The Great Game

If you’re new to the Great Game, please have a quick look at the blurb to your left, where you’ll find a short catch-up introduction.

I went back into the shop, and blew some of my cash on a pair of scissors, cheap hair dye, some cotton wool and a few candy bars. There were several cheap motels in the neighbourhood, so I left the shop and headed for the nearest, a couple of blocks away. The clerk was only too happy to give me a room for the night for cash, and handed over a key. I didn’t ask for a receipt, and in return, he didn’t even ask me to sign a fake name in the book.

I went up to my 3rd-floor room, threw myself through a blissfully hot shower, scarfed down a candy bar, and was unconscious within 30 seconds of getting into bed.

I woke up, fuzzy in the darkness, with someone rapping on the door. “Open up, Taylor.”

Shitshitshit. I didn’t know the room, and I could hardly see a thing, but even so, I didn’t remember any useful makeshift weapons. I considered the window too, but I was nearly naked and several storeys up, and besides, they’d have people on the street too. I certainly would, in their place.

I called out incoherently, trying to sound confused, and fumbled the light on. Four in the damn morning. Naturally.

“Open the bloody door, Taylor.” It was a strong voice, peaty. He sounded bored and impatient, as per regulation.

“Wrong room, friend.” I forced my voice deeper, mushed the words up a bit, tried to inject a bit of southern into them. “Fuck off and let me sleep.”

My eyes darted all over the room, but there wasn’t anything that could help disguise me even a bit.

“Don’t be ridiculous, man. Just open up.”

Maybe I could charge them. I lined up with the door, across the room. “Just a moment,” I yelled.

The door crashed in as I lowered my head and started running. I didn’t see the Jangler that they shot me with, but all of a sudden my body felt like it was on fire, and my legs collapsed. I fell flat on my face in front of the door. The fire vanished again, and I realised how much my nose and teeth hurt. Someone snorted. I tried moving, but my body was jelly. A hand grabbed my hair, and pulled my head up. Something frighteningly complex — and sharp — was shoved in my face, and everything went black.

* * *

I came round quickly. No pain, no discomfort, just soft, white comfiness. I blinked at the ceiling, and realised I was lying down. And alive. They were wonderful revelations — for a moment or two. I tried lifting my arm, then all of my limbs. Nothing happened, but a sense of increased pressure suggested that I was strapped down rather than paralysed. I tapped a finger to confirm it. That was a momentary relief as well, but I had a nasty feeling that I would regret discovering why I seemed to be unharmed.

Some time passed, then I heard some footsteps approach. A moment later, a face slid into view; a chap in his fifties, in an anonymous suit. Then he vanished again, and a metallic scrape suggested he’d sat down.

“If I unclamp your head,” said the voice I remembered from the motel, “Will you behave yourself?”

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Today’s photo is Home Away From Home by jayRaz