The Wave Pool Rip

The heat radiating off the wet concrete warped the air.

Vic stood by the edge of the mega wave pool, sweat stinging his eyes. He stared at his phone. The screen brightness was maxed out, fighting the harsh glare of the July sun. It drained the battery, but he needed to see the numbers.

Minus four thousand, two hundred.

The CrediQuick app pulsed red. A slow, rhythmic flash. It looked like a digital heartbeat. It was a countdown. He had forty-five minutes before the algorithm locked his checking account. Before they initiated the asset seizure protocol.

His thumb hovered over the screen. His hands shook. Just a slight tremor, but enough to make hitting the tiny buttons difficult. He wiped his palm on his damp swim trunks.

"You look like a melted candle."

Vic blinked. He looked up. The world snapped back into focus.

Stan was standing five feet away. The boy held his phone on a black plastic gimbal. The camera lens was pointed directly at Vic. Stan wore an oversized graphic tee and board shorts that hung past his knees. He hadn't taken his shirt off all day.

"What?" Vic asked.

"Chat says you look like a melted candle," Stan said. He didn't look at Vic. He looked at the scrolling text on his own screen. "User BigChungus99 wants to know why you are wearing socks with sandals at a water park."

"My heels are cracked," Vic said. He shifted his weight. The wet fabric of his socks squished against the cheap foam of the sandals.

"Don't trauma dump on the stream, Dad," Stan said. He pivoted, sweeping the gimbal to capture the massive, screaming crowd in the wave pool behind them. "We are live from SunSplash Mega Park, chat. The epicenter of human misery and overpriced churros. Smash that like button if you think the water is ninety percent urine."

Vic sighed. He looked back at his phone. The red numbers hadn't changed. He tapped the refresh icon. The spinning circle mocked him.

"Put the phone down for five minutes, Stan," Vic said. "We came here to hang out."

"We came here because you got a guilt complex about missing my graduation," Stan said. His voice was flat. He kept the camera moving. "And I am hanging out. With four hundred people. Say hi to the void, Dad."

Stan swung the camera back to Vic.

Vic forced a smile. It felt heavy. He raised a hand in a weak wave.

"Cringe," Stan muttered. He tapped his screen. "Yeah, chat, he is definitely an NPC. His pathfinding is broken."

Vic shoved his phone into his pocket. The device felt hot against his thigh. A brick of pure anxiety. He looked around. SunSplash was packed. A sea of sunburned flesh, neon bathing suits, and screaming children. The noise was a physical pressure. The roar of the wave machine. The shrill blast of lifeguard whistles. The blown-out bass of pop music bleeding from the PA speakers mounted on the light poles.

"Let's just go to the cabana," Vic said.

He started walking. He didn't check to see if Stan followed. He just kept his head down, navigating the slippery tiles and puddles of spilled soda.

He had rented a VIP cabana. It cost three hundred dollars. He put it on a credit card that was already maxed out, hoping the charge wouldn't bounce until Monday. He wanted to do something nice. He wanted to show Stan that things were fine.

Things were not fine.

Vic's phone vibrated in his pocket. A long, sustained buzz.

He ignored it. He kept walking.

It buzzed again. Two short bursts.

He pulled it out.

A push notification filled the screen.

[CrediQuick Alert: Location pinged. Enforcers dispatched to your area. Resolve balance immediately to avoid physical asset recovery.]

Vic stopped walking. A kid running with a foam noodle slammed into his leg. The kid bounced off and kept running. Vic didn't feel it.

His stomach turned over. He tasted the acidic remnants of the morning's coffee in the back of his throat.

Physical asset recovery.

That meant the car. The 2018 sedan parked in lot C. The only thing he owned that wasn't underwater. If they took the car, he couldn't get to work. If he couldn't get to work, he lost the job. If he lost the job, the apartment was next.

"Hey," Stan said, bumping into his shoulder. "Why did you stop? The lag in this sector is terrible. I need to get to the WiFi zone."

"We need to go," Vic said. His voice sounded thin.

"Go where? We just got here. You paid for the stupid tent."

"I know. But we have to leave. Now."

Vic grabbed Stan's arm.

Stan yanked it back instantly. "Do not touch me on stream, man. What is your problem?"

Vic looked past Stan. The crowd parted around the churro stand fifty yards away.

Two men were walking against the flow of traffic.

They didn't look like tourists. They didn't look like dads. They wore tight black polo shirts and dark jeans. Jeans at a water park in July. They wore wraparound sunglasses. They moved with a heavy, deliberate rhythm.

They were looking directly at Vic.

The phone in Vic's hand burned. The app was tracking him. It was feeding them his GPS coordinates in real time.

"Stan," Vic said. He kept his eyes on the men. They were closing the distance. Forty yards. "Put the camera away."

"No," Stan said. He raised the gimbal higher. "Chat, my dad is having a boomer meltdown. Let's get some F's in the chat."

"I am not joking," Vic said. He stepped in front of the lens.

"Move," Stan said, stepping to the side.

The men were thirty yards away. The taller one pointed at Vic. He tapped the side of his sunglasses. Smart glasses. They were scanning his face. Confirming the bounty.

Vic grabbed Stan by the back of his oversized shirt. He pulled hard.

"Hey!" Stan yelled, stumbling backward.

"Walk," Vic said. "To the cabana. Do not stop."

Vic shoved his son forward. Stan nearly dropped the gimbal. He spun around, furious, but he saw the look on Vic's face. The panic was entirely unguarded.

Stan swallowed. He didn't put the camera down, but he started walking fast.

The cabana section was fenced off by a low row of fake palm trees. Vic pushed through the swinging gate. Cabana Seven. It was a canvas tent with two lounge chairs and a mini-fridge.

Vic pushed Stan inside and zipped the canvas flap closed.

The heat trapped inside the tent was suffocating.

"What is going on?" Stan asked. His voice dropped. The irony was gone. The performance was slipping.

"Nothing," Vic lied. He paced the five-foot space. He looked through the mesh window.

Through the mesh, he saw the two men push through the gate.

They didn't hesitate. They walked straight to Cabana Seven.

Vic backed away from the window. He bumped into the mini-fridge.

The canvas flap ripped open.

The sunlight spilled in, blinding and harsh.

The tall man in the black polo stepped inside. The tent was suddenly incredibly small. The man smelled like cheap deodorant and spearmint gum. He took off his sunglasses. His eyes were dead, flat, and focused entirely on Vic.

"Victor," the man said. It wasn't a question.

Vic didn't speak.

"I am Davis," the man said. "This is Cole. We represent CrediQuick."

The second man, Cole, stood in the doorway. He blocked the exit. He was wider, his arms thick with muscle that strained the sleeves of his polo.

"I have until two o'clock," Vic said. His voice cracked. He hated himself for it.

"The algorithm updated," Davis said. He pulled a heavy ring of keys from his pocket. He spun them around his index finger. "You missed the dynamic interest threshold. The account is delinquent. We are here for the keys to the vehicle."

"No," Vic said. "I just need an hour. I can transfer the funds."

"You have twelve dollars in your checking account, Victor," Davis said. He didn't sound angry. He sounded bored. "The vehicle is collateral. Hand over the keys, or we add a non-compliance fee of five hundred dollars to the balance."

"I need the car to get home," Vic said.

"Not our problem," Cole said from the doorway. He cracked his knuckles. A loud, sharp popping sound.

Vic looked at Stan.

Stan was standing in the corner of the tent. He was completely silent. The gimbal was raised. The red light on the microphone was blinking. He was streaming every second of this.

"Put that away, kid," Davis said, noticing the camera.

"I am on public property," Stan said. His voice shook, but he didn't lower the phone. "I have the right to record."

"This is private property, you idiot," Cole said. He took a step toward Stan.

Vic moved. He didn't think about it. He just reacted. He stepped between the massive enforcer and his son.

"Don't look at him," Vic said. He stared at Cole's chest. "Don't talk to him."

Davis sighed. He put his sunglasses back on.

"Victor," Davis said. "Do not make this difficult. The heat is terrible today. I want to go sit in an air-conditioned car. Your car. Give me the keys."

"No," Vic said.

He dug his heels into the cheap plastic matting of the cabana floor. He clenched his fists.

Davis nodded.

Cole lunged.

He didn't go for Vic. He bypassed Vic entirely. He swept his heavy arm past Vic's shoulder and snatched the gimbal right out of Stan's hands.

Stan yelled.

Cole raised the phone high, looking at the screen. "Four hundred viewers? Let's give them a show."

Cole slammed the gimbal down onto the edge of the mini-fridge. The plastic cracked. The phone popped out, clattering onto the floor.

Stan dropped to his knees to grab it.

Cole put his heavy boot on the phone. The screen shattered with a loud crunch.

Something inside Vic broke.

The humiliation. The debt. The fear. The heat. It all crystallized into a single, sharp point of absolute rage.

Vic swung.

He didn't know how to fight. He hadn't thrown a punch since high school. But he threw his entire body weight behind his right fist.

His knuckles connected with Cole's jaw.

The impact traveled up Vic's arm, a painful jolt that radiated into his shoulder.

Cole stumbled backward, crashing through the canvas wall of the cabana. The fabric tore. The aluminum frame buckled.

Cole fell backward into the shallow wading pool directly outside the tent. He hit the water with a massive splash.

Davis moved instantly. He grabbed Vic by the throat.

Vic gasped, his airway crushed. He clawed at Davis's thick fingers.

"You stupid old man," Davis hissed.

Davis swept Vic's legs out from under him.

Vic fell hard. He landed on his back in the ankle-deep water beside Cole. The impact knocked the wind out of him. Water flooded his nose and mouth. He choked, coughing violently.

The sun glared directly into his eyes.

He saw Cole rising from the water like a very angry shadow. Cole's lip was bleeding. A thin line of red dripping into the heavily chlorinated water.

Cole kicked Vic in the ribs.

Pain exploded in Vic's chest. He curled into a ball, gasping for air that wouldn't come.

"Dad!"

Stan's voice. High and panicked.

Vic opened his eyes. Through the splashing water, he saw Stan hit Davis in the back with the broken plastic gimbal. The plastic snapped in half.

Davis turned, annoyed. He backhanded Stan across the face.

Stan spun around and fell onto the wet concrete.

Vic forced himself to his hands and knees. His ribs screamed. He tasted pennies.

He grabbed a heavy, wet towel that had fallen from the cabana chair. He swung it like a whip. The wet fabric wrapped around Davis's ankles. Vic yanked hard.

Davis slipped on the wet tile and fell backward, his head bouncing off the concrete edge of the wading pool. A dull, heavy thud.

Davis stopped moving.

Cole looked down at his partner. He looked back at Vic.

"You are dead," Cole said. He stepped over Davis, reaching into his pocket.

Vic didn't wait to see what Cole was grabbing.

He scrambled to his feet. He grabbed Stan by the shirt collar and hauled him up.

"Run," Vic gasped.

He shoved Stan forward. They ran.

Cabana Seven

They sprinted away from the cabanas.

Vic's lungs burned. Every breath felt like inhaling glass. His bare feet—he had lost the sandals in the fight—slapped aggressively against the scalding pavement. The heat of the concrete blistered his soles immediately, but the adrenaline masked the worst of the pain.

He looked back over his shoulder.

Cole was running after them. The massive man moved surprisingly fast, shoving screaming tourists out of his way. He held a black stun baton in his right hand. The metal tip sparked with a loud, terrifying crackle.

"Keep going!" Vic yelled, pushing Stan forward into the thickest part of the crowd.

They hit the main promenade. Thousands of people moving slowly in the heavy summer air. It was a wall of wet flesh, inflatable tubes, and oversized strollers.

Vic lowered his shoulder and pushed through. He knocked a teenager holding a massive soda cup into a trash can. The soda exploded, a sticky brown geyser.

"Hey!" the teenager yelled.

Vic didn't stop. He dragged Stan behind him, his grip on the boy's wrist tight enough to leave bruises.

"My phone," Stan panted, stumbling over a discarded towel. "He broke my phone."

"Forget the phone," Vic snapped.

"The stream was running!" Stan yelled, his voice cracking. "They saw everything!"

"Good!" Vic shouted back, ducking under a giant foam water gun wielded by a toddler. "Maybe they can crowdfund my bail."

They reached the edge of the Tsunami Wave Pool. It was the centerpiece of the park. A massive, concrete ocean holding three million gallons of water. The shoreline was packed shoulder-to-shoulder.

A loud siren began to wail from the massive speakers mounted above the pool.

The wave klaxon.

The crowd roared in anticipation. People surged forward, pushing toward the deep end to catch the massive artificial swell.

"In the water!" Vic commanded.

He dragged Stan into the shallows. The water was lukewarm and clouded with sunscreen. They pushed deeper, wading waist-deep, then chest-deep into the massive crowd.

Vic turned around. He scanned the shoreline.

He saw Cole pacing the edge of the pool. The enforcer was scanning the sea of heads. He held the stun baton down by his leg, hiding it from the oblivious lifeguards perched in their tall white chairs.

Cole's eyes locked onto Vic.

Even from fifty yards away, Vic could see the fury. Cole pointed directly at him. He stepped into the water.

Then, the wave hit.

It came from the deep end. An eight-foot wall of heavily chlorinated water generated by massive pneumatic pumps hidden behind a concrete wall.

The wave crashed over the crowd.

Vic took a deep breath as the water lifted him off his feet. The surge was violent. It threw him backward, tangling him in a mass of limbs, inflatable rafts, and screaming teenagers. He held onto Stan's wrist with everything he had.

The water churned, entirely chaotic. Vic went under. The water tasted intensely of chemicals and salt. He kept his eyes open, the chlorine burning his corneas. He saw legs kicking frantically all around him.

He broke the surface, gasping for air.

The wave carried them thirty yards toward the artificial beach. They washed up in the shallows, entirely disoriented.

Vic sat up, coughing up water. He wiped his eyes.

He looked toward the deep end. Cole was gone. The wave had knocked the enforcer down, washing him into the dense pack of bodies.

"Come on," Vic wheezed. He pulled Stan to his feet.

They scrambled out of the water and ran toward the main entrance plaza.

"We need to get to the car," Vic said.

"They have your plates!" Stan yelled, running beside him. The boy's face was pale. The red mark from Davis's backhand was already forming a bruise on his cheek. "They know the car!"

"We just need to get out of the park," Vic said. "We can jump the fence in the parking lot. Call a cab."

They rounded the corner past the massive gift shop. The main gates were visible ahead.

A towering bank of digital turnstiles separated the park from the outside world. Usually, the exit gates swung open freely.

Today, they were blocked.

A massive crowd of confused tourists was clumped around the exit. People were pushing against the metal bars. The bars didn't budge.

Vic slowed to a walk, his chest heaving. He pushed his way to the front of the crowd.

The digital screens mounted above each turnstile, which usually displayed a green arrow, were entirely red.

A symbol blinked on the screens. A stylized padlock.

[SYSTEM OVERRIDE. GATES LOCKED. SECURING PERIMETER.]

"What the hell is this?" a man in a floral shirt yelled, kicking the metal turnstile. "Let us out!"

A teenager in a SunSplash uniform stood behind the glass booth, looking terrified. He was mashing buttons on his keyboard. "I can't! The system is frozen. It's totally locked out."

Vic stared at the red padlock symbol.

He knew that symbol. It was the exact same padlock icon that appeared on his CrediQuick app when his account was frozen.

The loan company.

They didn't just track his phone. They hacked the park's NFC network. They locked down the entire facility to keep him from leaving.

"Dad," Stan said. His voice was a whisper. He pointed back the way they came.

Vic turned.

Davis and Cole were walking out of the gift shop. Davis held a fresh towel to the back of his head. The towel was rapidly turning dark red. Cole still held the stun baton.

They saw Vic standing at the locked gates.

Davis dropped the bloody towel. He smiled. A terrifying, predatory expression.

There was nowhere to run. The entrance was blocked. The crowd was a trap.

Vic looked around frantically. His eyes darted past the turnstiles, past the gift shop, landing on a chain-link fence separating the plaza from the massive mechanical infrastructure of the water slides.

A yellow sign hung on the fence.

[DANGER. AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY. HIGH VOLTAGE.]

"Stan," Vic said. "You still watch those urban exploration videos?"

Stan looked at his dad, confused. Then he followed Vic's gaze to the utility fence.

"The maintenance tunnels," Stan said. His eyes widened. "Yeah. UrbanXplorer did a video here. He got under the wave pool."

"Can you find the entrance?" Vic asked.

Stan looked at the enforcers. They were thirty yards away and closing.

"Yeah," Stan said. He didn't hesitate. "Follow me."

Under The Concrete

Stan sprinted toward the chain-link fence. Vic was right behind him.

The gate was padlocked, but the chain was loose. Stan didn't try to force it. He dropped to his stomach and shimmied under the gap between the concrete and the bottom rail of the fence. He scraped his back, wincing, but pulled himself through.

Vic dove after him. He was larger, and his shoulders caught the bottom of the fence. The sharp edge of the cut wire sliced through his damp shirt, digging a shallow trench across his back. He gritted his teeth and kicked hard, forcing himself under just as Cole reached the fence.

Cole kicked the chain link, rattling the metal violently. "You're dead in there, Victor!"

Vic didn't look back. He scrambled to his feet.

They were behind the facade of the park now. The bright colors and fake palm trees were gone. This was the industrial underbelly. Massive steel pipes, painted dull grey, rose from the concrete floor, snaking upward into the massive fiberglass structures of the water slides. The noise was deafening here. The mechanical roar of the industrial water pumps vibrated through the soles of Vic's feet.

"This way," Stan yelled over the noise.

He ran past a row of massive chemical tanks marked 'SODIUM HYPOCHLORITE'.

Stan stopped in front of a heavy steel door set into the foundation of the wave pool structure. The paint was peeling. A heavy deadbolt secured it.

"It's locked," Vic said, coughing. The air here was thick with raw chlorine vapor. It burned his throat.

"No, it's not," Stan said. He reached down and felt along the bottom edge of the door frame. He pulled out a rusted key hidden behind a pipe bracket. "UrbanXplorer said the night crew always leaves a spare for the filter techs."

Stan jammed the key into the deadbolt. It turned with a heavy clank.

He pulled the heavy door open.

Pitch blackness.

Cold air rushed out, carrying the smell of damp concrete, stagnant water, and rust.

"Get in," Vic said, pushing Stan inside.

Vic pulled the door shut behind them. The deadbolt snapped into place automatically.

The darkness was absolute. The noise of the pumps was muffled here, replaced by the echoing drip of condensation and the rushing sound of water moving through the massive pipes overhead.

"I can't see anything," Stan whispered. His voice trembled in the dark.

Vic reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. The screen lit up the narrow concrete corridor.

The CrediQuick app was still open. The screen was still entirely red.

[Balance: -$4,700. Non-Compliance Penalty Applied.]

Vic used the red glow of his debt to light the tunnel. The corridor was barely three feet wide. Thick, sweating pipes lined the walls. The floor was slick with a thin layer of green algae.

"Which way?" Vic asked.

Stan squinted in the red light. He looked up at the pipes. He traced the direction of the water flow.

"The water flows down from the main tower," Stan said, his voice gaining a fraction of confidence. "The Tsunami Drop. The pump room is housed inside the central support column of that slide. If they locked the system via the network, the physical hardware override is in that pump room. UrbanXplorer showed the manual breaker switch."

Vic stared at his son. He realized he didn't know the boy at all. He spent all his time angry that Stan was staring at his phone, but he never actually asked what he was watching.

"Okay," Vic said. "Lead the way."

Stan took the phone from Vic's hand. He walked forward, using the red screen as a flashlight.

They walked in silence for ten minutes. The tunnel sloped upward. The air grew hotter and more humid. The walls closed in, forcing them to turn sideways to squeeze past massive valve wheels.

Vic's bare feet slipped on the algae. He caught himself on a pipe. The metal was scalding hot. He hissed, pulling his hand back. A red welt formed instantly on his palm.

"Careful," Stan whispered. "The high-pressure lines run hot."

They turned a corner.

A heavy metal grating blocked the path. Beyond the grating, a vertical shaft extended upward. A rusted iron ladder was bolted to the concrete wall of the shaft, disappearing into the darkness above.

"This is the central column," Stan said. He pushed against the grating. It swung open easily on rusted hinges.

Stan stepped into the shaft. He looked up.

"The pump room is at the halfway landing," Stan said. "About a hundred feet up."

"Let's climb," Vic said.

Stan grabbed the first rung of the ladder and pulled himself up.

Vic followed.

The climb was agonizing. The ladder was slick with moisture. Vic's arms shook with exhaustion. His ribs throbbed fiercely with every movement, a sharp, stabbing pain radiating from where Cole had kicked him.

He focused entirely on the rusted rungs. He counted them to keep his mind off the burning in his muscles.

Ten. Twenty. Thirty.

Above him, the red light of the phone cast long, distorted shadows of Stan's legs onto the concrete walls.

"Stop," Stan whispered suddenly.

Vic froze. "What?"

"Listen."

Vic held his breath. He strained his ears against the rushing sound of the pipes.

Below them, echoing up the narrow shaft, came the unmistakable sound of metal scraping on concrete.

A heavy footstep.

Then, a voice. Distorted by the echo, but perfectly clear.

"They went up the central shaft. I see wet footprints."

Davis.

They had found the door. They had followed the trail of wet water park water dragging off their clothes.

"Go," Vic hissed. "Climb faster."

Stan scrambled up the ladder, abandoning caution. His wet shoes slipped on the rungs, but he caught himself, pulling violently upward.

Vic followed, ignoring the searing pain in his ribs. He pushed his body past its limit.

Fifty feet. Sixty feet.

The shaft began to lighten. Gray ambient light filtered down from a heavy steel trapdoor above them.

Stan reached the top. He pushed his shoulder against the trapdoor.

It didn't move.

"It's stuck!" Stan yelled, panic returning to his voice. He shoved harder.

Vic climbed up right behind him. "Move down a step."

Stan stepped down. Vic wedged his shoulders under the heavy steel plate. He planted his bare feet on the narrow rungs.

Below them, the sound of boots on the iron ladder echoed loudly. They were climbing fast.

Vic closed his eyes. He thought about the car. He thought about the apartment. He thought about the enforcers breaking his son's phone.

He screamed and pushed upward with his legs.

The rusted latch snapped. The trapdoor flew open, crashing onto the metal grating above.

Sunlight poured into the shaft.

Stan scrambled out. Vic grabbed the edge of the opening and pulled himself up, rolling onto the solid metal platform.

He lay on his back, gasping, staring at the bright blue summer sky.

They were outside again.

Vic sat up. They were on a maintenance landing halfway up the Tsunami Drop structure. The massive fiberglass slide spiraled around them, a towering monument of yellow plastic.

Across the metal platform was a small, square building constructed of cinderblocks.

A sign on the heavy steel door read: [MAIN PUMP CONTROL. OVERRIDE ACCESS.]

"There," Stan pointed.

Vic grabbed the heavy trapdoor they had just climbed out of. He slammed it shut. He looked for a lock. There wasn't one. The latch was broken.

He looked around frantically. A heavy steel wrench, three feet long and thick with grease, lay abandoned near a pipe fitting.

Vic grabbed the wrench and jammed it through the handle of the trapdoor, wedging it against the lip of the concrete opening. A makeshift deadbolt.

Instantly, something heavy slammed against the underside of the trapdoor.

The metal groaned. The wrench shifted, scraping against the concrete.

"They're here," Vic said. He backed away. "Get to the pump room. Fix the gates."

Stan ran to the cinderblock building. He grabbed the handle.

It was locked.

"Dad!" Stan yelled. "I can't get in!"

Vic ran to the door. He threw his shoulder against it. Solid steel. It didn't budge.

Behind them, the trapdoor shuddered violently. Cole was hitting it with his massive shoulders. The steel wrench bent slightly under the pressure. It wouldn't hold for long.

Vic looked at the door to the pump room. There was a small, wire-reinforced glass window set into the top half.

Vic backed up. He looked down at his bare feet, bleeding and bruised. He couldn't kick it.

He turned and looked at the trapdoor. The wrench was slipping.

Vic ran to the trapdoor. He waited for the next impact from below.

BANG.

The trapdoor bowed upward. The wrench slipped an inch.

Vic grabbed the wrench and pulled it free.

The trapdoor exploded open.

Cole surged out of the hole, roaring in anger.

Vic didn't wait for him to stand up. He swung the massive steel wrench with both hands like a baseball bat.

The heavy iron connected with the side of Cole's knee.

A sickening crack echoed across the platform.

Cole screamed, a terrible, guttural sound. His leg gave out instantly. He collapsed onto the metal grating, clutching his ruined knee, writhing in absolute agony.

Vic didn't stop. He turned and ran back to the pump room door.

He raised the wrench and smashed it into the wire-reinforced glass.

The glass shattered, the wire mesh tearing.

Vic reached his arm through the jagged hole. The broken glass sliced his forearm, but he ignored the blood. He felt frantically along the inside of the door.

His fingers found the heavy deadbolt latch. He turned it.

The door clicked unlocked.

Vic pulled his arm back, smearing blood on the white paint.

"Go!" Vic yelled, pushing Stan inside.

Vic turned back to the platform.

Davis was climbing out of the trapdoor. He stepped over Cole's thrashing body. He looked at Vic. He didn't look angry anymore. He looked entirely cold.

Davis reached into his waistband and pulled out a small, black taser pistol. He leveled it directly at Vic's chest.

Pump Room Override

Vic stared at the two metal prongs visible in the barrel of the taser.

There was nowhere to dodge. The metal platform was too narrow.

Behind him, inside the pump room, Stan was frantically pulling at a massive gray electrical panel.

"Step away from the door, Victor," Davis said. His breathing was heavy, but his hands were perfectly steady. "I am tired of this. You cost my partner his knee. You are going to pay the balance in blood if I have to extract it myself."

Vic didn't move. He blocked the doorway with his body.

"I found it!" Stan yelled from inside the cinderblock room. "The main network breaker!"

"Pull it!" Vic shouted without looking back.

"It's padlocked shut!" Stan's voice was edging into hysteria. "I need a key!"

Vic tightened his grip on the heavy steel wrench. His forearm was bleeding steadily, dripping onto the metal grating.

"He can't save you," Davis said. He took a step forward. "I pull this trigger, fifty thousand volts lock every muscle in your body. You will fall down these stairs. You will break your neck."

Vic looked past Davis.

Directly behind the enforcer was the entrance to one of the massive yellow tubes of the Tsunami Drop. But the water wasn't running. A large red sign hung across the opening: [CLOSED FOR MAINTENANCE. DRY TUBE.]

It was a sheer drop in a dry fiberglass pipe. A friction trap.

Vic looked back at Davis.

"You're right," Vic said. His voice was dead calm. "I can't pay the balance."

Vic threw the heavy steel wrench straight at Davis's face.

Davis flinched, ducking his head. The wrench missed him by an inch, clattering loudly against the steel railing.

In that split second, Vic moved.

He didn't run away. He charged forward. He tackled Davis around the waist, driving his shoulder squarely into the man's stomach.

The force of the impact carried them both backward.

Davis pulled the trigger.

The taser fired. The prongs missed Vic entirely, flying over his shoulder and embedding into the fiberglass wall of the slide.

Vic kept his legs driving. He pushed Davis across the platform, right through the plastic warning chain of the closed slide.

They tumbled over the edge.

They fell into the dry, yellow tube.

The slope was incredibly steep. Nearly seventy degrees. Without water to lubricate the surface, the fiberglass grabbed at their skin and clothes.

They slid down the tube at terrifying speed, locked together in a violent embrace.

The friction was immediate and brutal.

Vic's wet shirt tore. The rough fiberglass ground against his bare back like sandpaper. He screamed as the skin peeled away. The tube curved sharply, throwing them against the sidewall. Vic hit his head hard on the plastic, seeing a sudden burst of white stars.

Davis clawed at Vic's face, trying to push him off. Vic buried his face into Davis's chest, wrapping his arms tight, turning himself into dead weight.

They picked up speed. The heat inside the tube was stifling. The smell of burning fabric and scraped plastic filled the enclosed space.

Down. Down. Down.

A hundred feet of pure, terrifying acceleration.

The tube began to level out abruptly.

They hit the flat run-out section at the bottom. Without water to slow them down, they skidded violently across the dry fiberglass floor.

Vic tumbled head over heels, entirely out of control. He slammed into the heavy foam padding at the end of the slide with a bone-jarring impact.

He collapsed onto the concrete floor beside the splash pool.

He didn't move. Every nerve in his body was screaming. His back felt like it was on fire. His head throbbed. He tasted blood in his mouth.

Ten feet away, Davis lay groaning on his side. His polo shirt was shredded. His face was scraped raw. He tried to push himself up on his elbows, but his arms collapsed. He stayed down.

Vic lay on his back, staring up at the bright yellow exit of the slide.

He waited to hear the sirens.

If Stan failed, the sirens wouldn't come.

He closed his eyes. The heat of the concrete seeped into his bones.

Then, he heard it.

A loud, mechanical clunk echoing across the park. The sound of massive electromagnetic locks disengaging.

A cheer erupted from the front gates, carried on the wind.

A second later, the distinct, high-pitched wail of police sirens cut through the summer air. Not just one. Half a dozen. The digital hijack had triggered an automatic infrastructure alarm when the breaker was smashed.

Vic let out a long, shuddering breath.

He had done it.

***

The ambulance bay was parked near the main entrance. The flashing red and blue lights painted the wet concrete in harsh strobes. The sun was beginning to set, casting a long, orange glow over SunSplash Mega Park.

Vic sat on the bumper of the ambulance. A paramedic was taping a heavy gauze bandage over his shoulder. His ribs were heavily wrapped. He wore a gray SunSplash lost-and-found sweatshirt.

Stan sat next to him. He had a chemical ice pack pressed to his cheek where Davis had hit him. His wrist was wrapped in a tan ace bandage.

They watched in silence as two police officers escorted a limping Cole toward a squad car. Davis was already in the back of another cruiser, handcuffed, his face patched with white bandages.

The digital turnstiles were wide open. The park was entirely empty. The tourists had fled.

Stan looked down at his lap. He held the shattered remains of his smartphone. The screen was spiderwebbed completely. The chassis was bent. It was a dead piece of glass and metal.

Vic pulled his own phone from the pocket of his damp swim trunks.

The screen was cracked from the fall down the slide. But the screen was on.

The CrediQuick app was still open.

The screen wasn't red anymore. It was gray.

[ACCOUNT SUSPENDED. PENDING INVESTIGATION.]

The police had confiscated the enforcers' devices. The digital hijacking of the park's network was a federal offense. The loan company was going to be buried in federal warrants by morning. The debt was frozen.

Vic pressed the power button. The screen went black. He tossed the phone onto the concrete floor of the ambulance.

Stan looked at the phone, then looked at his dad.

"They were going to take the car?" Stan asked. His voice was quiet. Stripped of the performative irony.

"Yeah," Vic said. He looked straight ahead at the sunset. "I'm broke, Stan. Completely underwater. I put this trip on a credit card I can't pay."

Stan didn't say anything for a long time. He just pressed the ice pack harder against his cheek.

"You hit that guy with a wrench," Stan said.

"I did," Vic said.

"That was insane."

"It was necessary."

Stan looked down at his broken phone. He traced the cracks in the glass with his thumb.

"The stream was running the whole time," Stan said. "Until he broke the camera. Chat went crazy when you hit the big guy in the pool. User BigChungus99 said you were secretly John Wick."

Vic let out a short, painful laugh. It hurt his ribs. "I am definitely not John Wick. John Wick wouldn't have worn socks with sandals."

Stan smiled. A real, actual smile.

"No," Stan said. "He wouldn't have."

They sat together in the fading heat, listening to the idling engine of the ambulance.