Slaughter Games - R.T. Adams (distant reading .txt) 📗

Every year, for human entertainment, multiple people are thrown into a large arena, similar to that of a colosseum, and are forced to murder each other. By now, human have advanced so much, they can simply materialize their weapons. There are all sorts of crazy as hell weapons nowadays. There is a handful of people chosen each year, roughly twenty, and my father has been one of those chosen few before, and had been murdered years past. I live with my mother, as I had just got out of high school, and was preparing to search for a home. I intended to work in a smaller city where there wasn’t much noise, they also didn’t really look at the smaller cities when picking people to murder each other. They don’t care about your gender or your ability to fight, they only care about how old you are. If you’re under eighteen, they won’t pick you. If you’re older than sixty, they won’t pick you. Anywhere between is just fine. They don’t have any specific system to picking the people. In other words, if you’re picked, it was by complete random chance. Of course, everyone is separated by city, so they don’t pick from smaller cities that often. Everyday, I go to look in the mail to make sure I haven’t been chosen. And by far, it would seem that I haven’t been, which is rather surprising to me. However, I’m sure it’ll happen soon.

The next morning, I awoke and immediately got up. Today was the day that I was to begin heading out to a new city, so I was prepared to go. I had also heard that there is only one last person who is to be chosen to go into the Slaughter Games. I walked into the bathroom which had been attached to my room, undressed, and got into the shower, bathing in the hot water for only a few minutes. Shortly after, I got out, dried off, and went to get some new clothes. Quickly, I put them on, went back into the bathroom and brushed my hair and teeth. I haven’t really thought that being “presentable” was all that important, unless it’s for an interview or at a formal meeting, so I always dressed rather casually. Some people would even go to say I look a bit delinquent-esque. I looked out the window for a moment and saw that there were few people, as always. I made my way downstairs and turned a corner, which lead to a small hallway to the dining room. I walked through the hall and saw my mother sitting at the table, looking rather upset. I walked over to her and placed my hands on the table, looking at the papers on the table. She looked up to me and simply looked back down to the papers. When I examined them more, I noticed they were from the capitol building. I quickly snatched one of the papers and started looking over it. As I got deeper into the text, the worse and worse I felt. Soon, I began to feel terrified. On the day of my leaving, I was chosen to go to the Slaughter Games.

I was given no time at all to do anything else. A black car was already out front, a large, bald man in a black suit and sunglasses standing at the back door. It looked like some fancy Sedan, but what do I know about cars? Slowly, and frightened, I took steps to the car, only inching along. I imagine this is how near everyone felt once they’d been chosen and noticed the car. I know nothing about fighting, not in the least. My father did make it to the last six, then died, but he had been serving as a Guardsman for years. He was extremely talented, as well, so that only frightens me more knowing he didn’t survive. The door was wide open, so I climbed in and sat down. Once I’d gotten in, I noticed a man sitting next to me. There was only a grin on his face. His eyes weren’t even opened. He wore a black suit along with some fancy hat. His hair had been dyed a dark blue, as well as it reached down to his upper back.

“Welcome, Scion Broads,” he said.

“Thank you,” I was slightly unsure how to respond, so I simply said that.

“As you know, every year, we hold a ceremony known as the Slaughter Games,” he said, that demented grin still on his face, “It would seem you were one of the chosen few. How unfortunate, as your father had been chosen, as well. At this rate, perhaps your entire family will end up getting chosen, even that elder sister of yours who had been hidden from us for so many years.” Once he had mentioned my sister, I was upset.

“Why do you know about my sister?” I burst in rage.

“Now, calm down, boy. Did you truly expect us not to find out? She had been exposed a few years ago, actually. No one can escape our eyes,” though it would seem I got furious, that demented smile remained. He really pissed me off.

“Just leave the rest of my family alone,” I said.

“Perhaps we’ll select your mother, should we?” he said, now trying to make me angry. Instead of saying anything more, I lunged a hand at his throat, but it went right through. Static appeared once my hand went through.

“What the hell?” I said.

“Did you really expect me to come to you with my physical body?” he said, laughing almost maniacally, “In fact, all of this has been pre-recorded just for you.”

“What do you mean?” I said.

“I knew exactly what you’d say, so I pre-recorded it,” he said, “In fact, you’re about to say ‘But that’s impossible,” aren’t you?”

“Stop screwing with my head,” I shouted.

“Sorry, but I have no more time, see you at the Games, boy,” he said. The hologram disappeared and a voice recorder was sitting on the seat next to me, along with a projector. Something about that man suddenly frightened me. By now, we’d been driving for a few minutes and the large building was already in sight. These games would be televised and there would be people at the building, watching us. The closer we got, the more discomforted I was.

Soon, we pulled into a garage-like place, parking between two lines along with many other black cars. The door next to me opened and I got out, the bald man standing there. When I looked around, I noticed two other men in suits and sunglasses standing near a door. We walked over to the door and went in. Looking around, it looked like some sort of fancy laboratory, but I couldn’t make out what it really was. A man in a white lab coat walked over to me and handed me a round object with a picture on it. On it was a scythe, but I was unsure what to do with the small object. I examined it, making sure there was nothing strange on it or about it. However, everything about it felt strange. I looked up to the man in the lab coat and he made a gesture of putting an object in his mouth. I assumed he wanted me to eat the small object, and so I did. I placed it in my mouth and it was sweet. I chewed into it and then swallowed it. I felt no different than any other time in my life, though. I turned to the man in the lab coat who then clapped and held his hands in the form of holding a pole. I clapped and followed what he did. I noticed something materializing in my hands. First, a long pole, then some fancy curved blade on the end of it. A scythe.

“Now that I know that, how do I get rid of it,” I said.

“Just clap again,” he said. It would seem that clapping is the key to equipping or unequipping a weapon. I clapped again and the scythe dematerialized. I was forced to follow the bald man into another room, where multiple people were. There were nineteen others, all in which were dressed differently and were of different personalities. The bald man then left the room. There were five other men in suits and sunglasses here, all standing tall. I looked around and noticed that the room was very fancy, with soft, red velvet chairs and couches and a floor made of marble with some fancy design. In the center of the room was a large glass table. I looked around and noticed the people sitting around. Three of them looked like delinquents, four of them looked like nobles, and the rest looked like your everyday citizens. Two of the delinquent-like people were small and a bit scrawny. One sat in one of the chairs, his legs hanging off the arm of it. The other scrawny one was standing next to the other delinquent-looking guy, who was large and muscular with a few piercings and tattoos, along with a scar along his face and on his left arm. Those two seemed to be talking about something, but I was unsure about what. The group of nobles were all sitting near each other, talking to each other. There were two females and two males in that group. The rest of the people were scattered about, all of different age groups and genders. Some looked frightened, others were enjoying possibly their last day alive. It would seem that the five men in suits were pretty much letting us do whatever we want, so long we didn’t attack or harm anyone in here. However, when I looked in one corner, I noticed someone sitting there, fidgeting with something. It was in a dark corner and he looked crazy. Every so often, I could hear strange laughter coming from him. It was quiet, but it was still audible enough to be heard. It only frightened me so much more.

I could only wonder how some of these people could be so calm in a situation like this. However, from most people’s perspective, I imagine they see me as calm. I walked over and took a seat, waiting for something to happen. I looked around and noticed someone who looked energetic, trying to make friends with the people. However, he kept getting shoved away, completely ignored. I didn’t understand people like him, people who were probably going to die, yet could still smile and be so energetic. At some point, he even tried to communicate with the nobles, but was turned down completely. He looked around, looking for even one more person to talk to. It looked like he was avoiding the delinquents and the crazy person in the corner. Soon, he spotted me and quickly hurried to me. I sort of wanted to avoid communication with anyone I’d have to be fighting against, as I didn’t want to make friends with anyone I’d be killing.

“Hey you, you just arrive, didn’t you?” he had a strong accent, one that gave off a more eastern feel.

“Yeah,” I said.

“Nice, so where’d you come from?” he said, smiling and sitting on the arm of the chair I was in.

“From here in the city,” I said.

“It’s a nice city, I’ll say. I spent a few days here before everyone was gathered here,” he held his hand out, “Name’s Quinto Harbringer, yours?”

“Scion Broads,” I shook his hand, him giving a vigorous shake.

“Broads?” he said, “You mean like Ethan Broads, the Guardsman?”

“Yes, he was my father,” I said.

“That’s awesome! So I’ll get to fight against Broads’ son,” he said, “Honestly, I’m terrified.” He sure didn’t look it or sound it.

“Right,” I said.

“So, what kind of weapon