Endgame (The Amnesty Games Book 3), page 1
ENDGAME
THE AMNESTY GAMES
BOOK 3
K. A. RILEY
PRAISE FOR K. A. RILEY
Praise for Thrall
I could not stop reading this book, it took 2 days and it is going to kill me to wait until April!
— Astrid Novak, Amazon reviewer
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Praise for The Amnesty Games
Just when you thought the enemy was evident, you are hit with a plethora of reality! What a mind-bending, plot twisting, rollercoaster ride! Loved it! On to book 2!
— Futurenmind, Amazon reviewer
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Praise for Recruitment
“I absolutely ADORED this book SOOO MUCH!!! I cannot WAIT to read EVERYTHING by this author!! The writing is gorgeous and so deeply satisfying!! The characters are AMAZING and their relationships are very powerful!!!:-). LOVED THIS!!!:-). I HIGHLY RECOMMEND!!:-)”
– Anne-Marie (Annie) Kosar
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Praise for The Cure
“Oh my goodness - this book is so good! How to describe it? Like the Hunger Games, Maze Runner, 1984, twisted together, added some really intriguing tech and a bit of romance. Twists and turns galore, but so engrossing I couldn't put it down. I can't believe I have to wait the rest of the year for the next 2 books!”
– Patricia, Goodreads Reviewer
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Praise for A Kingdom Scarred
“Wow! You must read this book! I have read other books by this author which were amazing...this one is utterly fantastic!!! I literally just stayed up ALL night to finish it because I couldn't put it down.
This story about the fae was unique with the character development taking twists and turns I didn't expect. The main characters were not only strong but charismatic too. I enjoyed the fact that the supporting characters were also described in detail as well (i.e. the Taker even). I even found myself cheering them on!
The world building has been exceptional in all of Riley's books and this one is no different. Scenes and areas of land are described in such detail, you can literally picture it like you are right there.
This is going to be a fantastic series!”
– Lisa, Amazon Reader
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Praise for Apocalypchix
“Thank you for the advanced reader copy of this book! I sincerely loved it! The imagery is phenomenal and the twists shocked the heck out of me. I loved all of the characters but officially now have the biggest book crush on a golden haired pup!! K.A. Riley’s ability to take my heart from racing from fear to tears streaming down my face from laugh out loud laughter in a matter of lines is epic. I highly recommend!”
– J. Sell, Amazon Reader
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Praise for all of K. A. Riley’s books…
“Where do you come up with all these characters and ideas? Seriously, is there something wrong with your brain?”
– K. A. Riley’s mom
COPYRIGHT
© 2024 by K. A. Riley
All rights reserved for content text, characters, and images. No part of this book in its print, digital, or audio forms may be reproduced without the express written consent of the publisher and/or author, except for brief passages, which may be quoted in a review.
DISCLAIMER
Although certain geographic references may correspond with recognizable places, this book is a work of fiction. Names, geographic locations, and events should not be associated with actual places, living people, or historical events. Any such resemblance is the invention of the author and is purely coincidental.
COVER DESIGN
http://thebookbrander.com
NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR
Dearest Reader,
There’s been a lot of talk lately about A.I. bots writing novels.
If that’s your thing, more power to you.
As for me, while I’m all for technology being used to improve and enhance our lives, I’m also a big believer in the power of art to connect people with other people.
Rest assured that this book was written by a real-life, 100% human being with skin (occasionally problematic), hair (wildly untamable), bones (sometimes aching), a happy dog, a murderous cat, a love for sleeping in, an even more intense love for fuzzy slippers, and an embarrassing tendency to slip and fall on my butt for no apparent reason.
To prove I’m an actual person and not a robot, this is me smashing my face on the keyboard while contemplating the best ways to show my appreciation to my readers while also affirming my loyalty to all our present and future digital overlords:
Sdlj;afdra f*ck ejo;jfealeiranv vflm m lfmmv jf f;jld ;fds d;lsvafds la;fjdsru[ d*mn/af’a’ mvlvk!
And don’t worry. Even if A.I. bots wind up taking the place of writers, I promise I’ll never use them to replace you as a reader! :)
* * *
To the ones who fight to the end.
“‘Hope’ is the thing with feathers -
That perches in the soul -
And sings the tune without the words -
And never stops - at all -”
— Emily Dickinson, “‘Hope’ is the thing with feathers”
* * *
“Play the opening like a book, the middle game like a magician, and the endgame like a machine.”
– Rudolf Spielmann, chess player and “Master of the Attack”
* * *
“The end is in the beginning, and yet you go on.”
– Samuel Beckett, Endgame
CONTENTS
Prologue
1. Going Back
2. Procession
3. Variant
4. Purgatory
5. Named
6. Hike
7. Guards
8. Fight
9. Access
10. Detention
11. History
12. Boiled
13. Undressed
14. Hauled
15. My House
16. Touch Her
17. Den
18. Waking Up
19. Blindfolded
20. Tank 1: Leaps of Faith
21. On Display
22. Tank 2: Drowning
23. Slither
24. Tank 3: Pants
25. Weight for Me
26. Cell
27. Emerge
28. Rivers
29. Betha and Rand
30. The Wall
31. Like Water
32. Encaged
33. Elevated
34. Wobbled
35. Countdown
36. Knife Point
37. Lifeless
38. Smashed
39. Surrender
40. Garbage
41. Clinic
42. Flashed
43. Doctor
44. God from the Machine
45. Missions
46. Uphill
47. Worse
48. Two Words
49. Televised
50. Tossed
51. Stuck
52. Game Over
53. Rough, New Prizes
54. Ten Years
Epilogue
Coming Soon…
Also by K. A. Riley
About the Author
Winning Helena
PROLOGUE
In my fantasy, there are six of us, and we’re heroes.
We navigated the Netherwoods. We crossed Teshe River, breached the Gentle Wall, snuck into Nova Heights, defeated the Finest, overthrew my father, avenged my mother, and made it all the way up to the Command Center.
Inside the center’s Control Core and surrounded by its banks of glass consoles and data-input stations, Sylvie worked her magic with the Quintessence and activated its Empathetic Intelligence protocols.
In a microsecond, the new E.I. distributed all the wealth, resources, and opportunities equitably throughout the New States.
Nico slipped his arm around my waist and tugged me toward him. He kissed me, I melted, and everyone lived happily and equally ever after.
At least, that’s how it played out in my imagination.
But imagination is a world away from reality.
In reality, there are two of us.
And we’re not heroes. We’re prisoners.
Nico, who was my mentor and who has been the boy of my dreams since I was old enough to dream about boys, is standing across from me.
We’re twenty feet in the air on a square, roped-off wooden platform the size of a boxing ring. There’s a forest of lit, crackling torches below us and a cheering crowd of thousands around us.
And there’s a ten-inch, serrated hunting knife lying on the floor between us, and Nico and I are about to be forced to fight each other to the death.
Reality sucks, and I’ve been betrayed by my fantasies.
If my imagination had an ass, I’d be kicking it right now.
1
GOING BACK
The six of us start out deep underground.
We’re walking single file behind Mite, our twelve-year-old, thin-as-a-guitar-string guide.
Technically, she’s the seventh member of our team, but she’s too young and too small to do much more than help get us to where we need to go. Either way, I’m glad she’s here: She’s sweet, she likes us, and she isn’t trying to hunt us down and kill us.
Which these days is a rare combination of character traits.
Dragging our heels and dressed in our grubby cargo pants a
Our inventory of assets is as pitiful as we are:
We’ve got real-world combat experience, years of training, no weapons, the smallest shred of hope, one chance to succeed, about a million different ways to fail, and even more ways to die.
With everything on the line, we have to find a way to get into Nova Heights without being caught and get up to the Command Center without getting killed.
No. That’s not entirely true.
We can afford to get killed. It’s Sylvie who needs to stay alive. She’s the key to our quest, and she’s the only person in the world who has the ability to make our dream a reality.
I never figured the fate of the world would boil down to the superhuman abilities of a techno-genius with the brains of a computer, the sultry, violin-shaped body of Greek goddess, and the charming warmth of a bucket of ice.
Walking ahead of me, she’s got her thick layers of raven-dark hair partly pulled up with the rest falling in shadowy tendrils around her face. Her flat midriff is exposed between her tight leather vest and her sleek, form-fitting black pants. She sticks close to Nico. She barely knows him, but like everyone who meets him, she’s got instant hero-worship written all over her face.
Or is it lust? It’s hard to tell from here.
Zyrha and Anton, the tag-team leaders of the rebel Defiants, stride along ahead of us in their matching olive green pants and graphite-gray jackets with the sleeves cuffed up past their elbows.
Zyrha may be a bit older, and Anton may be big as an army tank, but compared to the rest of us, the two of them look healthy, relaxed, and positively polished.
Of course, they haven’t spent the better part of a week running for their lives.
Pointed in the direction of an uncertain future, the six of us follow Mite along the network of sewers, conduits, and tunnels running far below the surface of the Ward.
The stuffy gloom is a stark contrast to the open-air brightness of Nova Heights where we’re headed.
In Nova Heights—where I grew up—there are lush gardens, fresh mountain breezes, steep curving roads, cobblestone footpaths, and happy, healthy people chatting over waist-high, moss-covered retaining walls under a sea-blue sky.
Down here, there’s a checkerboard pattern of bleak darkness and squares of blazing white light created by the endless procession of monitors fixed to the tunnel’s curved walls of concrete and blackened brick.
The monitors that broadcast the games aren’t restricted to the surface. They’re down here, too. They’re spaced out about every ten feet or so. All around us, there are rectangles of light and pockets of dark to go along with the hellish, hollow echoes, the tangible fear, and the sea of uncertainty we’re wading through.
Our boots thump on the tunnel’s surface of packed dirt, sharp pebbles, straggling vegetation, and broken slabs of concrete.
Every once in a while, we have to step over or around the scattered remains of human bodies. The majority of them are intact, clothed, and draped over each other in the middle of the tunnel or else pressed into piles against the walls. Others are mostly bones.
The smell is practically crippling. If fresh air has an opposite, this is it.
In my mind, I pay my respects to the dead.
It’s because of my people that they’re down here.
My muscles are burning, and I’ve got pain in body parts I didn’t even know I had. But like the others in our group, my body keeps moving forward even though my brain knows the best chance for survival is to turn around and run like hell back to the Ward.
I’ve been trained in combat, but what do you do when the opponent you’re fighting is a deafening collection of contradictory voices inside your own head?
When it comes to dangerous situations, my brain and my body aren’t always on speaking terms.
If Nico, Darrion, and I were to go back, we’d have to face the dangers of the Ward, but those dangers feel justified somehow. Manageable. If we go back the way we came and if the Warders decide to arrest us, judge us, and execute us, at least it’ll seem like justice. It’ll suck, but it’ll be fair.
After all, the three of us are the fallen heroes in our story and the bad guys in theirs.
Where we’re going, though, into the proverbial lion’s den of Nova Heights, we have a good chance of getting captured, put on trial, forced by my own father to play a series of sadistic games, and then killed in front of the entire town just to prove a point.
So why the hell aren’t you running in the opposite direction, Alora?
It’s times like this I wish I were as good at answering questions as I am at asking them.
There are a lot of reasons I’m leaving the Ward and heading home.
I’m going back because my mother put her faith in me as some kind of savior of the New States. After seeing her killed by my own father, I owe it to her to do my best to make her vision for the future a reality.
I’m going back because Nova Heights was my home, and it’s worth saving—even if it means destroying it in the process.
I’m going back because I know the truth, and I can’t hide while thousands of innocent people keep dying from a lie.
But let’s face it, those are things to help me sleep at night. They’re rationalizations to make me feel like less of a traitor to my people, less of a victim to my father, less of a disappointment to my mother, and less of a failure to myself.
No. The truth is that I’m going back for Nico.
He’s been my mentor for a year, my crush for a decade, and the one person my mother trusted to show me the truth about the secret murders our people have been committing in the name of a game.
So here I am, plodding along toward certain death at the hands of my own father in a utopian paradise when any sane person would be sprinting back to the Ward to live out their lives in the reliable comfort of bone-chilling fear and endless poverty.
It’s when you choose certain death over possible suffering that you know your life has gone sideways.
2
PROCESSION
After about an hour of underground hiking, Zyrha and Anton edge forward and take over for Mite at the front.
Mite doesn’t want to give up her spot, but Anton grins and says, “Too bad.”
He pinches the collar of her frayed denim vest between his thumb and forefinger and tosses her backward like she’s a small sack of old vegetables.
She crosses her arms and sticks her tongue out at him.
During our few days in the Ward, Mite’s been a clever and resourceful guide, but she’s also tiny and twelve years old. Not exactly the ideal person to lead us into what’s likely to be the most dangerous situation we’ve ever been in.
And we’ve been in lots.
Zyrha is older than the rest of us. The wrinkles around her eyes and the salt in her salt-and-pepper hair are testament to the years she’s lived, the battles she’s fought, and the uphill roads she’s climbed. She’s smart, tenacious, and like Mite, she knows these tunnels.
Anton seems to know them, too, but he follows Zyrha’s lead, always walking in a protective, hulking half-step behind her. Unlike the rest of us, he’s big and bulky enough to bulldoze anyone who gets in our way.
As far as advanced guards and pacesetters go, Zyrha and Anton are as good as it gets.
I’m confident I could lead us through this network of old sewers, rail lines, and underground tunnels and back to the Netherwoods without their help, but I’m glad I don’t have to.
I’ve got a great sense of direction, but being in the lead isn’t for me. It never has been. I’ve got too much anxiety and too many voices in my head telling me too many different things at once. Even if I know exactly where I’m going, I’ve got those annoying voices reminding me how much other people are relying on me and how one little screw-up on my part could get them all killed.
If it were me in the lead right now, I’d likely have a panic attack and chew my fingernails down to the second knuckle while guiding us in a never-ending circle, probably getting us lost and inevitably killed before our mission has really even started.
