Ladder Man

They called him the ladder man.
Guy could climb almost anything, call him a ram, a goat, whatever.
Mountains, trees, a societal hierarchy, you name it and he could scale it in less time than it'd take you to ask him.
Though, of all things, his footing was most secure when climbing business ranks. He had everything he needed: a level head, practicality, greed.
He was a hat-trick of unpleasantness.
He was impersonal in only the way that mattered, and carried an unsettling air of charm to cover his tracks.

That had landed him here.
In these grounds, beneath these trees, hiding in ten feet off the ground, ever eager to stay over everyone else. He regretted none of it, because he was certain, and maybe a bit too big for the boots on his feet, but that was probably a good thing going about the hazardous stepping stones of the hell hole he'd set himself up to fall into.
He was here for the money, here for the fame, here for the publicity.
He wasn't going to die.
It wouldn't take much effort for him to outsmart all his rivals, he was much more capable than everyone after his throat and he knew it.
He knew he was going to win.
So why hadn't it happened yet?

That was something he asked himself every night, every night when he settled down to sleep in a tree and angrily picked the bark out from under his fingernails.
Why hadn't he won yet?
Actually, better yet, why was no-one challenging him?
This was a fight to the death, but everyone was running from their victories.
Wasn't this supposed to be a bloodbath?
After all, he wouldn't mind getting his hands dirty. He wouldn't have participated if he didn't have full confidence that he'd come out on top, and he'd enjoy it.
Being caught red handed was something he was good at, but something he was even better at was worming himself out of a sticky situation and, what with the metallic smell of blood he'd imagined, he was sure this would be the stickiest situation of them all.
He wanted to fight.
He wanted someone to take him head on and give him a chance to prove to the audience he was the only choice for victor.
Undoubtedly they loved him, there was no way that they couldn't, yet he'd still not had his time to shine.
So, if they wouldn't give it to him, he'd make one for himself.

He sighed and looked pointedly at the drone hovering around the treetop, sticking his tongue out playfully. They were watching.
They were expecting a show, he was expected to put on a show and theatrics was something he prided himself in.
He'd give them more than they'd bargain for, more than they could ever expect from a scrawny, greasy-looking businessman who looked the most out of place amongst the more brutal looking candidates.
He'd teach them all not to judge a book by its cover.
The only thing was that he didn't know how.
As of yet, nobody had died. There hadn't been a single siren, nor had he even seen another candidate.
Well, one person had died, but that was right at the start, right at the start and it didn't count, everyone and everything he'd seen at the start didn't count.
He was desperate to kickstart the action, cause a domino affect if you will, and itched to finally get his hands on somebody or, better yet, around their neck.
Slow and painful deaths were what he thought best, put a show for the people at home, but right now he'd be fine with the chance to put a bullet through someone's head and have it over with if it meant getting the chance to do something.

He was sick of being idle.
At this point, he wasn't even hiding.
He knew that anyone that wasn't scared of him, as they should rightfully be, he could take in a fight. He knew that anyone who had the gall to attack right off the bat probably wasn't the smartest, and was someone he could outwit.
So where was everyone?
Where were they?
"Where are they?"
He whispered to the drone, the drone that wasn't a drone but a bee, and just like the drone wasn't a bee, he wasn't fucking stupid.
He looked at it imploringly, staring at the warped reflections of light that shone from its abdomen and imagining himself staring someone right in the eye.
The bee circled him, and he followed it with his eyes, cracking a smile he probably didn't have the right to wear.
It may have been cold, it may have been wet and miserable and maybe, right now, he didn't fancy being there, but he had the prefect way to keep his morale up.