All or Nothing

by Stuart Keane

  The man turned around. He looked straight at her with a quizzical look on his face. Kathryn froze, unmoving. The man didn’t move either. This was the man she had glimpsed in the window all those hours ago, Kathryn realised. To break the stalemate, she held her arms up.

  “It’s okay, I’m not here to hurt you,” she called out.

  Then he pulled a gun from his inside pocket. He pointed it straight towards Kathryn. She flinched and closed her eyes, keeping her hands held high as fear flooded into her veins. Then he lowered the gun. After a second Kathryn opened her eyes and saw the man put his weapon away. He turned back to a box of papers behind him.

  “I know you’re not,” he replied. “I saw you earlier with those guys. You did well to get away from them. You got lucky, though.”

  Kathryn lowered her arms. “What do you mean, lucky? They were terrible shots. If they were any good, I would have been killed.”

  “No. They are good. They missed on purpose. I once saw that Russian guy kill a man by throwing a knife from fifty yards away - and he had his eyes closed at the time. Trust me, if they’d wanted you dead, you would be.”

  Kathryn stood silent. She watched the man go about his business. He was rifling through a box of papers. She wasn’t sure what he was searching for. “What do you mean, they are good?”

  The man turned to face Kathryn. “They are trained soldiers - well, former soldiers. Ex-military. Cliché, huh?”

  Kathryn was confused. “Why are ex-military people pursuing me? I haven’t done anything remotely illegal - well, not that I am aware of. Surely the police would be more suited to a normal crime.”

  Her new acquaintance smirked. “You haven’t done anything wrong. Trust me, if they’d wanted you dead, you would be. I can’t make it any clearer. You’re not here for any kind of normal reason. It’s hard to explain.” He turned back to his box.

  “Then why didn’t they just kill me? Don’t get me wrong, I’m grateful they missed, but why continue pursuing me? What is the point of that?”

  “For sport. Don’t you get it, Kathryn? You’re the prey, and they are the hunters. It’s not as entertaining for all involved if they offed you at the first opportunity. People want to see drama and action. And at the moment, to give you your due, you are giving it to them. I must say, I’m impressed.”

  Kathryn’s eyes widened in horror. “How do you know my name?”

  The man turned back to Kathryn and smiled for the first time. “Not now…we will get to that. For the record, my name is Iain. Now, Kathryn, I expected someone with your street credentials to at least have some idea as to what is happening here. You must know what’s going on. Are you telling me you haven’t figured it out?”

  Kathryn thought about it for a second. How did this guy know her name? What was he talking about? Then it came to her, the realisation struck her like a steam train. She had been correct all along. Her chest started to tighten. She felt sweat on her brow.

  “You mean to say that this is all a game? But it’s impossible. There is no way—”

  Iain smiled again. “Ah but there is, Kathryn.”

  She cut him off. “How do you know my name? You’d better tell me.”

  He sighed. “We will get to that. But first I need to tell you this, for all I know we don’t have much time. Now please listen. There’s a way out of this, there always is. You are a pawn in one of the most lucrative, secretive pastimes in the entire world. In a way, you are lucky, as not many get chosen. You are a player in The Game. Quite simply named because it’s straight to the point and easy to remember. Four people take part every five years. These people are called The Chronicles. In order to play, you have to possess vast resources, wealth and ego. A position of power is preferred for The Company to have some control over your fate. The prize for winning it is the ultimate prize. You become a member of The Company. The advantages of that are beyond imagination. If you lose, however, The Company decide your fate and you have to accept it. This is Rule One of The Game. ‘All or Nothing’ is what they call it. You play, so you have to live with the consequences should you lose. And The Company can choose whatever fate they wish.”

  Kathryn shook her head. “That’s insane. Surely this sort of thing can’t be possible? In this day and age, the internet would surely have details about it. Or the government? Or the police?”

  “Oh trust me, they do know about it. Who do you think takes part? Last time around, an unnamed vice president took part and lost in dramatic fashion. I heard The Company made him undergo a sex change or risk losing his fortune. He now lives his life as Maria in South Africa — that’s what I heard anyway. I have read stories about high ranking government officials playing the game for shits and giggles. There was even a weak rumour that Bill Gates started the whole damn thing, but that isn’t true.”

  Kathryn laughed. “Seriously? How do you know he didn’t?”

  The man smiled. “Well for one, The Chronicles use Mac computers, not PCs! But I’m getting off track. No, the people who take part ARE the internet, the government, and the police. They are also from banks and financial institutions and might be self-made millionaires and lottery winners. Last time around, there was a fashion model who took part. If your purse is big enough you are eligible – as long as you can accept the price for losing.”

  Kathryn was stunned. She tried to comprehend the idea. The unfathomable truth was huge. Was this really happening in the world? She knew that corruption existed in all stratas of society, but something this colossal could cripple the rich and powerful movers and shakers of the world if it ever got out. The unlimited resources of the contestants explained so much: the doppelganger building, the attention to detail, the way no expense was spared. If billionaires played this game, recreating a slice of someone’s life was peanuts to them. They created realistic stage sets for the movies all the time. She stared at Iain, who lifted a file from his box. He folded a piece of paper and put it in his pocket. He noticed Kathryn staring at him.

  “So how did you figure it out? Many wouldn’t have.” Iain continued playing with the files.

  Kathryn swallowed. “I…erm, this building, the interior anyway. This is an identical copy of where I work. It sounds daft, but my desk didn’t have all of its custom features. I didn’t believe that recreating my own office was possible or practical, though, I mean, who has the power to do this?”

  “You don’t want to know. Some of the biggest household names siphon money into The Game. It’s a lot more connected to the establishment of the country than one would think.”

  Kathryn said nothing. The idea was still too vast to comprehend; as was the impossibility of all this. Iain stopped playing with the files and looked at her. He sighed. “I’m sorry. In response to your question, I know your name for one reason only. I nearly picked you in the past. You have quite an impressive resumé, I must admit. In hindsight, maybe I should have picked you. You have been on their radar for several years now.”

  Kathryn stared at the man, dumbfounded. “You mean…?”

  “That’s right, Kathryn. I was one of The Chronicles five years ago.”

  ***

  Bravo had to slap himself in the face. For several hours he’d been consuming alcohol. His vision had started to blur.

  After causing the system malfunction by spilling his drink across the keyboard, the drinking spiralled out of control. Going ‘all in’ was something he was never prepared to do as a rule, but, as fate had decreed, he had done it anyway. Now his game plan was a disaster. Unless his Choice got extremely lucky or developed machine guns in her fingertips, there was no way she could survive two phases at the same time. He knew it. His competitors probably knew it too. But he kept his hopes up; there were always stories of the underdog coming out on top, sometimes against impossible odds. So Bravo had been trying to convince himself of this regularly, living in hope that the underdog would prevail and keep him in contention.

  Until his Choice ran into Kappa.

  Kappa w
as a player from five years ago. He was a runner-up. On reading the cliff notes from that year, Kappa had made a deal with The Company. If he kept his life intact for five years, with no changes and no hassle, he would repay them by participating in The Game on its return. The Company had agreed. Never before had a Chronicle been part of a previous Game, let alone voluntarily. For them, it was a big deal. Their sponsorship would go through the roof. Bravo had read about it and it was revealed that Kappa would be one of the Phases, randomly drawn for one of the Chronicles during the game. Like a wildcard, so to speak. Depending on how they played the game, Kappa would either be of assistance or a hindrance. Bravo knew, deep down, that Kappa was in his game to help his Choice because of him going ‘all in’. He just needed to confirm it.

  Bravo, not skimping on research, had also read that Kappa’s wife had died during his original stint in The Game. Rule number four stated that no contact was to be made to the outside world whilst competing. When Kappa had returned home, his wife’s body was found in his home. The cause of death has been an overdose, self-inflicted, according to the report. A deadly cocktail of drugs and booze had killed her. In her high, she called her husband to vent her anger. She had been found with the phone in her hand. The last number dialled was his mobile phone, which had been turned off for a whole week. She had no family or friends to call, only her absent husband. It seemed that Kappa’s luxurious lifestyle couldn’t afford friends. As a consequence Kappa had gone into meltdown. And then they’d heard nothing from him for five years.

  Until he had emerged in The Game.

  Kappa had no choice. The Company could make his life a misery if he reneged on his agreement with them. Thus, he was in The Game.

  He was in Bravo’s game.

  Which meant he had lost.

  Bravo emptied his glass.

  The Company would ruin him. They would take everything. Going ‘all in’ was reserved for confident players. Something which he was not. The Company would punish him for this. He didn’t want to think of the consequences. He opened the drawer in his desk and pulled out his Magnum. An incredibly powerful gun reserved for real men. Each high-powered bullet was enough to remove someone’s head in one shot. Dirty Harry endorsed it. That was enough for him.

  Listen to Eastwood. That’s what his father had once said to him.

  Your father would be ashamed, he thought to himself. You aren’t a real man. A real man would face up to his errors and learn from them.

  Without hesitation, Bravo placed the barrel in his mouth. He pulled back the hammer.

  An image of his father’s face appeared before his eyes. In glimpses and segments. A tear came to his eye.

  BAM!

  Bravo was dead before the top of his skull splattered against the ceiling. Blood erupted from his mouth in torrents. His eyes rolled back into head. Blood started to pour down his face, running over his mouth and eyes and nose. Smoke billowed from his nostrils. The gun fell to the floor. Bravo leaned forward as his balance shifted. His lifeless body toppled out of his revolving chair, hitting the carpet with a soft thud. The chair spun for a few seconds and then came to rest. Then all was still.

  On the screen, Boyd and Genghis neared Kathryn’s position.

  TWENTY-FIVE

  Rupert was drifting in and out of consciousness. There was something that felt like a white-hot ball of fire within his brain, behind his nose and eyes. He realised that his nose was broken and a piece of the bone was poking back into the soft tissue of his face. He had to breathe through his mouth, as his nose was blocked, probably with blood. The pain was horrendous. Whenever he moved, his head caught fire and explosive pain coursed through his body. It rendered him useless. He feared moving. The feeling wouldn’t subside and tears streamed down his face. His head felt numb but painful at the same time, totally disorientating.

  “I really made a fucking mess of you, didn’t I?”

  Gunnar was squatting down in front of Rupert. He was observing the mess he had made. His victim’s face had swollen in several places. His nose was blue and red, and bone was sticking out of it. His left eye was closed, and his right was following suit. Blood had congealed in his nostrils. Rupert moved as if he could still see, but the pain had dulled all of his senses.

  Gunnar knew from experience that Rupert was in agony, his body was moments from the drastic effects of shock, adrenaline was pumped around his body in a vain attempt to keep him awake. Gunnar smiled. He stood up, fetched a bucket of water and threw its contents over Rupert. The semi-comatose man bounced in the chair, shocked awake. He moaned quietly, very close to his torturer. Gunnar realised that he needed Rupert to stay alive in order to proceed with his mission.

  Gunnar moved in and gripped Rupert’s nose. Finding the broken bone, he squeezed hard. Rupert screamed in his agony as Gunnar snapped the broken bone back into place. There was a sickening crack as the bone clicked home. Gunnar withdrew and stepped back, wiping his bloodied fingers on Rupert’s leg. Before he turned away and returned to his weapons.

  Rupert opened his right eye and saw Gunnar walk away. He remembered hearing the name shouted down the phone as he drifted in and out of consciousness. He hadn’t let on that he’d heard this for fear of the consequences. The water had shocked him, but it had eased the pain on his face a little. His head had almost exploded when Gunnar had tweaked his broken nose bone back into place. Miraculously, the pain was subsiding to an ache now that the bone had been realigned. Rupert knew he had to let the pain ease away before doing anything. In his condition he had to take his time and be careful. To survive this ordeal would require patience.

  “Rupert – sorry, Reverend Shaw. It’s your lucky day.”

  Rupert almost smiled. Maybe he was going to be released? Had Gunnar had a change of heart?

  “Yes, it’s your lucky day. My boss wants me to take my time with you. So I’ve selected five weapons. I will use each one in turn, for a variety of things. You get to watch. So yes, you’re lucky. Many people don’t get to witness my work. You will be one of the few that do.”

  Rupert flinched and looked at Gunnar.

  The ex-cleric never wanted to hurt a soul in his life, but right now, he wanted a great deal of harm to come to Gunnar. Whether by his own hand or someone else’s, he wanted this man to pay. What gave him the right to do this to another human being? Rupert felt the vehemence boiling inside him. Gunnar continued playing with his weapons. The injured man steadied himself in the chair. He would’ve liked to wait longer, but he had no choice. Within a few minutes, Gunnar was going to attack Rupert with any weapon of his choosing and torture him. He would somehow have to fight through the pain.

  Summoning all of his courage, Rupert tensed in his chair.

  Gunnar stood up and turned around. His body was slick with sweat. It shone like a slimy beacon below the ceiling light. In his hand was a cruel-looking knife. It was horribly sharp, and the blade seemed to resonate with fear, its tip curving into a vicious point. Rupert had never seen such a knife before. He couldn’t take his eyes off of it.

  Gunnar noticed his curiosity and smiled. “You like this one, do you? Trust me, this knife has performed and seen things that would make your nose bleed. The irony is, despite my extensive travelling and tours around the world, I bought this knife in a standard Costco. That’s right, I bought it from a fucking department store. Honestly, this country and its crazy laws. You can’t own a gun but you can buy a knife - a wicked one at that - with minimal fuss.”

  Gunnar twirled the knife with expert precision. It flashed between his fingers with ease. The blade glinted with menace. Rupert flinched, aware that Gunnar wasn’t the most predictable person in the world. He pushed himself down into the chair and asked, “What are you going to do to me?”

  The knifeman laughed. “Wrong question, mate, what am I not going to do to you. It’s going to be a long night for a certain Reverend Shaw. Captain’s orders and all that.”

  Rupert cleared his throat and spat a wad of blood onto the
floor. “Why do you call me Reverend Shaw? If you know so much about me, you know I’m not a Reverend anymore. So please, will you stop referring to me as something I’m not.”

  Gunnar smiled. “Sounds like God’s favourite son has a stick up his arse.”

  The sadist stepped close, stopping a few feet away from the hapless ex-cleric.

  Rupert looked up at him through his right eye. Despite his vision being incomplete he could still see his tormentor clearly. He breathed out. Water, saliva and sweat bubbled from his lips.

  Gunnar crouched. “You listen here. I’ll call you whatever the fuck I want to call you. You have no authority here and it would be in your best interests for you to realise just how much shit you’re in, you got that?”

  Rupert said nothing. He simply stared at Gunnar. The smile disappeared from the other man’s face. He stood up and stepped towards Rupert. Rupert didn’t move. Gunnar smiled. “Think you’re fucking brave, do you?”

  Gunnar lifted the knife and slashed the ropes binding Rupert’s feet to the floor. Then he cut the ropes tying his hands to the chair. Rupert was free. Gunnar stepped in front of him. At first, Rupert thought this was a game and he was unsure how to react. Gunnar backed off and stood with his arms crossed. Rupert stood up, swaying with weakness. Gunnar placed the knife on the table beside him. Gunnar beckoned Rupert to stand up properly and fight.

  “Here is the deal, Rupert Shaw. Or Reverend Arsehole, or whatever your name is. If you can get past me, you have free rein of my weapons. But if you can’t, well, then I win. And trust me, you don’t want that to happen.”

  Rupert said nothing. He considered the situation carefully. He knew the odds were impossible. Even if he did get past Gunnar, the other man could snap his neck in a second. It was clear Gunnar was a trained killer. Rupert had another disadvantage: he knew absolutely nothing about Gunnar bar his name and his fetish for walking around naked. If Gunnar was in the forces, as he’d implied, he could kill Rupert with his bare hands: he wouldn’t need weapons. Rupert stood firm. He was free, that was a huge bonus. He wasn’t stupid enough to think he had a chance, though.