by Jade White
There were no interviews on national television, but he knew everyone else knew more about them than he did. He had seen their faces; some looked extremely young. Were all of them actually werebeings? Their pictures looked so normal.
First, find water, he told himself. Find clean water. The last thing he wanted was to get diarrhea and for it to be aired all over the United States. And there are millions of people watching us, maybe billions.
He had been given a single tool, a pocket knife, to survive. He wondered what the others had… no, it wasn’t the time for that; what was important was that he had to survive.
When you’re pitted against other werebeings in an unfamiliar terrain, the animal in you comes out, the female doctor’s voice echoed in his mind.
Yes, the animal in him had resurfaced after years of suppression. The United States was excited a new player had come along, a werebeing that was as rare as they came. The news that there was a new werebear had been sensationalized. Everyone was enthralled, as most had never seen a werebear shift on live television, let alone seen an actual werebear. There were grainy images from the last WereGames, along with grainy footage, and that was it.
He wondered if the girl was included in the games; if she was, she was dead meat as soon as she stepped out of wherever she was hiding. She didn’t seem like a fighter to him, and he couldn’t even tell what werebeing she was…
He heard strange birds chirp. He had heard about the stadiums, about how they were perfected to the last detail, to transport the competitors and the viewers to a world that many had never been to. There were forests, and Amazonian type jungles, and deserts, and tropical islands, even swamps -- they came up with many worlds, worlds that kept the viewers glued, as much as the players were glued to keeping their lives intact.
Ryker stopped to see where he was. He was standing on top of a hill, dense with vegetation and moss hanging from the trees. He saw a tiny clearing in the leaves and looked. It was a vast place, and he saw more green, as far as his eyes could see. There was no one within sight. Everyone had perhaps gone into hiding.
Tomorrow, he knew, the real bloodbath would begin. Water, that’s right, water. Where moss grew, water was sure to be close by, he thought, trying to remember the survival skills he had used as a little boy, living alone in the wilderness of Oregon. Sleep somewhere inconspicuous, if sleep was even possible. He had made sure of sleep and proper meals while he was inside the facility.
He had accepted his fate by then and knew the only way out was to win. Everyone wanted to win, and he had an inkling that most of the competitors had been enhanced in the facility. He tried to find out what he could about the last Werebear that had joined the games. It was said he had died in an experiment, among many, that he had suffered for years after winning. There were also articles and news reports that he was living the life, with homes and jets and money at his disposal. It was all part of government marketing.
Was he going to be a part of that? Or was he actually going to enjoy immunity and respect from his fellow man? He wasn’t sure if he was going to make it, but he sure as hell would kill if need be. He was already a killer, even before the games, but there was something about killing a fellow werebeing, a fellow mutant, that made him not want to be one.
He walked, stumbling awkwardly on slippery rocks. Then he came across a crevice, where a trickle of fresh water flowed. He breathed a sigh of relief. At least that was easy, wasn’t it? He had nowhere to store water and decided this would be where he would spend the night, somewhere close by.
Ryker found a small cave above the water, just enough for him to lie in, and he hoped he wouldn’t be caught in the uncompromising position of sleeping, if ever.
Note to self, never pee without knowing where you are, he told himself. He wondered where the cameras were. How on earth could they monitor everyone on such a large playground? Of course, it was a playground; it was the public’s playground, and they enjoyed the morbidity and mortality which came with it, at the werebeing population’s expense.
How many of us are left?
They weren’t known to be fast breeders. In fact, children from werebeings could actually end up as normal humans. The majority of them were sterile, whatever subtype of werebeing they were. The government exploited that fact, using the younger generation to fight to the death.
There was nothing they could do. Mandatory registration had finally begun, and there was no escaping it. From birth, every child was to be tested for a strain of the werebeing genome, something that defied privacy.
He had wanted it to stop, had toyed with the idea of destroying the government, of killing the dictator everyone loved. Wait, not everyone; he didn’t even respect the man. There was a rage in him, a quiet rage which only surfaced when he was contracted to take care of certain things for Mr. Toretti. A thrill coursed through him whenever he thought this person or that loan shark deserved his harsh judgment.
Ryker hadn’t had time to survey the area, so he decided he would stay put for the day. The sun had set, and Ryker couldn’t tell if it was fake or not. Stars littered the sky, and he could hear the faint chirping of crickets, and somewhere, something growled. He knew he wouldn’t get good enough sleep, so he decided to take short naps.
Tomorrow was going to be a long, long day.
*
He had eaten berries, ones he knew weren’t poison. He was glad his father and mother had taught him how to survive, Native American Indian style. He had almost thought he was one, even. The skills he had been taught had helped him survive the wilderness for six months, until he had found a lovely, geriatric couple who had taken him in and then sent him on his way to the bigger city with their meager savings, just so he could start anew.
Ryker was forever grateful, and in his quiet moments, he wondered if they were still alive. He couldn’t bear to love them like he had loved his mother and father, but they had understood what he was and had kept him clothed and fed until he had decided he had to leave for their safety. He had wanted to repay the favor, but he wanted them safe for as long as possible.
There was only death with him around; no matter who showed kindness to him, they were bound to die. Being in the WereGames meant it was a free for all, a chance at redemption in the eyes of the human public. It was no wonder that some werebeings hid as much as they could; only someone who had an agenda would want to submit themselves to the government freely.
He hadn’t seen anyone since he had begun the trek from his little enclave. The air was humid, almost jungle-like, and the moment he woke up, he was sweating already. He took his dry-fit shirt off, rolled it up, and placed it in his back pocket. He had half a mind to take his pants off, but he hesitated, knowing cameras were everywhere.
The aim here was to find the thirteen other werebeings and kill them without mercy or hesitation. He couldn’t see himself doing that yet. These werebeings were still people, no matter what. He stopped walking, hearing something a hundred feet away. He knew he had been sensed, and he knew the person knew that he had heard him, too.
It smelled almost like a young man… Ryker had taken the liberty to take off his boots so he could walk in a quieter fashion. The leaves cushioned his feet from the rocks, and he was glad he had calloused soles. He smelled a fox.
Ryker began to inch toward the werebeing. Up ahead, he saw a boy of about twelve drinking water from a stream. It was a big mistake to be so near a highly noticeable source of water. The kid was going to be done for.
He shook his head, wondering how to make his next move. The kid had, by then, stopped noticing his surroundings, enjoying the fresh water. It would be so easy to kill him… Ryker cleared his throat from around twenty feet away.
The kid looked up, his eyes wide in fright. He began to shiver.
“Don’t shift,” Ryker told him in a quiet voice, “I won’t hurt you.” At least, not yet, I hope.
What was the use of forming alliances when they were still out to finish each other off in the end?
It always hurt to form a connection, no matter how brief. The sincerity made it hurt. The thought that kindness still existed made it hurt.
“What makes you so sure you won’t?” the kid whispered back, slowly looking around to see if anyone else had trapped them.
“I’m not in the mood to kill people younger than I am,” Ryker replied, taking another step forward.
“I’m not weak,” the kid said, almost angrily.
Ryker shook his head and gave a soft laugh. “I didn’t say you were. I just said I wasn’t in the mood to bash your brains out and then eat you.”
“You’re the werebear!” the boy suddenly gasped.
Ryker said nothing.
“You are the werebear, aren’t you?” he continued excitedly.
“You’re loud. The others will hear you,” Ryker told him.
“Can you shift?”
“No,” Ryker replied immediately. “What’s your name, kid?”
“X005,” he replied.
Ryker shook his head. “No, your real name.”
“I-” the boy stopped. He had a name; he was sure of it. But he had been holed up in that facility for so long, he had forgotten… “Just call me five.”
“Five,” Ryker repeated. “I’m Fourteen.” Numbers were better given as names this time.
“Great, now I know who I’m supposed to kill, or better yet, stay away from,” Five told him.
“Don’t stay too long in places like this,” Ryker told Five.
“Are you leaving me now?” Five asked incredulously.
Ryker nodded. “Just thought I’d warn you.”
“You can’t-” Five stopped, then nodded, realizing how needy and childish he seemed. “Well, may the best werebeing win,” he added with much aplomb. He held out his hand for a shake.
“Sorry, the scent just sticks,” Ryker said.
“Oh,” Five’s voice dropped, and so did his hand. “You’re right.”
“I hope you make it, Five,” Ryker said with a nod. Then he spun around and began to walk away.
“No, I hope you make it,” Five corrected him. He saw the werebear look back but say nothing. In those few moments of meeting the werebear, he found himself rooting for X014 to win. He had had glimpses of who the other werebeings were, having been in the facility for too long. Of course, they weren’t placed in the same testing areas to avoid bias, but he had seen a few and dreaded only one. He knew he had to move. Follow X014’s advice. He began to run.
Ryker nodded, hearing the kid had left the area. He had smelled someone else from miles away; he smelled human blood.
The games were simple to the viewers. Each participant had a tracker inserted in their wrists, and whoever tried to escape or deviate from the purpose of the games, were summarily executed with the tracker sending off nanonites into every area possible to make a spectacular explosion.
“Try not to make yourself explode,” a doctor told him before inserting the tracker. “These are more expensive than your life.”
They were nothing more than pawns. They were nothing more than a source of entertainment, controlled to the point of feeling and acting like pets for the government. Ryker had long decided he wouldn’t be theirs to own. Only one werebeing emerged victorious, replete with awards and accolades, and in spite of not wanting to kill anyone, he wanted to win, to be free, freer than most of the werebeings. The odds were stacked 50/50, and he was willing to stake the odds.
Five was a child, and as much as he didn’t want the kid to die, the kid wouldn’t last a week. He didn’t have the necessary skills to survive. He was no cutthroat. It wasn’t just a game of luck; Ryker knew the regime liked to raise the bar higher by adding their experiments into the mold.
Some werebeings had begun further genetic enhancement as children, groomed for the task of participating in the games. Every skill and characteristic of the werebeing was enhanced, and it was something Ryker knew could affect his chances. He hadn’t seen anyone else yet. The day was nearly over, and he had spent the whole time trekking, resting, and eating edible berries and nuts -- just like a damned bear.
He knew that the viewers were itching for him to transform. They had taken pictures of him at the facility, two days before the games. They even stopped testing on him, just to make sure he looked presentable for the cameras.
Ryker had seen her there again, paler than before, even if only a day had passed by. Their tables were closer to each other this time, and she hadn’t looked at him. Instead, she closed her eyes, breathing slowly, as if willing herself to fall asleep.
They were transferring her blood to his system. He watched as the tubes carried that sanguine fluid that was hers, flowing now into him. It was almost like a dialysis; it was as if she was being used to cleanse them. He saw the needle marks on the insides of her elbows, and he knew she had been at it for hours, even days. How could she afford to live like that, he wondered?
They took her away, and in less than thirty minutes, his broken bones began to heal, faster than he had ever healed. Broken bones took a day to heal, wounds took a couple of hours, but his wounds began to close as quickly as he breathed.
He marveled at it. Was she another werebeing? He saw the wristband, and all it said was A129. A129… her name didn’t leave his mind, even until the day of the games, and sometimes, her face resurfaced when he closed his eyes.
The sun began to set, and he knew he had to find shelter for the night. No one had died, it hadn’t been announced. The previous games had a display board that appeared on their wrists (from the implanted tracker), if ever anyone died.
They’re going to speed up the game, he thought. No one wants to watch a sluggish show…
He had spoken too soon. In a moment, his wrist radiated heat, and a holographic screen floated near his hand. He looked at it, hiding inside another crevice, careful to cover the luminescence.
There was a face; she was a little girl, probably no more than ten, with blonde hair. X008/Tara Santiago, it read. Underneath her name was her classification. Werefox. One down, twelve to go, he thought. Ryker couldn’t sleep. That was the first death in nearly two days, and the ball was rolling for manslaughter and bedlam.
What name was going to be on everyone else’s screens in case he died? Ryker Locklear? Or just plain Ryker? He couldn’t end up as X014… it would be a betrayal to his father and mother, who had so desperately wanted him to have a normal, happy childhood. They had wanted him to live. He closed his eyes, forcing himself to rest. Worrying was going to get him nowhere. He was going to make it out, one way or another, without exploding into pieces.
He heard the first drops of rain. That was not good. Rain meant it would be more difficult to sense the others nearby; it would make fighting and fending the others off a completely haphazard feat. The drops pattered loudly on the ground, against the rocks, and it slid down into the crevices. He found water dripping from the ceiling of his small lodging. The rain wasn’t going to let up anytime soon, and in less than ten minutes, his feet were soaked. He grabbed his boots, knowing he had to escape and get to higher ground.
“They’re doing this on purpose,” he told himself. “They want our numbers to dwindle down.”
The WereGames could go for as long as two weeks, and if the action wasn’t pleasing enough, the architects of the games took matters into their own hands. This was part of it already.
Ryker had no time to lose; he quickly got out of his little cave and began climbing up the rock formation. Lightning flashed across the sky. Was the sky even real? How could they control even the weather? Water rushed from the top of the formation, and before he knew it, Ryker was dangling thirty feet above the ground. He could hear the water rising, as fast as his adrenaline went.
This was not good. He was in no position to shift. Stay human, he told himself. To shift would mean difficulty getting to higher ground. He was a decent swimmer, but he wasn’t taking any chances. He winced, knowing he had sliced his palm open from one of the jutting rocks.
He looked down and saw the water rushing into the cave he was supposed to sleep in tonight.
It was a good call. He took a breath and continued climbing up, knowing the floods weren’t the only thing he had to face. It meant finding new shelter, in higher ground. Lightning was the only source of light in the area, and he was fighting against the weather and the opponents hiding in the darkness. He reached the top, and it seemed stable enough. His hands and feet were bleeding.
He surveyed the area as best he could, straining to see against the rain and the thickness of the forest. With another flash of lightning, he saw something move, a shadow among shadows. In less than a heartbeat, someone knocked him to the ground; his head whacked against the edge of the precipice. The attacker smelled like a wolf, and he certainly growled like one.
Whoever this was, he had shifted quickly, Ryker thought, groaning and getting up.
“Is this the werebear that everyone’s been anticipating?” the werewolf growled.
“Who the hell are you?” Ryker asked, flexing his shoulders. That hurt. It was no wonder why humans favored werebeings as soldiers. Still, he didn’t want to shift. He hadn’t shifted since the day he had been forced to shift… the werewolf circled around him, as if sizing him up.
“X009,” he grunted, standing well above Ryker’s six feet and two inches. The werewolf was black.
“No, your real name,” Ryker asked again.
“So you’ll know who’s going to kill you?” he breathed out, his nostrils moving heavily. The rain didn’t show any signs of stopping, and the lightning had become frequent. Strangely enough, there was no thunder. “Lee, Lee McAvoy.”
Lee. Yes, he had heard of Lee. He was an early favorite, according to the polls, and according to the facility workers who collected bets (illegally).
