Opus

15. Caucus

I have to increase my score slightly. I can't be average for six sets and suddenly end up in the top ten in the seventh round.

So far so good.

Hours to go.

I might have seen Jasper haunting the Northern part of the playground. I did not venture closer to ascertain. Yes, I know, I'm a coward.

Instead, I focus on the dilemma at hand. I have enough spheres already for this set's slightly above-average performance. Do I keep hunting? Do I take a nap? Do I steal another player's lot? Do I kill another player? Bad joke. They say humor is a sign of intelligence. Then again, they also say an increasingly dark sense of humor is a sign of dementia. You choose.

As I wait for enlightenment, sitting on top of a pile of bricks, I survey the playground. The lighting is better. Take that as proof that I'm adapting to this hell for no one has fixed the street lamps since my last visit.

Abandoned buildings and ruins sprawl at my feet in a maze of empty streets as far as the eyes can see. In my case, that's about a five-street radius from my vantage point. I can't see the sky, though. I know there is a ceiling, but since the ride down the elevator takes a good ten minutes, the top might be a hundred floors up. That hoist is older than me; it rattles so much that a Competition poster warns riders about losing one's denture, but maybe they're lying. Conveyors, rules, playground, everything's on par.

I've never been so high in the underworld. It's usually the other way around as I tend to stick to the shadows and crawl into caves when I need a break. Not this set, though, no siree. I'm on top of the world. A welcome change from last time. The fact that I passed through my gate pissed drunk helped.

The light spheres glimmer down below; I spot six easily, awaiting to be turned off. I can't see the other two types of targets, but I sure can sense them. Are vibrations lighter than air? My skin tingles. If I were to scope down and harvest all that I feel, I'd be Master of the playground. Wee, here I come.

My ass stays put on my throne of rubles. I'm not ready to declare war just yet. My victory should take wee by surprise. The last set was a fluke. As I've told the sibs and the gang of losers they call friends, "It's not that I was exceptionally good, but rather that my opponents were particularly bad. And I stumbled on a player's bag near the end. Pure luck, I'm telling you. I was almost at the gate. What was I supposed to do? No ID, no nothing, I couldn't return it to its rightful owner, right?"

The troupe bought it. Am I an incredible actress or is their confidence in my abilities that low?

Boom!

In retrospect, I'm not sure what came first. The deafening bang of the explosion or its blinding flare. Both last but a second. The ground shakes, then everything goes still. Somehow stiller. Only a soft glow indicates ground zero.

I half run, half slid down my observatory, heading straight for the scene. The three players I cross during my mad dash are scurrying away from the epicenter. Who's the scaredy-cat now, guys?

Except for my feet hitting the pavement, the underground is dead quiet. No one screams.

On my left, a building collapses in a dull thud. Even it is reluctant to break the silence.

I run and think. A million possibilities flashing through my mind, but one thought keeps steady: the playground is dead. There is no way that explosion was accidental.

I should run to my gate. Yet, instead of sprinting away from the blast, I creep closer. I'm such a fool.

When I round the corner, I stop on my track. Jasper stands a few steps aside, watching the fire. Stones don't burn but a dead player's body will. He−it is smoking on the ground.

I don't walk nearer. Burned human flesh stinks.

Hum.

Poor guy. Dying in the playground sucks.

How unpoetic!

The flames of hell got him, poor bastard.

Not much better.

Immolated on the Competition's altar?

Too grandiloquent.

He died alone, the underworld standing still for a beat to look on with indifference.

Oh so true.

The least I could do is stand by his side while he, ah, departs the competition.

Hence, hesitantly, I wrap my jacket around my head to cover my mouth and nose, and I sidle closer until I reach Jaz's side.

By the body, Jaz softly curses when I stumble on the uneven pavement. I ran all the way here with the nimbleness of a gazelle but can't find my footing for a ten-step stroll. Ignoring his warning, I edge closer. We're the only two in the open, but I can feel eyes on me all the way.

We exchange a look, my raised eyebrows asking, "What happen?"

He shrugs as if to answer, "Don't know."

We survey the scene side by side until the last amber dwindles and goes out without a hiss.

Neither of us speaks. I might not know Jasper well, but I'll bet my winnings he too notices the carbonized chip in the player's hand. He too sees the round black sphere that glows the brightest under the curled black shape. I'm no explosion expert, but don't doubt for a second that a sphere just blew up.

Great. Wee, rape, rats, and now this? Kendrick was an epic sonofabitch.

Rule 26: A breach of rules 16 to 25 automatically leads to the annulment of the set. Set will be replayed as per rules 6 and 7. Offenders will be prosecuted as per Competition rules.

Jasper and I don't exchange a single word at the crime scene.