————————————————————————— S C H E R Z O [ Two Years Ago... ] … “You’re useless. The next off-day we should throw you out with the body bags. We’ll put you and her in the same one, maybe. That would be a real thrill, wouldn’t it?” They snapped, letting out a harsh laugh. All 7 of them were gathered around the table in the communications room. Two leaned up against the wall; four of them sat in flimsy chairs. One stood at the head, palms pressed up against the table, staring them all down. “Just-- Shut up, okay? Can you stop for one second and listen to yourself? You’re manic! -- More than before, at least!” Another shot back, grimacing as the first called them out. “Chill out man. You’re sensitive today, aren’t you? You can’t take a joke or somethin’?” A different kidnapper piped up with a snort. “Can we all just stop—they’re going to hear us—” Yet another one murmured. “No! Because you’re—they’re—you’re threatening—” The second began, but were quickly interrupted by the one standing at the end of the table. “Okay. All of you, quit it. Stop arguing. You, don’t criticize, and you, don’t get so attached. Go back to your posts, all of you. We’re done here.” They intervened, words cutting through the skirmish like a steak knife. “… Yeah. Sorry.” “Whatever.” ————————————————————————— The 25 victims, after their first singing competition, slept horribly. Which was understandable, considering the overwhelming stress of not slipping up and saying an unintended word, the lack of food and water, the lingering knowledge that every day could be someone’s last, the flimsy floor cots instead of beds. And the death. The death of Ana Hale. That could have a minor impact as well, having to watch her shot at point-blank with a shotgun by a kidnapper wearing a gruesomely-smiling mask. As the victims were whisked off to their rooms, they could see the first kidnapper, the one who had shot her, hovering over her body with his hands tucked in the pockets of his flannel shirt. They could see him entranced by that hazy look in her eyes, the way blood gurgled from her crimson lips. But when they woke up the following day, what they saw was… surprising. The leader wasn’t joking when they insinuated a celebration was to occur. In fact, it looked like the kidnappers almost outdid themselves. The decorations from before had been updated; balloons were blown up again, streamers rehung from the ceiling and there was a profound lack of a body splayed out across the floor of the first floor. In its place was a table. On it were four surprisingly-delicious-looking meals, consisting of microwaved waffles (such as the infamous Eggo waffle, just pitifully off-branded), toasted bagels and fruit. “Good morning, everyone.” A voice suddenly rang from the intercom system, waking up anyone who hadn’t been awake at that time. “Please, head downstairs. Do not touch anything.” They instructed. Once everyone had begrudgingly done so (and were gathered around the table in the middle of the room), the voice began to speak once again. “While I said two days ago that today was going to be an off-day, I lied. I have decided to bestow upon you all three gifts. Hunger will drive you mad in here, and snacks are only a temporary fix. I understand that. So four of you will eat like kings today.” They explained slowly. “But only four. If you share the food, you will get a strike. The meal, if get it, will be yours and yours alone.” They added, adjusting their position in the chair they sat in. “How you all determine who gets to eat today is up to you. You can fight for the food, you can vote, you can simply walk up and take it, you can do whatever. As long as the meal stays on the table. You cannot get up and take the plate with you.” They warned. (cont.)
