Finalist (Neo-Tokyo Death Battle, Book 3)

By Kenneth Guthrie

A final twist in the game puts Eric Stet into a position where he must choose between what he loves most and the good of what remains of the world. With little time left before the worst comes about, he must live through bitter betrayls and make unlikely alliances to stop that which might end them all.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lunatic Ink Publishing
• Release date: Feb 28, 2015
• ISBN: 9781311695079

Kenneth Guthrie

Kenneth Guthrie is a writer of sci-fi, fantasy and crime novels.Profile image credit: Vincent Gerbouin at Pexels.com

Book preview

FINALIST

Neo-Tokyo Death Battle Book 3

Kenneth Guthrie

Copyright 2015 Lunatic Ink Publishing

Books In This Series:

Survivor

Hunted

Finalist

Find more at Kenneth Guthrie’s Book List

ONE

You might say that it's turtles all the way down, Jack states.

Eric rubs his chest where the scar that the technician that just sewed up his chest – presumably to bring him back to life after being stabbed straight through the stomach by a metal pole – has started to itch a little bit. He waits for the other man to say something but he doesn't.

The young man sighs. It has been a difficult day. Eric is not entirely sure that he follows what his enemy/savior is saying.

So what that means is there's no terrorist organization?

Yes and no. We play our part, just as I suspect other organizations that oversee us play theirs and others above them theirs. That's what I mean by the turtles comment.

I see.

A cold burst of wind pours through the door as a man dressed in army green steps in, salutes and hands over a digital file via the man's halo screen.

Good. Let me know what happens on this.

The man salutes casually and walks from the room. Watching him go, the young man wonders what is going on. Jack turns to him with an solemn look.

The focus of the game is no longer you, he states.

But I won.

Yes, but your purpose was inspiration.

Inspiration of what? Eric asks, shifting about on the bench he is sitting on and tasting a faintly metallic flavor entering his mouth.

The rabbit's purpose is not to be caught by the hounds, but to inspire the fox, Jack states. Can you guess who that might be? We are talking about someone close to you.

Mina.

Jack leans against the wall and waits for what must be an obvious question by now.

What is your aim?

Ours? We are here to counter the fox's actions in the game. That was my job from the moment I met you. Unfortunately, this time around the organizers played a fair game. I never would have thought that old man had the guts to pull off a stunt like he did with those city destroyers. That was truly inspired.

What are they going to do to her? Eric asks.

It's not what they are going to have her do, but she will choose to do it given the right pressure. My job is to see that she doesn't. And, you, my dear little rabbit, are changing sides. The fox is only really susceptible to the hunter. That is your role.

Jack pushes off the wall and lugs a large black rifle over his shoulder where it attaches magnetically to his back.

Wait. I have more questions.

They can wait, is all Jack says before heading to the door.

The young man puts out a hand to stop the man and falls from the table to the stone floor. His fingers grates along the rough surface as he slowly pulls himself upwards to support his weight while Eric tries to stand on shaking legs that won't carry his weight.

You'll find that the operation has its side effects, Jack notes from above. I hope you understand that it was necessary. You are the most important game piece we have and I can't allow you to run around as freely as you did. The nano-machines in your heart will ache a bit. Considering what we are going to have you do, it is quite appropriate.

He turns and leaves. The door clangs shut. It's like the sound of the coffin lid closing on Eric's life.

TWO

Feverish nightmares plague her dreams. Mina jerks awake.

Where am I? she whispers again.

The huge man, nearly tall enough to have his head touch the ceiling and with muscles bigger than any human should have, turns from where he is staring out the window, perhaps lost again in thought as he has tended to do over the past few days that she has been stuck coming in and out of the dream.

A small apartment. It's about 500 meters north of where we were hiding.

Mina rubs her head and tries to sit up. Her stomach muscles give way part way through the action and she falls to the bed to sigh and clean her sweaty face with a rag from nearby.

Did they find us again? she asks.

No, the large man named Luther replies. I'm just being prudent.

The young woman lifts a cup of water off the bed side table and sucks it down by lifting her visor and pouring it down her throat as fast as she can before any air gets in. She holds her breath and waits until the air cleansers have done their work and then puts the cup back.

I feel better today, she notes. Maybe we can go out and look for him.

Her huge companion shakes his head and comes to stand above her.

Take my hand.

This time the woman manages to get the limb to reach out – the best response than she has had in days – and grasp his palm. He waits as she readies herself.

Go.

Her muscles strain. Mina pushes upwards, but it is not enough. 1% of her nano-machines drip away, leaving her with 799% remaining. Luther puts her hand down on the bed gently.

You should be almost as strong as me with all that junk I pumped you full of. It's your mind that isn't ready for you to get out of that bed, not your body.

She rubs her hand and squeezes it a bit. Now that she remembers – now that the effect of the drugs she was pumped full of are gone. All the young woman wants to do is find her fiancee Eric and get out of this game. The organizers might dog them from country to country, but eventually they would get away. They have survived in this hell long enough to be victorious in two of three rounds. That should mean something.

I will be ready tonight.

Luther turns back to the window and looks out across the smoldering rubble that is Neo-Tokyo. The scent of burning buildings has subsided and now only the stink of the air pollution remains. He runs a finger over a small set of cuts that run down the front of his face, ones that have healed only recently, even with the large amount of nano-machines that both of them have been pounding into their systems to aid their recoveries. His fingernails extend and harden into rock hard claws. He closes his fist and they slowly wilt away.

Rest, he states, And be ready. If you can stand then we will hunt for him.

Luther sits and rubs his hand for awhile before turning back to the window and his thoughts. Lying back down, Mina does the same. Love, a war and the game.

THREE

The organizer paces across the small, semi-dark room waiting for some news on the topic that has kept him out of bed for days on end, even at his old age of 65.

A beep sounds from the wall to the left.

Lights.

His office is illuminated. A bunch of pictures that he is no longer sure are real line the walls. They show friends and family and images of accomplishments that he cannot verify. The man's desk is large and scattered with reports from the scouting groups. There is a large black leather chair behind the desk that hasn't been sat in for all of the months that he has made this place his own.

What is it?

Sir, we have made some progress with Project 25.

Good. Anything on the girl?

Not yet.

The old man groans and grabs up the gold tipped cane that is sitting on the rack near the desk and starts for the door.

Get me a security detail and have the technicians meet me at Lab 72.

Yes, sir. I will communicate that to them.

Turning to the large metal door, the organizer puts his hand to the palm reader. It opens and he strides out into the hallway. The guards meet him near the elevator. They line up on either side of him, heavy weapons at the ready and, the old man notes, grim looks on their faces. Their expressions are understandable, of course. What is waiting down there are horrors that the older man would rather not have to see or meet, let alone be the one in control of.

They step inside of the large metal interior and one of the soldiers swipes his arm across the sensor to obtain clearance to go down to the labs. The elevator speeds downwards. Motion sickness runs in the old man's family and he feels it eating away at his gut as they descend. As this ride is a long one, he is feeling less than pleasant when they hop outside.

He takes a moment to reassert some control over himself and starts the short walk to Lab 72. The underground compound is breezy and a little warm. Above him bright lights leave shadows that makes one sometimes feel like there might be someone standing in a corner behind them. Of course, when they turn, they find nothing but their own shadow. One day the old man firmly believes that his shadow will turn into one of those things they captured and eat him alive where he stands.

Four technicians stand waiting. They are shifting about from foot to foot in excitement. The old man wonders at the similarities in them as he always does. Same haircut, same clothing, they could be brothers. If so, in his