The Immortality Game

«Marcus! What’s happening!»

Tavik’s continued laughter began to grate on his ears.

“You look so funny standing there waiting to be shot,” Tavik said. He fought to get his laughter under control. “Look, I meant what I said. It’s over. My fucking head hurts too much to deal with all this right now. And this ammo costs too much to waste on you.” He glanced around to where Zoya lay on the floor. “She has what I need. I’ll get her some help. You get the hell out of here. I don’t ever want to see your fat face again, got it? Oh, and you tell that crazy father of yours to leave me alone. Tell him I gave you your life.”

«Marcus!» Javier was practically screaming.

«I’m still here,» he mentally whispered. «Somehow…»

A hand pressed to the back of his head, Tavik weaved over to where Bunny’s body lay on the dais. He bent down and snatched the card from Bunny’s slot. “What the fuck is this?” He turned to look at Marcus, held up the overlong slot card. “This isn’t normal. How can a card do that?”

Marcus shook his head. He had no idea what had happened. How could data on a card do what had happened to Bunny? He wondered if he could push his luck with the gangster. “Please…‌uh, Tavik. I’ll leave, just like you said. Take whatever you want, but please let me take Zoya to a hospital. She needs help.”

As he glared at Marcus, Tavik’s jaw clenched and released, clenched and released. When he finally responded, it was in a deadly whisper. “She’s my girl. I don’t know who the fuck you think you are. One more word out of you and I’m gonna blow your fucking head off.” He pointed a finger at Marcus. “Remember about your father. He messes with me again, I swear I’ll hunt you down and make your death slow and painful.”

Marcus caught movement from the corner of his eye and saw Zoya using both hands to shove herself to a sitting position. He longed to run to her, but Tavik didn’t sound like he was joking. Her eyes met his, and Marcus prayed that she would understand that he had no choice. He took a step back, stumbled against an overturned chair, and lurched around it toward the exit door. «Papa, can you get a car, a taxi, anything?»

«Yes. Got to get you out of there, immediately. Back to the apartment. Back home to Phoenix. Your friend shouldn’t be feeling much pain now, at least. Leave her be.»

«Yeah.» Marcus nodded, tears welling up in his eyes.

Tavik waited until the fat American had gone before turning his attention back to Zoya. She sat with her back against one of the plastic chairs, one hand cradling her neck and the other cupping the left side of her jaw. Her eyes burned into his with a venom he felt was completely unfair.

He stuck the shard pistol into its holster and knelt down near her. “That bastard. Look what he did to you.” Tavik pushed Zoya’s hands down and carefully brushed his fingers along her swollen and bruised jaw line. “If he isn’t dead, I’ll kill him myself, I swear to God.”

Zoya struggled to breathe. He eyes were bloodshot and no longer met Tavik’s, but were instead darting around as if trying to find something to focus on. Spittle blasted from her lips as she vainly attempted to say something.

“Shhh, don’t try to talk,” Tavik whispered. “I’ll get you to a hospital.” He reached to the side of her head, fumbling for the tiny button that would eject the card from her slot. “You don’t need this now.”

Something slammed hard into Tavik’s left ear, knocking him to the carpet. Waves of pain radiated from his ringing ear. He thought that the fat American must have returned and blindsided him, but when he opened his eyes it was Zoya standing over him, one leg bent at the knee, her foot aimed squarely at Tavik’s face. Before he even had a chance to scream out a protest, the foot whipped downward and smashed his head into the carpet. Only the carpet’s thickness kept him from blacking out.

“You fucker!” came a terrible shriek. The strangest thought occurred to Tavik, that he had never heard Zoya curse before. He opened his eyes in time to see the foot come crashing down again.

Moscow

Sunday, June 8, 2138

9:32 p.m. MSK

The whole universe was pain. Pounding, pulsating, blinding pain beat at his mind and body in ways he never could have imagined in his craziest dreams. Through the pain there was only one bit of knowledge for him to latch onto and desperately cradle—I am Dr. Artyom Vladimirovich Grachev. Repeating this single fact like a mantra was all that kept him sane.