The truth about life is that the incomprehensible occasionally results from the opportunities that wind up by you. If that was so, then Victor wanted to throw the opportunity back into whoever yanked him in this unlucky deluge of a mess, exactly like that one time he’d thrown a pie into his bully’s surprised face. Sure, it was a waste of a pie, and it cost him painless movement for the next month, but it was an achievement he nonetheless stood behind proudly.
A game? Victor thought, and if he were any younger, he would have yelled that thought aloud. Unfortunately, now he was simply a man hurtling at breakneck speeds towards a mid-life crisis that Mr. B at the other corner did not seem to be affected by, though that blank mask and reticent nature did nothing to prove that notion. The creature suddenly waved its claws, teleporting Victor just in front of the executioner and itself.
He felt as if he’d been hydraulic pressed into a meat grinder and strapped to the bottom of a rollercoaster. An urge to vomit welled within him; he inhaled and exhaled deeply to dispel it.
B kept silent, opting to survey the situation instead. What a cool guy—he seemed the type the girls flocked to back in his youth. Perhaps even now, but Victor couldn’t silently judge him for his facial appearance when he had that drat mask enfolding his face.
“This is quite strange,” It mused, shoving its face into Victor’s, who jerked back. Then, it did the same to B, whose fingers twitched minutely. “No screaming? No questions? You two certainly are a unique pair!” It let out a screeching laugh, as if a hyena on helium. Or nails trailing down blackboard. It hurt his ears.
The doors slammed shut with a jarring crash. The executioner stood perfectly still. The clouds rolled in outside the windows. Rain pattered, slow, then swift, little pitter-patters in the background that would have been soothing in any other situation. Thunder rumbled.
“Starting off, I have summoned you two—players A and B—to my space for show proceedings,” It continued, indicating with claws around the chamber. “For just today, you will be prime time entertainment!”
It paused. Victor willed his teeth to end its discreet chattering, another leftover habit of his. He seemed to have a lot of those.
“No ‘don’t kill me please!’? No ‘let me go’s’? Do you mortals have any questions so far?”
“Will you kill us?” B asked after a brief hesitation.
It smiled creepily, as if it were waiting for that specific question. “Not necessarily. Just as long as you two make the correct choices. I will explain the rules.”
There was still a nagging thought tugging at Victor’s mind. Still, he listened intently to the creature for the sake of his own survival. The executioner standing to the side was an awfully efficient deterrent.
“This game is very simple. You two will each be taken to different rooms to make your choices—there is no chance for conversation before that. Both players will have the same options: cooperate, or defect.” The creature began drawing up a 2x2 table with glowing light; it looked like a hologram, but this was not fantasy, nor was it fiction. It slowly sunk into his mind just how grim the situation truly was.
It smiled, but with the backlight, it only looked maleficent. “If you two both choose to cooperate, you will both lose all limbs courtesy of Miss X here, but will be sent back alive. That is a guarantee you will find in the rulebook beside Mr. A there.” Victor jolted at the mention, glancing down. There was a handbill beside his shoe, poking tentatively against rough leather. He picked it up with apprehension, heart thumping rampantly in his chest.
“If you read it before I finish, Miss X will execute you on the spot.”
Hearing that, Victor sucked in a harsh breath, reflexively jerking his hand away from its action of turning the paper.
B shifted on his feet—out of what? Impatience? Nervousness? Victor honestly couldn’t tell. He was difficult to read.
It laughed again. Victor was already sick of hearing that laugh. “Moving on. If you both choose to defect, then you keep all your limbs—but will both be executed. Quite a false dilemma!” It wiggled its fingers. “But, luckily for you two, there are two more options! If A here chooses to defect while B cooperates, unfortunately, it is B that suffers the consequences while A gets off scot-free! Swap it around, and there is your last option!” It sighed in false forlornness and wiggled its head with panache.
“But since I am a benevolent god, I have let you face off against a stranger, not a loved one! Cheer up, you humans with your pretty little frowns. They will be snug back home, waiting for you—if you live, that is.”
Is it mocking me? Victor thought with ire. If it knew enough information to discern B and I as strangers, then surely it would know that I have no so-called “loved ones”.
Now that he thought about it, he truly had nothing substantial to lose. Sure, he had his meagre worldly possessions, and definitely his own life to worry about. But other than that, nobody would truly care if he simply blinked out of existence one day. The black cat he sometimes fed near the bend of Turpind Street would continue hissing at passersby. The bar he worked would notice his disappearance, but only for a slight hitch; once they replaced his position, they would move along swiftly. The sun would continue rising and falling such as the ageless waves do. He simply mattered to nobody, to nothing—if his child-self divined his current future, he surely would’ve burst in tears.
Well, if that wasn’t a depressing thought.
“Hmmm….any questions?” It asked, tapping its chin with one claw.
“Are you finished?” Victor asked, swallowing down his urge to stutter.
“If you want to read the rules, go ahead! Do share with Mr. B to your right. Otherwise, it’ll be a shame to end this game so early.”
Victor hadn’t noticed B sidling over to his side, reading the rules just over his shoulder. Victor almost wanted to petulantly wave him away, irritated at him breaching his three-feet-away-from-me policy. No wonder people did not talk to him—or perhaps it was his perpetual wet rat appearance.
After a few awkward minutes, Victor begrudgingly realized there were no potential loopholes he could exploit in the choices alone. It was fairly straightforward, and all that the creature outlined was listed in the “rulebook”. Nothing new was presented. B impertinently snatched the handbill out his hand suddenly, flipping it to its back. Nothing but bright red coloring.
“It reads here, ‘No conversation between the players after the announcement of rules and before the game’, ‘Both players will be escorted to their respective rooms for their decisions when the game starts’, and ‘All choices are final and all rule-breaking met with its execution’,” B read aloud after a flip back to the front. “There’s really no other adjunct rules besides these?”
“Nope!” It replied, popping the ‘p’. Victor found himself despising its cutesy act as much as its laugh.
Instead of voicing his thoughts, he instead let out: “’It’s execution’? So it’s not simply execution?”
“Oh, well, I suppose I can give you a demonstration,” It replied, turning to grin at Miss X. She grasped the thick wood handle of the axe with both hands, flashing between Victor and B and cutting straight through the sliver of space between them with a brutish savagery. Victor nearly leapt out his skin, and B backed up instinctively. She shouldered the axe once more, ambling back to her past position. A deep groove cut straight through the velvet carpet, mahogany flooring, and even stone.
That certainly convinced Victor. B too, from the looks of his cautious movements.
“Let’s get this started!” The creature screeched excitedly, rubbing its hands together. “I have high hopes for you two.” A wild glint filled its eyes, and a shiver unconsciously slid down Victor’s spine at its wretched delight. “Be sure to entertain me.”
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Miss X left B behind with the creature and escorted Victor through the lavish hallways with its garish decor befitting that of a snobbish noble. Crystal chandeliers lit up the space with a soft yellow hue, including the sturdy wooden doors that hid unknown rooms lined along the sides. At the ends of all three hallways right, left, and center were doors. Directly facing against the main bedchamber Victor and B had arrived in was a large window that showcased the massive lawn and forest surroundings, along with the main stairwell that presumably led to the reception hall—strangely enough, it was two flights of stairs rather than one merged stairwell, so he could not tell for sure, as he could only see the floral designs smothering yet another wall.
“Is there a toilet around here that I can use? Right now?” Victor feebly asked, attempting to sound more confident than he felt. There was a mounting sense of trepidation in his chest, and it felt terrible of him to admit, but he was almost relieved at the fact that this “game” at least gave the both of them a chance—however slight—to live. Unless the god-creature was lying. He would not be surprised if that were true.
Miss X ignored him. Victor’s shoulders sagged. He tried again.
“Surely your...god? Boss? Does not pay you accordingly,” he started as he was led towards the left door. “I know a couple folks who’d love to have an able-bodied helping hand such as yourself. The jobs are dangerous, but they pay well.” Silence prevailed. Figured.
She opened the door with her free hand, lock unsealing with a click. They both ambled in, him first, her second. Before the door creaked shut, Victor sucked in a breath.
“I choose defection,” Victor tossed out; at that, she turned her head. Then, he willed all the cells and ligaments and muscles of his unathletic body to burst into life, dashing through the closing door, hearing it slam shut behind him as the hallway seemed to stretch on in likeness of sand dunes before desert mirages of water. The doors whirled by in a blur in his peripherals. One. Two—three. Four? Five. Six. Seven! His breath came out in desperate pants. His legs felt like waterlogged jello.
When he reached the main stairwell, he jumped down five—no, six steps at a time, beige overcoat flaring behind him. His favorite ragged scarf felt uncomfortably warm against his neck. He couldn't hear anything behind him—maybe it was the blood rushing wildly in his ears—but he ran as if the hounds of hell were set upon him.
The reception hall opened up to him as he'd guessed, lacquered flooring shining and beautiful paintings on thin carpet covering it with an artful ambience. Arched top double doors acted as the main entrance, over three meters tall, with ornate handles carved with elegant leaf designs. A gilded, crystal-encrusted chandelier hung imposingly over the massive space, two stairs on either side leading to the upper half of the mansion. Again, the right and left sides comprised of large, wooden doors.
He crossed the threshold in a few long strides, grasping the front handles with great assiduity, almost tasting the freedom on his tongue—ha! Screw those bastards, as if he’d silently stand by and accept his fate. The rain here rapped much louder against the frosted glass that inlaid the expensive wood. Thunder rumbled lowly in the distance. Wind whistled, leaves shifted, lightning flashed. Footsteps thumped. The handle was locked.
A dense stone dropped straight to his gut, dragging his hopes and exaltation with them.
Thump, thump, thump!
The footsteps were closer this time, thudding heavily down the stairs. With piercing shrieks of panic blotting his mind, he tried the handle again, before abandoning that plan and racing to the lesser side doors. Locked. Were all the doors locked?!
Should’ve figured, Victor thought as a shadow fell over him. Adrenaline coursed his veins, an acute focus lasering in on faded scars against the tanned skin of his fingers and its wracking trembles. Flight-or-fight, except either option was inexorable death.
The executioner was upon him, colossal form an immense dark against the contrast of flaxen-yellow backlight, eyes stygian-black, almost as if gazing out into an endless void. The axe was raised above her head with an unnerving tenseness, large hands covering gnarled wood.
The static in his ears grew ever so loud, crashing waves pressurizing his thoughts in a fit of panic. He crawled backwards on both hands and legs, raising one palm in the universal “stop” indication.
“W-wait, I obeyed all rules, there was nothing on the rulebook that said you couldn’t run off!” Victor cried out, desperate.
Besides that of the choices and punishment, the other rules were: ‘No conversation between the players after the announcement of rules and before the game’ and ‘both players will be escorted to their respective rooms for their decisions when the game starts’.
B was escorted by the creature, and he was escorted by Miss X. The executioner had successfully brought him into the room he was intended to make his decision in—did he perhaps mess up in that B hadn't yet finished being escorted? He didn't know, and he would never now. He’d shouted his choice, he’d been escorted, he didn’t talk to B. Nothing prevented him from dipping right after making his decision!
He twisted around, dashing to the side, before hitting a solid wall-like arm and slamming back.
I damn knew I should’ve stayed, Victor thought, clenching his jaw when his back hit the main stairwell. Ah, I paid all my bills. I was a good citizen, I tried being considerate to others; the worst crime I’ve done is pour water down an anthill as a fifth grader!
“You get what you deserve” was a phrase he had heard his entire life, and if that was true, then he wondered what on earth he could have done to deserve this.
He saw the swinging glint of the axe before he registered what had happened; for a split second, he gazed at the grotesquely spliced wound on his collarbone with a detached expression, crimson red spilling from his first-ever injury besides mild scrapes and the occasional paper cut. Then, he covered it with one hand, applying pressure and letting out ear-splitting screaming as pain like firework explosions burst out in a clamorous belt of erratic protest.
It didn’t end there—two more strikes to both his legs with the blunt edge of the axe felt as if he were being crippled, even if in the back of his mind, he’d known it was not as serious as the wound near his shoulder. It was unbearable; he felt as if he had been ripped in two, then two again and so forth, with hardly a shred of consciousness left behind, and yet, at the same time, all his awareness present. Sweat beaded, pervasive, on his skin; a sense of vertigo overtook, dizzying and overpowering. Or perhaps it was the blood loss? Even the threat of death seemed mote compared to his current sensations.
If you’re going to kill me, do it quickly! Victor thought in a sudden fit of pique, clutching at his shoulder juncture, hands slick with glistening blood. Miss X—such a soft name on such a horrific being—stood over him, the edges of her axe lined with deep red.
A stunning display of pure light burst into being just to the left of the executioner. For a moment, Victor thought he had ascended into heaven, except if heaven was a winged creature with a propensity for cruel entertainment, then he would volunteer for hell himself.
B stood beside It, body expression taut as the string on a violin bow. He jerked his hands when he witnessed Victor’s nadir of his suffering, blank mask expressing nothing of what the body could. For the first time since they had been transported, B seemed unadulteratedly afraid.
“Well, well! You tried escaping I see, quite a bold move!” It cawed out, pervasive glow hurting his eyes. Victor felt the urge to hurl bubble up yet again. Then, its tone changed to a mournful one. “You understand, don’t you? We can’t just let this show end so quickly. Hmmm...I suppose this is what I should’ve expected after a few iterations of this happening and my benevolently lax rules.”
It pointed at Victor’s trembling figure, its claw incandescent with a bone-white glow. “But, since I am so compassionate, I suppose I shall heal you. Consider this a warning; you should be overjoyed I am not allowing Miss X to execute you only on your first attempt. Now, try and figure out what you did wrong yourself, Mr. A—I will not spill. Makes it interesting, no?”
Victor could have cried in relief when finally—finally, the abject pain subsided. It was as if a fog had lifted from his mind, and he registered just how drenched his forehead was in sweat. He lifted one hand, peering at his shoulder wound; it was still there, slightly less jagged and angry-red than before, and there was no bleeding. When he stood up and moved, the raw burn of pain that ensued restricted his movements, though far less than before.
“The game has begun,” B suddenly spoke up with a tense head tilt at the creature. “I assume the players can talk with each other?” It grinned in response, an affirmation.
B turned back to Victor, whose fingers clenched around handrails like a lifeline, legs wobbling. “What did you choose?”
All of a sudden, Victor felt a bit contrite in the presence of the actual person he'd juggled the life of. He’d chosen “defect” taking into account the ever-present possibility of B choosing that same option, and knowing that at least, he would not get the short end of the stick. If he’d chosen “cooperate”, there was the possibility that he’d be cast off to execution, even though both cooperating would be the best bet for the guaranteed living status of both.
The creature cleared its throat. “Allow me to reveal the choices!” It then sneered at the both of them.
“Such boring matchups. Most get this pairing in their first iteration, boo. Mr. A, you chose defect. Mr. B, you chose the same,” It announced. The tenseness in the hall solidified until one could cut the air itself with a butcher’s knife; Victor and B realized at the same time what that would entail. “This matches up to option four, congratulations! You both keep your limbs, at the cost of your lives!”
B backed away slowly towards the main doors, only the slight upticks of his chin the indication of a desire to run to them. Victor knew it was locked, and with his injured legs, he knew he did not have a rat’s chance in escaping. He accepted it with great displeasure.
As he watched the axe splice through the air to meet his neck, in his mind, there was just an echo of a bright-yellow sundress and tinkling pearls of laughter.