Free Arena Mode by Blake Northcott Page B

well-known comic series’ in history – The Fantastic Four, Spider-Man, The Incredible Hulk – all meticulously preserved. And the highlight, without question, was his copy of Action Comics #1: the first appearance of Superman.
    I stopped and gazed at the cover, depicting The Man of Steel hoisting a car above his head, and couldn’t help but think of its value. Not just in terms of its monetary worth (at seven million dollars, that one book alone could more than pay for my surgery) but of its significance as a historical artifact. Without it, superheroes as we know them might never have existed in fiction. I was always a fan of Cameron Frost, but I never knew we had so much in common.
    The scarred wooden door at the end of the hall was flanked by a suit of armor on each side; decorative medieval knights stood at attention, clutching a broadsword in one hand and a shield in the other. I contemplated whether I should knock or twist the heavy iron knob. Then a series of electronic beeps echoed through the hall, and the door slowly swung upon, inviting me to enter.
    The dimly-lit room was cavernous – sparsely decorated with no more than a round metal desk as the focal point, and a wall of glass towering behind it. The sheer size of the floor-to-ceiling window created a dizzying effect, as if the office was floating nearly three hundred stories above Manhattan. I was expecting something upscale – even extravagant – like an office I could picture inside of Wayne Manor. As far as luxury goes, this puts the Fortress of Solitude to shame.
    “A few weeks ago I asked the superhumans of the world to impress me,” Frost proclaimed as he wheeled his chair towards me. “What you did today was impressive, Mister Moxon. Very impressive indeed.”
    “Thank you,” I said with a warm smile, feeling more star-struck in his presence than I’d anticipated. I was also taken aback by his appearance; well dressed, clean-shaven, with his hair neatly parted, he hadn’t looked this polished in years. Certainly not during his simulcast just weeks ago. It was as if Frost had turned back the clock, and for whatever reason he seemed invigorated – almost youthful. It felt like I was meeting the man who inspired me with his speeches years ago, before the tragic accident that spiralled him into depression.
    Frost cracked a knowing smile. “I can only assume that the show you put on was meant specifically for my viewing pleasure.”
    I didn’t want to tip my hand. I was hoping he didn’t have any suspicions about the crime that Gavin had staged. “Why would you assume that?”
    “Because I don’t believe in coincidence,” he replied swiftly. “Humans manifest their powers in their mid-to-late teens, and you’re nearly thirty. So you’ve had your abilities for several years, am I correct?”
    “Yeah,” I said with a quick nod, “it’s been a while.”
    “So for more than a decade you could have done what you just did. You could have chosen to stop a crime, protect your city – but you didn’t. You waited until now.” He wheeled back around the far side of his desk and tapped his finger into a tablet, generating a holographic projection that floated in mid-air; he produced my yearbook photo, driver’s licence, and a number of documents that I hadn’t bothered to look at since I graduated.
    “You’re an interesting person,” Frost said, looking up at the projections. “I reviewed your high school test scores, college GPA, IQ results ... you’re not just clever. You’re far beyond that, aren’t you? You knew exactly what would get you into the tournament, and what would catch my attention.”
    I nodded again, more tentatively than before. I didn’t know how he was able to acquire my academic records so quickly, but if he had equal access to my medical history there was no way I would be permitted to compete in the tournament.
    He turned off the hologram and illuminated the room with a voice command, flooding his office