Read Online Arena Mode by Blake Northcott - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Blake Northcott
Ads: Link
Slayer, a nasty red slug that burst into flames when it made impact, the Green Scorpion, a long silver bullet filled with acid that was capable of searing through armor, and Thor’s Hammer, a bright blue projectile that zapped its target with a million volts of electricity. If I’d been on the receiving end of one of those, there’s no telling if my chest plate would have held up.
Having my face scanned by a security camera was a necessity – I had to go public. The state of New York was one of the more progressive when it came to superhumans, but that was little consolation at the time. I didn’t know if the local police would see a vigilante with powers as a threat, or if they’d simply shrug it off as one of the hundreds of violent crimes committed every day in and around the Dark Zone – most of which weren’t even investigated. I couldn’t imagine the cops getting emotional about a trio of career criminals being beaten and tied up outside of a liquor store, but public reaction to superhumans wasn’t always rational.
The one assurance I had was that no bomb fragments would be found at the crime scene. According to Gavin’s supplier, the state-of-the-art explosive he purchased was designed to disintegrate; made of a new synthetic polymer, every part of the device would turn to dust during detonation.
Gavin pulled the van up to my apartment block, and I finished packing my armor into a protective suitcase, snapping it shut. Peyton hugged me from the backseat and gently kissed my cheek, assuring me that everything would be fine. I nodded and smiled, but didn’t know what to say. Gavin patted my shoulder and told me he’d call later, and I thanked him for everything; I never imagined anyone would risk this much for me, and go to such lengths to save my life. I felt like he wanted me to live more than I did, and I couldn’t figure out why. Whatever Gavin and Peyton saw in me, they felt it was worth saving – and it made me want to prove them right.
The next few hours in my apartment were the most tension-filled of my life. I paced, hyperventilated, and consumed so many cans of Red Bull that I was practically vibrating. I couldn’t relax, knowing that this part of the plan was completely out of my control. I had to simply wait and see if Cameron Frost took notice of the incredibly dangerous publicity stunt that we pulled off, less than ten miles from his megatower in The City.
Night fell, and my anxiety only worsened. I checked the internet incessantly, and news reports continued to spread about the incident. I had been identified, and my name was all over the web: Matthew Moxon, age twenty-nine, a resident of The Fringe. Average height, short brown hair, presumed dangerous. No one mentioned Hoboken or my specific apartment block, so I had to assume they didn’t know where I lived.
Aside from a handful of my close friends (two, to be exact) and a landlord who didn’t know my real name, no one knew my location, which is why the blood in my veins froze solid when I heard a series of loud thumps resonating along my concrete walls. Someone had bypassed multiple security measures and was now knocking impatiently on my steel door.
I rushed to my laptop and accessed the security camera installed in the hallway, and when it blinked into focus my heart stopped. Six police officers armed with assault rifles.
And as the knocking persisted, one of them shouted my name.
In the comics, Batman made it look easy. When his back was up against the wall, he’d just reach into his utility belt and pull out one of his toys: a smoke grenade, a grappling hook, a laser, or any one of a hundred other gadgets that would assist him with a life-or-death situation. Not to mention he was a bad-ass ninja. Unfortunately, the deadliest weapons I had in my apartment were the contents of my kitchen, and I sure as hell wasn’t rushing into combat against a half-dozen cops, armed with no more than a frying pan and two weeks’
Having my face scanned by a security camera was a necessity – I had to go public. The state of New York was one of the more progressive when it came to superhumans, but that was little consolation at the time. I didn’t know if the local police would see a vigilante with powers as a threat, or if they’d simply shrug it off as one of the hundreds of violent crimes committed every day in and around the Dark Zone – most of which weren’t even investigated. I couldn’t imagine the cops getting emotional about a trio of career criminals being beaten and tied up outside of a liquor store, but public reaction to superhumans wasn’t always rational.
The one assurance I had was that no bomb fragments would be found at the crime scene. According to Gavin’s supplier, the state-of-the-art explosive he purchased was designed to disintegrate; made of a new synthetic polymer, every part of the device would turn to dust during detonation.
Gavin pulled the van up to my apartment block, and I finished packing my armor into a protective suitcase, snapping it shut. Peyton hugged me from the backseat and gently kissed my cheek, assuring me that everything would be fine. I nodded and smiled, but didn’t know what to say. Gavin patted my shoulder and told me he’d call later, and I thanked him for everything; I never imagined anyone would risk this much for me, and go to such lengths to save my life. I felt like he wanted me to live more than I did, and I couldn’t figure out why. Whatever Gavin and Peyton saw in me, they felt it was worth saving – and it made me want to prove them right.
The next few hours in my apartment were the most tension-filled of my life. I paced, hyperventilated, and consumed so many cans of Red Bull that I was practically vibrating. I couldn’t relax, knowing that this part of the plan was completely out of my control. I had to simply wait and see if Cameron Frost took notice of the incredibly dangerous publicity stunt that we pulled off, less than ten miles from his megatower in The City.
Night fell, and my anxiety only worsened. I checked the internet incessantly, and news reports continued to spread about the incident. I had been identified, and my name was all over the web: Matthew Moxon, age twenty-nine, a resident of The Fringe. Average height, short brown hair, presumed dangerous. No one mentioned Hoboken or my specific apartment block, so I had to assume they didn’t know where I lived.
Aside from a handful of my close friends (two, to be exact) and a landlord who didn’t know my real name, no one knew my location, which is why the blood in my veins froze solid when I heard a series of loud thumps resonating along my concrete walls. Someone had bypassed multiple security measures and was now knocking impatiently on my steel door.
I rushed to my laptop and accessed the security camera installed in the hallway, and when it blinked into focus my heart stopped. Six police officers armed with assault rifles.
And as the knocking persisted, one of them shouted my name.
In the comics, Batman made it look easy. When his back was up against the wall, he’d just reach into his utility belt and pull out one of his toys: a smoke grenade, a grappling hook, a laser, or any one of a hundred other gadgets that would assist him with a life-or-death situation. Not to mention he was a bad-ass ninja. Unfortunately, the deadliest weapons I had in my apartment were the contents of my kitchen, and I sure as hell wasn’t rushing into combat against a half-dozen cops, armed with no more than a frying pan and two weeks’
Similar Books
