Read Online Endgame (Voluntary Eradicators) by Nenia Campbell - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Nenia Campbell
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rubs at her temples. “Then I'm not sure what we can do.”
“ Don't feel bad.” Tash turns to Ariel. “Maybe he managed a manual override.”
“ I don't see how. That room is encrypted with a pass code. Only the MoGs know it.”
“ Could he have gotten the code from someone? Or sneaked in?”
“ I doubt it.” Ariel sighs. “But I'll add a tracing algorithm to the archive data files just in case. If someone adds code, it'll log the user ID and the time of the change. But it'll have to wait until next time. Kira, Catan, Suryan, a couple of the Weavers and Spinners, and I, all made changes at various times throughout the day to repair various bugs and glitches.”
“ Thanks.” Vol scratches at the back of her neck. She realizes she is still wearing the ice-blue dress and the silver mask and suddenly has the pressing urge to take a shower. She thinks she might have a pretty good idea who they are from now. “I think I'm going to call it a night.”
“ Goodnight,” Ariel says.
“ Are you sure?” Tash looks disappointed. “Ariel and I were going to go to the Spider after her shift.”
“ The Spider?”
“ It's a bar.” Ariel's eyes dare Vol to comment. Tower residents aren't supposed to drink.
“ At midnight, all the drinks are half-off.” Tash grins at the prospect. “Want to come with us?”
One glance at Ariel's face says accepting is out of the question.
(She thinks you're just golden — and you're going to break her heart.)
Vol smiles tightly. “No. Thanks, but I don't think that's going to help.”
“ Too bad,” Ariel says cheerfully. “Maybe next time — if you're feeling better, that is.”
“ Did he hurt you?” Tash whispers, too quietly for Ariel to hear. “Are you all right?”
Light flashes before her eyes, forming complex designs of swirls and dots that stand out in relief against the background of agony. Vol stumbles back from the black-haired girl and digs the heel of her hand into her eyes, wishing it would flip that magic switch inside her head that shuts off the pain.
“ I have to go.”
She thinks Tash might have called after her.
Then again, it might just be an echo.
Vol runs to the elevators and collapses against the interior wall. The metal feels cold against her feverish bare skin, and she cradles her head in her hands as she sinks down to the floor. The mask slips from her face and splits neatly in half with a quiet tink . Vol doesn't notice.
Her brain feels like rotten fruit, cracked and ready to burst. And all the ugliness inside that has been locked away for gods know how many years — all the festering unpleasantness that she can't and won't remember — all of that is growing stronger and more putrescence, and oozing out blackened memories like pus from a half-healed wound.
A wound that will never heal if she doesn't let herself remember.
A wound that might kill her if she does.
I'm damned either way . She can feel her thoughts receding like the tide. I'm already infected .
And there's no cure .
The elevator slides open. Vol staggers to her feet. Somehow, she manages to get her shaking hand to slide the card through the lock of her room. She steps inside, tearing off the ice-blue dress without a thought for the delicate fabric. She pulls on a nightshirt, threadbare and worn, and huddles under her quilt. Even if there is a cure , she thinks, sometimes the treatment can be worse than the disease .
And then, slowly, she sinks into the quicksand of dreams.
The stone floors are slick with rivulets of bloods and the rancid stench of death .
Over the sounds of wild cheers, she hears a few people screaming and retching and crying . Some are doing all three . Their fear is almost as nauseating as the smells rising up from the coliseum floor, and she finds herself stumbling, as though her feet are stone blocks . Clunky, unwieldy, she finds herself knee-deep in muck and ends up emptying her own stomach .
A short stocky man dressed in purple robes
“ Don't feel bad.” Tash turns to Ariel. “Maybe he managed a manual override.”
“ I don't see how. That room is encrypted with a pass code. Only the MoGs know it.”
“ Could he have gotten the code from someone? Or sneaked in?”
“ I doubt it.” Ariel sighs. “But I'll add a tracing algorithm to the archive data files just in case. If someone adds code, it'll log the user ID and the time of the change. But it'll have to wait until next time. Kira, Catan, Suryan, a couple of the Weavers and Spinners, and I, all made changes at various times throughout the day to repair various bugs and glitches.”
“ Thanks.” Vol scratches at the back of her neck. She realizes she is still wearing the ice-blue dress and the silver mask and suddenly has the pressing urge to take a shower. She thinks she might have a pretty good idea who they are from now. “I think I'm going to call it a night.”
“ Goodnight,” Ariel says.
“ Are you sure?” Tash looks disappointed. “Ariel and I were going to go to the Spider after her shift.”
“ The Spider?”
“ It's a bar.” Ariel's eyes dare Vol to comment. Tower residents aren't supposed to drink.
“ At midnight, all the drinks are half-off.” Tash grins at the prospect. “Want to come with us?”
One glance at Ariel's face says accepting is out of the question.
(She thinks you're just golden — and you're going to break her heart.)
Vol smiles tightly. “No. Thanks, but I don't think that's going to help.”
“ Too bad,” Ariel says cheerfully. “Maybe next time — if you're feeling better, that is.”
“ Did he hurt you?” Tash whispers, too quietly for Ariel to hear. “Are you all right?”
Light flashes before her eyes, forming complex designs of swirls and dots that stand out in relief against the background of agony. Vol stumbles back from the black-haired girl and digs the heel of her hand into her eyes, wishing it would flip that magic switch inside her head that shuts off the pain.
“ I have to go.”
She thinks Tash might have called after her.
Then again, it might just be an echo.
Vol runs to the elevators and collapses against the interior wall. The metal feels cold against her feverish bare skin, and she cradles her head in her hands as she sinks down to the floor. The mask slips from her face and splits neatly in half with a quiet tink . Vol doesn't notice.
Her brain feels like rotten fruit, cracked and ready to burst. And all the ugliness inside that has been locked away for gods know how many years — all the festering unpleasantness that she can't and won't remember — all of that is growing stronger and more putrescence, and oozing out blackened memories like pus from a half-healed wound.
A wound that will never heal if she doesn't let herself remember.
A wound that might kill her if she does.
I'm damned either way . She can feel her thoughts receding like the tide. I'm already infected .
And there's no cure .
The elevator slides open. Vol staggers to her feet. Somehow, she manages to get her shaking hand to slide the card through the lock of her room. She steps inside, tearing off the ice-blue dress without a thought for the delicate fabric. She pulls on a nightshirt, threadbare and worn, and huddles under her quilt. Even if there is a cure , she thinks, sometimes the treatment can be worse than the disease .
And then, slowly, she sinks into the quicksand of dreams.
The stone floors are slick with rivulets of bloods and the rancid stench of death .
Over the sounds of wild cheers, she hears a few people screaming and retching and crying . Some are doing all three . Their fear is almost as nauseating as the smells rising up from the coliseum floor, and she finds herself stumbling, as though her feet are stone blocks . Clunky, unwieldy, she finds herself knee-deep in muck and ends up emptying her own stomach .
A short stocky man dressed in purple robes
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