by Logan Jacobs
“Heaven help anyone who stands between me and you, Artemis,” I replied and began to step into the tube.
“Be careful, Marc,” Grizz echoed everyone else's sentiment, which was odd for him. “Stay vigilant. I will keep investigating as best I can while you are in the match. Don’t die on me… partner.”
“I won’t,” I nodded to him as I pushed the swell of emotion that had welled up when he called me partner back down to where it had come from. I didn’t have time for it just now. “You guys be careful too. We stumbled onto something way bigger than either of us thought. It’d be a perfect time to come after you guys while I was away.”
“I will keep them safe, Marc,” Grizz promised. “Don’t worry.”
“I won’t,” I smiled at him. “You’re here.”
Then I felt the very familiar tingle as my molecules were smashed apart and beamed across the galaxy in the space between heartbeats.
When they reformed a nano-second later, I found myself seated on what resembled a monorail from Disney World. The car I was in was full of angry, mean looking aliens all clad in the same neon blue prison coverall with white Chuck Taylor style sneakers. I glanced down and found that sure enough, I wore the exact same thing. My hands and feet were shackled together with plastic cuffs that had blinking red lights and a length of tightly linked energy chain between them. The bench seat I was on the aisle end of had four more prisoners on it, and there were five rows of us that lined either side of the monorail car. Up at the front stood a very large, very testy looking guard who held a neutrino scatter gun tightly in his hands across his chest.
I glanced around but didn’t recognize any of the aliens I was with as champions. Looked like we were being put into genpop with the rest of the criminals. I took a deep steadying breath and tried to clear my head which swirled with everything that had happened over the last forty-eight hours. This mystery had gotten very dark and very dangerous in a hurry, but I had to push it out of my head for the next twenty-four hours. Only two things mattered from here on out. Surviving and escaping. Nothing else.
I craned my neck to look out the window and saw that wherever this prison was, it was just now morning.
“Typical,” I murmured to myself. Of course they had beamed us in at the beginning of a full day when I’d already had a full day.
“Shut your mouth, convict!” The guard shouted at me.
Everyone in the car turned to look at me, and I smiled at them and waved as best I could with the shackles on. Then I proceeded to ignore the angry, intimidating looks I got and turned my attention back to the landscape outside the window.
It was a desolate planet that was for sure. The terrain that stretched out as far as I could see was little more than dark amber rock and dust. Canyons and chasms split the ground like veins in all directions. If one did manage to escape this prison, there would be nowhere to go.
I kept expecting to see Chi-Cheshire’s big cat face appear in the sky and make some inane comment about how dangerous the Pitt was, or how dangerous the inmates were, or some other such nonsense for the amusement of the viewing megaverse. But he never did, which struck me as very, very odd. Just one more thing about this match that didn’t seem kosher.
A few moments later the monorail pulled into a drab station made from dark gray utilitarian metal and plastic.
“Everyone up and out,” the guard commanded. “Follow the red arrows on the floor to processing.”
We all got up and fell into a single file line as we exited the monorail car. Our shackles directed us into order by connecting the back of the person in front of us’s leg cuffs. More guards with scatter guns stood all around the platform with watchful eyes.
Shuffling one foot beside the other, we made slow progress down a large ramp that descended under the surface of the ground and led into a large chamber that was filled with maybe a hundred more new inmates.
We stood there for about five minutes, just shifting weight from one foot to the other and breathing, until a platform floated down from a circle in the ceiling. It settled ten feet off the ground in front of us.
A squat, fat, maroon skinned alien with large bulbous eyes and oversized pointed ears stood on the hovering platform. He wore a uniform that was vaguely militaristic in form with a series of medals on one breast and a large, shiny, shield on the other.
“Welcome to the Pitt,” he said in a rather soft spoken, weak sounding voice. “I am Warden Noor’Tun, and it is my duty to make sure you all pay your debt to society for your crimes. As an added bit of, shall we say excitement to your daily lives here, we have been chosen as a location for the Crucible of Carnage. Please ignore the many microcameras you may see hovering about. If you are a champion, good luck escaping. Until the match is over, or until your sentence is, you are my charges. Follow the rules, and we shall all get along. Break them, and you shall be punished. Harshly. I suffer no insolence in the Pitt. And just to prove it to you, here is a demonstration.”
Noor’Tun nodded to one of the guards who in turn nodded to another and a moment later a struggling prisoner was brought out.
“This ain’t right, Noor’Tun, I ain’t done nothing!” the prisoner shouted up at the sweetly smiling warden.
“Shh,” Noor’Tun said with his finger in front of his mouth to shush the prisoner. “The man was caught trying to orchestrate an escape. That is something we cannot have. So, he will be punished very swiftly in front of you all to prove a point.”
“That’s bullshit, and you know it--” the prisoner began but was cut off as Noor’Tun pressed a button on a computer device strapped to his forearm. Red light glowed from the man's wrist and ankle cuffs and then began to spread up his arms and legs.
That’s when the prisoner began to scream. It started low and angry and then grew in pitch and intensity until it reached a ball shrinking crescendo.
The light that had spread across his body glowed brighter, and then the prisoners flesh began to melt. Not burn. Melt before all our eyes like candle wax under a butane flame until there was nothing left but a steaming pile of brown goo where he had been just a few seconds earlier. He screamed until his head sank into the goo.
It was quite possibly one of the most horrific sights I’d ever witnessed, and I’d been on the inside of the giant sand worm.
“And there you have it,” the warden continued to smile from his perch above us all. “I certainly hope we don’t have a failure to communicate from here on out. Your shackles will direct you to your respective cells. Enjoy your stay.”
With that the warden’s platform rose up and back into the ceiling, and the large doors that were shut in front of us opened up, and I found myself pulled along by my wrist shackles.
Eight stairways and four levels down later, I was led into a tiny three foot by eight foot cell that had a single cot, a sink, a toilet and nothing else. The shackles had me sit on my bunk and then the energy chains that connected them to each other faded, and I was able to move my arms and legs freely. I was about to get up to splash some water on my face when a holo-screen appeared in front of my cot. The outline of a female face appeared, kind of like Gideon from the CW Flash tv show only green not blue and began to speak.
“Hello, inmate 3263827, and welcome to the Pitt,” the female head said in a very pleasant conversational tone. “My name is Zvee and I will be your personal guide to help you acclimate to your new surroundings.”
“Huh, well that’s kind of cool,” I said.
“Yes,” Zvee replied. “Over the centuries of incarcerating the megaverses most hardened criminals, we found that a personalized assistant made liquidation much less frequent.”
“Ah, right,” I nodded. “So that’s what that is called.”
“Correct,” Zvee echoed. “Liquidation is strictly up to the warden’s discretion and can occur without any form of a tribunal or hearing. Your cuffs are controlled by a central computer that is solely under the warden’s control. Here are a list of rules to not be liquidate
d: No contraband, no fraternizing after lights out, always follow commands, do not try to escape, do not threaten a guard, no fighting, do not plan to overthrow the warden, and no trying to escape.”
“Yeah, you mentioned that already,” I said as I rubbed my temples. I was fucking tired and this just kept getting better and better.
“We feel that it is best to give constant reinforcement of ideas,” Zvee said and smiled. “It helps reduce the rate of recidivism.”
“That’s one bonehead name, but that ain’t me no more,” I replied in my best H.I. McDunnough.
“I’m sorry, I do not understand,” Zvee replied, quite perplexed. “You have not broken any rules… yet.”
“Sorry, Zvee,” I shrugged. “It’s a line from a movie.”
“I am going to ignore that comment because I do not understand it,” Zvee said with a smile.
“Yeah, that sounds about right,” I said back. “Okay, so, back to the Pitt. What do I need to know?”
“The Pitt is one of the galaxies’ most secure prisons,” Zvee said, almost gleeful to be back on task. Her face disappeared and was replaced by a wireframe holographic image of the prison. It roughly resembled an icecream cone with a very large first floor that was at ground level and then tapered down to a point at the bottom level which was fifteen stories below the ground. “Encompassing fifteen levels that bore straight into the surface of the rock of Alcazar Four, the seventh moon of the planet Pap-Illion, it is layer upon layer of security. The bottom most level is for the worst of the worst offenders, and the top floor acts as an energy collection point with a series of solar cells built into the prison’s roof that can be opened or closed to allow the inmates who are lucky enough to populate that top floor access to the glorious light of day.”
“Lucky them,” I grumbled.
“Indeed, inmate,” Zvee continued. “The further down in the Pitt you go, the less comfortable it becomes. You are currently on level Four, for mid-grade inmates. There is a cafeteria, library, and exercise yard that you will have access to at very specific times of the day. On level Seven there is a metal and wood shop where inmates who show an aptitude for those skills will be put to work six hours a day. You may earn credits to buy items in the commissary. Levels Nine and Ten are for the worst of the worst offenders to spend their sentence in solitary confinement. The cells on those levels may also be used as a form of punishment. Do you have any questions so far, inmate?”
“Do we ever take these blasted cuffs off?” I asked and rubbed the area on my wrists where they were starting to rub raw.
“Very rarely, inmate,” Zvee answered. “Typically only for an emergency medical procedure or after liquidation.”
“So we shower and everything with these on?” I continued. I needed to find a way to get these stupid things off or a way to disable them. Getting liquidated would end any escape plan super quick.
“Yes, you do,” Zvee smiled her pixelated green smile.
“Okay, so, I guess my next question is, when do we eat?” I asked. My stomach had suddenly started to grumble very loudly, and I realized I had hardly eaten anything the day before, and had expended a good deal of energy.
“Breakfast will be served in the cafeteria in one-half hour as soon as all the new inmates have been assigned cells,” Zvee answered.
“Well that is some good news,” I shrugged.
“Oh, inmate, you might want to duck your head,” Zvee said and suddenly another cot materialized out of the wall, and I did indeed have to duck my head to keep it from getting hit. “You have been assigned a cellmate.”
“Just great,” I said pissily. The thought of having a cell to myself was one of the few things giving me any joy on this garbage fire of a morning.
“He is arriving right now,” Zvee said and disappeared.
I turned and looked at the smirking red skinned alien who filled the doorway and felt my face fall. I recognized him immediately. We had gone up against each other several weeks ago in a match and Team Havak had kicked his alliance's ass. That, and we’d taken one of his alliance mates away. The large, imposing red alien who stood before me had been Tempest’s former leader.
“Well, would you look at this morose motherfucker right here,” Hann-Abel said as he entered the cell and hopped up onto the top bunk.
Chapter Twelve
“And this day just keeps getting better and better,” I said not quite under my breath and laid down on my cot to stare up at the underside of the bunk above me. There was absolutely zero love lost between Hann-Abel and I. His crew had been a cut throat bunch under him, an alien who belonged to a race known for their tactical acumen and ability to strategize.
That’s when an idea actually began to form in my head.
“I know what you are going to say, Havak,” Hann-Abel said in his confident, gruff voice from above. “And while it irks me to agree with you, I think it's actually a good idea. We should indeed team up to get the hell out of this joint.”
“How the hell did you know that is even what I was going to ask?” I asked, more than a bit chagrined which I was glad he couldn’t see. “Maybe I was going to ask you something completely different.”
“Look,” Hann-Abel said with more than a bit of delight in his voice, “you’re not as dumb as you look, Havak. That assault on the gun placements during the D-Day invasion was impressive. Very impressive. I thought for sure I was sending you to your doom. And it takes a lot to impress me. This challenge is some bullshit. I had just started to put a new alliance together, and they do not get along at this point, and if I don’t make it back to them I am going to have to start from scratch all over again. Oh, I heard you killed Vex, also very impressive. I gotta say Havak, you are full of surprises.”
“It’s part of my charm,” I shrugged. “You’re not going to double cross me at the last second will you?”
“Havak,” Hann-Abel said, deadly serious. “My people may be shrewd and cunning, but we do not double cross each other. For this match we will be on the same side, and I will do everything in my power to make sure we get the hell out of here. I can hold my own in a fight, but not like you. I need someone to watch my back while I formulate a plan to get out. Now, once we are back in the world, then all bets are off. If I face you in another match, I’ll do everything in my power to take you out.”
“Fair enough,” I nodded and stood up to look at the smug red bastard. “So, Mr. Strategy, how the fuck are we going to get out of this place?”
“I’m working on it,” Hann-Abel replied, and I could almost see the gears in his brain spinning. “I’m not going to lie, this is going to be tough, and we are going to need a good amount of luck to pull it off.”
“Shit, have you met me?” I asked him cockily. “Luck in my middle name.”
“I thought it was Caleb?” Hann-Abel asked, confused. “Which is a much cooler name than Marc. You should have gone by that.”
“Thanks?” I said at the back-handed compliment. “I was being funny.”
“Is that what you call that?” Hann-Abel said with a grimace. “Good to know.”
“Oh, man,” I said and sat back down. “This is going to be a long twenty-four hours isn’t it?”
“Yup,” Hann-Abel agreed and then we fell into silence for a while. I knew Hann-Abel was busy formulating his plan, and my own mind was full of thoughts on how to get out. “We need to get these cuffs off.”
“Working on that,” Hann-Abel said.
“And then get up to those shutters on the top floor when they open,” I added.
“Working on that too,” Hann-Abel replied. I could tell he was starting to get irritated.
“Oh, if we could figure out how to turn off all the cuffs at the same time we could start a riot,” I blurted out. I was starting to like this little brainstorming session.
“Havak!” Hann-Abel finally yelled, supremely irritated. “Anything you can think of I thought of ten minutes ago. Please stop your incessant yammering until it can come in us
eful to drive someone else to do something stupid. How does your alliance put up with you?”
“My dashing good looks and devil may care wit,” I shot back, and then we fell into silence once again.
Soon Zvee’s face popped back up.
“It is time for breakfast,” she said with her plastic smile. “Please allow your cuffs to direct you to the cafeteria.”
Hann-Abel and I got up, and sure enough, the cuffs began to pull at our arms gently. With a shrug to each other I fell in behind him, and we began to walk with the rest of the inmates on our cell block down a long corridor and then out into a large rectangular room full of plastic tables with bench seats. Along one wall was a cafeteria counter with several inmates serving food to those lined up in front.
I was so hungry that it actually smelled good, although there was a nagging part of my brain telling me that it, in actuality, smelled terrible but my stomach was overriding that part of my brain.
Hann-Abel and I shuffled through the line and got our trays full of food. Well, food was a rough term for the mounds of goop that were on the tray. There was a light brown mound that looked somewhat like meat loaf with a thin gray gravy. A darker brown mound that might have been a kind of starchy mashed potato of some kind or maybe over cooked rice. A mound of bright yellow preserved fruit looking thing. And one solitary burnt cookie. Oh, and a tumbler full of bright blue liquid.
Once we got our food, Hann-Abel and I found a table over in the corner that was sparsely populated, and we sat at the far end to try to get as much privacy as we could. I took note of the fact that Hann-Abel sat with his back to the wall while I had mine open to the entire cafeteria. I just had to trust the fact that he did indeed have my back for this operation.
I dug into my food and tried to shovel as much into my mouth hole before the taste could register. To my ultimate surprise it didn’t actually taste that bad. It was better than what I remembered my middle school lunches being. Soon I’d cleaned my entire tray and was about to start licking it when I caught a disapproving glance from Hann-Abel and just set it back down.
