The Skyline Gladiator Towers were an oasis of wrongness as a monument of everything bad that was about the world of District Seven. One hundred and forty stories of chrome and glass, all of which had to murder people in innovative broadcasts. Jack was at the bottom of it with Scrap standing next to him and both of them staring up at the killing machine.
"Impressive, right?" Scrap said. They made it when the old DeathWatch had fallen. The time was three years, and the price was bigger than the GDP of most countries. Each floor is sponsored by another corporation, which is why each of the floors is going to have its theme, traps, and its champion. The structural engineers also reportedly resigned midway and this is why the floors between thirty two and forty seven are technically fire hazardous.
Jack said nothing. Studied the building, camera positions, entry points, new route of security that is sponsored by the company.
Scrap went on, "It is the maintenance entrance, around the back. Elevator, old service, no connection to the main grid. Raina unlocked the locks remotely, and we should be on Flooring Twenty one before anybody notices what is going on.
"Should be?"
Nothing much about guarantees, old man... Underground.
They went round the building, in shadows. This whole district was a monarch of towers, all the rest of it was constructed around them, both physically and metaphorically. Sponsors gave their names to streets. Ads played on every surface. Even the bums were branded, their blankets donated, printed with business insignia.
The maintenance door was not very special it was a steel door between two dumpsters, full of warning signs against authorized personnel only. Scrap drew out a little sort of gadget, and pressed it on the lock, and waited.
"Raina's signal," he said. "She's in the system. Door should open in three... two..."
The lock clicked. Scrap smiled to himself and opened the door.
"Ladies first."
Jack stepped through.
It was not at all the grimy maintenance tunnels he hoped it would be. The walls were smoothed chrome, the floors to white tile. Holographic advertisements would appear on each surface marketing items such as energy drinks and funeral plans. Some soft music was on the type of corporation background music that was meant to be disregarded but never really was.
All right, Scrap said to himself, and trailed behind. "This is weird. Maintenance corridors are not to resemble an assortance of a goddamn hotel lobby.
"It's a trap."
"Obviously. But whose?"
They discovered this after half a minute, after arriving at the elevator bank. All the doors were closed except one, the service elevator, the doors wide open, and the lights within the elevator glowing warmly and beckoning.
There was a huge screen fluttering against the wall, next to it.
"JACK CAYMAN. "
The face of Black Baron was in the screen. Grinning. Glitching at the edges. These dead eyes that seem alive with evil.
Lo and behold did you think you would creep into my arena? I OWN THIS CITY. I possess all the cameras, all the microphones, all the drones. AND NOW... I OWN YOU. "
The elevator doors at the back of them banged behind. Jack didn't turn. Kept his eyes on the screen.
YOUR MOTHER ON FLOOR EIGHTY NINE. But to get to her you will have to earn it. THE CHAMPION of FLOOR one waits. BEAT HIM, AND YOU PROCEED. LOSE, AND... WELL, YOU KNOW THE DRILL. THE SHOW MUST GO ON. "
The screen changed display to the initial DeathWatch Jack at his best, chainsaw through an opponent, blood being sprayed in black and white.
"I'VE MISSED YOU, JACK. THE RATINGS have been terrible. NO ONE HAS YOUR... FLAIR FOR THE DRAMATIC. SO LETS see whether you still got it. "
The screen died. The elevator doors reopened.
"WELCOME, CONTESTANTS!" Some delightful voice spoke out of concealed speakers. PLEASE, go to the elevator to your floor assignment. WARNING: DEATHWATCH 2.0 assumes no liability in case of injury, death, dismemberment or disagreement over sponsorship due to participation.
Scrap looked at Jack. "That's... almost polite."
"Corporate hospitality."
They entered the elevator. The doors touched and it started to lift.
The lobby of floor one was a battlefield.
Not of a literal nature there was nobody fighting at the moment. But it was a pure chaos of aesthetics. The logos of corporations adorned every square inch: Titan Cola, Diamond Finance, HyperVolt, BioCorp, FleshRipper Chainsaws and a dozen others that Jack did not know. The holographic adverts were flicking continuously, with products and violence equally represented on them. The far wall had a huge screen, and the face of Black Baron was shown in looped shots of him laughing.
"WELCOME, CONTESTANTS! The voice of the Baron was heard at once everywhere. TODAY: the current special event The legendary JACK CAYMAN is coming back to the arena! Will he end up smacking into the ground like the old news or will he make us remember the reason why we loved to watch him kill people. FIND OUT AFTER THESE MESSAGES "
The screen cut to an ad. Another did it with a cyborg, all chromed and with muscles, who tore someone in two during a commercial and a voice over went on about electrolytes. The death scream of the victim was incorporated in the jingle.
Indeed they had invested in the aesthetic, Scrap said to himself.
The elevator doors at the back opened. Jack turned, ready
But it was just a woman. In her early thirties, with blonde hair pulled in a severe bun, a business suit, which was, most likely, more expensive than Jack had ever spent on clothes. She was smiling with a flight attendant that had witnessed some stuff and was holding a tablet.
"Jack Cayman." Her voice was professionally pleasant. I am the floor coordinator of Level One. Before continuing, it is important to note the revised terms and conditions which must be accepted.
Jack stared at her. "You're serious."
DeathWatch 2.0 is a commercialized entertainment product. Everybody will sign our liability releases, TV rights and sponsorship recognition agreements. She held out the tablet. Lack of compliance leads to instant dismissal through ceiling mounted plasma turrets.
Scrap looked up. The turrets, small, inconspicuous, yet there. Their glasses followed the movements of Jack mechanically.
Jack grabbed the tablet. Browse through volumes of lawyers without a line read. Clicked on the bottom and ACCEPTED.
"Excellent." The smile on the face of the coordinator increased. The Level One opponent is Titan Cola sponsored. Keep having fun on the show, and do not forget: to stay hydrated is the key to the maximum performance!
She pointed to a door in the extreme end of the lobby. It opened and showed an elevator cabin.
Jack walked toward it. Scrap followed.
"Oh, and Mr. Cayman?" the coordinator called. Your friend will be seated in the VIP section. We hope he enjoys the show."
Jack had not time to answer before the elevator doors closed.
"That's not good," Scrap said. "VIP section means cameras. Means they're watching me. Means if things go sideways"
"Things are going sideways." Jack could see the of the floor numbers increasing. "Question is how sideways."
"You always this optimistic?"
"No."
The elevator stopped. Doors opened.
They came into Floor One and into a wrestling-ring.
Not metaphorically. A real wrestling ring, with ropes, turnbuckles and a holographic crowd screaming at its audience on all surfaces. It was a stinking, sweating, bleeding, sweet-smelling floor the odor of Titan Cola, with the huge logo painted on the canvas, likely.
In the center stood Razor Rex.
Seven feet of cyber augmented muscle. Chainsaw arms real chainsaws, of industrial quality, screwed in place where his forearms would be whirring with a noise that cut right through the din of the crowd. Titan Cola logos was stamped on his chest, and it beat along with his heart. The smile on his face matched the breadth of his face.
"JACK CAYMAN! Rex bellowed, I tell you his voice was augmented by concealed speakers. "I'VE BEEN WAITING FOR THIS! FIVE Years I have followed your old bouts! Five years I had trained To bring you down! YOU'RE YESTERDAY DAD, OLD MAN! ENOUGH of the Champion, Retire thee! "
The crowd in the holography screamed. Electric billboards displayed JACK SUCKS and REX IS KING in changing colors.
Scrap grabbed Jack's arm. "That's him. Razor Rex. Titan Cola's star player. He has no defeat in thirty seven matches. They inject him with experimental stimulants during the fight his blood is virtually carbonated by this stage. When he is get tagged, he switches to rage mode and
Jack shuddered off his arm and got into the ring.
The ropes felt real. The canvas felt real. The smell of blood and sweat and low quality corporate promotion was real indeed.
Rex towered above him, chainsaws revolving.
You have anything to say, old man? Rex's voice was a rumble. Any words of parting before I reduce you to confetti?
Jack flexed his left arm. The prosthetic turned into life, rotating teeth of a chainsaw. It did not sound like Rex, tighter, meaner, more controlled. Purchase maintenance (5 years), purchase upgrades (5 years), purchase waiting to have a purpose to use it (5 years).
Retirement plan already set, Jack, said. I am dying either bloody or not.
Rex's grin widened. "I can work with that."
The bell rang.
Rex rushed like a freight train actually, the floor shook with the stride. Jack dodged but the big bastard foresaw it and waved a chainsaw arm in a horizontal plane that would have cut a man moving slower in half. Jack cowered down, rose with swinging sword, and Rex was caught in the ribs with his own sword.
Sparks flew. Rex laughed.
"Feel that? Titan Cola armor, baby! Bulletproof, bombproof, chainsaw proof! He bent and the glowing logos upon his chest flushed. Sixty million of corporate upgrades! You can't touch me, old man!"
He struck Jack with the back of his hand. Jack struck the ropes, bounced back and used the forum to push his chainsaw into the shoulder joint of Rex. this time the blade went in further, striking something that sprayed neon-blue fluid.
Rex's grin faltered. "Hey! My performance enhancers! That shit's expensive!"
"OOOH, AND REX IS LOSING JUICE! "
This voice of black Baron resounded through the arena, mixed with mock concern. Jack raised his eyes there were cameras in all directions, flying drones in every direction.
FOLKS, that blue stuff is a proprietary blend of stimulants by Titan Cola side effects include rage, heart increase and sporadic spontaneous combustion! WILL REX BE HOT ENOUGH to incinerate the LEGEND! "
Rex's eyes went wide. "Shit."
The exposed stimulants inflamed.
His shoulder burst into blue flame that flew over his body illuminating the corporate logos. Not painful, Jack thought, Rex screamed. In fury. And the fire went, and before long the big bastard was running, striking harder, with his chainsaws whirling in a machete, and leaving traces behind.
"RAGE MODE ACTIVATED! " Baron crowed. WHEN titan cola says, Unleash the beast, they mean it! LITERALLY! Adrenal glands are now secreting sufficient hormones to kill an average human being! WATCH THOSE CHAINSAWS, JACK! "
The next blow was barely checked by Jack. The blow sent him down to his one knee, his artificial arm wailing in agony. Rex was standing over him, his two chainsaws in preparation to make a double decapitation.
"Night night, has been!"
Time slowed.
Jack knew it that old, not so new movement of the world, the world bleeding in black and white into full color. Now it worked automatically, the memory of years of combating. The crowd in hologram motion stood still half cheering. The chainsaws of Rex became very slow. And Jack looked everywhere and there were weak places glowing neon red.
The bare tank of the stimulant on the back of Rex spewing out blue fire. The cooling pipes leading to his chainsaw motors, which throb with pressure. his heart, bare and exposed with the patch of a sponsor.
"LEVEL THREE TRANCE MODE! The voice of Baron was low and nearly solemn. The reason behind this is that we are indeed living in the period when many individuals do not know when the world turns red and JACK decides enough of being a jester. BET, FOLKS, BEFORE YOU FORFEIT the WAR. "
Jack moved.
The real time of three seconds was thirty. He glided around the falling chainsaws of Rex as a river of water around a rock, then appeared behind him, and the chainsaw cut through the tank of stimulants in a single movement. There was a burst of blue fluid that fanned the fire, and the back of Rex was a torch.
Rex shouted wounded this time and turned round, and flailed himself in blindness. Jack ducked, dodged, flowed. Cutted the cooling lines to the left chainsaw. The motor choked, went off and the arm of Rex turned into a corpse.
"NO!" Rex bellowed. "MY SPONSORSHIP! MY RATINGS!"
The saw continued spinning on the right. Rex was swinging about, and panicky despair had taken the place of tactics. Jack allowed him to do so, and made a step to the right at the very nick of the time, and plunged his own blade into the flaming patch of sponsor over the heart of Rex.
The armor cracked. The blade bit deep. Blood, stimulant laced, glowing, nearly pretty, neon blue, sprayed in an arc across the ring.
Rex froze. Gazed at the chainsaw that stuck in his chest. Looked up at Jack.
"How...?"
Jack twisted the blade. The eyes of Rex opened, and you know what came inside them.
The big bastard crumpled. The holographic crowd broke cheering, screaming, throwing electronic roses and electronic insults. The ring canvas had been done in blue and red, Corporate colors, blended with human blood.
Jack stood over the body breathing hard. His chainsaw arm dripped.
"WHAT A MATCH! " Baron's voice boomed. Jack Cayman Steals the First Flooring in Style! THAT WILL hurt the stock price of THATS GOTTA HURT TITAN COLA! LET'S CHECK THE NUMBERS... YEP, DOWN TWELVE PERCENT! FOLKS, THEN, IF You want to invest in a company that will have a staying power, why not our next Sponsor DIAMOND FINANCE! THEY'RE EVIL AND PROUD! "
The ad played. Jack ignored it.
The VIP section, maybe, was the source of scrap wherever it was, it was a booth made of glass with a view of the ring. He was pale in his face, and retained his grin.
"That was--that was INCREDIBLE! You were like like I have no words! Just the manner in which you and afterward he and the blue stuff everywhere
"Save it." Jack headed towards the elevator. "How many floors left?"
Scrap checked his HUD. "Eighty eight."
"Great."
The elevator doors opened. Jack stepped inside. Scrap followed.
Reading the display, Scrap said, "Floor Twelve, dammit." "Diamond Finance. That is the CEO man with the gold miniguns. He's... uh... he's a lot."
"I've killed a lot."
"Yeah, but he's sponsored. Like, really sponsored. The entire floor he occupies is a theme of a stock exchange. Your odds of death appear in a ticker in real time.
The elevator began to rise.
The voice of Black Baron still resounded over their heads through some concealed speakers.
Next, Diamond Finance, THE BEAR MARKET. JACK CAYMAN, vs. CEO EXECUTUS A battle of shareholder value! WHO WILL CRASH? WHO WILL BURN? KNOW after this brief word our SPONSORS! "
The screens inside the elevator showed an advertisement of funeral insurance.
Scrap looked at Jack. They are putting a big bend on the theme.
"They always do."
The ad ended. The elevator kept rising. Eighty eight floors of sponsored death were waiting somewhere above.
Jack checked his chainsaw. Still sharp. Still hungry.
Still enough.