I awoke in the square gray room. Groggily I got off the bed, rubbing my eyes I walked out of the room. The two men in suits escorted me back to the man in green’s study. This time they didn’t grab my jacket or point guns at me, they merely walked on either side of me.

The suited men and I reached the cherry wood door to the man in green’s study. The men stood guard on either side of the door. I turned the knob and opened the door shutting it behind me.

“Ah, Rasputin, good morning,” says the man in green in a giddy sort of tone.

“Is it? I ask. “Your men break into my apartment, beat me with their plastic rods, break my finger, point guns at me, and you tell me that I will be competing in a death tournament against my will. Is it really a good morning?”

“Listen Rasputin. I don’t need your shit this early in the morning. Why don’t we start over?”

“Fine,” I say agreeably, it isn’t like me to compromise so quickly but he could have me killed in a matter of seconds, “I’m Rasputin Write, and you are?”

“I’m David Schneider,” he says, ” and I’m about to have nineteen deaths on my conscience.”

“Hurm. So you d feel guilty,” I say, “I have gained some respect for you. Now, down to business, can you tell me about this tournament?”

“Uh, sure, Rasputin. I owe you that much. First off, I need to tell you not to be angry with me for this tournament, as I said before this is the fault of the high chancellor. I am a T.V. Executive and the chancellor gave me a small number of his Special Forces to round twenty psychics at random. I had called all of them here previously, as I did with you, to tell them basically what I am telling you now. Also, he will be doing these tournaments for years until there are only the winners left, and they will be almost brain washed into joining his army and spreading his propaganda bullshit.”

“Do you realize that you could be killed for saying such things, David?”


“Hurm. Very well. I must apologize for earlier, didn’t mean to come off as rash. Can you tell me of the rules for the tournament?”

“Yeah, the tournament will work as a tree, each match being a branch. The matches will be one on one, using any weapons they’ll give you, such as swords, knives, clubs. And as of last night you will be using your psychic powers.”

“So, David, can you tell me who my first opponent is?”

David opens a drawer in his desk and he takes out a file and drops it on his desk. I walk forward, leaning over the desk, and open the file. There is a page titled “Basic Information”, it says his name is Joseph Kovacs and that his psychic power id telekinesis. “Hmm. Think that he could beat my fire.”

“That’s the idea,” says David.

“Think it could stop me from boiling the water in his body?”

“Rasputin, we made that skill illegal for anyone with pyrokinesis, if you do that they’ll kill you.”

I close the file. “When are we going to leave to meet the other contestants?” I ask, then add: “Soon, I hope.”

David takes the file and puts it back in the door and closes it. “Well, we could leave now I suppose,” he says,”the men outside will show you to the Psychic Containment Vehicle. All of the fighters were here but they left already in the other nineteen containment vehicles.”

“Fine by me,” I say.

Then I turn around and walk out the door. The men each grab one of my arms and lift me up and carry me to a huge double door. The door opens as we approach and they walk down a small flight of stairs into a stone courtyard with many beautiful statues. They take me to a black truck, one of them opens the door and the other throws me inside, it is like a silver box.

After about fifteen minutes the truck comes to a stop, the men in suits come around the back and pull me out of the truck.

They escort me inside the building. The place is very sterile, even more so than a hospital. I didn’t have much time to look around (not that there was much to look at) before the men in suits directed me towards an elevator. But from the brief look that I got the interior almost matched that of a waiting room. But what would they be waiting for?

“So,” I begin, “where are we going?”

The men in dark suits give no reply.

When we get to the elevator one of the men presses the button with the up facing arrow.

We walk into the rectangular lift. The same man who pressed the button before steps forward and presses the button marked “RF”, roof.

The ride upward wasn’t long, about two minutes. There was a “ding” when the elevator reached its destination. There was a man standing there, I knew him, and there was another person, he wasn’t really a man, more like a kid, he looked to be about sixteen.

“Hello again, Rasputin,” chimes David.

“Hmm. Good to see you, David.” As I say this the two men silently leave through the elevator behind me.

“Likewise,” says David.” Uh, I believe we should begin with introductions,” David takes a piece of cloth from his suit pocket and dabs nervous sweat from his forehead. “Rasputin this is Joseph Kovacs, your opponent in the second match. Joseph this is Rasputin Write.”

“Good to meet you Jo-”

I am cut off by Joseph.

“Shut the fuck up!”

“Well, no need to get all pissy,” I reply.

“Argh!” he says in frustration,” Stop! Just fucking stop it! Stop with all your mind game bullshit!” It is at this moment that Joseph breaks down and starts crying.

“Er, Joseph?”

“Didn’t I tell you to shut the fuck up?!”

“Er, David?”

“Rasputin,” he says them walks over to another corner of the roof while Joseph cries, I follow. “Joseph is . . . mentally disturbed, e,g, he hears thing; says that are strange; and just plain breaks down like that . . .”

“Well,” I interrupt,”does this affect his powers at all?”

“In some ways yeah.”

“Hurm. A psychopathic telekinetic fuckwit versus a pissed off pyrokinetic. This is getting interesting.”