Chapter 18: After the Contest

The municipal transit vehicle rumbled towards the city’s edge as the sun began to set over New Baravia.

Several times over recent days, Miguel had fantasized about the look of stunned disbelief he would see on Dana Kampion’s face when he handed the money over. A pile of drubes, a moment of silence, followed by his confidently announcing, “It’s all there – count it. Double what I took.”

He had also pictured his own swagger as he turned his back on her, Rishi and their goons, leaving the scene a free man. Bratislav watching on, clapping silently, unsmiling but satisfied.

But now, instead, Miguel would have to go cap in hand. To beg for a reprieve, but in all likelihood face his death before the end of the day. For what reason did Dana Kampion have to show him mercy? At the same time, he knew that neither running nor hiding had any chance of success. New Baravia was big, but it wan’t that big, and Kampion’s reach was long. He would be found. And leaving the city clearly wasn’t an option. Where would he go?

To Technoburbia, and be shot for being a spy? Clearly, that was impossible. And joining the line of refugees outside the city would not exactly be subtle. He would be identified as soon as he reached the refugee camp gates.

No. Miguel knew that this journey could be his last, but he had to face the music. And if he had any hope of making it through at all, it lay with Bratislav. His old friend had helped him once before. Stuck his neck out. Clearly, the man had some influence. Would it be enough? And would Brat consider him to be worth saving, at this point?

Miguel knew, deep in his heart, that he had failed. He had been weak. It would have been perfectly possible for him to stick a dagger through Chloe Králová’s ribs at the same moment that she was frying the last giant centipede in the task. That would have been that. With Sid down, Miguel would have been the last contestant standing.

Instead he had watched on, reassured by a false sense of his comradeship with Chloe. Foolishly clinging to the idea that she would give him a fair, fighting chance.

He dismounted, leaving the sparsely-occupied wagon, and sniffed the air. There was a smell of burning that he didn’t recall from the last time he had been in this area. Some issue with the refugees, perhaps?

Despite having been shown time and again to be too soft, a part of him hoped that they were all right. And to hell with it – why should he apologize for the way he was? If he was going to die today, he may as well die with his humanity intact.

This time, Miguel didn’t get as far as walking towards the city wall, however. He had no sooner entered the same desolate gravel-strewn area when a large armored car pulled up, just like the ones that Dana Kampion and her followers had used before. Had she come in person again? That surprised him. Not that it mattered, really, but it was somehow harder to believe that she would want to observe his murder. That provided a glimmer of hope.

More importantly, was Bratislav there? Despite his having undoubtedly reached far beyond the boundaries of any leniency that he was likely to be shown, Miguel couldn’t help but think that if his old friend was in the vehicle, there was at least a chance – however remote – of his being spared. A few words of mercy... “He’s not worth getting your hands dirty over,” or something to that effect.

But when the rear window rolled down, the figure inside was the last person that Miguel expected to see.

“Sid?”

The tall red-haired warrior was sitting on one side of the vehicle's cabin, easily recognizable despite an uncharacteristic outfit consisting of a black suit and salmon pink tie. The man stretched forward to press a button on the door, which then opened with a buzzing noise.

“Miguel. Get in,” he said.

Miguel got in, and the vehicle started to move.

“You have a new job then,” he said to Sid as they drove off.

“Hmm.”

He was still uncertain about what this might mean for him, but one thing appeared fairly clear – Sid Geraghty had done enough during his time on Demon Hunters to impress the local gang leaders.

In a way, it wasn’t surprising that Dana Kampion would have paid some attention to what was going on in the show, given that she stood to profit directly if he himself had won, even if it was only her lackeys who were watching it. And from what Miguel had seen of Sid’s prowess with an axe, it was also easy for him to understand why a crime boss might want to recruit the man as one of their heavies.

Sid’s grunted response left him none the wiser, however, and Miguel found himself curious. “So – a life of crime for you now, is it?” he said. “And have you really thought this through?”

This time, Sid looked around at him. His red beard was just as long in real life, but today it was neatly braided and lined up with his tie. “Crime? Plenty of that going around, but no. That’s not what we’re here for, Miguel.”

“Then what?”

“You’ll see.”

That was as much information as Miguel could obtain, for the lone driver proved equally taciturn.

Before long, the vehicle had pulled off into a semi-circular bay off the side of a major road. To their right was a high plastered wall painted dark blue, with gun turrets every fifty yards or so. Four armed guards stood by a huge pair of iron gates.

The gates opened swiftly when the guards caught sight of their vehicle, and Miguel soon found himself looking out upon something entirely unfamiliar: a large, grassy area. If anything, it looked a little like one of the arenas from the contest. It was certainly a much wider and greener space than any that he had previously seen in the city of New Baravia.

Even the air looked cleaner.

The car pulled to a halt in front of a small, curiously-shaped building which couldn’t have contained more than five or ten apartments, and which had stairs running up the front of it. The others got out, and Miguel did too,

“Good morning,” said a woman’s voice, and he looked up to see the figure of Dana Champion, dressed just as opulently as before but in gold this time, with Bratislav just behind her.

“I’m really sorry,” Miguel began, thinking that he needed to take the initiative and come up with a creative solution before she got the chance to order his death.

“Miguel, stop talking,” said Bratislav.

Two of the nearby guards took a step closer, too, and Miguel stopped mid-sentence, his mouth hanging open. Bratislav folded his arms, peering at Miguel through narrowed eyes. Miguel got the sense that his old friend was unsettled.

“Miguel,” Dana continued. “We want you to go back into Demon Hunters.”

He frowned. “But I lost. I was killed. I’m sorry, but it’s all or nothing – I can’t reapply.”

She took a step closer, and Miguel could now smell a rich, spicy perfume. “You did lose,” she replied. “Technically, that is. But you finished in the top four, and were of some interest to the viewing audience. Your popularity was growing by the end.”

“Uh, sorry, but... what are you getting at?”

She pursed her lips, then spread her arms wide. “The publikum would like to see more of you, for some reason. They are interested in this game – and in you, it appears. Although that was just an entry contest, it generated a very large audience. Record numbers.”

Miguel was suddenly feeling a childlike excitement. Death was not on the menu after all? “So I was popular?” he said, feeling hesitant to grasp at this reprieve too quickly, but wanting it deeply all the same.

“Actually,” said Bratislav, walking forward to stand alongside his boss, “you were hated almost as much as you were adored – perhaps even more so. But the important thing is that they cared, even if many folks are just desperate to see you ripped to shreds by a demon as soon as possible.”

Miguel looked over towards Sid, who was standing nearby with his hands folded behind his back. Just then, another familiar figure emerged from the building and began to make her way down the steps. Tarja Tuomi.

Miguel’s eyes widened. “So, what are you asking of me? Of us?” He took a few steps over to stand closer to his fellow contenders. There was some sense of safety in numbers, he thought – at least until it was clear what their task might be.

“It has occurred to Madam Kampion and some of her associates that there is a lot of money to be made by entering a team into the next full series of Demon Hunters,” said Bratislav. “Old friend, we’d like you to come and stay here, and complete your training. Life’s about becoming a better person, right? You know that this game is mainly filled with millionaires. It’s time to take down the big guns, and make a profit from doing so.”

Tarja leaned forward. “And perhaps get some revenge on the brunette, Shmoop,” she said.

“No,” said Miguel. “I don’t think so.”

Dana’s eyebrows flickered, and the smallest hint of a frown crossed her serene face. “It’s not a request, Mr. Rubio. You owe me – and you have no other way to pay. Without this contest you will once again be of no value to me whatsoever, except to provide an example to those who might cross me in future.”

“I mean, as for entering the contest, yes – I will do it,” he hastily corrected himself. “Thank you for the opportunity. But I’m not looking for revenge on Chloe. She did what had to be done, and played the game.”

“You’ll do what we ask you to do,” said Bratislav, his handsome face stern.

Dana had already turned and begun to mount the steps, and Sid turned away too. Tarja took a step closer to Miguel. “Are you coming inside?” she said.

Just then, Bratislav walked over to Miguel’s other side and put one hand on his friend’s shoulder. “Here I am, sticking my neck out for you again,” he murmured, “and you can’t just say ‘thank you’? Come on. You’d better kick some ass this time. Stay focused – no distractions.”

Miguel looked sideways at his childhood friend, then reached around his shoulders to squeeze him in a hug. “It’s appreciated, Brat,” he murmured. “I won’t let you down.”