Page 39 of Thawed Gladiator: Victor

“Hey! Stop right there!” One of the pharmaceutical security men spots us, breaking away from the melee. His hand moves to his weapon as he pushes through the crowd toward us.

Maya tries to yank the door open, but the old chain stays in place. My arm snaps out, adding my strength to hers, and the rusted chain gives way under our combined strength. We squeeze through and slam it shut behind us, hearing the man’s shouts fade as we hurtle into the dim light.

I follow without hesitation.

Behind us, a crash against the door—the security man trying to follow. But the door is hard to budge. Maya grabs a metal rod from the floor and slides it through the door handles, buying precious seconds.

More shouts echo behind us as we hurry forward, the distant sounds of the brawl masking our retreat deeper into the meat plant’s warren of service corridors.

Maya knows this modern world of steel and machines as intimately as I once knew each arena’s layout. Our route is marked only by strange red lights that cast bloody shadows.

Then the cold hits me.

Memories flash—water closing in, darkness swallowing everything, two thousand years of frozen sleep. My muscles lock as we pass what I assume is the first freezer unit. But Maya’s warm grip anchors me to now, to her, to survival.

The door clangs open behind us. That slim metal rod only bought us so much time. There are multiple pursuers, their footsteps echoing off steel walls.

Maya pulls me through a side door. The space reminds me of the animal preparation areas behind the Colosseum—all sharp metal and efficient design for handling dead flesh.

“I think they’re splitting up!” A voice carries from the corridor. “Check the freezers!”

Maya leads us deeper into the building’s heart, where empty hooks and rails crisscross the darkness. The abandoned processing floor reminds me of the arena’s preparation areas after the games ended—tools of death hanging silent, waiting for the next day’s carnage. The rails… yes. I see her plan before she speaks.

“Up,” she whispers, pointing to where the rail system vanishes through a ceiling opening.

I boost her onto a steel table, then follow as flashlight beams cut through the darkness behind us. The rail is slippery with grease. How many dead things have traveled this path? But we manage to pull ourselves through to the upper level.

This floor feels different—darker, filled with abandoned crates and rotting paper rather than the rusted instruments of butchery below. We weave through the maze of supplies as crashes below signal our pursuers have found our route.

We barge through a door into a room that reveals three mechanical chariots—trucks—bigger than Maya’s. She checks each one with practiced efficiency while I watch the door. The third vehicle yields what she seeks—a key hidden above the driver’s seat.

“Got it!” Her smile carries triumph. “Dad was actually right about something.”

I slide into the passenger seat as she brings the machine to life. Its roar feels familiar somehow—power waiting to be controlled, like a spirited horse straining at the reins.

The corporate soldiers burst in just as Maya throws the vehicle into reverse. Metal screams as we crash through a partially raised door into night air that has never tasted sweeter.

A crack erupts, then another, loud as Vulcan’s forge.

“Gunfire. Shit.” Maya makes the truck go even faster. Something pings off the metal of the great beast we ride in. Their projectile weapons are so much more efficient than arrows or the spinning death of a slinger’s shot.

But efficiency means nothing without accuracy. Maya spins the wheel, and the vehicle leaps forward like a well-trained cavalry mount.

Dark shapes pour from the loading dock—both Tony’s men and corporate guards giving chase in their vehicles. But Maya navigates these roads just as I once knew every passage beneath the arena. Each turn takes us further from pursuit, deeper into the maze of warehouses and shadows.

“Are you hit?” I keep my voice calm despite the chaos.

“No. You?”

“No.” I let my hand find hers on the top of the knob she’s clutching, drawing strength from her warmth. “Where now?”

“First? We lose them in the industrial district. I used to drive Uber around here. Bringing lunches to the workers. Surprising what good can come from such a shit job.” Another series of turns leaves our hunters further behind. “After that… we don’t stop until we’re out of Nevada.”

I feel my lips curve into a smile warmer than any I’ve worn since waking in this strange age. “Together?”

Even though our speed is faster than Mercury, she takes her eyes off the road to glance at me. “We’re in deep shit, and I have no idea what I’m doing or where I’m going. I only know one thing, gladiator. Wherever we go, it will be together.”

The machine roars into darkness as distant sirens wail like mourning women. Behind us, two sets of enemies search in vain. Ahead lies uncertainty, danger, but also freedom.

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