by David Clark
Robert heard the clicking stop in front of him, pause, and then take a few steps before pausing again. This repeated several times until the sound came back toward Robert, but stopped before it reached him. He turned and squinted, trying to peer through the small holes in the fabric of the hood over his head. He saw no details, just the bright light that still flooded through from above.
“Christopher! Look at what you have done.” Marjorie’s voice echoed through the room from speakers above. This had an eerie familiarity to it. The thought shot across his mind; this better not be another one of his games.
“Are you so arrogant that you did not believe we would find out what you did. You have cheated me, and hundreds of others like me, out of millions and with the help of one of your fellow hosts, we have come to collect.”
Another set of footsteps approached from the side as a male’s voice, Isaac, said over the same speakers, “Seated before you are your 7 contestants. Contestants that we have each watched die, or so we thought. For dead contestants, they appear to be very much alive.”
The footsteps crossed in front of Robert and continued for several more feet. “This one here. Bob. I bet on him five months ago and watched him fall off the wall in Razor’s Edge and drown. I lost 1.75 million euros on that bet, but losing is part of the game. Anyone who gambles knows that is the risk. We all accept that risk. Imagine my surprise when, just a few weeks later, I saw the same guy on Hangman’s Bridge, under the name of Dan. Did you not think we would find out? Did you think you could get away with changing the rules of the game?”
The click of the high heels approached, and Marjorie’s voice blared from the speakers above them, “You signed the agreement, Christopher, just like I did. You knew the rules to be a host.” Sounding remorseful now, “You knew the consequences of your actions. The question, are you ready to pay them? Or, will you ignore those rules, too? The choice is yours. Now, shall we see who we have here.?
The high heels clicked away from Robert and then stopped. “So, here is Michelle. I believe you have died three times and won twice. Total amount bet on your supposed deaths, 5.2 million euros.”
The heels clicked twice. “Doug. Christopher must not like you. He has only let you win once. Most of your deaths have been flaming defeats. 8.2 million euros.”
One quick click, “Mary, you seem to die quickly most of the time. 1.8 million euros."
A few more clicks proceeded her next roster call, “Jill, 3.9 million euros. The viewers don’t seem to buy in to your abilities that much. Must be your size. If only they knew it really had nothing to do with it.”
As she walked past the next chair, “We have met Bob.”
Marjorie kept walking until she stopped, just to Robert’s right. His hood inched up slowly. A final quick yank removed it completely and allowed the blinding light to invade his irises. He squinted through the tears and the light to look to his right. Marjorie was standing between Robert and Amy, with a black hood in each hand. On the other side of her was his beautiful wife, tears streaming down her face, streaking the makeup she wore the night before. True panic reflected in her eyes and it gnawed at Robert’s very essence. He felt every muscle in his sore body flex and strain all at the same time, but he was unable to move or yell.
Beyond Amy was the rest of the San Squad, sitting there, looking down at the floor, gagged. Black hoods scattered on the floor in front of each of them.
“And lastly, Robert. You appear to show the most promise of all the participants in our little shows, but yet you have never won. Total wagers lost on you are 12.4 million euros. Oh, and let’s not forget your wife, who is just along for the ride now. She has never been on the show, but there is a first time for everyone.” Marjorie turned with a devious laugh.
Isaac walked in from off to the side, toward the center of the room. He measured his steps carefully and made sure to stop right on a spot labeled with an “X” on the floor. A camera at the far end of the room, with a red light on top of it, followed his every move. He addressed the camera as Marjorie walked forward to join him at the “X”.
“Christopher, we are here on behalf of all of those you have cheated to collect. We feel it is within our right to execute your team right now.”
The entire group flinched, causing their chairs to rustle against their locked wheels.
“But we, like you, are a sporting group. We like to give people chances. You have four hours to contact us and arrange to come pay up in person, or–or, we will collect from these fine people. The choice is yours.”
The red light vanished from the top of the camera. Several members, of what Robert presumed were their production staff, came forward to talk to Isaac and Marjorie. Every few words there were glances back toward the SanSquad. They talked softly, but Robert was able to hear a little. Unfortunately, it was not in English and useless to him. The members of the production crew shook Isaac’s hand, then departed through a set of double doors in the front left corner of the room.
Isaac stood and studied the SanSquad for a few moments through his shades. He walked toward them while Marjorie remained on the “X”. He stopped in front of the six friends and said, “Unfortunately, the last remaining member of your little group won’t be joining you. He created some problems, so we… collected our debt.” There was a hint of a smirk on his face as he turned and departed through the same set of double doors. Marjorie followed close behind him.
The SanSquad looked at each other with grave concern in their eyes, and panic in their hearts. Each of them had tears streaming down their faces. Some for themselves, some for what they had just learned about the only member not there, Kevin. They could not talk to each other to plan an escape attempt, nor could they even check with each other. The gags muffled all sound.
Under the faint groans, Robert heard the sound of fast-moving air. It was more than just an air conditioner. He tried, with his eyes, to get the others to take notice but, instead, they tried to groan. Soon, Robert saw the source of the sound. A dense layer of fog gathered along the floor and started growing taller and thicker. The others took notice. Several kicked at it with their feet, in a futile attempt to keep it away. Robert, like the rest, could only sit there and watch as it crept up his legs and around his chest. The top wispy layer reached his nose. It was scentless, but potent. In mere moments Jill was out, and the others were feeling groggy. Robert fought against the gas and, just before his lights went out, he saw the lights over them turn off.
8
A dark room greeted Robert when he woke up. He heard several people whispering to his right. A quick turn of his head in that direction alerted him to a change in his situation. He was no longer seated. Instead, he was lying on a board, tied down by both his arms and legs. The tape that covered his mouth was gone. Replacing it was a slight irritation and sting in that sensitive area of skin. He still couldn’t see through the darkness, but the whispers were close. A familiar tone in one of the voices resonated with him.
“Michelle, is that you?” Robert said, just above a whisper.
“Yeah, you ok?” she asked.
Robert took a quick inventory of the aches and pains in his body. His legs still shook and having his arms restrained above his head was not doing any favors to his already battered shoulder joints. “Yeah. What about you? What happened?” Robert said. Complaining about his pains wouldn’t serve any purpose at this point.
“No clue. I was sleeping when I was grabbed and knocked out. I woke up here in the chair.”
“I was walking to check the mail when a van came by and pulled me inside. What about you?"
“Hey, Doug. Good to hear your voice. We were grabbed at night in Christopher’s house.” In that moment the context of the “we” he’d just mentioned landed firmly in Robert’s thoughts. “Amy, are you there?”
There was no response.
“Amy?”
“She is probably still out. They knocked us out with some sort of gas,” reported Michelle.
Robert asked the one question in everyone’s mind, “Why?”
A loud clunk illuminated their situation. The large lights overheard once again clicked on, creating six bright spots of light focused on each member of the group, now firmly restrained on a large board. Robert held his eyes closed, but the light shined straight through, causing his eyelids to appear to glow red in his vision. He turned his head and squinted his eyes, trying to see with the one furthest from the light source. Next to him he saw Amy lying there, still asleep, and wearing the same thing she went to bed in. Robert craned his neck as far as he could to see over her. Also strapped to boards were Jill and Bob. They were still out cold.
“I will tell you why,” said a familiar voice from the corner. The click of her heels approached the squad. It wasn’t long before Robert saw Marjorie’s face enter his view.
“You are all supposed to be dead.” She paced in front of the squad. “We watched you all die, some of you more than once. Something that defies natural law, doesn’t it?” She didn’t wait for anyone to answer. “See, we granted your friend Christopher a franchise of our little show. The rules were stated very clearly. All game outcomes were to be left to chance, as were the fates of those competing in it. No exceptions. He created something more akin to professional wrestling, where the results were fixed, allowing him to manipulate the crowd and our customers. Customers that bet money on something they thought was legitimate, not rigged.”
Her use of the word legitimate struck several members of the team odd. This was anything but a legitimate business or sport.
“He made two mistakes. ONE!” Marjorie screamed. “He assumed he was smarter than everyone else and would never be discovered.”
“TWO! His most grievous mistake,” she said with a snicker. “He underestimated the type of people that watch these shows.”
She walked away from the group, toward the center of the room. Her voice echoing without the aid of the speakers. “This is the dark web. It is not a place your local priest visits. This is the home of people who are less scrupulous than that, and they don’t take kindly to being taken advantage of. They have appointed me to make things right, and to see to ensuring our customers feel whole again. Now, I have reached out to Christopher, and he ignored me. So, I recruited your help to draw him out. He still hasn’t responded. I only have one choice left.”
Michelle demanded, “What are you going to do to us?”
“Oh, I am sorry. I thought it was clear. I am doing what Christopher was contractually obligated to do.” She clapped her hands together, “Guys, prepare them.”
At that moment, 20 men wearing all black rushed into the room and approached each of the SanSquad. Each had a long rod hanging from a belt. Robert prepared himself, for what he was not sure, but none of them approached him. Instead, most of them stopped just short of the board. Three of them approached Amy, Doug, and Jill.
When the handler leaned over Amy, Robert protested, “Stay away from her!” He retrieved something from his pocket and waved it under her noise. Amy jerked awake, confused and screaming her lungs out, as she took in her surroundings. When her eyes met Robert’s, he saw the fear she felt. That fear escalated into full-on panic when she looked forward at the wall of men wearing black standing in front of them. The handler placed his gloved hand over Amy’s mouth, muffling her screams. Marjorie walked up and leaned over. She stared straight into Amy’s eyes and said, “Save those screams, my pretty little thing. You will have plenty of reason to scream later, and our viewers will love it.”
Amy froze at hearing the coldness of Marjorie’s words and tone. She lay there like an animal caught in the sights of a superior prey, and just stared back with a glassed-over look.
Marjorie said, “All right. Shall we?” The lights turned down, leaving just a row above them. A hint of music emanated from a room in the front. To Robert, it appeared to be a control room, a person was standing in a window counting down with his hands.
When his hand hit one, Marjorie took a breath and started.
9
The music hit a crescendo as the sound of applause echoed through the speakers. A spotlight searched through the darkness for its target. The white circle of light touched every wall and spot on the floor, except the one Marjorie was standing on. It continued as the applause continued, but when the sound diminished, the spotlight found its target and landed, perfectly centered on the mistress of ceremonies as silence fell over the room.
“Welcome, everyone, to a very special episode.”
The crowd roared to life, bathing Marjorie in its adoration. She basked in it for several moments before motioning with her hands for the crowd to quiet down. They did so with unprecedented obedience.
“This episode is very personal to many of us, myself included. One of our own has betrayed our trust.”
A very concerned-sounding murmur emerged from the speakers. Marjorie put her hands together and nodded in agreement with them. “Yes, that is right.”
She silenced them again with her hands, with the efficiency of a conductor, “And unfortunately, there is a price to pay. Behind me, we have that price.”
The lights above the SanSquad increased to a blinding intensity that was only matched by the deafening “oohs” and “ahs” echoing from overhead.
“You will recognize several of them. Just in case, here are some reminders.” Marjorie paused for a second and stared into space before saying, “Oh, that looked painful.”
There was another pause, followed by her saying, “Ouch.”
A third pause and another disjointed statement, “How could anyone survive that?”
Marjorie walked toward them, with the spotlight following her every move. “Well, they did. Shall we meet them? Michelle, Doug, Mary, Jill, Bob, Robert, and joining our world for the first time, Robert’s new wife, Amy. The members of the North American version of Game Master.”
The same fake applause as before exploded through the speakers. Marjorie walked past each of them, extending her hand to them as if she was modeling a revealed letter for a more family-friendly show. When she reached the end, the handlers that stood around the SanSquad moved to allow her through.
The applause died down and Marjorie continued, “We have a great show planned for you today. Let’s not wait anymore and get started. Our first event is A Cut In Time.”
With that, the spotlight turned off and the overhead lights turned on. There were a series of clicks behind Robert and he felt his hands collapse toward his head. The others were moving around, too. Bob was the first to step off the ledge on the platform and onto the floor. His legs shook at first. Robert was the next to step down. He felt his knees buckle, as pain shot up through his hips. He took a moment to shake them out and return the blood flow. He turned and helped Amy down. They instantly embraced. Her tears sprinkled on Robert’s shoulder like a cold fall rain. He didn’t know how, but he knew he had to protect her.
Robert pushed Amy back enough to look into her eyes. “I am going to get you out of this. I promise.” It was a promise he meant, but one he didn’t know how he could keep. If Marjorie had planned for them what he expected, he would be lucky to survive, himself. At that moment he knew what he had to do. For Amy to survive, he would have to sacrifice the others and, eventually, himself. The plan formulated in his mind. In each of the challenges, he had to ensure Amy and himself finished first or second. At least until the last one. There, he would have to push her forward and then sacrifice himself at the end.
The handlers moved forward and pulled at both Robert and Amy, to separate them. Robert yelled at them, “Back off!”
Not one of the handlers said anything. Bob grabbed the one pulling at Amy and caught a quick jab of a baton in his stomach, sending him to the floor. Robert didn’t even see the handler reach for the baton.
They pulled at them again and Robert pushed them back. The struggle continued for a second or two, until Robert felt a searing pain in the small of his back. He barely heard th
e screams of Amy and Jill over the internal screams in his head that accompanied him falling down to the hard-concrete floor. Robert’s body slumped, limp, on the floor. The pain ran through every nerve in his body, while his eyes remained open, allowing him to witness the world around him. He saw a handler walk around in front of him, holding the baton in his hand. Two prongs protruded from the end of the baton. A few sparks of electricity still arched between them.
Amy dropped to her knees to help Robert, but a handler immediately ripped her up. The others pushed and jostled with the handlers, but restrained their protests. The familiar click of heels approached Robert.
Marjorie asked, “He out?”
The handler broke his silence for a single quick reply, “For a bit.”
“Damn. Ok, take the others.”
Robert’s essence screamed, “No” when he heard her order. He tried to force his body up off its cold concrete resting place. No matter how much his brain tried, his muscles would not answer the call. He couldn’t even muster a twitch.
The handlers pushed and shoved the others into a line, and out of the room. Tears gushed from Robert’s eyes as he watched Amy disappear with the others, and he heard her scream. It was his responsibility to protect her, but he wouldn’t even be there to try. Two handlers remained to stand watch over his motionless body, as Marjorie disappeared with the others.
A large screen at the front of the room flickered and then displayed the handlers ushering his friends into individual booths of some sort. They secured Amy in the booth and her whole body convulsed. She pushed and banged against the walls with her fists. Robert could see the wall flex with each impact.
Marjorie appeared on the screen. She was talking, but Robert could not hear her. A few from the control booth were now standing out there with Robert, watching the screen, along with the two handlers that remained.
The camera panned across everyone secured in their box, before rotating behind them to show what looked like a track to Robert. Each lane was walled off by a chain-link fence. Sparks jumped between the links. This was a race of some sort. The camera continued backwards and lowered, coming down to eye level behind his friends. It was then Robert realized what they were racing against. Behind each box was a 5-foot diameter saw blade, sticking up through the floor. The blades were not moving, but Robert knew that was just a temporary condition.