by Cameron Jace
“Here it is,” Roger This says, looking up. “My beauty.”
It turns out Roger This was summoning a small flying toy plane with his joystick. It flies feebly and buzzes over our heads. Seriously, I have to get away from him too. This is an asylum I am in. Everyone here is crazy.
As I walk away from Roger This, a soldier shoots his toy plane.
The teens in front of me are getting aggressive when I try to push through. “The other way,” they say. “They want us to go the other way.”
I look behind, trying to stand on tiptoes to see what’s the other way. I can’t see anything. I just need to sneak past a couple of students to reach for the soldiers. I call for help, but no one hears me. I stretch my hand out and grab one soldier by his sleeve.
“My name is Decca, Sir,” I shout. “Please. I don’t belong here. It is a mistake. I forged my iAm results to attend the game on purpose. I wanted to find my best friend, Woo, who I believe is still alive, hiding in the Playa. I thought if I forged my results, I could save him. I was wrong. This is a mistake.”
The soldier looks closely at me, examining my body. I am spattered with mud all over, wearing Monster-branded running shoes. I don’t know how to explain this. Do I still look like a Seven?
Suddenly, I get hit in the face with another soldier’s rifle. The last thing I hear is: “If I had a zollar for every time I’ve heard that.”
As I am rolling back with no room for me to fall because of the density of the crowd, all I want to do is cry, but no tears come out. The warm liquid I feel on my cheeks must be my own blood from my nose. I don’t know if I am strong enough to go through with this.
I surrender to unconsciousness over someone’s shoulder.
If I sleep my day away, will I wake up and find everything solved?
I start dreaming… of Woo.
Woo looks at me with his peaceful, warrior face.
“Why are you doing this, Decca?” he asks me.
“You left, Woo. I am here all alone,” I say. “You’re my only friend in this world.”
“Why do you still think I am alive?”
“Because I remember you saying that if worst comes to worst, all you have to do is not report that you’re alive in the iAm. You said you can fool them into thinking you’re dead.”
“But you saw my blood on Carnivore when he killed me on TV.”
“But they never found your body.”
“Carnivore could have only left my bones after he finished me. Also, some predators literary eat everything including the bones because bone marrow is nutritious.”
“I have a feeling you’re still alive.”
“Maybe it’s a delusion, Decca. A figment of your imagination. Something to live with since you can’t comprehend that I am dead. You know that it is impossible to survive in the Playa after the games. It stays abandoned and surrounded by soldiers all year long. There is no food, no water, and no way out of it.”
“I know. But my heart tells me I’ll find you.”
Woo smiles faintly at me. “Okay. If you’re going to do this, you’ll have to go all the way. You are no quitter,” he says in his low calm voice. “If this is the path you choose, and you trust your heart, you have to believe that there is a reason for this. You will pass through this. Remember everything I taught you.”
“This is a dream,” I say to him. “All you have taught me is just a dream. No one ever survived the Monster Show. This is a killing game. What should I do?”
“You should always believe. Never,” he grits his teeth, “never,” I can see his tense grip, “not for one moment, should you give up. This is what makes you who you are. This is what makes you human, with no need for a number. I believe in you, Tender.”
Then he fades away.
I want to tell him that he couldn’t survive the games himself. How does he expect me to?
He called me Tender. I love it when he does that. My name is Decca Tenderstone. Woo used to say he liked the Tender part in my name because he liked the Ten in Tender. He thought that I should have been a Ten.
I have to wake up and face the situation. I am not going to bail out. Let’s play the game.
When I wake up I am still on my feet, squeezed between the ones behind me and those in front of me.
Shoegirl is behind me, all smelly. She held me up so no one trampled me. I thank her.
“No time for that. Look at the screen. Prophet Xitler is announcing the games.”
I look up at the screen hung on one of the Zeppelins. I see his dirty face. Xitler.
“What a day today,” he says. “Every faction from Fives to Nines has increased tremendously from last year.” Everyone in the Zeppelins make their happy noises. “And the Monsters’ percentage has decreased from last year.”
Praise. Praise. Praise.
Down here, we, the little Monsters, are silent.
“The game that’s about to start isn’t just a game. We’re celebrating the dedication of our nation’s youngsters, to aspire to better things, to live a good life, and to grant our children an even better life. I salute all teens in the nation of the Faya,” he says proudly. “In the Burning Man we trust.”
I want to zip my ears with my hands.
“The games will remind the next year’s generation of how hard they can still work. It is not too late. One year can change your rank, if you work hard and follow the rules.” He drinks a sip of something from what looks like a huge grail and then clears his throat. The sound resonates in the microphones. “I know there are those unfortunates who have been Monstered because of diseases they could not do anything about. But that will remind every father and mother to do whatever it takes to bring us healthy children into the world. Bring them healthy or don’t bring them at all. Some sacrifices have to be made to reach Utopia.”
Prophet Xitler signals to the soldiers who push us aggressively as if we were hordes of sheep. I don’t know where we’re going.
Then the unthinkable starts to happen.
The ranked people from the Zeppelins throw everything they can at us, calling us bad names. One kid calls me a muggle. I don’t know what that means. It doesn’t sound like a bad word to me. But they are enjoying this. They are brainwashed, thinking we are the enemy, thinking that the likes of us destroyed the Amerikaz. They hit us with tomatoes, napkins, and bubblegum. I shield my head with my hands. Still, I get one tomato splashed in my face.
Tomato, blood, and mud. Surprise me! Can’t you hit me with something white for once? Just an hour ago I was showered with flowers and presents.
“Because it’s the tenth game I have a surprise for you,” Prophet Xitler announces. “We have a guest Monster in the games. Actually, he is a volunteer who betrayed the Summit years ago. After being banned for four years outside the Burning Man, he’s come back asking for forgiveness. He was a Nine. What a shame. Now he wants to repent. You know what that means. Right?” Prophet Xitler laughs. “He will have to attend the games like any other Monster as punishment for being unappreciative. If he survives, he’ll be forgiven though. This is the first time ever that the games have been attended by a Nine.”
The audience in the Zeppelins is excited out of their brainwashed minds.
The camera pans to the boy Xitler is pointing at.
It’s Leo.
Chapter 6
The Trickster
Leo is standing, showing his tense sealed lips, in front of the Playa’s entrance. The Battlefield is dug twenty feet below ground level. You can still see the upper parts of the fancy rollercoasters and the domes and so many other colorful features from up here. In another world, you would think this must be a great place for having fun, not a place to kill kids.
“Wow,” Roger This says, standing a couple of rows behind me. “The Battlefield looks awesome.”
Leo must be somewhere in front of me. The audience goes crazy when they see him, especially the girls.
“Yes. A Monster!” the older boys in the audience say. “For be
traying us. Redeem yourself. Survive the games.”
“This is going to be entertaining.” Xitler chuckles. Bringing a Nine to the show promises more excitement and viewership all around the world. It means more money.
I should approach Leo. He is the only one I know from before the Rankings. Not that I really know him – and for some reason, he wants me to stay away from him. But it feels better seeing someone I met before being outranked. He is also a Nine, so he might be helpful.
Teenagers are screaming in front of me. I can’t see why. The audience continues throwing things at us. “We shall start our games,” says Xitler. “And what a game we shall have this year. For the first time in nine years, we have a new Trickster.” Xitler opens his arms. The audience hails. “May I present to you this year’s Trickster…” Prophet Xitler raises his hands in the air like a magician, proud of his latest trick. He is holding a long snake-shaped cane in one of his hands.
The Trickster is what we call the host of the Monster Show. Caleb Crux was the Trickster for many years, but he was getting old. The younger audience asked for someone their age to host the games. Prophet Xitler liked the idea of the Trickster being a sixteen-year-old.
“Did you know that the Trickster is chosen by the iAm?” Roger This educates me. “It is said the iAm identifies someone as a Trickster, like game designers find a bug in a computer game. You know when the game you purchased has a bug preventing you from playing it properly? Somehow, the same thing goes for humans. The Trickster is the bug in the game.”
“You mean the new Trickster is going to be mentally unstable?” I ask.
“They put it this way: a genius who is mentally unstable. Whatever that means,” says Roger This. “He has to be cruel but funny to entertain the audience, like a joker in a king’s palace. He is the direct link between the Monsters, the audience, and the Summit, and he’ll be extremely motivated to make us suffer since his rank depends on it.”
I live in a world where you get outranked because of bad grades or genes, and become a Trickster if you are mentally unstable, since you’ll be considered useful.
“Please welcome our new Trickster,” says Xitler. “Timothy Rabbit.”
It’s Timmy!
Chapter 7
Speed Exploding School Bus
I see Timmy on the screen.
“Wazzup, Faya?” Timmy smirks on the screen in a head shot. His nose is long and too close to the camera. His eyes glitter with evil ideas and a touch of mascara. His lips are lipstick-red, and his face is covered in silver glitter. He looks like a total loon. He is a loon. Actually, the role suits him perfectly.
The audience welcomes the Trickster.
“In the name of the Burning Man, let the games begin,” Timmy screams. His squeaky voice is like that of a small lab mouse, trying to be as big as an elephant. “Play and die!” he follows up. “We’re starting with a couple of warm-ups to eliminate as many Monsters as possible,” the Trickster explains. “You know there is no fun in tracking three thousand Monsters.” He laughs like a mouse again, as if his head is buzzing with electricity.
“Dear clownies — Oh — I mean Bad Kidz. Argghh. I mean little Monsters.” Now he is talking to us. “May I call you Monsters?” He smirks again, and the audience laugh. “I hope you know the rules. We’re tracking you by your iAms. We use it to make sure you do attend the games when announced. Even though this was not allowed, we’ve changed the rules a bit this year. You can certainly use it if you want to contact us or your families, but only with our permission, which will be granted according to how well you play your game.” He rests his palms on a podium and grins.
“The games are deadly. That is the point of it. We want you to die. But we don’t want you to die fast. The slower, the more entertaining.” He licks his lips. “You’re allowed to use any strategy that’ll keep ya alive—” He stops again and acts as if thinking, putting his index finger on his lips and staring upward. “— as long as possible, of course,” he adds, winking at the audience. The audience wink back at him, and nod to each other about how cool Timmy is.
“After every challenge, you have to push that red button on your iAm and scream as loud as you can. I repeat. As loud as you can. You know what to say of course.” He puts his hands behind his ears, pretending to be listening to the audience.
“I AM ALIVE,” the viewers say in one breath that rocks the ground underneath us. This is the rule of the game. You have to report repeatedly that you are alive, after every challenge, and sometimes when they ask you to.
“The game only ends,” Timmy explains, “when there is no one left to scream ‘I am alive’ anymore, or if you survive for the next three days, long enough to be worthy of meeting the legendary Carnivore as your last challenge. If you beat Carnivore, you’ll be the first to ever do it.” Timmy knots his face and claws his hands against the screen, imitating an angry tiger. The audience gets crazy in a way I have never seen before. They love the Carnivore, the genetically mutated white tiger.
“The record for the most time ever survived is three days. That was one year ago. Only the sucker — urgh, I mean the Monster — died in the very last game at the paws of the vicious Carnivore. That Monster’s name was…” Timmy fumbles through some papers. “Ah — here it is. His name is Woo. I mean was Woo. Because Woo, after meeting Carnivore, has gone whoooo, woof with the wind.” The audience laugh. I grit my teeth and swallow my anger. You never make fun of Woo in front of me, but how am I going to kick all those viewers’ asses? “Who names his son Woo anyway?” Timmy adds absently as if he is talking to me precisely. Timmy used to pretend Woo was his idol a year ago.
The camera shows a cartoon of Timmy running in a field, wearing sneakers. He is sweating. When he stops to take a breath, he wipes his sweat away and says, “Whoo.” The audience laugh more and more. I feel helpless, unable to stop the world from laughing at Woo, my best friend. “Oh — that was how his mother came up with the name,” Timmy says, showing his claws like the paws of a tiger again. So repetitive.
“Let’s see if you can do better,” Timmy says to us. “Let’s see if we have a Six coming out of the Monsters for the first time. Or better, maybe the audience will vote for you to become a Nine! Or maybe a Ten!” The audience boos at him for mentioning a Ten. No one’s ever a Ten. “All right. All right. I know there is no Ten. I just want to encourage them. That’s all,” says Timmy. “And remember, Monsteries and Monsterellas, you have the right to remain silent because anything you say or do will not even be considered in the court of bfweeert.” He makes the sound of a fart with his mouth.
Suddenly, someone squeezes my hand.
It’s Leo with his sealed lips, still not saying a word. I don’t expect him to talk. He is pushing me forward against my will. Where is he taking me?
“We’ll start with a brand new opening game the likes of ehich you have never seen before. The SEBS game,” announces Timmy. The audience is excited and happy. What is a SEBS game? I wonder. This was never played before. What is going on? Are they changing the games this year. “For those of you across the seas who might be watching for the first time and don’t know what the SEBS is, it’s the Speed Exploding School Bus game. And yes. This year the games are all fresh and new. The things you will see, you will not believe your eyes,” Everyone is extra-excited. I don’t bother correcting him that the abbreviation should be SESB, not SEBS. All I can think about is that I am toast. Toast! All my plans went out the window. Why would they change the games this year? I am not prepared for this. “We all wanted to blow up our school bus so we could sleep the day away when we were kids, didn’t we?” he adds cheerily.
I try to listen to Timmy as he explains the game but the noises around me prevent me from hearing clearly. Also being pulled against the crowd by Leo is very distracting.
“Did you hear the rules of the game?” I ask Leo. He doesn’t reply of course, dragging me behind him and pushing everyone aside. “What is the Speed Exploding School Bus?” I ask the t
eenagers around me. No answers me. Didn’t anyone hear the rules of the damn game? “It’s a nine-minute-long game where we race on every vehicle possible,” another girls explains. Thank God someone listened to Timmy’s words. “We’re not allowed to drive or ride a vehicle slower than fifty miles per hour. We have to survive for nine minutes at that speed. The first ride is on a school bus that explodes after only three minutes. The last six minutes, you have to figure out for yourself. Anything you ride with a fifty-miles-per-hour speed will explode after three minutes, so you have to prepare your next ride beforehand. Nine minutes, three rides, never under fifty miles per hour.”
As I am dragged along, not fully understanding what she just said, I ask someone else, “Did you here the instruction? What will you do? You have any idea how to survive this?”
The girl smirks. “As if I am going to tell you. Huh?”
I see a ramp sloping down into Dizny Battlefieldz, I mean the Playa. It is very steep and it’s the one and only entrance to the Playa. There is no way we can climb up again. The Playa was built that way to make it harder for Monsters trying to escape. At the bottom of the ramp, I can see tons of yellow school buses lined up, the ones we will have to drive fifty miles per hour for three minutes before we explode.
Leo isn’t dragging me toward the slope. We are walking diagonal to it. Oh my God. We are walking toward a soldier standing in front of his Jeep close to the starting point of the descending ramp.
“Where are you taking me?” I try to free myself from Leo’s firm grip but he is too strong. I hate feeling weak.
