by Darr, Brian
He was done.
The Coach crouched down to one knee and leaned toward him. “I’m going to let my players kill you slowly, putting a thousand cuts on your body so you bleed out for days. You’re going to wish you hadn’t killed my friend. You’re going to beg for anyone to come for you, but I’ll be sitting right outside, waiting.”
The Guide said something, but it came out as a whisper.
The Coach leaned in.
The Guide said it again, but barely had a breath left.
The Coach leaned in again, and suddenly The Guide’s arm shot up, and the shattered glass The Acrobat had given him was stabbed into The Coach’s shoulder, but not before going through the pouch first. Metallic gel oozed out onto The Coach, covering his skin and running over his wound, mixing with his blood.
“What?...” was all he could say before the bots began moving. The Guide fell back again and slowly pushed himself away from The Coach, whose eyes were darting back and forth, trying to make a decision between running and trying to finish off The Guide. He could control their speed to an extent, but he couldn’t extinguish their hunger for the gel. “Get it off me!” he screamed, and suddenly looked back for where the pipe had been spraying water. It was now two stories up and only droplets fell. He knew he wouldn’t make it back in time. Suddenly, he was surrounded by bots coming down on him. He tried to get away, but only managed to find the edge of the platform which in his desperation to escape, he toppled over backward. His body hit the railing below and nestled there for a moment before he slid off and fell to the first floor.
As The Guide slowly limped his way down the stairs and to the first floor, he passed The Coach on his way out, who only laid sprawled out on the ground with five bots surrounding his body and tearing it up.
The Guide tried to hurry to Iris, but couldn’t find the strength. Instead, he dragged himself at the pace he was able, until he was back at the fountain. It was there that he first saw The Troll searching the area. Not far from The Troll, Iris was doing the same. She stopped as if sensing he was standing there and turned. Upon seeing him there, she ran to his arms and hugged him.
From where The Troll stood, he watched. He put his hand in his pocket and wrapped his fingers around Rainbow.
A mile downstream, The Poet got caught in a thicket of branches and weeds that protruded from the riverbank.
It was there that The Magician found him and hauled him to safety. He spit up a mouthful of water and stretched his body out on a large rock, letting the sun dry him off while The Magician stood over him and waited patiently.
When The Poet was ready, they walked through the sludge and over a bank of rocks until they were in a thicket of trees. The Poet glanced up for a moment and stopped at the site of The Acrobat, propped against a tree, having been saved moments earlier.
The Acrobat froze in place when he saw The Poet—the only man who knew his secret and The Poet was more than willing to spill.
“He threw me over!” he yelled, pointing his finger at The Acrobat accusingly. “I had Rainbow. They were all as good as dead. He threw me over!”
The Magician turned and studied The Acrobat’s face, watching every movement.
“I admit that I was at fault,” The Acrobat said, “But I wasn’t trying to throw Poet over. I was trying to help and unfortunately, I got in the way.”
“This is absurd!” The Poet yelled. “I know what took place!”
The Magician approached The Acrobat and studied his mannerisms, aware that The Acrobat tensed up, that his hairline had a line of sweat, that his eyes were widened and there was fear within. “Do you believe in Psi?” he asked.
“Of course I do.”
“Are your loyalties with The Moderator?”
“Yes. Absolutely.”
The Magician took another long moment to stare into his eyes until he finally smiled and put his arm around The Acrobat. “How about a little magic?”
The Acrobat nodded, but was tense under The Magician’s touch.
The Magician took off his black hat and turned it in his hand, expertly spinning it with his index finger.
“Pick a card,” he said.
The Acrobat hesitated. “I’ve seen this trick.”
“Oh no,” The Magician said. “You haven’t seen this trick. Pick a card.”
“Ace of spades,” The Acrobat said.
The Magician took his hand off his back, having led him close to the riverbank. “Ace of spades,” The Magician said, feigning a search for the card in the trees. “Pick a different card,” he finally said.
“I think we need to regroup and…” was all The Acrobat could say before he was forced backward and thrown into the water. His head came above the surface for a moment, but was quickly forced back under. The Magician watched with a wide smile.
The Poet got to his feet, alarmed by his actions. “What are you doing?”
“My friend, we do not have the wiggle room for the kind of failure you’ve displayed today.”
“We’ll kill him,” The Poet said quickly. “There’s no doubt about it.”
“Of course we will,” The Magician said as The Acrobat tried to cling to something but only found air. “The whole world just saw them win a battle and at least one of our own is gone—maybe more. By the time the sun sets tonight, how will the world perceive us? We have been outwitted by a very small man and you were there Poet. You had him. Rest assured that if you cross paths again and The Troll walks away, I will saw you in half, and it won’t be a trick.”
The Acrobat weakened, and as his body stopped moving, Chameleon could be seen holding him down, her reflective surfaces catching sunlight, revealing her body.
The last thing The Acrobat saw before darkness overcame was the ace of spades.
Chapter 7
The Troll, Iris, and The Guide stood in the middle of the bridge looking out into the sky. They all digested the events of the day, in disbelief that it all went as planned. For the first time since they met, all tension was gone between The Troll and The Guide, but neither knew what to say to each other. They were opposite ends of the same coin, but somehow, The Guide had realized that The Troll could be the yin to his yang. They could compliment each others weaknesses. Maybe there really was room in the revolution for an antagonist. Sometimes, it was a worthwhile trait to just be able to piss people off.
“We’re going to need to move,” The Guide said, and they all nodded in agreement, but lingered a little longer so they could dwell on their victory before they went back to business as usual.
“What if The Acrobat is still alive?” The Troll asked.
“If he is, I doubt he’d want to come with us,” The Guide said. “To the outside world, what we’re doing is still impossible. When this is over, we’ll make sure to make it right with him.” He turned to The Troll, who looked sad that The Acrobat wouldn’t be joining them. “What happened in that cell Troll?”
“Nothing,” The Troll said. “We just spent a lot of time dying together, but I realized that The Acrobat wasn’t loyal to The Moderator. I could just see it.”
“The other bounty hunters won’t be influenced in the same way,” Iris said.
“I know,” The Troll responded.
“I’m going to check the plane and see if there’s a life raft in there,” The Guide said. “We need to lose any evidence of a trail. We’ll head down the river a couple days and head west from there.” The Troll and Iris both nodded in agreement. “Will you be coming along?” The Guide asked, waiting for The Troll to answer.
If he wanted to, The Troll could go into hiding now and let them fulfill the mission, but he suspected once they were gone, he’d spend the rest of his life—however short that would be—regretting it. “I’ll go if you don’t mind.”
The Guide nodded and wandered off toward the plane and began to dig through the wreckage.
Iris and The Troll stood silently for a long moment. “Why do you call yourself Iris?” The Troll finally asked.
&
nbsp; “My mother loved flowers,” she said, simply.
The Troll nodded. “You know, I still wish you hadn’t picked me to do this. You basically killed me. I admire the revolution and I admire people who die for what they believe, but you shouldn’t force people into that position.”
“I know,” she said. “I’m sorry. I just…I didn’t have anyone else. I needed strong will.”
“I don’t have strong will. I’m just a guy who likes to get reactions.”
“I think you do have strong will,” she said, smiling and looking deep into his eyes. “You’re just not angry enough yet.”
“And how do I become angry?”
“When you see with clarity…when you see what a person really is and not just the person they want you to think they are…”
“Is The Moderator truly evil?” The Troll asked.
“Yes.”
“He didn’t seem evil.”
“When you see that he is, it will change everything.”
The Guide returned with a large piece of plastic rolled under his arms. He tossed it into the air and it suddenly inflated. By the time it landed, their life boat sat on the cement. “Only one thing left to do,” The Guide said. “We need to transmit again. We need to tell everyone what happened here today. We need to recruit.” He stared at The Troll.
“Not me. I’m not doing it.”
“Why not?”
“Because I don’t know what to tell people.”
“Like it or not, you’re the face of this now. I’m a soldier. People need to see that the one chosen is a leader who has followers.”
The Troll turned to Iris, who stared at him, disappointed that he didn’t have it in him. “I’m not ready yet,” he said. “Maybe soon, but not yet.”
The Guide left it at that, and walked a few feet away to set the transmitter up to broadcast his own face. He looked over his shoulder at The Troll as if giving him one last chance, but The Troll didn’t move. The Guide flipped a switch.
The monitors flashed in the sky and suddenly The Guide had the floor. This time though, he shared it with The Moderator, who was seemingly waiting on the other end to intercept the transmission. The Moderator turned toward the screen and came face to face with The Guide, displeased to see him.
“Where are my men?” The Moderator asked, wasting no time.
“I have nothing to say to you,” The Guide said and addressed the camera instead. “This goes out to the world…The men of Circular Prime do not have complete control. We’ve eliminated half of his bounty hunters in one day with a very small population. To those of you who do not have Psi, we need your…”
“You are breaking every law we have by broadcasting Guide!” The Moderator said, anger in his voice. His neck began twitching and he tried speaking, but couldn’t get the words out.
“You made up every law you have,” The Guide said. “We happen to disagree with your laws. You were going to kill millions of people because of the actions of one person. How do you justify that?”
The Moderator stared long and hard into the camera, aware that the world was watching and that this day belonged to The Guide. “What do you want Guide?” he asked.
“I want to talk to The Surfer. I want to see that he’s okay.”
“Bring him in,” The Moderator shouted over his shoulder. They waited silently for five minutes, the screens only plastered with their faces. From the sidelines, The Troll and Iris watched the exchange with fascination, surprised at how much control they had over The Moderator. Finally, The Surfer was brought into the room. He looked haggard and tired and walked slowly as he found his circulation. The Moderator stepped out of the view of the camera as if to allow The Surfer and The Guide to have their moment.
The Surfer looked at The Guide confused, unaware of the morning’s events.
“Surfer,” The Guide said, a relieved smile filling his face. “You have no idea how good it is to…”
The moment ended as the screen filled with blood and The Surfer’s eyes rolled back and he fell to the ground with a thud, a patch of his scalp hitting the wall behind him as he exited the screen. The Moderator filled the screen again, a smoking gun in his hand.
The Guide wanted to scream “no,” but his voice caught in his throat and he began heaving and lost all sensation in his body. He tried to walk, but fell to his hands and knees as his limbs became rubber. He crawled to the edge of the bridge, his forehead resting against a beam. Iris hurried to his side and held his shaking body. She held him close and turned back to the screen where behind the splatter of blood, The Moderator sat patiently waiting with a smug smile on his face.
“Turn it off!” Iris screamed and The Troll’s eyes went wide and he hurried toward the transmitter, suddenly with his face on the screen. He reached for the switch.
“Troll…” The Moderator said. “My offer is still good.” The Troll paused and stared at The Moderator, who suddenly looked innocent and sincere. “I can have someone there within half an hour. You’ve been through a lot. You have a home here. Aren’t you tired of this game?”
The words echoed in The Troll’s head as he considered what The Moderator was saying. He thought about the events that led him here: Who he once was, who he still believed himself to be, of Wigeon, The Surfer, the bounty hunter dinner, The Acrobat….The Guide…Iris…”
“You’ve got to be tired of this game,” The Moderator said again, compassion in his voice.
“Yeah,” The Troll said, dryly. “I am.”
The Moderator smiled, pleased to hear this. Everything that happened flashed through The Troll’s head with one final sentiment: You’re not angry enough yet. And then he understood what Iris and The Guide were all about. There were some things in the world that you just couldn’t bend to, no matter how much power they held.
“I am tired of this game,” The Troll said again, still in a state of shock, and then began speaking slowly, his fingers speaking the words with him. “So we’re going to change it…”
The smile faded from The Moderator’s face.
“…We’re going to hunt your guys now,” The Troll said, his eyes moving back and forth rapidly as he found his words. His fingers began shadow-typing faster and his eyes found the camera as if he were staring directly at The Moderator. “We killed half of your friends today. I’m sure it’s hard for you Moderator. I’m sure it’s hard for you to sit there and try to give off the impression that you’re flawless while you’re really angry inside that you’re guys are dead at our hands. I had such a good day. I could make a list of great things that happened today. I crashed The Pilot's plane. I killed The Pilot after he begged for his life. The Poet got kicked in the nads...
You know, you don’t have a very large population in Chicago. Your group is small because you trust them…they’re your closest friends. It must hurt knowing we killed them Moderator. How much love did you have for your Coach and your Mortician and Pilot, and for Acrobat and that awful Poet? How much does it hurt that three people eliminated them within minutes?”
The Moderator tried to hold his composure, but his neck twitched and his face warped into something that looked like pain mixed with hatred.
“You wouldn’t have accepted me into Chicago Mod. You propositioned me in secret to betray those who are against Psi. You told me to transmit and destroy Rainbow and you did it to give off an appearance, because the rest of the world are hostages…puppets because they carry Psi…because if they speak out, you simply deactivate them. You boast about how the world is peaceful now, but it’s not. It’s just controlled. They stay quiet out of fear. I can’t recruit them to join us because you’ll just kill them, and so we’ll just take care of this ourselves. But you propositioned me. Why? Because you know you’re wrong. Because you need to keep your evil hidden by pretending the world loves you, when they actually fear you, or in my case, just think you’re a giant tool.
You know, I really enjoyed killing your Pilot. Partly because he was such an asshole and partly b
ecause he was your friend. I look forward to meeting the rest of your friends and killing them too. I really hope they find us fast because I think I can be good at ruining them. When I do, I’ll get a nice close-up shot for everyone to see.”
Everyone watched closely from living rooms around the world, from in their yards or their local pubs. The Gambler and The Weatherman halted their journey to watch, The Poet stirred inside as The Troll’s face filled the sky. The Mentalist studied his face from his suite in Vegas, hoping he would make the journey so he could put an end to his boasting. Behind him, Wigeon’s face was glued to the screen. The Chameleon and The Magician watched expressionless, plotting their attack, and The Moderator tightened his fists off camera, speechless, but stewing.
Ten feet from The Troll’s side, Iris looked up and watched wide-eyed, and The Guide wiped away tears and watched silently, pushing all emotion aside and admiring the face of the revolution as he trolled with his anger finally in the right place.
“We’ll find them and kill them, and why stop there? We don’t need to go to Vegas to shut you down. We don’t carry Psi. We’ll just come straight back to Chicago to ruin everything you’ve built. I’ll burn your city to the ground and when you come running out, we’ll take you down too.
You made a mistake when you took Psi out of me Mod. You made a mistake when you left your family to die along with millions of people when you turned Psi on the population. I’m sure the ghost of your wife and daughter are sitting with you now, ashamed of what an ass-hat of a person you turned out to be and hawking spirit-spit on your ugly twitchy face. You once justified your actions by saying: when gods fight, they step on ants, but you’re flattering yourself way too much, you narcissistic piece of shit. You’re nothing more than a four year old with a magnifying glass, burning ants because you’re emotionally immature and in need of attention. Oh, you got fired from your job. Boohoo. How horrible. Try being one of the many people you murdered or their family left behind that have to mourn them and then whine about your dumb problems. You brag about bringing peace, as if anyone could ever believe that a mass murderer has a conscience.”