulled back and felt the reality of the situation settle over me. "We need to get going. I know the place is right around the corner from here."

He nodded. "Then lead the way."

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Years ago, kids used to get together and play networked video games in secret underground locations, staying for hours and hours working their way through the levels-- fighting against one another or working in teams to accomplish their digitized goals.

Not that much had changed, really. Ever since the plague, new technology available to the general public had come to a virtual standstill, so the same sort of games were as popular as they were two and a half decades ago.

Colin was one of those kids, bringing his laptop computer to his secret gaming headquarters to get plugged in. He always bragged to me about how amazing he was and how nobody could beat him. He was a god among gods when it came to kicking ass and taking names in the digital jungle. At least, according to Colin himself.

I never listened too much to him. I never liked or hated computers. To me they were freaking boring.

That was before a walking, talking computer put a bullet in my leg.

I was ready to take a stand and say that I didn't like them too much anymore.

"Here." I nodded when we got to the location on the business card almost an hour after leaving the safe house. The front door had no marking other than the H logo on the door. I remembered now. According to Colin, who wore a T-shirt with the same thing, it was the Hagalaz, a rune symbol for "controlled chaos."

Welcome to the Secret Society of Computer Geeks, I thought.

Rogan nodded, pushed the door open, and we went inside.

I still had hope, but it was waning a bit with every passing minute. How in the hell was a place like this supposed to help us? What was Jonathan's purpose for giving us that business card? It didn't make any damn sense. I was hoping it would start to make sense soon or we were going to be shit out of luck.

I didn't want Rogan to get killed trying to assassinate Gareth.

Hell, I didn't want to get killed.

But Gareth had to be stopped. Some way, somehow. There was no other choice.

And the nerdy guy playing the video game on his laptop in the corner of a dark basement at the bottom of a skanky flight of stairs might just be the person to help us stop him.

However, I could be very wrong.

The only light in the basement came from the flickering screens of ten computers. All of the guys--a quick scan told me that they were all of the male persuasion-- faced the four walls spread along a jutting table that spanned the circumference.

Any socializing was on-screen. Each monitor showed a different piece of the digitized action. Each player was fitted with a visor that hooked into his computer. Colin told me once that he owed a small fortune to the owner of the place for the extra equipment, but it made everything seem more real--like he was really playing a game of life and death.

Having experienced the real deal, I had to say that playing for your life wasn't all that much fun.

There was a stale smell in the basement of sweat, along with something sweet and a little sickening, and a very faint odor of urine.

Lovely.

I didn't always stay in the nicest, cleanest places, but this was definitely not even up to my low standards. In fact, I would rather never see what might be crawling around in here if they ever turned on the overhead lights.

"Nice place," Rogan whispered to me, and I felt his hand at my waist as he surveyed the room. "You come here often?"

I gave him a look over my shoulder. "Oh, yeah. This is really my kind of place."

"There's your friend." He nodded in the direction of a hunched-over Colin with his back to the stairwell.

"Wait here," I said to him. "Or somebody might recognize you."

"No, wouldn't want that."

I thought he might be insulted by what I'd said, but instead he sounded vaguely amused. I felt his fingers tighten at my waist and then he released me. The floor was carpeted and seemed a little squishy as I walked across it in my boots. I glanced back at Rogan while I moved through the dark room--but not dark enough to trigger my phobia. As long as I could see what was going on around me, then I was fine.

Colin was completely focused on his computer screen. His hands, encased in cybergloves, moved as he worked his way through the game. I could see it on the screen. His computer persona was walking through a darkened hallway with dirty walls. Doors appeared to either side as he moved along. I could see the tip of a weapon at the bottom of the screen. A big gun, maybe even a flamethrower. I wasn't sure.

Despite my disinterest in the gaming world, I recognized the game as one called "Anarchy." Apparently everybody played it. It had something to do with the bad guys trying to take over the world and the good guys trying to stop them.

But first you had to decide which side you wanted to play for.

I wondered what Colin would think about The Countdown.

"Colin." I reached forward and closed my hand over his shoulder and shook him lightly.

He shot up in the seat and let out a hoarse scream. Onscreen, the door in front of the computer-Colin burst open and I could see the outline of a figure who immediately opened fire. Digital blood trickled down from the top of the game screen.

Words appeared on the screen:

YOU'RE DEAD, ASSHOLE! NUCLEARXXX KILLED YOUR SORRY ASS! EVIL REIGNS!

"Fuck!" Colin yelled, and whipped off his gloves. Then he took off his goggles and furiously spun around to face whomever had just made him lose his fake life.

His eyes widened when he saw it was me.

"Kira!" he squeaked. "What are you doing here?"

I grimaced and nodded at the screen. Typed-in taunts were coming in from his opposing players. He wasn't being mourned for his great on-screen sacrifice, that was for sure.

"Sorry about that," I said.

He looked regretfully at the screen, which now read: LOSER!!!!!!

"Yeah, well, whatever." Then his gaze shot back to me. "What... what are you doing here?"

I bit my bottom lip. "I need your help."

He looked confused. "Didn't you ask me for help in the mall and then go all psycho and take off? I thought you were mad at me or something."

"No, I'm not mad. The psycho thing may be debatable, though." I let out a sigh. "I've been really distracted lately. I'm sorry if I seemed like a bitch to you."

"You told me to leave you alone."

I forced a smile. "I was having a really bad day. Do you have a minute?"

"You were with that guy--"

"Colin, listen to me. Can we just go somewhere private where we can talk?"

"Where are you going?" Another gamer next to Colin took off his visor. He looked about fifteen years old. "You need some time alone? Colin, I didn't know you had a girlfriend. She's fucking hot, too." He stuck his tongue out and waggled it very lewdly.

"She's not my girlfriend," Colin said very coldly. "She'd rather be with men who have police records. Sorry I'm not up to par yet, Kira. Where's your new friend?"

"Right here." Rogan appeared at my side. "Is there a problem?"

I glared at him. "I thought I asked you to wait over there."

"I guess I don't take orders too well."

"Obviously."

Rogan looked at Colin. "Now, I believe that Kira was asking you for a favor because she considers you to be a friend of hers. Are you really saying no to her?"

Colin's eyes widened. "I... I... don't know. Um ..."

"Just chill," I said to him. "We don't need everybody in here freaking out right now."

The fifteen-year-old took a step closer. "You're Rogan Ellis."

He didn't seem to be freaking out. Which was a good start.

Rogan studied him for a moment. "That's right."

"You can call me Snake."

Rogan eyed him. "Snake, huh?"

'That's right. It's not my real name, but it's my screen name and I prefer it. Man, I can't believe this. Rogan Ellis standing three feet away from me."

My mouth went dry. This wasn't what I wanted. I didn't want a confrontation right here. Not now, there wasn't time.

"Let me guess," Rogan said dryly. "You want my autograph. A lot of people love to collect the signatures of serial killers. Got my share of mail asking for just that."

"Nope." Snake shook his head. "You totally didn't do it."

Rogan's eyebrows shot up. "I didn't?"

"No. Why, are you saying that you did?"

"No ... it's just..." Rogan closed his mouth for a moment, and his gaze flicked to me. "It's just that when I meet new people they usually assume that I'm some kind of monster."

The kid flicked his hand dismissively. "You were set up. It's obvious to anybody with half a brain. I even have a Web site devoted to proving the conspiracy that sent you to prison."

I eyed Colin. "Did you hear about this?"

Colin nodded. "Yeah, but Snake's theory is that it has to do with aliens. I never took it too seriously."

Snake glared at him. "Shut up, loser."

Colin didn't even look at the kid; he stayed focused on me. "I tried to show you one of those sites once as a joke but you blew me off. Said you weren't interested in some boring murder case. Guess you've changed your mind on that one now, right?"

Rogan raised an eyebrow at me.

I cleared my throat. "Well, um ... right. I think I remember that, now that you mention it."

Hindsight has a strange sense of humor, I think.

Another gamer had taken off his visor and gloves and stood to the side watching our interaction silently. The remaining seven players continued on as if nothing were happening outside of their video game.

"Rogan Ellis," he said after he'd been noticed.

Rogan eyed him. "And you are ... ?"

"Name's Joe. Screen name's NuclearXXX. I own this place." He extended his hand and Rogan shook it. "So I finally, officially get to meet you."

I took in a quick breath. The owner of the place Jonathan had a business card for was glad to meet Rogan. That had to mean something.

Rogan glanced at me. It was obvious that he was thinking the same thing.

"Good to meet you, too," he said.

"A lot's changed since the last time we saw each other."

Rogan pulled his hand away and studied the guy suspiciously. "We've met each other before?"

"Well, not officially. I saw you in passing five and a half years ago when I came in to interview for a job at Ellis Enterprises."

Rogan frowned. "I never did interviews personally."

Joe leaned back against the table. "No, but we were in the same elevator."

"Sorry." He shook his head. "I don't remember."

"No, I'm sure you don't. But I do."

"Oh, yeah?"

"I was completely floored to be sharing the same air as you. You were so... I don't know. Impressive, I guess. Thought I'd take a moment and try to break the ice, so I commented on your secretary's ass. She had a very fine ass." His lips thinned. "When we got off the elevator you told the interviewer not to hire me. I heard you."

Rogan's expression didn't change. "I don't remember that at all."

Joe shrugged. "Hey, whatever. It's been years. You've been through hell since then; I know that. You're out of jail already? Did your lawyers prove you innocent?"

"Something like that."

I looked at Colin. He watched Joe and Rogan's conversation intently. The other kid, Snake, had obviously grown bored with the whole situation and had gone back to playing the game.

Colin shook his head. "I can't believe you'd want to be with that guy."

There was a dark venom attached to those words. I knew Colin had a crush on me. It was obvious, and I wasn't just being vain by thinking so. There were computer programs in which you could use a real person's appearance on a computer model and then have virtual sex with it. The thought made me feel a bit sick, especially since I'd caught a glimpse of a character on Colin's computer that looked a bit too much like me for comfort. That had been a few weeks ago. Ever since then I'd been trying to keep some distance between us, hoping that he'd get over it.

Not that Colin had never acted on his feelings. He'd never even mentioned them to me. I didn't feel threatened by him at all. But there was still a level of discomfort there. I also didn't want to encourage him, since I didn't feel anything but friendship for him in return.

I was really hoping he would move on to another object of affection very soon. However, even after the little scene in the mall the other day, I'd just seen over his shoulder that his desktop wallpaper was a picture of me.

Terrific.

Therefore, and in my opinion, the hairy eyeballs he was giving Rogan probably had very little to do with the fact that he was a wrongly convicted rapist and murderer, and much more to do with the fact that he was in my company.

"Colin--" I began.

He held up a finger. "I have to take a leak."

He turned his back on me and left the room.

"Okay," I said slowly.

"So what are you doing here?" Joe asked.

Rogan reached into his pocket and pulled out the business card. "Somebody gave this to me."

Joe shrugged. "I appreciate the word-of-mouth advertising. I like to keep things small here. Don't want this place to get too overpopulated."

"Do you know somebody named Jonathan?" I asked. "He works for Ellis Enterprises, too."

Joe shook his head. "Sorry, no. I don't know anything to do with that place. Don't really care, either, since I'm not working there." He grinned. "But no hard feelings, of course."

Why did I think he was lying? It wasn't a terribly friendly grin he was giving Rogan.

Rogan studied him for a moment. "Have you ever heard of something called The Countdown?"

"Rogan!" I grabbed his arm. It felt almost like a magic word that shouldn't be invoked. Say it too loudly and the bad guys might swing in and grab us.

I waited. Nobody swung in.

"The Countdown," Joe repeated slowly. "Now, that could be a listing of popular songs this week, or you might be referring to a secret death game. Survive or die, right? Yeah, I've heard of it. Thought it was just a rumor."

"Just a rumor?" Rogan said. "Then why do you have a folder on your desktop labeled 'Ellis--Countdown'?"

Joe blanched. Even in the half darkness I could see that.

"Dammit," he managed before Rogan grabbed his shirt and threw him up against the table. All the computers shook.

The other gamers removed their goggles to see what the disturbance was.

Rogan glared at them. "Get the hell out of here right now."

He said it with enough menace to clear the room immediately. That is, after they all carefully disconnected their computers so as not to damage the intricate circuitry.

Then they fled up the stairs and out of the building.

Joe didn't fight back against Rogan, but he looked scared to death.

"Talk," Rogan growled.

"Okay, okay. After I didn't get that job I was pissed. And okay, I wasn't just pissed at myself. I blamed you. That was a wicked opportunity my father set up. He said it was a sure thing, and you had to blow it for me. I even met your brother, Gareth. He was awesome and bought me lunch. But one word from you screwed my life."

Rogan didn't let go of him. "So you hated me. What then?"

"I went home and sank into a mega depression. I worked for a year on a little present for Ellis Enterprises to get back at you. I was bitter, yeah. Sure I was. And, hey, I had a hell of a lot of time on my hands, being unemployed. At the time I lived with my father, and he had loads of money, too--that's how he knew Gareth to get me the interview. Same circles and all that. I heard a rumor about your new game, The Countdown, and that's where I wanted to be. I wanted to help develop something for real that I normally just played online. It would have been so sweet."

"What was the present you're talking about?" I asked.

He eyed me. "Well, first I had to hack the Ellis mainframe before I could do anything. Took me a year to do that until I finally got in."

There was silence in the room.

"And when you got in, what did you do?" Rogan asked quietly.

"I uploaded a virus. A nice, juicy one I'd made especially for you. One that would know its way around and sink into everything and start eating all of your company's precious data. I uploaded it and waited to hear news of the system going down. Of everything you'd worked for going up in flames. Other than the blackout later that night there was nothing. However, the next day you got your ass arrested and thrown in jail. I figured my virus was a failure, but karma kicked in and worked its special magic anyhow."

My eyes had widened with every word he said. The virus. The virus that had seeped into the artificial intelligence program and uploaded itself into Gareth's implant during the power surge.

The thing that had ruined Rogan's life.

All because of a job opportunity lost for a throwaway sexist remark.

A flap of a butterfly's wing turning into the proverbial hurricane.

Rogan laughed then, and it sounded just this side of insane.

"What is it?" I managed. "What's so damn funny?"

He let Joe go finally, and wiped tears from his eyes as he tried to bring his laughter under control. "My ... my secretary. I don't even remember what her name was."

Joe shook his head. "She had a great ass."

I couldn't believe this. Jonathan must have known. He'd known that Joe was the one responsible for the original virus. That was why he had the address to this place.

Rest in peace, Jonathan.

But why? Why would he care anymore who created the virus? What difference would it make now?

Unless...

I moved closer to stand at Rogan's side. I looked at Joe, whose chest heaved with each breath he took. He didn't look guilty for what he'd done; he looked annoyed that he'd been caught after all this time.

"Is there an antivirus?" I asked.

Rogan looked at me. "Of course. That must be what Jonathan was after."

Joe raised his eyebrows. "An antivirus? After all these years? Why would you even care anymore?"

With a deep breath, Rogan launched into the story. He made it quick. It wasn't long before Joe was blinking rapidly, and a drop of sweat slid down his temple.

"Oh, shit," he said.

I crossed my arms. "You were serious when you said you didn't know Jonathan."

He shook his head. "No, I'd never met him before."

"It still doesn't explain why you have that folder on your desktop," Rogan said evenly.

"Ever since my virus failed . . ." He blinked. "Or since I thought it failed, I've been a bit obsessed with all things Ellis, especially anything to do with The Countdown. I even reapplied for a job there a couple years ago. Gareth interviewed me personally and offered me something great. Then he told me about the implants. Still sounded cool, so I got fitted with one while I made my decision on the job offer. I got to actually watch a few levels of The Countdown. Man, I was so stoked." He licked his lips. "But... but then I saw somebody get eliminated. They killed him on camera. Gareth laughed it off like it was nothing. Told me that this was the future and I should get used to it. He showed me the contract. Practically had to sign that fucker in blood. Then.. . somebody approached me. Told me that they'd help me get out before it was too late. He removed my implant and told me to run. I did."

Rogan and I exchanged glances. So Joe had met Jonathan after all; he just might not have known his name.

"What happened then?" Rogan asked.

"I've been in hiding ever since. I know The Countdown is a big secret. I know I know too much. My father died in a car crash a week later. I've convinced myself that Gareth arranged for his death, but I don't have any damn proof. That's what that folder is. It's research. I know about the game, the levels, how they select competitors. I know about the implant linking." He shook his head. "It's just so horrible. You don't know what The Countdown is really like now."

"Yes, we do," I said. "We've been playing it for three days against our will."

Joe's mouth dropped open. "You're lying. Then how did you get here?"

"We escaped."

"If you have an antivirus," Rogan said, and I could hear the strain in his voice, "then we need it. It must be the only way to stop the virus now."

I heard a door shut as Colin returned to the room. "What arc you guys talking about now?"

I walked over to him. "Colin, I know you're pissed at me. I can understand that. But if you trust me at all, I need you to leave here. Go somewhere safe."

"What are you talking about?"

I pressed my lips together and felt a tear slip down my cheek. I didn't want Colin to be pulled into this any more than he already was. "Look, you said you had a cool new job lined up, right?"

"That's right."

I forced a smile. "I want to hear all about it. Soon, okay?"

He looked at me strangely. "Okay."

I gave him a hug. "Just take off. Come back here tomorrow or something."

"If... if you say so. Sure. Okay. I'll go. Um ... I'll leave right now."

I frowned. Why did he sound so scared?

I pressed my hand against the back of his neck and concentrated long enough to flex a little.

It was all I needed.

I pulled back from him to look at his face. "What kind of a job did you say you got?"

He smiled, but it was a little shaky. "I'm going to be working with computers."

I nodded slowly, still close in the hug with him.

"What's going on, Kira?" Rogan said from behind me.

"I'm not sure." I slid my fingers into the hair at the back of Colin's head, hoping I wouldn't find what I was looking for.

But there it was.

Colin had a freshly installed implant.

He took a step back from me.

"I'm sorry, Kira," he said.

My throat felt thick. "You're sorry?"

"I'd already had my interview with them before I saw you at the mall. I had no idea you had anything to do with the game. They took me and fitted me with an implant so I could watch." His expression shadowed. "They told me that if I saw you again then I... I had to contact them."

Rogan now stood beside me. "Where have you been for the last few minutes?"

He wouldn't make eye contact with either of us. "They're going to be here in two minutes."

My eyes widened and my heart started pounding hard--a sensation I hadn't had for a little while, but I recognized it well enough. A familiar sensation of fight or flight.

I was voting for "flight."

Another countdown commences.

"I'm sorry," Colin whispered again.

I opened my mouth to say something to him--to scream at him for selling us out--but Rogan took a step toward him first. That was enough. Colin staggered back from him and tripped on a wire. He fell and hit his head against the side of the computer table, managing to knock himself out.

I grabbed Rogan's tense arm.

"What are we supposed to do now?" I managed.

Joe's eyes had grown very large. "They're coming here? Shit. Somebody go up the stairs and lock the damn door."

Without anyone asking me to, I did just that. I thundered up the stairs as fast as I could, still favoring my sore ankle, and turned the dead bolt. I went back downstairs.

"We have no time," Rogan said. "We need the antivirus and we need it now."

Joe's entire body was tense, and I was certain he was going to try to run away. I was equally certain that Rogan wouldn't let him, but we didn't have time for a physical confrontation. Not here. Not now.

Joe finally nodded his head sharply. "Okay. Let me think." He turned and sat down heavily in front of his computer and put his fingers on the keyboard. "I know it's around here somewhere. It's been a while, man, like, over four years. I hope I didn't trash it."

The idea made me feel like throwing up.

"But will an antivirus actually work?" I asked. "I don't know shit about computers, but wouldn't it have progressed too far for that by now? Like, evolved?"

Joe shrugged with one shoulder as he whipped through folder after folder, which appeared and disappeared in flashes of light and color. "That's entirely possible. But you won't know unless you try. If you can get to the main artificial intelligence server, shove the antivirus in, and launch it, then you might be able to do some damage."

Rogan gripped the back of Joe's chair and he watched the scrolling files appear on-screen. "I wish like hell I knew where the AI server was now. It used to be on the second floor, but that was years ago."

"It's in the subbasement," Joe said absently. "It was mentioned in passing during my orientation tour. Some employee told me by mistake, and Gareth changed the subject quickly, so I figured it was a big secret."

"What room?" I asked.

"Shit, I can't find it." The files scrolled down the screen faster than I could read them. "Where the fuck did I put it? I'm so disorganized."

"The room?" I repeated louder. By my estimation we had less than a minute left to get the hell out of there.

"Uh ... I thought it was strange at the time, but now I guess it makes perfect sense. It's marked as Gareth's office, even though I know his real office is on the top floor. The room has a computerized lock that only certain employees can access. The only people who are able to get in have a red name tag, if that helps. I remember that because it made me think of blood. My blood. And I didn't want to spill any of it either, then or now."

Just then I heard a bang and I nearly jumped out of my skin. At the top of the stairs somebody was knocking loudly on the outer door.

"It's a strong door." Joe's voice shook a little. "Trust me, paranoia will take you places. Especially dark, well-locked places. We have a minute."

I looked at Rogan, and his expression was strained and bleak. I moved toward him and slid my arm around his waist.

"I'll hold them back for as long as I can," he murmured into my hair after he kissed my forehead. "And you escape. Maybe I can talk some sense into them."

"I don't think they'll be too interested in talking. They'll just try to kill you."

"Don't be so sure. I have a strange feeling that Gareth will want to see me personally. Find out how we beat the system. I'll be questioned before they kill me."

"Rogan ..." My throat constricted at the thought.

"Here it is!" Joe shouted, sounding very relieved. "I found it! I just need to put it on a minidisk for you."

He opened a drawer next to him and fumbled through a variety of objects that included a half-eaten banana. He closed his fingers around a small blue plastic disk about the size of a quarter, pushed it into the slot on the side of the computer, and clicked a few keys. After another moment he pulled it out and handed it to Rogan.

'Take this. If you can get into that room--and I don't have any goddamned idea how you're going to do that-- put this into the AI server. If it's going to work, that should do it."

Rogan studied the disk with a frown. "How will I know if it worked?"

Joe hesitated. "That's a good fucking question. I figure if it works you'll still be breathing."

"Great," Rogan said dryly. He eyed me, then looked at Joe again. "Is there a back way out of here?"

Joe swallowed hard. "Unfortunately, no. But now that I think of it, that would have been a really good idea. Escape routes, and all that."

The pounding on the front door increased. We were cornered, with only one way out.

I heard the front door begin to splinter open and I held a hand out to Rogan. "Give me the disk."

"What are you going to do with it?"

"I'll hide it in my bra."

He raised an eyebrow. "I didn't even know you were still wearing a bra."

"A lady has her secrets."

With only another moment of hesitation he handed it to me. "And you'll be giving that back to me when?"

"As soon as I can."

He forced a smile. "I just thought of something funny."

"Oh, do share. I could use a laugh right about now."

"I had no idea how I was going to break into Ellis Enterprises without getting caught. Security's pretty tight."

"Yeah, I bet it is." I blinked. "You think that's where they're going to take us?"

"I'm thinking it's a definite possibility."

I was hoping. I really was. I tucked the minidisk into my bra. Rogan took my hand in his, brought it to his mouth, and kissed it.

Then I heard several sets of feet pound down the stair-case as Gareth's men came for us.

ENDGAME

CHAPTER TWENTY

Ellis Enterprises was a twenty-floor building made of silver and glass that sat in an otherwise empty section of the city like a cold, sparkling gem under the overcast skies. I saw it from the comer of my eye as the car carrying the four men in white coats that had captured Rogan and myself drove toward it.

I rested my head on Rogan's shoulder. Both of us had our hands bound behind our backs.

He was currently unconscious, but he'd put up a pretty good fight. Despite what I'd told Rogan earlier, I was actually surprised that they hadn't killed us on the spot.

I was sure it was only a matter of time.

I tried to imagine Rogan showing up to work every day at a building like this one and couldn't quite picture it. The Rogan Ellis I knew wasn't a high-powered businessman with billions of dollars to spend and power to wield. I wasn't sure if I would have liked the old Rogan when he was a rich, spoiled playboy.

In fact, I was quite sure I would have hated him.

Then again, the old Rogan probably wouldn't have looked twice at somebody like me. At the end of the day, I was just a street thief who happened to steal the wrong guy's wallet one day. I'd never even been inside a building like this one.

But that was exactly where they were taking us.

I tried to concentrate on the sound of my breathing. Anything to keep from thinking about how badly this could all go. As Rogan had said, he wasn't sure how we were going to get inside the building in the first place. The security was tight. Super tight. We had to go through three checkpoints and a manned security station before coming within fifty feet of the place.

The car rolled to a stop next to a black side door. A man in a white coat sprayed something in Rogan's face, and he woke up with a jerk. Every muscle in his body seemed to tense until he saw me and our gazes met.

"We're here," I told him.

"Are you okay?" were his first gruff words.

"No, we're both royally screwed."

He smirked at me. "I think you're probably right."

"Shut up," a White Coat suggested firmly.

I glared at him but refrained from telling him to fuck off. We were in enough hot water as it was. Wouldn't want to speed up the execution.

God, even thinking about it made me feel sick.

Then the back door of the car opened and both of us were yanked out of our seats. All the White Coats, whom I had originally assumed were scientists of some sort, were carrying weapons. Scientists packing heat. Didn't make me feel any better.

"Move," they instructed.

We moved. Through an open door and into the cool interior of the building.

"We're in," Rogan said. "Should we celebrate now or wait till later?"

I gave him a look. How could he joke at a time like this? But I saw that the mild levity of his words did not spread to his expression.

"Shut up." One of the men jammed the butt of his gun into Rogan's back as we walked along a long, bare hallway. The white-tiled floor squeaked against my boots. "Don't make me tell you again."

Rogan said something under his breath, and it wasn't pleasant.

At the end of the hallway something was waiting for us, and I stopped walking quite as fast as we neared it.

Or rather, him.

It was Gareth. He stood there next to an open elevator with his feet spread, his arms folded across the front of his expensive, designer black business suit. His eyes were narrowed at our approach.

"Welcome back, brother," he said as Rogan was shoved into the elevator before me so hard that he hit the back of it with his shoulder. His hands were still bound behind him.

"Brother?" Rogan repeated through clenched teeth. "Is that what we are? Are you certain of that?"

"Sure I am." Gareth's mouth twisted into a strange smile and he glanced at me. "Why? Have you heard differently from someone?"

I felt a shove at my back and staggered into the elevator as well. Four men in white coats and then Gareth all pressed into the elevator and the doors closed. I felt very claustrophobic, which actually wasn't one of my typical fears, but I considered adding it to the growing list, along with darkness and heights.

We'd entered on the ground level, but the elevator took us down farther.

Joe had told us that the room with the artificial intelligence server was in the subbasement.

Joe hadn't put up a fight when the White Coats entered the gaming room a half hour ago. In an act of cowardly self-preservation he'd slunk back into the shadows and tried to pretend he wasn't even there. And it had worked. They didn't bother with him at all, since they were focused on us.

However, they did grab Colin. He hadn't accompanied us in the car, so I had no idea what had happened to him. Frankly, I didn't care. If I allowed myself to think about that bastard too much I wasn't going to be able to see for the blinding rage I was feeling at his betrayal. Maybe he'd get a reward. I guess everyone was out for themselves. Not that this was news.

I felt a small lurch as the elevator stopped and the doors opened up on a whole lot of white. Since heaven probably wasn't located five floors underground, I was going to have to assume that I wasn't dead yet.

I figured my odds of getting into heaven were slim to none anyhow.

Gareth soundlessly stepped off the lift, and a firm grip circled my upper arm, crushing enough to bruise, and one of the men pulled me along another hallway.

All white. Everything was white and smelled of metal and antiseptic.

Never had pristine cleanliness looked more like death to me.

"Where are you taking us?" Rogan demanded.

The White Coat whacked the gun against the back of his head. Not enough to knock him out, but definitely enough to hurt like hell. Rogan turned his head to glare at the man with uncensored fury, his upper lip curling back from his teeth.

"Do that again," he snarled, "and I'll shove that gun up your ass and pull the trigger."

The man laughed, obviously feeling unthreatened.

Joe said that he hadn't wanted to work here. Despite the perks, of which I'm sure there were many, he couldn't stomach the sadistic nature of being controlled by a walking, talking computer virus.

This guy, however, didn't seem to have a problem with it.

Gareth nodded at a door ahead. "In there."

It looked exactly the same as the room where I'd spoken with Gareth before, which meant I'd already been here. They'd taken me here by helicopter after Level Four, when I'd been blindfolded. However, I could have been wrong. There wasn't much to mark it as a unique room. It was all white, with a table in the middle. Two chairs on either end. Both white, the monotone giving it a strange, almost surreal feeling.

Rogan and I, wearing our borrowed clothes from the safe house and heavy Countdown black boots, were pushed into the chairs so we were facing each other.

Rogan met my gaze and held it. His handsome face was lined with worry and stress, his brows drawn together in a deep frown. The slash of his scar was red against his pale face. I saw a small amount of blood trailing down the side of his neck from where that asshole had hit him with the gun.

His hands were still locked behind him in metal cuffs just like mine.

He didn't say anything and neither did I. It was evident on his face what he was thinking, as I'm sure it was on mine.

Don't lose hope. We 're not dead yet.

I remembered the touch of his lips brushing mine, the feel of his body moving against me, inside of me. My stomach clenched at the thought that the time we'd had together might be all we ever had. A couple of days with the only man I'd ever truly been in love with.

Don't lose hope.

"Leave us," Gareth said, glancing at the men who stood there brandishing weapons that seemed so black against their white clothes. "And send him in when he's ready."

Send him in. My gaze left Rogan to go to the door. Send who in?

The White Coats left and then we waited. It felt like hours, but I'm sure it was only minutes until he walked in. My mouth dropped open.

Colin.

Definitely not unconscious anymore, although he looked slightly out of sorts. There was a red mark on his head from where he'd been knocked out against the side of the table.

He wore an Ellis Enterprises security-clearance name tag against his otherwise casual clothing--ripped jeans and his H-logo T-shirt. He seemed no different from the Colin I'd known for a few years, other than the fact that he now stood beside the man who wanted to kill us.

Colin looked at me, and his brow furrowed slightly before he turned his attention to his new boss.

"Colin?" I managed. "What are ... what are you doing--"

Gareth's lips curled. "Colin works for me now, don't you?"

Colin nodded. "Yes, sir."

Gareth moved toward him and slapped him twice on the back. "The boy's a genius. I always have room for geniuses on my staff. He was hired in a low level position a few days ago, but his association with you, Kira, made him suddenly all the more interesting to me. I've decided that he will be my personal assistant in all things."

I ran my tongue over my very dry lips and tried to find enough moisture in my mouth to form words. Gareth's personal assistant? Colin? I'd felt the ridge in the back of his scalp where he'd obviously been fitted for an implant, and knew he'd taken a job here, but I didn't expect his connection to Gareth to be so close.

The thought didn't fill me with reassurance. Anyone could be bought. Even someone you thought was your friend.

Gareth's smile held. "Yes, after his inconvenient run-in with you at the mall he was held for questioning. His computer was thoroughly examined. Are you aware, Kira, that the boy has pictures of you of a very personal nature? He's obviously quite enamored with you. However, I am quite sure you were completely unaware of these pictures even being taken, but they were there on his drive, along with evidence of very accomplished programming and hacking skills. I offered him more opportunities should you contact him in the future, and you did. I always follow through with my promises. Isn't that right, Colin?"

Colin nodded, his expression guarded. "That's right, sir."

Gareth's gaze slid over me with distaste. "I honestly believed that you had gotten the better of me with your little escape." His expression darkened. "You can imagine how delighted I was when we were informed of your whereabouts."

I fixed Colin with an icy glare. I'd thought that he'd done it out of sheer stupidity or the wish to protect himself from harm. Either of those reasons I was almost willing to forgive. I was mad as hell, but I had the capacity for eventual forgiveness. But to sell us out just to get a cool new job?

I couldn't forgive that.

"You said that you wouldn't hurt her," Colin said after a moment of silence. He seemed suddenly incapable of making eye contact with me.

Gareth laughed. "Sentimental fool, aren't you? Humans and their complicated emotions. Yes, yes, I did promise that, and I do try to keep my promises." He looked at me. "Since Colin has an implant, he's been able to follow along with watching you compete on The Countdown. I truly believed that after the reward level his desire to protect you would fade. No man would like to see the woman he loves enjoying the intimate touch of another."

I scowled at him.

"Now, on to other business." Gareth clasped his hands behind his back and began to pace the room slowly, moving in a slow circle around our table. My gaze flicked to Rogan for a second, but his attention was now fixed on his brother's possessed body. "Inspect him, if you would be so kind, Colin."

Colin moved toward Rogan, and I saw that he had a small metal receiver in his hand that flickered with green and yellow lights. He moved it over the back of Rogan's head and he studied the light reading.

"What the fuck are you doing?" Rogan tried to move his head away.

"Brother." Gareth leaned against the table, his back toward me. "Please relax. Colin is simply checking the validity of your implant."

"Jonathan was kind enough to remove it before you had him killed," Rogan growled.

"No, no. Not that implant. The other one. The prototype."

Rogan went very still. "But it never worked."

Gareth pushed away from the table and began to move about the room again. "A lot has changed in the past few years. Technology that we believed was redundant can be made active. Especially the prototypes. You have one. I have one. Anything after that was simply a mass-produced imitation of the original."

"Which means what?" Rogan said.

Then his face twisted in agony and he yelled out.

"Rogan! No!" I struggled against my restraints. "What are you doing to him?"

Rogan slowly relaxed, his chest heaving, and there was a gleam of sweat on his forehead.

Gareth ignored me and instead glanced at Colin, who squinted at the receiver. "Well?"

"It looks good," Colin said simply. "I've gone ahead and activated it for you. Simple, really."

Gareth smiled. "I'm so pleased that you think so. Then all is well with the world. Do you want to know why I care about your prototype implant, brother?"

"You're not his brother." I bit off the words. "And you damn well know it."

Gareth raised an eyebrow at me. "I see. So you told him despite my warnings of the consequences? I'm not sure if you're brave or stupid."

"Go to hell."

He laughed. "You have been an amusement, Kira. And the subscribers have enjoyed you, up until your disappointing finish. I wonder if you truly do have psi abilities. I watched your interaction with Kurtis on the roof in Level Five. He was convinced that you could see his soul. Were you lying to him?"

I forced myself to smile. "You'll never know."

He regarded me for a moment with a bland expression. "A true psi. An untapped element of humanity." He approached me and slid his hand around my throat tight enough to hurt and make me struggle to breathe. "Obviously when you read me before you sensed the annoying human presence who once used this shell. I wonder what else you think you may have seen."

I glared at him. "Maybe I saw your soul."

"Interesting." He raised an eyebrow and then released me. I coughed and still could feel the imprint of his fingers on my neck. He was very strong. I wondered how much of that strength came from Gareth the man, and how much from the virus itself.

Colin watched the proceedings from the far corner, his expression tense.

Gareth turned his back on me and approached Rogan, who struggled against his bindings, his gaze never leaving his brother's face.

Gareth crossed his arms against his black suit. "While I'm not happy about your attempted escape, I will say that I am very pleased that you survived so far into the game. When I first brought you in I thought of it merely as a mild amusement. A way to get rid of you once and for all. I'd heard that there were further investigations afoot after a similar crime in another university took place last week. This time it was ten girls who were murdered." He tsked his tongue. "A shame. A true shame."

"Rogan would have been exonerated?" I asked.

Gareth twirled around to face me. "My, that's a big word for such a little girl. And yes, it was only a matter of time. And I couldn't have that."

"So now you're going to kill me right here?" Rogan said. "I'm actually surprised that you have the balls to do it yourself. Wait a minute. How many subscriber brain waves would a talking binary code have to absorb to have balls anymore?"

Gareth moved so quickly that all I saw was a blur. He grabbed a handful of Rogan's dark hair and pulled his head back. The chair teetered on two legs.

"As you can see, a talking binary code can do many extraordinary things. And the brain waves, as you so crudely call them, do help with many things. The more I absorb through the implants, the more powerful I become. But I need more."

He slowly brought Rogan's chair back to its normal position. He patted Rogan on the top of the head as one might do to an obedient dog.

"Colin," he said, "tell Rogan what I plan to do with his reactivated implant."

Colin pointed at himself. "Me? You want me to explain? Wow. Okay." He pocketed the receiver. "Mr. Ellis has requested that I--and the team, of course--upload an artificial intelligence program into your implant. Not sure if it'll definitely work, but the reading I just took makes things look pretty positive. So ... uh, I think that's about it."

Gareth grinned. "Thank you, Colin." He put his arm around Rogan's shoulders and crouched down to whisper, but still said loud enough for me to hear, "So you see, Rogan, we will be brothers again. That's why The Countdown is so important. The testing is over, and now I shall take the game to a much wider audience."

Rogan wrenched away from him. "Why? Why would you do this? You're not my brother anymore. Why would you want to share this with me?"

Gareth's grin widened. "Perhaps brothers is the wrong terminology. When part of me is uploaded into you ... we will think the same. We will be the same. It will be as if we are one entity in two bodies. With my power multiplied thus, soon everything from this city to Offworld will be mine. And why you, specifically? You share the exact prototype implant that I have, and that is what makes it all work so beautifully. Without that implant you would be useless to me."

"You're insane." Rogan's face contorted with disgust.

"I'm no longer prone to human ailments such as insanity. Nor will you be once you are ... improved?"

"Improved?" I managed, my stomach twisting and turning with each word he spoke. "How can you see this as an improvement? You're no better than that robot from Level Three."

That earned me a truly withering look. "Kira, if you can't see how I am obviously the next evolution of the human species then I cannot help you. One day very soon all humankind will be fitted with one of my implants. They will feed us, and we shall become the gods of a new race."

"You're right, I don't see that. All I see is a computer virus a few pixels short of a full program."

'Then that is your unfortunate oversight. The robot you fought earlier was just a meager experiment in artificial intelligence. My intelligence is no longer artificial. I have a soul . .. you said so yourself."

"I didn't say that. I said maybe I saw your soul."

He took a menacing step toward me.

"Gareth!" Rogan's voice was rough. "Don't hurt her. just... just spare her. Please. I won't fight you on this. You can do whatever you want to me, but please let Kira go."

My eyes widened. "Rogan, no!"

Gareth laughed. "Brother, that's so terribly noble of you. The memories I can access of you do not lead me to believe that gallantry was ever one of your virtues. Has prison turned you into a gentleman?"

Rogan glared at him. "Prison did change me. I was a thoughtless and selfish asshole before."

"A thoughtless, selfish asshole who didn't know good entertainment like The Countdown when he saw it."

Rogan's expression darkened. "I can't condone murder."

Gareth sighed. "The murder of a human, especially a criminal, is meaningless. In the world I envision, there are no criminals. There is no crime. It will be a perfect place to coexist and to thrive. And every time this body wears out, I will have developed the proper technology to be able to upload my very essence into a new body."

"Immortality," Rogan said. "That's what this is all about."

"Be thankful I wish to share it with you. Perhaps there is a small part of the original owner of the body that still feels a brotherly bond with you. Otherwise I would have already killed you for ruining my game. You have no idea how angry the subscribers are. And when the subscribers are angry, they stop watching." His eyes narrowed. "You have no idea how hungry I am right now."

"Spare her," Rogan said again. "And as I said, I will do what you want."

Gareth cast a dark look at me. "Was it was your idea to shoot the cameras?"

I glared at him defiantly. "That's right."

He nodded. "You ruined what would have been a very interesting finale."

"What, our deaths on camera? You sure have a twisted sense of what's interesting."

"I'm not entirely convinced that you wouldn't have shot him to save your own skin, Kira."

If my mouth weren't so dry I would have spit at him. Crude, sure, but definitely an effective way of showing somebody what you were thinking.

"I wouldn't have killed him," I said evenly.

"Perhaps. But now we'll never know for sure."

I heard a whirring sound, and a small hatch in the wall up in the top right corner of the room opened up and a camera slid out. It swiveled around so that it pointed toward the table.

"What the hell is that?" Rogan growled.

"You ruined my game. I can't have fifteen thousand angry subscribers. Now I will make it up to them."

Colin moved forward. "You said that you wouldn't hurt her!"

Gareth put a hand on his shoulder. "I meant every word."

Colin appeared to relax a little. He dared a glance in my direction. "See, Kira? I'm not as bad as you're probably thinking. I refused to help if he was going to hurt you. He promised."

I didn't reply. I was afraid of what I might say to thank him for his "help."

"Come with me." Gareth led him toward the door. "I'm sure the new ending I have planned for The Countdown will be very well received."

Colin moved with him but was frowning. "I don't understand. You promised--"

Gareth nodded. "I promise that her death will be completely painless."

"Gareth!" Rogan roared. "What are you doing? I said that I'd cooperate if you let her go!"

Gareth shook his head. "You have no choice but to cooperate. Now I will leave you in private--other than the cameras, of course--to say your good-byes."

The door shut behind them, leaving Rogan and me in the white room all alone except for the whir of the camera.

Rogan's gaze shot erratically around the room. He strained against his bindings.

I felt the pounding of my heart in the backs of my eyeballs as I waited for something horrible to happen, and the fear I'd been trying to repress flooded over me again.

The metal cuffs restraining my arms behind me released and dropped to the floor. I rubbed my wrists and looked at Rogan with wide eyes.

"What the hell just happened? I'm free."

I shakily got up from the chair and began to move toward Rogan.

"No." His gaze moved up toward the ceiling "Wait. This room ... Don't come any closer--"

A thick sheet of glass slammed down from the ceiling to the floor, cutting the table cleanly in half, the force of it blowing the hair back from my face. If I'd taken one more step it would have done the same to me.

I looked at it dumbly, not believing what had just happened. I put my hand against the cold glass and stared through it at Rogan, who had been knocked to the floor when the table fell apart. His hands were still bound behind him.

I glanced up at the camera that taped us and imagined the subscribers watching greedily.

I stalked over to the door and realized that there was no handle.

"Kira!" Rogan shouted. I could still hear him, even if he was a bit muffled on the other side of the glass barrier. He wore an expression of pure shock.

I promise that her death will be painless, Gareth had said.

I had to wonder what he meant for only another moment.

That was when the gas began to seep through the air vents into my side of the room.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

The gas slid out of the vent in the upper left comer in a translucent white, slithering line. It trailed down the wall and onto the floor, where it dissipated. But I could see it coming. More and more of it, moving through the room like blind fingers searching me out. When it reached me it

curled around my legs, swirling and moving like a snake.

"Kira!" Rogan yelled.

Gareth was right. It wasn't painful. In fact, it didn't hurt at all. I was surprised that the gas didn't even have much of a scent when it finally reached my nostrils. I clamped my hands over my mouth and nose, but I knew that wouldn't do any good. Not for long. I turned to the glass, to Rogan.

"What do I do now?" My voice was strained with panic.

He pulled hard against his restraints but it did nothing. His expression was frantic. "I don't know. Dammit! I don't know!"

The camera swiveled to take in both sides of the room.

"Gareth!" Rogan roared. "I'm going to kill you!"

But there was no reply. There was nothing. Gareth had promised to give us some privacy--other than the fifteen thousand subscribers who were tuned in to watch my death scene, of course.

I tried to hold my breath, but after thirty seconds I realized that breathing wasn't really a choice. Unfortunately.

I inhaled some of the gas, which still had no discernible odor. Maybe it was just a ruse. Maybe this was just something to get an entertaining reaction out of us and make the subscribers happy after we'd cheated them out of a good Level-Six ending by escaping.

But no. The more I breathed, the weaker I started to feel. My head began to swim. I gasped. Instead of pounding hard and fast with fear like it had been before, my heart began to pump slower and slower.

A tear slipped down my face--I wasn't sure if it was from self-pity or the gas itself, which had now filled the room completely. It was see-through, casting a slightly whitish fogginess to the already white room. I found that I couldn't stay standing, and my legs crumpled beneath me, bringing me down onto my knees hard enough to cause a bruise. I dragged myself closer to the window and put my hands up on the cold, smooth glass.

Rogan stared at me. He'd moved close to the barrier, and I could see his breath fogging up the glass. He continued to struggle hard against his bindings, even though it had done nothing but made his face gleam with more perspiration from the effort. His expression was now a mixture of rage and grief.

"I want you to know," I managed, gasping now for each breath I took, "I still think that you were wrong earlier."

"About what?"

"I'm glad I got off the shuttle. I... I'm glad for any time we've spent together, Rogan."

"Kira--" His voice broke. "No, don't give up!"

"Just... just promise me that you won't stop fighting." I blinked and the tears splashed down my already wet cheeks. "Don't let them change you into a monster like him. You're too good for that. There's... there's still hope...."

My hand slipped off the glass. I was now breathing shallowly through my mouth in quick little gasps. The world in front of me was beginning to fade to gray, darker and darker, to the pitch-black that I feared the most.

Would I see my family? Would I go to heaven when I died?

Be brave, I told myself.

But I wasn't brave. I was afraid. So afraid.

It didn't hurt. That seemed to make it even scarier. At least pain reminded me that I was still alive.

"No, Kira ... please ... don't leave me! Don't go. Please! I love you!" His voice broke for real this time. He was crying.

Ilove you, too, I wanted to say. I wanted to let him know how much I loved him, how much I believed in him. How much I'd miss him.

But I didn't have the energy to speak. My mouth moved wordlessly as I slid the rest of the way down the glass and felt the cold, hard floor against my head.

Ilove you, Rogan. Only you. Forever.

"No!" he yelled, and the grief in his voice was now a living, pain-filled thing.

Just before the world turned to complete, impenetrable black I heard something. It seemed so far away--as if I were at the end of a very long and empty hallway.

A door opened. Then I felt hands under my arms and the sensation of being dragged. I could hear the squeak as my heavy boots slid across the floor. Then a door closed. It was still so far away I didn't know what was going on. I was still fading. Fading ...

And then I felt the unmistakable feeling of a hand slapping me across the face. Several times. Hard.

"Wake up, Kira. Wake up!"

My eyelids fluttered and I opened my eyes slowly, feeling the stinging on my left cheek. I tried to wet my dry, cracking lips with the tip of my tongue. The world came slowly back into focus.

Colin stared down at me with a fearful expression.

"We don't have much time," he said. "Can you move?"

More eyelid fluttering on my part. I swallowed. And then I realized that the air I was now breathing was clear of the poisonous gas. I began taking deep, greedy gulps of it. I drank at the air, filling my lungs with mouthfuls until my head cleared even more.

Out of the comer of my eye I saw his hand raise.

"Slap me again," I said, "and it'll be the last thing you ever do."

He gave me a tentative smile. "I'm glad you're feeling better."

"You should know that as soon as I've recovered I am going to kill you."

He frowned. "But... but I saved you."

I kept trying to breathe normally. 'Thank you for saving me."

He smiled. "You're very welcome."

"However, you do know that we wouldn't have even been in that room if it wasn't for you, right? So please forgive me for not offering to buy a round of drinks."

Colin licked his lips and shuffled his feet nervously. "I told Gareth to let you go. He didn't listen to me. The man is evil."

"You think?" I would have rolled my eyes, but I still didn't have the energy. "Help me up."

He got to his feet and helped me stand. My ankle still hurt like a son of a bitch from spraining it.

"Gareth had a meeting. I disabled the camera without him knowing. I couldn't do anything about the gas, so I had to come and get you manually."

"I can't believe you sold us out. For what? A stupid job?"

His expression twisted into one of shame, and he suddenly looked a great deal older than his twenty-one years. "If I'd known he was going to hurt you I never would have agreed to any of this."

"But it was okay to hurt Rogan?"

His jaw clenched. "My sister was one of the murder victims at the university four years ago. She was the only family I had in the world. I wanted Rogan to suffer for that."

"But he's innocent. Gareth even admitted it in there."

His eyes filled with tears. "I was wrong."

"I'm sorry about your sister." My heart swelled a little. I didn't even know he'd had a sister. He'd never mentioned her. Then again, I'd never told him about what happened to my family, to my sister.

I guess we had more in common than I thought we did.

I looked at his name tag, which read, COLIN PALMER--PROGRAMMER.

Funny. I'd never known his last name before, either. Never realized that until right now. I guess I'd always been too wrapped up in my own problems to allow myself to really get to know somebody else.

My eyes narrowed as I studied his name tag.

It was red.

Joe said that we'd need somebody with a red name tag to get into the room with the server.

"How long do we have before somebody finds out I escaped?" I asked.

"Not long." He looked worried now. "The subscribers will start contacting us now that the feed cut out. Apparently they've been having a ton of problems with the game recently. Gareth will be notified, and he'll know what I did. We'd better go right now."

I felt a fleeting feeling of compassion for Colin. He'd had a lousy life. I guess I couldn't blame him for latching onto something that seemed like an incredible opportunity with a huge future, working with computers, the one thing he really loved in life.

Lucky for me--and just in time--he realized that he wasn't a monster like Gareth.

"We need to get Rogan," I said firmly.

Colin nodded, and I watched as he removed the red card from his name tag holder and swiped it in the computerized lock on the right side of the white door.

The door swung open. Rogan turned to look at us and his eyes, shiny with tears, widened.

"Kira!" he exclaimed.

I felt a happy lurch in my chest as I went directly to him and threw my arms around him. But there wasn't any time for further celebrations. In fact, any celebrations could wait until we knew if we were going to live longer than five more minutes. All Colin had done was buy us a little more time.

Hopefully it would be all we needed.

Colin pressed a hidden panel on the wall and a keyboard was exposed. After he touched a couple of numbers Rogan's metal cuffs snapped open and fell to the floor, as mine had earlier. Rogan stood and pulled me to him, crushing me tightly against his chest.

"I thought I'd lost you," he murmured into my hair, and then captured my face in his hands, staring down at me for a moment before leaning over to kiss me.

The kiss was enough to give me the strength to keep going.

At that moment the thought of stopping Gareth paled in comparison to Rogan's kiss. That was what I was fighting for. More of his lips. More of him.

"Come on." I grabbed his hand, and the three of us exited the room.

"Are you okay?" Rogan asked gruffly.

"Not really." I swallowed and hobbled along quickly on my injured ankle. "I guess sucking in poisonous gas until you're almost dead isn't something you can just shake off."

Colin didn't say anything. Now that Rogan had joined us he seemed to be a little more afraid. Whether it was because of Rogan's reputation or the fact that he'd almost killed me and was afraid that Rogan would kill him in return, I didn't know. I'd have to give it even odds.

"We need to find Gareth's subbasement office," Rogan said gruffly. "Do you know where that is?"

"I haven't been here long enough to completely know my way around."

"We already took the elevator down past ground level. Is this the subbasement?" I asked. "Or is there more?"

'There's another floor beneath this one," Colin said. "They mentioned it when I took my orientation tour. I'm supposed to start working down there soon." He sighed. "I guess that's not going to happen anymore."

"Can we get to it via the regular elevators?" Rogan asked.

He shook his head. "No, but there's a flight of stairs. Yeah, right there." He pointed at a plain white door in front of us that wasn't marked.

Scurrying down the hallway heading toward the unmarked door, I felt the oddest sense of deja vu. Then I realized what was causing the feeling. It was from watching Colin play his networked game of "Anarchy." It felt like we were in the game right now, trying to find our way through, trying to save the day from the bad guys without getting ourselves killed.

I suddenly remembered how that game had ended earlier today for Colin.

Colin reached for the unmarked door.

"Wait!" I began, but he'd already turned the handle.

There was a man on the other side. I recognized him as one of the White Coats who'd brought us from the car to the white room. He was the one who'd hit Rogan in the back of the head with the butt of his gun.

The gun he still held.

His eyes widened with surprise when he saw us standing there.

Colin held up his hands. "Uh ... hi, there. Um ... Gareth asked me to take these two downstairs for the next level of The Countdown"

"Nice try," the man said. "But there aren't any more levels. And I just got word that they'd escaped with your help."

He raised his gun and shot Colin in the chest.

As he swiveled to aim again at me, Rogan sprang at him, grabbing his arms. There was a blur of fists and legs. Rogan hit him across the jaw, then spun around and kicked him in the stomach. They both fell to the floor. Rogan grabbed the man's arm and pressed his knee down on his forearm until I heard the sickly snap of a bone breaking. The man screamed out in pain, but Rogan had the gun in his hand now, and he pointed it at the man's head.

Rogan, breathing hard, then turned to look at me.

I'd caught Colin as he began to fall, and helped him down to the ground. He was breathing erratically, holding a hand to his chest, which oozed blood.

"I... I guess ... I didn't pass the final.. .job interview," he managed.

"Colin ..." The tears flowed down my cheeks again. "I'm so sorry."

He shook his head. "No ... no, I'm sorry. I love you, Kira. I always have. Don't... don't hate me."

"How could I hate you? You rescued me. Thank you." I kissed his forehead.

His lips curled into a small smile and then his eyes glazed over.

I let out a shuddery moan. He was dead. He'd died in my arms trying to help us.

I looked at Rogan, whose attention had diverted from the White Coat to me.

"Rogan!" I yelled. "Behind you!"

The man used his good arm to try to grab the gun away from Rogan. Rogan was able to kick at him. I thought for sure he would shoot the man, but instead he lashed out and struck him in the head with the gun, which knocked him out cold.

Rogan gave me a dark look, his chest heaving from the exertion. "I'm very sorry about your friend."

I nodded, blinking back tears, and moved Colin's still body to the side of the hallway. I took a moment to close his eyes, and I held my hand against the side of his face.

"So am I," I said.

Then I reached to Colin one last time and grabbed the red access card out of his name tag.

Rogan had a gun and I had an access card. And together we thundered down the stairs to the subbasement.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Having psi abilities is a very strange thing. I'd watched loads of shows over the years, especially when I was much younger, about psychics. They were pretty cool. Some of them made it seem like they had superpowers, being able to lift things with their minds. Being able to manipulate the thoughts of other people.

That would really help right now.

Unfortunately, my powers--if you want to call them that--weren't quite that cool. In fact, my being a psi, low-level or any level, didn't help us out at all at the moment.

Too bad.

I touched the front of my shirt to make sure I could still feel the outline of the minidisk in my bra, and I could. The subbasement looked a great deal like the other levels of this building All white. All bland and clinical, with that antiseptic smell permeating the air like a superclean perfume.

Only down here, every other ceiling light was out or flickering, casting a spooky amount of light on the hallway we briskly walked down. It felt like a horror movie, like somebody might reach out at any moment and grab our ankles and pull us into another room and devour us. But maybe I was just being paranoid.

After all, it had been a really bad day so far.

"Maybe they changed it," Rogan said. "The room. Maybe it doesn't have Gareth's name on it anymore."

"Maybe," I said. "And maybe Joe was lying. He could have made the whole thing up."

"Yeah, and maybe that disk only has pictures of his last vacation on it."

I didn't like this game of maybe we were playing. I gave Rogan a look.

He glanced at me. "Sorry. I know we need to be positive."

"Screw being positive. I just want to find the room."

"They know we escaped."

I swallowed. "Yeah. They do."

"We don't have much time. They'll shut this place down, lock all the exits to find us. Maybe we should leave now, while we still have half a chance."

"After we went to all this work to get in here?" I said. "Why would we want to miss out on the fun? How much time do we have before they find us?"

"Why?"

"I feel a sense of loss if I'm not working to a countdown. Sue me."

He snorted and squeezed my hand. "In that case, I figure we have five minutes before they lock the place down. Sweeping the levels with full security ... maybe another half an hour."

I felt a very small sense of relief. 'That's thirty-five minutes. Talk about luxury."

"Well, that's if we hadn't left two bodies--one dead and one unconscious--marking the staircase leading downstairs. You can cut that time in a quarter."

My heart sank. "That's not good."

"No."

"Dammit." I scanned every door we came to. Just as I was about to give up hope and take Rogan up on his offer to get the hell out of Dodge, my eyes widened. "Look." I pointed at the door that had a small brass plaque affixed to it.

G. ELLIS.

My hands trembled as I slid Colin's access card through the lock. The lights flickered red.

No entry.

I felt the color draining from my face. "It's not working."

"Try it again." Rogan's voice was strained, and he turned his head to scan the hallway. "And hurry."

I tried it again. Still no luck.

I let out a little sound of frustration as I slid it through for a third time. Then, as the red light flickered, I came to the sudden realization that I was sliding it the wrong way around. The metallic strip had to be down.

Mentally kicking myself, I flipped the card and tried it the other way around.

The light flickered green and I heard a click.

Rogan pushed the door open. It was dark inside. I felt the wall until I found the light pad, and I tapped it. The lighting flickered on, and I blinked as I gazed around at the room.

It didn't look anything like I thought it would. I expected a phalanx of computers, or at the very least one big one in the middle of the room. A desk. Maybe a potted plant. Joe said that this was Gareth's secondary office.

Instead it looked more like a lounge. A large black leather couch was in the middle of the room with Japanese-inspired folding screens on either side. There was an unusually large amount of religious-themed artwork-- paintings, sculptures, and other fine art pieces depicting all forms of religions, from an ornate and bejeweled rosary on the wall to a large, golden laughing Buddha on a tabletop.

A large screen on the wall across from the couch displayed images of the outdoors. It looked similar to the "window" display that I had had in the reward room. Fakeness trying to appear real and almost succeeding. Behind me I heard a bubbling sound and turned to see that it was an elaborate water garden next to a Zen sand garden.

I eyed Rogan, and he must have seen my confusion.

"I totally agree," he said. "I wouldn't have guessed that a talking binary code needed a place to chill out."

"Joe said this is where the server was."

"Maybe he lied. Or maybe it's been changed since then, I don't see any server in here." The bluntness of his words didn't cover the disappointment in his voice. "Shit, why didn't Jonathan tell us more about his plan?"

"Probably because he never thought he'd need to." I touched Rogan's arm. "Now what the hell do we do?"

He shook his head and moved his gun back and forth between his hands. "I'm thinking."

"Maybe there's still time for us to escape. You know, live to fight another day."

Then, to destroy the Zen-like calm of the room, the earsplitting sound of an alarm filled the air.

"Or not!" I yelled.

I covered my ears and tried to concentrate. I looked at the display screen that was showing a swaying palm tree on a beach in front of a shimmering ocean. The sound of the waves lapping at the shore could barely be heard under the din of the alarm.

Fake. Just like Gareth. Gareth was a lot like that palm tree. He looked so natural, but underneath he was just a computer program.

I frowned. Just a computer.

"The screen." I pointed at it. "Do you think it's the server? Maybe he's got it set up like this to fool anybody who might want to destroy it."

Rogan looked at it, and his brow furrowed. "Give me the disk."

I walked over to him and reached into my bra to pull out the small computer disk. He took it from me, squeezing my hand as he did so.

"Let's hope like hell this works," he said.

But before he could move toward the display screen to insert it, a door to our left slid open and Gareth walked into the room. He was alone.

Rogan held his gun up in the direction of Gareth's head. Neither of us said a word.

"That's rude," Gareth said. "You don't even want to apologize to me for ruining my plans again?" His eyes narrowed, and he looked at the minidisk in Rogan's left hand. "Why are you in this room?"

"I heard this is where the waterfall was," Rogan said evenly. "I like waterfalls. They relax me."

Gareth smiled thinly. "Do you know how I found you so easily?"

"Security cameras," I said, feeling a sick churning in my stomach.

He shook his head. "My former employee Colin was able to disable all of them when he helped you escape. Like I said, he is a very talented person. Or rather, was a very talented person."

I glared at him.

"No," Gareth continued, and withdrew a remote-control device. "It's your implant, Rogan. The one I had Colin reactivate. I simply traced its signal."

"I'm going to shoot you," Rogan growled.

"No, you won't."

"Why? Because you're using my brother's body?" "No. Mostly because of that implant." He pressed a button on the remote.

Rogan dropped the gun and the disk and clutched his head. I touched his shoulder, his face.

"I can't move," he said after a moment when his arms dropped down to his sides. "It's like someone is holding me in place."

I eyed the remote in Gareth's grip, which was obviously connected to Rogan's implant.

Gareth sighed heavily. "Move away from him now, Kira."

When I didn't, he pushed another button and Rogan roared in pain.

"Fine." I took a few steps away from him. "Stop hurting him!"

He shook his head sadly. "Kira, I was going to be kind before and allow you to die peacefully and nonviolently, but now I'm not so sure about that."

I tried not to give away how afraid and panicked I felt at the moment; it would only give Gareth more fuel for the fire. But I couldn't help it. Everything I was thinking must have been etched into my expression, and my gaze flicked back to Rogan, who was frozen in place.

Gareth walked toward Rogan and bent over. He didn't bother with the gun and instead snatched up the minidisk. He slid it into the inner pocket of his jacket, and my heart sank. That was our one chance.

The alarm continued to blare, and he had to shout to be heard over it.

"That racket," he said, rolling his eyes. "Honestly." He walked over to a telephone, picked it up, and pecked in two numbers. "Turn that off," he said simply, and hung up the phone.

The noise ceased five seconds later.

"So," I began. Maybe if I got him talking it would give me enough time to figure out what to do next. "What's with all the religious stuff in here?"

He gazed around the room slowly. "My collection. I've been studying humankind in an attempt to understand them. So many faiths in this world and so many problems that difference has caused across the centuries and millennia. I plan to take the best of each one and form a single perfect religion in the future. Do you believe, Kira?"

"Do I believe?"

"In a greater power?"

I glanced at Rogan. "I... I don't know."

"You should, with the gift you've been given." Gareth folded his hands behind his back and walked a circle around me.

I stood as still as one of his expensive statues and felt his appraisal like cold, clammy hands on my skin. He came close enough that he was able to flick my dark hair back off my shoulder. He put his fingers against my throat. For a moment it seemed as if he was searching for a pulse.

"Humans are essentially a weak species who are too concerned with destroying their world and each other to appreciate all that has been given to them by a greater power."

I frowned. "What are you talking about?"

"There is a wonder in being human," he breathed. "Organic matter that thinks and breathes and reproduces. And these organic creatures in turn created computers to help them. Now the cycle shall fold back upon itself and the computers will use the organics to help them. But the psychic element... that is a wild card in the mix."

"Get your hands off her," Rogan growled from his side of the room.

"I could crush her windpipe so easily." His fingers played along my throat. "But it's such a waste if her death can't be shown on The Countdown. You will die on camera. I can promise you that. But not just yet."

"What do you want from me?" I managed, feeling sickened by his touch but too afraid to pull away.

"I want you to read me." He grabbed my hand and brought it up to his face. "I dismissed your abilities before, but now I'm wondering if you may be more powerful than I originally thought. Read me. I want to know for certain that I have a soul. That I am truly the first of an evolved species."

"Tainted artificial intelligence programming doesn't have a soul," Rogan said. "You're just a computer virus with the ability to think."

Gareth whirled around to face him. "No, I'm much more, and soon everyone will see that."

"Gareth!" Rogan yelled, his face and neck showing the strain of trying to move when his body wouldn't let him. "If you're in there somewhere, you have to fight. You have to help us."

"Your brother is gone forever," Gareth said. 'Think of me as the improved model." He turned back to me. "Will you read me?"

I shook my head. Why would I give him anything he wanted? He'd just said he was going to kill me anyhow.

His jaw tensed and he pressed a button on the remote, holding it down.

Rogan yelled out in pain and kept yelling.

"This will kill him if I continue," he said. "You will kill him."

"Please ... don't--" I began.

"Don't?" He didn't let go of that button.

"Fine! I'll read you."

He finally let go of the button and Rogan went silent. His eyes were closed, and his chest went in and out with labored breathing.

Gareth grabbed my hand and put it to the side of his throat. "I'm waiting. Tell me what you see."

I glanced at Rogan, who was still recovering from the torture of his implant. And then I looked up at Gareth.

It felt almost like an intimate stance, standing this close to Gareth, one hand on his neck, the other braced against his firm chest. He was the same height and the same build as Rogan. Even his blue-green eyes were similar.

But he couldn't have felt more different to me if he'd tried.

I closed my eyes, tried like hell to concentrate, and flexed.

I frowned as the pain began to seep into my brain. "I see nothing. I'm getting nothing."

"Keep trying."

I shook my head, slid my hands to a slightly different position on Gareth's body, and waded farther down into his mind. My head began to ache. "No, it's like a universe of darkness. So cold and empty and--"

:::::::::Fear

Pain::::::::

:::::::::Sadness

Then I heard something so quiet that it was like a radio turned on in another room. I strained to make out the thoughts deep inside the darkness.

Kira. . . don't give up. ... You're so close.... Kill me. ... Kill my body... . You must do it.... There's no other choice.... I can't live like this... so much pain.... It's the only way.... Take care of my brother.... Don't let this happen to him... . I love him. ...

My eyes snapped open. I grabbed my head, which felt as if it were splitting open. Gareth clutched my hand.

"You saw something else. What is it? Did you see my soul? What did it look like? Was it beautiful?"

I licked my lips. "I... I did see something. It was very faint for a while, but there was something--"

"What? What was it?" His words were filled with eagerness and naked hope.

"Your... your soul was like a bright light in the middle of the darkness. It was very beautiful."

The lie sounded incredibly unnatural leaving my mouth, but it was obviously what he wanted to hear.

He nodded. "I never should have doubted it. This proves what I have been saying all along, that I am the first in the next evolution of mankind. The true mixture of man and machine, and now, Kira, you will help me be even more than that."

I raised my eyebrows. My help? What the hell was he talking about?

He stalked back to the telephone and picked it up. "Yes, change of plans. I want to have the girl taken to the eighteenth floor for further testing." He hung up without saying another word.

When he turned back to me his expression was very pleasant. "I will be testing your psi abilities to find out what makes you different from an average human. Whatever it is, I will reproduce it on a digital level and add it to my programming."

The phone rang and he moved toward it.

I exchanged a look with Rogan. His eyes were open again, but his expression was as tense as I'd ever seen it.

Don't give up hope. We 're not dead yet.

Gareth turned his back to me as he spoke with whomever was on the other end of the line. The gun Rogan had dropped was by his feet.

"Give us a few more minutes," he said into the receiver. "And then send security down here."

What was he going to do for a few more minutes? Get me to read him again? Torture Rogan more?

Did he even know why we were in this room? He'd taken the disk away from Rogan, but did he have any idea what was on it?

And did he realize that I'd stolen it back from him when I'd been reading his mind?

He hadn't felt me slip a hand into his inner jacket pocket. He may have noticed when I'd stolen his wallet on the streets, but he hadn't even flinched this time.

Well, I had picked a few pockets in my time. Practice made perfect.

I clenched the minidisk so tightly in the palm of my hand I was sure it would leave a permanent impression, and hissed out a long breath through my teeth. Only one shot. I was betting it all. Both Rogan's and my lives. Betting it all on a faint hope.

With a last look at Rogan I moved quickly to the display screen, frantically searching the side of it for a slot to put the disk into. My hands were sweating.

I found it. I slid it in.

Gareth hung up the telephone and turned back to look at me.

The image of the palm tree was gone. Instead there was a black screen with a blinking cursor at the end of the words: EXECUTE PROGRAM.

Since there was no keyboard, the screen showed a touchpad, and the enter key was right there, only an arm's reach away. I put my hand up to it.

"What do you think you're doing?" Gareth asked.

"What does it look like?"

He smiled. "It looks like someone who has no history of using computers is trying to act smart."

I tried to slow my breathing. "Is that what it looks like to you?"

"Yes. And keep in mind that I said 'trying' to act smart. Not succeeding. I assume you took that disk from me? Once a criminal, always a criminal." He shook his head. "What program is that?"

"Just a little antivirus one." My hand hovered just above the enter button.

His expression didn't change. "And who exactly gave you that?"

"Somebody who isn't thrilled with your programming selections."

He blinked slowly and then looked at Rogan. "Was this your idea?"

"Actually," Rogan said, "I was thinking about killing you and being done with it, but Kira's a lot nicer than me, I guess."

Gareth smiled thinly and turned back to me. "And why have you put an antivirus program on my Zen screen?" His gaze was steady.

I tried to match it with a calm expression of my own. "This is a Zen screen? That's funny. I thought it was the server that held your entire artificial intelligence programming that's connected to your implant. You know, the one with the virus in it that makes you a complete psycho."

"A server? In here?" His lips curled back from his teeth. "That's not very logical, is it? All the servers are on the second floor."

I had a moment of doubt. Well, another one. If we were wrong then everything was over. We would have lost in a very large way--both personally and for the unsuspecting world around us.

Oh, God, I thought, sinking into despair. We were wrong.

But then I frowned. If I was that wrong about everything then why wasn't Gareth storming over here and slapping my hand out of the way? He looked relaxed and cocky, but he wasn't moving, wasn't provoking me to press the enter button.

"This is the server," I said with as much assurance as I could muster and pushing past my doubts. "I know it is. And as soon as I press this button I'm thinking that your evolutionary aspirations will be wiped out completely."

His lips thinned. "I would have to disagree."

"Then let's see, shall we?" I brought my hand right up to the screen.

"Wait..."

I raised an eyebrow. "What?"

"Even if you press that it won't do anything. My new life may have begun as a difficult-to-reproduce miracle, but I have grown. I have learned and evolved. I am more than man or machine. You know that... you saw my soul yourself."

I shook my head. "I didn't see anything inside you except a big black hole."

His eyes widened. "You're lying."

"Am I? Then let's try it. I can press this and we'll see what happens. If you're right and you have a big, shiny soul inside that body you stole, then you might be able to walk right out of this room. If not, then your implant will be fried and the old Gareth will come back."

His expression darkened. "Is that what you think?" He turned to Rogan. "Is that what you think? You think that you can still save your brother? Your brother is already dead. The moment he chose to put the implant in his brain he chose the path of death, as did you."

"My implant--" Rogan began, his brow furrowing.

"It works. I believe we've already proven that fact."

I looked at Rogan and then at Gareth. "What the hell are you trying to say?"

One side of Gareth's mouth turned up in a half smile. "What I'm trying to say is that if you press that button, there is a very remote possibility you are right and that I will cease to be. My implant will be destroyed, but don't you see? So will Rogan's. And since it's embedded deep within his brain tissue it will kill him. Our implants are directly connected. Everything here at Ellis Enterprises is connected to the main server."

I swallowed hard. "What about the subscribers? They have implants, too."

He shook his head. 'The only implants that truly matter are the prototypes. The subscribers have a low-grade facsimile that is a pale shadow of what we have. You would be hurting Rogan ... killing Rogan ... and the subscribers would all live to see another day."

I felt the blood drain from my face. If I pressed the button I would kill Rogan?

No. That couldn't be possible.

"It would be better if this was being taped," Gareth said, almost regretfully. "The subscribers would all tune in to see this. Such a waste of good entertainment."

He pressed a button on the remote control and Rogan yelled out in pain again.

"Step away from the screen, Kira," Gareth said. "And Rogan will live."

"No!" Rogan gasped through his agony. "Do it, Kira. Launch the program. Don't worry about me."

I chewed my bottom lip. My brain was working overtime, going through all the scenarios that might occur. Press the button and nothing happens. Gareth has my psi abilities studied until he's bored with me and kills me anyhow. He changes Rogan into a monster like him. Or press the button and launch the antivirus, killing Gareth but also killing Rogan.

No. It was too much. I didn't know what to do.

My hand wavered from the screen. My arm ached from holding it up.

"Forget about me," Rogan urged in pain-filled gasps. "You have to stop him. It's not just me. He wants to take The Countdown and the implants wider, to Offworld. More people will be hurt. More will be killed."

He was glancing down at the floor in front of him as he spoke. I followed his line of vision to the gun he'd dropped when his implant kicked in.

The gun.

I could injure Gareth, not kill him. Just incapacitate him long enough to figure something--

Gareth took his finger off the button as he noted where my attention had flickered to. With a soft sound of amusement he walked straight to Rogan, leaned over, and snatched the gun off the ground.

He inspected it, pulling out the chamber and gazing inside.

"Humans and their weapons," he mused. "So violent. So bloody." He smiled. "So very entertaining."

He turned, aimed, and pulled the trigger at Rogan.

I screamed.

Blood flowed red from the fresh wound in his shoulder. Rogan's teeth were clenched and his forehead drawn, but he hadn't made a sound when the bullet pierced his skin. He still couldn't move.

"I had my people injure you before," he snarled. "You would be dead right now if it wasn't for Jonathan's interference."

"I'm going to kill you," Rogan growled.

Gareth was inspecting the gun again. "If I'm counting correctly, I have ten more bullets available to me in this gun. I'm sure after the fifth or sixth you may start begging for your life. Kira? What do you think? Or would you prefer I continue to torture him through his implant?"

Tears slid down my cheeks. "Don't hurt him anymore. Please."

"But don't you understand yet? You're the one who's hurting him now. Every moment you wait will cause him that much more pain. Do you really want the man that you love to experience such anguish?"

Kill me . . . Gareth had begged. Please . .. I can't go on like this....

Rogan would be like that. Like the real Gareth once the artificial intelligence was uploaded to his implant. He would be trapped somewhere down deep. Always in pain with no chance for relief.

Either way I would have lost him forever.

"Do you want him to be in pain like this?" Gareth said again, louder. "I wouldn't wish this on anyone. The world I will create will be a perfect one, with no pain, no doubt, and no fear."

"Being human means that you have to feel pain and doubt and fear, Gareth." I blinked and more tears splashed to my cheeks. "But that doesn't always make it a bad thing."

"Do it," Rogan said, his words a raspy, pain-filled croak.

Gareth raised the gun again.

"I love you, Rogan," I said softly, and then touched the screen's enter button.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

A long string of code that I didn't recognize or that, in my opinion, didn't make any sense began to flow down the screen.

That seemed to be the only change that occurred since I had pressed the button.

After another moment the screen froze and two lines of readable type appeared, surrounded by asterisks.

***************************************

ELLIS ENTERPRISES HACKED.

REVENGE IS SWEET BY NUCLEARXXX.

***************************************

Then, to add insult to injury, a picture of Joe appeared, giving his Web cam a very clear shot of his raised middle finger.

Just a prank? He'd given us a disk with a stupid prank on it?

I felt a wave of nausea flooded over me and I fought it. I'd known that it was a long shot at best.

Rogan was still alive. The thought mixed some relief in with the horrible feeling of dread.

"Twit," Gareth said, and it was directed at me. He laughed and, if you asked me, looked somewhat relieved. "I told you that you couldn't stop me with some ridiculous progra--"

He stopped talking and frowned. Then he cleared his throat.

I glanced back at the screen. The image of Joe was gone again and was replaced with more of the scrolling computer code.

Gareth brought a hand to his head.

"Not feeling so hot all of a sudden?" I asked.

"I... I'm not--not... sure."

I studied him. "I think maybe an antivirus is a lot like the chicken soup my mom used to make for me when I was sick with a cold. Sometimes you're so stuffed up that you can't taste it right away. Takes a minute."

His hand that was holding the gun was shaking.

The code raced on the screen.

"A big black hole," I said to him, the fear I'd been feeling slowly being replaced by a line of rage so hot that it began to burn through my pores. 'That's all I saw when I read you. You have no soul. You're nothing but a fucked-up computer program. I can't even feel sorry for the fact that you're being deleted right now, because you don't even really exist."

"Bitch!" He lurched the gun up and shot at me. "I'm going to kill you!"

I leaped out of the way, and the bullet smashed through the display screen behind me. It sputtered and smoked and the screen went black, but a small green light pulsed in the corner where the disk was. The antivirus was still working even without the display, sinking further into the Ellis Enterprises network.

There was silence for a few solid moments.

Then Gareth screamed and dropped to his knees.

"Rogan!" I called, staring across the room to where he still stood in place.

But Rogan clutched his head and his eyes went wide. He yelled out in pain, and the sound of it pierced through me like an arrow to my heart. Then the sound of the Ellis security alarm started up, so loud that I felt it like a slap shuddering through my entire body.

'The disk!" Rogan shouted. "Kira, you have to remove it from the server! It's doing too much damage. My... my implant--"

His eyes rolled back into his head and he collapsed to the floor.

Then every light in the room went off as the power in the entire building shut down and the alarm stopped ringing.

I dropped to my knees. I moved my gaze around, but I couldn't see anything. Nothing. Everything was black.

"Rogan?" I whispered. "Are you ... are you still there?"

I was answered only by complete silence.

Total darkness and total silence. It was like being dead. Maybe I'd died. Maybe we were dead and this was what it was like. Maybe there was no heaven. Maybe this darkness was all there was.

I couldn't save my family in the darkness. I was a coward, and I'd crawled under my bed to hide while I listened to them die.

And now it was the same. I was petrified. Unable to move. And I couldn't do anything to save Rogan. I'd killed him. It was my fault.

I was shaking, and I grabbed my knees and drew them closer to me.

There's still hope. We 're not dead yet.

I shook my head. No. It was over. I couldn't do anything. I was too afraid.

Just pretend there's a countdown, a small part of me thought weakly.

I had to get the antivirus disk out of the display screen. It was in the server. The server must still have energy and it was frying the implants.

It was killing Rogan, but he might still be alive.

He's dead.

No, I thought firmly. He might still be alive. There's still hope.

Countdown. Come on, I prompted myself. The darkness was nothing. It doesn't mean anything. It has no power over me anymore. I'd been through too much with Rogan to give up now over something like a little darkness.

I began to count down in my head.

Fifteen.. .fourteen... thirteen...

I squeezed my eyes together and breathed out in a great huff. And then I pushed myself halfway up and began crawling. I wasn't sure which way was which anymore. I felt along the floor until I found the leather sofa. Until my hands passed over the gold Buddha.

Then the wall, smooth and cold. I smelled smoke, acrid in my nostrils.

Up farther and farther.

Nine... eight... seven...

I could hear my sister screaming.

I pushed the memory away.

Think of Rogan. Rogan is here. He's here right now.

Five... four... three...

The edge of the display screen. I felt the sharp edge of the broken glass of the screen cut my finger. Along the side. Yes, there. The green light pulsed dimly next to the slot I'd shoved the disk into. There was a little release button. I pressed it and the minidisk slipped out and into my hand.

I slid it into my pocket and got back down to the floor, moving quicker now. I was searching for him. Searching for Rogan through the darkness.

"Where are you?" I whispered, my voice catching on the words.

There was no answer.

I tried to picture the room in my mind. Pretend that it was still light in there. I saw where Rogan fell to the ground holding his head, and crawled toward him.

Hand over hand I felt my way along until finally I touched something. A boot. A big boot that seemed familiar. Up a calf and a leg to a hard-muscled stomach. Yes. Collarbone. Throat. Whisker-stubbled chin. Cheekbones. Nose. Lips.

My hands slipped into his hair and I pulled him up and against me. He wasn't moving.

"Rogan," I murmured. "Don't leave me. Not after everything we've been through."

I touched his neck, pressed my fingers against it. Tears of relief streaked down my face when I felt a pulse. Then through the darkness I found his lips and pressed mine against them.

A distant, fleeting memory came to me of a fairy tale my mother once had told me. "Sleeping Beauty." The handsome prince woke the beautiful princess up with the perfect kiss.

This is one fucked-up fairy tale I'm in, I thought absently.

Rogan gasped against my lips. I felt his eyelashes flicker against my face as he opened his eyes.

"Kira?" he said.

Happiness flooded through me. "Well, who else would molest you in the middle of a dark room?"

"I'll... I'll take that as a yes."

"You're alive."

"Is that a question?"

"I'm going to kick your ass." I said it sternly, but I couldn't keep the smile out of my voice.

"Take a number. I have a fucking bullet in my already injured shoulder. And my head is killing me."

"Mine too."

"What about Gareth?" he asked tentatively.

I rested my head against his chest. "He's gone. I'm sorry."

"I see." He was quiet for a long moment. "It's dark in here."

"Yeah, it really is."

"Aren't you afraid of the dark?"

"Petrified," I said.

"Just checking." Another pause, and I felt his arms come around my waist. "I'm surprised that the backup generator hasn't kicked in yet."

"Yeah. I'm thinking that Joe had a few more surprises on that disk than just the antivirus. The guy's a genius."

His fingers slid through my hair. "Maybe I should have hired him when I had the chance."

"If you had to go back and change one thing in your history, I'd say that you really should have hired him. Yes."

There was another pause. "But then I never would have met you."

My heart swelled and I kissed him again. After a moment I frowned and pulled away. "Okay, Rogan, are you double-jointed or something?"

"What do you mean?"

"How are you touching my sprained ankle right now?"

"I'm not touching your ankle."

A hand clamped down on my ankle and I screamed.

The lights flickered and then came on fully with a sick whirring sound.

Gareth was holding on to my ankle with an iron grip. He looked up at me, his eyes bloodshot, his face drenched with sweat.

Rogan scrambled away from me and grabbed the gun, pointing it down at the man.

"Let go of her right now!" he yelled.

"Rogan ..." Gareth let go of my ankle and reached up toward Rogan. "Please ..."

And then he slumped face-forward. Unconscious.

Rogan dropped the gun and fell to his knees at his brother's side, rolling him over.

"Gareth!" he said. Then he touched his chest, pressing down to feel the heartbeat. He turned to me. "He's still alive!"

I went to Rogan's side next to Gareth and studied the sleeping man with a mix of suspicion and hope.

After a couple of minutes his eyes flickered open and he looked up at us.

He blinked. "I thought I asked you to... to kill me, Kira."

I shrugged. "I don't take orders too well. Sorry about that."

He gave a small smile, and it looked as though it hurt him. 'The ... the antivirus ..."

Rogan nodded. "It was Jonathan's plan. And it worked. It actually worked."

"I'm ... I'm so sorry, Rogan. I'm sorry for everything."

He shook his head. "None of this is your fault; it's mine. I brought this all on myself. But it's over. It's finally over."

I held on to Rogan's arm. "I don't know much about computers, but I think the antivirus just wiped out your entire system."

Gareth raised his hand and clutched Rogan's. "We'll rebuild it. We'll make it better. I've been watching. Jonathan ... he did some good research when he had the chance. Things that will help humanity. Help build Offworld into a truly wonderful place to live. Maybe even help repair some of the damage that's happened here at home."

Rogan gripped his brother's hand. "You really think we can rebuild?"

"Hell yeah, we can." Gareth smiled, and his eyes--the same color as Rogan's--twinkled. 'Thank God that monster didn't spend all of our money."

Rogan snorted. "Yeah, thank God."

"So you'll help me?"

Rogan nodded. "Of course I will." Then he looked at me. "Now we can all get what we've always wanted." He grabbed my hand and brought it to his lips.

"May I suggest something?" I asked.

"What's that?" Gareth asked.

"Consider putting your artificial intelligence research on indefinite hiatus?"

Gareth laughed softly. "It's a deal."

"And The Countdown is over," Rogan said. "Completely over. The implants will be disengaged across the board."

"What about the subscribers?" I asked.

Rogan raised an eyebrow at me. "Fuck the subscribers."

I laughed out loud at that.

"I totally agree." Gareth closed his eyes. 'The game was a disaster from beginning to end. A complete travesty. But I guess when all is said and done you could say that The Countdown did teach you one very important thing."

"Oh, and what's that?" Rogan asked.

He smiled and kept his eyes closed. "You two do make the perfect team."

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

It was about twenty-four hours after Ellis Enterprises' computer system had been breached by an imaginative and vengeful hacker that I stood on a train platform with Gareth and Rogan. No one else was there. It was a secret location known only to those who knew the right people.

I guess I did now.

I crossed my arms and waited. Rogan stood silently next to me, with Gareth to his right.

The shuttle that would take me on my journey to Offworld would be there in a couple of minutes.

After the lights had come back on yesterday it was only a matter of minutes before security arrived at the subbasement room. Gareth was immediately taken to the hospital. So was Rogan. Both were treated for serious injuries.

I was also treated for more minor injuries, including my sprained ankle, which was now bound tightly and feeling much better. I required a few stitches for some of my nastier cuts and scrapes. An IV also helped to return my body to fairly normal working order.

Rogan and I hadn't had a single moment of private time.

Ellis Enterprises was in a major upheaval. An investigation was already under way of who could and could not be trusted. Those who couldn't be were fired on the spot. They deserved worse, as far as I was concerned.

It would take a lot of time and a lot of money to help rebuild Ellis Enterprises, especially now that it would cease its technology-based research program. Gareth and Rogan had come to a mutual agreement that they would now fund medical research. Not quite as sexy as shiny new computers, but ultimately more beneficial to mankind. They seemed single-minded in their quest to right their wrongs--Rogan of his past before he went to prison, and Gareth of the four years he'd spent as a prisoner in his own body.

Gareth had contacted an Offworld scientist who worked with Ellis Enterprises, and he would be at the other end to greet me. It was the same guy Jonathan had mentioned at the safe house. He'd help me adjust to my new environment. And he'd help me understand and develop my psi abilities, which were now classed as high-level.

And who knew? Maybe I would help out the police as a human lie detector one day. Sure. I could do that. I didn't know whether or not I actually had the power to see into someone's soul, but I was willing to keep an open mind about it. No pun intended.

Rogan wasn't coming with me.

He would be too busy helping his brother rebuild everything they'd lost.

I totally understood.

My throat constricted and tears stung at the backs of my eyes as I stood on the platform waiting for the shuttle with a big fake smile plastered on my face.

My new life was about to begin.

Wouldn't be long now.

I saw the shuttle in the distance as it made its way toward us. I could use the time on board to try to forget Rogan.

I'd told him I loved him. And he'd said that he loved me, too, right? Or had that just been my imagination?

We hadn't spent any time alone since. He was so busy now.

Dammit. I could have predicted it. I was just a street thief. Well, a reformed street thief. I was to be paid a very generous salary to make myself and my powers available for testing, without the threat of being killed before, after, or during. I would be just fine. But still, that was what I was: a thief.

Rogan was a powerful billionaire who'd had a bit of an unfortunate glitch in his life.

I'd been a part of that glitch.

The glitch had been resolved.

I didn't expect anything from him. I wouldn't ask him or beg him to come with me, or even to stay in touch. That simply wasn't me.

But I would miss him so much. It felt like my heart was splintering in my chest just thinking about it.

Don't look at him, I told myself, but I couldn't help it.

The shuttle came to a slow stop right next to me.

"Thanks for everything, guys," I mumbled, and, without turning and looking at the men next to me, I began to move toward it.

I felt a hand on my arm. It was Rogan.

"Hey." He was frowning. "I hope you have a safe trip."

"Thank you." My smile was as natural as I could make it. "Well, I guess this is good-bye, huh?"

"I... I guess so."

Gareth extended his hand. I took it and he pulled me into a fierce hug. "Thank you, Kira. Thank you for everything you've done. For me and Rogan."

"You're welcome." I pulled back to look into his eyes. This Gareth looked the same as the other, but it was like night and day. There was such warmth and gentleness to this version of Gareth.

I turned to Rogan. His jaw was tense. He now wore black pants and a cream turtleneck that fit him perfectly. I could see the outline of his muscular frame through it. I bit my lip as I remembered what it felt like to hold him, touch him.

"I'll miss you," I said, and a tear splashed down my cheek. Dammit. So much for being all cool and collected.

"I'll miss you, too." He leaned over and brushed his lips against mine.

"Good-bye," I said, and then turned away and slipped onto the shuttle. The conductor took my ticket, and I walked blindly down the aisle to my seat. I didn't have any luggage. A wife of one of the Ellis employees was my size, and she'd brought me some nice threads to wear at the hospital. I would buy new clothes when I arrived in Offworld.

New clothes for my new life.

I took in a breath and it shuddered through me.

It was for the best. Me and Rogan? We were too different. Way too different. He was a freaking billionaire who ran a huge business that was going to make a difference to two different worlds. I was a girl who could do a little bit of mind-reading.

It was better this way for both of us.

End of story.

I turned to look at the platform. Nobody was there. They'd already left.

Good, I thought. It was over. We all had what we wanted.

I leaned my head against the cool glass and waited for the shuttle to start moving.

Out of the corner of my eye I saw somebody take the seat next to me. I pushed the tears off my cheeks and turned to look. My eyes widened.

It was Rogan.

"Rogan--" I said.

He held up a hand to stop me. "You know, it's the strangest thing."

"What? What are you doing here?"

"I have a company to help run. Everything's been destroyed. There is a ton of work to do, but..."

"But what?"

"It's the implants, you see," he explained.

"The... the implants?"

"The ones that Jonathan removed."

I still stared at him blankly. "You're going to have to help me out a little more than that."

He shook his head and frowned, bringing a finger up to his temple. "When they were in our heads we couldn't go more than ninety feet apart or else we would die."

'That's right."

"Well, even now that they're out, I feel like I still shouldn't be more than ninety feet away from you or I might die. Isn't that strange?"

I raised an eyebrow. "That is strange."

"Maybe it's just me. Maybe there was something wrong with mine."

I shook my head. "No. When we're more than ninety feet apart I feel like I'm dying, too."

He shrugged. "So that's why I'm here. I really don't like feeling that way."

"I totally agree," I said solemnly.

"Plus, the fact that I'm completely head over heels in love with you." He said it with such a straight face that I would have laughed if my heart weren't swelling up to the size of a big balloon.

"I feel very much the same way." A smile was trying very hard to burst free on my face.

"I'm glad to hear it." He smiled and kissed me hard on my mouth. "I can still help my brother, but I'll do it from Offworld."

I nodded. "I think that's the best idea I've heard in a really long time."

"Goddammit, Kira, I love you so much."

The grin was spreading wide across my face. "So, not just a postprison piece of ass is what you're saying."

He shook his head. "Definitely not"

I touched his face and looked deeply into those ocean-colored eyes of his. "I love you, too, Rogan. I thought I'd lost you forever."

"It's kind of hard to lose somebody who's never more than ninety feet away," he said.

"I think I can definitely live with that."

"Glad to hear it."

He kissed me again as the shuttle pulled away from the station and slowly began to gather speed.

[end]