The Combat Codes by Alexander Darwin Read Free Book Online Page A

the array set above the Circle flared to life as a swarm of wisps clustered around it—they called them spectrals.
    Cego could feel the light immediately. It streamed into his golden eyes and grew warm on the surface of his skin. It was like nothing he’d experienced before. The chaos around him dissipated into silence as if a soundproof bubble had enveloped the Circle.
    He could breathe—the trapped air flowed from his lungs. Cego drank the air, bringing it in through his nose, letting it settle in every inch of his body, running up his spine, relaxing in his shoulders, tingling in his fingertips and toes.
    As Cego’s breath and heartbeat settled, the world around him slowed. He saw his opponent clearly on the other side of the Circle. No one else was in the room, just two boys standing across from one another. Everything felt right. His past, his stiff body, the troubles with his crew, Tasker Ozark—they all seemed unimportant now.
    The other boy was lumbering toward him. Why was he moving so slowly? Cego stood perfectly still, not even worried about his opponent closing in on him.
    Finally, the boy was in front of Cego, swinging at his head with a clubbing right hand. Cego easily slipped the punch.
    He could see the unsure expression on the boy’s face, the sweat droplets on his brow, the fear in his citrine-tinged eyes as he moved forward. The boy threw another looping punch. This time, Cego caught the arm at the elbow and moved in on the boy with a quick step, wrapping his arms around him and hugging him tightly. He circled his leg behind the boy’s knee and took him to the floor.
    Cego was on top of the boy, rearing up to punch him.
    “Put ’is head through the dirt!” someone in the crowd screamed.
    The crowd was screaming for blood, slamming their hands against the metal railing. They wanted to see him beat the life out of the boy. Cego knew that the bloodier and more vicious a finish, the louder their approval would be.
    Cego could feel Tasker Ozark’s eyes on him, urging him to put on a show of dominance. Winning in spectacular fashion would mean pushing his bit-price higher and selling to a patron faster.
    He could sense Crew Nine watching from the sidelines. Cego could make an example of his opponent and show jackals like Shiar what would happen if they messed with him. He could make Dozer and Knees respect him.
    Cego wanted to please the crowd. He wanted to put on a show and teach the boy beneath him a lesson for being weak. He could feel the crowd’s energy within him, tendrils of anger urging him to pummel his opponent until he was a lifeless husk.
    True fear is often masked by strength and true strength is often mistaken for fear. The old master’s voice rang above the crowd’s clamor.
    Cego saw the fear in the boy’s eyes beneath him. They reminded him of Weep’s teary eyes, shivering on the rope that dusklight. He could feel the fear in the crowd around him. They yelled for blood because they were also scared; unsure of the path they followed.
    Cego realized he was afraid too—that’s why he wanted to please the crowd, his crew, his Tasker.
    He snapped out of the trance.
    Instead of raining punches down on his opponent, Cego slapped the side of the boy’s head with both hands, cuffing him on the side of the ears.
    The boy panicked, trying to turn away from the open-handed strikes. Cego loosened his hips slightly and let the boy beneath him turn. He pinned the boy on his stomach. He’d want a quick finish, without humiliation.
    Cego thrust his hips down, pushing the boy into the dirt. He snaked one of his arms under the boy’s chin, grasping around his neck. Mata leão —the Lion Killer. This boy was hardly a lion, but Cego squeezed until he felt the boy stop struggling. He’d be awake in less than a minute, without a scratch on his face.
    Cego stood up, the boy’s limp body lying prone on the floor. He could feel the spectral light shining down on him, even brighter now. He wondered if