GEE YELLOW, I DON'T THINK WE ARE IN KANSAS ANY MORE!!

“THEN WE ARE ALL READY THEN, RIGHT KIDDOS!?!”

The overzealous screams of the children fills your tubular confines with sound forcing your face to squint. You flex at what is strapping you in with great strength and there is not the slightest of a bend. There was, however, a brief pause before your answer got a response. It was difficult to notice but you are going to gather that this ‘broadcast’ is not without delay but the signal all must be contained relatively close in proximity. Again you wonder how it is you know any of this.

The face of the clown presses close to the screen which imposes a forced closeness to you.

“WELL THEN YELLOW PLAYER, GOOD FUCKING LUCK!!”

And with that you feel your encasement shudder and you feel of a sickly light weight as you feel your blood shift upward.

The T.V. switches back to ‘please stand by…’ and in this moment you feel a great come-down. Like the removal of some awakening force from your body. Perhaps it’s that the clown is gone, maybe those god-awful children, or maybe its because for this moment you feel like you are back in some sort of limbo between two worlds.

The quiet returns but this time your mind races with thoughts. It’s as if each moment is the only thing to cling on so your mind is actively sweeping it till the point of familiarity. The tube around you still shuddering and hissing, your ears can barely pick up new music on the radio of this small but imposing television.

Anticipation rises again as you feel new sounds coming from ahead of you and with the television lifting upwards you feel as if you are about be brought-out of your confines. There is an instant and overwhelming excitement for the return of your free-will that builds up in your stomach until the rest of your body tingles.

The door ahead of you comes into form with the auto-mechanical rearrangement of objects ahead of you and with a hiss this door too begins to open. And with a sudden violent motion the tube shifts forward slightly and drops you onto the marble floor that stands before you. Lumbering up from your newly assumed fetal position you begin to feel a sudden newness to your being.

The large tube embedded into the wall behind you looks not unlike the décor that surrounds it. Faded wallpaper and plastered ceiling imply that you are in some sort of building, maybe even a house. Although the stank stale air and general feeling of unease would suggest that this house is not intended for comfortable living. If you had to guess by the floor, wallpaper and general structure you would say that this ‘house’ is probably more like a ‘mansion’ from the early fifties. But with the tubes and stale air you are most definitely underground. So, could this be some sort of ritzy bunker built during the early Cold War era?



The lights from the pneumatic tube light a hallway ahead of you that is roughly fifteen feet apart and they stretch thirty feet away from the base of the tube and further into darkness. Just at the darkest edge of each wall you can see a door of sorts. It looks large, rounded and metal something like what you would have seen in a submarine movie. Yes, you remember DAS BOOT, if for only a second. It is hard to make out any details about them from this distance but these doors are certainly shut.

You are not quite sure where you are but it is certain that you feel a long way from home.

YELLOW PLAYER: Where are we

Our fucking head is throbbing, and all that noise isn't helping. We fucking hate kids. Strange, we know that we hate children, and The Eagles, fucking Don Henley, but we can't remember our name.

We should be worm food.

Yes, that stands out as well, not the how or why, but that we should be fucking dead. Maybe this is Hell.

Could be, could be. Never thought the afterlife would have television though. So what if this is Hell?

Then fucking game over. No more hunt, looming over the city, waiting for the prey to show itself then cutting through the night to snip their fucking strings.

Leaving behind a beautiful, broken marionette upon a stage of blood. but even if we are in The Pit it doesn't mean an end to our fun. Hell may hold the greatest quarry of all, can The Devil be killed?

Fuck, that's fucking brilliant, lets find out. First we need to get out of this fucking tin can.

Wait, wait, this isn't just some television show, that clown is talking to us!?!



We listen intently, a grin slowly spreading across our face. As the clown finishes, muscles straining against whatever is holding us down, we yell "YES, WE ARE READY!"



A scavenger hunt, this might be fun. Could that fucking clown be The Devil?

We better kill him just to make sure.

BLUE PLAYER: Perhaps You Had Better Start From the Begining...

I lean heavily against the wall, the tattered paper coarse against my fingertips, as though they're new to feeling. I take a ragged breath, heart racing.

(Steady.)

I close my eyes.

(In through the nose)
I inhale slowly.

(Out through the mouth)
A shuttering breath whistles emptily through my teeth.

(OK, better.)

I open my eyes, LOOKING around the hallway.

(So if this is a 'Game', there must be 'Players')

I turn and LOOK to the RASA TUBE.

(A new-hatched bird had everything it needed in its egg..maybe it's the same for me)
As I reach into the Tube to SEARCH, I look at my arms, the dark blue of my cover-alls catching my eye.

(He called me the 'Blue Player'..So maybe it's a colour thing)
(Let's see.. Colours..)
(Red)
(Orange)
(Yellow)
(Green)
(Blue, me)
(Indigo)
(Violet)

(Seven. Excluding me, six.)

(Unless there's Black and White too?)


"Fuck. Eight. Assume eight."

"Well that's just fucking perfect."

As I continue to SEARCH, the RASA TUBE, I find myself looking at the backs of my hands.

I study the rough calluses, veins standing out in the pale flesh, peppered with flecks of melanin, pink at the knuckles and nails. I have a few scars across the second knuckle of my left thumb, hair like copper wires standing out from the backs of my wrists. A man's hands; maybe late twenties, early thirties.

(Who the hell am I?)

I reach up, tentatively touching my face, trying to get a sense of what I look like.

(Sharp high cheekbones)
(Squared jaw with a pointed chin; some morning scruff)
(Deep-set eyes with a jutting brow ridge, contoured forehead)
(Straight nose with a high bridge, feels like it might have been broken at one point)

"Well.. Pleased to meet you, Blue Player."

TAKING what I can from the TUBE, I PROCEED down the HALLWAY, one hand grazing the wall; CROUCHED low, ALERT for the slightest change.

"One down, Eight to go..."

"OH YOU GUYS ARE GUNNA LOVE WHAT I HAVE IN STORE FOR YOU!!!"

BLUE PLAYER GO!

THE METAL DOORS TO YOUR PNEUMATIC TUBE OPEN WITH A VIOLENT HISS AND YOU COLLAPSE TO THE COLD MARBLE FLOOR BEFORE YOU. THE VOICE OF THAT INSIDIOUS CLOWN STILL RINGING IN YOUR EARS YOU FEEL THE SWEAT ON YOUR BODY TURN TO A COLD CHILL AS YOU LUMBER UP FROM THE FETAL POSITION AND STAND ON YOUR FEET.

THE LARGE TUBE IN EMBEDDED INTO THE WALL BEHIND YOU LOOKS NOT UNLIKE THE DECOR THAT SURROUNDS IT. FADED WALLPAPER AND PLASTERED CEILING IMPLY THAT YOU ARE IN SOME SORT OF BUILDING, MAYBE EVEN A HOUSE. ALTHOUGH THE STANK STALE AIR AND GENERAL FEELING OF UNEASE WOULD SUGGEST THAT THIS HOUSE IS NOT INTENDED FOR COMFORTABLE LIVING.

WALLS ROUGHLY TEN FEET APART CONTINUE BEFORE YOU MAKING A HALLWAY THAT STRETCHES TWENTY FEET INTO THE DARKNESS. THE ONLY SOURCE OF LIGHT IS THE SMALL DIODES FROM THE PNEUMATIC TUBE THAT HAS FINISHED ITS SINISTER HISSING AND NOW ONLY GARGLES HOT SPITTLES OF LIQUID FROM ITS BASE.

YOU ARE NOT QUITE SURE WHERE YOU ARE BUT IT IS CERTAIN THAT YOU FEEL A LONG WAY FROM HOME.

HELLO YELLOW!!

The T.V. screen blips and then cuts to black for a split second. This drastic change causes your body to spam and your mind to draw to immediate attention. Your vision is now consumed with the image of an entire audience of children screaming with excitement. The high-pitch of their fervor is enough to pierce your ears and cause your face to a grimace. Panning into the screen, in an unnaturally close close-up, you see a jubilant face painted like a clown brandishing a large and toothy smile.

“HI KIDDOS!! YOU KNOW WHAT TIME IT IS??”

The children heighten the sharpness of their cheers.

“THAT’S RIGHT … PSYCHO BILLY’S HOUSE OF SLAUGHTER!!!”

As you brace yourself for more audible impact the children’s cheering is nearly unbearable for you.

“OKAY BOYS AND GIRLS, PUT YOUR HANDS TOGETHER FOR THE YELLOW PLAYER!!!”

The cheering continues its jarring drone and the clown waves the tops of his fingers at you in a coochy-coo manner.

“HI YELLOW PLAYER … HEYA … HOWS MY YELLOW PLAYER HOLDING UP?? I HOPE YOUR NOT CLAUSTROPHOBIC!!”

He rolls his eyes in an exaggerated way.

“BECAUSE YOU ARE MY GUEST ON THE BESTEST GAME-SHOW EVER TO GRACE GOD’S GREEN EARTH. We got guns, knives, grenades … we got robbers, jocks and fighter pilots … we got so much for you to play with … WELCOME YELLOW PLAYER!!! WELCOME TO MY HOUSE OF SSSLAUGHTER!!!”

There is calliope music that begins to play in a wonky way as its exaperated and muted notes compete with the hellish high-pitched voices of the youthful audience. The camera pans back now and you can see that this clown is certainly middle-aged but has a certain limber quality to his movements. Around him lie large objects of primary colors set onto a white background.

He takes a great deep exaggerated breath while he makes time for a dramatic pause. Then rapidly leans back to his uncomortable close up to mumble:

“this is a game show where you are a contestant and so in order to make it to the final round all you gotta do I collect the six items on your scavenger list that are hidden somewhere on the playing field below… should be easy right, should be a walk in the park?? Well you gotta ask yerself if you have what it takes… go ahead ASK, DO I the FUCKING YELLOW PLAYER have what it takes to see THIS THROUGH??”

“I SURE FUCKING HOPE SO!!! fer yer sssake. I am the one that not only brought you here but essentially created you, I am you’re alpha and I am gunna be your omega so you see you oughta just stick with me and trust me your gunna have a GRAND! OLD! TIME!!”

His face has bursted into an intimidating excitement and he inhales again exageratively.

“So yer gunna be a good contestant and stick to the game and give us a good show right?? Yer gunna play this thing through like a fucking shakesperean comi-tragedy right to the fucking last scene getting them all in stitches, huh?? Yer gunna sing and scream bloody murder all night long??”

It is during this brief pause that you notice the children have stopped their incessant drone but you are not certain for how long it has been dropped.

“ALRIGHT, WERE BACK!!”

The children’s chorus of pain begins sounding again assaulting your ears from either side.

“OKAY, WELL WE HAVE GONE OVER ALL THE RULES AND THERE IS ONLY ONE THING TO ASK …”

The children and the clown scream in an ear-drum battering unison

“ARE … YOU ... READY???”

The final word is left with a pause lasting longer than the previous pauses in this conversation. You have a sick feeling in the bottom of your stomach as you feel you are being watched.

The television has grown silent and motionless besides the clown’s subtle sway and blinks. The pneumatic tube hisses and continues to slide in its downward motion. Your pulse throbs from the center of your chest and outward pressing at the very things strapping you in.

What do you do?

COMMERCIAL BREAK

"WE WILL MEET YELLOW PLAYER AFTER A WORD FROM OUR SPONSORS"

*CLIP FROM OLD COWBOY AND INDIAN MOVIE, HORSEBACK GUN-BATTLE*
*GUNSHOT SOUNDS*

"CAN YOU PUT A PRICE ON HUMAN LIFE?
HOW ABOUT ONE BULLET??
ONE BULLET IS ALL IT TAKES TO SAVE A LIFE.
ONE BULLET CAN MEAN THE DIFFERENCE BETWEEN LIFE AND DEATH
WHY RISK RUNNING OUT?
WHY EVER RUN AT ALL?
YOU CAN NEVER HAVE TOO MUCH AMMO
IF YOU NEED SOME AMMO AND YOU NEED IT PRONTO
THEN LOOK FOR THE VENDING MACHINE NAMED 'EL BANDITO'"

*CLIP FROM DIRTY HARRY*
*GUNSHOT SOUNDS*

*WORDS ON SCREEN: 'EL BANDITO'*
*MUSICAL JINGLE ON OUTDATED KEYBOARD WITH FEMALE POP VOICES RE-ITERATING THE NAME*

"A WOMAN THINKS A MAN'S GUN SURE IS NEATO
SO GET YOURSELF A BIG ONE AT 'EL BANDITO'"

BLUE TUBE

“HO, HO, HO!! DIDN’T I TELL YOU HE WAS A KNOCKOUT KIDS?? DIDN’T I TELL YOU?!?”

The cheer of the hell-choir forces your teeth into a gnash only fueling your anger.

“YOU LOOK READY ENOUGH TO ME!!”

And with that you feel your ecasement shudder and you feel of a sickly light weight as you feel your blood shift upward.

The T.V. switches back to ‘please stand by…’ and in this moment you feel a great come-down. Like the removal of some awakening force from your body. Perhaps it’s that the clown is gone, maybe the cheering, or maybe it’s because you feel like attention has been drawn elsewhere.

The quiet returns but this time your mind races with thoughts. It’s as if each moment is the only to cling to so your mind is actively sweeping it till the point of familiarity. The tube around you still shuddering and hissing your ears can barely pick up new music on the radio of this small but imposing television.

WELCOME GREEN PLAYER!!

The T.V. screen blips and then cuts to black for a split second. This drastic change causes your body to spam and your mind to draw to immediate attention. Your vision is now consumed with the image of an entire audience of children screaming with excitement. The high-pitch of their fervor is enough to pierce your ears and cause your face to a grimace. Panning into the screen, in an unnaturally close close-up, you see a jubilant face painted like a clown brandishing a large and toothy smile.

“HI KIDDOS!! YOU KNOW WHAT TIME IT IS??”

The children heighten the sharpness of their cheers.

“THAT’S RIGHT … PSYCHO BILLY’S HOUSE OF SLAUGHTER!!!”

As you brace yourself for more audible impact the children’s cheering is nearly unbearable for you.

“ALL RIGHT KIDDOS, BRACE YOURSELVES! AND GIVE A BIG WARM WELCOME TO THE GREEN PLAYER!!”

The cheering continues its jarring drone and the clown waves the tops of his fingers at you in a coochy-coo manner.

“HI GREEN PLAYER … HEYA … pft … LOOK AT THIS GUY, ASLEEP BEHIND THE WHEEL, HE HAS NO IDEA WHATS GOING ON!!”

He rolls his eyes in an exaggerated way.

“WAKE UP!! YOU’RE HERE, ON THE BESTEST GAME-SHOW EVER TO GRACE GOD’S GREEN EARTH. No need to dream my friend, all that you were meant for is right fucking here … WELCOME GREEN PLAYER!!! WELCOME TO MY HOUSE OF SSSLAUGHTER!!!”

There is calliope music that begins to play in a wonky way as its exaperated and muted notes compete with the hellish high-pitched voices of the youthful audience. The camera pans back now and you can see that this clown is certainly middle-aged but has a certain limber quality to his movements. Around him lie large objects of primary colors set onto a white background.

“WE WILL BE BACK KIDDO’S AND WE WILL SEE IF WE CAN FINALLY AWAKE THE GREEN PLAYER!”

He takes a great deep exaggerated breath while he makes time for a dramatic pause. Then rapidly leans back to his uncomortable close up to mumble:

“only gunna say this once green player, so LISTEN THE FUCK UP!! This IS the end times my friend and your very soul is at stake, you are a PAWN on the very CHESS BOARD OF THE GODS!!! And if you wanna get through this you are gunna have to finish your chores, OTHERWISE YOU’LL BE GROUNDED … like for life, IN A BOX!!!”

“deep in your pocket you have a list. each item on that list is somewhere down the the hell you are heading towards. Get those items and I will set you free. Get those items and I will bring you to me. AND FOR THE GODS SAKE DON’T DILLY-DALLY!!!”

“WANNA CLAIM WHATS YOURS?? YOUR VERY FUCKING BIRTH-RIGHT FOR BEING THE BEAST THAT YOU ARE?!? LIKE THOSE ONE-THOUSAND FOOLS WHO FOLLOWED THE BATTFIELD, TO! THEIR! ENDS! AND THE END OF ALL!! THINGS!!!?!?”

“GOOD!! I SURE FUCKING HOPE SO!!! fer yer sssake. I am the one that not only brought you here but essentially created you, I am you’re alpha and I am gunna be your omega so you see you oughta just stick with me and trust me your gunna have a GRAND! OLD! TIME!!”

His face has bursted into an intimidating excitement and he inhales again exageratively.

“So yer gunna be a good contestant and stick to the game and give us a good show right?? Yer gunna play this thing through like a fucking shakesperean comi-tragedy right to the fucking last scene getting them all in stitches, huh?? Yer gunna sing and scream bloody murder all night long??”

It is during this brief pause that you notice the children have stopped their incessant drone but you are not certain for how long it has been dropped.

“HEH HAH!! WE FINALLY GOT THE GREEN PLAYER AWAKE!! ALRIGHT, WERE BACK!!”

The children’s chorus of pain begins sounding again assaulting your ears from either side.

“OKAY, WELL WE HAVE GONE OVER ALL THE RULES AND THERE IS ONLY ONE THING TO ASK …”

The children and the clown scream in an ear-drum battering unison

“ARE … YOU ... READY???”

The final word is left with a pause lasting longer than the previous pauses in this conversation. You have a sick feeling in the bottom of your stomach as you feel you are being watched.

The television has grown silent and motionless besides the clown’s subtle sway and blinks. The pneumatic tube hisses and continues to slide in its downward motion. Your pulse throbs from the center of your chest and outward pressing at the very things strapping you in.

What do you do?

GREEN PLAYER: Finally...

Always the same dream.
Some call it judgment day, Day of one billion souls. Ragnarok.
I stand over my vanquished enemies. Slain. Dismembered. Heads arranged neatly in preparation for the sacrifice to Odin. And I see him smiling down at me. Chuckling in that diabolically heinous way. Was this really a dream. No. The prophecy.

They say the Gods of Destruction will send their heroes in many forms.
The fat man at the mall. The little girl in the park. My father.
They say it is the duty of the Jotunn to desecrate these bastards in the name of Loki.
This weakens the power of the gods so that we may finally persevere with our war.

They say I'm insane. This is all some kind of schizophrenic delusion created in my subconscious to give me a legitimate reason to kill innocents.
But he has made me realize the truth.
This is my last objective.
This is what I must do.
That laugh. That fucking laugh.
He won't be laughing when my hands rip his head from his spine and carve up his skull for one last offering.

These restraints will not hold me long.
Odin's assassin has called me out.
This will be my finest hour.
But why the fuck did he have to send a clown.
Creepy fuckers those clowns are.