Fake Michael met his eyes and gave a slight nod.
“Good. Thank you. That makes this much easier.” He was no longer wearing the turtleneck and jacket. He was dressed in the type of Adidas jump suit you would see mobsters wearing in the Sopranos.
“With the exception of Mr.-I-don’t-know-what-the-fuck-his-name-is, you all get the privilege of trying to earn your Elite status here. Win three times, and you become an Elite citizen.” He spoke as if we should be jumping for joy. Kyle perked up.
“Listen man, not to be a dick, but we just met Michael. I don’t want to see anything bad happen to the guy because we’ve been through a lot together, but we have not done shit. We haven’t broken any of your rules. All we did was get caught up in a lie that was much bigger than what we had any clue about.”
“Ahhhh, yes. So why would we ask you to participate in the Arena as gladiators? That is a good question. Very true, we have no basis for putting you in the Arena, based on what Michael has done. Why, that would not be fair at all.”
That coldhearted prick. He was toying with us.
“But then again,” Gordon continued, “you have broken one of our three rules. You shall not hurt, kill or maim an Elitist.” The words sucker punched me in the face.
“What? Who?” I blurted when a man entered the room. He was wearing a bandage across his forehead and part of his face, which he started to unwrap as he walked. Two layers off, I knew who it was. My heart sank.
Mr. Cul-de-sac Chauffer, that bald asshole from the rooftop who left us to die, finished unwrapping the bandage to display one hell of a gash that ran across his forehead and down his face. It was just barely starting to heal, and it made him look far more crazed that he actually was.
“Remember me, boys?” Chauffer asked mildly.
“You left us to die, you bald fuck!” Kyle spat in anger.
“Not the story we heard, Gentlemen,” Gordon butted in. “Chauffer here says you split his head open with a metal pole and left him for dead in some parking garage. He’s lucky to be here after catching one of the last helicopters out of New York.”
Chauffer’s speech was a little messed up. You could tell that he was in pain when he spoke, but that didn’t stop him from saying,
“I wanted to personally come down here so you would know that I am the reason you’re not being released. When I saw you at that table, I couldn’t believe my luck. You assholes are going to get what’s coming to you in Arena. You’re going to pay for this scar.”
Never trust our leaders. The words reverberated through my head. Kyle grabbed the bars of his cell as if to merely bend them out of his way.
“We didn’t do shit, you coward. You ran away and left us to die!” he raged. Gordon interrupted with a smirk.
“Gentlemen, it is decided. There is nothing I can do. It’s your word against an Elitist.”
I could see it in Kyle’s eyes. That last statement hit him the wrong way. Kyle’s face was dark red in fury, his fingers gripping the bars so tightly that his knuckles were like little light bulbs against his tanned skin.
“This isn’t over Chauffer… or for you, Gordon,” he snarled murderously. Chauffer snorted, his mouth twisting up in another smirk.
“Save your strength,” Gordon said. “You’ve got an epic battle ahead of you in the coming hours. Please do put on a good show. We have something special in mind for tonight.”
As he spoke, two black troopers entered the room with some sort of contraption and a wooden mallet. The apparatus had what looked like a metal helmet with spikes coming out of the top along with a chest shield with a larger metallic spike that hung from a leather strap.
Turning his full attention to the troopers, Gordon said, “Well… time to get this party started.” He then grinned at the fake Michael. The soldiers began to open his cell door. Michael backed away, bumping against the wall. There was a look of terror in his eyes.
My palms were slick with sweat, but before I could speak, Kyle bellowed,
“What the fuck are you doing? Leave him the hell alone!”
Gordon merely waved him off, tapping his foot slowly as he eyed Kyle and me.
“You see, the first battles started to get, well, a little boring. Old zombies are slow zombies. That is the reality of things. Sadly, slow zombies are pretty easy to kill, unless you have a ton of them overrunning the place. That is not terribly exciting either, and it’s very difficult to wrangle them all back in.”
As he talked, the guards entered the cell, and captured Fake Michael by his arms. They started fiddling with the metal apparatus lifting it up, trying to straighten it out properly. I could see that instead of having a facemask, like in a football helmet, there were metal razors sticking out in the shape of teeth. They looked like they would append to the chin of the person wearing the helmet in some way, shape or form. However, I couldn’t really tell how it would work. I wasn’t so sure that I wanted to know.
“So we are going to try something new and exciting tonight. The crowd is going to love it. And you, my dear friend, are going to be our main star.” Gordon smiled sickly sweet at Michael as he struggled wildly. I looked at Chauffer, the fear of what was happening was making me nauseous. He knew what was coming. The excitement radiated from his mangled face. A face that I wanted to finish off for good.
“You see, new zombies are the best,” Gordon chimed with gusto. “They are fast, strong and frankly, they are in short demand at the moment. The ones coming to our walls have been dead for over a week. That just won’t do at all, will it.” It was not a question.
Michael realized what was about to happen just as the troopers placed the metal helmet over his head. I watched as one of the razor teeth gouged his cheek open, his cry vibrating off the walls. His eyes went from panic to crazed terror. The guards held him tight, not allowing him to put up enough of a fight to break free. Blood filled the helmet momentarily, and then began streaming down Michael’s strained neck cords. The metal had opened an inch and a half of the flesh, held in place only by the headgear.
“So we came up with this little device. Ingenious really. It’s designed to make it so that the creatures are not easily killed, and that they have a little more power to their destructive ability.” Gordon raised his eyebrows and glanced towards Kyle and me with a larger than life smile; he was very proud of his invention.
“The trick is to make sure we have the freshest zombie possible. Therefore, we really need to start with a live person to make this work.” He really was one sick, twisted individual. Gordon slowed down now. His words became methodical, and his face had drawn serious.
“I can think of nobody better than the man who killed my best and most trusted friend to give it a test run.” He nodded in the troopers’ direction. They had finished putting on the torso piece, which was made up of a front and back plates, each with a round hole in the middle, right in the center.
One of them slammed Fake Michael against the cell bars facing us, while the other raised the metal spike that was attached by the leather strap. Fake Michael stopped struggling. He was immobile, helplessly staring at Kyle and me. We could see raw defeat in his eyes. We were powerless to do anything to help him. I could do nothing but stand there and watch as the events took place. Kyle shook his bars and screamed for them to stop. His anger only adding to the pleasure Gordon was getting from the frenzy.
Gordon gave a small motion, as if saying, “Let’s begin.” The guard with the larger spike lifted it to the hole in the rear torso plate, took a deep breath, and brought the mallet down on the end of the spike with a muffled thomp, as the spike cracked through the muscle and bone in Michael’s back. After another hard thomp, which echoed through the cell, it slid through the plate, through his heart and then out the front chest plate, protruding three inches.