WHITE'S WELCOME

An ostentatious sigh of relief is presented by the clown upon your answer.

“LET THE FUCKING GAMES BEGIN!!!”

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, how-ever, a brief pause before your answer gets response. It was difficult to notice but you are going to gather that this ‘broadcast’ is not without delay but all must 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.

“HAHHAHAH HA ... YER A FUCKING DEAD MAN!!! A DEAD MAN WHITE, YOU HEAR ME!?!? DEAD!”

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 it’s 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 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.

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 instantaneous 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, which 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.

The hall that lies before you seems very cramped and its wallpaper hangs kind of crooked. The walls are not but five feet apart and its immediate appearance is that of an apartment. But what apartment has marble floors? The hall before you turns sharply to your right and continues fifteen or so feet before breaking off left and into the darkness. The lights of the diodes in your pneumatic tube flash a silhouette of your figure on the wall before you. You are a shadow on the wall. You sort of shrug looking at the average nature of your silhouette and begin to wonder again about the hall.

You are pretty sure you are underground and have been tubed down in that direction for some time. Marble floors, tacky out-dated wallpaper, stale air getting pumped in through somewhere you hear it and almost feel it. The lights of the tube, its gargling hiss and small cramped nature of this hall obscure too many clues but you are sure this is a built representation of a house, a large one possibly a mansion. You are not quite sure where you are but it is certain that you feel a long way from home

A brief moment passes before you realize there may have been a foreign sound bouncing off the walls ahead of you. It sounded like it could have been a voice, but definitely not directed at you for it was too incoherent and distant. Gathered with considerable information you decide your next move.

RED, RED FACED, YET READY

You step around the corner and you face the man in the yellow coveralls who you see is poised in a defensive stance. He looks like he actually might be as tough as you while the ugly smug-grin upon his face makes him look menacing. Your body tenses with readiness for any sudden action and your eyes examine his hands to see they carry nothing. Furthermore he is wearing a pair of coveralls much like yours. With a calming look upon your face you wait for his response.

YELLOW MEETS ANOTHER FELLOW

From the darkness you hear a commanding and slightly calming voice.

"Alright just who the hell are you and watch your mouth no need for that language we're in it deep enough as it is. now what is it that you want? maybe we can help each other."

His voice is not unlike a late night classical music radio host, deep and soulful yet not alarming. With this, a large square-jawed man rounds the corner. His eyebrows give you the currently harmless first impression while his rather large and athletic build imply a much different thing. He wears, like you, a set of coveralls. They are, unlike you, coloured red. This must be your mouth-breather.

BLUE PLAYER: ON THE LOOKOUT

Making as little sound you can you examine the painting. Its mood seems taunting and sinister but it indicates no sign of numbers or clues to your eyes. A quick tactile inspection establishes that it is an old painting with a hard wood frame. There is within the painting a representation of a letter, upside down with script upon it but it is written in German.

You then sneak down the hallway, cat-paw like steps barely giving the feeblest of noises and reach the corner darting through the open space, wall to wall, nimble and smooth. You wait poised and listening with the fullest of intent. You fight to keep internal monologue, clean and quiet, knowing that you have to focus full. Momentary Zen, interrupted with more sounds of hissing, distant but coming from the hall behind you.

A quick glance in the darkness, with your eyes still adjusting you can see there is another hall and the walls within your view adorn many doors, in many directions. Waiting still and as if upon some precipice, you glance back towards the only sign of visual movement. Eyes fixed now, toward the hall from whence you came, you wait. Head swimming with options your wrestling with non-introspection comes to an end. You cannot help but think of what to do.

In this silence a new sound comes to your ear. You are pretty sure that your ears are picking up a vibration within the metal of the door itself. This could imply sound from the other side or maybe from within the door itself. The sound is rhythmic, twangy and with melody above it. It’s a voice and guitar, like a gospel or country song. It’s barely there and you mind goes back and forth whether you are truly hearing or just making it up.

Your mind blurts out an involuntary yet inaudible hum.

no yellow billy's here

"Alright just who the hell are you and watch your mouth no need for that language we're in it deep enough as it is. now what is it that you want? maybe we can help each other." with a deep breath I step round the corner hoping this isn't another aspect of the twisted nutjob that put me here at work and hope for the best ready for anything.

Are you looking at me?

I blink at the sweat that has begun to bead on my forehead and run down into my eyes.

I take a deep breath and try to control my pulse. My mind races, and I can't get the concentration I need to slow my heart and control my breathing.

I strain to look aside from the screen that is so close to my face.

I whisper to myself, "What is going on?"

I strain at the straps holding me down. They only feel tighter after I relax.

I look back at the face of this obviously deranged clown that is staring at me. He looks like he's waiting for a response of some kind. But he can't see me. Can he? He's not talking to me, is he? I look closer at him and the room full of children. Is that a set?

I look back at his face. He IS waiting for me.

"I like games," I say. I immediately regret the hesitation in my voice.