Insanity did it, acting alone. Murder was an impressive witness.
“Yeah, the kid’s got spunk,” he said, clearly a little disorientated being under this amount of light without a roaring crowd. “We chatted a while in the corridor, he had Oil’s head with him. Single, clean stroke, no hesitation cuts. You’re as old as I am, you can tell these things across a room. And he had his … pancreas? The insulin bit? Yeah, pancreas. Oil did look surprised, I’ve got to say, don’t know why, the prick had it coming. He was here but Gold wasn’t? Please. The guy had no history, he was a wannabe. And then Bats said he was going to do Libby next, she was in the hammock. A meat thermometer, I think, at least at first. Yeah, I knew this would happen. I told the suits, I told them, it’s all fun and games until someone trophies an eye.”
Murder himself was eliminated from the investigation immediately, as he was helping the police with their inquiries over another matter.
Insanity interrogated himself, broke down, wrote a full confession that supported all forensic and witness evidence, denied he had written it, crowed about his capacity to commit the perfect crime, spent some time rocking in a corner mumbling about ‘the sound of the tears’, wrote a further confession that accurately detailed the previously unrecorded crimes of all residents of a suburb in Antwerp, claimed he felt much better now, shook each detective’s hand warmly, and ran into a wall. Tests for toxins and drugs were returned negative.
In the aftermath, seven eliminated contestants were invited back, Entitlement showing up 7 before the announcement was made. Not that it mattered to her, but she was indeed on the list of replacements. She was out again within the week.
* * *
Day 79
“The entire competition is a scam. They wouldn’t let Booze and Smoking play, either would wipe the floor with half these losers. Fuck forbid they be controversial. Where’s Faggotry? Tree Hugging? And what’s with this Western ideology bullshit? Sexism has a place? It’s just life—there’s a reason for it.”
[ Exit interview, Spite ]
* * *
Day 87: Selection of the final six
“Universe,” they called, as the production team added a scintilla of reverberation. “Step forward.”
All the infinite majesty and glory of untrammelled infinity shuffled slightly upstage. The audience was hushed. The light emptied out of the auditorium. There was a measurable tectonic effect as seven billion people shifted in their seats. “Hello,” it said.
“Hello,” War nodded. He paused. For four aching seconds. Then he said:
“So, this is what you’re doing now?”
There was another second before there was another sound, and that was the intake of breath from one hundred and ten thousand throats—birds above the arena actually dipped measurably due to the change in air pressure. Then there was havoc. Ninety seconds of havoc, during which the Three rose to their feet, one at a time, in no hurry, all the while keeping their eyes on the figure in the centre of the stage, who loosened her garb and let it slip down his rail-thin frame, all the while gazing impassively back. Death’s bottom lip slowly spasmed, firming on one side, now loosening, pursing along its length, then dropping slackly.
Despite the gaze of ten network cameras, ninety-eight thousand phone cameras, and every person in the arena, no-one saw her go.
* * *
Day 92: Finale
Leaderboard:
Obsession 126
Murder 123
Vengeance 111
Scandal 108
Hubris 106
Sunset over the world’s largest salt flat, Salar de Uyuni, Bolivia. Impossibly beautiful, beautiful enough to dull the sound of the assembled three and a half million people into an unending moan. They had spent five days congregating there, and those in the centre, those who had arrived first and had taken the best vantage points to toilets and food, were not expected to be able to leave until
“Yeah, the kid’s got spunk,” he said, clearly a little disorientated being under this amount of light without a roaring crowd. “We chatted a while in the corridor, he had Oil’s head with him. Single, clean stroke, no hesitation cuts. You’re as old as I am, you can tell these things across a room. And he had his … pancreas? The insulin bit? Yeah, pancreas. Oil did look surprised, I’ve got to say, don’t know why, the prick had it coming. He was here but Gold wasn’t? Please. The guy had no history, he was a wannabe. And then Bats said he was going to do Libby next, she was in the hammock. A meat thermometer, I think, at least at first. Yeah, I knew this would happen. I told the suits, I told them, it’s all fun and games until someone trophies an eye.”
Murder himself was eliminated from the investigation immediately, as he was helping the police with their inquiries over another matter.
Insanity interrogated himself, broke down, wrote a full confession that supported all forensic and witness evidence, denied he had written it, crowed about his capacity to commit the perfect crime, spent some time rocking in a corner mumbling about ‘the sound of the tears’, wrote a further confession that accurately detailed the previously unrecorded crimes of all residents of a suburb in Antwerp, claimed he felt much better now, shook each detective’s hand warmly, and ran into a wall. Tests for toxins and drugs were returned negative.
In the aftermath, seven eliminated contestants were invited back, Entitlement showing up 7 before the announcement was made. Not that it mattered to her, but she was indeed on the list of replacements. She was out again within the week.
* * *
Day 79
“The entire competition is a scam. They wouldn’t let Booze and Smoking play, either would wipe the floor with half these losers. Fuck forbid they be controversial. Where’s Faggotry? Tree Hugging? And what’s with this Western ideology bullshit? Sexism has a place? It’s just life—there’s a reason for it.”
[ Exit interview, Spite ]
* * *
Day 87: Selection of the final six
“Universe,” they called, as the production team added a scintilla of reverberation. “Step forward.”
All the infinite majesty and glory of untrammelled infinity shuffled slightly upstage. The audience was hushed. The light emptied out of the auditorium. There was a measurable tectonic effect as seven billion people shifted in their seats. “Hello,” it said.
“Hello,” War nodded. He paused. For four aching seconds. Then he said:
“So, this is what you’re doing now?”
There was another second before there was another sound, and that was the intake of breath from one hundred and ten thousand throats—birds above the arena actually dipped measurably due to the change in air pressure. Then there was havoc. Ninety seconds of havoc, during which the Three rose to their feet, one at a time, in no hurry, all the while keeping their eyes on the figure in the centre of the stage, who loosened her garb and let it slip down his rail-thin frame, all the while gazing impassively back. Death’s bottom lip slowly spasmed, firming on one side, now loosening, pursing along its length, then dropping slackly.
Despite the gaze of ten network cameras, ninety-eight thousand phone cameras, and every person in the arena, no-one saw her go.
* * *
Day 92: Finale
Leaderboard:
Obsession 126
Murder 123
Vengeance 111
Scandal 108
Hubris 106
Sunset over the world’s largest salt flat, Salar de Uyuni, Bolivia. Impossibly beautiful, beautiful enough to dull the sound of the assembled three and a half million people into an unending moan. They had spent five days congregating there, and those in the centre, those who had arrived first and had taken the best vantage points to toilets and food, were not expected to be able to leave until
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