Day 81 - Darwin's Game - Chapter 30 (3036 words)

©Wayne Webb and constantwriting.blogspot.com, 2013. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Wayne Webb and constantwriting.blogspot.com with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

DARWIN'S GAME

By Wayne Webb

CHAPTER 30

Episode 6

Part 2

An exterior shot of an alleyway, a blank wall, in black and white shot from above from the security camera or CCTV angle. The angle changes and looks at a different part of the same alley, no person is in sight and there is nothing interesting in the shot. The camera switches again to another camera this one pointing at what is probably the mouth of that same alley, where it meets a road or a street, there is no movement or people in any of the shots, the alley way is empty and quiet.

The original angle comes back into view, and sites for a few seconds before a soundless explosion blasts a hole in wall in the lower left section of the shot, and the dust settles before the scene switches again, to the second and then the third view of the alley. The camera views further up the alley and to the street show no sign of any activity, as it cycles around to the first again, there is debris falling off the jagged hole and the dust is finally settling as the view switches once more. This time when camera one is back Vargas is standing outside the hole, looking about and moving very cautiously into the alley way, the camera view changes again before he is out of sight, just timed right to see him walk into shot on the second view, moving his way up the narrow walkway between buildings to the third camera angle and walking from one shot to the next.

John Vargas stops at the street and from behind you can make out him looking up and down the street, rubbing at his injured leg as he stands there, reacting to what he sees or choosing what to do next. The view moves back to the first camera, the hole is unmoved and the dust has stopped moving, the scene now static. Nothing is happening there or on the second view as it changes soon after, eventually making it's way back to the view where Vargas was, but has now left. The scene is empty and the visual fades to black, slowly fading back a few moments later and now the other four players who are still alive are standing outside the broken hole, each with a long barrelled rifle in their hands and each with a piece of paper.

The view is not changing automatically any longer and the scene stays with the four men, Thomas Somerset, Julio Suarez, Mark Rowlands and Evan Simpson. There is some discussion between them and they are referring to the pieces of paper they are holding, tracing a route on what could have been four maps. They all check their guns, looking down the sniper sights and reading instructions from a little booklet they have attached by a piece of string to the stiffer laminated maps they have. All four move off together and walk through the scene to camera two, the four of them walking apace until the third camera angle where they become more cagey in their movements, slowing down and keeping close to the walls before peering out into the street, Thomas has shouldered his gun and is looking down the sights, letting others walk in front of his barrel. Evan Simpson sees this as he is walking at the rear and he slaps at the gun, forcing it down from the others and the two men have a heated exchange, in silence with no sound to the video, before Suarez is motioning them to keep the noise down.

The scene changes to show another CCTV view of Vargas running, half loping on an injured leg and coming to the end of a street, a two lane roadway that is truncated by a steel wall cutting off access. The wall of metal intersects the buildings next to the street and it looks like the town that he is in is actually set inside of a wall. A flash through of other CCTV cameras show in black and white that this is not a real town and that the entire town is made up of a few small streets and a central intersection with a square configuration set around a central grassy hill with a couple of trees and a park bench or two. Other camera angles show a few high buildings and the four other players are following map instructions to find positions marked out for them.

The view is now set from a long way above and you can see the entire 'town' is inside a building the size of an aircraft hangar for a Jumbo Jet, there is sun light pouring in but the roof is a long way above and there are large block buildings surrounding the central 'town' which is in the centre. The picture that was in black and white slowly transited to colour and the scene focused and gave a much better and highly detailed look to the quality of picture. The hole in wall that led to the central town area is just up from the corner of the south section of 'town' and you can see that this large box building was that second section of the obstacle course within it, and the west wall section was most likely the first section of the course. This was a massive endeavour and the buildings in the 'town' were maybe 2 to three stories high but they only formed four small blocks with a ring road around the outside and the central square between those sets of buildings.

The cameras now changed to a colour view and the CCTV illusion was shattered, these were the high definition static cameras that Darwin had been using all along. The four players who were now the 'Hunters' were taking positions in the four corner 'towers' that marked the blocks of the square, and from the roof tops, or the top floors depending on the building configuration, they had unobstructed views down the outside streets and with a short walk a communal view of the 'town square'

Thomas Somerset was sitting behind a low wall on the rooftop of a four storey brick building, the final ascent to the top had been up a metal fire escape ladder, the rifle slung on his back. From his vantage point he could see the most and was the highest position of all the buildings. He like the others had a bullet in the chamber from the loading in the alleyway and he held a small box with five more rounds in it. He counted them out and put them in the clip, six shots from his sniper rifle. Then the moved around each of the four sides of the rooftop and took aim at the other three sniper positions, the lined up Suarez who was also exposed on the lower roof, standing out against the black tar papered surface of the concrete structure, it looked like it could have been a bank. He saw Rowlands through the glass sided penthouse apartment, there was a balcony on three of the four sides of the apartment, but with glass walls there was a contiguous view of Rowlands, walking about and opening windows and looking down the sights of his own rifle. That left the clock tower, the nearest in height to Somerset’s position, but at the diagonal opposite corner of the square.

The scene of Somerset zoomed out rapidly, the camera moving on rails at some distance and changing locations very quickly, before zooming in just a rapidly on the clock tower. At first there was nothing to see, but as the camera zoom adjusted for the light in the shadows, Simpson was hiding there, the hood of his jacket up over his head, helping him remain unseen. He had the rifle lying on the ground, and he kept very still as if he knew that he was being sighted by someone else's rifle. The sights from the gun were off the body and in his hands, he was carefully twisting his body and looking from a slightly odd perspective over the edge of the belfry wall, looking upwards at the rooftop of brick where Thomas was aiming back down. He watched him walk around and try new angles before giving up and moving out of sight again, staying out of line for a little while, appearing on the adjacent wall to the opposing corner and aiming again at Mark Rowlands.

John Vargas was now in full colour and inside a building, testing doors and finding the locked. Every room had some kind of camera in them, the corridors and entrances dogged his steps as he explored the fake town where he thought the had escaped to, but was just as a captive as he had been at the start. As he was leaving one building and making his way around the outside street the view changed to be from above again and this time Suarez was aiming down the sights of his rifle, it was hard to determine how close a shot he had on Vargas, but he was training the sights on him and moving in a very slow line as John picked his way through the store-fronts which were more for show than function.

Suarez trails him the whole way down one street and does not take any shot, just continues to shadow him and move around the edge of the building. Finally he lifts the barrel of his rifle and sits back down again, his head in his hands. The view stays on him for a few seconds, and in close up you can see his eyes welling up with tears, he looks more angry than scared or sad, but tears are streaming down his cheeks now anyway. Then he takes the gun again, wipes at his face and sets the stock back into his shoulder. The tip of the barrel dances around shaking with the wannabe sniper holding it in place. He continues to follow the only player without a gun as he limps towards the corner building where Rowlands is set up, testing the door and then going around the base looking for another door.

Somerset is back in camera and he is training his gun sight on Suarez, then realises that Suarez is trained on something too. He pulls back and moves around the wall to see where Suarez is aiming, The camera moves and zooms in behind Thomas's head to show that a few small trees are outside the Rowlands building, the set of apartments. They obstruct his view of Vargas as he is entering the building, so he picks up his rifle and swings up and gets into position to get Rowlands in his sights.

The room in which Mark Rowlands is shooting from has a camera in it, the scene changes to show that view and Mark is staring down the sights of his own rifle into the square looking at the other three buildings and the central park. From that angle it is nor clear, but it can be guessed that he cannot see the approach to his own building unless he is out on the balcony looking directly down. The windows are open but he hides in the shady apartment, visible from the rooftops but not from the street level,

From across and adjacent side of the square Somerset is looking down directly on to Rowlands hide, and is pointed straight at Mark, the index finger on his hand on the trigger and ready to pull. The door at the rear of the upper floor opens silently and from the elevator out limps John Vargas, and walks into the room. Rowlands reacts turning around and training the rifle on his guest, shouldering it as Vargas turns to see the elevator closed behind him and he slumps his shoulders in defeat. Inside the room Rowlands has a tight grip on the gun and is keeping Vargas in his view, John on the other hand has given up and lowers his hands, holding them open and palms outwards by his sides, waiting for the final shot.

Rowlands has not moved and there is a conversation of some kind between Vargas and Rowlands, but it does not last that long as a shower of glass explodes through the room and Vargas instinctively dives to the side, lying on the floor. Rowlands is sitting down, the rifle in his lap and a wound fresh on his left shoulder, reddening the shirt he is wearing. Vargas motions to him as another bullet rips through the counter top above Mark's head, sending shards of wood and marble flying into his hair.

Rowlands lands on his side, and grimacing he tries to pick the gun up, but is in too much pain, wincing with each attempt. There is another shouted, silent exchange between the men and then Rowlands shoves the sniper's rifle across the floor with his feet, skittering a few meters away and stopping two thirds of the way to where Vargas is hiding. Vargas looks up but cannot see much over his cover without raising his head, then looking back at the gun.

From Somerset’s rooftop he can see the broken glass, the shattered counter-top and in the middle of the floor, with the stock mostly in view and the rest of the gun in plain sight there is the weapon, and he knows that both men are in there with it. He grips his own weapon tighter, watching the other gun like a hawk down his own telescopic sights. He can see a movement of a head, a few clumps of hair as someone is moving through cover to get to the gun, but there is not enough to take a shot, he has four bullets left. Suddenly the head reappears and the man attached, Vargas, forward rolls into view, grabs the rifle in mind roll and continues on out of sight again. Somerset squeezes off a round but it misses, gouging a track in the panelled flooring as John Vargas is now hiding again behind the same counter top that Rowlands is hiding by at the other end of the kitchen, covered by other thick furniture. Somerset now has three shots, he concentrates and keeps an unrelenting eye on the apartment across the street in his direct line of sight.

Back inside the apartment Vargas has the gun but he only has one bullet in it when he checks the clip. He crawls around to find Simpson who has passed out from the shoulder wound, but is not dead, Vargas has to cross open ground to get to where Simpson is. He looks around and sees there is more room further along the counter top, the bar arrangement at the end of the kitchen has a wider area and he moves there in a crouch, his gun at the ready. He pops up suddenly the gun swinging up as he stands and fires a shot at the rooftop where he knows the sniper is, though he does not know who it is.

Somerset is watching and waiting and then there he is, Vargas is standing up and just as he tries to get a shot off Thomas sees the gun and the flash and throws himself backwards before taking his fourth shot. The bullet ricochets off the air conditioning unit quite some distance form where he actually was, but as the sniper was now the snipee he was shaking and looking very shocked and with much less controlled confidence than he had seconds before that bullet. He moved on his belly further along the wall and came to the corner opposite the clock tower and levered himself up to look back down into the apartment. There was no one in sight.

Back in the room Vargas was searching through Rowland's pockets who was moving groggily, his head lolling about on his shoulders, Vargas trying to keep his head down and keep Mark from moving about too much either. He finds the box of shells and loads the clip, he now has five shots. From this new vantage point he can aim through a partially shielded gap in the settee and the coffee table, which he upends to make a bit more cover before taking careful aim at the section of wall where he has seen movement and the man who had jumped up and backwards. From where he was positioned he could not see the corner of the building where Somerset was, he had a blind spot made by the way the furniture and the stanchions of the door blocked a little of his peripheral vision.

From Thomas's view he could see the top of Vargas's shoulders and then a blockage where his head would be, then the barrel of the gun moving in slow arcs sweeping the section of wall where he had been minutes before. The smile and the confidence came back to his face and he set his rifle carefully and took his time to line up the shot, aiming in the middle of left side of his back, aiming to take a shot into the heart from behind. He shrugged his shoulders, waving out any kinks of quirks in his muscles as the shot lined up and he counted down, mouth the 'three' 'two' 'one' and then his own head exploded in a shower of red and grey, before he fell forward almost a headless neck stump on a limp body to plant facing forwards on the rooftop.

Evan Simpson was on one knee and looking up at the opposing rooftop, smoke rising from the barrel of his own rifle, the camera changed with a slight lag to see the puff of red and the headless body of pulp that had once been Thomas Somerset pitched forward. He had the sights back on the rifle and was pulling back, not interested in aiming back at Vargas or Rowlands, whom he could see in perfect line from his clock tower also above them.

The scene faded black again and the episode was done.   

Day 80 - Darwin's Game - Chapter 29 (2315 words)

©Wayne Webb and constantwriting.blogspot.com, 2013. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Wayne Webb and constantwriting.blogspot.com with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

DARWIN'S GAME

By Wayne Webb

CHAPTER 29

“Is what we are seeing the beginning of the Gamification of Justice? What's your opinion on the meaning of Darwin's Game? Our lines are open and we want to hear from you!”

Blake had the radio on and was listening to commentary from the talk-back host and the callers as he worked on the plan for the week. He had left the hotel after talking to Jacob a few days ago, after he had the conversation with that orderly who knew something, but nothing that would be of any use. He had reached the conclusion like Edgerton had, that if Darwin wanted to get to them then it was more likely he could than they could stop them. They had plenty of faith in the Dragon Ridge security team, but they were at a massive disadvantage. Darwin knew who they were, what they were trying to do and how their security worked. On the other hand Dragon Ridge and the Facts Alone team had no idea who or what Darwin was, or what the hell he was trying to do, it was all guesswork based on rumour.

“IS it justice though? I don;t know about y'all but if a rapist and a murderer, a confessed and guilty one that was going to die anyway, and he dies and it ain’t on the states dime, it ain’t on my dime. Y'all feel me?” The voices on the radio were popping through the loose sub-conscious listening as Blake prepared the plan for the week.

Jacob had the security tapes from Russell-Watts to review and he found nothing, did not tell the FBI about Eugene, was going to keep that nugget to himself because, well it did not seem like it would lead anywhere except to punish a man who was not guilty of anything and deserved every penny of his fathers settlement. There were no cameras on that spot where they had met and the cameras that covered some of the car park, did not show anyone come or go through the area at that time. Manson showed up, getting out of his car and then changing vectors and heading off camera for a time before showing up again walking into the building. There were blind spots and it validated what Eugene had reluctantly told him, after extracting a promise to not name him or turn him in. It was an easy promise to make, Jacob found exactly what he expected, nothing at all. He had explained as much to Blake who then suggested he follow the money, but that too led to more questions, some of which they really could not ask without exposing Eugene. They could have pushed, but they were sure to find more dead ends, and more threads to follow that would lead them ultimately to a place where the trail ran cold or into a false identity. It did not feel right to make Eugene pay for curiosity that would not lead to Darwin anyway.

“It's a slippery slope, no one should be watching it, but the problem is that everyone already is! Every time we put more about it on air, we can denounce it or support it, it does not matter, it's air and giving it air just makes it grow. Attention feeds this beast and I just can't help feel that it's the start of something much worse.”

Blake was back in his office, the radio was on and streaming over his phone which was blue-toothed to the wireless speakers in his office, it was late in the evening and there were federal agents downstairs in a car out the front keeping an eye out and he had one Dragon Ridge man in the main office at a desk playing some online game, while he went back to his life. So much was happening and no one seemed to be paying attention while the Game was still being played. Government was still passing laws they should not and refusing to pass laws that they should, but right now there was so much attention on the law and order part of governnance, no one was paying attention to the maintenance of the country. Senators and congressmen still argued their bills and represented their constituents and their special interest lobby groups, but it was with much less media scrutiny. Partisan politics continued, the votes went along party lines as per usual, but there were no polarising debates chewing up the news hours, instead they were commenting on the right and wrong of the game and phoning in their support, defence or attacks on legislation. It made Blake smile that the system worked in that even when not paying the attention they usually did, still they could manage to get nothing of substance changed.

“I feel no sympathy for these criminals, hell give me a gun and twelve bullets, I could make the whole season in one show, it'd all be over pretty quick. I would not even call it a Game. I'd name it Darwin's Fish-In-A-Barrel, yeah that's what I'd do. God damn right!”

Tracing the money, the decision to push the settlement to Eugene Manson and his family had been hard to do without raising suspicion, but then Manson himself gave them more useful information by bringing his lawyer in on the conversation. He was covered by not only attorney/client privilege, nut also by blatant self interest. If the money were tainted, if the cases was somehow corrupted or influenced then the legal fees and the financial windfall his small firm was suddenly a partner in would evaporate and he'd be out of pocket as would the Manson family. No one called them the Manson Family of course, they made that joke more than once when talking with the folksy and happy lawyer who put them in the picture. He had got an unsolicited email, one that had been traced and found nothing but proxy servers and anonymous gmail accounts and the end of the trail. That same email had gone to the judge and to the court reporter, the local branch of the insurance company and the CEO of the corporation that owned them. It was all above board and the content of the email, it was not contested or denied by anyone. An out of court settlement was reached and a confidentiality agreement was signed. They made Jacob sign a paper stating he would not disclose the information, but he was never interested in that, just the source and how they got the information. The insurance company would not cooperate, they had looked for their leak and come up short. They assumed a hacker had found a compromised staff member and managed to find their way through emails and notes to the evidence they used. No other evidence was used in any other current cases, they counted themselves lucky, paid Eugene and his family off as soon as possible and wanted to move on.

“I hope they all die, I really do, I mean do YOU want the winner to be free, walking our streets? I mean to say the Survival of the Fittest is all well and good, but aren't we then talking the worst of the worst? This is the person who survives the machinations of serial murderers and rapists, socio-pathic killers, people with no remorse and no conscience. Of course they would have all been alive anyway if the game had never happened... no wait... if eleven of them died, then yeah the worst might be the survivor, but the other eleven assholes would have gone first! I've changed my mind! Oh sorry, can I say assholes on the air?”

The office was empty when Blake stuck his head out to check on his bodyguard, but he was not there. He stepped back into his office for a second and considered locking himself in, but then the sensible part of his nature kicked back in and he took a deep breath and started looking about. He found the man in the kitchen a few seconds later making a cup of coffee, he had a clear line of sight to the front and side doors to this half of the office, having previously set the alarms on the south entrance to the stairs. He looked up and indicated the coffee with an arch of the eyebrows, asking if Blake wanted one and got a nod in return. Blake lifted a finger and pointed it up for a half second before turning on his heels, returning a minute later with a silver flask and a grin on his face. The Dragon Ridge man sighed as if put upon, looked at his watch and the made an over exaggerated 'what-the-fuck' shrug and held out both cups.

“I just think these boys, they can't be rehabilitated.” The radio was drifting in from the office wheer Blake had left it on just before.

The two men sat in silence and sipped on the acceptable coffee with the more than excellent single malt wafting out of it. Blake had a taste for the smoky peat of Islay malts, the cask strength from a moth balled distillery was his favourite at the moment, but that title tended to change as soon as he finished one bottle and moved on to the next find. Before the Game he favoured the peppery flavours of the Speyside Malts, before that mellow and harder to find lowland distilleries. The peaty strength of the far north islands or the western isles suited him for now and it took him back to the festivals, the side trips when in the United Kingdom, those days of carefree time aside seemed an age away. While the Game was being played, if you could call it that, there was no respite and nowhere to run away from it all. When this was done, he promised himself a trip to Scotland, land of his forefathers, albeit a few generations removed, and maybe a few new drams to lighten the damp cold of the north. He had an ex-girlfriend there, she was a writer and had ensconced herself in the Orkney Islands a few months ago, it had been over a year since they broke up but they stayed in touch. Maybe a trip through the Scapa Flow would be a good get away from all this business, if it didn't end badly that was.

“You've good taste. Islay?” The man from Dragon Ridge was speaking to him but watching the doors, drinking but barely denting the contents, getting the flavour but not the full effect of dulling alcohol when on the job.

“Yeah, yeah I was there a few … months, maybe years now, ago. Time flies.”

“Tempus Fugit.” the man nodded in agreement, his eyes still scanning outside of his friendly body language.

“For a security guard, you're well read?”

This was the first time that the man turned to actually look at him and settle his gaze more than a brief glimpse, it was not a withering look of contempt, but he managed to insert a decent amount of ' don't underestimate me ' with a dash of ' don't fuck with me' at the same time.

“I spend a lot of time waiting, training like fuck... then waiting... then well you get the picture.” The man went back to looking at the entry and exit points in sequence, before sticking out his hand and offering it without eye contact to his charge. “Pete.”

“Blake. I guess that you already know...”

They sat there for a few more minutes and enjoyed the silence and the malted coffee before Blake called it a night. As he went to leave the office he sent Pete to the alarm box, which was in the coffee station near the lifts, not the main kitchen, just a brewer and fridge with cups and a water cooler for the guests in the lift lobby/reception on this floor.

“I'll give your man this for sure, he's definitely good.” He was waving an envelope, one of those envelopes but it was only 4 days since the previous episode. Blake took it and felt the disc inside, but he didn't really need to, he could see what it was before it was handed to him.

“There was an envelope taped to the alarm code box. I was watching the entryway, he would have to have come through the south, without tripping the alarm, which is hard but not impossible, and walked the long way around, when we were in the kitchen, planted this and reversed his tracks in the two hundred and forty odd seconds it took for the water to boil and the coffee to be made.”

“Well, nothing surprises me now.” Blake was more interested in seeing 'part two' of the Vargas escape and uploading it to the site, he already had his phone to text through to Jacob and to alert the FBI once he had it uploaded, he still did not trust them to not interfere, even though that ship had well and truly sailed.

“No? Maybe you should check your camera feeds, see who is tapping into them.” Pete pointed at his chest, but really was pointing through his chest, backwards at the camera over his left shoulder where his gesture would not be seen from that angle. “They/He must have seen us go to the Kitchen, timed the the intrusion and ex-filtration for the right time. I didn't tell anyone, you I assume did not?”

“No. No? Oh right. We'll look later, work to do.” He tried to not look disturbed, but he was. He rubbed his temples, closed his eyes and pictured the sunken warships in Scapa Flow, it was his way of looking forward.

Day 79 - Darwin's Game - Chapter 28 (2719 words)

©Wayne Webb and constantwriting.blogspot.com, 2013. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Wayne Webb and constantwriting.blogspot.com with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

DARWIN'S GAME

By Wayne Webb

CHAPTER 28

It was only in Paris that she felt safe, and only in the city centre, the low arrondissements, if she were elsewhere she would be looking over her shoulders and would not be able to control the terrifying feelings that overwhelmed her. That safety was born out of a sense of belonging, and place, knowing it and feeling it in every street and alleyway. It was not the safest city in the world, but she had spent so much time here as a child, walking it's streets and feeling it's heartbeat, that it felt like home, and home was a familiar place.

Eveline Petit still lived in her parents apartment in the Rue de la Victoire in the 9^th Arrondissement a few minutes walk from the Opera and the streets and alleys that criss crossed the central city, so close to everything and so much like a playground for her. She had not seen her friends in some time, not since her return from America in fact and that was over a year ago. She was not ready, not yet anyway.

Her parents had named her Eveline, it was for a favourite author of her fathers James Joyce, a char character in one of his novels and very little to do with Paris or anything French. It was a French name, a lovely one that most people assumed was an appropriate choice for parents, but it was a quiet rebellion against the culture by naming their only subversively after the Irish novelist who was at home here, but never one of them. It was a sense of place that Eveline carried with her to the adult years, this was where she felt at home, the city not the apartment they lived in. Travel was always going to be the thing that took her away, took her on adventures and showed her more of the world. She was interested in experiences, good and bad that would come her way. Or at least she had been interested until now. Now she wanted to feel at home, feel contained, within the bounds of her own world where she was not in control so much as in perfect sync with the parameters of her life in her own environment.

She got up late most days, when the foot traffic had slowed she would find one of a number of cafés and take her morning coffee, she took care to never take her coffee at the same place two days in the same week, instead she would work through her list of favourites and to the people there who got to know her, it was like an irregular and unpredictable occurrence that she would take a drink there. To her though it was a necessary and daily ritual that kept her grounded and enhanced her sense of being at one with where she was, what she was doing and how protected her routine would be.

Her café au lait inside for for a start, the nearest boulangerie or patisserie would be the next port of call, as the café changed daily, the nearest pastry or sweet treat she would get would also be sourced unpredictably, it was part of the ritual. Taking a few bites every few steps she would wander, aimlessly at first until something caught her eye and then she would find purpose and follow that like an unravelling thread leading her out of the maze.

Today she was walking along Boulevard Haussmann and despite her initial attempt at connection was still not sure where she was going or what she was doing. Half heartedly she browsed through the Galeries Lafayette trying things on, discarding them unpurchased and working her way up the levels, her eyes drawn up to the always impressive dome, feeling it pressing in on her today, the darkness of the day, cloudy and grim not helping her unsettled mood.

She eventually left and took to the streets again, looking for something as the sky and her mood both darkened with a cold front moving in, the pressure dropping and the feeling of tiny drops of rain threatened the morning. She would have to bee off the streets soon, the lunch rush was too much for her, she would have to be home again, she was not far but her sense of purpose was not yet fulfilled. She knew that it was not necessary for her to find that distraction, it would not make one blind bit of difference to her and the next day would continue on as every other day would do so.

If she did not find her anchor moment, the one that held her day together, then the rest of the day would be ruined. Just that day only, but the remaining hours would be unbearable and they would drag on and her sleepless night would be as endless as the hours she felt when not in her home any more. She had to find it, tomorrow may be another day and another chance, but tonight would be hell on earth for her. Her pace quickened, which enabled her to cover more ground but also meant that she was missing things, the details and the flourishes that pointed her to her anchor for the day.

A shop window loomed up in front of her suddenly and she stopped, skidded to a halt in front of unsure why. Then with a certainty she knew why she had been caught up, this was not her anchor moment, this was him. She had caught the glimpse of him in her periphery and deep in her sub conscious her brain had run a sub routine of sorts, one that recognised faces and shapes and attached reactions to them. His face had pinged into her mind, asserted itself violently bringing her to stop and stare at the monitors stacked on the edge of the shop display, and tuned to the news channel, not showing him now but talking about him for sure.

His face came up again, a mug shot she recognised from the arrest, the trial and the media frenzy that came at the time. Feelings welled up, like water rising inside her threatening to spill over, lose control of herself and her ability to be herself ever again. A tremor started in her, in the centre deep down and rode itself to the surface with and oncoming cold feeling as it passed up through the layers to her surface.

Before it broke, crashing it down around her fragile feet, she saw eight numbers at that lined the bottom of the screen under his mug shot and she knew that she had to get home, quickly.

Her parents were there already, her father had left work when he heard and come straight home at her mothers request. They saw her walk in and come straight to the television, turning up the volume and sitting right in front of it and waiting for the details. Her mother got up and poured a Brandy for her, into the wide and bulbous glass for the drink. It was the perfect choice because she could barely stay still enough to keep the liquid in the bowl. She took the first hit, not yet warmed to body temperature, and it burned her throat, setting the tears to the corners of her eyes but not yet brimming over.

“Did he suffer?” She did not turn away from the broadcast, talking as it was about the excessive obsession with the brutal reality show that would only happen in a place like America. The TV presenter was at once sounding fascinated and disgusted with the morbid curiosity and obsession of American audiences with the gladiatorial like deaths of their criminals. However, in no sense of shame they had broken into regular programming to bring this update.

“Did he suffer? Like the others? Some of the others died quickly yes?”

Her parents said nothing, unsure if this line of thought would be helpful or harmful to their daughter.

Eveline turned and looked at them, tears now streaming down he face. “I don't need him to suffer, I don't. I just need to know. How. How. How.”

Her father turned around the laptop and had on it the video link on the Facts Alone website. He pressed play and they let their daughter watch episode six, she had not been able to watch the sections of the previous instalments. Not while Garth Parker was still alive at the end of them.

She knew all about the game, read about it daily in Le Monde, and listened to her parents commentary about the grand scheme of it all, edited for too many details about her own brush with the player Garth Parker. She was following it but she could not watch him, not see him walking about, freely and not behind bars. They had told her that he was on the verge of a nervous breakdown, that he was suffering mentally with the game, but she was not impressed or interested in this. She still could not see him, knowing that he could walk away at the end of it all. She prayed to a god she no longer had much faith in to deliver her from his evil. Now it had happened and she whispered a prayer of thanks, feeling no remorse or guilt from the pleasure of his death. She watched the latest round intently, and while all eyes were on Vargas and what would happen to him next, she was rewinding and watching her tormentors demise into madness. Then she watched again, slowing down and closely following him through the course, seeing the doubt in his eyes, the fear in his step and counting the length of time he was feeling that way. The weeks of the game, the tears in the Prisoner's Dilemma, the elation of surviving a round, the despair of starting another each time.

There was a moment, a split second, and she replayed it again and again to be sure, as sure as she could only be after days in his presence. The instant where he let the fear take over, when he knew that there was no hope, no escape and that death was his only option. The moment that he was dead, it was before he exploded into nothingness, it was when he lost the thread he had been following, the anchor moment he was looking for that showed him the way through the round to survival. This time there was none, there was only another round and another chance at death, not at life mind you, a chance at death. He lost the game in that moment, he died then well before he separated himself and eventually pulled off this vest. That was the moment she wanted to see, the moment when she could face the memory of her friends who had suffered so much at this man's hands.

Her two friends that travelled with her were dead, he had held all three of them at gunpoint before securing them in a trailer, parked in a vacant lot with blacked out windows far enough away to not hear the muffled screams. He raped all three of them, over a period of a few days, and the killing of them was not the option he would have preferred, it was a necessity he told the court. Eveline had gotten free and escaped, she ran and ran until she found an open gas station and screamed until the police arrived. They followed he back to the trailer, but Parker had killed her two friends the moment he knew that Eveline was free, and had fled. She only had seconds to loose her bounds and get out the trap door into the floor, she heard the door opening behind her as the trap shut on her head, had she hesitated then she would have never got out, and all three of them would be dead.

He had gone on the run, but not got far with his face all over the papers, the internet and television news. He had little to say except that the two women he killed were not his fault, they were Eveline's because she ran. Would he have killed all three when he grew bored or felt them to damaged to enjoy any further? He swore that it was her fault, the fear that she bred into him by running and getting the police that drove him to the moment of madness. She did not believe him, she was told not to believe him, the parents of her friends praised her courage and the justice she brought for their daughters death and she accepted all of that. Beneath it though, she wanted more time, replaying the escape in her head she wished for more time. For a weapon to defend themselves with against his gun, but there was nothing he left that would have worked. She wished for more time to free one of the other girls. Then she would have had to choose, who would she free and who would she choose to condemn? She knew that choice was not hers, it was his as he had all the power, but in wishing for that time, time she knew she never had, the power of that choice fell to her and she found herself wishing for more.

Then he had escaped, he was on the run and free. Eveline was on the next plane to Paris, she could not walk the streets of New York anymore, it could not be a less hospitable place to be, America was not big enough to hide in, she needed to be within the walls of her own Arrondissement again, to feel at home and away, half a world away from him. The embassy assured her he would be caught, he was a career criminal and not smart or measured enough to evade the police for too long. Time passed and he did not surface, and so many people told her that he must be dead, he was not clever, shrewd or resourceful enough to not make some mistakes and get caught. They said it was only a matter of time, and then he would be dead for sure or in custody.

They were right, but not in the way that anyone expected. When he was invisible she could not leave the city, the 9^th or for a long while their apartment. She started walking out for the mornings a month before the first instalment came through to her, something had changed in her and she felt like she could push those boundaries. She needed purpose every day for her routine, that anchor moment that held back the fear and self-loathing that accompanied her every day. She would go out, drink, eat and then find her anchor for the day, the thing that grounded her in the moment and in the safety of her metaphorically walled city.

The game started and the routine became more important, she knew he was incarcerated in a way, but he had a chance and a mission to free himself. To be the fittest, to be the survivor. Like the guilt, the blame she felt but knew she should not, his winning the game was as an unlikely event as anything else. She could not watch him, she could not believe the reports of this instability, not until he was dead and she knew it.

The vaporisation was not that satisfying and she knew that she had lied to her parents, she had wanted him to suffer in death, slowly and painfully, so much catharsis for her at the very least. It was not to be that way and she took the definitive nature of the explosion as gospel, while others wondered it it were even real, she knew it to be true. This was her new anchor moment, she did not need to go out for it ever again, she could dial it up on the internet, the video could be played on her phone anywhere and she would feel the solidity of the ground beneath her feet, the walls against her back and the sky above her now open and no longer pressing.

Day 78 - Darwin's Game - Chapter 27 (2398 words)

©Wayne Webb and constantwriting.blogspot.com, 2013. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Wayne Webb and constantwriting.blogspot.com with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

DARWIN'S GAME

By Wayne Webb

CHAPTER 27

“The question to me is about the authenticity of what we think we are seeing. We have said this before and we'll say it again, there is not any proof, no hard evidence that any of these incidents for want of a better word, has actually happened.”

“Are you saying that the Game itself is a fake?”

“I'm not saying that it IS and I am not saying that it ISN'T, I'm saying we don't know. Not for sure anyway. The way we get these videos is so... handled and we are given nothing, nothing to go with it. The whole thing could be manufactured for us to believe that these criminals are now dead.”

“An elaborate way to fake your death, and what's more two of them were already thought dead, or missing, why go to all that trouble to make them die again.”

The man who was being interviewed pinched the bridge of his nose in annoyance. “You are missing the point, it is not about what is really going on, it's about how it COULD be something else entirely. We don't know. We CAN'T know. Not until we have evidence.”

“Habeas Corpus?”

The man heaved a sigh. “If you like.”

Jacob Edgerton switched off the television in his room, he had seen enough since the airing of the latest round of the Game. Blake had sent him a message to watch the new episode, and told him to be extra careful, without saying why. Something had obviously happened, it was not a kidnapping this time, Jacob was sure that it would have been all over the news and that the Dragon Ridge people would have been all over him if it were. He knew, somehow that Darwin had touched Blake in a way similar to the way he had been touched. He felt slightly better because of this, less singled out and more at ease with his future security. Whatever it had been the resulting change in Hilliards demeanour was noticeable, it was the least forceful and the least forthright conversation they had ever had. Blake was not known for his demure approach to any situation. To hear him so muted, so quiet and reserved when speaking was on one hand spooky and on the other reassuring.

Jacob was still in Marquette he had thought that the orderly Eugene was worth following up on, the FBI were still combing the records of the hospital, and several people had lost their jobs or were on report for various violations and infractions of the contraband rules at Russell-Watts, but the upending of the system there produced no real leads for the investigation. Their handler at Dragon Ridge knew people in the Bureau and other agencies and they got a summary of progress at irregular but highly detailed intervals. No progress was being made.

Now the focus was shifting, there was a few field officers left at Russell-Watts to follow up but it was yielding very little and the effort could be better used in the current man-hunt. John Vargas was injured and on the run, he had escaped the Game and was out there now and someone must have seen him. He was already famous but now his picture, his mug shot was on every web site and news bulletin 24 hours a day. The lines at the police, the FBI, 911 and every possible agency that may intersect with Law & Order were over run with false positives for the escaped Vargas.

Two days after episode six had aired and there were more leads than they could possibly filter out and find any real evidence from. There was no indication that this was anything more than all noise and zero signal. Yet hundreds of sightings were being reported and followed up with no head way being made. This seemed like the best possible lead they could have gotten and they were inundated with helpful calls from the public pointing the finger at anyone looking vaguely Hispanic.

That was taking the heat away from Russell-Watts, from Marquette and from all of the other potentially valuable leads from the previously deceased players. It was not that the FBI did not think them worth pursuing, it was that there was a live lead in front of them and they had to follow that through, they had to divert resources to chase them down, thinking that it was likely going nowhere and that it would not lead to conviction.

The prevailing thought was that the Game would continue unabated and that this 'opportunity' was as staged and managed as previous episodes were. There was still a good chance that this whole game had already finished and that the outcome was a forgone conclusion, they just did not know it yet. There had been plenty of suggestions about the timing and the amount of preparation required to pull off a Game like this and no one in their right mind would have tried to air episodes before the conclusion was known. Reality Show producers were brought in as consultants, they were probed for their ideas on who this was being done by and how he would be doing it. The episodes followed a loose idea of a TV series, more than one producer had suggested a mid season break would pique interest in the series and generate more viewers by forcing a delay on them.

After the 2 week break between episodes five and six, those men were brought back in and shown the footage of episode six on the best equipment and with the best forensic tools available. What the producers had was some idea of making good TV and they were in awe of Darwin, not that interested in catching him as much as learning from him, emulating him if possible. A few of them pitched the series as a going concern after the end of series one, if was a serious offer and they could see that ethics, legal matters and personal feelings aside, the public had a taste for the Game. They wanted it, they needed it and it served a valuable societal purpose, the advertising revenues for a sanctioned version of the game would be astronomical.

Of course they said, of course we know it can never happen, never of course... but if one day? They had to put it out there, nor for now of course, of course.

Jacob was watching the various shows and seeing a massive distraction, the audience and the authorities were all hanging on the cliff edge, waiting and searching variously, for episode seven. While this was happening Jacob and Blake both felt that the Game was not what was in the episodes, but what was playing out in the media, in the halls of Government and in the hearts and minds of the general public.

Eugene Manson was going to take a day off, he had more than earned it the people at his work had said. The rough time that they all had with the Wilson affair, the Darwin episode and the huge intrusion of the Bureau into the lives and livelihoods of the people of Marquette was taking a psychological toll on them all. Manson had a baby on the way, the ugly business with his father had been hanging over them for five years had come to a close and the David Wilson debacle was over and the Feds were moving on.

Jacob had people watching his moves, seeing what he would do and where he would go but everything was above board and okay, nothing out of the ordinary. He wanted to get close to him, in a new place away from the familiar and away from prying eyes, he felt there was something there, something that he had seen in his eyes, something that he recognised when he looked at himself in the mirror. Something had happened to Eugene, he just could not pinpoint what that something was.

The opportunity arose when his friendly investigators pulled credit transactions and put him at a concert the night before his day off from work. A single ticket, going on his own to the Wynton Marsalis concert across the border in Canada, the perfect chance to chase him up. He had booked a hotel and a dinner reservation for himself and his expecting wife to attend, then he was off to the concert on his own to enjoy a night of live music.

Jacob crossed the border into America's northern neighbour across the Sault Ste Marie bridge, driving and taking his time in Ontario, taking the long way around to Toronto, not taking the Detroit route but the scenic way to while away a few hours and think about how to approach Manson.

The concert started on time and Edgerton and his bodyguards had seats in the lower balcony, overlooking the area of the stalls where they could see Eugene sitting, checking his glossy programme and reading it all before the performance, indulging in a glass of wine at intermission and staying ready for the second half. He looked happy and less haunted by whatever had happened to him in his space filled with the clarity and precision of the Marsalis perfect performance. Jacob waited and watched, enjoying the music to some extent but feeling edgy and expectant, waiting to confront Manson and see if he could shake anything loose.

The third encore was ending, a soulful and mournful rendition of “Sleepy Time Down South” that cut through the awed silence of the hall until it broke open the rapturous applause, the continued standing ovation bookended by the eventual raising of the lights on the Hall and the audience starting to file out. Jacob waited until Eugene moved from his seat, and he was almost the very last to leave, the lightness and joy that had been visible on him had now left him and he slumped as he had to return to his life.

Jacob was more sure than before that he knew something, that there was some lead or connection to find, and he was determined to get at it. He got out of his seat and made his way to the ground floor, one of his bodyguards were ahead of him and relaying the position of Manson to him as they both exited the theatre, the crowd thinned considerably and heading out into the crisp clear air of night. They followed him down the street, but instead of trying to intercept him on his approach to the hotel they saw him stop in the middle of the block and walk back towards them in an unexpected direction away from where he was booked to stay.

Jacob let him pass and got no sense that Eugene had recognised him in his coat and hat, wrapped up against the cold. They followed cautiously and saw him pick up a coffee from a nearby coffee cart still out and serving bad coffee to the evening drinkers in need of waking up. A few minutes later they were in Trinity Square and he sat on a low wall, taking a flask from his jacket and pouring it into his cup before taking a look inhale and then drinking his adjusted brew. He was not looking around, did not appear to be waiting for anyone and just looked like he was taking time to delay the return to his hotel and whatever it was that haunted him.

Jacob halted the bodyguards, had them take up positions where they could watch and intervene if necessary, but distanced from the spot where Eugene was. Jacob then walked up to the wall and sat next to Eugene who started and looked at the man, the one he could barely see and was staring straight ahead from where he was.

“I haven't said anything.”

Jacob froze, Eugene obviously thought that he was someone else, he didn't his head he just nodded and kept his gaze focussed forward. He could not see that well peripherally but it felt like Manson was doing the same.

“What do you want from me? You said this would all go ...” Eugene leapt up and stood in front of Jacob as he realised his mistake, “Who the fuck are.. . Shit... oh Shit...” He looked about in a panic as two large men in dark coats flanked him and cut off his escape.

“Calm down Mr Manson, you have nothing to fear from me.”

“What the hell is going on?”

“That's really a question for you, who were you referring to just now? Who did you think I was?”

“Am I under arrest? This is Canada, you can't arrest me here. I'll get political asylum!”

Jacob was startled by the outburst, Eugene was assuming he was a part of the Federal investigation. He decided to come clean and tell him everything and see where the honesty got him.

“I think we need to talk, Eugene. We have … we both have... I can see something in you. I recognised it the second I saw it, and it's like a weight. I know you feel it. I feel mine on me every day since... since I got involved in this. I'm not Bureau, I'm not anyone... any more than you are. I'll tell you what happened to me.”

“I can't.” Eugene was folding in on himself as Jacob talked about the burden that the Darwin experience was having on him, he was holding on to something and it felt like it was hanging by a thread.

“Let's go somewhere warm, private and... we can talk. I can talk, I can tell you what I know. You tell me what you can, if you want to, if you can?”

Eugene looked at him and then at the two men flanking him and Jacob realised how that must look.

“Right, yeah, these guys. Listen to what I have to tell you, then you'll understand.”

Eugene nodded and looked at the disposable coffee cup lying on the ground.

“Buy me a drink then?”

Jacob laughed, without much humour and the barking noise in the cold night air put him in mind of Blake's trademark dry humour. The four men walked away looking for a place to talk.

Day 77 - Darwin's Game - Chapter 26 (4100 words)

©Wayne Webb and constantwriting.blogspot.com, 2013. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Wayne Webb and constantwriting.blogspot.com with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

DARWIN'S GAME

By Wayne Webb

CHAPTER 26

Episode 6

“The forms which stand in closest competition with those undergoing modification and improvement, will naturally suffer the most. ~ Charles Darwin”

The screen faded away again but instead of fading into a new scene as expected, a new heading came up.

Part 1

This then faded away and the scene reopened again. The six players were sitting in chairs locked in by their hands and feet as had been previously used, manacles that clipped to the arms and legs. Around their necks were the circlets they had worn around their necks in episode 3, though none of the lights were active and they were arranged in a six pointed circle facing each other. On their chests were suicide bomber vests, and enough explosives to ensure the death of the person in the vest and and anyone within a few feet of them. Each person had a vest and each person had a collar on.

The chairs started to move on their own accord, motorised or on tracks out of view of the camera, three of the chairs moved towards the middle of the circle, and three moved outwards equidistant from each other. The movement was slow and the three men on the inside track looked at each other suspiciously as two other men each strapped with a large amount of explosives came closer and closer, each one tensing up at the proximity of more explosives, though strapped themselves.

As the three moving outside got further and further away the green lights on the collars started to light up and blink steadily and the frequency of that flashing sped up the further they went from each other. When they reached about twenty feet to the nearest person, the blinking escalated and the green light turned to red and then the men started panicking visibly and struggling in their bonds, until the movement of the chairs suddenly stopped. Two of the three chairs moved inwards again, slowing from fast red to slower green to eventually stop when back within an easy distance of the group, the remaining man, Mark Rowlands was still in the outside of the circle and his collar blinking a very rapid red. After the visual point was made about proximity the manacles of Mark's hands and feet spring open and freed him, he leapt out of the chair and ran the short distance to join the group, his collar now blank as it had once been, as the others were.

The scene faded on the group still bound in the chairs and Mark Rowlands standing in the middle of them, then it faded up on a new room a much bigger room with what looked like a large obstacle course in a giant warehouse sized space with no windows and a winding path that followed a vague s-shaped pattern from the the starting point where the six men were standing to an elevated and well lit door diagonally opposite from where they were. There did not appear to be a direct route to get to the doorway and the freedom that represented, the course was the way in.

The six men stood quite close together and were talking with each other, arguing about something and pointing at each other and the bombs on their chest. Somerset was looking at the back of the rig of Garth Parker who stood on the outside, biting his nails not looking in Thomas's direction. Thomas Somerset got up very close, without Garth realising it and started to undo the straps that were on the left shoulder. At once a few things happened, Garth felt the interference in his vest and he spun about, snagging the strap which Somerset had a firm grip on and yanked it out of his hand, undoing it in the process. The strap fell away and all of the collars immediately lit up and started blinking red and very fast, faster than Mark's vest had blinked in the demonstration. Parker started flailing about trying to re-secure the rig on his shoulder unsuccessfully, obviously terrified and unable to control his movements. The red light on the explosives blinked on, showing on all six vests as Suarez came to his aid and did the strap back up tighter and rougher than was necessary, and with a sneer of contempt directed at Somerset who just shrugged. All the lights blinked off at once and the explosives were reset.

The message was clear, you had to stay together and work together to survive, and any attempt to remove or sabotage the suicide bomb vests would result in all of the being collateral damage. Thomas was not impressed and he showed it on his face, standing the middle shouting “fuck you” to the ceiling before undoing the strap on his own vest, freeing one shoulder setting off the blinking lights and he was about to undo the midriff belt when he saw that his was the only one blinking. With a twisting of his shoulder and arms he managed to get the strap back on, slow the lights and he got Vargas to help him secure it and turn the lights off all together.

The only way out was to play, play through the obstacle course which was designed to make them work together or force them apart and risk the resulting explosion. Suarez stood right in front of Somerset and eye-balled him, nose to nose inches away and violence in his eyes. Thomas faced him down and the bumped chests in a shoving war not using their hands or arms. Banging the highly explosive vests into each other much harder than the others liked and it took the combined efforts of three of the other four men to pull them apart and talk them down.

Garth was shaking, shocked from the experience so far and most recently from the near death experience of almost having his bomb activating with him completely unaware and out of control of the situation. He bit at his nails, the quick of which were reddened and inflamed as he chewed non stop on them. Mark was the first to move and he pointed the way to the first obstacle, a climbing wall which looked to be over the height required from the ground for the proximity of the collars to go off. Mark came up and started climbing the wall, waiting a little way up and testing the best route to the top. Thomas and Julio were behind him and they made exaggerated bows to each other as if being overly polite but with murderous intent showing clearly. The three of them were a few feet off the ground when the others started climbing behind them and all six men started up the wall in earnest, the head being Mark Rowlands, who had obviously done this before. He was pointing at hand holds and divots where they could put their feet and guided them up the wall and was the first to reach the top. The two who had scaled the wall immediately behind him were still about three quarters of the way up, with the remaining three just below them and moving from the halfway mark.

In the bottom three it was John Vargas who was moving the slowest, his injury was impeding his progress up the wall and as the others got further away he was bringing up the rear very slowly and getting further away. By the time the first three were over the top, the other two that had started the same time as him were nearing the finish and he was still short of halfway. The collar light was blinking a very rapid green and as Evan Simpson, the largest man of the six was near the top it changed to red and he was not quite to the safety margin, he looked up the wall and saw how far away they were, far enough to endanger him with the distance and the slow progress he was making was getting more and more painful, he was grimacing with each step where he put weight on the leg that had been stabbed. The five people all now at the top were looking down and discussing the options of leaving him or moving on and the debate was raging between Mark Rowlands and Evan Simpson, one maybe arguing for letting him die and the other to wait for him.

At the top were six zip-lines that traversed a large gap from the top of the wall to the top of another one, and the distance that this covered was far enough to set off the explosives. Mark, Julio and Thomas were all holding on to the zip line cradles and the Evan was holding them back, apparently trying to stop them from launching off the platform. Undecided and watching the argument was Garth Parker who was examining the zip-line cradle and looking backwards and forwards over the gap the line crossed. He came back to the wall and could see that Vargas was struggling but making slow progress up the wall and the blinking red light had gone back to green as he was over halfway and though slowly moving, he was getting nearer. He cupped his hands over his mouth and shouted something, Vargas looking up and through a very pained expression showed a thumbs up signal and kept climbing.

Simpson was getting very physical with Rowlands and it was brewing into a fight when Rowlands shoved hard at the bigger man, but over judged the movement and fell backwards, grabbing the zip line cradle and spinning around flying out of control and rapidly across the divide on his own, the light on his collar going from green to red in quick succession. The light on his chest pack of explosives came on and then Evan grabbed a cradle and jumped onto a zip line and followed him across, followed by the Somerset and Suarez who flew across the divide at the same time.

All of this happened as Garth stood and watched them fly across the gap and then all four of their collars deactivated on the other side and Garth was left on the top of the wall his own collar blinking green as he waited for Vargas to get nearer and nearer. Parker looked across at the other group and then back down at Vargas. He stared at the cradle for some time before turning and climbing down the wall and grabbing Vargas's free hand and helping, dragging him the last few feet to the top. When they were safe together on the wall, in the same space, their collars stopped blinking and they continued the last of the wall climb unlit.

The men were now in two groups, the four who zip-lined across and the Vargas and Parker pairing who rested on the top of the wall, waiting for John to get his breath back and to be able to stand without collapsing on his obviously painful leg.

From the top of the other platform the four men looked at the third leg of s-shaped course which was a slope down towards another wall, at floor level. Suarez and Simpson teamed up and walked down together, leaving a gap for Rowlands and Somerset to follow behind them. A few seconds after they started down the slope Simpson’s feet flew out from under him and he fell on his back grabbing out at Suarez and linking arms with him as he did, the weight of the bigger man pulling the smaller one down with him. The surface was very slippery though this was not obvious from the angle of the cameras, but the way the two men slide over fifty feet uncontrolled it was apparent that the surface was covered in something slick they could not get purchase on.

The strategy of pairing up had worked though as the men were now in three groups of two and none of their lights were on and the vests were inactive. As long as they worked together and did not isolate any one person then it was going to keep them alive. Across the zip line divide Vargas was standing and with Parker getting ready to race across to join the others at the top of the slope. As they jumped off the top of the wall towards Somerset and Rowlands linked arms and started down the slope, much more measured in their steps than Simpson had been and they managed to get about halfway when the other landed off of their zip lines on to the top of the slope. That landing had obviously dislodged their grip as the two men who were moving so very carefully now fell over and rocketed down the last half like they were body surfing down an oiled slide.

Vargas stumbled as he landed and he fell face first onto the slope and started away from Parker and sped away, the light on his collar going green and then blinking in time with Parker's own one. Parker stood at the top and did not move, his own collar started on the red phase as Vargas was over half way and his proximity to the four men at the bottom meant he was going green and flashing slower and slower while Parker was flashing faster and faster.

Garth Parker was shaking but not moving as the light on the vest also turned on and then started blinking rapidly as Vargas was almost at the very end of the slope before he finally moved forward and dove on the surface and shot downwards himself. For a split second he hesitated and looked behind him at the divide and the look he had was one of regret as he made the move that closed the gap and a few seconds later stopped the countdown.

All six men were now at the bottom of the slope and Vargas grabbed Parker's arm and pulled him towards the group, but Garth looked like he was not that happy despite being alive and nearer to the end of the course. The men were all covered in a fine grey powder that made their hands and clothes dirty as if they had been rolling in black sand, the lubricating powder that had been coating the dark surface of the slope that was invisible until it was stepped on.

Vargas was directing the group and shepherding the men forward towards the second to last obstacle before the doorway at the very top which was now in sight. There was a final stairway that was made of very large blocks, it would be a hard task for Vargas with his pronounced limp and the pain that was showing in his winces and grimaces every step he took on his bad leg. That was about fifty feet away and in between them and the giant stairway was a series of revolving doors that were glass, see through and very closely connected. It was set up so that only one person at a time could enter and exit at revolving segment, and then the rotational movement of the first door would set up the counter-rotation of the doors attached to it. It resembled a series of cogs, so when Simpson entered the first set of revolvers, which had six chambers not the traditional four, the opposing two doors that were at the outside of the opposite end were both rotating in opposing directions.

They filed in and soon the six men were in different sections of the doors and making their way towards the end of the cog puzzle. It was not that hard to figure out as they managed to stay close enough together to not set off the green lights let alone the red or the vests themselves. At one point Parker somehow took the wrong rotation and ended up moving away from the others who were still trying to move forward. He got far enough away to set off the green lights, the flashing started to speed up, but Vargas, who was apparently keen to pay back the way that Garth Parker had stayed back and kept him alive on the wall when he could have abandoned him. Vargas pushed the rotation of the doors he was in, taking two of the other men with him, they did not fight and they picked up the displaced Parker and the three of them continued on together to find their way out of the maze of six chambered revolving doors.

All of the men were out and standing at the foot of the large stairway, each step was made of two large blocks was a little shorter than the smallest of the men, but it would mean that no one person could easily climb the steps like a traditional staircase, but would have to climb bodily onto the step, pull themselves up and move on. The height of the stair case was floor to ceiling much as the vertical wall had been, but with a decent number of plateaus they could make their way to the top if they took their time and did not separate.

Rowlands climbed onto the first step and then reached down to give Vargas a pull up. As he did the step they were on moved downwards with their combined weight and the one ahead of them went up by the same amount. The steps were counter weighted so that the more people were on it, the further away the next step would be. Three of them on the first step made the next step unreachable. If they moved two men on to the step to the side then the distance was back to climbable but still hard work to get up.

Rowlands pushed at Vargas and at Simpson to get off the step and then he climbed to the next step and it brought the steps closer together again, and then when Simpson came up to join him he took a lateral climb to the step next door and the weight distributed again. See sawing the steps the men were working together to distribute the weight among the steps to balance out the movement of the steps up and down, and to make the height differential more manageable. Ten minutes later all six men were at the top of the staircase and at the door that signified the exit, not one of them was flashing or in any danger.

They were all smiling, some more than others and congratulating themselves on making it through the course and making it to the door. Vargas opened the door and stepped through it, followed by the others in close succession. The camera view changed to be on the other side of the door and another obstacle course was in the next room, starting with a 3-D maze that they were above and in the centre room was the same tiger that had eaten their former team-mate in the previous exercise. The men could see the way through the maze, but they had to avoid the centre room. Beyond the maze was a tightrope arrangement above a pool of some kind of liquid that was smoking slightly, it looked like it was deadly if you fell in. Then a razor-wire section that had to be crawled under and had many divergent paths leading to a series of boxes and pulleys that were going up the far wall towards another exit door.

Garth Parker was trembling and he shouted something through tears and rage at the ceiling. The other five men tried to calm him down but he was losing it and he ran into the maze ahead of them at a very fast pace. Vargas started after him but two of the others held him back, from their position they could see that Parker was making his way through the maze as fast as he could, the green lights flashing and un-flashing as the twists and turns he made got him further away from the group or back closer to it as the vector he was travelling along changed.

A while later he was lost and Vargas was shouting and pointing at him, getting louder and more expressive in his instructions as Parker was not watching, not paying attention and not doing what he was being told. Vargas twisted his way out of the grip of the men holding him and limped into the maze, the others looking forward at the remaining traps and puzzles and not making any move to help either man.

Parker saw Vargas coming down to the maze entrance level and out of sight, he shouted Stay Back, though you could not hear it, the shape of the words were obvious enough, then he put his back to a wall, and started undoing the vest he was wearing. The four men above who could see him in the maze shouted and gestured at him to put it back on, or they tried to get Vargas's attention who was trying to find him in the maze on his own from memory, his own vest with a steady green light now.

Parker was resolute and tears were streaming down his face as both shoulders were free, and he tore blindly at the midriff belt and mouthed the words “please, stop” over and over again.

Vargas was a few twists and turns away when the explosion tore open the maze and shattered the walls, the blast throwing him backwards and slamming him against the wall. The four men who remained outside the maze had flattened themselves against the back wall where the entry door was, ducking down out of sight and blast radius of the explosion. With a traditional Darwin's Game silence overlaying the video it was curious effect of smoke and movement that meant that Parker was standing there one second, then a cloud exploded into that space and pushed on the walls and the air outwards in a rapid expansion in less than a second and flattened everything in a large semi circle from where Parker had stood with his back to a wall.

They stood up and saw the carnage that the bomb vest had caused. There was no sign of Parker, but Vargas was sitting stunned against a wall, still alive but battered by the force of the blast. Where Parker had been there was a hole in the wall of the maze, the external wall of not only the maze but the room itself and the hole was big enough to be a natural exit you could climb through. The sunlight from outside was streaming through the hole and the men on the platform above the maze could see real freedom suddenly and they moved all four of them to not set of their collars towards the maze.

Before they had got ten feet they fell to the ground writhing in agony, unable to stand as Darwin or whoever was controlling the collars activated the function he had used to keep them apart from each other with debilitating and patently painful shocks. There was no respite for them and the pain did not let up as Vargas came too and stood up, shaking his head and stumbling through the shredded walls to find the spot where the man who had saved him only recently had killed himself in the most pointed and effective way possible. As he stood there he looked at his vest and collar and did not see any lights, and it looked like the collar was not active as Parker’s rig was vaporised, and he was well away from the other four men whom he could not see as they were still rolling about the floor in extreme pain at the maze's entrance.

He looked about and saw that there was a hole in the wall and that sunlight was pouring through it, and he stood looking at it for a long while before undoing the shoulder strap on his own vest. The strap came off and there was no effect. He took off the rig completely and fiddled with the collar a little but it stayed locked tight around his neck, but not lit up. He moved the discarded vest back from the hole in the wall and then still stumbling and shaky he stepped out of the hole and into the sunlight.

The scene went black and the words came up on the screen in the centre.

To Be Continued