Chapter 11: In Between

Bursting through the glowing gate in the center of the island, Miguel found himself not back in the huge square preparation room as he had expected, but in a small oblong chamber, only large enough to hold one person.

Notification: You have gained 49XP

That would be for making it to the gate in the lead, he supposed. A strange number to award, however...

The chamber was little more than a cell. In fact, it was worse. There was, quite literally, standing room only. Not a great reward for his efforts, then, with no way to refresh himself or rest.

Looking up, he saw a barred metal grate directly overhead. It was letting in a little light. Below was solid ground, but it was damp and dark; he realized that he was now standing in around two inches of water, but it made little difference – the time on the raft had left his clothing soaked up to the knees in any case.

In this digital reality, at least.

The walls to his sides and back were solid, appearing to be made of smoothly set concrete, and there was a reinforced wooden door in front. A check quickly confirmed that it was locked.

Miguel raised himself up, pulling on the grate to lift his head as high as it would go within the confined space. He could see a glow coming from somewhere, but no detail whatsoever. It just looked like a large, white ceiling with ambient lighting. And the grate was solid.

He tried the door one more time. There was a handle, metal, and no sign of a lock, but yet it didn’t open. More than likely it would open only when the show-runners of Demon Hunters decided that the time was right, and not when he wanted it to.

Damn. He had been looking forward to a reset and a rest, and perhaps a chance to check on the other contenders’ stats. He could well remember the top three from before:

1) Sid Geraghty 2) Tarja Tuomi 3) Youssef Gabriel

The popular Youssef Gabriel was now out of the game, that much he knew – he had just seen the man disappear beneath the surface of the water, and Tarja must have fallen too, if not from Chloe’s sword wound then on her arrival at the gate, where Youssef had been waiting with his bow and arrow.

Would it backfire on Chloe that she had struck Tarja from behind, unprovoked? Or would the audience recognize good, ruthless play when they saw it, and root for her because she had backed up an ally?

After all, Tarja had shot at him in an unprovoked attack just moments before.

For now, the popular reaction remained to be seen.

As for Sid, Miguel was fairly sure the man was still in the contest, but he must have entered the gate something close to last. This might lead to a disadvantage of some kind, but the main issue was whether the red-bearded man had indeed galvanized several others into an alliance. If, as it appeared, Miguel had made it through the gate first, then any such team would see him as their main threat now. Meaning he would be their primary target.

Just then, the guide’s voice rang out.

“Contenders. We are down to the last eight. Congratulations on getting this far. But only one of you can win.”

Miguel shrugged at this. Besides confirming that Sid and a few others had made it through after him, it was nothing he didn't already know.

“You will see a door in front of you,” the voice continued. “These doors will open in order, according to your time on the last task. This will give the contenders who were fastest an advantage in the coming demon hunt of our contest.

“For the next trial, we have disabled the effects of your weapons on each other. This means that there is no point in attacking fellow contestants until the main foe has been killed. If and when that goal is achieved, then this restriction will be lifted for a final ‘showdown’ trial. The last man or woman standing will proceed to the main competition, and take part in the next season of Demon Hunters.

“Good luck.”

Miguel stood considering this last statement.

Luck.

But was it? Or skill? Or something else... When some contenders had more drubes to spend than others? There were a number of factors that had contributed to this particular group becoming the last eight standing, and luck was only one of them.

It was a system that aimed to put people not under threats that they would overcome by chance, but that would test them to the limits of their initiative and skill. And, he further realized, you can tell quite a lot about people by the decisions they make under pressure.

Or at least, so it appeared.

But to him, though, it didn’t quite seem fair. And what makes a person’s snap decisions – without the benefit of thinking through a strategy – any less a reflection of the real person than those which are done with some careful consideration?

As he replayed the events of the previous task in his mind, he suddenly remembered the ring he had retrieved, and looked down at his hand. Sure enough, it was still there, glinting in the light that glimmered down through the metal grate.

Had anyone else been wearing one? He tried to picture Tarja’s hand on her pistol. He didn’t recall seeing a ring. What about Chloe’s arms around his waist, he asked himself. He would have noticed, right? Or perhaps not. He should ask Chloe when he got the chance.

If she was still talking to him.

Miguel’s musings distracted him to the extent that he almost didn’t notice the door swing open in front of him.

Steeling himself for what lay ahead, he stepped out slowly, and found himself in an area that was rather like the huge square room that they had started in, but for the lack of benches and equipment. There were other doors like the one he had come from along both sides – eighteen in all. The only other notable feature, besides the ever-present drones, was a set of glowing green arrows in the floor, each pointing towards a wide arched opening at the far end of the room.

Another person was emerging from a door on the far side, and she began to run towards him. Short blonde hair, muscular, and wearing a bandolier of knives...

“Tarja?” Miguel put his hand to the hilt of the axe at his belt, ready to defend himself... and then remembered that player-versus-player combat had been temporarily disabled. “I didn’t think you’d made it.”

“Keep your weapon to yourself, Shmoop,” she said as she reached the midpoint of the room, “unless you just want to show it off for the viewers. Now come on – we have to go this way. Let’s not waste our lead.”

The pair began to hurry in the direction indicated by the arrows.

“We are first two, then?”

“Yeah. We da best.” She giggled, and for the first time, Miguel considered that there might be a little more to Tarja than just the badass warrior that he had observed from a distance.

“Okay... nice,” he replied. “Well done us.”

She peered at him as they hurried on, a half-smile playing on her lips. “In the lead going by the latest task times, I should add, and not by popularity.”

Burn.

“Well, that’s the way this game is set up, I suppose,” he replied lamely.

“I can see that, Shmoop! Of course it’s radically unfair, because I was well ahead of you on both counts, but here we are. And for some reason they decided to put the two of us in as a pair.” She looked him up and down at the last comment, and he didn’t know whether she was sizing up his likely fighting prowess or his looks.

“I don’t know why they put us in at the same time, to be honest,” he said.

“We’ll now get some slight advantage, I suppose.” She glanced sideways at him, narrowing her eyes. “Not as much as Youssef and I were hoping.”

“You were working with him?”

She nodded. “In and out of the game. Damn shame you took the guy down.”

“I’m... I’m sorry about that.” He shrugged. “Though it kinda feels weird to speak to you about it now.”

She shrugged her muscular shoulders. “I thought the pair of us might have it sown up for a moment there. But that’s the game, and I don’t doubt that I’d have done the same in your boots.”

Miguel noticed that she glanced up fractionally towards one of the hovering drones as she spoke. Was her speech designed to win favor with the publikum, he wondered?

They had now passed the glowing arrows, and were arriving at the broad archway. As Tarja stepped through, Miguel held up one arm in front of her to get her attention. “Listen – perhaps we should find a way to work together?”

She paused and looked sideways at him. “Against Sid?”

“No, I mean... all of us, all the contenders as a group. Stand together.”

She laughed loudly, throwing her head back. “A revolutionary? Sticking it to the show’s bosses? That should play well with the publikum. I like it.”

Miguel snorted. “Revolution is not really my strong suit, I don’t think. It’s just, you know... It kind of feels like we’re all being used.”

“Hmm.”

She stepped past him, and continued through the archway and onwards into a corridor with more smooth concrete walls on either side, and golden ambient light from the smooth ceiling above. There was a grinding noise as the archway immediately closed behind them, a sliding door revealing itself.

They continued in silence for a short time. Ahead, the corridor curved around in a long featureless loop until they reached a set of double doors, this time closed, and they turned to face each other again.

“I just think that we could do better, you know?” said Miguel. “Win support not so much by kicking each other’s ass, but by being, I dunno... heroic, I suppose.”

She stood looking him up and down thoughtfully. “You're not terrible to look at. And I suppose your friendship with the brunette should help matters.”

“How so?”

“A bit of flirting, of course. It plays well. Like me and Youssef.”

He raised his eyebrows. “During the game?”

“Of course.” She narrowed her eyes again; despite her ditzy manner, there was a deep cunning behind those eyes, Miguel thought to himself.

“What do the publikum like to see?” she continued. “Youssef and I made out during the first task. Right in the killing fields, and in the heat of battle. I clung onto his muscular arms, and he waggled his ponytail.”

Miguel blinked. “Then I guess I’m surprised you weren’t ranked one and two.”

She glanced sideways again, grinning broadly, then shook her head. “The only reason that Sid got ahead of us was that he put in the killing blow on both ‘pedes. He took a load of hits doing it, too. The guy’s an utter monster. I can’t imagine how many drubes he spent on extra hit points.”

Miguel had been looking at the closed doors in front of them, but now he looked around at Tarja. “You can buy extra hit points?”

Another cynical peal of laughter. “Cutie, that is the only thing you should spend money on. You didn’t pay to upgrade your strength, did you?” She leant forward and patted his bulging bicep as she spoke.

Miguel sucked in air through his teeth and shook his head, annoyed with himself. In effect, the truthful answer was ‘yes’. He had chosen an above-average stat of 14, when he could have gone with 10 and saved his 400 drubes.

“Although,” he murmured defensively, “it can be pretty useful, you know, to have good strength.”

“I’m sure it is, Shmoop. Well, you can always look forward to spending your new XP. Now, weapons out – these doors are opening.”