Opus

My ex-lover Kendrick is dead. He was the Competition's winner three and two years back. He warned me something was going on about the game, about the winners. He documented four murders−before his. That one I added to the wee killer's stats myself. As I can't track down two additional winners, I've declared them missing in action and added them to my list.Competition's Registration Form.Question 78: Why are you participating? Answer in 100 characters or less."The game is but a game if it's played right. I play majestically. I play to win."Player number 1244.Anyone can play. Anyone can win.The Competition involves too many rules, too many players, referees, and groupies. I've never been one to play for the team, but into the catacomb city, I'll go. Not because I was in love with him, not anymore, but because once upon a time, I gave him my word. Thankfully, I've since learned to keep my mouth shut. I'll play to win or die trying. The world's dying anyway. My plan? Stay low. Act as any other asshole player. Survive the sets. Win the Competition. Bait Kendrick's wee killer. Simple, right?Is there nobility in the game? No.Am I trying to prove something to the world? To myself? Resounding Nos.I'm not enjoying myself. At. All. So, it's not about pleasure either.Am I seeking revenge? Again, a No. I didn't love him that much.I merely want to understand. He left me for that game, after all. Besides, I have anything else better to do. Until I die, at least.I scurry out of the Registration office but not fast enough. Jaz, another Registry employee, sneaks out of a back door. As soon as he sees me, he heads straight for me. Grabbing my elbow and, no doubt mistaking my deer-caught-in-the-headlights expression for awed infatuation (yes, the guy's that vain), he stirs me further down the Registration building's first floor.I'm too surprised to react at first. I did my homework and memorized what little information is available on the playground layout. During my due diligence (it sounds better than snooping), I also committed to memory all of the past competitions' stats, players (winners and losers, alive or dead). Why would Jasper, a two-time game winner, want to talk to me?The Registration building, the flagship of the Competition, was amongst the useless yet vital data I collected. We're heading toward the Referees' lounge. I obediently follow Jaz. Even though referees can't manipulate the sets' outcomes, I don't want to anger one just in case. I am not flustered by the man in himself. No way. The guy's a buffoon. He takes nothing seriously. Even as he ushers a mute me down the long corridor, Mr. Nonchalant is all smiles and jokes for everyone we encounter."Let's go out for a drink, you and me. I'll take you dancing. We'll fuck afterward. I'll rock your world."OK, he doesn't say that exactly, but he could have. How can this jerk have won a competition, yet alone two? His opponents must have been lousy. Maybe I should stick with him and wait for the psycho that took down Kendrick to make his move. I raise a family, work, eat, drink coffee and red wine, and I read. I've started writing… Well, in truth, I've always been imagining one story or another in my head. The only difference now is that I commit the words on a page. For better or for worse. My ex-lover Kendrick was the Competition's winner two years in a row and now he's dead. He warned me something was going on about the game, about the winners. He documented four murders−before his.When we were kids, we were promised to each other. I'm an adult now, and I've long ago turned down my tiara, but I'll keep my word and find Kendrick's killer. The wee killer of the Competition's past winners.Rule 1: Have fun!Rule 2: Catch the highest number of spheres and win! Yellow spheres (visual targets) are worth 1 point. Blue spheres (heated targets) are worth 5 points. Black spheres (vibrating targets) are worth 15 points.The rules are simple enough.Rule 15: Players should conduct themselves

The Competition is over, but so what? My ex is still dead, and now I lay awake in the castle awaiting his wee killer. "Come and get me," I shouted to the world days and days ago.Kill or be killed should be made into a rule in the Land of the Fair−my grandfather would approve. The anticipation alone may be the death of me.I've thought up a new motto. Hunt or be hunted, old and new lovers be damned.After I escape my grandfather's kingdom, Jaz catches up with me. The damn referee didn't win the game twice by being stupid; he knows I'm up to something. But the killer is mine and mine alone. I'll risk the journey to the island of the witches for Kendrick's notes. They may hold clues to the wee killer's identity. Then again, so might Jaz."What did you ever see in the guy?""We grew up together." I shrug derisively even though the covers hide my movement. "We love each other by habit.""A habit that proved addictive. You're hunting a killer for the dead bastard." How did Jaz know that? Did I confess during my sleep? "If it's any consolation, the jerk was nuts over you.""Did you guys share feelings?"Jaz laughs at my sarcastic tone. "Nothing like that. He flashed your picture around. Said he had grand plans and was gonna marry a princess while the rest of us would languish in the underground."Sounds like Kendrick. Grandiloquent bastard. "What's your excuse then? You're a two-time winner and a referee. You have it made.""Some asshole's offing guys like me for fun. You don't think that's motivation enough?"Jasper's explanation doesn't satisfy me. "I believe that's only part of the reason.""Like Kendrick's memory is not enough to engage you in a hunt?"He's right on that count. My referee is too perceptive for my comfort. "Whatever. Throw me my clothes and go fetch the coffee you promised.""Right away, oh my queen.""Asshole."Once dressed, I sneak out of the place while Jaz is busy cooking in the kitchen. Morning-afters suck. But after this little impromptu tryst, I need to get back to the plan. Next on Kendrick's list is a twenty-five-thousand-day-old game winner. Mercifully, Kendrick did not screw the odd geezer. They drank tea and talked about, as Kendrick's companion put it in the journal, "the black magic of the targets."Tea and magic. Piece of cake. I raise a family, work, eat, drink coffee and red wine, and I read. I've started writing… Well, in truth, I've always been imagining one story or another in my head. The only difference now is that I commit the words on a page. For better or for worse. My ex-lover Kendrick was the Competition's winner two years in a row and now he's dead. He warned me something was going on about the game, about the winners. He documented four murders−before his.When we were kids, we were promised to each other. I'm an adult now, and I've long ago turned down my tiara, but I'll keep my word and find Kendrick's killer. The wee killer of the Competition's past winners.Rule 1: Have fun!Rule 2: Catch the highest number of spheres and win! Yellow spheres (visual targets) are worth 1 point. Blue spheres (heated targets) are worth 5 points. Black spheres (vibrating targets) are worth 15 points.The rules are simple enough.Rule 15: Players should conduct themselves in a civilised fashion. Physical contacts and/or weapons are strongly discouraged.My plan is simple. Win. Try not to die doing so. Once the game is over, the killer will come after me, and I'll catch him in the act so to speak. I'll steal, lie, fuck, drink my way to the top if I have to. What have I got to lose, anyway? And if that plan fails, I'll come up with a new plan. Or play again.