The Immortality Game

«There are many places like this around the world,» Javier said. «I’ve come across dozens of them.»

«Why don’t you do something about it?»

«If you knew how much evil there is in people, you’d understand the futility of what you’re suggesting.»

«You could at least—»

«Go back! Fast!»

«What?»

«Now! A guard is coming!»

The nausea of the recent encounter was still roiling his stomach. Tyoma gripped his belly harder and turned to jog back the way he’d come. He was in good shape for his age, but he wasn’t used to running and began panting hard after only half a minute.

“Hey!” came a shout behind him. “You there!”

Tyoma picked up the pace. He heard running steps catching up to him. There seemed to be no end to this hall, but he saw the open door to his own room and hurried the last few steps to duck inside. Panting hard, he tried to slide the door shut with his hand, but it wouldn’t budge.

A big guard skidded to a halt just outside the door and stared in at Tyoma. “What are you…‌Oskar! You…‌you killed Oskar! Fuck!” The man whipped out a pistol and aimed it at Tyoma’s chest. “Get back, now, all the way to the wall!”

“I didn’t do it,” Tyoma said, shuffling backwards until his back hit the wall. “I swear. He—”

“Shut the fuck up!” The guard kept the gun on Tyoma as he knelt and put a finger to Oskar’s neck. “Huh, still alive. What did you do to him?”

“Nothing. He did it himself.”

The guard stood up straight and advanced on Tyoma, his face twisted in anger. “Oskar was a good guy. Tell me again how he just up and knocked himself out!”

“I…”

The guard kicked Tyoma in the calf, sending him staggering into a corner.

“Ow! The general said—”

“I don’t give a fuck what the general said. Viktor said we couldn’t damage your mind, but what we do with the rest of you depends on your behavior.” The guard looked back at Oskar. “Based on what I see, you’ve earned this.”

Tyoma saw the gun come up. Saw the guard squinting as he aimed carefully down the length of the barrel.

“No! Please!”

Tyoma saw his left kneecap explode as he heard the roar of the gun. All went black.

Moscow

Sunday, June 8, 2138

7:56 p.m. MSK

That’s it! It’s time to kill the fucker!

Tavik sprinted through the metro tunnel, trying to catch up to the wildly swinging light that was all he could see of Bunny in the darkness ahead. He wished he had thought of the metro earlier, as it seemed like a perfect place to off the big bastard and get away with it.

I can blame it on the Trogs. Tell Viktor that Bunny killed a few of them and the others tore him to pieces.

Tavik couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt this angry. Following Zoya into the metro entrance and encountering the two Trog guards, he had been prepared to give up the chase for the time being, figuring that Zoya would have to come up for air at some point. But Bunny had attacked the guards, breaking the neck of the woman and forcing Tavik to draw his .45 and shoot the other. Then while Tavik yelled at Bunny to give it up, the huge bastard had plowed down the stairs like a charging bull. A shotgun had gone off, and by the time Tavik made it to the landing Bunny had vanished down the escalator, leaving a moaning, bleeding guard behind. He couldn’t say what had gotten into Bunny—Could anyone ever know what went through his pea brain?—but the man was moving faster than Tavik had thought possible. Tavik had stumbled down the dark escalator after him and had been trying to catch up with him since.

He cursed his own stupidity. Bunny had had the sense to snatch up a lamp before plunging into the tunnel, but Tavik had been so intent on keeping within sight of the huge man that he hadn’t grabbed a light of his own. He pushed himself to run faster, all the time worrying he would trip over a rail or some other piece of debris on the tracks.

He probed the painful lump on the back of his head and thanked God that the bitch with the bass had only caught him a glancing blow. I probably wouldn’t have gotten up otherwise. As it was, pain radiated all the way down to his shoulders, his forehead throbbed, and tears coursed down his cheeks. The pounding of his running feet only made it worse.

“Bunny!” he cried out, hoping the crazy bastard might slow down. He yanked out his .45 and promptly fumbled it away. It made a clattering sound in the darkness, but there was no time to stop and search for it, so he cursed again and kept running. He still had his shard pistol, though he had rarely used it, since the ammo was so costly and hard to procure.