Strike Me Down - Mindy Mejia Page 0,45

pulled out the tickets for the security guard to scan.

“He probably got in over his head.” Rajesh smirked at Corbett, who didn’t engage. “If he can’t manage his books, how could he expect to execute a project like this? Especially considering it’s a one-off. No standard work or budget template. All new vendors. I predict what we’ll see is a mess, an absolute …” Rajesh trailed off as they moved through the giant glass doors and the scene opened up in front of them, a veritable wonderland of athletic entertainment.

“Wow,” someone said, or maybe it was all of them, standing dumbfounded at the edge of the concourse.

A host in a Strike outfit complete with hand wraps showed them to their suite, pointing out the amenities along the way. They passed live fighting technique demonstrations, sampled the complimentary VIP smoothie bar, posed for pictures at the Instagram photo booth, where you could don gloves and choose from filters that included “Victory Glow” and “Black Eyed Glees.”

After getting a round of drinks, they approached a strange sight. A uniformed attendant stood near the roped-off entrance of a huge steel-colored block, like a gigantic child’s plaything gone astray. Nora, having never attended a football game, had no idea if this was a regular part of the tableau.

“Fighters.” The man lifted his arms and spoke to the gathered people, all of whom sipped cocktails and chattered excitedly. “We’ve all played video games. We’ve seen what 3D and 4D has to offer. But this,” he motioned to the pitch-black entrance to the cube, “this is a fight you have to experience in order to believe. Brought to you by Beta Games and Strike, may I present—”

“vStrike,” Nora murmured.

The man’s face lit up, finding her in the crowd. “I believe we have our first contender. Give it up for the lovely lady in black, about to step into a ring unlike any other.”

Nora peered into the dark opening of the steel box as Mike slipped the drink out of her hand. She glanced at Corbett, who smiled and elbowed her in the side. “Are you scared, Ellie?”

The attendant drew the velvet rope back. Nora walked up the steps and inside the small room, which had dark gray walls and a springy floor. Other than a logo running along the ceiling, the space was a blank canvas. The attendant clipped a belt around Nora’s waist that was suspended by thin gossamer strings from every wall, tethering her to the center of the room, then affixed a dozen small dots to her hands, arms, torso, legs, and the top of her shoes. They glowed neon in the semi-darkness and seemed to vibrate through her clothes and into her skin. Finally, he handed her a full mask with goggles and headphones that descended from the ceiling, asking her to put it on.

She glanced at the door, where all of the partners and their spouses stood grinning at her. Feeling distinctly like an animal in a zoo, she shook her head at Corbett, turned back toward the belly of the room, and donned the mask.

Darkness and silence engulfed her. She looked right and left, every muscle tense, wishing she’d taken a few minutes to read the program, so she might have any chance to prepare for what was coming. Was it a fight in complete darkness? Would blows start raining on her?

In the next second, she was blinded by stage lights. She turned in a complete circle, blinking at the exact scene on the field, only from an entirely different angle. U.S. Bank Stadium surrounded her, the giant Strike banner stretching practically to the glass ceiling that refracted a rainbow of sunset fire into every part of the arena. Thousands of people screamed from their seats, cheering and waving signs. She stood, not at the edge of the concourse but in the middle of the center ring, elevated, exposed, and completely alone. Silver gloves shimmered on her hands and when she threw an experimental jab, the material pulsed into the air surrounding it, sending ripples of glittering energy through the ring.

“If Henry could see this …” she breathed.

Then an announcer’s voice boomed overhead. “Strike Down fans, get ready for the main event. In one corner we have …” The pause lengthened and Nora realized he was waiting for her.

“Nora Trier,” she muttered as the crowd lights dimmed, throwing everything outside the ring into shadow.

“Nora Trier!” the voice repeated. “Facing off against …”

A half dozen faces materialized in front of her,