Countdown

CHAPTER FIVE

I opened my eyes slowly and blinked until everything came back into focus.

My first thought was, Implants-not a good thing to have.

I absolutely hated the idea of somebody out there with their finger on a little button that could cause me pain like that. It just didn't seem fair. However, I did like the idea of finding whomever was in charge of that little button and giving their groin a nice, sharp introduction to my knee.

My head hurt. Bad. But at least I still seemed to be in one piece.

Where the hell was I now?

I glanced around and realized it was somewhere populated. Not another empty, clinical room. I could hear voices. There was the faint sound of clothes swishing and rubbing together as a few people passed nearby but out of sight.

There was a heavy weight on my shoulder, and I slowly realized that it was Rogan-specifically his head. He was still out cold and currently using me as a pillow. We were both sprawled against a wall like a couple of homeless people. But no, this wasn't the street. Linoleum tile felt smooth and cool against my hands, which were flattened on the floor. We were inside. Somewhere.

I frowned. It was somewhere familiar to me.

I know this place.

And then it dawned on me.

It was the mall. One of my main haunts. The same place I was when this nightmare first began-when I'd stolen my new pair of shoes. I looked down at my feet to see the bright red sneakers were still there.

"Rogan." I jostled him.

He didn't wake up.

I moved my hand to the back of my head and took a moment to feel the incision mark where they'd inserted the implant. Then I moved to see if I could feel the same thing on Rogan's scalp. His dark hair felt surprisingly silky slipping through my fingers.

My frown deepened. I felt not just one but two incision marks on Rogan's head. Why were there two?

I took a good look at him then. He looked so innocent while asleep. His eyelids fluttered, and I wondered what he was dreaming about. I looked closely at the scar on his face, and traced the line with the tip of my finger down to his lips.

"Are you really as bad as they're trying to convince me you are?" I mused out loud.

Why the hell didn't I want to believe it? I was being totally irrational.

He wasn't accused of stealing bubble gum from the corner store. He was accused, and convicted, of rape and murder.

I glanced around the hallway. Nobody was around. Not one person was within spitting distance, and as far as I could see, neither were the flying cameras.

I pressed my hand against his throat and felt his steady pulse, warm and alive beneath my touch. Then I slowly trailed down to his collarbone and then right over his muscled chest to his heart. Skin against skin.

Dammit. I didn't want to be this close to him. He was a very bad man who had done very bad things-unforgivable things-and it shouldn't feel this good to touch him.

But I didn't feel threatened or afraid when I was this close to him-and not just when he was unconscious. Why was that?

It was that damn flash I'd had when I'd done my flex on him on the street. First impression? He was seriously fucked-up. But really bad guys had this bad vibe that was hard to ignore, like a cold blanket of darkness that sucked the warmth right out of me. I hadn't felt much with Rogan-there hadn't been enough time-only warmth and pain and a little bit of sadness.

He hadn't felt like a bad guy.

But maybe I'd been wrong. It had been only the briefest of touches, but first impressions are lasting.

It would just take a moment. Just one moment of complete concentration to know all I wanted to know about my partner and I'd be certain one way or the other.

I closed my eyes and tried to concentrate on using my flex.

"Hey," he suddenly rasped, and I found my hand in his as he pulled it away from his chest. "I'm out for a few minutes and you start to get frisky on me?"

I scowled at him and pulled away. "Hardly."

"Then what were you doing?"

"Just making sure you weren't dead. FYI… you're not."

He gave a short, humorless laugh and glanced around wearily. "So where the hell are we now?"

"We're in the mall."

"The mall," he repeated with a frown. "Why are we in a mall?"

I reached back to feel my incision again. "We need to get these implants out."

Rogan grabbed my wrist. "Don't do that."

"Why not?"

"You can't tamper with it or it will…" He hesitated. "It… it may kill us anyhow."

I frowned. "Why do you think that?"

"It makes sense, doesn't it?" He shakily got to his feet and held out a hand to help me up. I ignored it and got up on my own.

"You have two incisions," I told him. "Does that mean you have two implants?"

He raised an eyebrow. "Do I?"

I nodded.

He reached around to the back of his head to feel. "Maybe they made a mistake when they were digging around. Put it in the wrong spot."

"Maybe." My gaze traveled over to his shoulder wound. "What Jonathan did to you back there. That antidote. How do you feel now?"

He gingerly touched his shoulder and moved it up and down. "It worked. I feel stronger already. It doesn't even hurt much anymore."

"Why did he do that? Save you? Seems kind of risky for him to help somebody he doesn't even know. Just another convict contestant. Are you sure you two don't know each other?"

"Positive." His ocean-colored eyes glimmered, and then a grim smile turned up the right corner of his mouth. "Must be my charm. I've always been able to win people over with it. Make them do whatever I want."

"Yeah, I bet." I glanced around again. I could see the main mall from where we were, but they'd tucked us down a hallway that was roped off for maintenance. I looked at Rogan again. He wasn't hunched over anymore, so it gave me a better judge of his height. And he was tall. If I was five-seven-and I was-then I'd have to guess he was a couple inches over six feet. Also, even with all that dirt and grime he was a very handsome man. I wondered briefly what he'd look like all cleaned up.

Like a cleaned-up rapist and murderer, probably.

Shit. I was just fooling myself if I thought there was more to this guy. Wouldn't matter if he was the best-looking man in the universe. What he'd done made him ugly.

I wish I'd been able to get a full read on him, but there wasn't enough time. All I had to go on was the flash earlier-enough to make me think that there might be another explanation for what he went to prison for.

Or was that just wishful thinking?

He seemed to flinch at my appraisal. "You don't look like you like what you see."

That wasn't necessarily true, actually. But it was better for both of us if he believed that. "Should I like you, Rogan?"

He gave another half laugh that sounded pained. "Absolutely not."

'Then I guess we're in agreement." I turned my back to him and tried to focus. The mall. I hung out here all the time, and so did a good friend of mine. "Come on. I think I know someone who might be able to help us. Got to find him before that camera catches up to us."

I felt his hand on my shoulder to stop me before I got too far. "What are you talking about?"

"I know a guy, he's like a computer genius. At least, that's what he's always telling me. If I find him he might be able to help us get rid of the implants-disarm them, remove them, whatever-and we can end this bullshit once and for all."

"You think it's that easy?"

"I think it could be." I tried to pull away from him.

His grip on my arm increased. "You touch these implants and unless you have the right tools they'll explode. Turn your brain to goo that'll drip out your ears while you finish dying. Is that what you want?"

I grimaced at the thought. "You sound pretty certain. I guess I didn't get the manual when I woke up on the dos and don'ts of implant ownership. Did they give you a quick course in prison?"

He glared at me. "People talk."

I turned away again. "Doesn't mean I have to listen."

Without waiting to find out if he was or wasn't going to follow me, I made my way out of the hallway and into the mall. Finally, somewhere I knew. It felt good, like I'd been returned home. Some sense of control in this crazy situation.

Twenty-five years ago it had been one of the largest malls in the country. Nearly eight hundred stores in a complex that spanned blocks and blocks. Now there were about twenty stores still open. Three places to eat in the food court. Some people said that it had an eerie, ghost-town kind of feeling, but the way it was now was all I'd ever known it to be, so it didn't seem that strange to me. It was a place to hang out indoors; that was about it.

I glanced over my shoulder. Rogan trudged after me. Christ, just looking at him made me realize that we'd better make this quick. I figured we didn't have too much time before we got kicked out of the mall. Security wasn't all that tight, but torn, dirty, and bloodied clothes did not represent your average mall shopper, even these days, when the small selection of stores were thrilled with any potential customer. But I knew where I was going.

The food court. My friend Colin hung out there a lot. If he wasn't there, then he was at his other main haunt, some basement in the city where he disappeared sometimes for days to play networked games with other tech-heads.

I actually gave a small whimper of relief when I saw him sitting there, tapping away on his laptop, an extra-large soda sitting in front of him on the table. Just looking at it made me realize how thirsty I was. Other than Colin there were about ten people in the large food court, scattered at different tables. There was a clock hanging from the ceiling in the center of the court. The glass on it had broken years ago but had never been fixed. It still worked, though. It told me that it was just after five o'clock.

I walked right up to Colin and stood in front of him. He didn't immediately look up from his screen.

"Colin," I said.

He finally looked up. "Kira, hey. I've been looking for you. I wanted to tell you about this awesome job offer I got. You totally disappeared yesterday."

Yesterday? God, how long had I been unconscious before I woke up in that room?

"Colin, I need your help. Badly."

His eyebrows raised. "You look serious."

"You have no idea."

"Are you in some sort of trouble?"

"You could say that."

I felt Rogan's hand on my arm. "Kira, this isn't a good idea."

Colin's gaze shifted to him and his eyes widened. "New friend?"

I looked at Rogan, and then back at Colin. Rogan outweighed him by about eighty pounds of muscle.

'This is Rogan," I said. "We both need your help."

"Rogan …" Colin's eyes widened even further. "Kira, do you have any idea who this guy is?"

"Yes, but you have to listen to me…" I trailed off. I felt something then. Something very strange. A feeling like we were being watched.

I darted a glance over my shoulder and was positive I saw a silver camera slide behind the corner.

"We can't involve him in this," Rogan whispered loud enough for only me to hear. "Unless you want to get your friend killed."

Colin's knuckles were white as he gripped the edge of the table. "Look, I don't know what's going on, Kira, but if you need my help, you know I'd do anything for you. But him …" His voice caught a little with fear. "I don't want him anywhere near me."

Colin had a crush on me. Fortunately he'd never acted on it, but it was always there, like an unignorable presence in the room with us. And I'll admit it, I took it as a compliment. It was nice to feel wanted. I was banking on that emotion to make him want to help us. To help me. But the last thing I wanted to do was to put him in danger.

And that was exactly what I was doing by even talking to him.

"Where do you want to go?" He closed up his laptop and stood up from the table.

"You know what?" I swallowed and shook my head. "Never mind."

He moved a step toward me. "No, Kira, you look way stressed. If I can do anything I will. Just tell me what's wrong."

I took a step back and felt Rogan behind me. 'This was a mistake."

He eyed Rogan with a mix of fear and hate. "Is it him? Is he forcing you to do something? I can help you. You just have to come with me."

Rogan snorted. "You think you can save her from me?"

"If I have to."

"Brave kid."

"I'm not a kid," he snapped, and then looked at me again. "Is he hurting you?"

I shook my head. "No … Rogan and me … we're together."

"Together?"

I nodded. "I just wanted you to know so you … so you stop bothering me."

He put a hand to his chest. "I'm bothering you?"

"Just leave me alone, Colin."

He blinked. "He's a fucking murderer, Kira. Don't you know that?"

I gave him a blank look and turned my back to him. "Maybe I don't care."

"Kira-"

"Don't follow us, kid," Rogan said. "Or you'll regret it. Trust me on that."

I didn't look back. I left the food court with Rogan at my side. I never should have gone there in the first place. Now Colin must hate me. I didn't want to hurt him. He had nothing to do with the mess I'd gotten myself into.

Tears slid down my cheeks, and I pushed them away before Rogan could see that I was crying.

Two men in security uniforms approached us.

"We're going to have to ask you to leave the premises," one said firmly. He had a hand on the gun at his side. "Now."

An almost-smile twitched on Rogan's lips. "My, how times have changed. How do you know I wasn't about to do some shopping with my gold card?"

One of the guards eyed Rogan's dirty clothes and the bloodstain on his shoulder and then glanced at me. "Is this vagrant bothering you, miss?"

They didn't seem to recognize Rogan like Colin had.

Tell them! my mind screamed. Tell them everything. They can help you.

I saw a flash of silver out of the corner of my eye. The camera.

"The level's already begun, hasn't it?" I asked Rogan quietly.

"I think so."

I knew then, without a shadow of a doubt, that if I told the security guards what was going on, I would be severely and painfully punished. And the guards themselves would probably not walk out of there alive.

I knew it.

I was too scared to risk it. The people running The Countdown seemed to know absolutely everything.

"He's with me, actually," I said instead. The words felt thick and unnatural leaving my mouth.

'Then you'll both have to go." The other guard grabbed my arm.

I wrenched away from him. "Fine. We'll go."

I didn't say anything else as we cleared the food court and headed down a mostly abandoned hallway toward the exit. I felt like crying again, but I forced the tears back. Crying wouldn't solve a damn thing.

"What are they doing to us?" I asked after a moment, mostly to myself. "How would anyone find this entertaining?"

"Some people are sick," Rogan said.

"Why did they even put us here in the mall? Just to mess with our minds?"

I felt Rogan's arm tighten around my waist then, and it was a strange feeling. Like he was trying to comfort me. Weird. As if he realized what he'd just done he pulled away from me.

"Do you remember what Jonathan told us this level is all about?" he asked.

I tried to think back through the thick cloud of memories. "The accountant."

He nodded. 'Take a look."

I looked in the direction he pointed to see the man who had been on the holoscreen. I think his name was Bernard Jones-I recognized his balding head and bland features. He emerged from an electronics shop with a bag of purchases, then turned left and started walking toward the same exit we were headed for.

I heard the whir as a camera moved behind us. It was moving behind things to stay hidden. No one even gave it a second glance.

Rogan's attention was fixed on the man. "We've got to follow him."

"He's got a wife. And a kid."

Rogan looked at me. "And we can't let him leave our sight."

"There are ten minutes remaining in this level of The Countdown."

I turned to meet Rogan's gaze.

"You know what we're supposed to do," he said. "And we have ten minutes to do it."

To successfully complete Level Three you are required to assassinate him, Jonathan's instructions echoed in my mind.

I shook my head. "No. It's not going to happen."

"Do you want us to die?" Rogan asked.

I blinked at him. "I don't want us to die. But I also don't want to kill a man I've never met before. Somebody who doesn't deserve it or even see it coming. There's no way."

"Come on." He grabbed my hand and pulled me along with him. "We can't let him get away."

"You can't kill him."

He moistened his lips with the tip of his tongue. "It's him or us, sweetheart."

"I don't care."

"We'll see if you're still thinking that way in a few minutes."

"I'm not capable of murder. I'm not like you."

Rogan let go of my hand, but kept walking. He didn't look at me. "You don't know what I'm capable of. You don't know me."

"I don't want to know you." I bit the cruel words off. They sounded worse than I wanted them to.

That earned me a look. "We're running out of choices. Have you got that through your pretty head? There are no choices. We do what they tell us to or we die."

"Maybe I don't care. My family was murdered. I'd never do that to another person's family. I'd rather die first."

"I'm not in the mood to argue with you, Kira. We don't have the time."

I watched as Bernard Jones exited the mall through the swinging doors.

"So you're going to follow him and then what?"

"And then I'm going to kill him." He raised an eyebrow. "But then again, I am a murderer, right?"

"So it's that simple for you?"

His fists clenched at his sides. "You're acting as if I have a choice."

"There's always a choice."

"Not for me," he said grimly. "Not anymore."

And with that he stalked out of the entrance to follow his prey. I raced to keep up with him.

Kill or be killed.

There had to be another way. And if there was, I needed to figure it out. Fast.

CHAPTER SIX

Bernard Jones walked down the sidewalk outside of the mall, completely oblivious to the fact that he was being followed.

"Where'd the camera go?" I looked around the surrounding area, gray and bland, and noticed that we were all alone again.

"It's around, I'm sure."

"You seem awfully sure about a lot in this game."

He raised a dark eyebrow. "Do I?"

I narrowed my eyes at him. "Yeah. You do. And I'm going to figure out what your real story is, Rogan. Don't think I won't."

He snorted at that. "Ah, so you're actually an intrepid reporter at heart, are you? Going to get to the truth behind the man? Find out what makes me tick, other than the countdown in my head?"

"Don't mock me."

"But you make it so easy." He gave me a sideways glance. "Do you give all the men in your life such a hard time?"

"There are no men in my life."

"What about your boyfriend, Colin?"

I made a face. "He's not my boyfriend."

"And what the announcer said about you using your sexuality to get whatever you want?" His gaze slid down the length of me.

I pressed my lips together. "It's not true. Besides, even if it was, it wouldn't exactly get me what I want right now."

"Which is?"

'To get out of this game."

"So that's all you want? To get out of this game?"

"Yes."

"And then what?"

Bernard Jones slipped behind the corner of a crumbling building ahead.

'Then I want to figure out how to go to Offworld," I said.

He smiled thinly. "Everybody wants to go Offworld. What's so great about that?"

"It's not here. It's a place where somebody can make a fresh start and have the chance at a happy life." I crossed my arms as I trudged along. I didn't like revealing too much of myself to this guy. It made me feel uncomfortable. "And what about you? If you don't want to go to Offworld, what do you want?"

"Revenge." He said it so quickly that it surprised me.

"Against who?"

He smiled cruelly to show his perfect white teeth. "Against those who've done me wrong, sweetheart. And it's a mighty long list."

I swallowed at his cold words. "I'll do my best to stay off that list."

"An excellent idea."

"There are seven minutes left in this level of The Countdown," the disembodied voice announced.

Rogan's shoulders tensed, and he picked up his pace.

"Wait," I said, panic welling in my chest. "There has to be another way."

He met my gaze, and I was surprised to see his was strained. "I have a theory. This guy… this Bernard Jones … he's a plant. Maybe he's not as innocent as you might think. Maybe he knows what's going on and this is just another test."

"Why would you think that?"

He shook his head. "I'm not positive. But the game … they don't bring in outsiders. They don't target civilians who have nothing to do with The Countdown in the first place. It's just not their style."

"You keep talking about the game like you know all about it."

"You're going to have to take my word on this, Kira. Just listen to me for a second. If they start bringing in unassuming civilians, then they run the risk of being exposed. The last thing the subscribers would want is to have their friends and family learn their dirty little secret of spending money to see torture and murder."

I ran it through my mind. It made sense. Even though the cops didn't care what might happen to criminals, they'd care what happened to the regular Joe on the street. The city was a dying, crumbling mess, but it wasn't out-of-control chaos.

"So you think we just need to confront him?" I asked. "Get him to admit who he really is?"

"That's my theory. I'm hoping like hell I'm right."

Before I could say anything else, Rogan stopped walking and shouted, "Bernard Jones!"

The man halted and turned around. We had walked a couple of blocks from the mall and were currently in the middle of a city parking lot-abandoned. No cars. Nobody was even in the pay booth. Dusk had begun to creep in, and the shadows grew longer in front of us.

Even from a distance I could see Bernard's wariness as he saw the six-plus feet of danger who'd just called out his name.

"What do you want?" he asked.

"Just to talk," Rogan said.

"Who are you?"

"Name's Rogan. This here is Kira. We need some help."

He shook his head. "Not from me."

I turned around to look back in the direction of the mall, but it was blocked by other buildings. This part of the city was totally vacant.

No witnesses.

No witnesses except for the cameras, that was. They approached behind us, two of them, parting and moving to either side of the parking lot.

How convenient.

"Who are you, Bernard?" Rogan asked.

"Wh-what do you mean?"

"I mean, who are you? Who sent you here? Tell me what you know, and tell me right now."

Bernard shook his head. "I don't have any idea what you're talking about."

There was a sharp, discarded piece of metal on the ground, and Rogan snatched it up. He moved closer. "You have very little time. Just tell us who you really are."

"There are five minutes remaining in this level of The Countdown."

Bernard's eyes widened, but he said nothing to give any indication that he was a game plant.

Oh, God, I thought. He was just a civilian after all.

"Rogan, what do you think you're doing?" My heart was pounding painfully against my ribs.

He didn't look at me. "I already told you. I'm doing what I have to do."

I shook my head. "You can't. Please, my family-"

"Your family has nothing to do with this." He glanced over his shoulder at me and met my gaze. "I'm doing this whether or not you understand. I'm sorry, Kira. There's no other choice. Not if we want to live."

His eyes held a look of despair, which quickly closed off to blankness. Then he tore the look off and stalked toward Bernard before I could say another word.

Bernard froze in place as the convicted murderer approached, weapon in hand.

"You're Bernard Jones," he said.

"Yes. I already said I was. I don't know what this is about. I… I… don't want any trouble."

"Neither did I."

The man blinked nervously. "Listen, you can have my money. All of it. Just do not hurt me."

"Money doesn't do me any good anymore."

I'd approached on Rogan's left side, and I touched his arm. It felt as hard as I'd imagine the metal bar would.

"Rogan …" I was crying now. He was going to kill the man in cold blood like it meant nothing. I could see the determination in his eyes. I felt as helpless as I did the night my family was killed and all I could do was hide in the dark and wait for the silence.

"Please!" Bernard's voice shook as he eyed the shiny weapon. "I have a family who needs me."

"Do I look like I care?" Rogan's voice caught on the last word.

"I recognize you," Bernard babbled. "You … you're Rogan Ellis. You killed people. Women. Killed them brutally. Some while they were asleep in their beds. Lots of them. I remember seeing it on the news."

I felt a tremor go through Rogan at his words. "Do you always believe everything you see on the news?"

"Yes! You're going to kill me, aren't you? Aren't you?" He fell to his knees and shielded his face with his hands.

"Rogan, please don't do this," I managed. "Please!"

Rogan's chest heaved in and out with labored breathing. Then he raised the piece of metal above his head as if he would bring it down in a death blow, but something stopped him. His jaw twitched and he slowly lowered the weapon back down to his side.

He looked at me, his eyes glistening. "Do you believe everything you see on the news, too?"

I shook my head. "No. I make my own decisions. And you … I don't believe you're a bad man. I don't. You're better than this. I know you are."

A tear slipped down his face. "I can't do it. Fuck, Kira. I can't do it. I can't kill him. Even to save us." He was shaking. He dropped the piece of metal and it hit the ground.

"There are four minutes remaining in this level of The Countdown."

I pulled Rogan to me and hugged him tight, feeling his chest go in and out, his entire body tense.

I nodded and pulled back, rubbing my thumb along his cheek to wipe the tear away. "I know. It's okay."

Bernard was fumbling around in his pockets. He let go of his shopping bag and it hit the cement with a thud. Pieces of paper and old tissues fell out of his jacket pockets.

What was he looking for? His wallet? His ID? A piece of gum?

But then he found it.

My eyes widened as I watched him pull out a gun and aim it at Rogan's head.

He smiled, and there was something very unnatural about it.

"Other contestants have taken me out very easily in less than ten minutes," he said.

Rogan tensed even more under my touch. "I knew it. I knew there had to be a catch to this."

"You are supposed to be a formidable murderer. I expected that you would have no problem at all with this level. She"-he nodded at me-"was the wild card. She's not a murderer. It would have been interesting to see if she tried to stop you, but she didn't."

"I did," I said as confusion slid through me. "I didn't want him to kill you."

He shrugged. "You didn't put up much of a fight. He would have killed me, but you would not have stopped

him. Unfortunately, Rogan Ellis is a coward. The subscribers will be horribly disappointed. They had very high expectations."

Rogan eyed the gun. "Ask me if I give a shit what the subscribers think."

Bernard smiled that strange, steady smile. "It is fine. The subscribers will be sated when I eliminate both of you for failing to complete the level successfully." He moved the gun toward me. "Perhaps I will start with you, Kira Jordan."

Rogan put an arm in front of me. "What are you?"

I frowned at his choice of words. What instead of who.

Bernard's head swiveled toward him. "I am highly surprised you don't already know the answer to that, Rogan Ellis. I am an Ellipsis Cyber Drone, model number six-six-five-five-point-one."

What did he just say? What kind of an answer was that? What did that even mean?

"An Ellipsis Cyber Drone?" Rogan's eyebrows went up. "But… but how-"

"There have been many advancements made in artificial intelligence since you were incarcerated, Rogan Ellis," Bernard said evenly. "I am only one of them."

"What does that mean?" I asked.

"He's a robot," Rogan growled without taking his eyes off Bernard. "With a very advanced artificial intelligence program. Fuck. I knew there was something wrong. I just don't trust my own instincts anymore. Of course they wouldn't make us kill a civilian."

"Three minutes remain in this level of The Countdown."

Bernard's fake smile slipped back over more of his teeth. "Rogan Ellis, convicted rapist and murderer, could not bring himself to kill an Ellipsis Cyber Drone. And for that, both of you shall be eliminated from The Countdown."

I felt a line of perspiration slide down my spine.

The robot smirked, and suddenly I could see what he truly was. Before I was in too much shock, too much fear, to see that this guy didn't look all that human after all. He was too shiny, too seamless. His eyes reflected no inner personality. His voice had a slightly metallic tinniness to it that reminded me of the computer countdown I couldn't run away from because it fed directly into my brain.

"It will not be long now," the robot said. "Rogan Ellis, my database tells me that you have been wishing for death for many months. You do not like Saradone Maximum-Security Prison? I know that the scar on your face is from fighting off four other inmates who wanted to do very bad things to you. You killed two of them before the guards stopped the fight and placed you in solitary confinement. I think that you are lucky you received only a mark on your face. I am not surprised that you agreed to come on The Countdown instead of facing life back in the regular prison population. I would say that you would not have lasted another week."

I looked at Rogan. That was how he got his scar? Trying to fight off other inmates? I felt a flood of pity fill my chest but tried to push it away.

I couldn't even wrap my head around how wrong all of this was. From holoscreens, to flying cameras, to robots posing as fucking accountants-it was so messed up my brain couldn't even process it all.

"There are two minutes remaining in this level of The Countdown."

"You know what, robot?" Rogan said, and there was zero emotion in his voice. "I still have two minutes left to reduce you to a pile of tin cans. You can't kill us until after the level's done, right? So we still have time."

The robot nodded with a firm jerk of his head. "This is true. I cannot kill you yet."

He lowered the gun and pulled the trigger. I felt the bullet rip into my upper right thigh and I fell to the ground, screaming and clutching my leg.

"However," the robot continued, "I can still entertain the subscribers until the level comes to its conclusion." He chambered another round. "Rogan Ellis, I would have believed that you would appreciate watching another woman writhing around in agony before her inevitable death. Why do you look so stern?"

"Kira!" Rogan called out to me, his voice hoarse.

I could barely hear him. My leg felt like it was on fire, and all I could do was wrestle with the pain. It hurt so horribly that I couldn't see anything but white. I couldn't hear anything except the countdown, now at one minute.

One minute and no more pain.

"Fifty-nine.. fifty-eight.. fifty-seven …"

I blinked and tried to focus as tears streamed down my face. Rogan had rushed Bernard and grabbed his arms, wrestling him to the ground. The gun skittered across the pavement, coming to rest an arm's reach away from me.

"Son of a bitch!" Rogan snarled as he pounded his fist into the robot's face. Through my tear-blurred vision I saw a glimmer of metal show beneath the artificial skin.

With a metallic roar, Bernard flipped Rogan onto his back, effortlessly pinning the large man to the ground. A viselike metal grip fastened around his neck.

"Do not fear, Rogan," the robot said in an eerily calm voice. "It will all be over soon. You failed. You failed Kira Jordan and you failed yourself."

Rogan moaned and swore incoherently. "Don't hurt her!"

"It is my job to hurt her."

"Thirty.. twenty-nine … twenty-eight…"

I reached out and wrapped my hand around the gun, then staggered up on my left leg, doing my best to ignore the searing pain in my other leg. I felt nauseated and weak and ready to drop back down to the ground. I swayed unsteadily but managed to stay upright. Bernard looked up at me from where he had Rogan pressed against the hard ground. I could see the robot underneath the skin. Just multicolored wires and smooth silver metal, like the cameras that spun around the area taking in every angle of the scene. His skin must have been plastic. Just plastic.

All of it was fake.

I'd been ready to die to protect somebody who didn't even exist.

"Ten … nine … eight…"

I raised the gun and pulled the trigger over and over until it was empty, and I hoped it would be enough.

It was. It blew Bernard's robot head clean off his body.

I dropped the gun and collapsed back to the ground and let the pain take over again. Rogan crawled to my side.

"Kira." There was a red mark around his neck where the robot had almost choked him to death. "Are you okay?"

His hand clamped down on my thigh, attempting to slow the bleeding.

I tried to speak, but found that I couldn't form the words.

The words would have been something along the lines of: Okay? Do I look okay to you?

Just before I passed out, the last thing I heard was:

"Congratulations, Rogan and Kira, on successfully completing Level Three of The Countdown."

CHAPTER SEVEN

It was dark that night. So dark.

"Mom? … Dad?" I said, too softly for anyone to actually hear me. I was scared. I'd gone to bed early, mad that I couldn't get something-new jeans, a new purse .. didn't matter anymore. Didn't matter then.

My bedroom door was closed. Locked. I didn't want to talk to anybody. Not even my friends, who were sending me text messages. I ignored the soft vibrating sound my new phone made every few minutes.

It was after midnight on a school night. I remember I had a big test the next day that I hadn't studied for. Math, I think. Or Neogeography. I didn't care what happened- if I passed or failed. I actually couldn't think of one thing in the stupid, boring city I really gave a shit about.

But suddenly I did care about something. The creaking sound of somebody moving around in the hallway. I knew that it wasn't either of my parents-I just sensed that it wasn't. It wasn't my older sister returning from a late date and sneaking back in the house so she wouldn't get in trouble for breaking the new citywide curfew of eleven o'clock. She'd gotten back from the movie theater hours earlier.

It was somebody else.

Somebody bad.

For a moment I thought it might just be my imagination, my overwrought, overworked brain that always came up with the worst-case scenario. My mom said I should be a writer, since I always made up such crazy, overdramatic stories. Made mountains out of molehills, she 'd say. But even before I had my flex-or at least, before I'd learned to use it-/ had this sense. A sense of impending doom. The ability to tell if something wasn't right-that something felt off.

And that was how I felt when I lay in my bed that night with the sheets pulled up to my nose, listening to the footsteps outside my door.

Something was off'. Horribly off.

And then I heard my father move into the hallway to investigate the noises. I listened to shouting as he must have confronted the intruder.

And then I heard the gunshots-two gunshots-and the thump as my father's body hit the floor.

Then I heard the screams as my mother… and then my sister-oh, God, both of them-were confronted by the intruder. More shots rang out. My whole body shook as I fell off the side of my bed and crawled underneath, tears streaming down my cheeks. My whole world narrowed in on that moment. Those three minutes that felt like three years.

When all was silent, when my family was dead, I heard my door rattle as the murderer tried to get into my room. My door was locked, but he would have no problem busting it open.

I'm going to die, was all I could think. And I was afraid. So afraid.

But suddenly there was the sound of police sirens, and the intruder fled without another sound, without a word, into the night, where he was never caught.

I never appreciated my family until they were gone forever. I hadn't even said good night to them.

And ever since that night, the inky darkness just reminded me of how close to death I had come. How powerless I was.

How it felt like hands clutching at my neck, holding me down, forcing me to relive my family's murder when I didn't do anything except hide.

I woke slowly but saw only blackness. The pain in my leg immediately alerted me to the fact that I wasn't sleeping. Or dead.

At least, not yet.

"No," I murmured, feeling those familiar tears of panic prick at my eyes as I felt the darkness close in on me. "No … please. Not again."

"Kira," a voice said, familiar and deep. "It's okay. You're going to be okay. Open your eyes."

I felt a warm hand on my cheek, wiping away my tears. Soft lips brushed my forehead, and fingers stroked the hair back from my face.

"It's okay," the voice murmured again. "I'm with you."

My eyes shot open. I thought they'd been open before, but I must have been only half-awake. Half dreaming. I squinted as the soft light of wherever the hell I was became less blurry.

The first thing that came fully into focus was Rogan. He was sitting on the edge of the bed I was lying in. He looked like hell, still dirty and bloody and a total mess, but the sight of him made me feel happy, chasing away my nightmares.

He frowned. "What's that?"

"Wh-what's what?" I managed. My voice sounded croaky.

'That thing on your face."

I tried to reach up. "What is it?"

"I think it's … yes, it's definitely a smile."

I let out a long breath and rolled my eyes. "Obviously a total mistake. There's no reason for me to be smiling right now. Is my leg still attached?"

He glanced down the length of my body and then looked back up at me with a half smile on his own face.

"For now." The smile faded. "You were having a bad dream."

"I can't imagine why. We've been having so much fun." I tried to look around, but didn't see anything other than a bland room with a small window that only looked out to another building. "Where are we now?"

"They brought us to a medical station. I guess you getting shot wasn't in the script."

"There's a script?"

He shrugged. "Who knows?" His gaze met mine, and I noticed for the first time since I woke up how filled with anguish his was. "I was worried about you."

"That makes two of us."

"Don't joke." His voice caught, and he brought his hand back up to stroke my face gently. "You have a knack for working your way into somebody's life real fast, you know that, sweetheart?"

"I thought I asked you not to call me sweetheart?" I was only half-serious as I said it.

He smirked. "Sorry." He didn't move his hand, and I didn't push it away. In fact, I moved my face to nestle closer to him.

"So now what?" I asked.

"So now we're waiting for somebody to check your leg and release us, I guess. They took the bullet out already and patched you up. They gave you some pain meds, which is probably why you were out so long."

"How long was I out?"

"A long time. Almost eighteen hours."

My eyebrows raised. "Eighteen hours?"

He nodded. I raised the white sheets to look down at myself. My clothes were gone and I was now wearing a white, scratchy hospital gown. My right thigh was bandaged.

"So you've … you've been here the whole time? With me?"

"Yeah," he said. "They said I should wait outside, but I refused. I thought they'd beat the shit out of me for giving them attitude, but they didn't. Don't know why. Let me sit in here with you after they were finished patching up your leg."

"For eighteen hours? You've been sitting next to me the whole time?"

"I dozed for a bit myself, but otherwise, yeah." He looked away, and then back to me. "I didn't mind. It's not a bad view, after all."

I felt my cheeks heat. He'd been watching me sleep. That should have totally creeped me out, but instead it made me feel… feel… I don't know. It made me feel secure for some reason. Like he was looking out for me. Making sure nobody hurt me.

Which didn't make a damn bit of sense at all.

Why would a convicted murderer want to be my guardian angel? Why did being around him fill me with anything but the fear I should be feeling with him? Why did I trust him not to hurt me when I was completely helpless? Why did I like the feel of his hand on my face?

Because I didn't believe he was guilty, that was why. He was nothing like the man who'd murdered my family. I'd seen no indication at all that he was cruel or heartless, and he couldn't bring himself to kill Bernard when he thought he was just an innocent civilian.

He didn't do it.

The clear thought was like a revelation that pushed all my fears away.

That would probably be the reason that I found myself placing my hands on either side of his face and drawing him down closer to me. I put a hand on his chest, which was going in and out with his increased breathing, and I could feel his heart pounding hard and fast.

"Kira," he managed, just before our lips brushed together in an achingly soft kiss.

It wasn't much at all. Just the briefest touch before he pulled back. The look on his face held such confusion and awkwardness for such a small thing as a kiss, it almost made me laugh.

And then I realized what I'd just done.

Oh, my God. What was I thinking?

It was the painkillers. Yeah. Had to be the drugs. They were totally tripping me out and making me do things I would never normally do in a million years.

Dammit. I wanted to kiss him again.

I pressed my lips together, still stunned by how good he'd felt.

I looked up at him. "Can I ask you a question?"

Eyes still a bit wide and his hand hovering over his mouth, he stared down at me. "Uh … of course you can."

"When we were out there with that robot thing … you looked at me and asked if I believed everything I saw on the news."

He looked away, his mouth forming a thin line. "Yeah."

"What was that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing. I was stalling for time. Didn't work. The bastard shot you anyhow." He moved away as if he were going to stand up from the bed. "You said no, right? That you didn't believe everything the news says."

"That's right. I don't."

I reached up and grabbed his shirt to force him to look at me. Being the messed-up mass of emotions I currently was embodying, there were now tears on my cheeks again.

Smile, cry, smile, cry.

Pick one.

"I'm going to ask you something, and I want you to tell me the truth. You hear me? The truth. And I want to hear it from you." I sounded surprisingly strong for somebody stuck on her back with a bullet just pulled from her leg.

"What?"

"Did you do it?"

His eyes narrowed. "Do what?"

"What they said you did."

His jaw clenched and he looked away. "I'm going to check on what the hell is taking them so long-"

I grabbed for a tighter hold of his shirt. If he was getting up, he was taking me with him. "Those nine girls. Did you murder them like they said you did? And the three counts of rape? Is that true? I don't believe you did it, but I want you to tell me. God damn it, Rogan. Tell me the truth."

He blinked. "You … you don't believe it?"

I shook my head. "No."

His face was so tense it looked like it might shatter. "No one's ever questioned whether or not it's the truth before. Everyone just assumes I'm guilty as sin. Why wouldn't you?"

"Because they're the scumbags who plucked me out of my normal life and are trying to kill me in their stupid game. Why would I believe anything they tell me?"

He was silent for a long time, and then: "I'm a very bad man, Kira."

I slid my fingers into his dark hair. "Just being a bad man doesn't necessarily mean that you did what they said."

He licked his lips and wouldn't meet my eyes.

"Just tell me," I said. "It's simple, really. You either did it or you didn't."

He shook his head. "Nothing's simple. Nothing in my life has ever been simple."

"Did you rape them? Three of those girls?" I said it so softly I was surprised he heard me.

I watched a tear slip from his left eye, tracing the line of his scar. "No. I've never raped anybody. Ever. I swear to you."

"Did you kill them?"

"No." He shook his head as he met my gaze-his filled with so many conflicting emotions I couldn't even begin to pinpoint them all.

But it didn't matter. I felt a huge weight lift off my chest. Even without using my flex, I trusted my ability to read people's faces. Some liars managed to still get past me, but they were few and far between.

Rogan wasn't lying. I would bet my life on it. In fact, I think I already had.

"You believe me," he said very softly. "You don't know how much this means to me, Kira."

"Why would they say that if it wasn't true?" I asked. "Why would you let them?"

"It's complicated."

My gaze softened, and I touched his face, tracing my index finger gently along his scar. "So you went to prison for something you didn't even do?"

He swallowed hard and took my hand in his. "I told you already. I'm a very bad man. If you knew the truth about me, you wouldn't be looking at me like that. You'd hate me. And you'd sure as hell not want to kiss me."

I shook my head and twisted my fingers into his hair to draw him closer to me. 'Tell me, Rogan. I promise I won't hate you."

Just then the door opened to my right and Jonathan walked in. Two men dressed all in white accompanied him but stayed by the door while he approached my bed. I tensed and Rogan straightened up. My hand fell to my side.

"You're awake," he said, and then adjusted his wireframe glasses.

I glanced at Rogan, then back at Jonathan. "You're very observant."

He smiled. "I'm to tell you that your next level is a reward level. Should you complete it successfully, you will receive something very special."

We both looked at him blankly.

He cleared his throat. "Rogan, would you mind giving us a few moments alone?"

Rogan's expression tensed. "I'd rather stay here."

Jonathan's smile grew. "To protect her from me?"

"Maybe."

"Trust me, that won't be necessary." He paused. "I really would prefer you leave of your own free will because I asked nicely, Rogan. If not, then there are other methods I can use to remove you from the room."

The silent white-clad men stood at the doorway with their arms crossed.

"It's okay." I touched his arm to find that it was tensely corded muscle.

He met my gaze and nodded once, then rose from the side of the bed and, with a last look at Jonathan, one edged with warning, he brushed past the men.

With a nod from Jonathan, they, too, left the room, closing the door behind them.

We were alone.

"Who are you?" I asked after a moment had gone by.

"We already met earlier. Jonathan, remember?"

I rolled my eyes. "I remember vividly everything that's happened. Consider it all burned into my brain forever, but it still doesn't explain a damn thing."

The smile still played on his lips, and I was finding it annoying, to say the least.

"What's so funny?" I demanded.

"You are, Kira."

"Is that so?" I straightened up in the bed, my fists unconsciously curling tightly beside me.

"Don't take it as an insult. I mean it as a compliment." The smile faded around the edges and I noticed that it didn't include his eyes. They were very serious. "Most normal women would not have lasted as long as you have in The Countdown. When you were chosen to play I had my doubts, but they are dissipating with every passing level."

"Normal women?"

He spread his hands. "We've had men play, exclusively. Criminals who are accustomed to a life of struggle and violence, whom no one would miss should they be … unsuccessful. Some rise to the challenge and others crumble under the pressure to perform or face the consequences of failure. We've never had a female competitor before."

"Why was I the lucky chosen one? I'm sure there're a lot of women in prison who would have jumped at the chance to come on this reality TV show from hell."

"Is that what you think this is? A reality TV show?"

"Isn't it?"

"This competition may bear a slight resemblance to the television programs available decades ago, but that was then and this is now. The Countdown is nothing like those innocent survival games."

I glared at him. "Yeah, Rogan was telling me something about 'elimination' meaning death. And that robot guy put a bullet in my leg to prove it."

He looked down at the white sheet that covered me from my chest down. "How is your leg? May I see?"

"No, you may not."

He let out a long breath. "I know you don't trust me, Kira-"

"Oh, should I trust you? As far as I can tell you're just one of the bastards who put me and Rogan in this situation in the first place."

"You include Rogan. Have you come to care for his safety as well as your own?"

I slunk down in the bed. "That's none of your business."

"It is curious to me how a vibrant young woman like yourself would so quickly come to care for someone like Rogan. You are aware of what he was in prison for, aren't you?"

I frowned at him. "'Crimes that I'd never forgive anyone for."

"Yes, given your history and what happened to your family, I can sec that. But you care for him anyhow. And why is that?"

"Because he's innocent."

"Are you so sure of that?"

"I'm sure."

"Did you use your psi ability on him? Your ability to connect empathically with another?"

I went very cold and still at his words. Nobody knew about my flex. Nobody.

He waved a hand. "Don't be alarmed. It isn't common knowledge. In fact, I am one of the very few connected with The Countdown who know of your hidden talents."

"How did you-"

"How did I know? We know everything. All doctors keep very special records on their patients. A large percentage of female children born after the plague are psychically gifted."

"A large percentage?" I asked. This was the first I'd ever heard of this.

He nodded. "Your abilities are marked down as low-level, which typically would not cause much of an interest from the scientific community." He walked toward the small window overlooking another gray building. "Many of the other girls with high-level psi powers were taken to Offworld as soon as they were discovered so they could grow up in a much more stable environment. Those with the low-level abilities such as yourself were mostly ignored. But it is still in your markup-your DNA profile. I thought your abilities might help you along in the game in some small way. I may have been wrong. He doesn't believe it makes any difference at all."

There was no smile on his face anymore as he turned from the window to look at me again.

I struggled to sit higher up in the bed. "Who are you talking about?"

"Gareth. The producer of The Countdown. He is pleased with your showing so far but doesn't feel that your psi abilities have anything to do with your success. Our subscribers are also very happy. We've had a 20 percent increase in viewing time since your game began. And the more they view, the longer they use their implants, and the more they pay."

I tried to process everything he'd told me. If my doctor had written in my profile that I had psi abilities, did that mean my parents knew? They'd never discussed it with me. It had been a total and complete surprise one day when I was sixteen and I happened to tap into it quite by accident when I touched somebody. It had hurt so badly that I hadn't attempted it again for six months.

There was no reason Jonathan had to share all of this with me. All he had to do was patch me up and let me get back to the game, but I swear I saw concern in his gaze as he looked at me.

I felt an unbidden tear slip down my right cheek. "Jonathan, you have to help me. Help us. I don't want to die."

He nodded grimly. "I know you don't." He took in a deep breath and let it out. "Please, Kira, let me see your leg."

I shook my head.

He rolled up his right sleeve and thrust his forearm at me. 'Touch me. Use your ability if you don't trust me. See that I mean you no harm."

I studied him for a full minute before I decided to do as he said. I touched the skin of his arm just below his elbow, pressing my fingers against his flesh. I could feel his quick but steady pulse.

I closed my eyes and tried to push out all other thoughts from my mind. This took a couple of minutes, since my mind was currently rather full.

And then I flexed.

The images and sensations came to me in flashes. Nothing coherent or totally understandable. It wasn't home movies of the mind. Just flashes. Words. Thoughts.

:::::::::Tired

Angry:::::::::

:::::::::Determined

Sincere:::::::::

:::::::::Sad

Hopeful:::::::::

:::::::::Guilty

A wash of goodness swept over me. Sadness. Angst and despair. A good man forced to do things he didn't agree with. Someone who wanted to help to make things better.

Then a spear of pain lanced through my head and I let go of him, pressing my palms against the sides of my head.

Agony.

Par for the course. One of the reasons I tried to use my flex as little as possible.

After a moment I felt a cold cloth on my forehead and opened my eyes slowly. The fluorescent lights above now seemed too bright, and I squinted. Jonathan held a wet towel against my forehead. He stared at me with wide eyes.

"Did you sense anything?" he asked breathlessly. "I felt you … I felt you in my mind."

"Did it hurt?"

"No, it was a curious feeling, but it wasn't pain. Perhaps you're not as low-level as indicated in your records. Are you well?"

I pushed his hand away. "Well enough, I guess."

I pulled at the sheets that covered me and bared my legs for him.

He undid the bandages and inspected my right thigh.

"Very good. It has healed as well as I'd hoped."

I frowned and looked down. Where I expected to find an oozing bullet wound was only a soft, bright pink mark that had already nearly healed over. It didn't even hurt when he touched it gently.

Rogan had said I'd been out for eighteen hours. But even eighteen hours wasn't long enough to heal a bullet wound.

"How-" I began.

"We have a great deal of technology at our fingertips here, Kira. The company I work for has always had a hand in research-be it computers and artificial intelligence or medical research. That is why I originally came on board ten years ago. Unfortunately, due to recent rules and regulations, I'm unable to share this research with anyone outside of the corporation at this time."

I touched my leg, running a finger along the wound. It was flat. I was healed. From a wound that felt as if it had torn my leg clean off.

"What kind of a company is this, anyhow? And who is this Gareth guy? He has people doing secret medical research? He's the one who's in charge of this game? He sounds horrible."

"He wasn't always." Jonathan's eyes glistened and he turned away, took in a shuddery breath, and then turned back to me. "Now I am to fill you in on the reward level of The Countdown!'

Tears pricked at my own eyes. "But I can't keep playing. You need to help me. Please, Jonathan."

His jaw clenched. "Kira, please. The only way you can escape the game is to win it. You read me. You must know that there is nothing I can do to change what is."

I had read him. The overwhelming feeling I'd gotten from him before my head nearly exploded was hopelessness. He was despondent about his lot in life.

We were silent for a moment.

"Jonathan …" I began. "If I win … if me and Rogan both get through all six levels-"

"It doesn't have to be both of you anymore," he said.

"What?"

"I know the rules were never properly explained to you. The fact is, after Level Three, if you make it to the end together or separately, then you will be considered the winner."

I let this information settle over me. "And if either or both of us do finish successfully … we can ask for whatever we want?"

He nodded. "The champion or champions get to choose his or her own prize."

I licked my dry lips. "I'd be able to ask for a one-way ticket to Offworld?"

The smile reappeared on his face. "A first-class one-way ticket. Definitely."

"First-class," I repeated. "I like the sound of that."

Jonathan smiled. "I think you'd do very well on Offworld, Kira."

I let all the wonderful possibilities, the dream of freedom and a brand-new life, drift through my mind. "Maybe Rogan would like it there, too."

He frowned suddenly. "You said that you believe he's innocent."

I nodded and arranged the sheets back over my legs. "That's right. One hundred percent."

"Did you use your psi ability on him?"

"A little. But not fully. I haven't had time to concentrate long enough to use it. I asked him. He told me. I believe him."

The grim expression on Jonathan's face was not setting my mind at ease.

"I see." He rubbed his fingers against his small black goatee, his forehead furrowing into a deep frown.

"You see what?" I looked over at the door. Was Rogan still waiting outside? Had those men taken him away? He couldn't have gone too far, since my implant wasn't giving off a signal.

Jonathan didn't say anything for so long that my anxiety grew into a tight, dark ball in my stomach.

"You see what?" I said again, louder this time.

"It is not my place to say. In fact, I've stayed with you too long already. I was to check your leg and inform you that the next level is a reward level."

"I don't care about any reward unless it's a shuttle to Offworld and out of this game." My voice had gone shrill and harsh. "What are you keeping from me? What do you know about Rogan?"

He shook his head. "I should say nothing else, Kira. Time is running out. I must leave soon."

I touched his arm and forced my gaze to soften. I commanded myself not to cry. "I got a read on you, Jonathan. I know you're a good man inside, no matter what this Gareth guy is making you do. But if there's something I need to know about Rogan … He's … he's not really guilty of those horrible crimes, is he?"

I was afraid to ask the question and open myself up to the potential that I'd been an idiot to trust him, to trust my heart, which told me that he wasn't evil or capable of such terrible things. I felt something for him. I knew it was fast, but I felt a … a softness for Rogan. My heart, which had been closed up tight ever since my family had been murdered, had opened up just a little. I believed in him. I wouldn't believe in an evil man.

"I knew Rogan," Jonathan began, "before any of this insanity began. We were friends once."

"I knew you knew each other," I said. "I could tell earlier, when you helped him with his wound."

He nodded curtly and began pacing the sterile white room, wringing his hands in front of him. "We were both only children when his parents died and he was sent to live with an uncle. The uncle … he wasn't a good man. His cruelty led Rogan to experiment with Kerometh as an escape from the abuse."

I inhaled sharply. Kerometh had been the drug of choice ever since the plague. Expensive, but easy to acquire, easy to take. I'd never personally experimented with it, but I'd heard that it put you into a state of disorientation. A deep, mindless bliss. But it lasted only a short time-a few hours, tops. After that you immediately plunged into the painful withdrawal that could last weeks unless you got another hit. If you didn't, then violence and anger- they called it Kerometh fury-took over.

"There's a reason you were chosen to be Rogan's partner, Kira," Jonathan said, his expression twisting into one of pain.

I shook my head. "He didn't kill those girls. He couldn't have." I swallowed hard past the thick lump in my throat. "Please don't tell me he was lying to me."

Jonathan shook his head. "No … he was telling you the truth. The murder of those nine poor girls was not his doing. He was charged and convicted of it, but he didn't do it."

I let out the breath I hadn't even known I'd been holding, and a great sense of relief flooded over me. "He's innocent?"

Jonathan was so still I thought that somebody might have hit his pause button. "He's innocent of those murders, Kira, but he is a murderer."

Something in his tone made me tense up. 'The … the robot said that he'd killed two inmates. But it was in self-defense."

Jonathan shook his head. "There are more."

I shook my head. I didn't want to hear what he was going to say next.

"Kira," Jonathan continued, his face a study in despair, "I know you've grown to care for him. That's why it's vital that I tell you this now, before it's too late. You have the right to know." He hesitated, as if summoning something inside of himself to speak the words that followed. "While he was in the throes of Kerometh fury seven years ago, Rogan … Rogan is the man responsible for murdering your family."

The silence that followed that statement was deafening.

"What?" I managed. My heart pounded, a thundering sound in my own ears.

"He murdered your mother, father, and sister. They were not the first or last of his victims that night. He doesn't know that you were connected to this act at all. He'd never seen you before you met at the beginning of The Countdown. His mind is clear now from spending these past four years in prison. He's drug-free. I'm not even sure if he'd be capable of murder anymore, but it doesn't change the past."

"What?" I was crying now the tears that I'd held inside so long. Sobbing hard and rocking back and forth, feeling just this side of crazy. I felt as if my entire life had just imploded and taken everything I knew with it.

It made sense. It made such horrible sense. Of course that was why they made us partners. Of course.

Rogan, the man with the beautiful ocean-colored eyes, the man my gut told me was innocent, the man I'd wanted to kiss so badly my lips burned, the man I'd believed in heart and soul even after knowing him only such a short time.

He killed my family and took everything from me. He should have killed me, too. I wished he had.

I'm a very bad man, Rogan had told me only minutes ago. If you knew the truth about me, you wouldn't be looking at me like that. You'd hate me. And you'd sure as hell not want to kiss me.

He killed my family.

Still, something deep inside of me refused to believe it. No. It's not true. Jonathan's lying to you. They're all lying to you.

I rocked back and forth for a long time, my knees against my chest, and I hugged them tightly against me.

Jonathan, the man my flex had revealed to be truthful and honest and filled with guilt about the job he had to do, patted my back and gently wiped my tears away.

"I'm sorry, Kira. I probably shouldn't have told you, but I could see you growing closer to him. Too close. I cared for him once myself, but after the Kerometh … the Rogan I knew was gone forever. He may not have killed those girls, but he did deserve to go to Saradone, you see? You don't deserve any of this, and I'm so sorry. All I can tell you is what I told you before…." He trailed off.

I waited for him to continue, but he didn't. I raised my head. "What?"

He cleared his throat before he spoke again. "Only one of you has to live to the end of The Countdown," he told me, stony-faced. "If Rogan dies it won't be held against you. You'll still get your ticket to Offworld. Do you understand what I'm telling you?"

I just stared at him. "I… I think so."

He nodded and took out a small black remote control from his pocket. It had a series of red and yellow buttons on it. "I'm very glad to hear it."

"Wh-what's that?"

His face was set in grim lines. "This device is connected to your implant. Now that I've determined you have healed enough, I'm afraid we must continue on to the reward level. Are you ready, Kira?"

I shook my head. "No, I just need a little time. Just a little-"

"I'm sorry," he said, and pressed a button. "It's already begun."

Everything went black.