The Game Final Poll

[Velox]

Vote here for your favorite The Game story. Please MAKE SURE YOU READ ALL ENTRIES BEFORE VOTING.Voting begins now and will end on June 23rd at 11:59 PM EST. The entry with the most votes will be the winner of The Game theme and will then be either judged or polled against the winners of the other themes.

1. Queen's Gambit

   In the darkened halls, two beings moved quickly. One was dressed in the finest of fabrics, a flowing dress of great wealth. The other wore armor of chain, thinly layered over his body. They spoke in whispers, not a word could be heard by anyone... if it was, it would mean death for the both of them. She was the queen, wife to the ruler of a mighty kingdom. But the might was failing. The people had turned against her husband, and he was responding with force. Now she spoke to the most trusted of the King's Knights, who shared her concerns. Together, they were plotting out what to overthrow a kingdom, but they could tell not a soul about what was to come. It would only be the two of them against whatever forces protected their king. It would be dangerous, but it was something that had to be done. The question could be asked, was it for the people who suffered, or if it was merely for power. But that was not on their minds. It was time to dethrone a king, in any way that the situation deemed necessary. Peacefully, or by force. --- The king stumbled backwards, keeping his blade up to block blows against him. He was confused, very confused. His wife had ordered him to give up his throne. She had tried to order him! He was the king! It was an outrage! And then, as he had pushed her aside, one of his knights had entered the room and attacked! The knight struck with his blade, trying to break through the defenses of the startled king. Metal struck metal as grim determination filled his eyes. The king would be removed, and peacefully had not seemed to be an option. The king would have to die. The queen stood to the side, watching the fight going on before her. The knight clearly had the advantage, but the king was reaching for something. A knife. The king let the Knight's next attack disarm him, and as the warrior tried to bring back around his blade, the sharpened knife was plunged deeply into his leg, where the mail was not as strong. As the knight cried out in pain, the king lifted the knight's own sword, plunging it deeply into his chest. Then his thoughts turned towards the queen. He knew, he could guess. The knight had only attacked after his refusal. It was connected, he knew it. But he did not have long to think, as his own sword plunged through his back. The queen stood watching as the king stumped to the floor, closing her eyes before taking a few steps away, and shouting out through the nearest passageway. "The king is dead! The king is dead!" --- The white king piece fell over as it was pushed by a single finger. "And that is why you have lost. You are unable to form a checkmate upon a kingdom without a king. Surrender is your best and only option." "And I wondered why no one would ever play chess with you anymore..." The other person sighed, getting up from his seat and walking away from the chessboard. "I'm done here." "You merely don't understand how to have fun. You're always so serious, never seeing the world for anything more than it is." The fist commented with a grin at his leaving opponent. "And you really need to just grow up, you can't keep making up your own imaginary worlds for games." The other replied with great irritation. The first person sighed, looking back down at the chess pieces before him with a slight smile. "Checkmate."

   ------

2. The Origin of THE GAME

   Dain awoke with a start. The adrenaline had been applied on time, as always. He instantly clamped down on his own thoughts, not allowing himself to dwell on any aspect of the past. Especially not <DON’T THINK ABOUT IT> He glanced around. Most of the beds were empty now, white, sterile sheets neatly folded on hollow beds below blank monitors. Dain’s own monitor was beeping heartily. He despised it, but it was much better than the awful buzz that would leap out without warning, followed by screams from another bed, flashing red lights on the monitor, white-coated scientists rushing in to question the hapless person about <DON’T THINK ABOUT IT DON’T THINK ABOUT IT> He shook his head. He and the others had been witness to something dark and sinister and ancient, and the scientists wanted answers. They knew that only one of the people in the room had seen the whole misfortune, but not who. And since they could not legally interrogate a person with no crimes or charges against them, they claimed to be ‘curing’ them of a disease- one they administered themselves. So, they had detectors placed on every suspect’s head, which would detect the moment they thought about THE GAME <NO NO NO DON’T THINK ABOUT IT NO> Beside him, Noba was staring emptily into space, her monitor blinking lazily. He reached over as far as he could in his cloth binds and gently touched her fingertips. She was weakening, they all were, but the only way anyone was leaving the room was by thinking about <NO!> He stared at the one other ‘patient’ sadly. Recently, they had lost another, this time to madness. He couldn’t help thinking about <STOP STOP NO THINKING ABOUT IT> The poor boy was only ten, Dain thought sadly. Driven mad, kept from his family, taken to parts unknown, at ten. At his age, Dain was playing with skateboards- the REAL ones, none of that hovering nonsense they have nowadays- and staying up late to watch movies with friends. Even worse, one of the first to go was a five-year-old girl. The only thing that had brought her to the incident was pure chance, and <STOP THINKING ABOUT IT THEY’LL TAKE YOU TOO NO> Old and young, they had slowly waned from seven healthy human beings to three trapped animals. The scientists had seen to it that there was no escape. The second to go, a man in his late thirties, had tried to run, but he had been captured and strapped back into bed. Shortly after, in what seemed to be an admission of defeat, his monitor started flashing the red of a flame, of a phoenix, of a demon, and he was taken away to who-knows-where. It was like when the <NO NO NO!> Dain could feel his willpower slipping. He wondered what was beyond the door. Was it REALLY a questioning cell, or was it something else? A friendly room? A million dollars? How did any of the ‘patients’ know? He smiled woozily. Well, there was one way to find out. He rose like an old man and shuffled to Noba, long-unused legs somehow both numb and aching. He kissed her cheek. And then he thought about THE GAME. -------

3. Fall of the King Victor looked mournfully at the chessboard that lay before him and glanced at the scattered pieces that littered the floor. The glass table it rested upon was cool and uncaring, uninterested upon the game that took place above it. The sharp suited player strolled around the table with his hands behind his back, casting his gaze upon the numerous monitors that stood before him. In the hazy, fuzzy light of one he watched as a small platoon nestled around a door, indicating orders to one another that he could not hear. The one he presumed to be the captain kicked the door down and charged inside, where he was swiftly struck down by an unseen shooter. Victor turned and looked at the remaining white rook, so solitary and alone, surrounded by the ebony pawns. He moved a pawn diagonally and curled his fingers over the rook. He screamed and lobbed it against the wall where it shattered into a dozen pieces. He watched the men advanced, the cameras feeding directly to him. A few more soldiers had fallen to turrets and hidden attackers, but that did nothing to shake their confidence. Victor looked solemnly from the board to the monitor and acknowledged that all was in vain, for this would end the same way. He picked up the black king and held it in the palm of his hands. What he would give to crush it in the palm of his hand, grind it to dust and let it spill to the floor. Let it suffer instead of he, like the portrait of Dorian Gray. But this was no mere novel, no work of fantasy. He had to face that this was reality and all that would transpire would do so under the command of Heaven or whatever force could be perceived to affect the outcome of the battle. And no mere wishing could call upon a supernatural stroke of luck. With a heavy sigh, he returned his gaze to the screens, this time his eyes focused higher up than before, watching the men advance, turning corner after corner of this labyrinthine building they had found themselves in, until finally the reached their destination. The door exploded inwards and Victor whirled around to watch a small group of eight soldiers storm in, firearms locked on his position. One soldier, who had taken charge after the fall of their captain, stepped forwards. “Victor Walken, you are under arrest for heinous crimes against your fellow man and conspiring to commit acts of terrorism. You are to come with us, where you will stand trial and be judged for your crimes.” “My dear boy,” Victor grinned. “Would you say that you’ve won this little game?” The speaker looked perplexed. “I…Yes, it would appear that way.” “Wrong.” Victor raised his left hand and slowly spread his fingers apart to let the shattered remains of the black king fall to the floor. “All your efforts have been made in vain. The game ends on a draw. You have taken losses, yet stand tall. But victory is not yours to claim.” With that he grinned sinisterly and pulled his gun from its holster. Before the solider could react, Victor had raised the gun and pulled the trigger. His body fell to the floor, blood falling upon the scattered pieces and pooling around the remains of the king. The game ended there, failure for both sides. The king had fallen, but was damaged to the point of impossible repair. In his last moments, Victor had cheated the game, and ensured under his terms. -------
4. You'll never get away... “You’ll never get away, you’ll never get away, you’ll never get away, you’ll never get away...” the verses repeat over and over in my head. I can’t stop, I can’t get enough. I open my eyes; darkness. What day is it? Which month? I have to stop, this can’t go on. “You’ll never get away, you’ll never get away...” Will I ever get away? I sit up, pulling off my headset and eyepiece. “You’re wrong, I will get away.” The words just slip out. Of course I’ll get away. I am blinded by the sunlight filtering in through the blinds. My eyes slowly adjust as I turn on my computer. June eighth, 4:37 PM: twenty seven hours since I started the Game, of those, at least three hours spent completely unconscious. Shaky with hunger, stiff from lack of movement, I make my way toward the kitchen. Fumbling with a box of cereal, almost spilling the milk, I am barely able to keep my first bite down. I must stop, it's killing me. I can't keep my mind focussed; it keeps wandering off, obsessing over little things. I can’t eat, the sound of the spoon hitting the bowl drives me crazy. My mind prances off in another direction...is this what it feels like to be insane? The day I first played the Game, I had stood in line for five straight hours and oh, how rewarding to put on that headset for the first time, to feel myself drifting off, and to suddenly open my eyes in another universe, filled with adventure. I could control myself then, I had no trouble removing my headset after an hour to care for my worldly needs: to work, sleep, and eat. I started playing in my free hours, skipping meals, eventually losing my job. Then I heard the news. The government had outlawed the Game, and were searching houses for the console, giving a full refund in exchange for the Game. Anyone who refused was sent to rehab. I couldn’t give mine away, it had become part of my life. It had become my life. When the man arrived at my door, I was ready. I lied through my teeth, said that I threw it away the moment I heard; when he asked to come in, the Game wasn't there. The moment he left, I removed it from the oven and slipped my headset on. My mental and physical state has degenerated. I cannot go a single moment without obsessing over the Game, I haven’t seen daylight for weeks, except through the closed blinds in my bedroom. Can I turn my life around? “You’ll never get away, you’ll never get away...” the song pushes its way into my head. I step outside onto the balcony. Cool air caresses my cheeks, the sun is shining; I haven’t felt this good since I was young, when I had real friends, when I walked in the real world. I peer down from my ninth story apartment, watching people go about their daily lives, oblivious to my dilemma. It almost makes me resent them. I could jump, end it all, never again have to wear that headset. No. I go to my room, picking up the headset, returning to the balcony. The padding on the earphones has almost worn out, and I have developed rashes around my eyes from constant contact with the eyepiece. I will get away. I force my arm over the railing. Before I can change my mind, I drop it, watch it shatter on the ground. I have gotten away. -------
5. Endgame The sandy haired man stared at his opponent across the table. He could make out his opponents thin lips, elongated lower jaw, and sparkling green eyes beneath his ornate metal hood. Silently, he lifted the ornate, translucent pawn of pure glass and slid it forward one space. “Your move,” he said quietly to his opponent. But his opponent’s inhuman eyes, slitted like those of a cat, simply stared back at him silently, then once again at the board before him, where his own opaque silver pieces skirmished with their translucent enemies. To any watcher who did not know the truth, this would seem merely like a game of chess, albeit played on a gameboard far larger than normal and with oddly shaped pieces. But all of the hundreds of beings who watched with bated breath as the two chessmasters made their moves knew what was truly at stake. Ataran was wagering against the sand-haired human, Gonan, for the future of the world itself. Each time a pawn was lifted, a being in the mortal world moved. Each time a piece was taken, a mortal being died at the hands of a follower of the enemy. The rules of this particular brand of chess had taken Gonan years to learn, and even now he still did not consider himself a master. Ataran, however, was an immortal deity. He’d had thousands of centuries from before the time before time to practice and hone his skill. Even now, Gonan thought, it seemed that Ataran was toying with him, trying to keep him off-balance on the fronts of the game he was winning while simultaneously controlling and toying with the sectors of the board he controlled. What was still worse was that Ataran knew that Gonan was loath to sacrifice even a single pawn. He knew that each of them represented the life of a mortal being. As he watched, Ataran slid a pawn silently toward the rook, not caring that he had sentenced a human follower to death. Ataran simply stared at Gonan through his expressionless jade eyes, wiling him to make a move. He could withdraw his rook from the game’s center, leaving one of his two bishops open for capture by one of Ataran’s rooks. While he still had both bishops, he’d lost both knights and a rook. Ataran still had all of his royal pieces except one bishop. Gonan’s king was shielded only by his bishop, it wouldn’t take much more for Ataran to break through the last of his defenses and seize victory. Silently, Gonan withdrew the rook out of reach of Ataran’s pawn. If Ataran won he'd would be free to make good on his promises to enslave the human race for eternity, rendering them mindless creatures once more. But Gonan could see an opening as well. He still had his queen, as did Ataran. A dangerous, risky strategy took form. His queen could move and take Ataran’s bishop. Ataran would be forced to move his queen back to take Gonan’s queen, and his rook on the middle row could checkmate Ataran’s king, which was blocked from moving any direction but forward. He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t pass judgment on so many humans. Not when he didn’t even know if Ataran would take the bait. If Ataran took it, then he, Gonan, had defeated the immortal deity. But if Ataran did not take the bait and continued to press his attack, it would be over for him within minutes. Ataran’s eyes stared at Gonan coldly, daring him to make a move. And Gonan made his choice. ------

[fishers64]

Hard choice between 4 and 5, but I went with 4.

[Ballom Nom Nom]

Voted for number three.~B~

[Velox]

Went with #3 here.And polling period over; poll closed.

Edited June 24, 2012 by Velox