SG - Suicide Game

by Haidji

  They really had no viable plan. To terminate the terrorists who were among the crowd.

  ‘Let’s roll’, radioed Calvin to Michael and Philip. ‘Target three is heading towards the washroom. You implement on targets one and two’.

  ‘Roger that’, they replied.

  The washroom was busy, with lineups. Perfect conditions. Calvin brushed by target three, jostling him gently to one side while reaching underneath his jacket and snatching something from his pocket, which he quickly put under his vest. He would examine it later. A terrorist left the washroom, passing close to them. But Calvin did not see him. Wasn’t prayer time, the terrorist was just using the washroom for usual things. If they would have been there at Noon, they would have caught him.

  Four agents arrived moments later with targets one and two. Calvin, Michael and Philip were already situated in the observation room for the interrogation room, looking into it through the one-way glass. Targets one and two were brought in and seated at the table.

  Another agent told them he had bad news for them, sorry they had to hear it this way…and immediately both suspects’ arms were tied behind their backs and handcuffed to the chairs. They were then searched. Each had a small plastic box. Each had a t-shirt with fresh orange color, the SG Game t-shirt. And their wallets, with the usual contents. That was it.

  The items were taken into the observation room. Three CDs. They looked the same. Life in a Wire CDs. Their new album, containing some of the songs they would perform during their gigs in the Stadium.

  The CDs were selling like hotcakes in the Stadium, at the official outlets. They looked more closely. These CDs did not have the holographic stamp borne by the original products. Copies. Counterfeits. Fakes. They examined the two t-shirts. Same deal. Copies. Fakes. Good ones, but counterfeits. No holographic labels.

  Calvin took the item he put under his vest, taken from target three. He showed it to Michael and Philip. Another fake CD.

  And that was all.

  The team reported their findings to mission control.

  They were very upset.

  ‘What kind of lousy intel are we getting here?’, screamed one of the commanding officers. ‘I thought your source was impeccable. Here we are to chase and kill what is only a bunch of counterfeiters, nerds! What is this about a terrorist plot? Your intelligence is clearly wrong. Your intel guy, the Geek, is an idiot! He probably got the metadata all wrong, and the actual content of the calls too. Given all the legal wrangling in your country about NSA activities, he was probably more worried about whether he could justify a reasonable, articulable suspicion, than about the actual meaning of the communications. Sheesh!’

  They decided to report something after this big confusion, to the Council. They reported that they caught the counterfeit mafia, due to an anonymous call made to them. The Council was happy about it. No words about terrorists.

  And the seven terrorists were at their seats, always using the washroom at the same time, coming in or out of different washrooms, to their spots among the crowd inside the Stadium, waiting for a sign. Or waiting to die suddenly, with no sign.

  Every time they needed to accomplish their obligation, they used the washroom for it and then went back to their places among the crowd...and waited for the next time they should pray.

  Chapter 34

  Step 3 – Day 3

  Yellow thought that they would exchange Moma on the last game day, against another man; that was the deal. If he doesn’t die before, that is. That would be on the last game day.

  But the terrorist attack wasn’t scheduled for the last day. It was to be the day before. The terrorists knew that Moma had decided the attack should be the day before. It would be too high a price if they lost their specialist. They wouldn’t exchange him against another man who would die in the game at the end of the last day. This was just an excuse they gave to Yellow, to avoid suspicion. Yellow did not know about any attack. He thought that it was just a kind of reckoning between political activists, training Moma to deal with his fears about acting in public. But the terrorists decided from beginning to say, in all their communications, that they would make the attack on the third day of the last game step, just in case any information would find its way into an uncertain place, and damage their intentions and plans.

  Alphabot opened the door.

  And brought coffee.

  And asked Black about coffee.

  ‘No coffee, no water…thanks’, said Black.

  Green spoke next.

  All was going well in the game; no issues, no big problems.

  They started to chat. The mood became lighter.

  ‘Alphabot! Black doesn’t drink coffee, or water. I wonder what he drinks? Maybe tea? You don’t need to ask!’

  Alphabot left in silence. And Blue said:

  ‘He is being polite.’

  ‘Alphabot is being…polite’, said Black.

  ‘How can he be polite?’

  ‘He is a robot!’ said Green. ‘He is not being polite! He is just programed to ask, or not, depending on the command.’

  Robots are robots, they don’t know about feelings. They don’t even think! They are not alive!

  What do they know about life and death?

  And Red said:

  ‘What do you know about death, Green? Since you were born, you never died, otherwise you wouldn’t be here, complaining about all and nothing, all at the same time!’ And he laughed.

  Green became more upset. ‘I am alive, but I can die any moment, while a robot…a robot never lives, and a robot never dies!’

  Silence.

  Black said:

  ‘Death is when you are so broken…that nobody can repair you.

  Not a mechanic…or a doctor.

  Robots…die too.

  Alphabot…is alive.’

  Green responded:

  ‘You are alive. I am alive. But Alphabot is a robot.’

  Black answered:

  ‘I am alive like…you.

  I am alive like…Alphabot.

  I am not an imitation of you. I am Alphabot’s…friend.

  I am Alphabot’s…kind.

  I am not a human imitation…I am…myself.

  But now, I will…demonstrate what I said.

  I will…die.’

  Before the other council members could get out of their chairs, Black took his skin off his face, and showed the mechanism underneath.

  Black was the newest model from the FACE team in Italy, which had also made the Personal Assistant for the Council’s boss. Created by an Italian company, he could show human expressions, of course.

  Black pressed a button under his toga, on the left side of his chest.

  Suddenly Black fell down, crumpled over the round table.

  Green started to cry, he liked Black.

  ‘Can we repair him? Do robots believe in reincarnation?’

  ‘Of course!’ Blue said.

  Green and all the others were in shock.

  They requested Alphabot to come immediately.

  Alphabot came. As Alphabot saw Black’s face, without the human transgenic skin over it, he went out and came back with a glass of water.

  In front of the Council Members, Alphabot made a motion, as would he drink the water. He dropped the water over his own robot face. Over his robot eyes.

  With his self-made robot tears running down his face, Alphabot carried Black out of the room.

  Purple, Blue, Green, Red, Yellow and White left the room, following Alphabot, to find a doctor…or a mechanic, who could give Black a new life.

  The Hostess announced:

  ‘Welcome to the third day of the Third Step. We have only four candidates. Four Ultimate Candidates. Only one will survive at the end of the game.

  They will jump for you. For you here in the Stadium, for you that are watching from the streets around the Stadium, for you at home, at work, in the mob, or wherever you are! You are here with me.

  Thanks for being here with me
! We will have five jumps today. I hope that they all survive, for the last day tomorrow. But it is not my decision.

  It is all…in the laps of the Gods.’

  Moma, Bianca, Anthony and The Scientist were standing on the edge of the platform. The counter started at 50. 49…48…47…

  The Hostess, wearing her beautiful red dress and her amazing shoes, announced:

  ‘Welcome to the first jump of the third day in this Third and final step of the Game.

  Here they are…

  Moma! Bianca! Anthony! The Scientist!’

  The spotlight felt over each one of them, as she said their names.

  ‘The remaining cards of the suits in the deck of life, mixed by fate…

  Welcome to you, welcome again to them.

  Welcome to:

  SUICIDE GAME

  The new game

  The new mania

  8000 candidates started the game

  Only one will survive

  Only one can win!

  Live from the Night Stadium

  Nothing compares to what you'll see here

  Nothing compares to what you'll watch

  You have already chosen your candidate

  Now there are only four Ultimate Candidates left.

  You have Made your bet

  To be part of a

  New and unexpected game

  Now it’s time to leave it all in the laps of the gods

  And when the bell rings…it is time to jump…for your life!

  10…9…8…7…6…5…4…3…2…1!

  JUMP!

  Standing on the edge of the platform, in a half dream, Moma thought about his idea. He murmured to himself, ‘…peoples of any race or color—Arabs, Romans or Persians—are equal under the banner of God.

  I promised to never kill someone, now I need to do it, to save the other ones… But I will pay the price for breaking my word. I am sorry’.

  He jumped, together with Bianca, Anthony and The Scientist. But he touched his vest while he jumped.

  Moma died immediately.

  Morris saw it. The six council members were distracted. Morris knew that nobody was supposed to die in this first jump. Moma was hanging, dead on his wire. The platform descended several meters before the Council members saw that he was dead. They ordered Morris to take action. Morris touched the screen and cut Moma’s wire. It broke only three meters from the Stadium ground. But he wouldn’t survive; he was already dead.

  As Moma jumped, he clicked the button on his vest. In the same moment, in seven different places in the Stadium among the crowd, seven different persons fell dead onto the floor. The crowd thought they fainted by reason of the game’s adrenaline, but they were dead. Emergency responders came and took the bodies to the wardroom. No identification, no IDs. Nobody claimed their bodies. Demir would take care of them. Their bodies were burned inside, but maybe he could make a deal, and use them to make some diamonds.

  Moma had changed the guts in the terrorists’ suicide bomb vests. He made the same changes to his own vest.

  From a traditional high explosive charge, detonated by a terrorist commander’s wireless signal, to a strong electromagnetic field, triggered by Moma’s own wireless signal. He engineered two wireless chips into the vest; one so the terrorist commander could see his signal connection, to know that all was going as planned. The second, to receive his signal.

  He engineered the kill zone of each vest to be limited to one-tenth of a meter. The vest would kill its wearer, but not anyone more than 3.3 inches away from the vest’s inner core. Anyone standing or sitting next to a terrorist would be fine, and would notice nothing.

  The inner core comprised a compact energy storage device, a micro inverter and an electromagnetic field generator. The micro inverter transformed stored energy into a high voltage signal that powered the generator, which would, on command, send three silent and deadly pulses of electromagnetic radiation into the epicenter of the vest wearer’s body. Sort of like a cigar smoker blowing out concentric smoke circles, but in reverse.

  Their internal organs would be fried immediately. Cooked beyond any hope of redemption or afterlife.

  Only three candidates remained.

  The Hostess was about to announce another jump.

  In the other jumps of this day, nobody died. And the Hostess announced that it wouldn’t be only five jumps, they would jump until exhaustion.

  Chapter 35

  The Hostess said, in the way only she could:

  ‘The countdown starts at 50…50 meters from here to the ground of the Stadium, 50 meters…50 seconds for the jump, 50 meters to the ground, so…let the countdown start…You are here with me, to see… the last 3 candidates.

  You are here with me to see

  SUICIDE GAME!

  The new game

  The new mania

  8000 candidates and now only 3!

  Only one will survive

  Only one can win!

  Live from the Night Stadium

  Nothing compares to what you'll see here

  Nothing compares to what you'll watch

  You have already chosen your candidate,

  You have Made your bet

  To be part of a

  New and unexpected game

  And Now, it is time to leave it all in the laps of the gods.

  Bianca, Anthony, The Scientist?

  Who is the one that will win the game?

  You have Made your bet

  To be part of a

  New and unexpected game

  Now it is time to leave it all in the laps of the gods

  And when the bell rings…it is time to jump…for your life!

  10…9…8…7…6…5…4…3…2…1!

  JUMP!’

  The three candidates jumped. Nobody died.

  The platform went down and up several times more.

  And after their eleventh jump together, all three were still survivors.

  The platform came up one time more, with the candidates and with Life in a Wire.

  The Hostess announced:

  ‘Let the countdown start again.

  Bianca, Anthony, The Scientist…who will win?

  Life in a Wire is here to play…while they jump! They will play while the candidates jump.

  A round of applause, please, for Life in a Wire and their new song ‘One way Road’. And a big round of applause, please, for the candidates!

  Life in a Wire started to play as the countdown started.

  Tired after so many ups and downs on the platform of life, Bianca drowned into her own silence.

  The crowd, along with the whole public, cried now, by every one of their jumps. The public was emotional and out of themselves.

  Only the three candidates remained in the Game. The public realized after watching so many jumps with no dead candidates—but only in the few seconds while they jumped—that they didn’t want them to die.

  Then they quickly forgot that feeling, taken by the adrenaline of the Game.

  But for some small moments, the public realized…this:

  Now that they knew their faces, their voices, and parts of their story…the candidates weren’t just numbers and betting stubs.

  Bianca was watching the public and hearing the Hostess’ voice. Also, hearing Life in a Wire’s song, as would the voice be inside of her, too.

  ‘One way Road…One way Road

  It’s a one way road and I’m in the wrong direction

  All comes over me, and I don’t pay attention

  It’s a one-way road and I’m in the wrong direction

  All comes over me, and I don’t pay attention

  And I say NO! To all could be and never was

  And I say NO! To everything that hurts me

  And I say NO! To the pain and past I have

  And I say NO! You will never touch me again

  It’s a one-way road and I’m in the wrong direction

  All comes over me, and I don’t pay attention
/>   It’s a one-way road and I’m in the wrong direction

  All comes over me, and I don’t pay attention

  And I say NO! To all my broken dreams

  And I say NO! To the stupid world around me

  And I say NO! To every day I cried

  And I say NO! Ces’t la Vie! Carpe Diem! Veni Vidi Vici! Alea iacta est ! Lets do it!’

  The Hostess announced:

  ‘SUICIDE GAME!

  The new game

  The new mania

  8000 candidates and now only 3!

  Only one will survive

  Only one can win!

  Live from the Night Stadium

  Nothing compares to what you'll see here

  Nothing compares to what you'll watch

  You have already chosen your candidate,

  You have Made your bet

  To be part of a

  New and unexpected game

  Now it’s time to leave it all in the laps of the gods

  And when the bell rings…it is time to jump…for your life!

  10…9…8…7…6…5…4…3…2…1!

  Bianca! Anthony! The Scientist!

  JUMP!’

  The three candidates jumped.

  Bianca drowned herself inside the air.

  Immune to the cries around her.

  After a twenty-meter free fall, in front of six council members, Morris touched the computer screen in the command room.

  And Bianca’s wire broke.

  The public screamed.

  But Bianca, Bianca was immune to their cries.

  Immune to her own pain, she saw a starry sky opening in front of her.

  It was her turn.

  Her turn to be drawn inside the air and find the peace.

  Falling off the platform of life.

  Falling into a starry sky…crying, and falling.