Looks Like We Got Ourselves A Mexican Stand Off, Only This Time We Ain't Got No Mexicans, Except Trixie
Silence fell across the firing range like a whale made of stillness crashing into a beach of shock.
From the stands where they had ironically been sitting, the crowd of Evans focussed their eyes as one on the body of nobody in particular, as it flickered briefly before vanishing from sight.
A light breeze rushed across the field like a streaker at a rugby match, causing the three undamaged photos (Wanchai, the Hillbilly, and Reginald) to flap about, and Krulnor's photo to whistle mournfully through the hole Trixie had blasted in its corner.
All eyes now moved on to Trixie, including those of Taylor and Pam, but excluding Trixie's herself, which were already in her head, and therefore were already on, or rather in her. Trixie lay where she had taken the shot, breathing loudly, and clutching the Sig-Sauer SSG 3000 possessively, as if it were a Chalice of Power.
A number of thoughts were now running through her mind.
I just shot nobody in particular.
The Evanses aren't going to like that.
The Sig-Sauer SSG 3000 has a five-round magazine, and I just used my fourth shot on nobody in particular, so I have one shot left, and approximately A WHOLE DANG BUNCH of Evans I might have to defend against.
Are they still going to finish this round?
Why did January only have 28 days in it originally, and why did the extra days get added?
I think I'm in trouble.
A low murmuring began amongst the gathered Evans, whispers of things such as “Nobody in particular is dead” and “What about the plan?” and “I'm hungry” (for it was indeed now late afternoon, and the last meal had been several rounds ago), but more worryingly, including things such as “We must do something about Trixie” and “I know what you're thinking. Did she fire four shots or five? Well, you know, in all of this confusion, I don't rightly remember.”
The Tyra-Evans was the nearest to the contestants, and suddenly seemed to make a decision.
“Well, now,” he said, forcing a strained smile on to his face, “Wasn't that an exciting twist? But, you know what they say, 'The Show Must Go On.'”
Evans eyes hardened, and the smile turned into a grimace.
“Trixie, your turn is over. Step away from the rifle so I can get it ready for Taylor's turn.”
Trixie stayed where she was, but allowed her finger to tighten slightly over the trigger.
“You know,” Trixie said, forcing a smile of her own, “I think I might keep hold of this rifle a bit longer. Wouldn't want anyone to make any rash decisions now, would we?”
The Evans laughed coldly.
“Oh, Trixie, you think hanging on to a rifle will save you? We have the ability to send you home at the press of a button. What makes you think we won't do that now?”
Trixie felt a chill run through her, as she contemplated this statement.
She had seen incredible technology through out the game so far, from the speed at which the Heptagon of Battle could be rearranged, to the vanishing function, to the fact that some of the contestants had previously been killed in their own novels. Even the existence of the Evans clones pointed to advanced technology beyond her own knowledge. So of course they could make her disappear. Her only choice was to play on, to release the gun, to follow the rules.
Her grip on the gun loosened slightly.
The Tyra-Evans saw this, and smiled.
“Yes, thats right,” he purred, reaching his hand out for the rifle, “Give me the gun. Play the game.”
The game.
Of course.
Quickly, Trixie's grip tightened again on the trigger, and she swung the weapon to point directly at Tyra-Evans.
The Evans froze.
“Nice try,” Trixie hissed, “You almost convinced me. You had it all sorted out, didn't you? But, you can't send me home, or you would have, wouldn't you?”
The Evans said nothing, but his glare said “Yes, thats true. Of course we would have made you vanish if we could have, and the fact that we haven't already proves that we can't just eliminate whoever we want. We need you to eliminate yourselves by playing the game. We don't create the rules, we can only enforce them and try to influence them for our own agendas. But now you know this, we will have to bring about your demise. You and the others. It would be better to have no winner at all than to allow you to win this game and ruin all of our plans. I really wish I'd eaten something before I came out here. I'm starving.”
“Taylor,” Trixie instructed, “Get the rest of the ammo clips from the Evans.”
Taylor nodded, and retrieved the small box of clips from its place near the Tyra-Evans.
“There are six more clips here,” he reported.
“So thirty more shots after this one,” Trixie stated, still staring at the Evans, “Don't think I won't use one on you right now if you do anything.”
“What's the plan?” Taylor asked, handing the clip box to Pam and retrieving the woldo from its resting place.
“Well,” Trixie said, smiling at the Evans, “the way I see it, as long as none of us shoot those last three photos, then this round remains incomplete and the Evanses can't eliminate one of us.”
Taylor gave a nervous side-glance at Pam, knowing who that person was likely to be.
“What do we do instead, then?” he asked, “How do we end the game?”
Trixie frowned.
“If the Evanses can't control the eliminations, then there must be someone who can. Someone higher up than the Evanses. Someone that the Evanses have been plotting against with their talks of 'plans' and their support of nobody in particular. If we can find this architect then maybe we can figure out what the Evanses have been up to, and how to stop the game.”
Taylor groaned, and tried not to dwell too much on the Matrix Reloaded-ness of this recent plot-twist.
“Ok,” he sighed, “That sounds like the best plan we have at the present. Where do we start?”
“I noticed a corridor leading off from the production area earlier,” Trixie said, “Thats as good a place to start as any.”
Trixie briefly allowed her eyes to dart over to the other Evanses, taking in their murderous looks, feeding them, raising them as her own, then releasing them back into the wild.
As soon as she lowered her guard, she knew they would be after her. Maybe they couldn't eliminate her, but they could surely find a way to 'accidentally' shoot her a few dozen times and get rid of her that way.
Maybe one of them was the 'Evan' from the earlier note, but trying to discern which one of them it was would be too much of a risk to gamble on.
Instead, she needed to protect herself against recrimination.
She smiled at the Tyra-Evans.
“Well, it looks like you're coming with us,” she stated, and waved the barrel of the rifle towards the Tribal Circle.
The Tyra-Evans scowled dangerously, but turned and began walking towards the Tribal Circle.
Trixie stood to her feet, and holding the rifle somewhat awkwardly but never-the-less lethally, followed close behind the hostly hostage, with Pam after her, and Taylor – and the woldo – bringing up the rear.
Chapter Twenty *** Chapter Twenty-Two
From the stands where they had ironically been sitting, the crowd of Evans focussed their eyes as one on the body of nobody in particular, as it flickered briefly before vanishing from sight.
A light breeze rushed across the field like a streaker at a rugby match, causing the three undamaged photos (Wanchai, the Hillbilly, and Reginald) to flap about, and Krulnor's photo to whistle mournfully through the hole Trixie had blasted in its corner.
All eyes now moved on to Trixie, including those of Taylor and Pam, but excluding Trixie's herself, which were already in her head, and therefore were already on, or rather in her. Trixie lay where she had taken the shot, breathing loudly, and clutching the Sig-Sauer SSG 3000 possessively, as if it were a Chalice of Power.
A number of thoughts were now running through her mind.
I just shot nobody in particular.
The Evanses aren't going to like that.
The Sig-Sauer SSG 3000 has a five-round magazine, and I just used my fourth shot on nobody in particular, so I have one shot left, and approximately A WHOLE DANG BUNCH of Evans I might have to defend against.
Are they still going to finish this round?
Why did January only have 28 days in it originally, and why did the extra days get added?
I think I'm in trouble.
A low murmuring began amongst the gathered Evans, whispers of things such as “Nobody in particular is dead” and “What about the plan?” and “I'm hungry” (for it was indeed now late afternoon, and the last meal had been several rounds ago), but more worryingly, including things such as “We must do something about Trixie” and “I know what you're thinking. Did she fire four shots or five? Well, you know, in all of this confusion, I don't rightly remember.”
The Tyra-Evans was the nearest to the contestants, and suddenly seemed to make a decision.
“Well, now,” he said, forcing a strained smile on to his face, “Wasn't that an exciting twist? But, you know what they say, 'The Show Must Go On.'”
Evans eyes hardened, and the smile turned into a grimace.
“Trixie, your turn is over. Step away from the rifle so I can get it ready for Taylor's turn.”
Trixie stayed where she was, but allowed her finger to tighten slightly over the trigger.
“You know,” Trixie said, forcing a smile of her own, “I think I might keep hold of this rifle a bit longer. Wouldn't want anyone to make any rash decisions now, would we?”
The Evans laughed coldly.
“Oh, Trixie, you think hanging on to a rifle will save you? We have the ability to send you home at the press of a button. What makes you think we won't do that now?”
Trixie felt a chill run through her, as she contemplated this statement.
She had seen incredible technology through out the game so far, from the speed at which the Heptagon of Battle could be rearranged, to the vanishing function, to the fact that some of the contestants had previously been killed in their own novels. Even the existence of the Evans clones pointed to advanced technology beyond her own knowledge. So of course they could make her disappear. Her only choice was to play on, to release the gun, to follow the rules.
Her grip on the gun loosened slightly.
The Tyra-Evans saw this, and smiled.
“Yes, thats right,” he purred, reaching his hand out for the rifle, “Give me the gun. Play the game.”
The game.
Of course.
Quickly, Trixie's grip tightened again on the trigger, and she swung the weapon to point directly at Tyra-Evans.
The Evans froze.
“Nice try,” Trixie hissed, “You almost convinced me. You had it all sorted out, didn't you? But, you can't send me home, or you would have, wouldn't you?”
The Evans said nothing, but his glare said “Yes, thats true. Of course we would have made you vanish if we could have, and the fact that we haven't already proves that we can't just eliminate whoever we want. We need you to eliminate yourselves by playing the game. We don't create the rules, we can only enforce them and try to influence them for our own agendas. But now you know this, we will have to bring about your demise. You and the others. It would be better to have no winner at all than to allow you to win this game and ruin all of our plans. I really wish I'd eaten something before I came out here. I'm starving.”
“Taylor,” Trixie instructed, “Get the rest of the ammo clips from the Evans.”
Taylor nodded, and retrieved the small box of clips from its place near the Tyra-Evans.
“There are six more clips here,” he reported.
“So thirty more shots after this one,” Trixie stated, still staring at the Evans, “Don't think I won't use one on you right now if you do anything.”
“What's the plan?” Taylor asked, handing the clip box to Pam and retrieving the woldo from its resting place.
“Well,” Trixie said, smiling at the Evans, “the way I see it, as long as none of us shoot those last three photos, then this round remains incomplete and the Evanses can't eliminate one of us.”
Taylor gave a nervous side-glance at Pam, knowing who that person was likely to be.
“What do we do instead, then?” he asked, “How do we end the game?”
Trixie frowned.
“If the Evanses can't control the eliminations, then there must be someone who can. Someone higher up than the Evanses. Someone that the Evanses have been plotting against with their talks of 'plans' and their support of nobody in particular. If we can find this architect then maybe we can figure out what the Evanses have been up to, and how to stop the game.”
Taylor groaned, and tried not to dwell too much on the Matrix Reloaded-ness of this recent plot-twist.
“Ok,” he sighed, “That sounds like the best plan we have at the present. Where do we start?”
“I noticed a corridor leading off from the production area earlier,” Trixie said, “Thats as good a place to start as any.”
Trixie briefly allowed her eyes to dart over to the other Evanses, taking in their murderous looks, feeding them, raising them as her own, then releasing them back into the wild.
As soon as she lowered her guard, she knew they would be after her. Maybe they couldn't eliminate her, but they could surely find a way to 'accidentally' shoot her a few dozen times and get rid of her that way.
Maybe one of them was the 'Evan' from the earlier note, but trying to discern which one of them it was would be too much of a risk to gamble on.
Instead, she needed to protect herself against recrimination.
She smiled at the Tyra-Evans.
“Well, it looks like you're coming with us,” she stated, and waved the barrel of the rifle towards the Tribal Circle.
The Tyra-Evans scowled dangerously, but turned and began walking towards the Tribal Circle.
Trixie stood to her feet, and holding the rifle somewhat awkwardly but never-the-less lethally, followed close behind the hostly hostage, with Pam after her, and Taylor – and the woldo – bringing up the rear.
Chapter Twenty *** Chapter Twenty-Two
posted by Lark Victory | 5:50 PM
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