The Troll (6 page)

“
With
the exception of you,” The Surfer said, but it fell on deaf
ears.

“
The
game is that I send you out with Rainbow, the only remaining
potential to end Psi in existence, and you bring it to Vegas without
my top ten bounty hunters capturing and killing you. If they do, they
destroy Rainbow and Psi lives on forever.”

“
No
no no, please,” The Troll said, begging. “Pick someone
else. Get a volunteer or something.”

“
I
agree,” Surfer said.

“…
Anyone
else.”

“
Let
me do it,” Surfer said.

“
The
idea was proposed by Iris,” The Moderator said. “I let
her choose and you’re the guy.”

“
It’s
a mistake then,” The Troll said. “Like you said, she’s
probably just trying to kill me for going against her.”

“
I
don’t care about intent,” The Moderator said. “Someone
disrespected The Surfer’s trial by challenging me for the world
to see. They tried to make a point and I’m allowing it,
because, I dunno: I’m a compassionate guy. I even let her
choose her candidate. The world saw. They saw a user-name tell me
that the majority don’t want Psi…that they think I’m
nothing more than a criminal. If the world feels this way, and if the
world believes that any individual can fight back, then I’ll
call the bluff and see what happens.”

“
But
how’s sending someone on your own side going to prove that? I’m
with YOU, man.”

“
There
are no negotiations. I’ve brought you here. I’ve fed you.
Tomorrow I’m releasing you from the city with Rainbow in hand
and I’m taking Psi out of you.”

“
What?”
The Troll said, getting to his feet.

“
Surfer
and I worked out the rules. If we’re hunting you, we’re
not allowed to track you.”

“
Please…”

“
Stop
begging. I’ve read your posts. You’re better than this.”

“
That’s
why they call him a troll,” The Surfer said bitterly. “He’s
a big talker on the boards, but a coward in person.”

“
Tonight
we’ll feed you well. You’ll have dinner with
my
ten bounty hunters. You can get to know them. Maybe observe and work
out an advantage if you’re able. You will get a day head start.
You’re welcome to try to find help along the way, but keep in
mind that others have Psi and we can track you through them.”

“
Why
are you telling me this?”

“
Because
you’re at a large disadvantage no matter what you know. This is
the best I can do to level the playing field.”

“
Please…I
don’t want to die.”

“
After
dinner, you will be spending the night in one of our suites with The
Surfer. He’ll do his best to coach you. After that, you won’t
have any contact. Just you and Rainbow.”

“
And
what happens if I make it?”

“
I
suppose I’ll be powerless. We’ve already taken Wigeon to
Vegas and she’s there to instruct you if you make it.”

The
Surfer looked up. This was news to him and it added a new element to
the game. Wigeon was waiting, ready to help if all Troll did was make
a journey. It sounded easy enough, if only the right person had been
chosen. What the hell had Iris been thinking?

“
I’ve
read your words about Wigeon.” The Moderator pulled up a screen
with his mind and The Troll’s vulgar words were displayed in
message board form, to the disgust of others users. The Moderator
read the words aloud. “I’d put more nails in her than a
hardware store, Rodger her more than a walkie talkie, give her more
Wangs than a Chinese phone book, more cocks than a hen-house, more
Johnsons than the witness protection program…”

“
Okay,
we get it,” The Surfer said, disgusted by The Troll.

“
He's
clearly fond of her,” The Moderator said with a smile.

“
I
was just trolling,” The Troll said in defeat.

“
You’re
the guy Troll, and there’s no way around that. Trying to
persuade me is only going to piss me off and it’s going to
waste your time. I’m going to get you a nice wardrobe, a hot
shower, and a haircut. Dinner will be in two hours. I need you to say
you
accept.”

“
But…”

“
You’re
doing it either way, but the world will not be watching you curl into
a ball and die. You’re going to give them an honest fight.
That’s what I promised, and you will accept.”

The
Troll closed his eyes briefly and gathered himself. He needed to go
through the motions—at least until he found a way out.

“
I
accept,” he said.

Chapter 6

The
Troll was taken for a haircut and shave. His hotel was luxurious and
the bathroom was stocked with hair products, cologne, and all things
that made the man. He cleaned up and admired himself in the mirror,
but he found no smile. Instead, his body shook with fear. He felt
naked without his hoody and pulled it over his head, finding little
comfort. He sat on the bed and waited until he was given instruction.
The Surfer wasn’t in the hotel yet, which was a relief. He fell
asleep waiting, but awoke by a knock and The Chameleon escorted him
to what he knew would be the strangest dinner anyone on Earth would
ever have.

They
walked quietly through the hall and to the hotel lobby where he
entered an adjoining restaurant and was taken to a back room. He
would sit head of the table—each side with five people lined up
who would be hunting him the next day. When he entered the room, it
suddenly became too real upon seeing the faces of the bounty hunters.
Some he recognized. Others were new. All ten had already arrived,
except for an empty seat which was quickly filled by The Chameleon.
Her body quickly blended in to the colors around her and she nearly
turned invisible. While they waited for dinner to start, The Troll
watched as the bounty hunters wrapped up their ordinary discussions.
To see the dining room from the outside, one would assume it was just
a dinner among an old group of friends.

“
Have
a seat,” a voice said and then the man stood. With The
Moderator gone, it was clear who led the group. The Magician
grabbed
attention every time he spoke, and when he entered the
room
or stood up, suddenly the rest of the world disappeared, as if
by…magic. The Troll didn’t know if it was an illusion.
Maybe The Magician had fairy dust that was invisible to the naked
eye, and being in his presence automatically commanded respect, but
when The Magician spoke, everyone listened. “How nice to meet
you Troll. I am The Magician, your master of ceremonies for the
evening.”

The
Troll smiled and nodded. He’d already decided his demeanor
would be polite, cooperative, friendly…he’d give a human
face to the game and hopefully, when their plates were empty, he
could bargain for his life. Judging by the looks of the group, he
might have a shot. The only person in the room who wasn’t very
welcoming to Troll was The Pilot, who sat at the far end on the left
and didn’t say a word all night. The Troll began to wonder if
The Pilot couldn’t actually speak. He never made eye contact or
looked directly at The Pilot. He’d have to win the hearts of
nine others instead.

The
Magician moved aside to allow waiters to deliver salad to the table.
“Tonight’s menu will consist of an Arugula salad with
caramelized onions, Feta cheese, and Kalamata Olives, followed by one
of my favorites: Chinese Duck with Plum Sauce and Chinois pancakes.
For dessert, we will be enjoying a cranberry cream cheese tart, The
Chef’s specialty and award winning dish.”

There
was some applause at the table. The Troll quickly followed suit,
playing the part of a man who belonged in Chicago. He was clearly out
of his element and didn’t know what to expect one minute to the
next, but he’d pick it up as he went along and show the others
he was a respectful friend. His foul mouth, sarcastic responses, and
poking and prodding were all cast aside. He would keep the trolling
in check, as long as he didn’t habitually get sharp with his
tongue, he would display himself as an impressive asset to team Psi.

“
I
think the best way to get acquainted would be if we all go around the
room and introduce ourselves to The Troll and say a little something
interesting or share an anecdote. How does that sound?” The
Magician only got a few murmurs, but clapped his hands and jumped up
and down wildly with a large toothy grin plastered to his face. He
was delighted to proceed. He pointed at
the
first man in line, another recognizable face.

“
I’m
The Coach. I know you already know this, but I led The
Scorpions
to the Super Bowl. What else you wanna know?”

“
Tell
him about your team,” The Magician said, pointing to a duffel
bag at The Coach's side.

“
I'd
rather he meets the team later,” The Coach said. “Assuming
we cross paths.”

“
Okay?
”
The Troll said, slowly, wondering if that was the right response. He
reminded himself to smile, and did, but it came off as phony and The
Coach didn’t bother to respond. He only sat and turned the
floor to the next in line.

“
I’m
The Acrobat,” the man said and shrugged as he tried to think of
what to say. “I used to be an acrobat. My whole family was
circus.” The Acrobat fidgeted and hesitantly sat with nothing
more to say. The Troll couldn’t imagine being killed by The
Acrobat…he seemed harmless…nervous even. Maybe even a
potential friend.

The
Pilot was next in line, but never moved. He stared forward, the same
way he had in the plane. It was scary at first, but The Troll found
it annoying now. He wondered if The Pilot would be too focused to
come after him, but feared what the man would really be like if he
came out of his trance.

“
He
won’t talk,” the next in line said, standing and
straightening his collar. The man was The Mortician. He had a pale
face, slicked hair and wore a black suit. He was tall and skinny and
The Troll wondered if he really had wanted to be The Vampire until he
found the name was taken. “He is The Pilot,” The
Mortician said. “I’m The Mortician. Death is a hobby…in
the sense that I’m intrigued to know what happens when we pass.
I’ve watched many men die. I look deep into their eyes. I want
to know what they see…what they think…in that moment…
I am death. My very touch will rot your insides until your last
breath is taken...”

The
Mortician went on, but seemed only to be talking out loud to himself
in a long drawl, pausing between random words mid-sentence. The Troll
watched him carefully, trying to find the threat. The man seemed as
if he was just a gentle giant…too slow to kill. But he’d
watched many die…whatever that meant. He was creepy, but not
in a violent way. He finally sat and a minute passed before the next
decided to break the awkward silence.

He
had a gray beard and bloodshot eyes, and a drunken swagger. He was a
mess of a human being, with scars on his face and pockmarks on his
nose and cheeks. He was cross eyed and under his cowboy hat, leather
jacket, and boots, was a man dying on the inside. “The
Gambler,” he said with a slur. “Interesting fact: My mama
and papa took their lives. Papa first. Used to walk around with a
noose tied round his neck. Went to work at the factory with that rope
tight around his neck sometimes. Finally went through with it. Mama
followed a week later after she shed all her tears. I didn’t
have the balls…”

He
sat down and the room became quiet again. The Troll almost slipped.
He wanted to ask “what the hell?” but stopped himself.
He’d always assumed Chicago was a little classier, a stronger
group of people. Hadn’t The Moderator told him they dispelled
the bad habits and valued strong character? The Gambler was another
non-threat, but The Troll refused to believe that he was supposed to
survive this game. Something about this group of people was a very
real threat.

The
sixth man stood. He was more along the lines of what The Troll had
expected. He had a firm tanned body and a neatly combed part in his
hair. He stood six foot two and wore a red scarf around his neck. He
smiled politely. “I’m The Telepath,” he said. “I
was one of the founders of Circular Prime and assisted in the
creation of the product line. The reason I am called The Telepath is
because I have a special version of Psi in my brain. It was
experimental, but the design was destroyed when we lost our jobs, but
not before I had it injected.”

“
What
does it do?” The Troll asked, fascinated.

“
I
can connect with anyone within a quarter mile radius. I can tap into
their Psi and take over their body by using their Psi to control
their neurological system through the brain.”