Excerpt of GameNet: Into the Jaws of the Dragon by Michael Barnette
Book One of GameNet: Bells and Kimi
Available at Mojocastle Press LLC


The world isn’t what it used to be in the good old 70s. Fuel shortages, economic collapse, reality TV and a terrorist attack that left Phoenix a nuclear wasteland have done a lot to change the United States and the world as a whole.

With many companies going bankrupt and the world economy crumbling a group of opportunistic corporate entities spawn the idea of bringing back the gladiatorial games once enjoyed in ancient Rome to spur growth. But they’re doing it with a twist. Martial arts battles, gunslingers and vehicular combat are the order of the day.

Welcome to 1983. It’s an all new world.

A world that lives and breathes for the sports of GameNet.

Late Spring, 1983

The clock alarm went off, breaking into the middle of the hourly news report. "...partly cloudy. Highs today in the upper 80's to mid-90's. Tomorrow's forecast, more of the same. After a word from our sponsor we'll be back with the Arena update, and last evenings team combat scores."

Jason lay in the bed, letting the diffused sunlight that came through the blinds warm his naked skin. It felt good to simply remain still, if he didn't move nothing would ache. And after last night, he had no doubts that he was black and blue in numerous places. He kept his eyes closed and listened to the radio. "...so remember, for that combat vehicle safe feeling in a family automobile, there's no better car than today's Chevrollen. Mooney Chevrollen, on the corner of Martin Luther King Junior Boulevard and Fargo Street, downtown."

The newscaster's voice returned, "There were some surprise upsets in the Arena yesterday. Reno, favored to win his sixteenth straight match in Class C, Division Six of the ProCircuit lost to new-comer Jason 'Bells' Whittier in what was the most brutal of the evening's bouts.

"Reno--who until yesterday had never lost a Class C match--was taken to the emergency room at GameNet's City Regional Hospital. Official reports list him as being in serious, but stable condition after yesterday's stunning loss. He is expected to be moved out of ICU later today.

"Jason 'Bells' Whittier, a previous contender for first place in Division C at the mid-level, sustained only slight cuts and bruises during the match, which lasted a staggering forty-five minutes. Both men's motorcycles sustained heavy damage when new-comer Bells, deliberately slammed his motorcycle into Reno's customized Harlan Davidson Combat-three motorcycle. The match will be broadcast today on the Weekly Arena Wrap-up, which will air tonight at seven on Channel Nine.

"I saw it live folks and let me tell you it's well worth watching.

"In Division Three, team competition--"

Jason fumbled for the shut-off on the clock and managing to find the button on his second attempt. He had heard enough about the Arena this morning, all he'd wanted to know in fact. "Well at least I didn't kill him," he murmured, finally opening his ice-blue eyes to stare for a moment at the cracked plaster of the ceiling. "Jesus, I need a cigarette."

Sighing, he rolled into a sitting position on the edge of the bed, wincing as abused muscles protested the motion. Long blond hair cascaded down his back, falling well below his shoulders. He smiled, noticing that his trademark medusa tangle of braids had been undone, though he distinctly remembered them being there when he'd fallen asleep.

Kimi was so good to him, taking the wild jumble of beads, feathers and brass bells out of his hair each night and then patiently putting it all back in time for each match. She made sure he always had something to eat, clean clothes to wear and a steady supply of cigarettes and cola.

He suddenly noticed how quite everything was with the radio off. She wasn't in their tiny apartment. Neither was the mound of accumulated dirty laundry that had stood neglected for a week while she'd helped him build the motorcycle he'd used in the Arena last night. The one he'd already trashed. A can of Cola sat on the table, beads of moisture sliding down it's smooth exterior, beside his pack of Merrelboro 50/50's. She hadn't been gone long, the soda was still freezing cold, just the way he liked it. He popped open the top on the can and downed the icy beverage in one shot, all too aware of the stiffness in his arms and back.

Dark smudges, the bruises from the previous day's match in the Arena, stained the skin of his left shoulder and colored a large patch of the normally golden flesh on his back. He hurt pretty bad this morning and was actually glad that Kimi was already gone. Much as he loved her, the way she fussed over him when he was hurt got on his nerves.

He thought about all the hours they'd spent on rebuilding the old street bike so it could be used as a combat cycle in the Arena, and frowned. Kimi hadn't said anything to him about it last night, but he knew that was simply because she was just happy that he'd still been in one piece. Today, would be another story.

"I guess I'll hear about that little bit of stupidity later," he mused aloud. "Shit, now we'll have to rebuild the damned thing again. Wonder how bad it is?"

Jason picked up his pack of 50/50's and lit one of the four remaining tobacco-marijuana cigarettes left in the pack. He'd need to go to the store on the corner for more of them, but he wanted to take a hot shower first to help loosen up. Groaning at the protests of his abused flesh, he rose to his feet and stumbled to the bathroom. "Come on Billy, put your badass on and get yourself together."

Billy-badass, his dad had called him that what seemed ages ago.

His dad was long dead. Just as Kimi's parents were.

Showered and shaved, another 50/50 dangling from his mouth he came back out wrapped in a towel a half hour later, feeling a bit more like a man and less like roadkill. His blond hair, turned amber by the water, hung in loose waves over his shoulders dripping trails of moisture down his sleekly muscled torso.

The sunlight that entered the room showed the pale scars that criss-crossed his tan skin like some bizarre map of roads and towns. He'd been cut by flying shrapnel, broken glass and knives and been shot numerous times as well. Sometimes he wondered how Kimi could stand to touch his scarred body.

A quick search for clean clothes produced a single pair of faded jeans, a torn grey t-shirt and a pair of the thick fluffy cotton socks that he usually saved to wear with his combat boots. He dressed, lighting another cigarette as he pulled on his socks.

Bending over reminded him of how deeply bruised his muscles were and a soft curse trickled out of his mouth mixed with the smoke from the 50/50.

Socks on he sat up, waiting for the cramping in his back to subside. I hope to hell Kimi's got more of that herbal liniment stuff, damn this really hurts, he thought to himself as he tried to decide whether to wear sneakers or the new armored boots he'd been wearing every day in an effort to break them in. He picked up the sneakers and stared at them for a moment. "Do I really want to wear these?" he asked himself. It was true they were much lighter than the boots were and they wouldn't put any strain on his already aching body. But the boots needed to be softened up and the only way to do that would be to wear them. He sighed and tossed the shoes aside. "Too easy, Jason. Stop being such a cry-baby and wear the damn boots."

Dragging the steel toed, plastic and kevlar armored boots closer he realized just how heavy they were compared to the sneakers. But his old boots were so worn the leather had begun to crack. Nor were they armored like the new ones were, and now that he was in Division Six he needed the protection of armored boots or he risked a broken ankle or lost toes. Fighting on motorcycles was a lot different than fighting hand-to-hand in Division A or the gunslinger style contests of Division C. For instance there was more chance of being seriously injured. There was also more money involved in vehicular combat and he needed the money to support Kimi. But if he wrecked the bike every time he went out, Division Six was not going to pay enough to repair the motorcycle and support Kimi too. And he sure as hell didn't want her working as a waitress again either. The Players always seemed to think that the waitresses were for sale, just like the food and drinks they served. And Jason hated fighting enough without doing it outside the Arena too.

"Better go help her do the laundry or she'll nag me about that later," he sighed.

Rising to his feet he crossed the small room to the locked wall safe where Kimi and he stored their few valuables, spun out the simple combination, and studied the safe's contents.

Two boxes of hollow point ammunition for his .357 Colt Python, half a dozen silver coins, Smith & Wesson M686 he'd bought six months ago and never carried, and the small .38 caliber S&W M640 that he'd gotten for Kimi, which she refused to carry. But the Colt Python, and the gun belt with holster were not there.

Kimi wouldn't have taken the pistol with her, it was too powerful for her to use and she hated carrying weapons anyway. So what had she done with the revolver? He rubbed absently at his left shoulder and tried to think where she would have put the gun and it's belt.

First he tried the bedside table's drawer, then he opened the door below. Nothing. He searched under the bed. Again nothing. Beneath the pillows on Kimi's side of the bed. Bingo. The Python lurked under Kimi's lacy crimson negligee, one of her satiny garters wrapped around the grip. He smiled. It was her way of warning him that she expected a private match of their own later.

Freeing the customized left-hand gun belt from the sweetly perfumed lingerie, which he tucked beneath her pillow again, he buckled the belt on and tied the thong around his left leg. Now he was fully dressed. After taking four of the silver coins out of the safe, and refilling the six empty bullet loops on his belt, he closed the safe and gave the dial a spin to make sure it was well locked.

He lit the last of the 50/50's as he was closing the door of their apartment. From where he stood on the second floor walk-way of the six-story building, he could just see the top of the Laundromat down the block. The convenience store was directly across the street from the Soap 'N Suds so he'd get his Merrelboro's and then go help Kimi with the laundry.

Though it was well after ten in the morning there was virtually no motorized traffic, there were lots of bicycles and pedestrians however, which Jason knew meant a lower income town. Cars were expensive to maintain, and gasoline cost big money, especially since the largest gasahol facility in the States had just been purchased by GameNet International for the private use of their Network and Players.

He wasn't sure whether to be pleased, or embarrassed by the occasional comments that passersby made to him about his victory in the Arena the night before. He smiled, and tried to be polite, even signed an autograph or two, before he finally made it to the Pay 'N Go Market. Even in there he was recognized.

"Hey," a pre-teen aged boy said, staring at him with shining eyes, "ain't you the guy that took Reno down?"

Jason nodded. "Yeah."

The kid grinned, "I won a dollar from Gary McGuire cause I just knew you was gonna win. Reno ain't near as fast as you, Mr. Bells."

He almost winced when the boy used his Circuit name: Bells. It came from the brass Christmas bells that he'd started wearing when GameNet told him to develop a gimmick of some kind. The little bells had been Kimi's idea, the beads and feathers had been Joyla's contribution, Tawonda had done the initial braiding and--as they say--the rest was history. He'd been doing his hair like that for the last six months. It had become his trademark on the Circuit, and after so long there was no way to change now, he was stuck with it and the name.

Into the Jaws of the Dragon can be purchased here.