asked London
to give us a look at Fortress 23’s main runway, accessing the
micro-cams outside of the hangar’s blast doors.
“ Absolutely,” London replied cheerfully. “Serving the
handsome and talented Matthew Moxon is my genuine
pleasure.”
“What was that
about?” I laughed.
“Remember when
you asked me to stop London...you know, with the Frost compliments?
How she... it always talked about him? Well I tried ,
but since you’re the default owner of the fortress now, it...well,
I screwed up.”
The two
floating orange spheres merged as if they were made of liquid,
flattening and expanding into a rectangular screen. The security
feed blipped to life.
The screen
displayed a young girl standing at the blast doors, rapping her
knuckles against the steel surface. The fur-lined hood of her
winter coat obscured most of her face, but from what I could tell
she was a child who couldn’t have been older than twelve. Flanking
her was a pair of large men wearing hunting jackets, with
military-grade hardware strapped to their shoulders – old AK-47
machine guns, from what I could tell. They were the campers that
Valentina was using for target practice earlier, and they looked pissed . Something told me the assault rifles they brandished
weren’t designed to fire marshmallows.
“This is
irregular,” Chandler mumbled to himself. “This is highly ...I
mean, we don’t usually get guests. Or visitors. Not that we’re
going to invite them in, obviously, that would be up to you because
you’re the new Frost. I mean, you’re not him, you’re
the—”
“ Chandler ,” I interrupted, patting him on the shoulder. “I
get it, this is strange. Let’s just go down and check things
out.”
Not the best
with confrontation, Chandler opted to stay upstairs and observe
from a safe distance. He informed me that I could open the massive
interlocking doors to the hangar, but leave a transparent blast
shield in place. It doesn’t offer the same measure of protection as
the regular doors, but the micro-alloy could withstand a grenade
blast without suffering so much as a scratch, which would provide
me with more than enough security. There was no way the visitors
were getting past it.
I marched
through the hangar to its cavernous opening, and waited patiently
as the blast doors inched their way open. A narrow stream of light
poured through the crack. It slowly revealed my visitor, standing
just an arm’s length away, separated by a thin sheet of protective
glass.
She was a
porcelain doll; beautiful and pristine, her lips a pale shade of
pink, cheeks stung red from the arctic air. She pulled her hood
back with both hands, revealing a ribbon of golden blond hair and
intense crystal-blue eyes. I’d only witnessed a gaze that piercing
once in my life. It was in The Arena, right before I watched a man
die at my feet.
The girl
standing before me was the only living relative of the late Sergei
Taktarov – his little sister, Valeriya.
And I knew
exactly what she wanted.
Chapter Ten
“ We have not
been introduced, you and I.” Her English was clearer since the
last time I’d heard her speak, her Russian accent barely
perceptible.
The weird thing
about coming face to face with an arch-nemesis is that it’s rarely
the person you expect – at least that’s how it happened for me. I’m
sure Bruce Wayne didn’t anticipate using millions of dollars worth
of high-tech equipment to battle a deranged clown; or that Clark
Kent, an alien with the powers of a god, would spend most of his
time fighting a businessman. And the last person who I expected to
come knocking at my door (in the middle of the Canadian wilderness,
no less) was a pre-teen girl backed by a group of heavily-armed
thugs.
I’d seen
Valeriya Taktarov’s iTube video that went live shortly after Arena
Mode. She threatened me for what I’d done to her brother, and
invited the downtrodden to join a new Red Army. Her words were
articulate, impassioned, and
to give us a look at Fortress 23’s main runway, accessing the
micro-cams outside of the hangar’s blast doors.
“ Absolutely,” London replied cheerfully. “Serving the
handsome and talented Matthew Moxon is my genuine
pleasure.”
“What was that
about?” I laughed.
“Remember when
you asked me to stop London...you know, with the Frost compliments?
How she... it always talked about him? Well I tried ,
but since you’re the default owner of the fortress now, it...well,
I screwed up.”
The two
floating orange spheres merged as if they were made of liquid,
flattening and expanding into a rectangular screen. The security
feed blipped to life.
The screen
displayed a young girl standing at the blast doors, rapping her
knuckles against the steel surface. The fur-lined hood of her
winter coat obscured most of her face, but from what I could tell
she was a child who couldn’t have been older than twelve. Flanking
her was a pair of large men wearing hunting jackets, with
military-grade hardware strapped to their shoulders – old AK-47
machine guns, from what I could tell. They were the campers that
Valentina was using for target practice earlier, and they looked pissed . Something told me the assault rifles they brandished
weren’t designed to fire marshmallows.
“This is
irregular,” Chandler mumbled to himself. “This is highly ...I
mean, we don’t usually get guests. Or visitors. Not that we’re
going to invite them in, obviously, that would be up to you because
you’re the new Frost. I mean, you’re not him, you’re
the—”
“ Chandler ,” I interrupted, patting him on the shoulder. “I
get it, this is strange. Let’s just go down and check things
out.”
Not the best
with confrontation, Chandler opted to stay upstairs and observe
from a safe distance. He informed me that I could open the massive
interlocking doors to the hangar, but leave a transparent blast
shield in place. It doesn’t offer the same measure of protection as
the regular doors, but the micro-alloy could withstand a grenade
blast without suffering so much as a scratch, which would provide
me with more than enough security. There was no way the visitors
were getting past it.
I marched
through the hangar to its cavernous opening, and waited patiently
as the blast doors inched their way open. A narrow stream of light
poured through the crack. It slowly revealed my visitor, standing
just an arm’s length away, separated by a thin sheet of protective
glass.
She was a
porcelain doll; beautiful and pristine, her lips a pale shade of
pink, cheeks stung red from the arctic air. She pulled her hood
back with both hands, revealing a ribbon of golden blond hair and
intense crystal-blue eyes. I’d only witnessed a gaze that piercing
once in my life. It was in The Arena, right before I watched a man
die at my feet.
The girl
standing before me was the only living relative of the late Sergei
Taktarov – his little sister, Valeriya.
And I knew
exactly what she wanted.
Chapter Ten
“ We have not
been introduced, you and I.” Her English was clearer since the
last time I’d heard her speak, her Russian accent barely
perceptible.
The weird thing
about coming face to face with an arch-nemesis is that it’s rarely
the person you expect – at least that’s how it happened for me. I’m
sure Bruce Wayne didn’t anticipate using millions of dollars worth
of high-tech equipment to battle a deranged clown; or that Clark
Kent, an alien with the powers of a god, would spend most of his
time fighting a businessman. And the last person who I expected to
come knocking at my door (in the middle of the Canadian wilderness,
no less) was a pre-teen girl backed by a group of heavily-armed
thugs.
I’d seen
Valeriya Taktarov’s iTube video that went live shortly after Arena
Mode. She threatened me for what I’d done to her brother, and
invited the downtrodden to join a new Red Army. Her words were
articulate, impassioned, and
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