A dull, grinding ache radiated from behind his sternum with every shallow breath. The doctors packed up their diagnostic tablets. Rubber soles squeaked against the linoleum. The automated door slid shut, sealing the medical bay in a suffocating quiet.
A massive waste of time.
The one percent sync rate. The useless surplus armor. His right arm was currently locked tight in a rigid medical brace, heavy and completely unresponsive. The fantasy was dead.
His eyes remained shut against the harsh fluorescents. Any second now, the door would hiss open again. Elara would march in. She had promised to be back from her dungeon dive in two weeks. She was going to scream at him for ending up in another hospital bed.
Or maybe it would be Vance. The foreman would toss a stained disposal uniform onto the cot and demand he report for the graveyard shift. Back to the blood-slicked concrete. Back to carving up dead Kaiju.
The door hissed open.
Light, precise footsteps tapped across the tiles. Elara stomped in heavy combat boots. Vance dragged his heels. This was someone else.
A frustrated exhale.
"Who the hell do you think you are?"
"Stupid. Absolute idiot," a girl muttered.
Caleb kept his eyes shut against the fluorescents. The medical cocktail slowed his brain to a crawl.
"You look pathetic." The tone was crisp and arrogant. Unmistakably wealthy. Kikaru.
She kicked the metal frame of his bed. "I only came down here to make sure you didn't expire and ruin my exam record. You took my best hit and walked it off. You don't get to die from a little internal bleeding."
Her boots resumed pacing, striking the floor with aggressive force.
"Who the hell do you think you are?" she demanded to the empty room. "Hitting me like that. You bruised me! I've never been hit like that in my life. Much less by some out-of-shape garbage sweeper having a mid-life crisis. And now what? You think you can just go off and die?! Make me look like the bad guy?!"
He lay there for a moment.
A wet sniffle broke the quiet.
Wait. Am I dying?
He bolted upright.
Wait. Am I?! a thought entered his mind before his body reacted.
Caleb bolted upright. The rigid brace locked against his ribs, shooting fire through his collarbone. "Wait, what? who said I am dying?!"
Kikaru shrieked. She scrambled backward, her boots tangling in the IV stand. A metal tray crashed to the linoleum.
She plastered her back against the wall, staring at him. A furious, embarrassed flush crept up her neck.
"You're supposed to be in a coma!" Her voice pitched up. "Were you just eavesdropping on me this entire time?!"
Caleb stared at her. "If I was in a coma, how would I eavesdrop? Also, I was trying to sleep."
She balled her hands into fists. "I wasn't talking to you! I was conducting a verbal stress test! If a trauma patient doesn't react to loud noises, it means they are brain-dead. I was testing your neurological response!"
Caleb slumped back into the pillows. "By complaining about a bruise?"
A flush crept up her neck.
Caleb exhaled, letting his head sink into the mattress. "Sorry about the bruise, by the way."
Kikaru froze. Her jaw dropped. The flush on her neck darkened into a furious red.
"It didn't actually hurt!" she yelled. She marched right back to the edge of the bed, pointing a shaking finger at his bandages. "I wear a multi-million-credit prototype! You wear garbage! You didn't hurt me! Don't you dare pity me, you out-of-shape loser!"
She kicked the tangled IV tubing off her boot and stormed out of the room. Her heavy heels struck the linoleum in a punishing rhythm. The pneumatic door hissed shut.
It slid open again. A nurse stepped inside, clutching a datapad. He stopped, looking down at the overturned tray, the scattered surgical tools, and the swinging IV pole.
"What happened in here?" the nurse asked.
Caleb shifted his weight against the mattress, wincing at the pull of his stitches. "I guess a friend came to say hi and tripped on some loose wire."
Caleb coughed, the harsh sound rattling his bruised ribs. "Am I dying? I overheard her yelling something about it."
The nurse frowned at the bio-monitor beside the bed. "No. As long as your fractured bones don't break inward and puncture your organs, you'll live." She tapped a button on the IV drip. "Try to get some rest. We pumped eight hundred milligrams of morphine into your line. It will drag you under eventually."
She pointed a small remote at the wall. The flat screen flickered to life. The Runner Trials broadcast filled the room. Aerial drone footage swept over the massive testing stadium, panning through thick clouds of displaced dirt. The grid had narrowed down. Only eight combat spaces remained open at any given moment, the remaining applicants fighting desperately to secure a slot.
"I'll check your charts this evening," the nurse said, tucking the remote into her pocket. "If your pressure stabilizes, hopefully we can get you discharged for home recovery."
The words settled heavy in his gut. The run was officially over. Caleb exhaled a long, measured breath and forced a tight smile. "Thanks. The sooner I get home, the sooner I can put this behind me. It was good to at least give it a try."
The nurse chuckled. "Yeah. I believe everyone was surprised to see such an older person trying out, much less the general dad bod you have."
A drop of sweat beaded at Caleb's hairline. He rubbed the back of his neck, wincing at the pull of his shoulder muscles. "I guess that rich girl was right. It might have come from a mid-life crisis when I almost died, and I should be happy to be alive."
The nurse turned toward the exit. "Well, go out swinging with your dreams. I think a lot of people could enjoy that motive."
She walked out. The pneumatic door hissed shut.
Caleb stared at the empty doorway. The heavy medical cocktail slowed his thoughts, but a bizarre detail snagged in his brain. The nurse's uniform featured discolored shoulder pads. A tiny red light blinked steadily on the edge of her collarbone seam.
Did she have a camera?
The morphine pulled hard at his eyelids, blurring the edges of the room. A frantic voice cut through the broadcast audio, dragging his attention back to the television.
On the wall-mounted screen, Hiro backpedaled. His opponent charged.
Caleb recognized the red-trimmed armor instantly. It was the same arrogant recruit who had mocked his single-viewer stream before the trials started.
The rust-haired recruit lunged, driving an augmented fist forward. Hiro ducked. The heavy gauntlet missed his shoulder and smashed into the ground. The suit's synthetic fibers hummed, multiplying the kinetic force of the blow. The impact tore a deep trench through the arena dirt, showering the camera drone with gravel.
Hiro tripped over a slab of broken concrete, hitting the ground hard. He rolled as the recruit's metal boot crashed down where his head had just been.
The hot-headed recruit laughed, his voice booming over the stadium's broadcast audio. "Stop running, coward! You're making this boring!"
He stepped forward, completely dropping his guard and exposing his midsection.
Hiro drew his standard-issue pistol. He aimed straight at the space between his attacker's boots.
He fired three times.
The compression rounds shattered against the foundation. A burst of freezing vapor expanded outward. Thick ice crystallized over the attacker's calves, fusing the metal joints to the floor.
"What the—" The loudmouth cursed. He yanked his leg upward. The ice held him fast.
Hiro scrambled up. He sprinted. His fourteen-percent sync rate flared, driving the suit's synthetic muscles to push his speed far past a normal human sprint. Ten feet out, he threw his body into the air.
He tucked his chin and launched a two-footed dropkick.
Both metal-plated boots slammed into the trapped recruit's chest. The impact cracked like a gunshot over the stadium speakers. The concussive force launched the loudmouth backward. He skidded across the gravel, tumbling out of the designated ring.
The elimination buzzer blared.
The elimination buzzer rattled the tiny television speaker in the hospital room.
Caleb fought to keep his eyes open. The heavy dose of morphine dragged at his skull, turning the edges of the screen into a gray smear.
On the broadcast feed, Hiro walked to the edge of the fractured ring. He kicked the shattered ice away from his opponent's boots and extended a hand.
The rust-haired recruit wiped dirt from his chin guard. He glared at the glove, then grabbed it, letting Hiro haul him upright.
An announcer drone drifted into the camera's frame. Its mechanical voice clipped through the television's static. "Match concluded. Winner: Hiro Okuda. Eliminated: Iharu Furuhashi."
Caleb exhaled a slow, rattling breath. So that was the loudmouth's name. Iharu.
A digital graphic flashed across the bottom of the screen. The network tallied the active viewership for their specific ring.
Caleb squinted at the bright yellow digits. He rubbed his face with his good hand, certain the painkillers were messing with his vision.
23,540.
His head sank deep into the pillows. The broadcast audio faded into a dull hum as the medication finally pulled him under.
Twenty-three thousand.
Hiro wasn't just surviving the trials. People were actually watching him do it.
Caleb nodded with a slight smile at the thought before f