The phone rings just as she brushes the comb through her hair. The lady pauses, comb hesitating, before she puts it down. The wood clinks softly against the marble counter. The room sheās in is small, quaint, and reminds one of a wood cabin. There is the scent of pine in the air, flowing out from the very core of the logs that her walls consist of. Only one wall is different, painted white with a mirror hung up for the lady, and from it, hangs the counter with many cosmetics. Multiple bottles of lip gloss and pencils of eye shadow are sorted neatly along the wall, as well as a few bottles of perfume running low. A round container of blush lies open next to the comb sheād set down, only a fine ring of powder left coating the edge.
Her delicate fingers brush against the smooth black surface of her landline phone placed beside her makeup, more of an antique in todays world. She listens to the automated voice as it starts rattling down the phone number in a nasally female voice. A familiar number, one she knows well. With a decisive movement, she grips the phone and lifts it to her ear, voice soft as she speaks.
āHello?ā
The response isnāt immediate. The voice that speaks up on the line is easily recognizable by tone. Her sisters words have a sort of loud yell to them, even when she speaks at a normal volume.
āThea! I thought youād never answer, my gosh.ā
The lady smiles a little hearing Eraās chatter, leaning back into her chair, remarking, āYeah, yeah, Iām here now though, right?ā
āI read that article last night,ā her sister interrupts, rolling over her remark with her own train of thought, āYou know, the interview you graced Hermes with. Friggin hilarious how youāre portrayed in there.ā
She chuckles at this, sighing, āOh, that one.ā
She picks up her lip gloss and twirls it with one hand, letting it rotate between her fingers as Era continues to speak.
āLike, āoh, Iām so devastated in this tragic world and all I wanted was peace blah blahā. I bet theyāre going to all be like, oh man, I feel sorry for her with her ten kids,ā Era jokes, voice dramatic as she mimics the opinions, āAs if that was ever a thought you had time for.ā
Thereās a sudden pause in Eraās rant. The lady tilts her head, listening to the soft white noise that comes with every call.
āEra?ā she asks quietly.
āYou knowā¦ Your room is still cluttered with all your science crap,ā her sister begins, a little quieter than before, āAnd we havenāt even begun sorting through your folders and blueprints. Iām looking at your shelf right now. What is this bundle of papers here on the floor even? With the go board on it?ā
She lights up hearing this, in the middle of pulling off the cap of her lipstick with her teeth. It comes off with a pop.
āThe measurements on gravity,ā she tells Era, putting the cap down.
āAnd then thereās of course whatever is in this giant ass red folder beside your desk,ā her sister continues, āWhatās this say? Orbital trajectories?ā
āOh my gosh, I forgot to put that back on the shelf,ā the lady realizes, leaning toward the mirror. Her long fingers let the lipstick glide smoothly over her lips, allowing two soft strokes to do the job. Leaning forward, she inspects her work in the mirror.
"Cassiel's been here the most, though. It's hard for everyone right now," Era continues. It's another flawless application of the lipstick. She has done this many times before, a familiar routine.
She speaks up, voice gentle as always.
"I miss you a-"
Beep beep. The lady flinches at the interruption, pressing her mouth shut again.
"Ah cricket. Sorry I have to go, otherwise-" beep beep "-we'll get charged extra."
A moment later, the line goes flat. She lowers the phone from her ear slowly, letting it click back into place on the table.
"I almost thought I wasted my time here," Robert jokes, voice a bit of a grumble as he makes no effort to sound funny. She giggles and he narrows his eyes a little.
"If you bring me a fishy, I'll give you food and water for the day," Nyx tells him, "That's todays quest. Take it or leave it, I don't care."
Seems easy enough. He should have taken the fish from the fishing game.
"I'll fetch you one," Robert agrees, getting up. She clasps her hands together.
"Great! Come back when you have it."
Robert leaves the tent, the flashing decorations, smells and street noises filling his senses once more. The whole world seems brighter out here than in the tent.
He shakes it off and leaves, backtracking in his steps. The fish stand should be somewhere around...
He knows he's close when the road changes back to gravel. There's the balloon stand. Robert glances at it briefly. The lights are still on, the balloons still hanging and purple confetti litters the floor inside. He trudges by.
"Hello!" the young boy from the stand a few meters away calls out. Robert waves back, approaching the fish stand.
"You're back already," the boy smiles, "wanna play?"
Robert shrugs, remarking, "I got a, what do you call it... quest. I need a fish and these came to mind. Can I borrow one?"
The kid looks down into the pool of fish swimming around, still seated on his three legged stool.
"Can you tell me about the other games if I let you? I only got this far, and no one ever comes back here, so it's kind of lonely."
"Ok," Robert agrees. He takes an empty box discarded at the back of the stall and seats himself. He clasps his hands and the boy edges closer with his stool, leaning forward in anticipation.
"What's your name?" Robert begins.
"Nicu. I'm Nicu and I'm eleven."
"Alright, Nicu. Further down this road, there are more stands. One stand had balloons, and you could shoot darts at them. I got one and purple confetti flew around us."
"Oh yes, I heard that. I never knew that the popping was balloons," Nicu thinks out loud. Robert nods.
"Yes. And then... and then," he hesitates, "then I continued down the road and found a shooting game, with the rifle I have here. After that, I went to a big tent, and there were candles lighting it up, and carpets laying out the floors. That's where a girl asked me for the fish."
"Wow," Nicu breathes, completely hooked on his every word, "That sounds so fun. It's like a game quest."
Robert only shrugs.
"I have to do what I have to do, just like you. Can we play the game now?"
Nicu's face falters a little when he hears the question.
"I'll give you one for free," he offers instead, before holding out his pinkie, "If you pinkie promise to come back and tell me about the tent."
Robert nods in agreement, interlocking fingers with a little smile.
"I promise."
The boy happily gets up from his stool, grabbing a plastic bag. He fills it with some water from the pool and rolls up the sleeves on his shirt, wrinkling the dinosaur bones printed on them.
With a delighted yelp, he plunges his hands into the pool coming up with a fish.
"I'm really good at this," he tells Robert as it flops into the bag. Standing upright again, he holds out the fish, pride beaming on his face.
"So you are," he agrees, receiving the gift. Robert gets up to leave, turning back one last time.
"I'll see you in the morning, ok?"
"Yess, I can't wait. Can you bring me a snack too? I'm really hungry."
He nods and leaves. Such a bright and quirky kid. What did he do to come here? He glances back. Nicu seems like a kid who doesn't need to know what goes on beyond the fishing spot. Then again... The image of their first meeting comes back to him. A duel between him and the kid. Robert shakes his head lightly, grounding himself in the crunch of gravel beneath his boots and the carousel music playing in his ears.
As he walks, he lifts the bag to examine it closer. The fish swims in a circle, quite healthy looking, the golden yellow pale scales glittering in the light the stands cast.
A watchful gaze rips his attention away from the fish and to his surroundings. There are a few people around now, unlike before. Two of them, two women, are stood by an empty stall right ahead, eyeing him and pushing off of the post. They position themselves expectantly as he approaches.
One crap after the next here, isn't it. He grips the shouldersling of his rifle a little tighter and there's a moment of them standing there.
Their gaze is fixated on the bag Robert holds, the one with the fish in it. The left woman is wearing a dirty white tank top, skinny jeans and pearly earrings. Smoke puffs out of her mouth, which still has a smidgen of rosy lipstick here and there, as she speaks, a cigar pinched between her long fingers. Her sharp hazel eyes are partly hidden by sunglasses tinted black, slick hair pulled to one side of her shoulder.
" A newbie," the woman points out, voice husky and low.
"Can I help you two?" Robert asks, voice kept polite.
"If I may offer, let's trade," she offers, puckering her lips to blow out a ring of smoke to the side, glance cast off to the side eyeing the rifle.
"Your fishy there for information on how this game works."
"Can we have a conversation like adults and not spew demands around? You're not a kid, are you?" Robert criticizes, eyes hard. Any guy who'd talk to him like that would be on the ground doing pushups by now. She clearly has not been anywhere close to a place like the military.
"Oh sorry, tough guy, but rules are everything here. As long as I know more, you better behave and give me that fish... And the rifle."
"Sorry, but if you won't even introduce yourself, I'm not going to do anything of that sort," he responds,, unslinging his rifle. The other womans hand immediately responds, moving into her hoodie pocket. She's got to have a gun or something of that sort. Gun beats rifle in this closer distance. Maybe it's a knife. He hadn't looked closely enough at the bulge.
The woman with the cigar scoffs, "Kill us will you? You do you that a rule for pvp exists, correct?"
"Kinda sucks for both of us then, if you really want to continue confronting me then," Robert answers calmly, focusing on loading the piece with two bullets. Not too shabby of quality either. It should definitely suffice for this distance.
"Alright, fine," the woman with the cigar huffs, voice tilting a little. She shakes off the ash from the butt with a flick of her fingers. The other woman pulls out her weapon that had been concealed. The blade glints in the light. Wait, a knife? Robert moves back instinctively as she lets it fly through the air with a twist of the wrist.
"What the fu-" Robert curses out loud as it brushes the plastic bag, ripping a little hole in it. The fish flies out with the swoosh of the water streaming out.
"Didn't you want the stupid thing?" He questions, irritation evident. Maybe a dead fish works too. One glance at the duo tells him that that was their trump card of sorts aswell. To be honest, the silent woman was quite a good shot for the distance between them.
"Don't worry, you're as good as dead now," the woman with the cigar laughs haughtily, "Thank you for your participation."
His mind races. What... Is something supposed to happen? They watch the fish flop around on the ground, all the water disappearing between the cracks of the gravel.
One moment passes. Another. The fish flip flops and the music plays. He watches them carefully as the cigar lady visibly swallows, licking her lips in growing anxiety.
"What...," the woman questions quietly, glancing around. Her eyes are frantic as she looks.
With two clicks his rifle he raises it, aiming right at them. With an instant, both of them freeze up a little.
"Wait," the second woman in hoodie speaks up for the first time, "We have a lot of tickets since we've been here from the start. If you know anything, I wouldn't shoot. I'm willing to talk."
"Why the frick are the guns not activating. The stupid fish is dead," the cigar woman mutters. He glances to where she's looking. The lasers set up all around the place stay still, and yet she still looks to them expectantly.
"Explain. Why did you want the fish? Am I supposed to have died?" Robert demands. Right when the quiet woman is about to speak again, the cigar woman interrupts, "Shut up, Ell, I swear. Look, just get yourself another fish. No harm done. Now..."
She's turns her feet, shoes giving away the intent with a crunch against the gravel.
"Halt!" Robert calls out, immediately lunging forward to stop the woman from fleeing. She, in turn, pushes 'Ell' in his way, and she collides with him with a yelp.
Her voice is light. It reminds him of an ai voice, with the way her tone shifts upwards in her question, along with the long pauses in between sentence segments. Robert steps in, letting the curtain that had been draped over the entrance fall back into place behind him. The sounds from outside muffle immediately, leaving only the relaxing tunes of the violin and rain to reach his ears. The tune is faint, and suddenly everything is relaxing. Robert refocuses on the girl before him.
āWhatās the game here?ā he asks, āAnd what are the stakes?ā
When he draws closer to the kneeling girl, he gets a better look at the table sheās seated at. It also has a rug on it, with just as intricate patterns as those on the ground. Red, with golden patterns. There is a deck of cards placed in the center of it, though it seems larger than the usual 52 card deck. Double deck, perhaps? Noā¦ there arenāt enough cards for that. He canāt lay his finger on what game might await him.
He sits on the ground across from her, with the table between them.
"This is not a game," the girl informs him, grey eyes trained on him, wide but expressionless. There is a small smile playing on her lips that does not comfort, the expression almost reminding him of that of a doll. Her long hair, tied up into two pigtails, brushes the carpet flooring, slick and a deep black and some evenly cut bangs fall down in her face, not quite enough to cover her eyes, though. He could mistake it for a wig.
They shift as she tilts her head, looking away as if to think.
"And there are no set stakes. This is a fortune reading, with tarot cards, you see?" She says, spreading out the nicely shuffled and stacked deck out in an arch with a sweep of her hand.
"Do you want your fortune read, now, or not?"
"Sure," Robert answers, though hesitant. He was hoping to not run into a character like her. If what she says, though, holds true, then there should be no need for concern. He hasn't spotted anything ready to shoot the girl either. She may be right.
Her expression turns into one of delight upon hearing his consent and sweeps up all the cards once more.
"Great! I'll begin," she announces out loud, as if they had an audience, and adds, a little quiter now, "My name's Nyx by the way."
Her fingers are nimble as she works the cards, shuffling, reshuffling and playing tricks with them. He watches silently as she lets one card wander between her fingers before letting the whole deck leap into the air, seemingly a mess, but then land back in her other hand, perfectly neat again.
All the while, she never stops smiling, and her eyes never leave him. With a sudden jolt, she clasps the deck firmly, and places it before him once again.
"Do you wish to turn the deck 180Ā°?" She asks him. Robert shakes his head with a sigh. She's childish.
"Now... The first card I draw will be of your past," she tells him, taking the card at the top of the pile and laying it before him, "The second is of your present, and the last... Of your future. Do you wish to adjust any of the cards 180Ā°?"
"What does that change?" Robert asks. She smiles, eyes partly closing as she does.
"You don't know anything about tarot readings, do you? If the card is drawn facing you, fortune is on your side. Drawn away, and Lady Luck is warning you. I'm supposing you're not into the whole fortune thing, now, are you?"
Robert shrugs, remarking, "There is no time for games in real life. I'll keep them facing the way they are."
Nyx feigns a look of exaggerated disappointment, puckering her lips as she draws the first cars.
"It's only guidance, really," she pouts. The two of them look down at the card she's drawn.
The image is that of a man, hung onto a cross by a leg upside down. The card is facing him, the roman numerals at the top reading XII
"Ah, the hanged man," Nyx announces, "Your past affects your present still. The unhappiness you carry within comes from there, from a routine or a feeling of stuckness, a feeling of unfulfillment in your past lifestyle. Just like that man here, you aren't dead, but stagnant, and haven't done a lick about it."
Robert licks his lips as he listens. He knows the trick of purposefully being vague so that the card may apply in any situation, so he doesn't think much of it. Her words still do resonate in him. He hated every year in service after all, drowning himself in booze and tears on most days of the week.
He beckons for her to continue, and Nyx nimbly fingers the next card, drawing it.
"This is advice about and for the present," she explains, flipping it around. This time, the card is facing away from Robert.
Nyx giggles upon seeing the card, a lady with a sun halo, and she points at it, explaining, "The star, reversed, for your present. You must be in a real midlife crisis, dude."
"What does that symbolize?" Robert asks.
"You don't see a light at the end of this tunnel. There is no current goal in your mind, like a lost soul, am I right? You probably aren't even here for the prize money."
Before he can even answer, she pulls the last card, cooing in artificial delight.
"Six of pentacles, reversed I wish to witness how you will fare this week with such a card. This is the card of shifting power dynamics, backstabbing and ulterior motives."
He observes her as she swiftly sweeps up the three cards once more, and begins to shuffle, the sound never too loud to break the ambience from the music playing in the corner. He shifts a bit in his position. Was that all... or...
"Ok, but now to business," Nyx begins, catching Robert's attention again, "As a tent player, I can grant you quests, like in roleplays."
The smell is stronger here, one of food. Warm food, baked food. Robertās stomach grumbles a bit. He had smelled this upon entering aswell, the waft of fresh baked goods. Following his nose, he walks down one of the streets. Itās strong. His eyes go to the first stand thatās open, only a handful of meters away. Robert approaches it. The smell is definitely from here.
āWelcome, welcome,ā the vendor greets, a teenager who jumps up from her stool when she notices him stop, āIām Lissa. Do you want to play this game?ā
Robert glances at what Lissaās table displays. There are three bowls face down on her table, though no food in sight. It must be underneath the long tablecloth thatās draped over the surface.
āItās a cup guessing game, correct?ā he assumes. She nods her head.
āYeah, exactly right,ā she confirms, āAnd there are no consequences for the rounds you lose before you win. When you win, you get a loaf of bread.ā
Robert sits down.
āCan I look under and at each bowl beforehand?ā he asks. She gestures for him, giving him the green light. Lissa is acting a lot more like what heād expect at a normal carnival. The music in the background is almost serving its purpose to make the scene more cheerful if he were to forget that this is a slaughterhouse. The sweet smell of bread, the colorful lighting decorating her stand, Lissaās relaxed stance, all normal things. Vendors, if at the right stall, donāt seem to have it too bad after all, it seems.
Robert picks up each bowl and examines them. All three have a red coating with matching white decorations. There is a blue rubber ball underneath the middle bowl, shining in the lights. His gaze pauses on the bowl that the ball had been under. There is a small āxā etched into the top when itās face down, only visible because of the play of light and dark. A cheat.
Robert places the middle bowl back on the ball and returns the other two next to it, just like heād found it.
āI donāt think I want to play this game,ā he sighs, stepping back again. She furrows her brows, clearly confused with his sudden withdrawal.
āDo you not trust me?ā she asks, āThere really are no strings attached, and I donāt play dirty tricks.ā
āIām really fine,ā Robert assures, turning away, āI might come back later.ā
Robert leaves under her disappointed gaze. She seems too comfortable here, so even if what she says is true, he wantās confirmation from someone he trusts first. Maybe Era. He looks left and right. Now that heās thinking about it, he doesnāt even know where she went off to. Heāll come across her at some point. A movement catches his attention. A person entering a tent. A tent among stalls. Now that he thinks about it, heās passed one or two, but they must be quite scattered.
Robert heads to the tent, shouldering his rifle. The ringing of a bicycle startles him for a moment as he walks. Only a recording. When he glances back to the tent, he sees the same person leave. The manās hair is pulled back into a small little ponytail, a matte black in color. The outfit is equally matching his elegant features, a suit and button up shirt, as if heās ready to go to a high end restaurant. Definitely unbefitting of the situation theyāre in. The man heeds Robert barely a glance before going in between two empty stalls and turning the corner, now out of sight.Ā“
āThis place is full of eccentrics,ā Robert mutters. Kind of rude of the fashionable stranger. He peers into the darkness of the tent that the man had just entered and exited within the minute. The lighting inside is much different, lanterns with fake flames hung up in the four corners, leading it to seem much darker than outside. Perhaps itās the ambience of the warmer hues of lighting.
There is a table set up in the middle of the tentās space, standing right atop of a large rug. The whole inside is covered with rugs, every inch of ground. The scent of lavender and honey reaches his nose, the source being lit incense sticks placed in a small holder in one corner. A small radio plays soothing tunes, ones of rain falling and slow violin strokes playing along with it.
He canāt see what is on the table, but he does see the teenage girl who is seated behind it. The devs seem to have a thing for teenagers. Suppose they are the most reckless and fun to watch.
āHello there,ā the girl welcomes, āAre you just going to stand there, or come in?ā
Once they reach the end of the of stalls, he finds himself in a square, a plaza of sorts. There is a fountain in the middle, just like Tar assured him, with a marble statue decorating it in the center. It is of a man who is getting stabbed by another with a dagger. The insignia writes 'et tu brute?'
Caesars death.
"I don't think you want to watch me wash my shirt," Robert remarks, making her smile lightly. She moves away, to the other side of the fountain, where they cannot see eachother. As he starts washing his bloody arms and face, he questions her, "Isn't the rule of no teaming still in place? We could both die."
"Nay," she responds, "Since no vendors are actively watching the both of us, it's fine. That's the extent of the rule, but not everyone knows."
There is another moment of silence as Robert continues to wash himself.
"What's your story?" Tar suddenly asks, making him pause his washing. When he doesn't immediately reply, she gets a bit encouraged, explaining, "You know, why are you here? What made you insane enough to come here if you know the mortality rate of this one? You said you're new, right? So you're in the last batch, this week. You knew what the games and the stakes were so..."
"To be honest, I didn't, " Robert interrupts, slipping out of his shoes. The asphalt is warm to the touch from underground pipes in certain spots. They keep the fountain water warm, a nice temperature, especially to wash your face and blood. The tunes of the carnival seem to be quieter here too, like none of the speakers are directed to the center.
"I was picked up by a black suv, and the driver asked whether I wanted to participate in a game that could cost me my life or make me a millionaire. So I got in and signed the papers. They dumped me here soon after, just about 45 minutes ago or so," Robert explains.
"Ah," is all he hears from the other side. He himself is washing away the blood on his legs, letting it run into the fountain. Then he peels off the vest from the vendor he'd dragged here and starts washing it.
"Why are you here?" He asks. She lets out a heavy sigh, one he's familiar with. It's the same one he used to make when hitting a bar or two after a long day of drilling recruits, and sometimes in nights after narrowly avoiding shrapnel lodging into his body during an ambush.
"I'm here to take care of a kid who got himself into some messes. He's kind of like a brother to me," she explains, making Robert openly gaze away for a moment, distaste evident in his expression, as it's not like she can see him.
He comes across people like her often. They will miss their families, wish to go home, but Robert can only give them harsh words to ground them. It's always in situations like these that people start getting sentimental too, and it makes them unreliable. He can't have a soldier out there from whom he doesn't know if they will tough it up and throw that grenade or pull the trigger as soon as some sentimental thought comes into their head. Yes, they are good memories, but it is a careful scale to balance.
"It doesn't seem like you have someone you care of, judging by your silence," Tar remarks as Robert wrings out the vest. There is still a faint trace of where he didn't scrub properly, but the fountan now has a nice pool of diluted blood. He supposes it matches the statue.
"No," Robert admits, shaking out the vest. It looks like it could fit him, but he'll wait until it's dry.
Not to mention that his brother drove his mom to suici-.
"The kid I'm looking after... he's kind," Tar suddenly remarks, snapping Roberts attention back. Oh right. She likes to share information.
"I'm just about done," Robert tells her, putting his shoes back on, rifle on the edge of the fountain. The ammo is in his pocket now. He can hear her get up, and she appears just a moment later.
"I'll explain what I know about a few of the rules then," she starts, and he nods, head gesturing to the corpses.
"What about them?"
"Don't worry about those," Tar replies lightly. I see you already took her vest. Others will come and loot, then dispose of them."
He watches her, but doesn't decide to comment. Tar is the best shot to get information from for now anyway, so it's not good to doubt her.
"I don't know how much you know, but the basic goal here is to get 3000 tickets accumulated all together, amongst players. The biggest issue right now is that many of the vendors are players who played big, so they hold a majority of the tickets."
"Wait," Robert interrupts, "I thought it was 1000."
Tars face darkens at that. She clarifies after a moment of gathering herself, remarking, "That's what we thought too. But 1000 are added for every week we met the previous number. The reason this place is deserted is because we didn't meet it last week, on purpose mind you. Not everyone knows the numbers, but it was one life for every 100 tickets under the cut. According to statistics, those killed by the system only lose 50% of their tickets, and now that Kirin and Elaine are gone, we're still a little over 1000 tickets under the needed number for by the end of this week."
How does she know all these numbers? He supposes he won't get an answer even if he does ask.
"There will be a lot of players, new players, coming today, players that will get everyone killed if they play the wrong games. You have 150 tickets on your account, so no one will look to you," she further says, looking off. It seems to be toward the entrance of the carnival, so far away from where they are now, "But other newbies will be targets. I won't deny that I'll be keeping my eye out aswell. I suggest you do the same if we want to win this."
"I'll keep it in mind," Robert remarks. So that's her angle. She really is altruistic in a twisted sense. In the end, she didn't give him info on any of the games that are safe either.
A small smile cracks on his lips. He's always wanted to go to a carnival anyway, so it's more fun like this. Robert picks up the rifle and his new vest and, after checking the bodies of both corpses once more for anything useful, turns away and toward the sound of music playing and people talking and busy streets.
He gets up after the deed is done. His bare legs are bloodied in red, aswell as his shirt. Thank goodness that it isn't a humid night, or else this mess might have gotten a lot more uncomfortable. He turns to the woman who had been in the stall from which he got the gun, about to ask her whether she had water. One glance and that plan falls to dust. Blood is oozing from her neck running down her arms, down her chest. When he steps closer, the cause is clear: It was the stray bullet that the kid had shot, dug deep in her neck.
Robert lets out a worn out sigh, turning back to the corpse of the boy. He picks up the rifle and turns to the wall with the targets that are lined up at the now deceased womans stand. Better to be safe than sorry. The first shot is directed at the small round target, painted in azure blue, with the symbol for 250 points. Then, he lets his gaze sweep the rows, looking for the 50 pointer. The target is tiny, about the size of a fingerprint, but at this short distance, it isn't hard to shoot it. It's interesting that the rifle uses proper bullets instead of lead ones. Maybe it's for accuracy, but it could also be for... something else.
The speaker closest to him chimes with the jingling of little bells.
"Congratulations, player. The 20 tickets of the target game have been added to your account. The vendors leftover tickets, amounting to 130 have also been added. Both of their stalls, along with the rules that are enforced with them, are now deactivated."
Robert takes a deep breath. It seems that the death of the vendor will also make the stall inactive. That would explain why there were so many empty stalls.
"You ok?" A voice calls out from behind him. Roberts head snaps to the sound of another person. He hadn't even heard her. The womans hands go up when she spots the rifle in his hands.
"I'm here in peace. I heard gunshots and some yelling, so I thought I should check it out," she quickly explains. The woman seems to have a south American background, thick wiry hair braided into one long dutch braid that reaches to her knees.
"Ah alright. Yeah, everything is fine here," he responds, relaxing again. He reaches over the desk of the booth, fingering for drawers and pulling them out one by one. The third is blocked by the dead vendor, and he pushes away her leg in order to reach it.
"I just arrived so any help would be appreciated," he tells the woman as she just watches him. This drawer has what he's looking for, a box of ammunition for the rifle. She walks toward the corpse of the male vendor, kneeling down and closing his eyes.
Robert turns back, leaning against the stall, and asks, "Do you know him?"
The woman shrugs, recalling, "I exchanged information with him once, about the balloon stand. He wanted to figure out what all the confetti colors meant by trying out as many as possible. Since it's one of the safest games here."
Robert glances down at the corpse.
"So then, one of the colors swapped him into the role of vendor, I suppose," he remarks. The woman stands up with a sigh.
"I'm Tar, by the way. If you want, I can show you to the fountain. Let's take the corpses too."
Robert eyes her warily. He is not sure whether to trust her. A player is a player, after all, and everyone is here for themselves. She notices his look and lets out a small tsk, a smile curving her lips upwards.
"Don't worry, I'm an altruist, at least for this game, since we have to win with an accumulated effort. The fountan is just down the road," she assures. Robert takes the womans corpse, roughly heaving her over the counter. She is not the lightest of weights, but he's carried heavier comrades. Tar, on the other hand, just takes the corpse of the man by the arm, dragging him along as the walk. It leaves a smeared blood trail, one that's sure to stick around if not washed away.
Now that he's walking, he gets a better view of the lane he'd run down. Many stalls are empty, but there are the occasional ones that have a vendor standing or sitting, ready to greet players. Each empty stall plays the same music still, a cheerful melody. He notices the occasional player between too stalls, usually seated and watching as he passes. Some lay on the ground, presumably sleeping and possibly dead.
Robert races inbetween two stalls, turning left, then right. The vendor player must be nearby, only one or two blocks away. His eyes lock onto a side trail, one with asphalt instead of gravel. That is good. Even if this leads him further in, it's better to run on quietly. Robert slows down as soon as he hits the asphalt and quietly makes his way down the road. He glances down each path, spotting a few players here and there. So he isn't alone, they're just scattered. Roberts eyes scan the stalls. Where is this blasted game when you need it. There is what seems to be a juggling station to his left, and a tarot card reading further up to the right. His eyes glance back when he hears running footsteps among the recorded bustling steps from the speakers. Robert spots another open stall ahead and quickly runs for it.
This one is exactly what he was looking for, a game with rifles and little targets to shoot at. A young teenage girl is manning the stall, and she jumps at the sight of his quick approach.
"How many shots do I get in one game?" Robert asks her, a clear sense of urgency in his voice as he breathes hard.
"Welcome to the game. You get three shots to hit 300 points," the girl quickly explains, words tumbling out of her mouth. Robert glances at the targets. Each one has different numbers on them. Most say 100 but some show 250 and others only 50.
Robert takes the rifle just as the vendor comes in sight. When the guy sees Robert and the rifle, though, he turns back. Robert can hear him coming closer using a side alley. Smart kid. He clicks the control into place and stands ready. Here he comes. From behind. Roberts eyes widen as he twirls around, gun slapping Kirin in the face. The hit young man lets out a yelp, but reovers quickly, trying to grab the gun and running into Robert with the knife at the ready. Robert pushes the gun at the kid and, sincd he grabbed it, he loses balance for a moment. The moment is long enough for the man to pull in and grab the kids arm with the knife with both hands. Moments later, Kirins scream sounds out as an ugly cracking noise is heard from his bones. Robert broke his arm, grabbing the fallen knife. The man stabs the kid in the chest as they both fall to the ground. Kirin flails wildly, a stray gunshot sounding out as he accidentally pulls the trigger.
Robert stabs Kirin again and again, counting quietly. The next jab is to the lungs and the third is in the shoulder. He knows plenty of young men that were killed. Their lives taken by war and illness. He recalls visiting each one by their deathbed, bringing comfort with stories and memories that the recruits made.
He makes a total of 23 stabs, even after the light has faded from Kirins eyes. It is the amount that Caesar was found with.
Robert stands up, heart heavy. Everyone has blood on their hands here, and this kid clearly did too.
Kirin watches the empty street. This was not supposed to happen. The incessant music plays its tune, looping the music every ten minutes. How often has he heard this tune? 100 times? Two hundred? He doesn't know. Today is the iden of March, March 15th. Nobody will show themselves today, because today marks the day Caesar died, the ruler of Rome, brutally stabbed to death and beyond.
The reason this matters is because of the sculpture in the middle of the plaza that depicts this exact scene. It wouldn't be there for no reason, so it must be a rule, though no one knows what the rule entails. And no one wants to die here, even if murder is not uncommon. Even Kirin has killed multiple players already.
Kirin glances to the wall of his stall. There is a grid of balloons hanging there, each blown up by hand with confetti inside. He does not know which of them have which color inside, and he doesn't know what all the different colors result in. There is blue, which gives the player a lunch, and there is red, where blood must be shed. There is yellow, which leads to nothing and the glitter one results in 50 tickets.
When he played, he got black and white. Black and white means that player and vendor swap spots, the most desired outcome for the vendor.
The reason he doesn't know what is in the balloons, though, is because the stall automatically popped all the balloons at midnight and dispensed new ones. The most concerning part, though is that they all look the same from the outside, each colored blue, and they were already filled up with air and tied closed, leaving him to only hang them up.
Kirin halts his thoughts when sounds of footsteps reach his ears. A player? It is one indeed. A middle aged man, if he had to guess, in his fourties, slowly approaches. The sound of his shoes grinding the gravel stands out from the sounds of footsteps echoing from speakers at every corner. When he halts before Kirin, a better look is given thanks to the lights. The man has stubbles on his not so neatly shaven face, and razor scars are noticeable. His hair is cut short, and his eyes seem wary, as if ready to move within a heartbeat. Definitely a player.
"Welcome to the game. Do you want to play?" Kirin asks, knowing the script he was given more or less off by heart by now. He's been manning the stall for over a week now after all.
"Sure," the man replies, "What are the stakes and how does this work?"
"It's very simple. You get three darts here for three tries to shoot at any balloon of you choice. The confetti within will reveal what happens after. Some outcomes are positive and others not so."
The man nods thoughtfully. He then points down at the desk that Kirin is stood at. It is a glass desk, and underneath, there is a dagger at display. There is a moment of silence as the man eyes it, filled by the tunes of carnival music sounding out from the speakers.
"Is that a prize?" He asks. Kirin is careful to stay quiet as to not stray from the sentences he knows are safe to say. He has no idea why the blade is there, but none of the results in the balloon have ever lead to an interaction with it.
Instead of answering, Kirin lays out three darts for the man to use.
"Is that a rule?" He jokes to Kirin, taking a dart, "That you can only say a certain amount of stuff? Or maybe you just are afraid it might be."
As the man speaks, he probes his throw, going through the motion with one of the darts. On the third repeat, he releases it, and it whizzes toward the wall.
Pop! The azure blue balloon right in the center explodes and confetti flies out. The color is a velvet purple.
The speaker that had just played music next to Kirins stall suddenly crackles. Both men turn their attention to the words that follow from it.
"Congratulations. Purple is the color for kings. Did you know that purple was also Caesars favorite color? Well, he died. And so must one of you, dear players, within today. Oh, and it must be done with the weapon that killed him. Failure results ind death for the both of you."
Kirins eyes refocus on the man before him.
"I have to kill you," Kirin realizes, hand brushing against the counter. The dagger is right there. The man stares at Kirin in surprise for a moment as his hand smashes through the glass and reaches for the dagger. The shards are sharp, scratching open multiple wounds on his hand.
"Ah shi-," the man realizes. Right as Kirin grabs the hilt, the man turns tail and flees.
āWelcome, player, to the game of goldfish. Itās simple. Just take a plastic bag and try your luck,ā the boy greets. Eraās words echo in his head. Make sure to know the wager.
āWhat happens if I lose?ā Robert asks. He is hesitant to ask even that, knowing that the ticket woman had a limit for questioning. The boy giggles, blue eyes shining to contrast the dark rings under his eyes.
āWe will have a shooting duel,ā he explains with a bright expression. There is no hint of dullness, a complete contrary to the ticket woman, but it makes the whole situation more eerie.
āA duel,ā he mutters thoughtfully. His eyes fall to the plastic bags one has to catch a fish with. They look like those from the grocery store. Itās an unlikely win.
āI will do it,ā Robert agrees, taking one. He watches as the fish swim around in the pool. There is no way to catch a fish like this. Robert glances to the boy. There is a little shaker placed below his stool.
āIs that fish food?ā he asks the boy. That is question two. The boy shows no fear. Maybe the three questions rule doesnāt apply to him.
āThis is fish food,ā he confirms. Robert walks around the pool and crouches to the boys level. The kid doesnāt move, even when the shaker is taken. Interesting. Robert stands back up again and sprinkles fish food on a spot in the pool. Then, he waits. Some fish rise to the surface, but he doesnāt use up his swipe just yet. Only when one fish is left feeding on the food does he use his bag and skims it over the surface, trapping the fish in the bag with a little bit of water.
āAhah!ā he calls out in triumph, holding up his catch. It was a success.
āCongratulations,ā the boy says with a smile, āYour 20 prize tickets have been added to your name. You also have won the goldfish that you caught. Take good care of it.ā
Instead of taking the fish, though, Robert dumps it back into the pool.
āIām not good at taking care of others, so I hope you donāt mind that this little one stays with you,ā Robert tells the kid, whoās face is laced with mild surprise at his action. With that, he continues to the next stall.
Robert steps out of the car. There are lights flashing, illuminating the night. He stands before the entrance of a carnival, out of which the jingling of bells can be heard, as well as the soundtracks to games and attractions. The smell of food wafts through the air, a pleasant aroma of sweet, melted toffee and baked goods.
āWhat is this place?ā he asks, turning back to the car heād just exited. The driver doesnāt respond, hidden behind the tinted glass of the car windows and only drives away. The gates to the carnival are open, but instead of walking straight in, Robert moves to the ticket booth placed beside it. Everything is painted in red and yellow stripes, and bright colors blink around in sequences along the desk of the booth. A woman is seated inside, eyes dull and face pale. Her hair is roughed up and dried blood plasters her forehead. When she sees him approaching, her eyes widen a little, but she quickly changes back to an empty stare.
āWelcome to the Carnival game. How many tickets do you wish to purchase for entrance?ā she asks, voice monotonous. Kind of creepy. Robert glances at the desk sheās sat at. There is a half-eaten sandwich placed beside her, and an empty white monitor flickers on and off. Both have a noticeable layer of dust on them.
āHow does this work?ā Robert asks.
The woman takes a moment to answer, and when she does, her voice almost cracks multiple times, as if she knows the words but cannot say them well.
āThe Carnivalā¦ Gameā¦ has simple rules. Play games andā¦ donāt break theā¦ rules. The rules must be fiā¦ gured out. It ends once all players reachā¦ a total of 1000 tickets.ā
āHow many players are there?ā Robert further questions. The booth woman now starts eyeing her table, fear creeping into her expression.
āThere are a total of 90 players left,ā she answers quietly, āThe game has been running forā¦ three weeks. You are theā¦ last batch to arriveā¦ā
Before Robert can ask any more questions, a loud yell pulls his attention away. Itās a familiar face, a relative of his called Era. What is she doing in this death game?
āDonāt ask her more than three questions!ā Era warns, wild black mane of hair glittering from the lights within. Her usually equally wild eyes are wary now, as she calls it out. She adds, āThe ticket giver is killed if one asks more than three questions and the next loser will have to take her place. Just order her to give you a ticket and get the heck in here.ā
Robert glances back to the booth master in surprise. Thatās a rule in this game. He looks up into the corner of her booth. A gun pointed at her head. Thatās unfortunate. He holds out his hand to the woman expectantly and orders, āGive me a ticket.ā
Once he receives it, Robert moves to his relative, glancing back one last time. This game seems like itās not only played but also run by players. As if reading his mind, Era starts to explain while they still are at the start of the carnival. There are booths to the left and right of them, but they are either empty or boarded up, with only lights draped on them and speakers playing music. Some speakers even play the sound of bustling streets and talking, filling the empty space.
āThe booth is only one of many rules. We havenāt figured out all of them yet, but this is already the fourth week that the event has been running. Itās also the last week, and if we donāt get together the amount of tickets, all the players running stands and games will be killed on the spot and survivors get 1.5 million USD. If we get the amount, all alive players win 2 million USD each.
āSo the goal of this game is to get one thousand tickets, and we have to do it within this week,ā Robert realizes and Era nods her head.
āIām going to go now. Another rule is no teaming, so I canāt be seen with you for longer than fifteen minutes at a time. Make sure to remember as well that you canāt play more than three rounds at the same booth after each other, nor can you play more that 10 times at one booth. Make sure you know what the wager is before playing a game. Every new game you play gets you 20 tickets and repeats earn you 5. When you die, you lose 75% of your tickets while the rest still counts,ā Era quickly explains, āThe games get worse further down.ā
With those words, she leaves Robert be and disappears behind one of the stalls. There must have been many trials and errors for them to figure out these rules so specifically. He has to be careful. Robert walks down further down the road heās on. The first lit stall he finds is with a man in it. The sign states that he can win a goldfish if he can catch it with one swoop of a plastic bag. The big round pool stands at the entrance of the stall and the goldfish swimming in it glitter in the lights illuminating the stall. A young boy is seated by the pool, on a little three legged stool.
what a facade you keep, pretending you do not wish for me, donāt long for my power and donāt need me. We are meant for each other my dear, why can you not see? Your sights are blinded by all the simpletons you surround yourself. First, a family, then adopting a child, a nuisance of a creature and now your mind reeks of longing for a god. Donāt you see that youāre superior to any god, could be superior? You push me away, but long for everything that I can give you. Why wonāt you listen, why wonāt you accept. I am you and you could be me.
There is a boy, a foolish child, who Iām currently watching over. I know that you just donāt see me because youāre sight is clouded, so I must help you. When he comes knocking on your door, you will realize how much you need me, how much you want me. Your vision will clear and we will be the greatest of all beings, the pinnacle of all. Then one puny god will be dust in your presence, I promise you this. The demon wishes to be king. Hah, if he knew how little he amounts to in our presence. But without me, you are weak. You will struggle. I couldnāt bear that. If guiding a demon into rising to your weakened level will let you realize that you want my power, I will bring every single demon to your doorstep. I will give them all power until you MUST call upon me. Until you MUST use my power.
And when you do, youāll finally realize how much you missed me. Weāll be perfect again, I know it. I will get rid of all of the beasts for you, all of the troubles that cloud your vision, alter your thoughts, just say the word.
[The following is an interview taken from the magazine āHermesā. It is documented by the journalist who goes by Stolov and his interviews are in almost every monthly edition]
Tell me about yourself
I'm Nyx Fang, and died at 18, once to a natural catastrophe and then was killed by the god of death. It may seem complicated if you weren't involved, I suppose. I started learning how to compose music through a family member, but people don't appreciate it enough for it to be my full-time gig. I worked for Camasoz.
Who would you side with? Solaris or Camasoz? And why?
I would side with the losing side. That doesn't mean that I consider Camasoz the losing side, quite in contrary. Camasoz is only an organization, a point we seem to forget often. We give advice and ask to be heard. What each country does with it is by their own choice. That's why I don't see why I should answer the next question either. Massacres? What are you talking about? Yes, we may be responsible for the demise of one or two cities, but it's not like the government didn't pardon us. It's all a game of benefits, and currently Camasoz benefits the most people, especially with all the chaos it has stirred up. The rest of the world is in chaos again, leaving so many people at an advantage. Solaris is no different. We all have our drives, our ambitions and this setting suits me just fine. I'd be ok if it continues like this for centuries to come.
I didn't live long in the world before, but I recall others telling me of it. They describe a place of no privacy, data leaks and money being spent in the wrong places, along with people with too much time on their hands. It sounds like a dull world, where you can't do anything without being chased down and arrested, where you're either a perfect little lamb or struggle to meet ends. I would not have liked to live in that world.
What are your thoughts on the massacres from Camasoz?
I said this above already, but not exactly. I was in the headquarters and no such orders are ever given. Often, the governments themselves push the bombing, push the massacres. Itās not us who keep rolling the ball, but I have no problem if we continue to get strikes. My job was also only investigation, going undercover and so forth. The deaths by my hand may benefit Camasoz, yes, which is why I do it, but they are of my own choice and because I need a little thrill. If I get pardoned for them, that's because it benefits someone if I continue what I like to do. I don't see that as a crime then.
What do you hope Solaris will do if Camasoz does get sued and gotten rid of?
Sued? For what? I hope Solaris doesn't try to supress everything to how it was. Or, maybe I do a little. People seek thrill, and they can't do that. Even if Solaris tried, I'm doubtful that anyone who's experienced the freedom during the conflict wishes to return to static.
[The following is an interview taken from the magazine āHermesā from the month Aprilis. It is documented by the journalist who goes by Stolov and his interviews are in almost every monthly edition]
Tell me about yourself
Iām Thea Fang. Iām an inventor who works for Camasoz and a prostitute. I have five biological children and five adopted ones. I died at the age of 23 while giving birth.
Who would you side with? Solaris or Camasoz? And why?
I would side with neither. Both are as flawed as can be. Even though I work for Camasoz, I hate knowing that my work contributes to the destruction of rich cultures and flourishing lives. Yes, I do believe that we must change our ways and learn to cherish what we are given more, but definitely not like this, with destruction and seizing control. Why would I not side with Solaris, then? I prefer what they fight for, but I could never bring myself to work under the man behind it all. His son is like a brother to me, and yet he continues to be ignored by Mr. Sol. The man is a foolish man, with ideologies as twisted as they come. He believes in superiority and elitism, and in the rotten sides of society. His only interests lay in those useful to him, and it disgusts me to watch his obsession over hording them. I know few who are worse than Mr. Sol.
What are your thoughts on the massacres from Camasoz?
Itās terrible and sickening. I donāt know how some of my family supports it. We have had many internal conflicts in the past, and it rarely ended without casualty, but the root of it are what Camasoz is stirring up. I wish to go against it, but I had no time. My family is just one of many that have had so many problems since Camasoz grew, and yet we canāt do much against it. It feels too big, too powerful to stop. I needed more time, but I didnāt get it. I want it to end, I want my kids and grandkids to grow up in a peaceful time, or at least pass away in one.
What do you hope Solaris will do if Camasoz does get sued and gotten rid of?
I hope Solaris will act smartly. With Mr. Sol at the helm, I donāt know at all what might happen. If I would be in charge, I would try to find a way to ease the damage, to find a way to help the traumatized and learn from the horror show that has commenced. I would raise my voice and we would bring in reforms, ones that are realistic and will work in favor of us all. All the reasons Camasoz had to do what they did would be looked at and Iād integrate as many of their thoughts into a new era as possible, being more resourceful than we have been in the past. We could put limits to thing but find a way to let people know that they can have a good life, even without some things from the past. That way, we can find a good balance and still ultimately build a future with more appreciation and care toward what the earth has given us. We can begin a new ecosystem of harmony.
[The following is an interview taken from the magazine āHermesā from the month Martius. It is documented by the journalist who goes by Stolov and his interviews are in almost every monthly edition]
Tell me about yourself
My name is Chris Fang. I am a middle-aged man on paper and work for Camasoz as head of the weapons and crafts department. To summarize, I take care of inventing and developing the tech Camasoz uses. Iām the guardian of my cousins daughter and also am temporarily caring for a few other nieces and nephews, as they currently donāt have a guardian and I, as head of the family, have responsibility for them. I also am a conductor in my free time and, though I dabble in many instruments, professionally played the violin and the organ back when Camasoz wasnāt as big as it is today.
Who would you side with? Solaris or Camasoz? And why?
As mentioned above, since I work for Camasoz, I of course side with the organization. Additionally, the head of Camasoz is a good friend of mine and we share ideologies, at least for the most part. Camasoz strives for a greener, more sustainable way of life, in harmony with nature. Iām glad that many nations agree with us, and weāre able to turn so many heads, but our job isnāt done until everyone understands how essential these changes are. Even though we might not live to see it, I donāt want to leave behind a wasteland, but instead, a stable cycle of nature that people have reintegrated into. We arenāt the only species in this universe after all.
What are your thoughts on the massacres from Camasoz?
Humanity has changed so much of the earth, and itās messing things up. Leaving it to continue wreaking havoc is like bringing in a foreign disease and not taking responsibility. I could dress it all up for the press and all, but to be blunt, I grew up in a beast kill beast world. This is just a different version. Itās interesting that Solaris cares about that, but no one raised hell when another war broke out because of some religion or ownership feuds. They were too common, I suppose. Or maybe it was because weād prefer living in a bubble. What Camasoz does as an organization is not criminal, either. We do not take hostages and misuse them. The opposite, really, we take in those that are willing to adjust, no matter what their background may have been. I know this has stirred a lot of debate, but it is how we work and what the countries we work with support. Iām a believer in second chances.
What do you hope Solaris will do if Camasoz does get sued and gotten rid of?
That will not happen, but if it does, I know what they will do. They will try to give people their views of luxury back. Money will begin to dominate again, and the rich will get richer once more as all nature suffers. All that Camasoz worked to establish will quickly be used for profit and destroyed, infrastructure rebuilt and the internal time of how long earth can sustain itself will tick faster once more. Before we began, you wouldnāt even notice the ticking, it went so slowly, but now itās a metronome guiding into the last pages of an encore no one asked for.
"The death game will begin soon, good luck, player Frey"
Frey opens his eyes, sun beaming on his face. Shadows of leaves dance around him, as if to mock his sleepy habits.
"Mikaās brother is up," a female voice notices, not too far off to the side. He sits up. They're in a forest, lush with vibrant summer colors. The coolness of the trees is a welcome change for him, as he's used to mainly stuffy classrooms and no aircondition.
Where is he exactly? Last thing he recalls is going to bed in his dorm. Frey glances around. He knows the female who spoke up. Ace, an eighteen year old criminal. Didn't she die on that island, with the volcano explosion?
A fleeting thought hits him momentarily, but Frey immediately discards it again. The breeze, the sounds, the sense of touch, they're all very much real. The stick poking his hand is too.
"How did you get away alive?" Frey asks Ace, eyes still wandering his surroundings. There is no sign of other people, nor of anything humanmade like a path.
Ace gives him a bit of a startled glance, before breaking into a light chuckle. It is a soft sound, so nice, like the warm tingles of sun rays. She shrugs, remarking back, "That's one thing to say as soon as you wake up."
Avoiding the question.
"Why not ask, 'where are we' or 'how did we get here'? Those are questions I have."
Frey gets up and pats himself down. He is wearing black shorts and a white tshirt, same color and style as the ones Ace is wearing. The pockets are empty.
He runs his fingers through his hair, eyes falling to the sneakers he's wearing. They are his own, dark blue in color. That's the only thing that's his here?
"Have you looked around yet?" Frey asks her, as she stands leaned against one of the trees, watching him. Ace waves vaguely around her, remarking, "Forest, north, east, south and west. I also found indentations on the ground of other people, though, just like yours. You were the first person I found, though."
He eyes the visible area where he had lain.
"How many?"
Ace glances away, questioning, "Why would I tell you?"
The silence that follows is only filled by the rustling of the leaves, and the chirps of birds. Frey thinks back to his dream. He doesn't recall much, but he is sure that he had one. Something about...
His eyes widen as he remembers a bit.
"Did you have this dream?" Frey asks, making Ace flinch after she had just relaxed.
"Something about death games," he elaborates. Ace nods, eyes sparkling.
"So it wasn't just me," she remarks, "We're in a death game."
The way her eyes sparkle as she says it out loud makes Frey question how she could trick his sister like that in the first-
"What's your name, by the way?" Ace suddenly asks, "Or should I just call you Mikaās brother?"
