7
Outside, there are two soldiers at the door, and one woman, one of the organizers. The woman holds a round object in her hand. She stamps us with it on our shoulders as we walk through a corridor. Students shiver when she stamps them.
“This is permanent,” says the woman coldly. “Consider it a tattoo…and your rank.”
The woman stamps my shoulder and urges me to walk ahead. I check out the stamp on Mr. Pessimistic’s shoulder. It’s a tattoo of a golden tiger, the same as the one on my shoes and on Leo’s arm. What does that mean? And who is Leo? A Nine, or a Monster? Is he like me, a foolish volunteer? Is that why he knows who I am?
I ask Mr. Pessimistic about the stamp. Pessimists always know a lot about everything, yet never do something positive about anything.
“It’s because of Carnivore,” the boy explains.
I know about Carnivore. The Monster Show runs for three days. Whoever survives that long has to play a final deadly game with Carnivore, the most dangerous and genetically-mutated creature on Earth. A white tiger with one huge eye in the middle. The Carnivore only feeds on humans. Woo was fascinated with the creature.
"I know about the Carnivore," I say. "But what is the meaning of the friggin’ stamp?”
“It means you only win if you kill Carnivore at the end of the games,” Mr. Pessimistic says, walking through the crowd. “The tattoo lets Carnivore know your butt belongs to him. Some silly propaganda to sell more airings of the show. You know how much money the Summit makes airing this show worldwide, right?”
I know. “But I saw that tattoo stamped on a Nine.” I say.
“That's impossible. Why would a Nine get stamped? Are you out of your mind?” Mr. Pessimistic shakes his head at my naïvety.
Our walk leads us to a vast park surrounded by the Faya’s military. They are all Sixes. My dad could have been one of them.
“Smile,” Mr. Pessimistic say.
“What?”
“We’re on live TV. I’ve never been on TV. I’ve always imagined myself smiling at the camera when I am on TV, even if I am about to die.”
“What are all those Zeppelins for?” I discard the weird optimism of Mr. Pessimistic.
“The games can be seen up close from the Zeppelins, as long as we haven’t entered the battlefields. The Zeppelins can’t follow us into the Playa. It’s too dangerous for them. Zeppelin tickets are sold-out two months in advance.”
The park is full of Monsters. How many are there? Two…three thousand? It varies from year to year. The Monsters around me are starting to panic. They are going to squeeze me to death if I stay in the middle. I need to chug my way through toward the soldiers, so I have space to move.
As I push through, I see Roger This instructing other teens how to play the game in what he calls the Battlefieldz. Everything he tells them isn't true. It's made up. Is this guy cuckoo in the head, or what?
“Wow,” Roger This says to the teens, looking up at the Zeppelins. “I wish I had one of those ClairVos.”
I look up where he is looking. The rich kids in the Zeppelins watch us with their ClairVos, which are like binoculars, but they aren't. ClairVos are the latest technology invented in Faya. They’re like the 3D glasses in Old America, except these are 10D, or as some call it, XD. The ClairVos are magical. Let’s say I am driving my car, wearing my ClairVo, and you sit in your home, eating popcorn and wearing another pair of ClairVo glasses. You would be able see and feel exactly what I am experiencing while driving the car. If I get scared, you get scared. If I feel the wind in my face, you feel the wind in your face. The ClairVos are ridiculously expensive. Only Eights and Nines can afford them. Those rich kids watching us from the balconies of the Zeppelins have their friends at home watching them watching us up close, transmitting the same excitement and feelings to them.
“I wish I had one of those ClairVos down here, so I could show them how scary it feels in here,” I mumble, getting Roger This’ attention.
“The games can be watched on the iAms too,” he says to me, holding that joystick in his hand. “There are the extended versions of it broadcast on iScreen or TV, where the audience can comment and discuss the events of the games, and vote for their favorite Monster. Like that boy, Woo, last year. He was the audience’s favorite Monster, before Carnivore killed him.” I don’t comment about Woo. I keep pushing through the crowd. Roger This decides to accompany me. “Sometimes,” Roger This says, playing with his joystick, while looking up at the sky again, “if the audience sympathizes with a Monster, the votes are taken into consideration. It could spare your life in a certain game level. It’s like extra bonus ammo in role-playing games.” Who is this guy? He treats this situation as if it’s another new computer game. “Here it is,” Roger This says, looking up. “My beauty.” It turns out Roger This was summoning a small flying toy plane with his joystick. It flies feebly, and buzzes over our heads. Seriously, I have to get away from him.
As I walk away from Roger This, a soldier shoots his toy plane. Roger This doesn't complain. He claims he has a plan B.
The teens in front of me are getting aggressive when I try to push through. Suddenly, I get hit in the face. Someone’s elbow, maybe. I don’t have time to realize what struck me. I feel dizzy, and there isn't even room for me to fall on the ground while I'm semi-conscious. I feel betrayed and weak, like a boxer knocked down in the first round. I want to cry, but no tears come out. The warm liquid I feel on my cheeks must be my own blood from my nose. I surrender to unconsciousness over someone’s shoulder.
I dream of…of Woo.
Woo looks at me with his peaceful, warrior face.
“Why are you doing this, Decca?” he asks me.
“You left, Woo. I am here all alone,” I say. “You’re my only friend in this world.”
“Why do you think I am still alive?”
“I remember you saying that if worse came to worse, all you’d have to do is not report that you’re alive on the iAm. You said you could fool them into thinking you’re dead.”
“But you saw my blood on Carnivore when he killed me on TV.”
“But they never found your body.”
“Carnivore could have only left my bones after he finished me.”
“I have a feeling you’re still alive.”
“Maybe it’s a delusion, Decca. A figment of your imagination. Something to live with, since you can’t comprehend that I am dead. You know that it is impossible to survive in the Playa after the games. It’s abandoned, and guarded by soldiers all year long. There is no food, no water, and no way out.”
“I know. But my heart tells me I’ll find you.”
Woo smiles faintly at me. “Okay. If you’re going to do this, you’ll have to go all the way. You are no quitter,” he says in his low, calm voice. “If this is the path you choose, and you trust your heart, you have to believe that there is a reason for this. Stop your hesitation and questioning your choice. Choices aren’t easy. They are long roads we commit to until we reach the end. My advice would be not to look for me right away. The Playa isn't a walk in the park. Learn how to survive it first, and then look for me. And, Decca, try to be low-key in the eyes of the Summit. Let them think you’re a fool, until your moment shines."
"I'll do my best."
"Your best isn't going to be enough. You know how many people do their best everyday?"
“I want to find you, Woo. I've been planning this. But since I was thrown out here in the real madness, I am afraid I will fail."
“You should always believe. Never,” he grits his teeth, “never,” he repeats, “not for one moment, should you give up. This is what makes you who you are. This is what makes you human, with no need for a number. I believe in you, Tender.”
Then he fades away. I want to tell him that he couldn’t survive the games himself. How does he expect me to?
He called me Tender. I used to love it when he did that. Woo always said he liked the Ten part in the name. He liked the Ten in Tender. In his eyes, he thought I should have been a Ten.
I have to wake up and face the situation. I am not going to bail out. Let’s play the game. When I wake up I am still on my feet, squeezed between the ones behind me and those in front of me. Shoegirl is behind me, all smelly. She held me up so no one trampled me. I thank her.
“No time for that. Look at the screen. Prophet Hannibal Xitler is announcing the games.”
I look up at the screen hung on one of the Zeppelins. I see the Burning Man logo again.
“The game that’s about to start isn’t just a game,” Prophet Hannibal Xitler says. “Because it’s the tenth game, a particularly special occasion, I have a big surprise for you. We have a guest Monster in the games. Actually, he is a volunteer who betrayed the Summit years ago. After being banned for four years outside the Burning Man, he’s come back, asking for forgiveness. He was a Nine. What a shame. Now he wants to repent. You know what that means, right?” Prophet Xitler laughs. “He will have to attend the games like any other Monster, as punishment for being unappreciative. If he survives, he’ll be forgiven though. This is the first time ever that the games will be attended by a Nine.”
The audience in the Zeppelins is excited out of their brainwashed minds. The soldiers begin to push us aggressively, as if we were hordes of sheep. I don’t know where we’re going. Then the unthinkable starts to happen. The ranked people from the Zeppelins throw everything they can at us, calling us bad names. They are enjoying this tremendously. They are brainwashed, thinking we are the enemy. Thinking that the likes of us destroyed the Old America. That we are society’s weak link. They hit us with tomatoes, napkins, and bubblegum. I shield my head with my hands. Still, I get one tomato splashed in my face. Tomato, blood, and mud. Surprise me! Can’t you hit me with something white for once? An hour ago, I was showered with flowers and presents.
In all this mess I can’t take my eyes off the screen, wondering who the guest monster is. The camera pans to the boy Xitler is talking about. I can see him on the screens rolling down from the Zeppelins.
It’s Leo.