500 - Part I - Distorted Shadows and Monsters

Chapter XX - The Announcement.

A thousand metallic seats in metallic rows in a metallic structure. The children were all sat down, quite literally on the edge of their seats. They were talking in hushed voices, all giggling and excited, except for Daniel and Brielle. Terry was cheering and Silver looked as though his tiny form was going to explode with a pure outburst of joy. They were in a hall. It appeared to be an old theatre. The signs were obvious: there were tatty, red curtains hanging from a stage, billowing limply in the inescapable chill. Brielle had goosebumps running up and down her arms and legs.

"What do you think it is about?" she wondered. Daniel shook his head. "I-I don't know. We were just told it was an announcement."
"Were we put to sleep?" Silver asked suddenly, from behind Daniel. They were sat at the front, eyes fixed on the stage. "I think so," Daniel pointed out, "It's the only good reason for why we seem a little dazed and bewildered."
"Why would they do that though?" Silver thought. Daniel turned to face him and placed his hands on top of Silver's and held them gently. "It's obvious, man. They aren't pleasant."
"I mean it's dumb. If I was a serial killer or kidnapper, I'd do something far worse than that," explained Silver.
"Be thankful it isn't worse," laughed Terry. Brielle, who was sat next to Daniel on the right and in-front of Terry, jerked her thumb backwards. "Yes, Terry. I for one would certainly not wish for something so gruelling."
"Just saying," Silver slipped out.

There were bells ringing relaxingly. They chimed for about two minutes. There was nothing at all sinister about them. A quiet melody. A few kids hummed to it. "Maybe somebody will tell us what on earth is going on," CJ muttered from about four seats down the row. James, who was sat next to him, was constantly elbowing CJ. Brielle glared at him. "What did he do with the gun?" she mouthed at CJ. He shrugged. She sat back and sighed in defeat.

James was a potential threat — that was certain. He had a gun and nobody had confiscated it. Nobody. 'Maybe it's an experiment,' thought Brielle to herself. It was surely not an accident and nobody just left a gun lying around, especially near children. Grayden was a madman and the plans he had come up with were disgusting and inhuman. James could kill anyone. Anyone he wanted. He could do it with immediate effect. Now that was scary.

Some trumpets sounded, taking everybody by alarm. Around thirty people walked on stage, divided by two individual walkways. They joined together, all huddled in a group. They were hooded and masked with these creepy faces. Their eyes were two gleaming, red crosses. The circular masks were mostly white, but had blotches of blood all over them. There was no mouth, except for a very thin, black, straight line that was dull and emotionless.

In unison, they all pulled down their hoods and only one removed their mask. Alistair. There was still faint chatter, like ocean waves on a sandy beach. It was gentle, soothing, calming. "Welcome," Grayden started, above the noise, "You are all probably wondering why I have gathered you today." There were nods, murmurs. People had wide eyes. "Allow me to explain, subjects." Nobody liked the name and many were disgusted by it. They were children, human beings, not machines to operate on. "You were all placed here for two significant reasons. One was for safety. The outside world we all haven't seen for what seems like an awfully long time. However, the world as we remember it isn't at all the same. There are wildfires, sunset scorching and typhoons. Sunset scorching burns our very homeland and destroys trees and buildings. Most of your homes are no longer existing. They crumble like rubble, fall like victims to the fire. The world is dissolving into ash, so we moved you away."

Nobody believed him. Not one soul. Somebody raised a hand, but asked something right away. "I don't understand," it was a tall boy, with short brown hair, neat and straight. He had dark grey eyes, similar to Grayden's, but younger and softer. They were almost like coals. Noir. Sat to his right was another boy, who looked identical to him. Twins or clones? They were the same. They looked the same. They sat the same. They fiddled with the bottom of their shirts and smoothed the material out in the same way. They had the same twitch in their eyes, a spasm. It flickered, like candlelight, before the feeling burned out.

"You don't understand?" Grayden asked, cocking his head, like a golden retriever puppy.
"That's correct," the boy replied swiftly, "You're trying to kill us." Grayden threw his hands up in surrender and defence. "Look," he spoke loudly, so the daydreamers and sleepyheads could hear, "We're not the bad guys here."
"Oh, so you are hurting us and erasing our memories for our own protection, then?" the boy protested. He nestled his back into his chair and sighed deeply. He folded his arms. His doppelgänger looked at him with sincere concern. "What does it take for you to get what I mean? I thought you were intelligent."
"I'm smart enough to know your intentions," the boy replied sourly. Grayden shook his head and moved on swiftly with the announcement.

A screen flickered. The gradient fuzz hummed with a bluebottle buzz. The pixelated colours became neon for a second. They shone brightly like headlights of jaguars and jeeps. Like cars travelling home at 3AM in the cold, hard rain. Yes, thats what it looked and felt like. A message appeared. Everybody started chatting, their voices rising higher. Their anticipation weighed them down, like feet treading mercilessly over carefully-constructed sandcastle forts.

You have been summoned here for an important message.

The roar of excitement grew. People were laughing and screaming. This was some sort of concert or entertainment venue. It didn't seem so scary anymore; everybody saw change and that's what mattered. People saw a difference, a pattern, an unexpected change in routine. This was a new place. A new chance to feel free, perhaps. To be happy, to-to—

SCRATCH are hosting a legendary event, known as the 500 Tournament. You will be entered automatically, unless you provide a respectable reason otherwise.

Daniel and Brielle were talking, discussing. The two twins exchanged a look. It was one of mystery and majesty. They hadn't experienced anything like this. A tournament. A game. A challenge. James was jumping up and down. CJ didn't know what to think or feel. He sat there, ready for a fresh batch of information. What was this all about? Nobody knew; it was totally out of the blue.

There are 10 phases, of which you are expected to complete. Failure to do so will lead to elimination. Each phase lasts 50 hours and in-between the phases are two months of training. This training will involve you learning new skills and abilities to teach you everything you need to know.

Skills? Phases? What was this madness? People were worried now. Training? Was it an actual fight? Unsettled. That's how you'd describe it.

You won't discover the news about what the first phase is until tomorrow. Tonight will be your last supper together in your individual rooms of strangers. You will soon all be together in one extremely colossal dormitory, but you may choose to sleep with those you recognise and or have bonded with, if you choose to do so.

This was delightful news. Children hugged and sang together. They shook off the feeling of worry that clung to them, like silver netting. All of a sudden, they were wrapped up in it again, clownfish caught by fisher-people. What they next saw made them half-rise to their feet. Faces fell. A spell bound them to their chairs. Legs flew back under chairs. Necks twitched. Hairs along spines tickled awkwardly. Was this a curse? Their eyes rolled like shattering marbles in their sockets, electric with petrifying fear. Their mouths hung empty, tongues squirming like crashing bingo balls in a tombola. Their fingers hunched like triggers on their armrests, ready to click or fire with every bout of anger. The tension was palpable. "Shut up."
"I can't stop sweating."
"Be quiet."
"It's almost too quiet."
"There was a murder. I expect there will be another."

Prepare yourselves, darlings. The world isn't all as sweet as honey. It can turn sickly and sour, sweethearts. You better prepare yourselves. The future is uncertain. Cupcakes and rainbows or an arrow down your throat — I know what I'd prefer. Goodnight, subjects. Sleep tight. Don't let the shadows bite.

"When will the murder be?"
"Whenever you want it to be, sweetheart."