Page 19 of War Games

Making my way back to the elevator, I pass the cleaning cart and chuckle to myself. That really was fun. I should allow myself to indulge a little more often. Reaching the elevator, I hit the call button, and when it arrives back to my floor, I step inside. As the doors close, a loud shriek tears down the hall. I guess the maid just returned to her cart, and I can’t fault myself. It was marvelous timing.

Getting my ass out of here, I dive into my car and take off, putting as much distance between me and the hotel as possible. I suppose finding myself a proper home for the duration of the games is going to come a little sooner than anticipated.

As I drive through the streets, my phone buzzes in my pocket, and I pull it out to find a notification from War Games. It’s exactly midnight, and they’ve sent out their first update.

Opening the message, I quickly scan over it.

Congratulations on making it through the first twenty-four hours of War Games.

The death toll currently stands at seven.

Those who have been eliminated are -

•Blade

•Grim

•Stone

•Slasher

•Crimson Rain

•The Boston Maneater

•Graves

So I take it Siren and I were the only ones to make kills today, which also begs the question, how the fuck do these bastards already know that Graves is dead? It happened less than six minutes ago. Either way, I suppose I don’t really care.

All that matters is finding somewhere to call home, stripping out of my blood-soaked clothes, and finally taking that cold shower.

7

SIREN

Achild’s laugh breaks through the silence of the resort pool area, and I glance up just in time to watch as the kid flies down the mega slide and drops into the pool, sending a wave of water cascading over me and my laptop.

“Ahhh shit,” I mutter as the kid’s mother rushes after him while giving me an awkward apologetic wave.

“What’s wrong?” Mila says directly in my ear as I lounge by the pool in a skimpy bikini, working on my tan. Only now that there are other people using the pool, I suddenly feel a little awkward showing quite this much skin.

“Nothing,” I say, trying to wipe the water off the screen before it fucks up the laptop. “Just realizing that pools and technology don’t mix well.”

Mila scoffs. “Only just figuring that out now?”

I roll my eyes, and once I’m confident that my laptop isn’t about to shit itself, I lean back in my sun lounger and get back to work. Only, not much work is really getting done. I’ve been coming up blank all morning. Not that I’m surprised. I’ve beentrying to find information on the kid, Shadow, and so far, I haven’t been able to find even a hint that she exists. She’s a ghost, and while I have no intention of making her a target, I’ve been plagued with curiosity.

What the fuck is a child doing in a competition like this? But more so, how the hell did she become a killer worthy of gaining the attention of War Games? Something must have happened to her. Don’t get me wrong, anyone in my line of business has a shitload of trauma, but it takes years to develop your skills, years to learn how to become invisible, and I doubt a child at her age would have been capable of achieving that on her own. Somebody made her the way she is, and I want to know who.

Letting out a heavy sigh, I avert my gaze from the screen and to the child playing happily in the pool. “Have you got anything?” I ask Mila.

“I’ve been tracking 343,” she tells me. “I’ve got him in a basement under an old record store, and judging by what’s on his screen right now, he’s tracking The Midnight Killer.”

My interest is piqued, but something doesn’t feel right about it. “How did 343 find him?”

“That’s what I’m trying to figure out,” she muses as I hear her fingers moving like lightning across her keyboard. “Oh. How disappointing. It seems like another dumbass who doesn’t know anything about keeping themselves concealed in public. He was caught on a surveillance camera in a store parking lot and 343 tracked his movements from there. The idiot practically drew a map with how often he’s getting caught with facial recognition.”

“That almost seems too easy,” I murmur. “Do you think it’s a trap? Maybe he’s trying to draw 343 out.”

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