Endgame (Voluntary Eradicators) Read Free Page A

to get to the doors. “That may be difficult, especially since I happen to be interviewing for a position here at this moment. You might be seeing me on a regular basis. And unless your name is Jillain, I doubt you have the authority required to do anything about that.”
    She stares at him, her jaw dropping slightly at hearing her boss's name dropped so casually from that devil's lips. Her mouth works, but no sounds come out. His lips curve.              
    “ I doubt your name is Kira, either — unless there are two of you. I was already assailed by one upstairs. She appeared to be going from door to door. As, I imagine, she came to yours.” His golden eyes lock with hers and she fancies that she can see the sparks lighting up between them from the friction of it. “I bet if I described you to her she would be able to tell me your name — unless you'd care to save me the trouble.”
    Vol said nothing. She couldn't.
    “ No? Then I suppose I'll be seeing you.”
    She grabs his sleeve. It's made from a material that manages to be both coarse and soft, just like him. She yanks hard, almost cruelly. He freezes but makes no move to turn around and without becoming the slightest bit less afraid or confused she begins to feel something akin to rage. “Look — ”
    “ Changed your mind, have you?”
    The words, and the lazy dispassionate tone they are spoken in, send an unexpected frisson through her. That makes her even angrier, and her anger makes her bold. She gives him a shake. “Why do you want to know my name? Who are you — and why do you think you can own me?”
    At that, he turns. His expression is unreadable. “First impressions are everything, darling.” With a firm step he crosses the threshold of the elevator doors, freeing himself from her grasp.
    Darling? She puts her hand, now empty, on the wall. The other tightens around the neck of the bottle of caffeine concentrate which, until now, she has forgotten. It announces itself with a crumpled protest that makes her jump. “That doesn't answer my que — ”
    The doors slam shut.
    “ Stion,” she finishes, and stares in disbelief at the rising numbers on the panel as the elevator climbs upwards again. Like the street children who sometimes come to the Tower to wreck mischief and havoc both, he has pressed the buttons for all six floors. The elevator will go to every single floor before stopping at the first again — the floor she actually needs.
    That son of a bitch .

2.
    By the time Vol makes it back to the first floor of the tower, she is five minutes behind schedule. Bastard . If she sees him again, she isn't sure what she might do. Only that it will include grievous bodily harm and possible grounds for her own firing.
    Suryan Lafever, the presiding Master of Games for this shift, smiles pleasantly as Vol walks through the automatic doors. Her smile slips, though, as she catches a glimpse of the expression on the blonde-haired girl's face. MoGs are moderators; it is their job to see that the safety precautions are adhered to, and that the game rules are properly followed. Their omnipotence and omnipresence within the games gradually earned them the nickname of “God Mods.”
    Half-Bastani, half-Meridian, Suryan's flaming red hair and amiable demeanor make her far more recognizable and popular than any of the other MoGs. When people call Suryan a God Mod, especially to her face, it lacks the usual aftertaste of bitter condescension and is more like a pet name than anything else.
    She blinks her large eyes. “Um…good morning, Volera.”
    “ It's a bit too early to be good, isn't it?” She tries to joke but it sounds resentful.
    Suryan smiles a polite, bland smile. “I have you registered for Bounty Strike today. Is that right?”
    “ If that's Kira's game, then yes.”
    Stupid Kira .
    “ It is. This way,” Suryan sings out.
    How can she be so chipper this early in the morning? Vol sinks into the chair Suryan leads her to. The