At least that FAST thing’s insistence on calling me “chaser” finally made sense.
Despite the translation bangle on my arm, I didn’t understand every word that had been spoken, but I got the gist of it. The announcer’s voice – a somewhat more chipper version of the “In a world,” guy from innumerable movie trailers – pretty much told me everything I needed to know.
This wasn’t the afterlife. It wasn’t Heaven or Hell either. Far as I could tell, I’d been spirited away from my impending death to some sort of nightmare game show.
“AS ALWAYS, I’M YOUR HOST ... DREGA!”
The cheering from the crowd quickly became a chant.
“Drega, Drega, Drega...”
I couldn’t see who was talking, but it was painfully obvious they were akin to this hellscape’s version of Bob Barker.
This Drega person let the ego-stroking continue for an extended amount of time before finally speaking again.
“YOU’LL WANT TO KEEP YOUR CORTEXES ATTUNED BECAUSE WE HAVE AN EXCITING SHOW WAITING FOR YOU. WE’VE SCOURED COUNTLESS TIMELINES AND EONS BEYOND MEASURE TO BRING YOU THIS CYCLE’S CONTESTANTS. BUT DON’T JUST TAKE MY WORD FOR IT!”
Spotlight beams, nearly blindingly bright, shined down from seemingly nowhere and lit up the arena floor like it was the surface of the sun.
“FROM BLOODTHIRSTY WARLORDS TO EGO-INFLATED SCHOLARS, THESE TEN-THOUSAND MONKEYS ARE READY TO RUMBLE. HAILING FROM A TINY BLUE MARBLE CIRCLING AN OTHERWISE UNREMARKABLE SOLAR BODY, PLEASE WELCOME THE CHASERS FROM ... PLANET EARTH!”
Once again the crowd went nuts. I was beginning to get the feeling Drega could’ve told them all to eat shit and they would’ve still cheered.
Regardless, despite the thinly veiled insults, I was able to glean a bit of info – at least more than I’d had before.
If this guy wasn’t full of it, and everything I’d seen so far had gone a long way toward convincing me it wasn’t, then that meant the people around me weren’t reenactors, cosplayers, or even run-of-the-mill nutcases. No. They had each been plucked from their own point in time. Even crazier was the implication that they were from different timelines as well.
I suppose that explained the bright yellow Nazi dude. Go figure, but that heavily implied there was a universe out there where these shit heads were not only the embodiment of evil, but they dressed like giant bananas as well.
Talk about fucked up.
Alas, there was no time to dive down that particular rabbit hole any further as Drega wasn’t finished.
“THEIR LIVES MAY HAVE ENDED IN MEANINGLESS CALAMITY...”
Meaningless?
“BUT NOW THEY HAVE THE OPPORTUNITY TO CHANGE ALL THAT. PLEGRAXIOUS, TELL THEM WHAT THEY HAVE A CHANCE TO WIN!”
Another voice started speaking. Whereas this Drega appeared to be the charismatic host playing to the crowd, the newcomer was more matter of fact – sounding kind of like Ed McMahon, had his vocal cords been replaced with autotune.
“Thanks, Drega! We have some great prizes waiting for our chasers this cycle – three incredible tiers to be exact. Without further ado, let’s jump right in. Those qualifying for second place will receive ... life! That’s right. They’ll be returned to the exact moment of their untimely demise, only to find they’ve miraculously managed to avoid the reaper. Others might call it luck or an act of God, but we know the truth. It’s just damned fine entertainment!”
More howls from the audience followed.
I couldn’t help but grit my teeth. That’s what the FAST light had meant by a second chance. These fuckers were making us spin a wheel, guess prices, or some other dumb shit, just for an opportunity to get back to our lives – something that was apparently within their power to do.
I was beginning to suspect they could’ve mere snapped their fingers and sent me back to my son, but instead chose this ... whatever this was.
The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.
And just like that, the confusion and fear I’d been feeling were slowly replaced by anger as Plegra ... whatever his name was continued.
“If you think that’s wild, we’re just getting started. Let’s talk about our first place winners. Up to three lucky chasers will have a chance to not only survive, but to truly change their fate. Think hard upon your grievances, chasers, because you might be one of the lucky few who gets to rewrite history. Sick of being a lowly infantryman? Enjoy an instant promotion to officer or higher! Family dying of dysentery? Return with a box of medicine guaranteed to fix them up, good as new. Tired of being poor as dirt? Then prepare to inherit a sum that’ll put you on easy street for life. Whatever your gripe, it’s a once in a lifetime chance to tell fate to go fuck itself!”
I couldn’t help but think of Deb and what we’d been through these last several weeks. This represented a chance to change it. Hell, I could wish fuckboy Manny an incurable case of limp-dick. Or maybe that was thinking too small. Money would be better. That way I could hire my own shark of a lawyer, while also ensuring Jeremy was given the life he deserved. Yeah. As ticked off as I felt myself becoming, I couldn’t help but consider the carrot being dangled before me.
Maybe this would prove to be worth running from dinosaurs, or whatever else they had in mind. Either way, I decided to keep listening – not that I had much choice.
“And we haven’t even gotten to this cycle’s grand prize yet! One resourceful chaser could walk away with a shot at...”
“I’LL STOP YOU RIGHT THERE, PLEG OLD BUDDY!” Drega interrupted. “LET’S KEEP THAT ONE A SECRET FOR NOW. I DON’T KNOW ABOUT YOU, BUT I’D PREFER TO LEAVE THAT FOR A HIGHER STAGE. LET’S WEED OUT THE SCUM FIRST SO THE CREAM CAN RISE TO THE TOP.”
What?! Goddamn, I hated this showmanship crap.
“You got it, Drega! But while we’re on the subject, we can’t talk about prizes without also mentioning penalties. We know from previous Chases that sometimes a chaser’s motivation can ... wane. That’s why we instituted the qualifying round, to give those lacking the spirit of a true chaser a chance to bow out early. Speaking of which, I’m happy to report only thirty-two out of our pool of ten-thousand applicants opted for early expiration. That means those who are still here are hungry to compete!”
Way too true in the case of that Borlack fucker.
As the crowd hooted and cheered again, I took a moment to consider this. The FAST unit had told me that dinosaur was an entrance exam of sorts. Was that what they meant by qualifying round? Did that mean thirty-two people had failed to escape from whatever had been sent after them? And if so, had it been purposeful on their part or not? I mean, what if I’d tripped over a root at the wrong moment? Would that’ve meant I lacked the chaser spirit?
I had no idea beyond the news that thirty-two people who might’ve otherwise been here now weren’t. That meant they were probably dead while the bastards announcing this were treating it like nothing more than a minor inconvenience.
“As with the prizes, we’ll save the top tier penalty for a later time as well. However, thanks to the Committee’s infinite mercy, we’ve been informed that no chasers will be penalized with it before its formal announcement.”
Gee, how generous of them.
“On to the rest, I think by now we’re all familiar with tier one penalties. They are by far the most common expiration possible. But for our new cortexers out there, it’s simple. A tier one expiration means you die! That’s right, when a chaser expires at the first tier, they go right back to where we plucked them from – the moment of their death! No harm, no foul, and best of all, no contamination of their timeline.”
No harm, no foul? Fuck this guy and his timelines. These were people’s lives he was talking about.
As ticked off as that made me, I wasn’t even remotely prepared for what came next.
“Tier two is where it gets ... interesting, folks. Should a chaser suffer a tier two expiration, they’ll not only lose their life but they’ll sacrifice their entire continuum. You heard correct! By grand decree of the Committee, their entire timeline will be purged. Yes, it sounds like a heavy burden to bear, but look at this cycle’s collection of contestants. I see some broad shoulders among them. I think they can handle the weight, don’t you?”
The assholes in the audience were quick to agree with Ed McMassMurderer. What in the ever loving hell was wrong with these nutjobs that they thought this was in any way acceptable? Wiping out entire timelines? I ... I couldn’t even fathom that. It had to be hyperbole. That type of power simply didn’t exist. It couldn’t exist.
Could it?
“WELL, DAMN, PLEG, YOU’RE KIND OF BRINGING ME DOWN WITH ALL THIS HEAVY SHIT. SO WHY DON’T WE LIGHTEN THINGS UP A BIT BY REMINDING OUR AUDIENCE THAT A CHASER HAS TO TRY PRETTY HARD TO HIT TIER TWO. OR MORE PRECISELY, THEY HAVE TO NOT TRY.”
What the hell was he babbling about?
“Right you are, Drega. Let’s face facts. Sit-ins and hunger strikes are boring, while suicides can be downright depressing to watch. Nobody needs that sorta thing clogging up their cortexing pleasure. The Chase is all about the will to survive, win, and conquer. To that end, we have given each FAST unit full autonomy to posthumously decide whether their chaser’s demise falls within the spirit of the game or not. Hear that, chasers! Be brave in front of your FAST. Trust in them and they’ll trust in you. Or at the very least, try not to piss them off.”
While the crowd laughed, I glanced toward the green light floating next to me. Were they actually saying this dickhole was in charge of deciding my fate? Oh, I was so fucked.
“IntheunlikelyeventofaFASTunitsufferingprematureandpermanentofflining,” a new voice suddenly blared, talking super-fast and with no discernable emotion, “apredesignatedtribunalwillbecalledtoreviewtheassignedchaser’sdeathandrenderadecision.Theirjudgementwillhenceforthbebinding.”
What the...? Call me crazy, but I had a feeling I’d just listened to this horror show’s version of legal fine print.
Lord have mercy.
Mostly because I had a feeling these fuck-loafs wouldn’t.