Richard Santos felt the second bullet punch through his ribs before he heard the gunshot. The first one had already shattered his collarbone, spinning him sideways in the leather seat. His driver, Marcus, slumped forward against the steering wheel, blood spreading across his white collar.
The Range Rover swerved, and Richard's vision blurred. He tried to speak, to curse, to do anything, but his lungs filled with something warm and thick. The Las Vegas Strip blurred past the window, neon lights smearing into streaks of color.
He thought about Marco Vendetti's face when Richard knocked his opponent cold in the third round instead of losing, and about the thirty million dollars he'd just thrown away because of his pride.
Stupid. So goddamn stupid.
The car hit something, and then glass exploded, then nothing.
Richard's eyes snapped open.
Hot sand pressed against his cheek. The smell of sweat, blood, and human waste filled his nostrils. He pushed himself up, and his chest rose and fell without pain.
He looked down. Bronze chest plate, leather straps, sandals. A gladius lay beside him in the sand, and next to it, a curved shield, rectangular, painted red with gold trim.
"What the hell?"
Richard grabbed the gladius, testing its weight. The balance felt off compared to modern weapons, but his hand adjusted, fingers wrapping around the leather grip.
He stood, and the world came into focus.
An arena with stone walls rising thirty feet high, packed with nothing.
Seven other people occupied the sand with him. Some scrambled for weapons, and others stood frozen, staring at their hands like they'd never seen fingers before. A woman in her forties sobbed, shield hanging limp in one hand, sword dragging through sand.
One figure caught Richard's attention. A young guy who looked to be in his twenties, already in a fighting stance. His eyes scanned the arena the same way any competent fighter would.
Their eyes met, and the kid gave a slight nod. An acknowledgment that they were both predators in a cage filled with prey.
Then the light appeared.
Richard's vision went white. The light came above the arena, taking a shape that hurt to look at directly. When it spoke, the voice came from everywhere, inside Richard's skull, through the sand, and from the walls.
"Welcome, dead ones."
The sobbing woman's knees buckled, and a man in business attire, with his hands shaking, dropped his gladius.
"You stand in my arena because you died. Car crashes, bullets, disease, age. The method doesn't concern me. What concerns me is entertainment."
"On the other side of death, there is nothing. You simply cease to exist. The light pulsed, growing brighter. "Unless you amuse me."
"Fight. Kill. Survive. The last one standing receives a second chance at life. The light's voice took on something that might have been humor. "The rest of you get oblivion. Make your choice quickly. I grow bored with hesitation."
For three seconds, nobody moved.
Then the man in the business suit lunged at the crying woman with desperation, driving a wild overhead swing. The woman's scream cut off when the gladius opened her throat, and blood sprayed across the sand.
The arena exploded into chaos.
A heavyset man charged at Richard from the left, roaring like the sound alone would win the fight. Richard sidestepped, letting the momentum carry the man past, and drove his gladius through the exposed kidney area. The blade grated against bone, and the man's roar became a wet gurgle. Richard ripped the sword free and kicked the body away, already looking for the next threat.
The military kid had killed the business suit. He pulled his blade free and turned toward Richard.
They circled each other while two others fought nearby. An older woman with surprising speed cut down a teenage boy who'd been too scared to raise his shield. The boy's blood pooled around his knees before he fell face-first into it.
There were four left.
The military kid feinted left, but Richard didn't bite.
"You know what you're doing," He said.
"You too."
"Marines. Iraq. You?"
"UFC."
They moved at the same time.
He came in fast, trying to close the distance and negate the reach advantage, and Richard gave ground, using footwork. He threw a thrust, but Richard parried with his shield, angling it to redirect. The blade skittered off bronze with a metallic shriek. Richard stepped inside his guard and drove an elbow into his temple.
The impact stunned him for half a second. Richard grabbed his sword wrist, twisted, and used a judo throw. He went down hard, and Richard followed with his gladius.
His shield came up, and bronze met iron with a clang. He then rolled, trying to create space, but Richard had fought grapplers his entire career. Richard trapped the kid's shield arm, applied pressure to the elbow joint, and felt cartilage pop. He screamed, then Richard drove his gladius through the gap between helmet and chest plate and twisted.
Blood sprayed across Richard's face. The kid's eyes went wide, then empty. Richard held the blade there for three more seconds, making sure, then pulled it free.
Three are left besides himself.
The older woman had killed another. She stood over the body, breathing hard, covered in blood. A gash ran down her left arm, deep enough that bone showed through. She wouldn't last much longer.
The last man stood frozen, sword and shield hanging limp, still dressed in what looked like fast-food restaurant clothes. Nametag on his chest read "KEVIN."
The woman looked at Kevin, then at Richard. She moved first, but was slow; the arm wound had already bled too much.
Richard let her come. She swung wildly, trying to take his head off. He ducked under it and used his elbow to hit her in the face, shattering her nose and teeth. She staggered back.
Richard kicked her leg. She went down on one knee, then he reversed his grip on the gladius and drove it down through the gap between her neck and shoulder, angling toward the heart.
She died with her eyes open, still trying to swing.
Kevin hadn't moved.
Richard turned to face him, blood dripping from his sword. Kevin's hands shook so badly that the gladius slipped from his grip. It hit the sand with a soft thump.
"Pick it up," Richard said.
Kevin shook his head with tears coming from his eyes.
"Pick up the goddamn sword."
"I don't want to fight." Kevin's voice cracked. "Please. I don't want to die again."
Richard walked toward him. Kevin backed up, stumbling over a corpse, catching himself before he fell. His shield came up in a pathetic attempt at defense.
"Then you've already lost."
Richard closed the distance in three strides. He batted the shield aside with his own, stepped into Kevin's guard, and thrust. The gladius punched through the armor and through the lung, emerging from Kevin's back in a spray of red.
Kevin's mouth opened. Blood came out instead of words. His eyes met Richard's, confused, hurt, like a child who didn't understand why adults lied.
Richard twisted the blade and pulled it free, and Kevin fell forward into the sand. His body twitched twice, then went still.
Silence filled the arena with corpses everywhere, with the smell of opened bowels and released bladders mixed with copper and salt.
Richard stood alone, chest heaving, blood coating his arms up to the elbows. His heart hammered against his ribs from the rush. The same rush he got in the octagon when an opponent went down and stayed down, and when the crowd roared, and he knew he'd won.
He'd forgotten how good it felt.
The light descended, and Richard's eyes watered trying to focus on it.
"Well done, Richard Santos, Your death was particularly satisfying. You knew Vendetti would kill you for winning that fight, and you did it anyway. Watching you bleed out in that car crash while cursing your own stupidity provided excellent entertainment."
"Glad I could help."
"Oh, you will. Your second chance awaits. A new world with your memories intact and a little special reward that would spice things up. I'll be watching you closely, Richard Santos. Don't disappoint me."
Before Richard could ask what the reward was, the light expanded, surrounding Richard in white brilliance, then pain exploded through Richard's body. It felt like every cell was simultaneously tearing apart and rebuilding. He tried to scream, but had no throat to scream with. His consciousness remained trapped in the center of the pain, aware of every excruciating second as the light unmade him.
Then the world went white, then black, then ceased to exist entirely.