by Logan Jacobs
“You are no fun, you know that?” I said to him as I wiped my mouth on the sleeve of my jumpsuit. Apparently I was reverting to actually being in eighth grade.
“Just because we are caged doesn’t mean we have to devolve into animals,” Hann-Abel commented snootily as his eyes kept slowly scanning the cafeteria. “I’m eating this slop because I know when given a chance to eat, you eat, but how could you practically inhale this foul mess?”
“Dude, you never spent time in a public middle school on Earth,” I shrugged. “This wasn’t that bad comparatively. Hey, so while we have some time to kill, and you don’t want any of my brilliant ideas, what do you make of this challenge? I mean, first they throw the monkey wrench of taking away alliances and then they move it up by eighteen hours?”
“I’ve been thinking about that a lot,” Hann-Abel replied, his eyes sharp, alert, and full of intelligence. Now that we weren’t trying to kick each other’s asses, he wasn’t that bad a dude to converse with. “Ever since the train challenge. Someone is messing with the Crucible. And I think they may have a grudge against you, and I seem to be caught in the crossfire.”
“You don’t say,” I agreed.
“I don’t think the Aetheron’s have anything to do with the Crucible anymore,” the red strategist dropped like a bomb.
“What?”
“Think about it, Havak,” he continued, quietly. “No one has seen them in millennia. As far as we know they left all this technology that makes the Crucible possible and then just took off after it was set up. Like some kind of forgotten science experiment. It’s a theory I’ve had for a while now.”
“Man, I don’t know…” I started to say and then began to think about it. “If that were true, that would be a hell of a revelation to make.”
“Yeah,” he said. “It could upset the entire delicate balance that the Crucible has managed to somehow create in the megaverse.”
“Well fuck,” I said, because it was all I could think of to say.
“Not something we can worry about at the present time though,” he said, and I caught his eyes as they focused on something behind me. “Because I think we are about to get into a fight.”
“Oh, great,” I murmured. Because of course we were. “How many?”
“Four,” he said and continued to watch. “They are eyeing us from four tables away and are starting to rev each other up.”
“Awesome,” I sighed. “Okay, hand me your spoon would you?”
“What in god's name for?” Hann-Able asked. “They are not a bowl of ice cream.”
“Just give me the damn spoon,” I said, exasperated. He shrugged and handed me the long handled lare ladled metal spoon we’d been given when we got our trays. With a little effort I bend the handle around my hand in a loose U shape so that the round curve of the spoon was roughly where my knuckles were, then I did the same with the other hand. Brass knuckles they weren’t, but they might give me a bit of an edge. I wasn’t sure where the idea had come from, either an old episode of Burn Notice, or my improvised weapons mod.
“Here they come,” Hann-Abel reported. “One big one who appears to be the leader and then his three lackeys. Not as big, but still pretty big.”
“Got it,” I nodded to him.
“You’re Marc Havak, aren’t you?” I heard the gurgling growl from behind and above me.
I turned my neck ever so slightly and gazed up at a brute of an alien with dark purple skin, a bright red mohawk of metal bristle looking hair, and hands the size of baked hams.
“Maybe, who's askin’?” I replied in a voice that I hoped sounded menacing and mean.
“Why are you doing that with your voice?” the purple brute asked, confused.
“What are you talking about? This is how my voice always sounds,” I said as I tried to sell it. I hoped he didn’t ask any more questions because my throat had started to get scratchy from trying to lower my register farther than it could go.
“No it’s not,” he replied, still confused. “We watch you all the time and your voice is much higher, like a child.”
“Oh, you guys are fans?” I said in my regular voice. Maybe Hann-Abel had mistook aggression for sheer excitement from getting to meet me. “Then yeah, I’m Marc Havak, Champion for the planet Earth.”
“That’s what we thought,” the purple brute smiled. “You killed my cousin.”
“I did?” I gulped. On second thought, maybe Hann-Abel had been correct.
“Yeah, a few matches ago, shot him right in the face,” the purple brute said, and his smile turned into a sneer.
“To be fair, I shoot a lot of people in the face,” I said and gave him my best “oopsie” grin. “All is fair in the Crucible of Carnage.”
“You ain’t in the Crucible right now,” he countered.
“Well, technically, I am, cause you see--” I tried to explain.
“Smash him, Maw-Hauk, smash him good,” one of his lackeys egged him on.
“Havak,” Hann-Abel said from his seat. “We are gathering a crowd.”
I glanced around quickly and sure enough, several of the inmates had taken notice and started to move closer. A few of the guards had as well, but they were keeping their distance. Something told me they were going to let this play out just to see how much of a beat down I was going to get.
I had two options: Try to diffuse the situation or take this purple dolt out hard and fast. One would lead to fewer bruises but the other would mean that anyone else who wanted to take a piece out of me would think twice about it. Hann-Abel and I certainly didn’t need to spend most of our time fighting off chumps who wanted payback for something I couldn’t help.
“Yeah, we should go, Hann,” I said as I turned back toward him, grabbed his nearly empty tray, stacked it on top of mine, and then grabbed one end with both hands. I caught his eye and winked at him. “Here, buddy, I’ll take your tray for you.”
“Thanks,” he replied, and his eyes narrowed, I could see that he’d palmed one of the tumblers.
“My pleasure, pal,” I said and then turned as hard and fast as I could muster in the close confines and slammed the edge of the stacked metal trays into Maw-Hauks throat.
“Gurk!” He gurgled out as his hand flew to his neck.
I didn’t wait to see the damage though, before the last syllable of his surprise was out of his mouth, I’d reversed my direction and dropped my right leg to drive the trays into the back of the nearest lackey’s knee. He cried out in pain and fell to the floor. Then I turned again and flung the trays like a Frisbee into the face of the next lackey who had overcome his surprise and was starting to advance on me.
He swatted the trays away harmlessly, but it had given me just enough time to get inside the reach of his fists. I was still crouched down low and I exploded up with both legs and drove my spoon covered fist into the underside of his chin in a massive uppercut. The lackey literally came off the ground and then landed flat on his back so that the air whooshed out of his lungs in a blast of meat goop scented breath.
“Havak, duck,” Hann-Abel said from behind me, and I did as he commanded instantly.
He threw the tumbler as hard as he could, and it smashed into the forehead of Maw-Hauk who had recovered enough to try to come up on my blind side. He stumbled back a bit, and I followed the tumbler with a wind-up right that had the full force of my planted back foot and hips in it. I felt his nose crunch under my metal covered knuckles and cotton candy colored blood spurted out into the air.
“I am Castor Troy!” I shouted victoriously in my best Nick Cage.
Maw-Hauk fell to the ground unconscious. His lackeys moaned on the ground next to him. I turned to smile at Hann-Abel who shook his head back and forth and then both of us got hit with about ten thousand volts of electricity through our shackles.
Everything got real dim for a while after that.
I had a vague impression of being carried, none to gently I might add, by two guards into an elevator.
Then blackness again. Which was nice. It was quiet.
Unfortunately, a throbbing pain in my head brought me back to consciousness, and I found myself in a small cell with my shackles fixed to a table in front of me. I turned and saw Hann-Abel sitting next to me, looking none the worse for wear.
“Nice of you to join us,” he said with a huff.
“Oh, I’m sorry I had to fight off a bunch of assholes,” I snarked. I was in no mood for attitude.
“Who is Castor Troy?” Hann-Abel asked. “Do you have multiple personalities? That would explain a lot, actually.”
“It’s from a movie,” I shrugged. My regen mod was working overtime to repair the damage from the taser blast. The throbbing had decreased, but it still felt like the morning after a cheap bottle of tequila and too much Taco Bell.
“Six of one, a half dozen of another,” Hann-Abel smirked, and I really wished I could slap him.
“Where are we?” I asked.
“I think we are at the lowest level of the prison right now, from what I could make out as they carried us down here,” he explained. “My physiology handles electrical shocks pretty well, so I came to in the elevator. Needless to say, this does not help our position very much.”
“No shit,” I said, irritated. “You mean being farther under the surface makes it more difficult for us to escape. Thanks.”
“I kind of like this side of you, Havak,” Hann-Abel grinned. “Sarcasm is good. It’s a sign of intelligence. Oh, also, I didn’t see a single camera on this level. Like, not a single, solitary one. Pretty sure we are off the grid as far as the Crucible is concerned. I imagine our alliances are probably freaking out right about now.”
“That’s strange,” I commented as my stomach sank. “I’m guessing this is a big set up?”
“Why do you say that?” Hann-Abel asked.
“In case you haven’t noticed, a few assholes have it out for me,” I explained.
“Yeah, no shit,” Hann-Abel scoffed.
“Wonder when the warden is going to tell us how much trouble we’re in for breaking his precious rules,” I pondered.
As if to answer, a shiny hologram formed at the table in front of us. It was Tyche, looking as crisp and dapper as ever with his hands folded neatly on the table in front of him.
“Champion Havak. Champion Hann-Abel,” Tyche said as if we were here for tea. “Why am I not surprised that the two of you have started trouble already? Or that you managed to put your past animosity behind you for the time being to team up for an escape?”
I opened my mouth to say something either witty or stupid or quite possibly both, but Hann-Abel moved his foot and stepped on my toe to shut me up.
“What are you doing here, Tyche?” Hann-Abel answered a question with a question. “You seem to be getting your hands dirty down here during arena matches more and more often.”
“I am just fulfilling my programming and implementing the wishes of the Aetherons,” Tyche smiled and revealing absolutely nothing. “In their divine wisdom they have bestowed me with more discretion in how the matches are implemented.”
“How convenient,” Hann-Abel said. “Why are you here?”
“Oh, I just wanted to see how my two favorite champions were faring,” Tyche replied. He made no attempt to cover the fact that he was lying through his shiny, holographic teeth. “I would have thought for sure the two of you would have been at each others throats, and I couldn’t understand why you weren’t.”
There it was. The truth. The smug bastard just couldn’t help himself. It was no accident that Hann-Abel and I had been bunked together.
“You should know by now, we aren’t a combination of ones and zeroes, Tyche,” Hann-Abel said, his voice barely masked contempt. “We don’t always behave as expected.”
“Oh, I am so very well aware,” Tyche sighed. “The two of you have made such a mess of the games with your unorthodox styles. Did you know that unsanctioned betting is up nearly forty-two percent across the mega-verse since both of your arrivals? It has thrown the economy of the games into a virtual turmoil.”
“Sorry, not sorry,” I said through a big fake smile to match Tyche’s. “If you remember, I didn’t choose to be Earth’s champion.”
“Yes,” Tyche practically sneered but caught himself. “Alas, I have no control over who is chosen. That is the purview of a much older AI program than myself who has complete autonomy in the decision. If you must know, I lobbied very hard to keep you and your backwater planet from being included.”
“Gee, thanks,” I said, full of sarcasm.
“I’m going to ask again, Tyche,” Hann-Abel said, undeterred. “Why the fuck are you here?”
“Oh, I just had a lovely little chat with the warden,” Tyche finally answered. “He and I are old, old friends. I helped him get this position as a matter of fact. Valiance City sends a good deal of the inmates here. He’s a busy man looking after the scum of the megaverse, and I figured I would deliver the news for him. You both are going to spend a good deal of time down here in the hole.”
“Not too long,” I shot back at the arrogant assface. “I thought we had twenty-four hours and then we were dead.”
“I may not have been able to affect you as a choice for the games,” Tyche explained in true diabolical bad guy fashion. “But I have a certain amount of leeway in the day-to-day operation of the games themselves. I lifted the death cap. You two may indeed spend a very, very long time down here.”
“You can’t do this, Tyche,” Hann-Abel spat out. “Using the Crucible as your own personal vendetta machine.”
“Ah, but that is where you are wrong, good Hann-Abel,” Tyche smiled grimly. “If that is what I was doing, there is nothing that could stop me. This is just the Aetheron’s making last-minute changes, which, in their divine wisdom, we all know they can do. And we should be thankful. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I am needed elsewhere. Enjoy your stay.”
Tyche stood, fixed us with his malicious cat who ate the canary gaze, and then disappeared.
“That son of a bitch,” Hann-Abel said with a shake of his head. “I knew he was up to some nonsense. I even mentioned it to our trainer a few weeks ago. I guess that was my mistake. Looks like he’s in Tyche’s pocket. Okay, Havak, we’re getting the fuck out of here.”
I looked at him as his tongue rolled around in his mouth a few times, poking his cheek out repeatedly, until he spit a small cylinder the size of a pen cap out onto the table near his fingers.
“What is that and where did you get it?” I asked incredulously.
“You spazzed out a bit in the elevator,” he explained as he picked the cylinder off the table and twisted it around in his fingers so that the flat metallic end touched a spot on his cuffs. “I used the commotion to snag this off the guards utility belt when he was busy trying to keep you from puking.”
A second later, the red light on the cuffs blinked twice, and they fell off his wrists. He bent down and did the same to the ones on his ankles. He then moved quickly to the door and peered out the small window set at head height.
“Um, hey, how about you hook a brother up over here?” I asked as I tried to keep the nervousness out of my voice. I had a horrible sinking feeling in my gut that he was about to let me rot here.
“I will in a moment,” he answered. “Don’t worry, Havak, I’m not about to double cross you. Although the thought did cross my mind. Even if it didn’t go against my sense of honor, it doesn’t make tactical sense. Two of us can get out of here easier than one. Start making a commotion to draw the guards in.”
“Um, okay,” I shrugged, hoping that he was true to his word. “Guards! Oh, man, I’m gonna throw up! Guards! I’m going to hurl breakfast all over this cell. I mean I’m going to get it everywhere. In all the little nooks and crannies! Oh, here it comes! Hurgh! Hurgh!”
A second later, a very frazzled alien guard barged into the room carrying a trash can.
“Don’t you dare puke in my cell, inmate!” he yelled at m
e as he rushed over to shove the can under my chin. He just started to register that Hann-Abel wasn’t seated next to me when the red skinned mastermind hit him with a judo chop at the base of the neck. The guard slumped to the ground. True to his word, Hann-Abel used the key to unlock my shackles. As soon as they were off, I rubbed where they had chaffed my skin vigorously.
This guard didn’t have a scattergun unfortunately, but he did have a metallic billy club in a ring on his belt and a set of cylindrical keys similar to the one that unlocked our shackles. I grabbed the billy club and tossed the keys to Hann-Abel.
“This might be easier than I thought,” Hann-Abel grinned at me. “If we can get to the elevator, we might be able to get all the way to the top level.”
“Works for me,” I said with a grin of my own.
We were just about to make our way out into the hallway when red lights began to flash and a loud klaxon alarm began to ring urgently.
“All available guards not in duty stations report to Level Five immediately!” A nervous voice came over the prison’s loud speaker system. “Code Gamma! I repeat Code Gamma!”
Through the window in the door we watched all the available guards on this level haul ass through the hallway and shuffle into the elevator.
“Looks like fate is smiling on us, Havak,” Hann-Abel said as he removed the guard’s jacket and slipped into it and then put the guards cap on top of his head. “Come on.”
He motioned for me to move in front of him as if I were still shackled. With his head hidden behind mine we moved down the hallway to the glassed in duty station at the end of the hallway. Hann-Abel knocked, and the door slid open.
“Oh, my god, Mc’Gullicutty, have you seen what is going on?” the duty station guard said without even turning around. His eyes were glued to a display screen embedded in the wall.
Hann-Abel shrugged at me, and I whacked the guard on the top of the head with the billy club. He sank to the ground without another word, and Hann-Abel began to scan the control panel.
