Outlive (The Baggers Trilogy, #1) by Chad Leito

Baggs walked out of the bedroom, then he walked back to Tessa and kissed her again, pressing his lips to her warm forehead and enjoying the last time he would ever touch the woman he loved. “Love you,” he said again.
                  “’ove you,” she whispered. Baggs didn’t think that she was awake. He stood and looked down at her, and then felt the tears begin to fall from his eyes and roll over his cheeks. He stifled a sob, and thought, I’ve got to get out of here.
                  He went into the bathroom and changed into the clothes he had stored under the sink as quietly as possible. With his jeans and bloody shirt back on, he looked one more time at his daughters, who were asleep on the mattress. He hoped that he did not wake them as he left.
                  Baggs removed the chair from beneath the door handle, unlocked the deadbolts, the chain locks, and the door handle. He relocked the door handle after opening the door, and glanced back at his redheaded daughters, sleeping peacefully on their mattress one last time.
                  Baggs stepped into the hallway and shut the door behind him. He had left his keys on the table; he did not need them anymore. He turned, opened the door to the stairwell, and as he walked down the stairs, he tried to not think of the fact that if he survived Outlive he could see his daughters again. If he survived, they could have meals like that once a month, and he could hold Tessa again while he slept. If he survived, he could finish reading the Harry Potter series to Maggie.
                  He tried not to wish for these things, because the hope scared him. It made him feel soft, and weak. He wanted to feel fearless and ready to die as he entered the arena. Historically, bravery seemed to pay off in the Colosseum.
                  Baggs lit his last cigarette for the month as he stepped out onto the streets and began to walk through London at one in the morning.
     
     
     
    Part 2
     
    1
     
                  Baggs had made it all the way to the Media Tower by three in the morning. His feet were aching and swollen by that time. From reading medical books in the library, he suspected that he had plantar fasciitis, but had no means of getting this checked out. Whenever he walked for long distances, his heel and the bottom of his foot ached. At three in the morning, as he sat on the stone steps in front of the Media Tower and took off his socks to examine his throbbing feet. He saw that the tissue had swollen so much that where his arch should have been, his foot protruded further than even his heel.
                  “Damn,” he whispered. He took off his other shoe and began doing some of the stretches he had read about in the library. He stretched each individual toe backwards, and forwards, and then stood and stretched his calf muscles on the steps. Then, he sat down and rubbed the sore areas of the bottoms of his feet with his right hand; his left was not dexterous enough for such a task.
                  Baggs chided himself for not taking any ibuprofen with him on his journey when he knew that he would be walking such a long way. There was nothing he could do about it now. He slipped his socks on, then his shoes, and walked up the steps towards the Media Tower’s entrance.
                  The Media Tower was a tall, black triangle of windows that came to a point 40 stories above the concrete. As Baggs walked up, he saw that the point at the top of the building happened to be centered with the moon from his point of view.
                  The door was, as he expected, locked. There was no writing on the glass to give any indication of what time it would be opening back up. Not knowing what else to do, Baggs walked along the wall a ways and sat down with his back against the structure.
                  At least it’s not raining, he