by John Bruni
“Some government cocksucker kidnapped us! They’re going to do all sorts of fucked up tests on us! Maybe fiddle with our buttholes, or something.” This from a black man whose breath somehow managed to out-stink his body odor. His eyes rolled slightly, indicating some kind of unbalance.
The others ignored him. The blonde-haired woman—no, she couldn’t have been legal, so she had to be a girl—held up her hand. “I think this is something else. I remember the guys who got me. They said they wanted to do a three-way, and they transferred enough money for it into my account. I figure we’re here for some weird orgy.”
Then, Steve remembered Bob Whiteman. He flashed back to last night and distinctly recalled heading out to Bob’s van. Then, he remembered feeling a jabbing pain. A needle. “Hey,” he said, “do any of you remember being drugged? With a needle?”
The blonde nodded. “That’s how they got me.”
“Me, too.” This from the good looking guy. “The ones who got me said they wanted to do a three-way, too.”
“So, are we all fuckslingers here?” the blonde asked.
“Fuck no,” the punk said. “I fuck for free.”
Another homeless guy—this one with horrible marks all over his skin and a constantly bleeding face—spoke up. “I don’t do anything for money. I don’t even have a chip. I traded it for a bottle of hooch, what? Last year, I think?”
“I’m a cop,” Steve said. “Well, I used to be. The guy who got me didn’t want sex at all.”
“Same here,” the homeless guy said.
“Then what the fuck are we all doing here?” the punk said. Even though she’d practically yelled her question, her voice quavered, showing the fear beneath the bravado.
“I’m seeing a pattern,” Steve said. “We may not all be fuckslingers, but I can assume that society won’t miss us much, if we went missing. Am I right?”
No one wanted to admit to something like that. Only the homeless guy with the bleeding face nodded, and he wouldn’t meet anyone’s eyes when he did. Still, no one objected, not even the creepy guy with the glasses.
Steve turned to him. “How about you? What do you do?”
The guy said nothing. Instead, he glanced at the mirror.
Steve looked that way, too. Then, he realized he’d been too busy thinking about the situation instead of his surroundings. He felt to a moral certainty that someone stood behind that mirror watching them. Scientists? Maybe. He didn’t think it was the government, but someone clearly wanted to learn something from this.
Just as he opened his mouth to voice this idea, they all heard a loud click, followed by a whirring sound. The mirror slid aside, revealing a window, through which they could all see their observers. There stood two women and seven men. One woman, despite her beauty, looked cold and dead, except she didn’t seem to know it. The other could have been built from rock. The men looked rich enough to pay someone to wipe their asses and chew their food for them, but the old man in the wheelchair stood out from the rest. He barely looked human with his pure white eyes, jaundiced head, gleaming metal fangs and grotesque claws.
He flicked a switch, and the intercom crackled. “Welcome, friends,” the old man said. “Hello, Toby James Munger, Stacy Bartlett, Wayne Richards, Skank Bard, Randall Marsh, Barry Taylor and Steve McNeil.” As he made each announcement, his soulless gaze switched to the face the name belonged to. “You are all wondering why you’re here. Before I get into that, I want to tell you each something about yourselves.”
“Fuck you,” Randall said. “I want to get the fuck out of here now. I don’t care about whatever pitch you’re going to make.”
“Patience, Mr. Marsh. I feel no need to remind you that you’re among my captive audience and therefore have no choice but to listen.”
Randall opened his mouth to refute this, but looking at the door behind him—solid steel—he knew he couldn’t just walk out of here.
“I just want to know one thing,” Stacy said. “Are you going to let us go?”
“Of course,” Coppergate said. As if it had been the most obvious thing in the world. “But before you go, there is some information I feel that it would be beneficial for you to know.”
Randall picked up one of the chairs and brought it down as hard as he could against the window. He felt a terrible jolt go up his arms, and the chair did nothing more than bounce off the glass. He felt the urge to try again, but when he saw Coppergate’s amused smile, he knew it would do no good. Instead, he flung the chair aside, where it clattered against the wall and to the floor.
“Now that that’s been settled,” Coppergate continued, “we’ll start with young Toby. All you own came as a result of thievery. No one has ever helped you in any way, not even your father, a farmer who worked you like a hired hand instead of a son. Of course, he feared losing his government subsidy more than he loved you. The only time he spared for you was used for disciplinary measures. He never had praise for you, only punishment. When you left home, you began your life of crime. You squat in a dilapidated building that used to be an abortion clinic, but you’ve always wanted to live in a ‘classy’ place. You are in dire need of money, correct?”
Toby drew his head down in a half-nod. He remained silent.
“Stacy, you were born to a life of prostitution and desolation. Since the age of ten, you have been selling your body to help your mother pay the bills. When your mother—“
“That’s enough,” Stacy said. “I know all of this. I sure as shit don’t need to hear it from you.”
Coppergate smiled. “Then suffice it to say, you are also in dire need of money. In fact, I see a doctor’s bill in your possible future.” He pointed a tree branch finger to her pelvis.
Stacy looked down to see a sore had recently appeared on the inside of her thigh, visible to any who looked for it. It matched the dozen or more that dotted her pussy and asshole. She quickly crossed her legs before anyone else could notice. How could his blank eyes see so well?
“Wayne, you have been living on the streets for quite some time. To lose your parents to a car crash, your home to the bank, your money in the name of survival and your health to your various diseases in such a short time, that must have been quite unnerving.”
“To say the least.” Wayne uttered a humorless laugh through a sneer.
“Need I say how much you require money?”
This time, Wayne barked. His laugh petered out into a soft chuckle, and he shook his head. “Money don’t mean shit to me now. I’m probably not going to be alive this time next week. I’m in the final stage, in case you couldn’t tell.” He wiped fresh blood from his forehead and looked at his slick, red hand.
“Bleeding pores, painful lesions, uncontrollable diarrhea, insomnia, cold flashes and pustules on the genitals. I believe the street name for it is the Red Death.”
“I’m surprised I made it this long,” Wayne said.
“It is commonly known to be incurable,” Coppergate said. “What if I told you that there actually is a cure. It’s very expensive, but it exists.”
All mirth suddenly disappeared from Wayne. “I’d call you a liar.”
“I wouldn’t be too quick to dismiss my statement.” Coppergate sent the medical information from his tablet to Wayne’s social media.
It flickered immediately into Wayne’s vision. He glanced over it, but he couldn’t make much sense from the medical jargon. The pictures seemed to be pretty convincing, but anyone could put this thing together. It didn’t take a genius in this modern age to fake documents of this nature. He flicked his eyes, dismissing the file to his trash folder. Now, he looked at Coppergate, trying to access his PeopleFinder. A circle formed around Coppergate’s head, but a message popped up: YOU DO NOT HAVE ACCESS TO THIS PROGRAM AT THIS TIME. PLEASE TRY AGAIN LATER.
Fuck. He looked away from the old man only to see a familiar face through the glass. He blinked to make sure he hadn’t been mistaken. Nope. The guy dressed better now, and now he had good grooming habit
s, but Wayne knew him for what he really was.
“Is that you, Ring-Piece Eddie?”
Edward fumbled in his pocket, looking for his cigarette case. “You talking to me?”
“Yeah, you.”
He lit up and blew SyntheSmoke out at the glass. “My name’s Edward Bridges, not Ring-Piece Eddie.” Even though his reddening face betrayed him.
“No, I know you,” Wayne said. “You and me, we used to drink rotgut together under the el.”
Elizabeth turned to Edward. “Ring-Piece Eddie?”
“I don’t hang out with filth like you,” Edward said.
“My ass,” Wayne said. “I couldn’t mistake that face, but it looks like you hit it big. What the hell happened?”
“He was in your place once,” Coppergate said. “That’s all you need to know for now.”
“Why the nickname?” Elizabeth asked. A ghost of a smile flickered to life.
Oh shit. Edward’s mind raced. “I, uh, used to steal rings off people, like some pick pockets, you know?”
“Like hell,” Wayne said. “Why don’t you tell her the real reason, Eddie? Or are you trying to fuck her? Am I right? You getting lucky?”
Edward clenched his jaws, acutely aware that he’d been ready to curse in front of Coppergate. He forced his rage back down. Instead, he said, “Listen, you’d better shut your mouth.”
“Are you trying to fuck me?” Elizabeth asked. Her eyes remained as calm as a pond on a humid day.
Flustered, Edward struggled to find words. “No, I . . . I just don’t—“
“We called him Ring-Piece because he sold his ass to get by,” Wayne said. “It was fucked up, because he’s straight, and he never had to resort to anal before. At first, he got this big red ring around his asshole, hence the nickname.”
Edward pounded the glass with his fist. “Shut the fuck up! I swear, I’ll fucking kill you, you filth-ridden fuck-faced dickcheesed horsefucker!” Spittle flew from his lips and dotted the glass. He didn’t notice the scathing look Coppergate gave him, nor had he noticed the string of curses from his own mouth.
“Well, you showed me your ass, man. It’s not my fault.”
Samuel bellowed with laugher as he stood and approached Edward. He clapped Edward on the shoulder. “Looks like our friend Eddie here’s a fudgepacker! Just like that piece of shit in there.” His humor died as he nodded to his son on the other side of the glass.
Randall did not look very surprised to see his father. He didn’t even say a word. He crossed his arms and fumed in silence.
Samuel didn’t notice. “So, Eddie! How’s it feel to have someone stick it in your ass?”
Edward couldn’t see through the cloud of rage hanging in front of his eyes. He whirled on Samuel and threw the hardest punch he could. He felt his knuckles connect with Samuel’s cheek, and the middle-aged man went back a couple of steps, but he didn’t seem to have felt it.
“You even hit like a faggot,” Samuel said. “If you hadn’t had a gun last year—“
“Fuck you,” Edward said.
“That will be all from you, Edward,” Coppergate said. “There is no call for coarse language. Also, we have more to discuss with our guests. I suggest you sit down and behave yourself.”
Only then did Edward realize the extent of his language. He felt his stomach drop out and wondered if Coppergate planned on chiding him more later on. Maybe even do more than chide. His heart convulsed as he headed to the couch, not daring to look at the old man.
Samuel watched after him, his fists bunched up, restrained only by the fact that he felt hitting Edward would be kind of like hitting a woman.
“Nice seeing you, Ring-Piece,” Wayne said. He retreated to his own chair.
“How do you know all of this shit?” Skank asked.
“I have decent researchers,” Coppergate said. “Not that I need them for much. Everything I know about you, I learned from your social media. Nothing is secret from anyone, and you simply volunteered it all. Speaking of which, let’s speak of you, Ms. Bard.”
“Call me Skank.”
Coppergate grimaced. “Very well. Skank.” The word tumbled from his mouth like a turd. “You once had plenty of money; or rather, your parents did. However, you chose to leave your abusive and neglecting parents and their money for a punk lifestyle. This choice left you poverty stricken. Imagine how you could live better with an abundance of money.”
“Fuck money,” she said. “I don’t want it. Look what it did to my parents. Mommy lost herself at the bottom of a pill jar, and Daddy was twisted enough to fuck me when I was eight. If that’s the joy of money, then fuck it and fuck you.”
“Tell yourself whatever you will, but everyone desires money. Everyone.”
“Not me.”
“Yes, even you,” Coppergate said. “Without money, you would not be able to attend the music shows you so adore. Nor would you be able to buy your precious music without money.”
“I sneak into clubs,” Skank said. “I steal music from the store.”
“Yes, why don’t we speak of the music store at which you work? You have a job, which is defined as work for compensation, and in these modern times, compensation comes in the form of money.”
Skank didn’t say anything to this.
“Randall,” Coppergate said. “Or should I call you Samuel?”
“No,” both father and son said in perfect harmony. The moment didn’t last for very long, but for its brief existence, it radiated beauty. Their voices sounded the very same at the root, the only difference being the elder Barnabas’s gravelly voice.
“Randall, then. I don’t think we need to discuss your past, but in light of your solicitous practices, you are in desperate need of money, as well.”
Randall didn’t say a word. He didn’t even acknowledge Coppergate or Samuel.
“Barry. I doubt you would understand any meaningful discussion.”
Barry snorted. “Try me, nigga’. I know all about all your CIA plans for my man, Jack.”
Martin turned away from his son, covering his eyes with his hand.
“Hi, Daddy,” Barry said. “Always knowed you was with the CIA. You sold me out, motherfucker!”
Martin joined Edward on the couch. Edward hardly noticed.
“With money, you could no doubt find your friend, Mr. Kennedy, and you would be able to protect him,” Coppergate said.
“If you ain’t already killed him,” Barry said.
Finally, Edward couldn’t take it anymore. “What’s with this CIA garbage? And who is this Kennedy guy?”
Coppergate didn’t even look at him. “Just read the dossier.”
Edward rolled his eyes, but only because he knew Coppergate couldn’t see him.
Coppergate turned to the last of the captives. “Steve, you used to be something good.”
Steve rubbed at his temples. “Skip me. I don’t want to hear it.”
“You were a good cop, which is something rare in this world. And yet, when you played the hero, what did it get you?”
“Fuck you.”
“You got a crumbling apartment, which is a month away from condemnation. Not that you’ll be there when it happens, of course. You’re out of money.”
“Listen, if you’re going to kill us, get it over with. I’m sick of this shit, I’ve got a hangover, and I really don’t need to see that gnarled turd-face of yours, okay?”
Coppergate’s smile vanished. “You have not been brought here to die, Mr. McNeil.”
Samuel snorted. “That’s a matter of opinion.”
“Tell that to Nutsack,” Skank said. “Your fucking lackeys killed my boyfriend.”
Edward stopped himself from asking who Nutsack was. He didn’t think he could stomach saying those particular words in that particular order.
Coppergate ignored her. “You have all been brought here for the chance of a lifetime. By now, you will have noticed that you don’t have access to the ‘net, that you can’t get any of your progr
ams to work. That’s because we have cut you off from the rest of society. Some things will be restored, but not your LiveStreams. From here on out, you’ll broadcast to an intranet, which only we can view.”
A portion of the wall shimmered and pixilated, showing off seven screens all with different angles of the same room. Wayne waved a hand in front of his eyes and saw it appear on the wall.
“Why would you do this?” Steve asked
“Because you, my friends, are going to be our entertainment for the next day, perhaps less,” Coppergate said.
“Entertainment?” Wayne asked.
“There is nothing wrong with your ears, Mr. Richards. How would you like to receive a billion dollars?”
“I would love it,” Stacy said. No hesitation.
“If what you said about the cure for the Red Death is true,” Wayne said, “I’d like it, too.”
“Damn straight,” Barry said.
“I wouldn’t say no,” Toby said.
The rest remained silent. Stacy, in a moment of levity, said, “Who do we have to kill?”
“Each other,” Coppergate said. He chuckled, and it turned into an outright laugh as he watched the seven people trying to figure out if he was joking or not. “No jest. In a short while, you will all be set free where you were found in the city. From that moment on, you shall use whatever resources you have to find and kill the other six in your group. The one remaining person will get a billion dollars.”
Steve couldn’t believe the sheer lunacy of this. “What if we refuse?”
“Attached to your spinal cords, at the base of your skull, is a small time bomb, which I am now activating.” Coppergate pushed a button, and everyone simultaneously reached to their necks. They each heard a beep somewhere deep inside of them, even though they could barely feel the incision the doctors had made in their skin.