Drip… Drip… Drip… The rain had stopped falling a little while ago, but the world was still adapting to the newfound dampness. The roof he was under leaked, and during the past hours it had rained. Even after it had stopped, a steady stream of waterdrops had fallen on his head. It took a special kind of man to stay completely still in such circumstances. Logan hadn’t moved a hair, not since he got there. This was the spot he chose to work his magic, and this was where he would stay until the end. Or until someone chased him out of course, but he doubted that. The candidates hadn’t looked like much. Though, if one gave it much thought, he realised that he himself hadn’t looked like much of a competitor. No armour, and a classic, hopelessly outdated rifle. Some may have called him insane behind his back. His face ached when he smiled for the first time in hours, the muscles in his cheek twitching at the sudden change. They’d see. He’d show them. They’d all fall, one by one.
The benefit of this spot was that he could see most of the arena. He could see them crawl around like little mice, attempting to be stealthy. They might as well have worn red and blown trumpets. Movement betrayed life, and Logan say plenty of things moving down there. Of course movement got less as time passed. Occasionally Karl would call out the name of one of the competitors, or rather, one of the former competitors. Logan had put a neat round hole through one of those himself. Movement had been close, and he couldn’t afford detection. He had to be careful though. A pile of bodies near his hideout would be as much of a hint to his position as movement was. So he waited, and watched them crawl. In the end only two would remain, and then they’d play the game Logan was most interested in.
You see, in general Deathmatches weren’t worth a damn thing to Logan Falk. People were too impatient, and he’d never made any connection with any of the competitors. There was little point in that, since he’d have to kill them anyway. Not many people in his own environment really cared much for his job either. Thought him an oddball. Logan almost snorted at the thought of that, but snorting would mean movement, and Logan wasn’t quite ready to move that much yet. He’d met other champions from other leagues, and most of them were rather agreeable. Especially those like Chang Kun Wei and Valentina. They knew the game, the real game, and they were good at it. With some luck, and perhaps some help of God or Stender himself, he’d get the chance to play the game with them.
Karl’s smooth voice sounded through the Arena again. Logan smiled, his cheeks once again twitching slightly. How the man must wish he would wake up one day and find himself in Stenders’ shoes. Of course, he was rather pitiful in person, and Stender was… quite the opposite. Not that the man really mattered. The message mattered. Two left alive. One sniper. The odds were good. Logan readied himself for the endgame, the only real game. The long wait was over, and now the hard wait could begin. Silence fell over the Arena like a shroud. He pictured his opponent, Felipe, sitting somewhere, wondering if he should move. No, first he’d think about Logan. His reputation, and his habits. Had he seen Logan somewhere? He’d settle for just a sign. Logan himself wasn’t bothered by such thoughts. In the end, the enemy always moved first, and while movement could mean life in some cases, it would mean a certain death here, in this Arena.
While Logan had been silent before, he was frozen now. The only movements he made were the steady rise and fall of his chest, which was hidden by the way he was on his belly, peering through his visor, and the occasional blink. Not too many of those, of course. Couldn’t risk missing the key moment. After hours of laying there, on his stomach, Logan was quite sure he’d have to use at least one regen credit, just to get the feeling in his body back again. Minor concerns, all pushed aside as the game reached it’s pinnacle. Half an hour had passed now, and Karl would soon start babbling. Another reason why he’d never be as good as Stender. Stender understood the game, Karl did not. Not that he minded in this case either, because Karls voice often encouraged people into moving.
The silence always seemed to deepen, right before the end. It was as though the world held it’s breath before the final moment, as if it too enjoyed the endgame. Adrenalin and anticipation formed a swirl of something low in his abdomen. Soon. It would have to be soon. He wanted to be home before nightfall. Just as Karl started up another story about Logan’s impressive record, Logan himself saw what he had been waiting for. It was minor, because his opponent was decent. He’d have to be, if he’d survived through this game. Minor but fatal. This opponent had figured out where Logan was, and he was scoping him out. Nothing put the top of his head and 2 eyes were visible to him. Clearly visible though, his visor enhanced enough. He was out of his opponents range. Patience… His victory was close now. The confidence of his opponent grew, the pauses between his furtive glances became shorter. By now he had to be either sure that Logan didn’t see him, or that he was elsewhere.
Finally Logan moved. Just a flick of his thumb activated the laser sight on his classic, hopelessly outdated rifle. He didn’t need it, but he wanted his opponent to know. That instant of knowing, right before the silence ended. That was what Logan lived for. Felipe’s eyes widened, frozen for no more than half a second. He might as well have been a deer in the headlights of an old-fashioned truck. The rifle spat out a single bullet, accompanied by a deafening roar that shattered the silence. Felipe didn’t have enough time to utter more than a startled half-scream before the bullet hit him right between the eyes. Penetrated his skull and turned his brains into something messy. Logan rolled over to his back, letting the steady drip from the leaking roof wet his face. He’d won the endgame, and that was why he’d been there in the first place. Now all he needed to do is work some life back into his muscles. A painful task, but far less annoying than death would have been.
