‘UnEnding’ Part One

Iza pushed his head and shoulders back as he sat in the rigid chair, the hard wood pressing into the small of his back as he arched, stretching. He closed his eyes, breathing softly as he tried his best to block out the chaotic shouts that came from all around. The sound of the surrounding crowd pushing forward against the metal rails, lifting them and banging them down on the stone floor as they waved fistfuls of cash trying to get in any last minute bets. In the darkness he could smell the room, the stale beer mixed with sweat, as he took each breath he could taste it. Opening his eyes, he stared upwards, the dilapidated ceiling created swirling patterns, as the grain of the knotted wood distorted and danced into new shapes. This ballet of wooden movement was no doubt fuelled by the Stac he had taken moments before, sending his mind and senses into an equally bending swirl, as they tried and failed to prepare for what was to come in the next few minutes. Between the dancing shapes, Iza focussed, seeing something he had not expected. Between the cracks of two beams, Iza could just make out an eye, blinking as it stared down at the table below. Iza smiled, someone clearly had found a way to watch the action for free, not paying the crazy top dollar that it took to watch a group of six men attempt to survive a game, that was guaranteed to kill one of them.

“Ok ladies and gentleman…” the harsh, nasal voice of the Ring Master startled Iza back to the table, “the books are now closed.”

Iza now took the time to look around the table, eyeing up his competition. Of the other five, three he recognised from previous games, one a Goliath of a man with haunched shoulders that spread the width of two normal sized men, his height equally impressive as he sat directly opposite Iza. His name was Tarquil, or perhaps Tarquin, at least that’s what Iza thought, but then, under the influence of the Stac it was hard to recall even his own name. Iza took one of the four shots that remained poured in a line in front of him, sending the burning amber liquid down his throat, he paused for a minute, thinking as he stared blankly ahead.  On the right of Tarquil or Tarquin was one of the others Iza had seen before, a polar opposite to the Goliath as he sat twitching in his seat, thinner than a pole. The way he twitched and squirmed, Iza could tell he was on more than just Stacs, not that Iza judged, he knew many who had tried to find more aggressive ways to escape the unending. 

“Gentlemen!” the Ring Master’s voice again pierced the air, like a knife, cutting through any other raised voices. “I ask you to please, each to take one of the shots that our lovely Vanessa is now so gracefully passing round.”

With that, Vanessa, who was certainly graceful and one of those women naturally blessed with beauty, not lessened despite a series of long stretching scars on one arm, carried a small black tray, with six more shot glasses that looked identical to the shots already sat on the table. She offered one to each of the competitors.

“Gentlemen! After the count of three, please drink your shots. One… Two… Three”

Iza thrust the liquid into his mouth, feeling the same burning sensation as before. The jolting movement of his head sent his mind spinning as he could hear every thud of his heart in his ears.

“Now please show your tongues.”

Four of the six opened their mouths at the same time, almost as if rehearsed, the other two hesitated looking around the circle at the others tongues, before they too stuck out their own. 

The competitor, two seats to the left of Iza, had his tongue outstretched, but unlike the others, his was bright green.

“Following the rules of the game, the marked participant will take the first turn, and then, we will work our way around the circle clockwise.”

As the Ring Master finished the announcement, Vanessa brought a second tray to the table, a single revolver in the centre. The Ring Master now came from the podium, to her side. He took the gun in hand, opened the barrel, raising it above his head to show it was empty. He then lowered it, placed a single bullet inside one of the chambers and span the cylinder before closing it. He raised it above his head once again, receiving a deafening cheer from the crowd in the process. He then laid it down before the marked man.

Iza did not need to do the math, the odds were not great. He was fifth in line, sure, it meant there was the chance four others may take the bullet before him, but he knew the odds increased with each empty chamber, if it did reach him then he had a straight fifty-fifty chance.

The crowd continued its ruckus as the Ring Master returned to the podium.

“Now… Let the game, BEGIN.”

The first in line looked down to the gun, shaking his hands as he breathed out, warming up as if there was some skill involved to the game. On grabbing the gun, he lifted it with great speed to his temple and pulled the trigger.

Click

The marked man then placed the gun on the table before the twitching figure. Continuing to squirm as he raised the gun, shakily the twitching figure held the muzzle to his head, he too pulled the trigger with out delay.

Click

Now the gun was placed before the man either known as Tarquin or Tarquil, or perhaps another name entirely. He was calmer, slower as he grabbed the gun in his mammoth sized hand. He slowly, almost delicately, raised the gun to his temple. Rather than close his eyes, as the others had, he stared directly ahead, unblinking as he seemed to lock eyes with Iza. 

Click

With the third hollow sound, Iza took two of the shots from in front of him, knocking them both back in quick succession, leaving only one remaining. 

Click

The gun was placed before him as he put the empty shot glasses down on the table, the fourth opponent had wasted no time in taking his turn.

Iza reached down for the gun, no matter how many times he had played this game, when it came down to the actual moment, he found his heart never beat any slower, the same adrenaline rushing his veins, much stronger then any narcotic. The surrounding chaos, the crashing of metal railings against the stone floor, the shouting of crazed on lookers, all faded to nothing. As he raised the revolver to his temple, he looked up to the ceiling, the eyeball, still staring through the crack seemed wider, unblinking. He took a breath, one of these days he wondered, or was it hope, that when he died, it would be for the last time. Staring into the eye above he winked at the unknown spectator, he then squeezed his finger against the small metal trigger. With a flash of light, but no time for the sound to be heard by Iza, the bullet entered through his skull.

****

Slowly, Iza raised his head from the table, the pain was agonising, the Stac taking little of the edge off. The bar was now empty, except for Vanessa mopping the floor near the bar, the open space felt much larger now the crowds were gone. Iza raised his hand to the left side of his head, the blood drying, but still wet enough to stain his hands crimson, despite there being no longer any sign of any wound. He looked across to the table, his blood and skull fragments still tainting the surface and the floor.

“Not a bad payday,” the voice of the Ring Master, startled Iza, the nasal tone, although no longer shouting, still sent stabbing into his throbbing head. “Just north of a hundred and six thou’ on the books, makes your twenty-five percent, twenty-six thousand, five hundred and fifty… well lets just call it fifty. Pretty good for a few minutes work.”

The Ring Master placed a bundle of scruffy cash onto the clean side of the table, along with a bottle of scotch and two shot glasses.

“Yeh, I guess so,” Iza’s voice was low, husky, but in relation to the Ring Master’s it sounded like a low thud of a bass, “if you don’t mind blowing your head off for it.” 

“Ahh yes, but at least you can. You know, and still live to do it all again. Endless money for you lot.” There seemed to be genuine envy in the Ring Master’s voice.

Iza looked to the clueless Ring Master, as he reached over and grabbed the bottle from the table. Without bothering with the glass, Iza poured the amber liquid directly into his mouth from the bottle. The Norms, never could understand what it was like to be an Immortal. To them it was all easy money, no worries of anything in the world, for what could you possibly worry about if it was impossible to die, or to stay dead anyway. Take this game for example, each participant, majority of which were Immortals, although from time to time you do see the desperate Norm trying to make some easy money. The contestants get a tiny five percent of the pot, with the so called ‘Victor’, the poor bastard with his brains on the table gets twenty-five, and the Ring Master, the organiser who is in no immediate danger gets the remaining fifty-percent. But there was no union for illegal death sports and most could not afford to turn down even the five percent.

Iza did not respond to the Ring Master’s ignorant comment, simply grabbing the cash, keeping the bottle in the other hand he stood and walked toward the exit. 

“Oi, you’re meant to clean this up!” shouted the Ring Master after Iza, “It’s in your bloody contract.”

Iza continued his stride, without looking back, he slid a single one hundred note out of the stack of cash and dropped it over his shoulder, and continued out through the doors, the note floating down to the floor.

“Fucking Immortals,” mumbled the Ring Master beneath his breath, “Vanessa, get this shit cleared up!”

****