LAST MAN STANDING

The red planet filled nearly a quarter of the sky from her vantage point under the transparent dome on Phobos Station, but Samantha Diaz had no time to marvel at the view. All her senses were dedicated to tracking the other inhabitants of the outpost. She knew they all would fire upon her without hesitation or remorse if she were to fall within their sights. Sam quickly ducked into a small nook behind one of the aluminum pillars supporting the circular walkway above. The cover provided a moment to check the heads-up display superimposed on her helmet visor. Her oxygen and temperature levels were still fine, but the suit’s shields were down to ten percent. The ammo readout warned that her pulse pistol charges were depleted, so avoiding the enemy was now a necessity.

Sam remembered the shield regenerator on the upper level of the station but knew taking the lift would surely give away her position. Across the courtyard, she heard footsteps rattling down the second story metal walkway. The sound did not carry well in the low atmosphere of the damaged station, but her suit’s audio enhancement technology helped compensate. The staccato rattle from a rapid-fire rifle followed. She peeked around the corner and saw the assassin in a black polycarbonate spacesuit running down a corridor away from the courtyard. The victim, another station protector outfitted in the same standard white suit and helmet she wore, fell from the walkway like a rag doll, tumbling in slow motion due to the tiny moon’s light gravity. When trying to remain hidden in the dim lights of the damaged station, she realized, it’s best not to wear white to a firefight.

With no one in sight, Sam seized the opportunity to escape while the falling man held the enemy’s attention. Sprinting across the courtyard beneath the cracked dome, she crouched down to scoop up an abandoned ammo pack, snapped it into her pistol and holstered her weapon without breaking stride. She continued running away from the dead officer, and with her last stride landing directly on top of a fixed table, she leaped upwards. Her thin yet muscular frame propelled her body quickly in the low-G environment, a gravity reduced even more by the tidal forces Mars exerted on its closest moon. Samantha landed securely on a second-story overlook and jumped again. She soared past the second level and reached her gloved hand out to grab hold of the railing on the third-story balcony. It creaked when she grabbed it but held firm. She swung her legs up to climb over the rail.

Her passage through the wide-open courtyard did not go unnoticed. One of the orange-suited infiltrators stationed in an opposite second-story office saw her acrobatics. Just as Sam scrambled over the railing, he hefted a military-issued rocket launcher to his shoulder, aimed, and fired. The rocket streaked toward the balcony, exploding on its underside a split second after Sam stepped through the nearby door. Twisted metal shards flew up, shattering the surrounding glass windows, but miraculously leaving her unscathed. She heard some radio chatter on her headphones, but could not decipher it. She hoped the unintelligible noise was not her enemies coordinating an attack.

Her heart still racing, Sam darted to the other end of the small room, avoided the damaged furniture and debris, then slid open the door to the hallway. Carefully glancing both ways to check for a hostile presence, she ran down the long, well-lit corridor to the shield regenerator at its far end. She quickly plugged the device into her suit connector and began charging her armor’s electrostatic protection. She was standing vulnerably at a tee where the hallway split east and west. Although the charging station could provide a full refresh in ten seconds, it seemed like an eternity knowing that she was exposed to a clear shot from three long corridors. Just then, the elevator light at the far end of the east hallway blinked on and the doors opened. Three rockets shot out from the lift, flying in a spiral pattern toward her. Instinctively, Sam jumped back in the direction from which she came. The shield regenerator decoupled as she fell backward. The first rocket was about to hit when her defense shield activated, deflecting the rocket just enough to glance off her armor and explode on the wall about two meters away. The explosion propelled her back even faster, so the second and third rockets harmlessly impacted on the far end of the west hallway.

The orange-suited man with the heavy artillery continued pursuing his prey. Sam’s heads-up display indicated her shields were back down to fifteen percent. Not good. She righted herself and began running back down the corridor, but noticed a shadow getting larger on the wall at the other end of the hallway. Someone else had heard the explosions and cut off her planned escape route. The only thing she could think to do was slip back into the damaged office. Her timing was perfect; she was out of sight just as both killers turned their respective corners and faced each other from opposite ends of the hallway. Split seconds later, the sounds of rattling guns and detonating rockets echoed throughout the station. She was relieved her two foes were not allies.

After a moment of eerie silence, she heard the thud of footsteps approach and the heavily armored soldier stepped into the office, face-to-face with Samantha Diaz. He may have had more firepower, but she had speed, and speed prevailed. She drew her pistol and fired into the middle of the invader’s visor. His depleted shields offered no resistance to the headshot. The rocket launcher dropped first, and he soon followed, falling flat on his back with an audible thud. Sam picked up the launcher lying at her feet. The digital readout showed three rounds remaining. Again, she heard footfalls approaching, but this time from the other end of the hall.

Sam quickly shifted position so her back was against the wall near the office door, her position concealed in the shadows. The black-armored assassin fired a round into the orange corpse, causing the body to twitch on the floor. He looked into the office but did not see her, so he stepped over the dead man on his way down the hall to recharge his own suit. Sam waited a few moments and then glanced down the hallway where she saw the rifleman plugging in his suit. She stepped quietly into the corridor and lifted the launcher horizontally. With the sights locked on, she pressed the trigger three times in rapid secession: click, click, click. Each micro-missile rotated into place and fired. The rocket sounds attracted her target’s attention, but only long enough for him to face the incoming onslaught. The first rocket hit him squarely in the chest, sending him reeling back against the wall, crumpling the charging station. His suit’s shields dissipated most of the damage, but he was not so lucky when the two remaining rockets arrived. The first exploded on his chest plate, ripping it open, exposing burning flesh. The second penetrated his body cavity and detonated with an explosion that sent limbs and other body parts spiraling through the air in all directions, ricocheting off walls and settling on the floor as small pieces of charred meat and plastic.

There was a brief pause. Then an announcer’s voice boomed over the station’s intercom system declaring, “Splash Damage wins the match!”

* * *

Samantha Diaz, also known by her screen name, Splash Damage, dropped her game controller and clapped her hands together in victory. “Toasted!”

Sam and her three opponents were on stage in the Las Vegas Luxor e-sports showroom, competing in the Last Man Standing finals of the GamerWorld National Championship. The four gaming systems were set up to face the crowd, with ten-foot flat-screen displays behind and above each contestant so the audience could follow the action from the point of view of each competitor. Sam removed her headphones and polarized 3-D glasses so she could untangle herself from the gaming rig. She jumped out of the seat with her fist raised in triumph. The audience, seated in the dark auditorium clapped and cheered for the winner, while her defeated opponents each rose slowly and politely shook her hand. She had entered the contest with the confidence of a champion, and now she was one.

Ray Hardy, the actor who provided the announcer voiceover in the retail game, was there in person to announce the Last Man Standing winner. “Congratulations to Samantha Diaz, AKA Splash Damage, for winning the final match of the GamerWorld Championship series! Let’s see that last kill one… more… time!” he yelled into the mike as the crowd went wild.

All four video screens replayed the tri-rocket gib-fest in slow motion and the audience roared again. Mr. Hardy turned to the audience and said chuckling, “We may have to change the name of the game to Last Woman Standing!”

His remark garnered only a few groans from the audience so he continued, “With this victory, Miss Diaz has taken the point lead in the overall tournament series, clinching her crown as the first-ever female GamerWorld National Champion! Let’s give her another round of applause.”

The audience happily obliged. A particular section of the crowd, die-hard fans of the young woman, some of whom were even dressed in Space Marine costumes, whooped it up even more enthusiastically. Spotlights on Mr. Hardy and Miss Diaz converged as Sam moved center stage in front of the gaming stations.

Mr. Hardy announced the prizes. “Each finalist will receive a cash prize of one thousand dollars and free lifetime access to GamerWorld Online. Today’s champion, Miss Diaz, will receive an additional ten thousand dollars, and her likeness will be recreated as a playable character in the home version of GamerWorld Tournament V. As the overall tournament champion, she is awarded one-hundred thousand dollars and will serve as GamerWorld’s official ambassador throughout the year.”

Mr. Hardy enthusiastically handed her the championship trophy. It displayed a figure on top with two weapons outstretched in a V for victory position, with a dozen dead and mangled bodies leaning against the figure’s supporting pillars. Now the center of attention, it was clear to everyone in the room why Sam received more endorsements than did any other professional videogame player. At first glance, her bright smile and brown eyes turned heads, but her entire face, framed by her shoulder-length black curls, was beautiful and feminine, yet hinted at tomboyish toughness. Often mistaken for a teenager with her lightly bronzed, smooth skin, she actually turned twenty-seven a month earlier. Amazingly, her real body closely matched the stereotypical female gaming models she played. She was athletic, fit, and petite, although her breasts were not as exaggerated in size as those of most computer models in the genre. In typical gamer fashion, she wore jeans and a black t-shirt with a target and the text “I see fragged people” emblazoned across the chest.

“Samantha, would you care to make any comments?” Hardy said, offering her the microphone.

The boisterousness in the room began to subside as Sam set the large trophy down, took the mike and said, “First I’d like to thank my opponents, Jeff, George, and especially last year’s champion—and my number one enemy—Feng ‘the Assassinator’ Li. They’ve been tough rivals all week, as well as inspirations for me to improve my game over the years.”

Sam paused briefly after thanking her fellow gamers. When she shook their hands moments earlier, she could tell how disappointed Jeff and George were, but Feng was hard to read. He always had been; his face seemed expressionless. She looked back into the shadows at Feng, gave him a quizzical half-smile, and then turned to the audience to continue her acceptance speech.

“Another inspiration for me is my older brother Gray, who is serving our country fighting terrorists and insurgents in the real world. He should be here in the room somewhere. Hi, Gray!” She waved and tried to spot him, but with the bright lights shining in her eyes, she could not see far into the room.

“I’d also like to thank my sponsor UltraVideo, and GamerWorld for putting on such a great event. Finally, I’d like to thank all my fans for the support you’ve given me. I hope to see you online soon, and when I do, I promise to kill you quickly! Thank you.”

Her fans once again jumped up and erupted in cheers.

With that, she grabbed and hoisted the trophy above her head. Wearing a big smile, she momentarily basked in the admiration of the crowd before being led off stage—relieved, happy, and quite a bit wealthier.

Two officials from the GamerWorld Corporation were waiting for Sam in the dimly lit backstage corridor next to the changing rooms. The older man was dressed impeccably in a black Armani suit, a red tie, and gold cufflinks shaped like the company’s logo—a globe outlined by the letter “G.” His dark brown hair was combed back neatly, accentuated by wisps of grey on both sides. He was a handsome man in his mid-fifties with Nordic features.

“Congratulations on your achievement. My name is Karl Vikers, president of the GamerWorld Corporation. We are so pleased you will be joining our team this year to promote our franchise.”

Samantha set her trophy down and shook Mr. Vikers’ hand. He was a well-known man, but his absence from the public eye over the past several years made him a bit of an enigma. He had begun his career at the turn of the millennium as a game designer and entrepreneur. Capitalizing on strategic growth opportunities and wise investments, he built the GamerWorld franchise from a simple video-gaming company into a multinational conglomerate.

Mr. Vikers continued the introductions, “This is Ann Allen. She heads the public relations department of our newest venture, the GamerWorld theme park we plan to open this fall.”

Samantha took Mrs. Allen’s hand. “Very nice to meet you.”

Mrs. Allen was also dressed nicely. She wore a sharp, brown pinstriped business suit and skirt, black heels, and a cream-colored blouse. Her blonde hair was wrapped in a stylish bun supported by two long silver pins.

Sam returned her attention to Mr. Vikers. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“Well, don’t believe everything you hear,” he said with a sly smile that showed his perfectly white teeth.

Sam chuckled, but while standing next to the company president, a strange sense of unease came over her. It washed over her so quickly she could not pin it down.

“Anyway,” she continued, “I think this is a fantastic game. This version is the most realistic first-person shooter on the market by far, and one of the most fun to play. I’m happy to give it my full endorsement.”

She flashed her own trademark grin, which could disarm most opponents.

“I can see this year’s tournament has been a good investment,” Vikers said coolly as only an astute businessman keeping his eye on the bottom line would. Mrs. Allen slashed a disapproving glance at Vikers for his allusion to their new champion as a product. It did not bother Samantha; she knew the business well. The game playing did not end when the computer switched off.

Attempting to remedy the perceived slight, Mr. Vikers said, “Of course you will be our guest at tonight’s GamerWorld banquet in the Tahiti room. I have a table reserved for you and a guest. We will recognize you and your fellow champions during the program. Unfortunately, I will not be able to join you, but Mrs. Allen has some additional opportunities she would like to discuss.”

Sam briskly turned toward Mrs. Allen, but then noticed a side door open, which temporarily flooded the backstage hallway with outside light. Her eyes adjusted and saw her brother Gray enter.

Without hesitation, she mumbled, “Excuse me a sec…,” and jogged toward her brother. He ran up and gave her a welcoming embrace. He was just shy of six feet tall and lean, but very strong. His bear hug lifted her off the ground, and she laughed exuberantly.

After setting her down he exclaimed, “Way to go Sam! I guess you’re buying dinner tonight.”

“Actually, Mr. Vikers is buying us dinner. Come over here and meet him,” she said, pulling him by the wrist as she led the way.

Sam introduced her brother to the GamerWorld executives. Gray shook hands, strongly gripping Mr. Vikers’ hand first. Vikers returned an equally firm grip, but also pulled him slightly forward in a move to try to establish social dominance. Seeing Mrs. Allen’s outstretched hand, Gray shook hers next, but more gently.

“Gray is a captain in the Air Force; a pilot serving in Afghanistan and Pakistan,” Sam said.

“Actually, I’m stationed at Creech Air Force Base about thirty-five miles northwest of here,” Gray clarified. “But I do pilot the Predator 2 and SuperReaper RPAs in the theater remotely, so in a way, Sam is right.”

“RPAs are remotely piloted aircraft,” Sam pointed out although it appeared that Vikers already knew the nomenclature.

“Captain Diaz, I’m always happy to meet another virtual warrior. If you are anything like your sister, our country’s defense is in good hands. Perhaps you also would like to join our team? There’s always an opening at GamerWorld for someone with your special talents,” Vikers offered in his typically professional manner, although Gray assumed he was kidding.

“Sorry, but I presently have another contract to honor,” Gray responded with a prideful smile and a wink to his sister.

“Well, best of luck, young man, but the offer still stands,” Vikers replied, and then turning back to Samantha he said, “I must be going. Mrs. Allen will provide you with more information about our programs. It was a sincere pleasure to meet you both.”

With a small nod, Karl Vikers exited through the door that Gray had entered.

“I also must be going,” Mrs. Allen said, “but we can discuss your role as ambassador as well as some other opportunities at dinner tonight. Here’s a copy of the agreement you signed when entering the tournament that outlines some of your responsibilities.”

She handed the documents to Sam.

“Oh and here are your dinner tickets. Cocktails will be served at six. See you then.”

“Thank you. I’ll see you tonight,” Sam said, folding the papers and stuffing the tickets into the pocket of her jeans.

Mrs. Allen turned and walked down the hall, her heels clicking on the concrete floor. As soon as she was out of sight, Sam, anxious to hear her brother’s full assessment, gushed, “So what did you think of the match?”

“I think you got lucky.”

“What?” she shrieked, pounding his chest in mock horror.

Gray explained, “If Jeff’s shields hadn’t already been depleted by Feng’s assault, your little pea gun’s shot would have glanced off his helmet like a fly on a windscreen. Then, even after you managed to take him out, what was Feng thinking? He must have known you were nearby. Would he really believe Jeff would be feigning death in the final match? It doesn’t make sense that he would let down his guard at the charger with an opponent so close by.”

Sam nodded in agreement, but wished Gray had not minimized her victory; after all, she still won. Why did her older brother always have to be right?

“Yeah, you were pretty lucky,” he said. “I did enjoy your final kill though. That was a classic that’s sure to make the Twitch highlights.”

“Oh, you’re just jealous that I make more money than you every year,” Sam teased, eyes twinkling.

“Money’s not everything,” he replied. “Besides, there are people who make more money betting on the outcome of your matches, than you do when winning them.”

“Well then, I guess I should practice my gambling skills. You want to join me at the blackjack tables this afternoon?” she asked as they began to separate.

“Sorry, I have other appointments, but I will see you at dinner. Oh, Sam… even though you were lucky today, you did have some awesome moves. Good job, kid.”

He grinned warmheartedly and hugged Sam again as she leaned her head on his shoulder. She liked the approval of her big brother. Family was important to her, and he was all the family she had left.