by Spencer,Alan
Moping.
This was the first year he was alone like this. Bliss was normally attached to his side during every moment. She was ready to watch the killing or fuck his brains out. This year, she was nowhere to be found. His father gave him the cold shoulder. Normally, Marlow would show him off. 'This is my son. This is what we've created together.' Every year was like a fantastic reunion of family and friends.
Not this year.
He had twenty minutes before his next job as the evening's host.
They could be throwing a surprise at you.
You don't know one way or the other.
He talked to a lot of guests and visitors who hadn't seen his father or Bliss either. Nobody had a clue, or they weren't going to tell him if they did know.
You're being paranoid.
Nothing has actually happened.
You're reading into things.
The feeling in his gut told him otherwise. Something was being planned behind his back. Good or bad, he had to know what it was and banish the awful sensation attacking his body like some unnatural fever. This is how killers felt when they thought they were about to be caught by the authorities.
He leaned against the wall of the hallway and collected his breath.
Calm down.
Try and take one thing at a time.
Find out the facts, and then react.
There was a momentary silence in the hallway. He heard a muted sound bleed through one of the nearby walls.
A sex moan.
Not just any sex moan.
Bliss's sex moan.
Her climaxes resembled blood curdling screams that softened into feminine pleasure. Pants, gasps, and a girlish laughter like she was being gently tickled.
That sound was unmistakable.
He put his ear against several doors. The third door he tried, he heard things he shouldn't be hearing.
What was she doing?
There were other voices in the room.
All of them were male.
He knew what she was doing now. She was pleasuring and being pleasured. It was an orgy of the highest order. Luke imagined a dog pile of driving genitals, gleaming skin, and bodies comingling with lust.
Bitch thinks because I'm busy, she could do this kind of shit behind my back? She's making me look weak in front of all of these people. Oh, that slut. She's going to get it, and get it good. She won't live through the night.
A little bit of cheating is forgivable. When you fuck business partners, and make me look small, you cross a line that shouldn't ever be crossed. Not in this kind of business.
The orgy stopped. There were conversations.
He had to see this with his own eyes.
He rushed back to the control room. Bert Toller was hard at work recording the evening's action. He was startled by Luke's intrusion.
"Luke? What kind I do for you?"
"Viewing room 111. I want audio and visual, now."
"But sir, I have to keep track of--"
Luke removed the .45 pistol from his suit jacket. "Do it, or I pull the trigger. I'm serious. Someone's pulling some bad shit on me."
Bert had turned into a sickly white color. He was dripping sweat from his forehead down to his chin in fat drops. The change was as quick as it took for Luke to press the gun to the side of his head.
"Bert, you know something, don't you?"
Bert kept his hands raised from his console. "Look, Luke, there are things you don't understand, and until you do, you can't go off the handle. It's important you stay calm and hear things out. You can't--"
He struck him across the back of the head with the butt end of the pistol.
"You're not hearing me. 111, please. Audio and visual. If you don't do it, I'll do it myself. I know how. Look. You're my friend, aren't you, Bert?"
"Yeah. Yes, of course I am. You know it."
"Then do as I say, and quit stalling."
Bert begrudgingly turned on the camera inside viewing room 111. Once the image was on the screen, the audio soon followed.
What he saw and heard floored Luke.
He didn't expect this.
The Event wouldn't be the same. His life wouldn't be the same.
This was the ultimate betrayal.
Fight or flight.
It was more like fight or fight.
A pink rope swung David's way. He ducked, pivoted, turned right, grabbed the slippery piece of viscera tied into a strange lasso, seized the guts, and jerked back. The naked woman came his way fast. He clothes lined her when they met. She did a half flip and slammed into the ground hard. He threw the guts down and kept searching for escape.
He was racing down a straightaway of concrete, broken floorboards, wild blood spatters, and a pair of rats the size of guinea pigs fighting over a human ear. The light bulbs above were painting the scene a dark blue. With each light he passed, the bulbs themselves turned into explosives with grenade power. A giant ball of fire would accompany each BOOM.
After eight bulbs, he dove for cover behind a cave wall. Behind that wall, he collided into Demo. He had a black box with a blinking red dot.
The bastard was the one who rigged the light bulbs to explode.
Reacting instantly, he swung his fist, bludgeoning Demo with five clenched fingers of animosity. Demo lost his hat and toppled over.
Run, run, run!
Giant white maggots the size of fat slugs were crawling after him from the rock ceiling. They dropped down on him kamikaze style. Their mouths were hideous gaping holes of disease and jagged teeth. David lunged so fast down the rock straightaway, he only had to brush off half a dozen of the wriggling grimy things from his shoulders and head before he escaped their threat.
What he didn't escape was the walking skeleton with loose islands of wet meat attached to her body.
Alana.
Maggot Girl.
Her ribcage was crushed from when Vlad slammed his sledgehammer into her body. Her broken bones didn't stop her from reaching out to his face with her bone fingers and caressing his cheeks. The tongue in her mouth was covered in bleeding scabs and dissolving on top for an unknown reason.
"You can make love to me with your skin. All you have to do is let me take it. How erotic is wearing someone's flesh? When I touch myself, I'll be touching you."
David grabbed a loose rock that took both hands to lift, and he leveled it on top of her head. The pile of bones crashed to the floor.
He fled the scene. David crossed a dark passage where he had to paddle across chest deep water. He reached the other side, shivering from the cold. He dripped of blood, dirt, decay, and unknown things.
The rock walls opened up to more makeshift rooms. He snuck inside one of them and found two people sitting at a table. The men were blithely carving Satanic symbols into the man tied down to the table. Ted Bundy and Albert Fish were chatting about how the term "sociopath" was improperly used in the court systems.
Oh, these guys are going to get it good.
David picked up a loose 2x4 on the ground. Part of the board was singed black. He guessed it was from more of Demo's handiwork.
He swung like Mickey Mantle. He bashed them so hard, he heard their skulls break. The two landed on the floor twitching and bleeding from their heads.
What he found under the table, what had been at their feet, was an M-16 gun with several spare magazines.
Yeah.
Fuck you time.
His body was pulsating with sick adrenaline.
There were various voices and steps echoing from the way he had come. He would have to keep moving straight. He opened the only other door in the room. When he closed the door behind him, he heard it lock behind him.
A voice spoke to him from the other side of the door. "You made a serious mistake. You're trapped. I'm coming in for you. Now you're going to die."
It was Vlad's deep growl.
I should blast him with my machine gun through the door. That'd really knock the asshole on his ass.
>
"Bust down the door and get me, you ugly fuck."
David waited.
Vlad didn't say anything else. He didn't break down the door.
He decided to study the room he stood in. Here, there wasn't rock walls or the undergoing of barebones renovations. The room had the appearance of a Turkish bathhouse. Tile walls. Tile floors. Thick columns spread about the room. The room had a sauna quality about it. The air was humid and very warm. His clothes were sticking uncomfortably to his body.
The room was expansive. He couldn't see from one end of it to the other. The lights above cast the room in red.
His eyes stayed on the dozens of bathtubs spread about the room. They were filled near to the brim with blood. Now that he saw the blood, he could smell the iron tang that gave weight to the air.
"If you were a smart man, and if you've lived this long, you probably have something going on in that skull of yours. That means you know your death is inevitable."
The voice was a woman's. Hints of amusement crept into her words. That, and lots of confidence. She was hidden in the shadows of the room. The range of acoustics in the room hid her well. He kept turning in place with the M-16 in his clutches at the ready to blow whatever came his way into fiery pieces.
"My question to you is a question concerning blood. I want what's in your veins. Judging by the way you carry yourself, you're not inclined to give it up without a fight."
Up from the twenty plus bath tubs scatted about the room, men and women soaked from head to toe in crimson came surging at him. They hissed and growled like beasts.
The M-16 spoke on his behalf. Bullets shredded through the closest enemies, easily cutting them down to scraps and ribbons. Others crawled up the sides of the wall, raced across the ceilings, and dropped down on him from above by the use of makeshift claws.
He skirted from one tub to the other. He reloaded magazines, steadied his feet against the slippery tiles, and kept blasting.
They were vampires, he thought. And there was only one way to stop a vampire.
Shoot them in the teeth.
Try sucking his blood then, he thought.
David aimed for their jaws and mandibles. Teeth erupted into porcelain pieces. Bullets pounded hard. Jaws were completely unhinged and removed by the power of the machine gun fury.
Minutes on end, he kept spattering rounds at whatever tried to overtake him.
They didn't stand a chance...until he was out of ammunition.
Shit.
He clutched the machine gun like a club and scanned the darkness for more enemies. He was correct to stay on guard.
The woman's voice from earlier spoke to him.
She still clung to the shadows and remained anonymous.
"Your blood is boiling by now. It's the way I prefer to drink it. Hot and fresh from the veins. So what do you say? Can I open up an artery and have a taste?
"It doesn't have to be so bad. You pleasure me, and I'll pleasure you. How about it?"
The woman stepped into the light.
She wore nothing except for blood. Her body was a healthy hour glass shape. She clutched her ample breasts with both hands. The red light painted the arcs of muscles and curves along her back and thighs. She flicked her tongue out at him and licked her cherry lips hard. Her eyes were a snake's. Pure venom gleamed.
"Who are you, lady?"
"How rude of me? Allow me to introduce myself. I'm Elizabeth Bathory."
Elizabeth opened her mouth and revealed her fanged teeth. They were crudely carved by an instrument of some kind. There was nothing natural about her.
"By the looks you're giving me, you don't appreciate what you see, do you?"
She bent down, played her hands up her thighs, parted her legs, and played her fingers along the edges of her sex until she plunged two fingers inside of herself. She whipped her head back in pleasure as she coaxed her fingers deeper inside herself, inducing audible arousal.
David had his chance.
She wouldn't be ready for him.
He jumped at her, bent down, and delivered the hardest upper cut punch. Her fingers hadn't left her cunt when the blow hit home. She was lifted up off of her feet. She struck the ground and bounced twice. When she regained her bearings, Bathory was in a fury. She was posed on all fours like an alley cat about to pounce on its meal.
"Oh, you're going to get it now! I tried to make it easy. You will pay for what you've done! Such disgrace!"
"Why not give me a shot at the good loving, honey? That guy got you started. I'll finish it."
Bathory was startled by the dirty old man wearing jeans and no shirt.
Mickey Acid.
He clutched a jar in each of his hands.
"Mickey Acid, you're unworthy of my body. You better turn around and leave. He's mine."
"That's where you're wrong. The acid tells a different story."
"Fuck your acid. I fight with my mind and my body. Not weapons."
"Acid is a way of life. It's the ultimate equalizer. You can be rich, poor, weak, or strong. The acid will melt you all the same."
"Shut you, you idiot. You've huffed too many fumes, you country bumpkin idiot. Stay out of my affairs. David Smith is mine. I'm taking his blood. Save your acid for somebody else. Better yet, why don't you pour that shit on your dick?"
"You shall heed the acid gospel. I'll learn you real good. The acid speaks!"
David dove before the end of the hideous man's sentence. Mickey Acid pitched a jar of his deadly concoction across the room. The jar smashed where his body had been only a split second before he had moved. The acid chewed through the tiles and floor.
Bathory did a series of summersaults, and when she landed, both her feet kicked the spit out of Mickey Acid's face. The man flew sideways and crashed into one of the columns.
"Come here, David. I'll take you somewhere private. Despite what you did, the offer still stands. Give me your body, and I'll offer you mine."
"Eat acid, David Smith!"
"No!" Bathory shrieked. "I said he's mine!"
They pushed and shoved each other as Mickey Acid tried to launch the other jar in David's direction. In their struggle, Mickey dropped the jar between them. The glass smashed open. Smoke hissed and spread a strange fog between them. David couldn't see them, and they couldn't see him.
Search for a way out.
Now's your chance.
The first thrown jar from earlier created a sizeable hole. It was still spreading as the tiles kept disintegrating.
He didn't know where that dark hole led to, but David knew there was no quicker way out of the room.
As long as he kept moving, David reasoned, he might stand a chance of surviving that much longer.
When he bent down and lowered himself into the hole, he learned the game was just beginning.
"You marry me, I deal with my wife, and you deal with Luke, and The Event can become so much more with us working together. It has to be you that kills Luke. When he's least expecting it. You can do it to him in his sleep, or when you're fucking him, I don't give a damn, as long as you do it.
"Luke's a good boy, but when it comes to business arrangements, he won't go along with our plan. We can make so much money fixing the outcomes of these games. I'm not talking millions in profits. I'm talking billions.
"Next year, we can throw a victim out there with special advantages. We'll make sure that contestant makes it to the end. Place your bets strategically, and we can rake in the cash.
"You love my son, and I love my son, but he's too wrapped up in his pride. When I present this plan to the dark lord, he'll be on my side. I know it."
"I agree with everything you say, Marlow. I'll kill Luke tonight. Right when the festivities are over. But I want him to see my face when I do it. I'll remember it forever."
That last statement was Bliss.
His own wife was against him.
And worse, his father was also concocting his demise.
"When did this happe
n?" Luke said out loud. "I don't understand. I've been a major force in this business. I'm not weak. I'm vital to this game. Why do they question that?"
The conversation he just overheard happened when the seven businessmen left the room. The orgy Luke overheard through the doors previously was over. They had gangbanged his wife. That left Bliss and his father alone. They had been talking about the future, their plans, and the fucked up shit they had arranged behind his back.
Bert roused him from his troubled thoughts.
"Your father's right. You won't go along with the changes. You won't fix the games for profit."
"You're goddamn right I won't. Next thing you know, we'll be advertising on the walls of the arena. Bloody Mary's last kill was brought to you by Pepsi. Jeffrey Dahmer's slaughter was brought to you by Tampax. The whole event will become a fucking commercial. Our fans don't want simulated violence. They want real blood and death. If you change things, it'd be like watching your favorite band lip synch.
"No, I won't go along with it. They can try to kill me. I'm not going down so easily. I'll tell the audience what my father's planning. I'll put a stop to it."
Luke noticed Bert's hand go under his station.
He had pressed a warning button.
Both Bliss and Marlow stiffened in alarm. A buzzer sounded in the room they were talking in.
Bert spoke to them, "Luke knows your plan. I repeat, he's onto you guys."
Not only had his family and wife betrayed him, one of his good friends had jammed another knife into his back.
Luke locked the control room's door. Several goons, goons Luke had worked side-by-side with for many years, tried to pick the door's lock. After failing, they knocked.
"Open the door, sir."
"We're getting in one way or another."
"We're not going to hurt you."
"Sir, if you please give us a chance to talk."
Luke aimed the gun at Bert. Bert wore that expression of confidence he hated. The one of proud betrayal. "I honor the dark master by doing what's best for the game. Do what you want to me. Kill me. I don't give a damn. I will live on. Once a year, I will be resurrected to participate in the Event. That's all I need to know to accept death."
