"Look at this, there is going to be blood for sure, not like that last one."
"Is there ever mercy in the arena?" Dr. Faraday asked, watching as both men circled around each other, taking tentative swings that missed by at least a few feet.
"Mercy? Why, at times, if both men put up a fight, I suppose."
"Why are they fighting? Are they criminals or something? Did they break the rules?"
"Their crime, good doctor, was surviving."
That stung her harder than he imagined it would. Both men had survived out in the violent wasteland, a place that Branch knew nothing about, and this is how they were greeted when they reached their desert oasis; death. They continued to circle around each other, their tentative blows growing no closer to the mark while the crowd was growing increasingly hostile.
"This is no good," Branch slapped his hand down on his makeshift throne and sprang to his feet. "I'm sorry that you have to see such a poor showing."
"I'd rather..." She was doing her best to shield Elsie from the impending violence and felt relieved that no one was being slaughtered.
"Nonsense, and please, uncover her eyes, she needs to understand that the world—my world—can be a brutal place," Branch turned to his podium, clearing his throat. "If you don't wish to fight in the arena, we'll make you fight. You all know what that means!"
A dull chant started to break out, it growing louder and louder while Branch cackled. "Crusher! Crusher! Crusher!" The crowd chanted.
"Bring out the Crusher!"
The large metal gate affixed crudely to the arena wall creaked open, the sound of metal on metal filling up the arena in a cacophony with the chants and screams. A figure emerged from the shadows, hulking, disfigured and barely recognizable as a man, but it was a man. Branch was wearing a sick, proud smile while the crowd went crazy, the two men in the arena standing, mouths agape while the beast plodded out into the arena, letting out a mighty roar that sent shivers down her spine.
"What in the...?"
"That, my friends," Branch settled back down into his chair, rubbing his hands together. "Is my latest creation. That is the Crusher."
Another mighty roar shook the arena, both men at a loss for what to do with themselves. The tall, lanky one with the 2-by-4 charged, swinging wildly at the Crusher like his life depended on him and his lucky shot. The crude weapon made contact with the Crusher's left arm, the barbs burying themselves into his flesh, a gasp washing over the crowd. The beast let out a cry while the crowd "Ooh'd" over the contact. The man did his best to break the weapon free, but the Crusher simply swatted him down with his massive left hand that looked to be about the size of the man's torso. The lanky man lay motionless on the ground while Crusher began charging at the other one.
The man, far from nimble on his feet, stumbled back, tripping and falling onto his ass with the cudgel still in his grip. Crusher closed the distance with a few mighty strides, descending upon the man like a hungry wolf on its prey. The man swung the cudgel desperately, but the mighty beast grabbed it with his hand like a child's toy, yanking it up into the air and bringing the man with it. The muscular man let out a cry before Crusher slammed him to the ground, grabbing him by the neck and draping his body over his shoulders. The crowd was chanting for Crusher, who let out another mighty roar before driving him down headfirst into the ground. The lanky combatant was up and had jumped onto the Crusher's back, Crusher reaching behind him and grabbing a hold of him by the head, holding his body up high while he tried to struggle free before bringing the screaming man's head into his giant maw and crunching down, the body twitching a few times before going limp in his giant hand.
Dr. Faraday let out a groan and pulled Elsie in tighter, diverting her eyes away from the horrific scene, but the sounds were inescapable and bone-chilling.. The amplified sound of that beast feasting on their freshly dead bodies filled the air, accentuated by the foul stench of death. The scene was one that she'd never be able to shake, even after all that she had been through. Branch had somehow made a monster worse than any of the rest of his creations throughout his sordid history, and this one was seemingly for his own perverted sense of entertainment. She snuck a peek back down at the arena only to see what remained of their mangled corpses; the Crusher covered in blood and guts while the crowd chanted his name. Tom wore a morose expression, fist still tightly clenched.
"Quite the scene, isn't it?" Branch commented. "Come now, you've surely seen worse out in the wasteland, haven't you?"
"I've seen some horrible things," TK said, "but nothing this wrong."
"There is a new world now, Mr. Gabriel," Branch said snidely. "We have to adjust to it eventually, all of us. There is no more Hollywood to entertain the masses, the arena is all that we have."
"I'm not so sure that our main concern should be entertainment right now," Dr. Faraday said. "Survival seems to be the key."
"You try running a new society without any form of entertainment. Rape, murder, looting, it all happened because they were bored. Now they have something to look forward to."
"Now you just entertain them with it, instead of worrying about it happening to them?"
"So be it. It isn't like either of those men were of any value to our new society."
"What about that monster of yours?"
"Demoreo was in terrible shape, you see, there was no way that he'd survive without injecting him with the virus. Did I take some liberties with which strain that I injected him with? Of course I did, but he's not dead, oh no, he's quite alive."
"He's a monster."
"There were some unintentional side effects, I'll give you that, but he has found new life in the arena."
"Feasting on the flesh of other men for this crowd's approval?"
"We all play our part, Dr. Faraday," she noted that his tone was growing weary. "I'm sorry that you don't seem to approve of my society here, but I thought that Crusher here would excite you."
"Excite me?"
"Why yes, aren't you curious why I invited you up here? Mr. Gabriel, well, he makes sense, but you? A lowly pediatrician, correct? We don't exactly have access to a wide array of medical professionals here, and I would love your assistance."
"My assistance? Why?"
"We've had a few, well, unfortunate accidents with a few of our medical staff and haven't had the chance to replace them. So?"
She paused, surveying the gore and the fervor of the crowd, disgusted and fighting her instincts to take Elsie and to run as far as she could from there. "Sorry, it's just a lot to take in is all."
"Don't think too long," he said, "need I remind you that everyone at Branch Tower has a role, those who can't fulfill their roles are of no use to us... Outside of entertainment."
"Oh," her skin crawled. She couldn't take any chances as to what he was alluding to. It was all very, very clear. "I have no problems earning my keep, Mr. Branch."
"Splendid. Now, as for my friend TK. Tonight was for you, you know that, right? You are the guest of honor, you should say something to them. What will they think if you don't approve?"
"I don't know," Tom picked himself up and headed towards the stairs. "I don't care, either. C'mon, Doc, let's get out of here."
"Oh come now," she felt Branch's hand reach out and grasp onto her arm. "The main event hasn't even started yet. Look, they are just assembling the ring right now."
"Ring?" Tom turned back, looking down on the crew erecting what looked like a professional boxing or wrestling ring in the center of the arena.
"Ah yes, you see, our champion has a flair for the dramatic," Branch explained. "A man after my own heart, you could say. He puts on a show for the people."
"Tom," she looked up at him. "Surely we can stay for one more?" Her eyes were pleading with him. She thought she had known fear out in the wasteland, but there was still a sense of sanity, of purpose. This was insane on every level. Upsetting this madman was not a good idea.
"You see, the lady approves."
"Oh," Tom said, quiet
ing down again while the crew finished assembling the ring. Music piped through the loudspeakers and the crowd began to clap, rumble and stomp their feet. Puffs of smoke arose from the door directly across from their luxury box, the cheers growing louder and louder before a man emerged, not much to look at, just a bit of a bigger guy, almost chubby, wearing a pair of jeans, a soccer jersey that she couldn't discern the team on and a scruffy beard with equally scruffy long hair. On his left hand he wore a red glove, his right had what looked like a mechanical gauntlet, parts of it running into the sleeve of his shirt.
The champion was carrying a large, golden belt over his shoulder, hefting it up high over his head with his left hand, much to the delight of the crowd. She glanced over at Branch, who wore a smirk and applauded while the man entered the newly constructed ring in the middle of the arena. After what they had all just witnessed, this almost felt surreal. The whole thing was ludicrous. He might as well of been zapped directly from the 1980s with the professional wrestling pageantry. None of it made any sense knowing all the death and destruction that existed beyond those walls. Everyone was doing their best to forget that the real world was still out there and that it lay in ruins while they celebrated the continuation of the cycle of destruction.
"That's my brother," the taller guard nudged Dr. Faraday. "He gonna tear that bugger apart, just you watch."
"Oh," she said, "you must be very proud."
"Fuckin' A."
"Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome the Champion of the arena, The Fist of the Northern Isles, William Farrington!" The announcer beamed over the loudspeakers, barely cutting through the crowd noise. One thing was for certain, they truly did love this guy, whoever he was. He pumped the gauntleted fist into the air and they all roared louder, a wave of stomps reverberating throughout. "Brrrrrring out the dead!"
A few of the undead bastardizations of Branch's creation stumbled out from the main tunnel, shuffling and moving towards the ring while Farrington laid his championship belt in the corner. There was time, and he wasn't lacking in confidence, so he continued to warm up, stretching his arm out while they lumbered towards his ring. They began clawing their way into the ring, without order, just looking to attack him. He was more than ready, stomping on the neck of the first one and stopping it cold in its tracks, the body slunk down over the side of the ring into a heap, sending another one stumbling back. One had finally clawed its way past the ring ropes that seemed to be difficult for these shambling miscreants to understand, only for Farrington to wave his hand towards the crowd who rallied behind him more.
He threw a few punches with his left hand, staggering it back into the corner before pumping his fist into the air, the crowd almost on cue shouting, "Take his bloody head off!" along with him. The monster slipped towards him, Farrington holding his right fist towards his side before it came into range, him unleashing a right hook unlike she could ever have imagined. His fist came over in an arc, the gauntlet glowing yellow while it came into contact with the monster, his head instantly bursting like a melon, sending blood and brains all over the gray and already-stained ring. The crowd ate it up, waiting for another to make its way into the ring. Two were in there and Farrington had to think fast, ducking under one while quickly unleashing another right hand on this one's head, it bursting like an over ripened tomato upon impact. He spun on his heel, his fist whistling through the air and landing with a splat, sending a third headless body to the canvas.
"Fucking hell," Tom muttered.
"Quite a scene, isn't it?"
"Does he ever fight, you know, something that can hit him back?"
"Of course, of course," Branch said. "That was just the warmup."
Farrington lifted the belt high above his head, climbing up the ropes and soaking in the adulation from the crowd. They were loving every second of it. Next, emerging from the same doorway that he came through, a lightly armored man was shoved through, stumbling over his own two feet and barely staying up. In his hand was a wrench and by the looks of it he was scared out of his mind. Farrington goaded him to get into the ring with him, but it looked like this shaking mess of a man had no other choice. Farrington laid the title belt out on the mat in between them while a few of Branch's armed guards pulled the unmoving, decapitated bodies out to clear the area.
The nervous man with the wrench rolled into the ring, picking himself up and staring down Farrington, who remained calm as ever. Farrington was weaponless in comparison, but that gauntlet on his hand was most likely all the weapon that he'd ever need. That wrench in that man's hands was most likely not going to help much. Farrington continued to goad the man to attack, the man finally jumping forward, slashing wildly with the oversized spanner while Farrington deftly ducked out of the way. He swung again, this time towards Farrington's face, Farrington parrying it expertly with the gauntleted right fist, the sound of metal-on-metal clanging loudly, the wrench flying from the man's hand. A knee to the stomach connected, and the man doubled over, Farrington bringing his left elbow down onto the spine of the man who crumpled to the mat in a heap, face down in the gore still in the ring.
"C'mon," Tom muttered. "This is an execution."
"Such are the rules of the arena, my friend. Farrington had this same opportunity."
She grit her teeth while Farrington signaled that he was going to slam the man down. He reached down, securing both of his hands around the man's waist, tucking his head between his legs before hefting him up onto his shoulders and sending him crashing down to the mat right on his already injured spine. The man cried out in pain, writhing on the mat, crying for mercy. The microphones surrounding the ring picked up his cries, and they sent a shiver down TK's spine. "For heaven's sake," she said. "He's crying for mercy."
"This is the arena, Dr. Faraday, the rules are the rules. This man has no hope outside of the arena. All that is left for him now is to die."
"Haven't enough people died for no reason?"
"If you want, I can stop this," he said. "But, be warned, Mr. Farrington will not take this offense lightly."
"Stop this," Tom interjected. "Now."
"Fine," he sighed, walking over to the podium. Farrington was standing over the man, fist pumped into the air. "Will, Will," he called over the loudspeaker. "Mr. Farrington."
Farrington froze, looking up towards the box that they were in high above the rest, although still unable to escape the stench and the madness.
"What?" He called it, echoing over the now-hushed arena.
"It appears that Mr. Gabriel and his friends here finds this to be a bit... barbaric."
The crowd started booing, one of the guards bringing a microphone over to Farrington, who snatched it away from him and stomped around the ring. "You telling me some sissy-mouthed Hollywood type ain't okay with this? He ain't okay with me making my living, for making these people happy?"
"He seems upset by it," Branch replied, turning towards Tom.
"This is my ring," Farrington spat. "This is my arena and these are your rules. If he has a problem with them, he can come down here like a man." Farrington tossed his belt down in the center of the ring, dragging it out like it was on display, the fans all cheering for him while she found herself frozen in disbelief. They had all truly lost their minds. Farrington picked up the man by the nape of his neck, holding him in position while he was barely able to even keep himself standing, never mind fight back. Farrington reared back his fist, looking right up at Tom, who stood leaning up against the front of the private box staring down at him, shaking his head, mouthing "don't do this" under his breath while Farrington's fist arced over, lighting up and making contact with the man's skull, his cries quickly disappearing while his head burst into pieces, the body falling limp onto the already stained canvas and the crowd going wild.
Branch turned to Tom and smiled, shaking his head. They had all lost their goddamned minds.
Six
The Cannibal
Black. Dark. Bathed in the blood of many, yet the hu
nger refuses to subside. Bars. Metal. They clang loudly, the echo permeating the very essence of his being. Rage. Nothing but a dark, muddled rage roaring its bloody vengeance to keep the memories at bay. Once there was a fight, now distant echoes of what once felt like something remain. No more.
Rage.
A red-coated world had lost its wonder, lost its innocence and the urgency of anything beyond the hunger. Beyond the desire to destroy. The muffled cries reverberated in his mind, a sly smile forcing cracks in his dried lips. They all fell. One-by-one, in groups, old, young, innocent or guilty, each one fell like the rest. Each one tasted like the last.
Remember.
Pulsating in the deepest corners of his mind, a voice crying out to remember. Remember what? The rage. How the bones crunched, the blood sprayed, and the innards spilled to the ground. Along the walls there was nothing but a bright red smear of viscera in the shape of his claws, scratched across the walls, smudging the incandescent reminder of anything before the rage.
The cold spray attempted to cleanse him of his rampage, only further boiling his blood and stirring him to action. The metal bars clanged once again, this time violently, each one standing strong in light of his fists, but bending, slowly, gradually, bending to the force of nature behind his rage.
Remember.
Demoreo.
The name, burning like a hot iron, penetrating into his very being, forcing him to recoil into the corner. Demoreo. Remember. No. No. It burned. Each word seared and sizzled in the back of his mind. The red world turned to a deep haze while the cold spray beat down on his tired, festering carcass. Life or death was no longer mutually exclusive. They resided together and were at war inside of his mind. No. There was nothing left. The maze only led to scratches on the walls that were indiscernible. Maybe in the past they meant something, but the words were foreign. They were just rage.
Finally, the darkness took hold.
"Oh Crusher," Branch was squatting down in front of the cell while the Crusher's heavy eyelids struggled to open. "Everything is so close, I can just feel it. Can you feel it, my friend?"
The Tower Page 6