BLUE PLAYER: I Want More Life, Fucker I Ain't Done...

My eyes snap to the man in White, trying to get the measure of him. I guess this might be one of the other "Players".

(Fuck. White. That means eight others for sure.)

(Friend or foe.. better decide quickly)

He's looking around, but he doesn't seem to-

(He sees you!)

I take a deep slow breath.

(Alright, just tell him you mean no-)

I feel a sudden gust of wind; a whizzing sound buzzes past my head, followed by a deafening "CRACK!" I instinctively flatten myself more against the wall.

(What the fu-?)

The small explosion is followed by more; a hail of bullets screaming down the hall. My heart keeping pace with the rattle of gun-fire.

(RUN!)

My body tenses to spring toward the nearest door.
I see the man in White turn toward the sound.

(No. No! Get down!)

I see tiny puff of red mist spray the air around his arm; his shoulder knocked back by the force of the bullet-graze. He seems dazed; unaware.

(He's going to die.)
(SAVE HIM!)

I take a half-step toward him.
The whine of the gun spinning, a keening counterpoint to the jackhammer concussions.

(NO! Save yourself.)
(Help!)
(RUN!)

(HELP!)
(RUUUNN!)

My body torn as I try to obey both commands. My eyes close for what must be only an instant, but feels like months. When they open the man's no longer in the doorway.

(-where'd he go?)
(FUCKING RUN YOU STUPID SONOFABITCH!!)

My body springs toward the closest doorway, tensed to feel holes rip through me. I dive under the table with no chairs, rolling out the other side in a defensive crouch; senses searching wildly around me.


(I need a weapon.)

I start to SEARCH.

Blue Player: Then The Man In White Appeared To Me

Around the corner ahead of you walks a man in white coveralls. His eyes are darting around him taking in nearly all that could be seen and maybe it is the light reflecting off his white coveralls more than your blue ones but he seems to have a glow about him. He stops just beyond the opened doorway and looks right at you slowly recognizing your form as you slowly come to eye-contact with him. Another player, the confirmation dawns on you with the immediacy of a gunshot. No wait, that’s real bullets being fired as your eyes dart beyond the man in white to the machine gun turret you spot a the end of the hallway, lighting up an array of bullets. You almost flinch, but something in you overrides the impulse. You think quickly.

Blue Player

Three doors have opened in your immediate vicinity as the lights click back on.  The one closest to you was not among them. One is flooding the light away from you down toward the hall on your left and it has light-up some mechanical device that is whirring into motion.  You can barely see into the room that opened closer to where you started but the room that opened in the hall ahead of you appears to have a large, chairless, table in the center of it.  It's like the games have begun, you can feel it.  Your mind goes briefly for a second back to the clown cackling at you and you cackling back.  Did i plan that?  Er, wait, are these 'my' thoughts, you think to yourself.

The gravitas of your situation snaps your mind back to attention.  What do you do?

BLUE TOOTH

You have waited patiently, unobservable yet very aware.

"LET THERE BE NO LIGHT!!!"

... AND WITH THAT THE LIGHTS FROM THE DIODES ON THE PNEUMATIC TUBES ALL AROUND YOU SHUT-OFF. THERE IS A LOUD ECHOING CLICK WHEN THIS HAPPENS. ALL OF YOUR EYES TAKE A MOMENT TO ADJUST IN THE INTERRUPTING SILENCE.

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.

BLUE PLAYER: Blur The Technicolor

I take a steadying breath, willing my body to calm.

(OK, take stock, quickly)

I QUIETLY CHECK the PAINTING, including the frame and back, looking for any series of numbers or hidden objects. Satisfied, I SNEAK down the hallway, trying to minimize my own shadow as I head to the far door. I take the left branch of the hallway,then turn right pressing my back against the wall, LOOKING back at the place I was, waiting for the shadowed shape, tensed for any action, making NO SOUND.

(Maybe they could help?)
(They also might be a complete psychopath)

I let my eyes adjust to the darkness

(I've got a screw.. I could cut, with it?)
(Now who's the psychopath?)

My fists clench spasmodically.
(NOT me)

I close my eyes for a moment, images flashing in my mind's eye.

(Crying)
(Held down)
(A knife)
(Over and Over)
(Blood Blood BLOOD!!!)

(...Not me..)
...
(Are you sure about that?)

I clench my jaw, hands at the ready.
(I'll defend myself, but I won't attack)

I meld with the darkness, allowing my breathing to move in time with the hisses of the RASA TUBE.

(If it's a god damned cat, I'm going to laugh 'til I puke)
I bite my lip to keep from smiling.

BLUE ON THE MOVE

As you look down the hallway toward the darkness your eyes cannot help but feel disgust at the crooked and tacky wallpaper. Walls sweating with condensation from the hot moisture spitting from the tubes behind you seem to clam, swell and box you in despite being ten feet apart. The wall to your left adorns a painting that contains odd and alarming subject matter. You are not sure you recognize it, but it seems like something from a medieval period work but this would have to be a well framed reprint, right?



The hall continues twenty or so feet before opening up into perhaps a perpendicular hallway. It is with the same gaudy wallpaper but there is a door that breaks its pattern. The door is metal and appears like one that would be found in an airlock. The stale air you breathe takes on more significance. The door would be opened by turning a wheel that is placed nearly dead center of it or at least you hope it is that easy.



Your attention now turns back toward the rasa tube. It is embedded in the wall and only the outer-end of its rounded corners is bulging out from the wall. Looking and admiring the crafty work of welding, riveting, and mechanics you cannot help but wonder if the entire mechanics cannot be jury-rigged in some way. Perhaps the elevation control could be re-routed manually to move back upward.

Upon closer searching of the inside of the tube you can see that there are a few screws that could be unscrewed. These could come in handy, and perhaps could be a good spot for any modifications you make for the tube. You obtain a handful of nuts and bolts.



Satisfied with your search you begin to sneak down the hall. As you reach its end along the hall to your right you can see that there is another source of light peaking around the corner of the end of the perpendicular hall on your right. You can see that the hall breaks into another direction and it is from here that you guess the source of this other light is coming from. Around the corner and just to your right, where the hall opens to its most extreme, you can see another door. Closer still you make out that the door has some sort of locking mechanism. Like the latch on a suitcase the lock culminates on the door with three dials. Each dial contains the number zero and an indicator above establishes that it is locked.

With sharp ears you establish that there are sounds of hissing from that hall too. Could it be another rasa tube? And wouldn’t that mean another player? It is then that you notice another sign. There is movement of some sort within the light causing shadows to kaleidoscope by in odd and abstract forms.

The very thought that you could be this close to another causes your heart to pound in an animalistic fashion. With a slow and pensive movement you realize that you still have the screws in your hand and carefully, without even the slightest sound, manage to place them in a side pocket. The palms of your hands feel cool and sweaty and your mind begins to race with options.

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..."

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.

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.

BLUE PLAYER: Grease Paint and Monkey Brains..

My ears are ringing in pulsing waves, interlaced with muted silence.
(What the fuck is going on?)
It takes me a minute to understand what that hellish clown was saying to me.
(It's a game-)
(What kind of sicko plays games like this?)
My temples feel like someone shoved in an icepick, then twisted.
(He asked me a question-)
(Am I ready?)
My restraints dig into my wrists, making them ache.
My anger is begining to swell.
I realize the grinding sound I'm hearing is my teeth, jaw clenched and spasaming. I consciously relax my grimace, raising my eyes to meet his.
(Dead eyes.)
(He knows about blood.)
(We know about blood.)
I swallow, trying to coax some moisture over my dry tongue, throat still rough from screaming.
"Am.."
My throat is too dry to talk, I can feel a small tear leaking blood down the back of my tongue.
(Use it)
I swallow again, the blood making my tongue slick.

"..Am I ready?"

(Screaming)
I feel a clawed hand reaching up from a dark place inside of me, sinking its talons into my heart, feel the hatred pumping through me like bile and oil, surging, tinging everything red.
(Crying)
(Held down)
(A knife)

"Yeah.."

(Over and Over)
(Blood Blood BLOOD!!!)

My hands clench, jagged, like twisted metal.
("No, please! Help! STOP!!")
(A shriek that pierces through me)
My eyes bore into his, red rimmed with hate.
(I'll Kill you you son of a bitch! I'm going to tear your fucking throat out!)
I see his laughing face, capering infront of his nest of maggots, his demon children.
(LAUGH Clown! Laugh when I shove my thumbs in your fucking eyes. when I claw your face from your skull!!Laugh when I bite your still beating heart!!)
(And then I'll Laugh, when your imps turn on you, when you're wounded, when they feast on your corpse with the appetite you've whetted.
Our eyes meet, and I know he knows. Know this is why he does this. Know this is what makes him alive.
My Devil will dance with his Demon.

He Knows.
We Know.

"I'm Ready.."

I grin; a ferral mask that has nothing of humour in it, blood dripping from my cracked lips.

"...Are you?"

MEET BLUE PLAYER

The T.V. screen blips and then cuts to black for a split second. This drastic change causes your body to spasm 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.

“WE GOT A HELL OF A SHOW FOR YOU KIDS BECAUSE TODAY WE ARE MEETING THE BLUE PLAYER!!”

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

“HI BLUE PLAYER … HEYA … pft they are always a little scared at first like this …”

He rolls his eyes in an exaggerated way.

“CHEER UP!! YOU’RE HERE, ON THE BESTEST GAME-SHOW EVER TO GRACE GOD’S GREEN EARTH. Seriously, we gotta great fucking show for you man, yer gunna love it … WELCOME BLUE PLAYER!!! WELCOME TO MY HOUSE OF SSSLAUGHTER!!!”

There is calliope music that begins to play in a wonky way as its exasperated 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 WHEN WE RETURN WE WILL FINALLY GET TO SEE THE BLUE PLAYER IN ACTION!!”

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

“just like anyother game show we gotta bunch a rules around here but unlike any other game-show we love cheaters, hah, so listen, or don’t listen, I don’t fucking care, HAH!, now okay you are basically for all-intents-and-purposes my little play thing only I give you an element of free will, OKAY!?!, so you oughta really take a moment and appreciate that …”

“TIMES UP, thank you and I gotta say you may be my slave but I will let you free all you gotta do is gather the items from your scavenger list and I mean just six items can’t be that hard you can easily do that in a lifetime, RIGHT?!?”

“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 his mannerisms chalk full of exaggeration.

“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.

“GOOD, BLUE PLAYER GOOD FOR YOU!! 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?

BLUE PLAYER: Last Thing I Remember..

(Alright, just calm down)
I take a deep breath, releasing it slowly, fogging the glass of the close pressed screen.
(What do I know?)
I slowly tense my body, testing the strength of my bonds.

(Metal. Shit.)

I can barely turn my head, no sense of moving air. I am enclosed.
(Like a Coffin-)
(Shut up!)
I feel the rough scrape of material against my neck. I’m wearing clothing.
(Try to remember, How did I get here? Am I dreaming? I used to have this dream where-)

PAIN.

Teeth clench in a fit of nausea, heart hammering in my chest.
(Fuck! What was That??)
My temples are pounding, my nostrils fill with the salt tang of something acrid. A bead of moisture runs from my hairline to my lips.
(Sweat. This isn’t a dream..)
I strain harder against my bonds, this time to centre myself, letting the pain relax me.
(God, I’m thirsty)
Eyes closed against the searing brightness of the Test Pattern. My head throbbing.
(Please Stand By, Please Stand by, Please. Stand. FUCKING. BY!)

"AHHHHHHHH!"

The sound muted in the confines of my private Hell deafeningly loud to my ears.
(I can talk…I can Talk!)
“HEEEELLLLLPP!!! ANYONE!! PLEASE HELP ME!!”

“….please, someone help me..”

BLUE PLAYER: TUBULAR RASA

At first, your mind is blank. You don’t remember anything about your past but you know that you don’t know about your past. It is as if you are aware of something you cannot comprehend. It feels like you are being reborn from the womb of some alien mother. You know nothing of this new world save a vague feeling of familiarity. Everything has a surreal quality to it now as your eyes begin to function.

It is as if you were the chrysalis and now you cannot remember ever being the catapiller. You feel rather like something forged from previous material. Yet in all this you feel brand new. There is nothing beyond your base material assigning you as who you are other than the ever elusive situations of here and now. Both of these you are certain are happening for the first time and thus through some intuitive thinking you conclude, that you must be conscious for the first time. Like aroused from some fictitious dream, the sleeper awakens.

From a milky white wet-eyed blur you begin to pull your visual surroundings into focus. You can hear hissing all around you and you know that you are enclosed in cold metal. You can only tilt your head a few degrees in each direction and your arms and legs are strapped into place as if you were standing up straight. You feel as though you are vertical but that you had been horizontal for a long duration previous.

A small television screen sits uncomfortably close to your face. It is about half-a-foot squared with rounded edges and it is jammed up so close to your face it takes up nearly all of your immediate view. It has the intrusive quality of an aggravating conversationalist yet displays the simple phrase: “Please Stand By …”

A light static of elevator music is barely audible from its single speaker. You practically have to hold your breath to hear it. The melody is strangely recognizable and almost primordial as if it were the tune your mother would hum when you were a child. You know you were a child, but again as you try and recall your childhood, you draw a blank. There were words to this song, you remember that much. The part coming up, this is the part that you remember. The words come hauntingly each one the harbinger of the next.

“Last thing I remember, I was
Running for the door
I had to find the passage back
To the place I was before
'Relax,' said the night man,
'We are programmed to receive.
You can check-out any time you like,
But you can never leave!”

The speaker is playing musack of The Eagles song Hotel California. How odd, you think but the truth is you really have no idea why.