HERO

40 / RUN!

The words on the screen disappeared and the power light on the camera went out.

Job done.

Thomas wondered how many others had been given the chance to speak before being fed to the wolves. Insanity probably didn't make for a calm, compliant reader. Insanity and abilities, he figured, didn't make for calm or compliant. He imagined that most Nomads were thrown straight out of the door. There were stories of them being drugged so they could be put in the right place for the games to begin. A forest. A park. The rubble of a once tall apartment block. He couldn't remember ever having seen a contestant giving a speech beforehand.

He hoped he didn't come across as awkward or immature. The words weren't his, of course, but, the audience wouldn't know that. Even if they suspected – after all, who'd be looking forward to being hunted? - the truth would never be revealed, just as with the drugs. There were rumours and conspiracy theorists. They were the sort of people who'd pick apart anything to find the lies deep within. Perhaps his speech would win him some supporters. Helpers, even.

Perhaps not. The Spot satiated the bloodlust of the viewers. They wanted the Nomad to be caught. They wanted to see the killing and imagine it was their superstrength or their electrical shock talking the life of the dangerous individual who was wearing the yellow costume.

So what if it was a child? They couldn't be allowed to continue. There were no safeguards to prevent them hurting anyone.

Or, there were, but the viewers weren't told.

A Cell could hold a contestant, or anyone empowered, without them being able to escape. Much in the way a Blocker kept people out, a Cell kept them in. It was a tall enclosure, like an elongated wardrobe. It would never fit in a normal home, so was situated in warehouses or hangars. Some were outside. There weren't many about. They were bulky, expensive and not completely foolproof. With a success rate of 85%, Cells were seen as the best way to solve a problem. The 15% of failures were a recognised and accepted statistic.

They couldn't hold someone indefinitely, so they were only really meant for short term use. It had been seen that, after a while of the incarcerated struggling to escape, they often settle down, believing they'd never be able to. They were wrong. Cells could withstand about an hour's worth of constant abuse before their protective bindings broke down. The locks would release and the person inside would be able to get outside.

On many more than one occasion, the escapee was killed on exit. Cells were kept guarded, and the guards had instructions to eliminate whomever was inside as soon as they ventured outside.

Cells worked, though. Yes, there were deaths, but mostly, the person lived until they could be moved or put on the Spot. It was a way of containing them without major risk of injury to anyone else.

It was a Cell, not a drug, that was used to transport Nomads to where they would be let loose. The Cell was then destroyed. It became part of the rubble of the world. There ws no point in keeping them. They were invariably damaged too much to be reused.

Thomas stood, waiting for either door to open and for him to be taken back inside the complex or sent out for the Spotters to have their sport. Nothing happened. Next to his face, the air fizzed and Lloyd's disembodied face appeared. It was faint and he could still see the far wall behind it.

"Good luck, Thomas," she said quietly.

He was about to answer, but she was already gone. Only a faint crackling sound, like invisible popping candy, remained, and that, too, had faded completely within a few seconds. He sighed. She wasn't a friend, or particularly nice, but she'd still taken the time to give him a boost. He appreciated the gesture.