Forums → Art, Music, and Writing → Zed Games. (Novel)

-Chapter One-

Setting the Scene

The walls were smeared with blood but he kept running. His breathing was harsh and jagged, and he stumbled into the walls every few seconds. The sledge hammer he was dragging along created a sound like that of chalk on a blackboard. He stopped for a second... To the audience watching on their screens, the scene was chaotic, the sound of it overwhelming. But to him, to Dimitri Fedorov, it was quiet, and it was haunting. It was always the worst part when it was quiet, because that meant something was waiting around the corner. But when that something came across, fear vanished, and a will to survive replaced it. A will that Dimitri's sledge hammer was happy to achieve.

The massive Russian set off again, his feet dragging along the floor as he energy meter depleted, the sweat cascading down his huge forehead like a waterfall. Dmitri Fedorov was the biggest contestant on this year's Zed Games. He was predicted to die in the first round but now he was the favorite, now...He was pretty sure he was the only one left. He was nearly there, but he had been nearly there for the last half hour, he had seen these bloody walls before, the body that had seeped it all was gone however. Fedorov was running in circles and he knew it.

He was so desperate to live, to win, but even if he made it to the safe zone he was not so sure the detention authorities would live up to their end of the deal. Dimitri Fedorov was a mass murderer, who inspired other mass murders. In Fedorov's mind, and in many others, he was a revolutionary. In the media's mind, in the world's, he was a dangerous criminal, he was a contestant.

He reached the end of the path and was faced with three new ones. He had been trying to stay to the right the whole time, because gradually, he should reach the safe zone that way. But he was back in the place he had been twenty minutes ago, as quiet as it was then. They'd probably edit that bit out he thought. The audience only want blood. He decided to go left, to turn away from the safe zone. He knew this decision would have bad consequences, and his prediction came true as he turned a corner and saw a Phase Three Zed forcing down another contestant. So he wasn't the only one left then...

There were five phases to the infected. Five different levels of evil. Phase One was your average bread and butter raging psychopath. They had black eyes and bulging veins, their fingers widened to resemble claws. They were a little stronger than most humans, they had no conscience, and they were hungry. From a One to Ten, Zed Games had their difficulty rating on a Four. Fedorov placed them a little higher on a Five, not that the Zed Games creators had any idea. Phase Two were the Shriekers. At first glance there was little difference from Phase One, but Shriekers had more mobility, more intelligence. They could jump, climb, figure out to open a door if it meant a human was hiding behind it. Zed Games gave them a difficulty rating of Six. Phase Three was the Enraged, and they remained that way even when no humans were present. They were usually bigger than previous Phases, and were Alpha Males in any area with a large population of Zeds. They had shear like bones growing from their wrists, and a cut from then would cause infection, but usually death. They were rated as an Eight out of Ten. Phase Four was the Runners, fast and agile, with the bone claws curving back over their hands so that when they raised their arms they raised a shield with it. It was considered impossible to outrun them, a meeting with a human would imply that only one would walk away. Although getting two together would cause them to fight, like Lions in the desert. Nine out of Ten. Then lastly, there was Phase Five: Demons. They no longer resembled humans too well. The bones pushed out against the skin and the black eyes lay fair back in the skull so that their visibility was poor. Their sense of smell however, was excellent. They were fast, huge jagged beasts. Bigger than Fedorov even. There had been no recordings of anyone surviving a battle with one. They were often put in arenas by Zed Games to wipe out contestants in a Free For All. Fedorov had done his best to stay away from them.

Presently, the Phase Three Enraged had pinned the man down, the shear piercing the man's back right through the contestant number on his blue shirt. The man wasn't resisting much. Dimitri could tell he was close to death, not from the blood creeping out of his mouth, or the way his limp body was lifted when the Enraged tried to pull the shear out. It was the slackness in his eyes that meant life was fast depleting. Fedorov swung the hammer back, just as the Enraged snapped his head up, taking in the scent of the massive, bald headed Russian.

"Come!" Yelled Dimitri at the top of his voice, making the Enraged's lip quiver in anger.

It charged, swooped down because one of its shears was still lodged in the now dead man's back. Dimitri recognized the man now, his name was Bradley Shore, and he was only twenty years old. He had been thrown inside Aldrin Prison for immigration and fraud. All he had wanted was to get out of the countries where survival was near impossible. Instead of helping him, risking the fear of further over population in the Americas, the authorities had thrown him to the wolves. Hungry, murderous wolves.

Fedorov launched his huge frame forwards, swinging the hammer from his shoulder and making contact with the Enraged's skull. The Phase Three Zed crashed to the floor dead, another notch on Fedorov's kill-count. He was now sure he had killed more Zeds than he had humans.

Suddenly he knew it, he knew there was nobody left, no more Zeds. The quiet was one of awe and respect, as opposed to the something's-waiting-around-the-corner-quiet from minutes earlier. Dmitri Fedorov had won Zed Games. Now all that was left was to drag his exhausted form to the end-zone.

---

"Here he is Ladies and Gentlemen! The winner of our very first Zed Games, he's the big bad Russian, incarcerated in his homeland... Its! Dimitri! Fedoroooovvvvvvv!"

The announcer held his hand out to drag Fedorov onstage as the audience roared. The enormous screen behind them was replaying the events of the final and Dimitri looked at it vaguely, hesitant about looking at the applauding crowd. Funny how in prison he inspired fear, yet to a harmless crowd who didn't have a clue about surviving in the hellhole of Aldrin, he couldn't look them in the eyes. Scared they would judge him. The announcer directed the Russian to face the crowd, and Fedorov bowed his head to look at the floor instead.

The announcer, Charlie Hawk, slicked back his hair obsessively and spoke into the mic.

"He made it through all of the stages people, that's right give him a hand!"

Fedorov looked at Charlie. The presenter looked pretty slick in his suit and tie, whilst Dimitri was covered in bloody rags. Sparklers went off at the sides of the stage and Charlie turned to thrust the mic under Dimitri's face.

"How do you feel Champion? What d'you plan to do with your freedom?"

"I don't know." Said Fedorov. His eyes diverted to a massive fiery poster at the back of the crowd, that read: Zed Games! Bigger! Badder! Bloodier! A complete re-haul! Spring 2020!

"You're a free man now Fedorov! Gotta have some plans!"

The mic was once again thrust into his face. "I'm not so free.."

The audience's applause was dying down now; they were all eager to hear the Champion's words, for surely he was as wise as he was brutal.

"You're not free?" Asked Charlie like he would to a five year old child, "why is that big man?"

Fedorov took a breath, "Ven I vas a child, the place vhere I lived was dangerous. But I never knew that. Gangs vould fight each other in the streets. One time two people vere killed from being stabbed. Another time a little boy vas shot to death. Another time there vas a shootout right in front of my eyes. A bullet slammed into the wall I vas standing in front of. My next door neighbour killed his gay lover with a hammer and vas taken avay by the police. And countless other incidents I cannot remember. But after all that. After all that violence, I still felt safe. Because it was my home, it was vat I knew. All I knew. If I vas to go back there now... And valk down a street... I'd be looking over my shoulder cautiously." Fedorov threw his arms wide, and Charlie flinched dramatically but the Russian went on. "This is vat I know now. This is home."

The crowd stirred, then slowly, they burst into applause once more. Any words really, would have achieved this, for Dmitri Fedorov was now a hero of Zed Games, a legend to compare against all future contestants. Who knows, maybe the authorities would let him stay, give the man a break, he won Zed Games, he was surely a good person.

Charlie hitched a smile and laughed, "Haha big guy I dunno about that-"

The crowd at the front was pushed forward suddenly. A few people screamed, perhaps thinking someone was infected. Huge white signs were risen in the air as the protest group pushed their way forward. Charlie backed away, positioning himself behind Fedorov. The woman leading the group started a chant.

"No to Zed Games! No to Zed Games!

The signs were emblazoned with scorching words of contempt for the show. There was "Zed Games is Evil!" and "Liberty for Zed Games Victims!" Some had more to them, one of them had dripping black letters saying, "God judged Earth on May 15th 2011, Humans prove he was right on November 10th, 2019."

Security started to push them away, unwanted visitors. The crowd actually looked slightly ashamed of themselves, although that was gone once the protest group had disappeared. The applause started back up again as Charlie strode to the front of the stage, slicking his hair back.

"Well well, looks like someone doesn't know how to appreciate your talents big guy!"

The audience tittered and died down again when Charlie raised his hand.

"As you all know, Zed Games is having a dramatic rehaul for the next competition, its sure to be much more entertaining than this bad *** show already is!"

More applause.

"But for now Ladies and Gentlemen, Dmitri Fedorov is Zed Games Champppiiiooooonnnn nn!"

Fedorov scuffed his foot on the stage. The applause was tantamount to a thunder storm as raged on and on...

--

French Guiana, Iracobo. January 2020.

The squad moved out against the edge of the river, crouched down in the mud as the rain pelted them. To their left the rebel fighters ran through the exploding mud huts. They were exploding because Raptor Jets were firing down upon the rebels as they passed, allowing the squad to stealthily approach the rebel mortar team.

The four man squad came to a clearing; a grassy bank above the river where a handful of men were loading mortar chutes. Sergeant Hank Price hid himself amongst the wet bushes, where instantly he was covered in exotic insects, crawling up his blackened face. Price signaled for two of his men to head off around the mortar team, which meant entering the piranha filled river. Private Chabin Samuel, a French Guiana native, lay down amongst the bushes and and stuck his fingers in his mouth, retrieving what looked like black chewing gum.

Price tweaked his earpiece, "Cavalry, this is Lead, radio check, over."

"Lead, this is Cavalry, I read you loud and clear, out." Came the fuzzy reply.

Sergeant Price looked back through the bushes. "Feed it.." He muttered, keeping his eyes on the mortar team. Private Samuel stuck a metal wire into the gum and lay it on the ground. Price absently handed him a small gray button like instrument which Samuel stuck in the gum. Then, turning a handle from the Private's hip like a fishing rod, the wire started to move out. Slowly but surely, with Price swatting away deadly mosquitoes the whole time, the wire reached the middle of the group, undetected from the hurrying rebels by the tall grass.

"Cavalry stand by and proceed at the boom." Muttered Price into his ear piece, before drawing a remote from his side and clicking it.

The ground shot upwards, sending the mortar team flying in all directions, their lives knocked from their bodies. Bits of burning flesh rained down upon Price and Samuel and they bowed their heads instinctively. The few not hurt by the explosion were caught in a bullet hailstorm by the two other squad members, who periodically and expertly aimed down their sights whilst approaching.

"Team Stigma, this is Command, do you read me? Over."

Price tweaked his earpiece, "Roger Command, Send."

"We need you and your team to redirect to the coast, a boat will be waiting at the harbour for Devil's Island."

"Sir the objective was to secure Iracobo, any word on the change? Over."

"Roger Price, objective is dropped. Mortar teams are everywhere, we can't offer any air support, get to the boat. Out."

Private Samuel rose his eyebrows and Price mirrored the look. They had just taken out the only mortar team in Iracobo. Price sighed and held out his hand to tug the exhausted Private to his feet.

-

2 Hours Later.

Devil's Island, 6 Miles off the coast of French Guiana.

"Sergeant."

"Sir."

Price held his hand out for General Ryan Harper but Harper hitched a look of disgust upon his face instead. Two uniformed transportation agents stopped at the General's side, one of them flicked out a clipboard and lifted a few sheets of paper.

"You are Sergeant Hank Price of the United States Army?"

"Yes."

"Can you explain these?"

The second agent shoved a handful of photos into the Sergeant's arms. Half a dozen military attired men forcing bound people down to be executed. Another showing them pushing villagers back into their burning huts. Another showing a woman holding the carcass of her young daughter. Price stopped looking.

"What are these?" He asked, afraid that he knew the answer.

"You're under arrest." Said the agent.

"I can't believe this Sergeant.." Said Harper, turning his head away.

"This has nothing to do with me-"

"Your squad has been apprehended. We're taking you to Russia."

Price was turned around and cuffs were forced upon his wrists. "Don't I get a trial?"

"Your trial will commence once we get there."

"General!" Shouted Price as the agents pushed him to the boat, "General this is a set up!"

The General turned away, seeming not to care as his cell phone rang. "Yeah." He said, holding his ringed hand out to bid a snide farewell to Price, "yeah they're on their way. Yeah... Yeah can't wait."