Rule 23: Observers agree to patrol the playground during sets. Observers are to remain in the playground during the entire set, and afterward until all players have crossed their respective designated gates. Observers are the first-response team in case of fire, earthquake, or other such natural disasters, but are not to intervene with set progress or interact with players during sets. Man-made emergencies shall be dealt with at the end of sets. Refer to Referee Policy for a complete description of the roles, rules and work contract. Offenders will be kicked out of the competition/employment and ban for life, and, if applicable, offender's name will be removed from Competition's Wall of Fame.
The competition did not cancel the set. Bastards.
"What are you thinking?"
I blink and snap out of my daze. Car rides make me contemplative. "Nothing."
"That was quite a frown on your face for a nothing."
"That's because it's a nothing I want you to know, referee man."
"Now you have me intrigued, princess."
"Me too. I've never been to the Competition's museum."
My not-too-subtle diversion has Jasper laughing out loud. "Fair enough." He's silent for a beat then grins. "So I'll be your first? Don't worry, darling. I'll be gentle."
I bat my eyelashes bashfully. "I bet you say that to all the girls."
"Fuck no. I don't do girls. Only women."
"You're so full of yourself."
"And hopefully, you'll be too. Soon."
"Disgusting." I scrunch up my nose in disgust but can't hide my smile. Who knew bantering with a referee could be fun?
"Are all those targets working?" For the last fifteen minutes, I've been gaping in awe at the wall of spheres surrounding us.
"Yup."
"How many are there?" I whisper. I've been gaping and whispering since we entered the museum.
"Not a clue."
I crook an eyebrow at him. "You're a referee. You're supposed to know this stuff by heart." God knows I do.
He reads the pamphlet out loud in a sanctimonious tone. "The competition boasts a repertoire of one hundred thousand yellow spheres, fifty thousand blue spheres, and ten thousand black ones."
I stare at the curved glass wall in front of us. Around us. The museum is a silo. We entered at the top and reached the bottom ten floors down by a metal staircase wrapped around the inner wall. We could have taken the outer staircase, but I wanted to see the hollow center. The museum is a silo made of two circular, concentric walls in between which the spheres await pell-mell for the next set.
"This room is huge." The number of targets glowing, heating, vibrating away in the translucent case surrounding us is daunting.
"The inner room is 60 old feet in diameter," Jasper reads on. "That's roughly 2,000 standard units for you young thing."
"It's as if we're in a bubble, spying into an aquarium of targets."
"You're such a poet. Wait 'till we visit the outer room. You'll freak."
I do not freak. But after climbing up ten flights of stairs, then down the ten stories of the museum, in an enclosed staircase this time, when we finally reach the bottom, I freeze.
The wall is one flawless mirror. Once the access door closes behind us, I can't see a single break in the outer wall.
"Now we're in an aquarium, princess."
YOU ARE READING
Opus
General FictionI left out the real reason I'm here. Kendrick, my ex-lover, is dead. He was the game's winner three and two years back. On the Competition's Registration Form, at question 78: Why are you participating? Answer in 100 characters or less. I si...
