The Government Game

CHAPTER THREE

'Wonderful! Now that Mr Anson has gone, who will be next?' This was an obvious feign of forgetfulness, as the Supreme Leader would never be this careless, especially with a project as big as the Government Game.

He continued, 'Oh, right! Mr Jack Baker!'

Jack Baker, a lanky man with curly red-hair stood but not with ease. He felt dizzy. Why do I have to do this? I don't want to be here!

But he was here, alright.

He clumsily made his way to the door leaving the cemented room; once he got to the door, he looked back into the room and then around. An ugly hiccup sound came from his throat. The classical music didn't hide it, and he heard a chuckle. His heart was beating at about a thousand kilometres an hour, it felt like. He then returned his spaced-out eyes towards the dark hallway leading towards the Arena. He made his way out.

He was given his daypack; boy, was it heavy! He thought: Maybe I got a good weapon. Maybe I can win this. Maybe ...

Then he strapped it over his shoulder and ran for the nearest brush. He hid there, and unzipped his daypack. He pulled out a massive gun with a decently-sized barrel. There was a magazine in it already, and nine other magazines in the backpack. No wonder it was so heavy!

He didn't recognise the model, but it was a Colt AR-15. The magazine was full of rounds already, it seemed. Jack Baker was a lucky man for getting this weapon. Typically, in the outside world, he was unlucky. He'd lost his child and wife to the cold hands of Death once his wife went into labour. He was heartbroken, and had never been lucky with the ladies, so he figured that was that. But maybe, just maybe, once he got out of here, he'd be idolised and he'd have a new family. Maybe ...

He was so lost in thought and fantasy that before he knew it, the five minute interval was up. A croak came from his throat, almost like a toad, and he peeked out from the brush. That was a very poor idea, because next thing he knew, he was being rushed at by a thin man with a black pompadour as a haircut, like a greaser from the fifties. He had bags under his eyes, as if he'd been up all night, expecting the Game's Armed Forces to come and capture him.

Little did he know, that particular thought was exactly the case. This greaser-looking male had been one of the volunteers. The reason this man volunteered was because he had his child sister back home, and she was gravely ill. He wanted her to be well. So he decided to sign up, and he knew that if he volunteered eventually they would abduct him. He had stayed up every single night since he signed up, waiting for the Game's Armed Forces to abduct him. And then, when they finally arrived that fateful night, he went with grace.

Now here he was, tired as hell, rushing at this redheaded man.

He was wielding a machete, the black handle in the grasp of his hand. He slashed off Jack's head, and the head bounced, blood spurting from where the gaping wound was.

The body collapsed and this greaser-like man bent down into the brush. He looked at the weapon assigned to the redhead, and laughed hysterically:

'Fuck yeah!' he screamed. He had been lucky coming out just after Jack Baker, because Jack Baker had one of the best weapons in the game. He picked it up, and, stunned by its beauty, marvelled at it. He grinned and then picked up Jack's daypack, and, putting the AR-15's sling over his shoulder along with his own daypack and Jack's, he made his way towards the village he had spotted on his map.

This man was Vlad Brennan.