average human’s Reviews > Drop His Mask > Status Update

Jayce’s face flashed across my mind. But it couldn’t be him. Surely, he couldn’t be my teammate and my Sponsor. And even if that were possible, there was no way he would betray me like that. I trusted him…but even still, in this dark tomb with creatures trailing across me in fearful ways, paranoia festered. This was where your deepest fears came to light.
“Yes.” A stinging prick on my leg caused me to flinch, but I did my best to ignore it as the last set of statements flashed onto the screen above.
I am your first love.
I am your best friend.
I am the first one you told of your infamous nickname.
Realization struck me.
Even if it breaks my heart, it makes the most sense. It has to be him.
I spoke the statement out loud, and this time, the whirring sound was absent.
Instead, my entire box shifted, jostling me and agitating my special guests. But before I could feel any more of their assault on my bare skin, my box was ripped open, and I was tugged out of my coffin.

75%

Harold exhaled. “I suppose without knowing the full story, I may have just confused you even more. But here’s the short of it. The women in the rest of these countries in Grypheem, Luscinia, and the Isles of Sacerdos, they are few and far between. Fewer and fewer girls are being born each year. For those that can afford it, they can still have daughters, but they are born outside of the womb. In laboratories. Genetically made up from DNA provided by their ‘parents.’ The few that are natural born, the ones that have mothers and fathers, are cherished. Special. Because of that, all women in those countries are protected and kept safe. They are not permitted to volunteer for these games. Prisoner or not.”
“Sparrow,” The Host whispered.
“Yes, Anadil presented proof that she was born naturally. A DNA test confirmed. She did not have the markers that girls created in laboratories have. Even in your own country, natural born girls are becoming scarce.”
The Host’s anxiety rocketed up and up and up. The infertility stamp. Another bomb dropped onto him. He had answers, but even more questions still. “If women are cherished, how are they allowed to fight in these games? Why can Violencia’s women be entered at all?”
Harold cocked his head, examining The Host. “While all natural born women are cherished it is only those that are fertile that are above all laws and persecution. We provide proof that the players are infertile and deserving of their imprisonment; this has appeased the Sponsors. And due to the lack of women in our own countries, the players that are women are often targeted for more unique games.”
The Host let the splash of information settle on him, but his mind back tracked to what Harold had said before. “Wait, volunteer?”
Harold eyed him warily. “You really know nothing? It’s interesting to watch as the truth settles around you. You’re taking it all in stride, perhaps this is why dear Ana chose you.”
The Host’s stomach rolled uncomfortably with the way Harold’s tone changed on Ana’s name. He could understand the implications, determine what this man had done to her.
“Yes, volunteer. Each year they allow their prisoners, sentenced to death for their crimes, to have the chance to escape with their lives. They are permitted to volunteer for the reality show, to fight for their freedom, their honor, and a future. Typically, we have a surplus of volunteers, but never do we take anyone that doesn’t explicitly want to be here. That is against the rules the Sponsors have put in place.”
The Host wanted to laugh at the hypocrisy, but he kept his face void of emotion. He needed to continue this conversation for as long as he could, find out all the information Harold was willing to offer him. “And what in those countries can lead to a death sentence?”
“There are only two crimes punishable with death. Violence against children. Violence against women. If any man deems to hurt those that are cherished, they are sentenced to death with no pardon.”
The Host could not keep his righteous anger off his face. “Do they know? Do they know how Violencia is run? How the women and children are harmed and hurt?”
Harold’s lips curled cruelly. “No, your Government has done an exceedingly good job at keeping that under wraps. They are aware that the players are prisoners. They assume they have similar crimes. However, in recent years, the leader of Grypheem has attempted to bring Violencia’s dark underbelly to light, but there has not been the evidence needed for it to gain traction. And thus these games continue.”
“You’re evil.” The Host wished he could take the words back.
But instead of lashing out, Harold simply chuckled. “That might be so, but unfortunately that doesn’t mean much, does it? What exactly hurts me by being perceived as evil by you? Or by others? Are we not all creatures determining our own fate, fighting for our own survival? Using anyone and everything as a stepping stone to our future? Is that not what I have done? Is that not how you sit before me? How many people have you killed with your own hands? I imagine it’s more than me.”
“I haven’t ripped anyone’s childhood from them. Shredded their soul apart.”
“Haven’t you, though? Do you not remember that I lived near you? That I watched you with the girl. What was her name?” Harold leaned back in his chair, crossing his legs, his arms stretching out and up. He snapped his fingers above him. “Oh yes, that’s right. Raven. You and my son took quite a fancy to her. Whose fault was it that she was a victim in all of this? If only you all had let her stay hidden, she wouldn’t have caught our predecessors’ attention. Such a sweet, quiet, young lady. If the Facility hadn’t gone up when it did, she was set to be taken here as a prize. Even if Ana went a bit off script, stabbing the poor girl. But no matter, Raven’s alive, you know?”
A vice constricted around The Host’s throat and for a few beats he simply struggled to breathe. This was all too much. Perhaps Nightingale was right, he didn’t need to know. Because what did it change? He was still trapped here, living as his title, surviving if only for a simple possibility that maybe he would escape this.
At this point, hope was something he hadn’t felt in a very long time. The heavy depression that sunk into his bones was a better-known companion, and he felt as it seeped into him now.
“I imagine there’s a reason you’re telling me all of this.” The Host attempted his best to not stutter as he gulped down air.
He was having a panic attack. That’s what this was.
“Easy there, you need to keep your nerves. And I have just the solution.” Harold tugged something out of a drawer before dropping it on the desk.
A black, thick metal collar.
“You’re going to wear this. As are all of the contestants in the next game. There will be quite a lot more, and I simply don’t have the manpower if they try to escape. And I need you to test it out first.”
“Test what out?” The Host’s hands shook as he dug them into the leather arms of the chair.
Harold’s opaque eyes twinkled in amusement. “Now where’s the fun in that? Go ahead, put it on. You have an interview to attend with the Sponsors. There is one that is especially excited to meet you.”
The Host swallowed thickly, his mouth dry and aching. He hadn’t realized but through this entire encounter his teeth had been clenched. “What will it do to me?”
Harold picked up the collar. “Here. There is a spring loaded contraption to remotely release chemicals into the blood. There are uppers, downers, and a poison or two. This will now be mandatory for all personnel and contestants. I think you will find it is easier. Quicker and cleaner deaths. Now when they break the rules, the contestants will die instantly instead of us having to shoot them from above. The Sponsors were beginning to feel it was too archaic.”
“Because a bloody battle royale isn’t archaic,” The Host spat through gritted teeth.
“Aw yes, the nature of politics. You understand. Now here on the collar is the date and time yada yada, but there’s also a tracking device. It will make it easier to ensure everyone is in their correct location. That no one traipses too far out of their designated zones. We are honestly quite excited for this, and you will be our test dummy for the next round. Be a good dutiful Host and I promise it will come with rewards. More time with your precious Sparrow. More control, and we even have a surprise that I think you will be quite excited about. Now put it on and meet in the interview room.”
“Where?” The Host reached forward. He maneuvered his hair before clasping the collar around his neck. The cold metal stinging against his bare skin.
“The control room that you were usually in for the games, it doubles as the interview room as well. Meet up there in the next hour, be on your best behavior.”
The threat suffused into the air, saturating every breath The Host took. The collar was a perfect fit, but even still it felt as if it were a noose.
As if the last of his autonomy was being stripped away.
Where is Anadil? When am I escaping this? How am I supposed to escape when I am literally a collared animal?
“Here, let’s try it out.” Harold retrieved a remote before clicking a button.
An instant later, The Host felt a prick on his neck. “What was tha—” Warmth filled him as his nerves smoothed and his brain liquified.
“Ah, you already seem more relaxed, that certainly acts as an anodyne. Perhaps that was too much though. Let’s try out the methylphenidate.”
Another prick. A wash of anxiety and energy cut through his dull fog. He jumped to his feet.
He felt different, off-kilter.
“Oh, I do love that. Go on now, let’s show them how amazing you will be. And remember–you’re a game show host. You’re excited, you have flair, you have a connection to the players.”
The Host didn’t respond as he marched away on shaky legs. He knew that this wasn’t okay. He knew that his life had just gotten significantly worse. But there was a wall between his rationale and those thoughts. As if they weren’t his at all. With his brain muddled, he followed the direction of the Creator.
Because after all, his new title was The Host.