1.
The Spectacle always began in darkness.
The man stood in the centre of this darkness, feeling those around him staring into it, their eyes searching for him and failing. Everyone waited for the signal. The crowd waited with breathless anticipation, whereas the man waited in abject terror; but still they all waited. Somewhere someone turned on the public address system, there was a whine of back feed and the crowd murmured; the beginning was close.
The man shuddered and for a moment he thought he would just drop to the concrete, curl up and let what was about to happen, happen. Instead, he took a deep breath and stared into the darkness. He had no choice in being here, the road always led here for people like him, here or somewhere like it but he did have a choice in how he met what waited for him; in the dark.
No one ever gets out of here alive, he thought, but isn’t that always true in life?
“Ladies and gentlemen,” the amplified voice, smooth as honey, echoed around the darkened space, “welcome to The Spectacle!”
And then there was light!
A circle of impossibly harsh and unforgiving halogen lights to be precise, lights that glowed bright in a fifty-foot circle around him. Lights that sent shadows from the thick wire mesh that surrounded him across the blood-stained concrete floor.
“Ladies and gentlemen… Place your bets…!” The amplified voice rumbled toward him from beyond the lights, from the comforting shadows in which the anonymous crowd waited, drinking, and chatting, for The Spectacle to begin.
That’s me, the man thought, tonight that’s me.
From beyond the hum of the lights the man could hear the murmur of activity. Bets were being placed, probably not large ones judging by his small statue and thin physique, but the House of the Spectacle wouldn’t care; after all the House always wins.
The man knew the rules well, they stated three minutes between the reveal of the contestant and the closing of the books. The man counted, partly to measure the time but also, more importantly, to stop from going completely insane. If he allowed himself to think of what awaited him…
He counted silently to himself.
He heard talking in the distance, he heard the occasional laugh. He had been here enough times to know that he wasn’t causing much of a stir. He was an appetizer before the main event, something that those new to The Spectacle might want to bet on, a small timer.
He continued to count.
The man had been an attendee of The Spectacle since it began, in the months after the virus had been contained. He had witnessed it grow from a makeshift cage in an underground car park to what it had become.
Not that anyone remembered him. It was a rude awakening to realise that this was all beneath their consideration; he was a mark to them, nothing more, and now a considerable amount less.
Now he was just filler before the main event.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” the announcer crooned, “the books are now closed.”
The man had counted to two-hundred and ten, so either they had not kept to the rules, or his own timing was somewhat off; what were the odds?
From beyond the glare of the lights a section of the fence rolled aside, and the man began to back away slowly. His legs twitched under him, they wanted to run, but the man refused to let them.
He was filler, and no one expected a filler to survive the first round, but they had forgotten something. He might be filler, which might be true; but he was also a gambling man.
First the man saw the shambling shadow emerge from the darkness beyond the fence, and then the shadow moved in front of the lights and became a silhouette that trailed chains behind it. As the creature approached the chains grew taught, snapping the thing to a stop twenty feet into the arena.
The thing was a horror, and the man had never seen one up close.
It had been a person once; its lips had tasted delicacies and its eyes had seen beauty. Perhaps its fingers had created art, or perhaps in the moments before death they had grasped a lover’s hand, but now they just reached for him, clawing at the air in mute twisted savagery.
The things body was covered in plates of metal, thin sheets sewn to it with lengths of thin electrical cable. Its skinny arms were wrapped in sheets no thicker than tinfoil, presented for effect rather than protection; it gave the creature the look of a rotted gladiator.
The man found his gaze drawn to its eyes, it’s all too human eyes, past the things jutting from its mouth and the sunken, rotten face and the man thought he could see sadness in those eyes; and, inexplicably, he found he pitied it.
For a long moment nothing happened, and the man could feel the crowd hold their collective breath.
The restrained meat engine snapped at the air with its misshapen jaw and clawed at it with its twisted fingers, its eyes seemed to look at him and not look at him at the same time and the man thought over articles he’d read on the behaviour of the dead.
Did they see? Did they think? Was everything instinct? Or was the dead’s hatred of the living something more than a feral need for flesh?
He knew that this moment was designed to strike terror into anyone caught in this cage. He knew that those who orchestrated of The Spectacle wanted him to claw at the mesh that held him here, they wanted begging, and they wanted terror.
He felt terror; but he’d be damned if he’d show them any.
“Ladies and gentlemen… Round one…!” The announcer was loud but still the man barely heard him; his eyes were trained on the thing in front of him.
The chains holding the dead thing went slack and it fell forward, landing on its knees, the crowd roared its approval, and the man took a step back. He watched as it pulled at the chains still fastened around its wrists. They clatter across the concrete as it dragged them through limp fingers, testing them curiously until the loose end slid across its palm and clattered to the ground.
It moaned a mournful sound that succeeded in silencing the crowd.
The thing looked up and the man saw the same dim understanding in its eyes, a shadow of a thought rather than an actual thought, perhaps the shadow of an instinct or the glimmer of a need. Then it moved forward, and the man moved back; matching it step for ponderous step.
The things eyes changed, the decayed skin around them wrinkling as its torn lips were pulled into a snarl. The man fought to remain calm as he backed to the edge of the arena, waiting for the creature to get close. It was almost close enough to touch him before he moved, dodging, and then sprinting across the blood-stained concrete to the other side.
The crowd booed him energetically and instead of responding he scanned the surroundings, looking for an escape or advantage, finding neither. He pressed his back against the wire-mesh fence surrounding the enclosure. A barely seen shadow-figure ran past the crowd behind him and kicked his back through the fence.
The man is catapulted through the air, tumbling across the concrete.
The crowd showed it appreciation, laughter, and cheers.
The man looked back at the streaks of blood he had left across the cement, his one knee open, and a nobble of white bone showing amid red. He attempted to stand but his leg gave way depositing him in a tangle of limbs. He screamed in pain and the crowd answered him with jeers and laughter.
The world around the man was a blur, and for a moment he’s about to take an offered hand before realising that the creature was reaching down to him, almost as if it intended to help him up. The man snatched away his hand and kicked out with his good leg instead; the creature stumbled back, and the man tried to wriggle away from harm.
Again, it reached out and again the man kicked out, this time missing and instead feeling its twisted fingers grasps at his trouser leg. The dead thing leaned in, mouth opening, its teeth had been torn out, replaced with an assortment of nails that jutted out at odd angles; their edges filed to bright points.
It wrestled the man to slow submission, its head bobbing closer.
It was then that the man heard the low rumbling of a motor, and without looking up he knew that round two was about to begin. He glanced sideways and saw another shambling shadow, chains trailing from its wrists entering the arena.
The public address system crackled to life and those familiar smooth tones said the words the man knew were coming.
“Ladies and gentlemen… Round two…!”
He had to be quick.
He kicked out with his good leg, not trying to connect with the dead thing on top of him but rather trying to use momentum to flip them both over. He kicked again and the thing slid to the side and, pain ripping through his knee, the man rolled over on top and grabbed at the chain trailing from the creature’s wrist, wrapping the slick steel around its neck. He pulled, something in his knee popped and fresh blood ran down his shin in a river. He ignored it and pulled harder.
The second creature was still held by the manacles around its wrists, but in seconds it would be free. The man couldn’t think of the rules, his mind had turned into a terrified mush, but he knew there was a set time before it was released. He knew that the rules stated that if he could kill them both before round three was announced he would walk free; assuming he wasn’t infected of course.
He also knew this rarely happened but then, he was a gambling man.
With one work boot wedged against the creatures jaw the man felt his muscles burn with the strain. A forever later he felt the chain give slightly as a wet pop echoed across the arena. For a moment it still struggled, twitching erratically in spite of his broken neck; its feeble mind talking time to know it’s finally dead. The man rolled it over and used the chain to bind its arms behind its back.
He stood on one unstable leg and drove his boot into the creatures bound arms again and then again. He steadied himself and then tried again, driving his heel into the creature elbow. One more kick and the man felt the bones of the creature’s arms break, a shard of dead grey slicing through the equally dead flesh. One final kick to its skull and the meat that was one a person was still once more.
The crowd groaned, perhaps in irritation, perhaps in disgust, but the groan transformed into a cheer when the chains restraining the second creature went limp and it stumbled forward.
The man tore of his jacket and wrapped it around the exposed bone of his knee; quickly tying it tight and hoping it would still support his weight then he ripped the chain free of the mangled creature on the floor; its length smeared in its thick oily blood and approached the remaining creature.
Under the bright lights he whipped the chain across its legs and the creature went down and then he descended on it, the chain wrapped in a clumsy cudgel around his fist he drove it into the thing’s skull again, and again; until a second twitching pile of offal sat next to the first.
The man stepped away, exhausted, the chain rattling over the concrete.
The audience cheered and whooped. A bell loudly rang, and then rang again.
2.
The man awoke sometime later, his knee bandaged and a mass of cables connecting him to a monitor. On it he could see his heart rate bobbing fitfully.
I guess I’m not infected, he thought.
He rolled his head to the right and saw a figure sat next to him. It was a man dressed in a blue collarless suit cut in a style fashionable in the city this month. On his lap was a briefcase made of crocodile skin emblazoned with the monogram TSN.
The injured man licked his lips with anticipation.
The be-suited man copied him.
“Mr Reginald Willden?” The be-suited man asked.
“Yes; and you are?” Reggie answered.
“My name is unimportant, but I represent The Spectacle Network.”
“Really…?” Reggie replied in mock surprise.
“Oh yes; really…” The suit replied, apparently immune to sarcasm.
The suit popped open the briefcase and slip from it a small sheaf of papers. Reggie reached for them and found his eyes moving to the tail of cables that trailed from his arm like a manacle. For a moment, his smile faltered, but it was only moment before his poker face was back on.
He looked through the paperwork and his smile faltered again.
“What is this?” He asked with a tingle of menace in his voice.
“Your winnings Mr Willden…” The suit answered, apparently immune to menace as well. “Minus what you owe: the tab you have maintained at the venue, tax and, of course, medical expenses…”
For a moment Reggie couldn’t answer.
The sum consisted of four zeroes, two figures and a decimal point and it counted the money to the penny; it wasn’t a whole lot. Reggie closed his eyes and lay back in the hospital bed. Beside him the suit was speaking but Reggie tuned him out.
Without looking he held the papers out to the man sat beside him.
“Let it ride…” He said, turned over and went to sleep.
3.
Reggie never truly understood why The Spectacle began in darkness, he still didn’t but something tugged at the edge of his mind as he stood there. Some part of him was beginning to understand.
There was no fear this time, none at all. There was a need this time, a hunger.
There was also a kinship to those creatures he would soon be facing.
They both craved fulfilment; flesh for them, cash for him.
It was all the same in the darkness.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” the amplified voice, smooth as honey, echoed around the darkened space, “welcome to The Spectacle!”
Then there was light.
Reggie had prepared this time. Last time had been an act of desperation, The Spectacle equivalent of washing dishes to pay off a bill, but this time was different; this time he was playing the game and the game wasn’t playing him.
He had read through the rules and exploited them as far as he could. It allowed him a week to recuperate, so he took it down to the minute, they had also offered him a way to alter the odds and this opportunity had absorbed most of that week.
“Ladies and gentlemen… Place your bets…!” The amplified voice rumbled toward him from that place beyond the lights, a place still caught in darkness.
Reggie began to count down from one-hundred and eighty, three minutes.
When he got to zero the announcer crooned. “Ladies and gentlemen… The books are now closed…’
Reggie stared at the floor throughout, stock still, and barely blinking. He heard the gate opening to his right and shambling footsteps and then he heard the same happen to his left. Two creatures stumbled their way into the arena. There would be a ten second pause between each release, just enough to stagger the attack; but that’s all the advantage he could hope for.
Attacking the creatures before the round was called would earn him a forfeit, interfering with the fence in any way would also earn him a forfeit; other than that, he was free to do as he pleased.
“Ladies and gentlemen… Round one…!” The announcer almost screamed; but Reggie’s gaze never faltered.
The first creature stumbled as the chain holding it was released and Reggie dropped, rolled, and ran. He grabbed the end of the chain that restrained it and yanked it hard. The thing fell backwards and already Reggie was on it, repeatedly smashing into its skull with the tangle clump of chain.
He had perhaps six seconds left before the second was released. He ignored the shards of bone sticking out of the tips of its fingers as they popped through the flesh of his forearm, he ignored the rotten flesh of its throat that ruptured under his own fingertips; his entire mind was focused on one thing.
He was almost completely spent when finally; he felt the things skull give under the repeated hammering. The creature still twitched but it was no longer alive, if these things were ever alive.
He could do this; he was certain now. He had almost three minutes to finish off the second creature, long enough for him to almost take his time. Not that he intended to.
The chains on the remaining creature were released and Reggie repeated the process; dodge, drop, run. Then grab the chain.
It went flawlessly and within moments the creature was on its back and Reggie was pummelling it repeatedly with the chain clutched in his closed fist.
It was almost too easy.
The creature reached up and Reggie smashed at its reaching hand, then he followed through with another blow that took the things jaw. It was harmless to him now, he had won, all he had to do was finish it off and he could walk free with nearly fifty grand in his pocket.
He paused with the bloodied mass of metal over the creature’s head.
He managed two pretty easily, could he manage four?
Take the money and run, the rational side of his mind replied.
No wait, a mischievous voice argued, ten seconds between each release. All he needed to do was the same as he already had; just twice. It’d be easy.
I must be missing something, he thought, I must be…
No, you’re not, the voice responded, it’s the fear that kills in The Spectacle, that’s why it all starts in darkness don’t you see?
He had lost track of time; he didn’t know how much of it he had left; he had to decide. The thoughts tumbled through his mind in a jumble, could he chance it? Should he chance it? Could he dare not?
No, no; I have to get out…
The chain was still raised, he had frozen statue-like and the crowd had grown silent. Then he drove the chain into the creature skull one last time. It twitched and died.
Then there was silence.
Where the bell? He thought. Where’s the…
Four gates opened simultaneously, and a quartet of shambling creatures stumbled out into the arena, each trailing a chain behind it. Around them the public address system crackled to life and those familiar smooth tones said the words Reggie dreaded.
“Ladies and gentlemen… Round two…!”
Oh, Lord! What have I done?! Reggie thought, and the unseen crowd went absolutely insane with excitement.
Frantically Reggie clawed at the twitching creature closest to him, tearing at one of the metal pieces sewn into its flesh, ripping it free. Next, he rips the shackle from its wrist and winds the chain twice around his own creating a flail from the chain.
Around him four of the dead are drawn to a stop by their own restraints. Reggie moves to the arena’s centre, one creature at each point of the compass around him, each about five feet from clawing at his flesh.
He waits for the announcer.
They’re weak, Reggie thought, you can do this. Ten seconds between each release, ten seconds…
And then he realised his mistake as two creatures were released simultaneously.
Double the chances, double the odds as the rule book said…
Reggie dropped, rolled, and slammed the makeshift shield into the throat of the nearest creature. Black blood ran like oil down its chest and Reggie ducked under its reaching arm and slammed his chain wrapped fist into the back of its skull. It stumbled forward, colliding with the other creature, both of them falling into a tangled mess.
Two are released simultaneously, but there are still ten seconds between releases, its hard but possible, he told himself and moved towards the two creatures; and, even as that thought ran though his head the final two were released and he was caught.
4.
But then, he was always caught by something; wasn’t he? A week ago, almost to the hour, Reggie found himself stood between the two men, their large hands clutching at his wrists tightly enough that he thought he could feel the bones bend. The third man looked at him with eyes so unmerciful that that even Reggie recoiled.
“I just don’t have it…” Reggie said.
“Well, there are other ways to pay…” The man replied and his smile was harsher than his eyes.
A few hours earlier than that Reggie was in the stands staring down at the combatants caught in the circular glow of lights. Reggie felt his face contort in rage as the bout ended. He was sure this time, he was so sure. He glanced at his ticket stub; it stated “4th Round”
“Ladies and gentlemen, we have a K.O. in the first minute of the third round.” The insufferably upbeat voice announced, and Reggie felt the world tighten around him.
An hour earlier than that Reggie was waiting in the queue. In his hand he had the little reporter’s notebook he always carried in which he noted and schemed. In it a name was underlined, and the odds were calculated.
Reggie had the inside scoop this time; he knew the guy and he knew he was good for at least four rounds. He had seen the guy in brawls around town and he knew four was a safe bet, even five; but four… Yeah four… Let not be greedy Reggie.
He got to the window and placed his bet. The man in the booth looked him over when he found himself unable to cover his stake, as he knew he would. Reggie plastered a look of sorrowful surprise and the booth’s supervisor made his way over and questioned Reggie.
“Hey, c’mon man. I’m good for it!” Reggie shrugged and after a moments consideration the supervisor nodded.
Reggie knew this was a sure bet.
A week and a day ago Reggie wakes to the sound of the door and pain rips through his head. The couch was an expensive one once, but now its leather was torn, and its innards had begun to billow out in little cloud-like formations.
He swung his feet to the carpet, once a peach colour but now a muddy brown, and climbed to unsteady feet.
The door stuck slightly as he tried to open it but with a tug it tore open with a thud. Reggie’s heart sunk when he saw what awaited him on the other side. The woman was small and slim, and Reggie knew under any other circumstances such an attractive woman would be welcome at his door; but in her hand she held an envelope and on it, in red, he saw a single word.
“Overdue.”
Reggie’s face fell.
5.
Reggie dragged the creatures head away by the hair, its jaws snapping near his ear, and he drew his other arm back to strike out. Hands reach out as if from nowhere and his forearm is grasped like a drumstick.
Teeth are bared, black and broken.
He shrieks as a portion of his arm disappears down the creature’s throat. And their combined weight drives him down.
6.
Its two years earlier when the couch is almost new, and the carpet still looked more peach than brown. Reggie’s hair is too long, and he lounges in the middle of a group of adults still young enough to pretend they are children. The front door opens, and she stares in, her face betrays none of the emotion that must boil underneath; without a word she turns and leaves.
Reggie never sees her again
Four years ago, the same living room as before, this time it is unfurnished, Reggie stands at the door with the girl on his arm, they look at each other lovingly. Her eyes are bright and her smile genuine.
“Perfect'” Reggie grins.
Earlier still and Reggie moves against the bar, the girl is sat at it; he asked her if she like a drink. She nods and he orders her one.
7.
The others move closer as Reggie is driven down; there are six now, eight perhaps, Reggie can no longer tell, all of them within seconds of getting to him. Those seconds pass and his shriek turns to a scream, long and loud, legendary in its volume. The scream lasts a long, long time and when a crack of bones ends it many in the crowd have already covered their ears.
The crowd’s howls are feverish; here and there hands clutch the fence surrounding the arena. The fence vibrates with a life almost of its own.
Reggie life ends with nothing more dramatic than a gargle and for a while the creatures continue their feeding.
8.
Ten years ago, in a university lecture hall Reggie tries to pay attention as a lecturer speaks; none of them knows that the worlds going to end in a few years. Reggie has no idea that within ten he’ll cease to exist.
Five years earlier than that Reggie sits in history class paying no more attention.
Five years earlier still and Reggie pays far more attention to the tree he is trying to climb.
Another five years previous and Reggie, or that child that would soon be called Reggie, is curled up in his mother’s arms; she sits on a park bench and beside her sits a man.
“Reggie’ After my grandfather.'” She says.
In a hospital room the same woman, teary eyed as she sits before a doctor, she is heavily pregnant.
“Realistically I could give him no more and a 10% chance.”
The woman clutches her belly protectively.
“He’ll beat that Doctor’ He’s my luck child'”
9.
Money changes hands in the darkness outside the arena.
Well-dressed individuals get into expensive cars, elegant ladies with expensive jewellery and men in well-tailored suits plan the rest of the evenings.
“We have a K.O. in the third minute of the second round.” The announcer doesn’t have the same energy in his voice; even he seems to have had enough of the day. “Congratulations to the winners’ Commiserations to everyone else’ And remember'” If anyone were still listening, they would hear an uncharacteristic sigh. “God loves a gambling man.”
In the arena the creatures begin to lose interest in Reggie’s corpse and stand, wandering away. The crack of a gunshot is heard and the first one falls, carefully each one is picked off, never a shot being wasted. For a long moment the arena is silent – everything in it is now dead – and then one by one the lights around it are all extinguished.
The Spectacle always began in darkness, and after a brief affair with the light it always ended in it too.