The Change: Episode one Read online

  I hid a sneer. The Network reporter had no idea how right she was. I had come to win, and there wasn’t any level to which I wouldn’t stoop. As I moved back toward those deceptively safe-appearing red curtains, I tugged a string to let my cloak fall to the stone floor. Under it, I wore a laced outfit of thin, black strips that left my backside gloriously bare from head to toe.

  There was silence for nearly a full second.

  "Wow."

  Even the announcer was stunned, and as the wails and whistles began, I bent down and retrieved my cloak, giving them a view that sent the noise to new levels and caused the Bachelors to shove forward against their own protection. The Network liked to be sure their males were willing, but I knew they were drugged, tortured, brainwashed… and I was using it.

  I slid the cloak back into place over my tattooed, battle-scarred body, pretending oblivion to the chaos behind me. I turned to give them a front view, letting my eyes flash into that dangerous shade of pink we Changelings are known for. It was a warning. When our eyes turned red, it was usually too late.

  The crowd of lusty men and women quieted, sensing there was more to come, and I obliged them by sweeping my cloak open. The front was a flared web of black lace over my stomach that faded into the flesh of my body like it was a part of the tattoo. It outlined me like a black and tan glow, and the aroused males went crazy.

  Instantly the main story, I would now start out the competition with a full ration of food and medical credits due to high ratings. Embarrassing, but flawless… except I couldn’t look away from the males trying to get to me.

  Those eyes! I’d waited ten years to get here, a decade when I‘d been sure every night that he was being hurt… I’d been right. His face was harder now, still as pale, and it looked as if his nose had been broken, but I couldn’t be sure. It was Daniel, though - from the full lips to that pointed jawline… I swung my cloak closed and took a step backward as pain filled my head.

  Roars of need and drunken delight were spilling through the arena, along with the sounds of a small stampede. I was forced to tune it all out to deal with my own carelessness as I registered a presence waiting behind the curtain.

  I straightened, and something sharp went around my throat. Not flawless. It snapped me back to where I was, what was at stake.

  “That's my patch, and I'll have it back!”

  The Bachelors pushed closer to The Block, still trying to get to me. I struggled to breathe, to think around the rage… then I reacted.

  Opposite hand shoving up to break the hold, I snapped the wrist around my neck with a vicious twist. As we spun, I brought my elbow in from the other direction and slammed it into an unprotected throat. It crunched grotesquely, and the heavy body behind me jerked.

  The would-be assassin fell to the stone floor, and I delivered a final blow to her temple without hesitating. Blood sprayed from her mouth, speckling the floor. She never made a sound… couldn’t.

  My head spun, searching for the next threat, and all the while, the men and the world watched my every move. Taking tight breaths, I pulled the rage back in, but it went slowly… reluctantly. I wanted more!

  Eyes flickering pink, I waved the twitchy, neutered medic over. “Send it to my parents.”

  With a cool nod to the camera, I moved off of the stage, and the announcer began to repeat it in brutal detail. My heart, the one saying I couldn’t leave him out there, I ignored. By morning, I should be one of the main contestants to beat, to ambush. Good. The sooner they attacked and I killed them, the sooner I'd have what I had come for.

  I took my ID from the scanner as I left the backstage area, noting the first golden star on the top. I grunted in satisfaction. Two hours inside the complex, half of it spent checking in, and I’d already earned my first guard.

  Coming from an employee door, she fell into step with a menace I admired. All Network employees wore the same black jumper with a silver-and-black Games logo over the right shoulder and a wide belt with an array of tools meant to cause harm… tools they enjoyed using. Guards were normally former winners of the Games who were too old to keep fighting, but too driven by the Change to get completely out of it.

  As I walked, I eyed my competition openly. The Network ran an episode a week of this Game, featuring ten brutal females who fought to the death. The single woman remaining at the end of seven days won her slot on The Block, meaning her choice of the bachelors. I grinned, sure it was fierce, and felt the others in the hall move back.

  There were five of us in the long corridor, marked by our hard, wary posture, and I evaluated, judged, searched for flaws. I found plenty, from an awkward step that could be tripped for a quick death blow, to a hair vanity that could be exploited. I grinned again, more confidently, and felt them shrink further back. Apparently, they weren't finding the same weaknesses in me.

  The wide passage was decorated in red and black and covered with photos. Each of them showcased a bloody and battered female with a wild, victorious face. I tried not to linger on the one who was familiar. So far, no one knew me for anything more than rounding up New American garbage. They’d forgotten the other Pruett woman who came to these games two decades ago and left with a legal mate. When I won, I'd have my pick of this lot, and one of them...

  I shoved the pain away and took in my surroundings with the observant eye I was known for. Powered by massive generators fed by the violent ocean, the annoying hum was a constant sound that kept this complex bathed in flickering yellow light, whereas most of the surrounding areas made do with homemade candles. It was a noise I loathed for what it represented. In contrast, the halls I now walked were neat and free of debris, one of the few places to be so clean. Even New Network City still had entire blocks crumbling into centuries-old decay. In those dark alleys and shadowy graveyards, the motions of rebellion also lurked.

  Acutely aware of not seeing a single window yet, I used the middle of the aisle to force my competition to move aside and continued my study. This was the first time I’d been inside, and I wanted to remember every detail. The Network complex was completely covered with a clear dome and the center complex now stood as a gleaming light in the distance meant to entrap survivors. Its streets further out were lightless paths through hell for those forced to live there, but the Network was apathetic at best about the condition of its subjects. In here, they were protected from the misery they’d caused.

  The rustic city outside consisted of lavishly constructed brick apartments around the complex, and debris-covered relics of a time gone by rippled out from there. The Network had demolished the entire center of the city and rebuilt their hub, providing narrow flats for important employees and visiting persons of value. They knew how to pamper those they needed, but as for their citizens…

  There were lines at the Network stores that often stretched out of sight, and the two churches allowed to operate inside the city limits, had front lawns covered in the tents of the homeless. Cats, along with rats, were nonexistent in this hungry city. The people were thin, jumpy from being under complete control of the street cameras and public executions. Anyone suspected of being in league with the rebels was shown no mercy. I had passed these signs on my way in with no change in expression, but my heart had hardened.

  The hall ended abruptly into another, this one lined with more photos set deeply around the frames of tall doors. I went to the one with the brightly striped candy cane on it, sure my cousin had taped it there. Angelica was the only one brave enough to call me Candy, and even she was careful about it. She was a Changeling, too, and she understood the mostly endless urge that took over to spill blood. It made us dangerous, changed us into people our families didn’t know.

  Due to the lack of males births, the female body craved a mate, was driven to continue the species. There was no other way to stop the rages, or the awful hatred of those who’d caused future generations to be so cursed. It came with puberty and left with death. The years between were an agony. To be called by the name you’
d used before the change was to be reminded of relief, of wonderful times when there was no burning under the skin and no blood behind your eyes. It hurt, and Changelings often lashed out violently at the sound of it. It had the same effect on me as the rest, but I also had a stronger reason I loathed the nickname. It never failed to remind me of what had been stolen.

  I pulled the candy cane down with a tolerant sigh. If Angelica’s parents weren't more careful than to let her keep running with me, she'd have them here in a year or two as well. She had a fire, an edge burning, that even I didn’t and I doubted she’d rent a male when she blew her top. She’d come here and win her own.

  Before opening the door to my room, I did another solid sweep of the halls I could see, the doors and cameras, the people moving by. I marked the exits, guarded and not, and the sense that I was being watched - from multiple angles. Most of the contestants for Network games were driven by the Change. The need to have a mate outweighed the need to live. There wasn’t anything these women wouldn’t face to get a man, and I was in danger every second I played, in the cage or not.

  For me, the drive, the agony, was just as potent, but it wasn’t why I’d come. I had hoped that would give me an advantage, along with my profession as a bounty hunter, of course. As I stored more information, like no windows here either, only walls and guards, I realized it didn’t matter anymore. On the solitary trip I’d insisted on to get to New Network City, I’d worried about being good enough, about surviving even if I lost… but I didn’t want that after seeing his unresponsive eyes. If I couldn’t go home with my prize, I’d rather be dead.

  4

  My parents both jumped as I entered the room.

  My guard, after first sweeping the three people waiting for me, leaned against the outside of the door. I closed it and turned to face my family. Those who had come, I amended. The rest were too far away, too worried, or too embarrassed to be here.

  My parents wore their best cloaks and boots, nothing else showing, and I admired their aloofness as they waited for me to speak. The traditional braids, one for each year of marriage, hung in shiny black waves around my mother’s scared face, giving her a halo-like glow. The gouges on her cheeks, by comparison, should have been on a demon’s face, not hers… and I’d put them there.

  "Hey, Candy." Angelica grinned at me from the couch in front of the big view screen. Telling me nothing had changed for her despite my harshness, and I appreciated it. Angelica’s parents and older sister were on a call in the Borderlands, or they would have been here, but we weren’t worried. That side of the Pruett family was even harder than this one.

  "Angel."

  My cousin frowned, but only clenched her fingers into tight fists, that, with her short black spikes, made her appear capable of more than just human concerns… as did I. All families resembled each other now. Genetics were limited, and males with blond or red hair were worth more… were often prizes in these games. Like Daniel.

  I winced; I hated breaking my own rules, but forced myself to finish the thought now that I’d allowed it to form. I was here for Daniel, my childhood friend and mate, and only death would stop me.

  "That went really well. They liked you."

  I raised a brow. "You think?"

  Angelica was only a bit shorter than me, but she was a lot lighter, and I promised myself I’d try to strengthen her body over the next years. If she really meant to enter the Games, she would need more weight to throw around.

  Angelica ignored my sarcasm. "Sure. It didn't hurt that you have a great butt."

  That made me laugh, but my Father turned a harsh glare on the teenager. He was ignored.

  "I was nervous before, but you've got a solid chance. Those other girls weren't all so bad."

  My Father's face was growing purple from wanting to silence her, but he held it in, knowing it would make me unhappy. I liked it when Angelica expressed herself openly. No one else would. Even my parents, during our row about my signing up, had been very careful. Because I'd Changed.

  "Mom. Dad."

  I'd known they would come, but they hadn't been sure of my welcome, I could tell. My Mother had obviously seen my performance on the wall screen. She hovered in the kitchen area, leery. Her blue cloak trembled delicately as she watched my every move.

  My Father was braver, forcing himself to give the customary hug, and I stood still, allowing it so that my Mother would know it was okay to be so close. When she finally worked up the courage to touch me, light, trembling fingers on my wrist, I remembered then, that I did love her...

  I smiled, patted her hand with my own softly.

  She gave me a hesitant smile in return, and I finished the thought. Sometimes. I was always furious anyway, but to see her daily, this sparkless vision of my future, was something I denied vehemently.

  "It's not too late to..."

  She broke off as my body tensed, and I turned away before my sudden rage could frighten her more. I'd only lost control once, but she'd never recovered. It wasn’t true anyway, I thought. When the complex doors sealed shut, turning back had ceased to be an option. She knew that better than most, since she’d been here too.

  I loathed my Mother’s weakness, partly because I envied the happiness, the peace. She was still the short-haired, muscular parent I’d been in awe of until the age of ten, and those were still her black eyes, but the rest of those features - the smile, the kindness in her eyes – belonged to a stranger. She’d still been burning while I grew up and it had been ugly. Now that I had my own fire, I could have forgiven her, but I’d expected her to help me, to save my Daniel, and she hadn’t. That was the real source of our problems… my hatred.

  "What's next?" Angelica broke the tension.

  I waved at the silent screen, where one of my competitors, wearing a traditional Korean uniform, was being interviewed. "Half an hour live with questions and Luck of the Draw."

  "Then the… cage."

  My Mother's voice shrank into itself on the last word. It was as though all the fear and anxiety I should have been feeling was her burden to carry. She’d been a wonder hacking into the computers, but once again, she was spineless. I sighed, not calm, but far from her panic. "You should go to your rooms now."

  She nodded at once, lips quivering from biting back more words that would only anger me. I turned to my Father’s naturally pale face. "You'll have to be on guard. There may be attacks."

  "I know firsthand what you've sentenced us to!" he spat.

  His harsh tone and words were shocking, but before I could consider a reply, his voice lowered, became urgent with worry.

  "Be careful!"

  He was gone a second later, leaving me a bit stunned at his display of emotions, but not so much that I didn't see the calculating looks following their unguarded shoulders up the hall. The sharks were already circling, and my family wouldn't have any protection, not here or at home, until I made it to the next round.

  The doorway across from mine was dark, ominous. I could feel sharp eyes on both me and the teenager lingering by my side. Mostly on Angelica though, and I did what any loving Pruett family member would have. I motioned her out and firmly closed the door.

  Angelica was a lot more lethal than she appeared. She should be. We'd been training together for a long time, before she'd even been sturdy enough to hold a rail against me. My little cousin would follow in my footsteps, I was sure. The Network also had something she wanted more than her life.

  5

  My room was just that.

  A single room with a couch, wall screen, and kitchen set-up, all of it was an ugly green. 10’ x 10’, it held shadows and rats, and I pushed it aside with my usual attitude of ‘whatever it takes’. I’d spent the night in worse on bounty runs, and this den would stay stocked with whatever I needed as long as I survived.

  I pushed the volume button as I headed for the tiny washroom, wincing at the loud reporter’s irritating voice as it blared from the Network equipment.

  “The
Blonde Bombshell legally changed her name from Cassandra Rowe after winning her first Game as a teen. So far, she has survived five of the sixteen shows the Network offers, and is rumored to be shooting for the job of Head Defender. Ironically enough, the former owner of that title is one of the contestants the Bombshell will face in this episode.”

  After a quick stop and wash, I hit the couch, only vaguely aware of the Network reporter still talking. It had taken me three straight days on the Mopar to get here, and I was beat.

  "Now, a look at last week's highlights. Roll it, Phyllis."

  The picture changed to the huge bridge I'd crossed upon arriving at the Games Complex. On stilts to avoid the usual flooding, the bridge had swayed and shuddered as I rolled over. Much like it was doing on the screen.

  I leaned back against the buggy couch and covered up with my thick cloak as I studied the competition. The two women were battling the rocking bridge as much as each other, and I recognized the muscle-bound blonde right away. The Bombshell was the reigning champion from last week, the first contestant in more than two hundred years to claim her mate, and then sign on to defend her crown. I’d heard another rumor that she was doing it as a bounty for the Network, who wanted their former Defender out of the way. She was one of the nine I would face.

  I snorted. Eight. So easily forgotten, my quick execution tonight had been a little too easy. I suspected the other battles wouldn't be the same.

  The champion on the screen used her elbow to land a vicious hit to the taller female's face, and her opponent went careening off the bridge to vanish in the icy sludge below. I watched the Bombshell scream in triumph. She wasn't very intimidating at all, just those emotionless eyes… and that worried me. It was like staring in a mirror. No, the official fights wouldn’t be the same at all.

  Out of the contestants I'd seen, only three were real competition - the Bombshell, the Defender, and one unknown. That would be the owner of the menacing doorway across from mine. Anyone who could do that to me, sight-unseen, was trouble in my book.