Matthew Costello - Rage

He simply asked: “Does such a place exist?”

And she had no answer.

Finally, Stiles turned to him and he got to see the man’s face, looking oddly inflated, with buggy eyes ready to pop out of his fat head. The man’s fingers looked way too stubby to operate the controls.

“Greetings, Mr. Raine; J.K. Stiles.”

For once Raine was happy that handshakes had gone the way of the dinosaurs and fast-food outlets.

Stiles pursed his lips as if that mouth wasn’t happy without something to chew or suck on.

“New to Wellspring, I hear?”

“Yeah.”

“Quite the show last night. Some race. Lot of unhappy people with that outcome, I can tell you.”

Stiles began laughing, a deep, phlegmy sound that looked to end with the blubbery bear of a man rolling onto the floor, dead.

“Want to explain your show to me? This Mutant Bash…”

Stiles became suddenly intense, his eyes gleaming. “Oh, eager, are we? Well, this, right here, is where… the magic happens.”

Christ.

“Not just the cameras, but all the surprises in the Bash are controlled from here. We like to keep the show fresh. Give the viewers something new, something that they haven’t seen every week.”

“Well, they haven’t seen me.”

Stiles let his smile fade. “Yes, but they’ve seen a lot of nobodies from nowhere walk into our studio arena before. And while they love newbies, they also love-” He cleared his throat, its product swallowed. “-seeing when they don’t walk out.”

“People like it when the mutants win?”

“Ohhh, no, Mr. Raine, no. Nobody likes mutants. Everybody wants to see the muties get theirs, and good. But not all at once, you see. They want”-he turned one of his paws into a fist and banged it down into the open palm of his other hand-“drama. Suspense. Story, Mr. Raine, story! Good over evil, human over beast. And you don’t get that without our side-the humans, the normal-taking some hits.”

Stiles’s use of the word “normal,” especially to include himself, seemed wildly misplaced.

Raine ached from the race. His body was still bruised and banged. He had felt the nanotrites kick in as soon as he lay down, and was nearly healed by morning, the dark purple bruises themselves all but faded. Yet there was still lingering pain.

Stiles leaned forward.

“From what I hear, you don’t have much choice. About being here.”

“That might explain my lack of enthusiasm.”

Stiles looked at him, the producer’s face now lapsed into a sneer. He wants to say something really nasty, Raine thought. But he’s holding back.

For now.

The nastiness, Raine guessed, would come in the arena later.

Which brought another, more chilling thought: This man might have the power to kill me.

And then I better find out just what the hell I am getting myself into here…

“Want to explain to me what I will be doing?”

Stiles nodded, his scowl in place.

“Sure, why not? You’re gonna be a star, Raine-at least for a night. Might as well show you how it all works.”

Stiles had indicated a seat next to him, and then gestured to the largest monitor in the studio.

“What I’m going to do is show you some clips from a past Bash. A greatest hits, if you will. Just a taste…”

A porky index finger came down and the screen unfroze, and now Raine saw the arena, not much larger than a hockey rink.

Aerial cameras panned the area, showing boxlike structures painted with colors and giant numbers. Round beach balls the size of small trucks sat in one corner.

A playpen for a giant baby.

Then a cut-someone in the arena, holding something like a curved sword in one hand and club in the other.

“You can select up to two weapons of your choice from our stock. No projectile weapons, of course. See, that gives you an advantage already. Each mutant gets only one weapon.”

This made Stiles begin laughing again.

The man in the arena went up to the nearest box. He smashed at the sides, hitting the numbers dead center.

“You see that-what he’s doing there?- that’s important. Each bash has a hidden message. It’s a puzzle. You can’t just go in, run to the other side, and get out. You have to figure out the puzzle, and do something. This guy-well he had a number puzzle. The audience loves it. They play along at home.”

“But without the mutants? I thought-”

Another cut, and now the same guy was encircled by four mutants who moved around him counterclockwise.

“The better you do with the puzzle, the more muties get released. Or is it the worse you do?” The fat man giggled. “I can never remember.”

But Raine was now focused on the guy in the arena. The muties had him spinning, turning, trying to keep his eyes on the tightening chain of mutants.

“Always one against a bunch?”

“No. You never know. I mean I do. But not the basher. Sometimes there is team play. But this one here is a newbie. He has to get through alone. Not experienced mutants, though. A new batch. He should have done-”

A cut. And one mutant had charged and smashed the guy on the back of his head.

Didn’t knock him down.

Raine heard a cheer.

“-better.”

“You got an audience in there?”

“Oh, yes, that’s part of the excitement. A live studio audience. VIPs. Tell you, it’s hard to get a seat to the live show. ’Course, you’ll have the best seat in the house.”

The guy in the arena spun and stabbed at an attacking mutant-exactly the wrong move, as now the other three had a clear shot at him.

More blows from a mutant behind him, and the guy went to his knees.

Raine wanted to look away.

“And you don’t stop it? I mean, the guy lost.”

Stiles shook his head. “And deprive our faithful viewers?”

Sick world, Raine thought. What exactly made it this sick?

“Besides, Mr. Raine, you see… when they witness what happens to that poor fellow, they now want payback!”

Stiles had raised his voice.

“They wait for the next bashers to enter, for the rest of the story, so the mutants will get what they deserve, live and in color!”

Raine now had the thought that maybe running to some other settlement, no matter where, might be the better option.

But then again, he had faced mutants. He had certainly killed them before.

He had a chance here. That is, if Stiles didn’t rig the show against him.

Stiles killed the monitor.

“Okay, a few last details… then you can get ready, Mr. Raine.” • • •

Somehow Stiles had been able to get his mammoth body out of its chair and walk over to what turned out to be a model of the arena.

He waved a hand over the open, empty space.

“You won’t know what’s in there until you get in. Once you enter the arena, we give you the puzzle and you will have to figure out what to do. Shouldn’t be too hard for someone smart like you to figure out.”

“And when I’ve solved it?”

“ If you solve it-and you can fight past the mutants and head to what we call ‘home’ ”-he pointed at one end of the arena, where a door stood in the middle of the wall-“then you walk behind the outside walls and emerge in our studio for the post-Bash interview. Done by me, of course.”

Raine leaned forward. It wasn’t far from one end to the other. So that wasn’t the challenge.

“Do I have to kill all the mutants in the arena before I go through?”

Stiles shook his head. “No. Once you have shown us the solution to the puzzle inside the arena, you are free to go ‘home.’ If you can get there.”

Raine nodded.

There were things this bastard wasn’t telling him, he was sure of it.

Stiles’s nasty grin and piggy eyes did nothing to dispel that thought. “Nearly showtime, Mr. Raine; you best get ready…”