Tilda stands beside me examining the tactical map projected onto her wrist display.
“You see those rotating barriers?” she says.
“The ones trying to crush people?”
“Yes.”
“Hard to miss.”
“They’re synchronized with the drone patrols.”
“Of course they are.”
Her finger traces a path through the grid.
“If we time it correctly, we can move between rotations without triggering the automated turrets.”
“And if we time it incorrectly?”
“Then you get shot.”
I grin.
“Motivating.”
The starting horn sounds.
Immediately the arena erupts into chaos.
Contestants sprint across the first section of platforms while defense drones swing low overhead, firing short bursts of stun pulses that flash through the air like angry lightning.
“Twelve o’clock!” Tilda shouts.
I duck as a pulse cracks past my shoulder.
The drone dips again.
This time I jump.
My hand catches the underside of the machine and I slam it into the nearest wall hard enough to shatter its stabilizers.
It falls smoking to the floor.
“Nice,” Tilda says breathlessly.
“Thank you.”
We sprint across the first rotating bridge just as the metal plates shift positions with a grinding roar.
“Left!” she calls.
I pivot instantly, trusting her instinct the way I’ve learned to over the last few challenges.
A turret pops up from the floor and fires.
The bolt scorches past my ear.
“Little warning next time,” I shout.
