HERO

31 / Spotters

The only game Thomas was interested in – and interested in avoiding – was the one he knew the man was referring to.

The Spot.

He hadn't particularly thought, because there was only one real answer and it was one he didn't want to admit to, how they came across their contestants. He had seen the show with his father. Iain was a big fan and would cheer loudly when the participants were taken down. Thomas had cheered along with his father. It was their time together, even before his mother's death, and was one of the few highlights of his younger days spent with Iain. They bonded over those hours, occasionally staying up late to watch the unabridged live episodes instead of the dinner and night time highlight shows. Of course, the finals were the best part and Thomas couldn't deny he'd cheered for the Spotters as they closed in for the final kill.

There was never a shortage of contestants. Each show was filled with the insane or those verging on madness, their availability or supply never questioned. Now, however, Thomas knew how they gained them. Family members, afraid of the damage done or, perhaps, for some monetary compensation, gave them up.

Just as his father had done to him.

Teams such as the one facing them must be the enforcers. They'd be sent in to retrieve the 'chosen' one. Only having previously seen the Spotters on the television, he couldn't be sure if they were the same people as these. It didn't matter. They'd found him.

"I'd rather not," said Thomas.

The man laughed heartedly, as if he'd heard the best joke of his life. He bent double, banging against his chest and guffawed.

"You'd rather not? That's priceless! You're priceless, lad!"

His team exchanged smirks, but didn't break rank or allow their mirth to be heard.

"You're an oddity, Thomas Benedict Iain Mason. An oddity."

Bren glanced at him at the mention of his full name. Her look was hard to read, but it didn't seem to have the same level of hilarity the man's or the usual bullies did, for which he was grateful. Benedict. What sort of name, even one hidden in the middle, was Benedict? The old taunts had to be forgotten, though. He needed to concentrate on more immediate matters.

"I am?"

"Oh, yes. Don't you see?" Thomas shook his head and the man turned to his comrades. "You see it, don't you? Dumas? Enderson? Pottkins? You get it, don't you Pulfrey? Browning?"

All nodded, their individual naming serving to emphasise that he hadn't stated his own. All remained stony faced as if no, whatever they might say, they didn't see it. Not at all. They'd been tasked to find the boy and they had. Anything further was extraneous.

"An oddity, my boy. Ten years old and, so I'm told by dear Daddy, still in full control of your faculties."

'Daddy'. The word cut into him deeply and he felt himself bleeding tears of pain. He had to steel himself against it, however. His father's betrayal was old news. This man couldn't open up any new wounds. He couldn't!

"Yeah, so?"

"Ohhh, brave, too. I guess you'd have to be. Ten and you haven't reached your full potential. That must be hard. I bet you've had to face up to some tough times, eh?"

Thomas began to nod, but stopped himself. He wasn't going to give this man anything.

"Well, you might not have got your powers, boy, but you've still got your wits. That's what make you odd. You should be full gone crazy by now. We should be chasing you down on The Spot."