They think they are good, but Timmy knows different. He knows that we are the good guys, and that they aren’t necessarily the bad guys. That they are brainwashed.
“What?” Timmy raises an eyebrow at the sudden silence. The iScreen shifts to Prophet Xitler, looking angry. “It’s good to be bad, isn’t it?” Timmy tries to force a chuckle. A few among the crowd breathe out in relief, but millions are still silent and angry with him. Timmy disappears from the screen.
He appears again within seconds, sitting on an oversized couch in a fun house, playing a video game, wearing a bandana that says, ‘It’s good to be bad when you’re dealing with the bad.’ He pushes buttons and kills zombies, vampires, and all kinds of real monsters in a huge TV screen. The audience starts to laugh. Then the monsters start to walk out of the screen at him, their faces changing into our faces. He keeps shooting, and we start to die, looking for brains. The audience laughs harder. Prophet Xitler laughs. The camera closes on him as he says, “It’s good to be bad.”
Timmy is forgiven. That’s what the crowd wants you to be: a clown. Although the incident has passed, I wonder how they will sleep at night.
“So back to you, Princess Decca,” says Timmy, sweating. “I promise you if you play the next game, I’ll let your mother go free.”
“No. That’s not enough,” I bite back. If I am going to risk my life for my family, I want the best for them. The best.
The audience makes a worrying sound, as if offended. I see them in the Zeppelins, faces plastered to the glass, with widened eyes, their breath sticking humidly to the inside of the windows, looking at me face to face.
They live up there in heaven. I live down here in hell.
“Do you think you’re in a position to bargain?” Timmy wonders.
“I am the bad one, remember? I am the Monster,” I grunt. “I can do whatever I like. If I play the game, you give my family immunity, as if I have never been born. They clear my name. I know it can be done.”
“It can be done, but it only applies to the ranked teens, not to Monsters. Besides, your dad was in the military. It doesn’t apply to you.” Timmy sighs impatiently.
“Then I won’t play. You can simply shoot me,” I say. “It’s obvious that this part of the game depends on me and my family’s tragedy. So here is the deal. You can have your show and spare my family, or eat your rotten eggs in poop sauce.”
Timmy is silent. He looks disgusted. “Poop sauce.” He clears his throat angrily. His lips twitch nervously. I think he will lose it again and start bzzz-bzzzing himself.
The audience is talking. Each viewer has different opinions, and is debating.
“Poop sauce?” Leo raises an eyebrow. “Seriously?”
“Don’t listen to him. You’re doing just fine,” says Pepper. “Timmy better eat poop sauce before we sauce the poop out of him.”
“Now that is disgusting,” I say.
Timmy doesn’t answer me back. For three minutes, he keeps staring at me in the iAm.
One thousand viewers have stopped watching.
“Go, girl,” says Bellona to me, showing me her fist.
“Okay,” says Timmy. “Your family is spared — only if you play this round till the end.” He relaxes back. “But believe me, I have a feeling this is way out of your league.”
“We’ll see.”
“Don’t do this, Decca.” I hear my mom cry out, but I can’t see her. They have blocked her transmission, so she must be in the crowd.
“It’s okay, Mom,” I scream aloud into the void, fighting the tears. I won’t show the audience one drop of vulnerability. “I can make it. I’ll see you soon.”
I shrug. If they clear my name, I won’t see my family again. It’s the law, even if I win the game and get ranked. But if it saves them, brings back the house they need, and provides a decent living for them, I’ll do it.
“Silence is golden,” Timmy muses. “So shall we begin?” Timmy claps his hands together and
“What?” Timmy raises an eyebrow at the sudden silence. The iScreen shifts to Prophet Xitler, looking angry. “It’s good to be bad, isn’t it?” Timmy tries to force a chuckle. A few among the crowd breathe out in relief, but millions are still silent and angry with him. Timmy disappears from the screen.
He appears again within seconds, sitting on an oversized couch in a fun house, playing a video game, wearing a bandana that says, ‘It’s good to be bad when you’re dealing with the bad.’ He pushes buttons and kills zombies, vampires, and all kinds of real monsters in a huge TV screen. The audience starts to laugh. Then the monsters start to walk out of the screen at him, their faces changing into our faces. He keeps shooting, and we start to die, looking for brains. The audience laughs harder. Prophet Xitler laughs. The camera closes on him as he says, “It’s good to be bad.”
Timmy is forgiven. That’s what the crowd wants you to be: a clown. Although the incident has passed, I wonder how they will sleep at night.
“So back to you, Princess Decca,” says Timmy, sweating. “I promise you if you play the next game, I’ll let your mother go free.”
“No. That’s not enough,” I bite back. If I am going to risk my life for my family, I want the best for them. The best.
The audience makes a worrying sound, as if offended. I see them in the Zeppelins, faces plastered to the glass, with widened eyes, their breath sticking humidly to the inside of the windows, looking at me face to face.
They live up there in heaven. I live down here in hell.
“Do you think you’re in a position to bargain?” Timmy wonders.
“I am the bad one, remember? I am the Monster,” I grunt. “I can do whatever I like. If I play the game, you give my family immunity, as if I have never been born. They clear my name. I know it can be done.”
“It can be done, but it only applies to the ranked teens, not to Monsters. Besides, your dad was in the military. It doesn’t apply to you.” Timmy sighs impatiently.
“Then I won’t play. You can simply shoot me,” I say. “It’s obvious that this part of the game depends on me and my family’s tragedy. So here is the deal. You can have your show and spare my family, or eat your rotten eggs in poop sauce.”
Timmy is silent. He looks disgusted. “Poop sauce.” He clears his throat angrily. His lips twitch nervously. I think he will lose it again and start bzzz-bzzzing himself.
The audience is talking. Each viewer has different opinions, and is debating.
“Poop sauce?” Leo raises an eyebrow. “Seriously?”
“Don’t listen to him. You’re doing just fine,” says Pepper. “Timmy better eat poop sauce before we sauce the poop out of him.”
“Now that is disgusting,” I say.
Timmy doesn’t answer me back. For three minutes, he keeps staring at me in the iAm.
One thousand viewers have stopped watching.
“Go, girl,” says Bellona to me, showing me her fist.
“Okay,” says Timmy. “Your family is spared — only if you play this round till the end.” He relaxes back. “But believe me, I have a feeling this is way out of your league.”
“We’ll see.”
“Don’t do this, Decca.” I hear my mom cry out, but I can’t see her. They have blocked her transmission, so she must be in the crowd.
“It’s okay, Mom,” I scream aloud into the void, fighting the tears. I won’t show the audience one drop of vulnerability. “I can make it. I’ll see you soon.”
I shrug. If they clear my name, I won’t see my family again. It’s the law, even if I win the game and get ranked. But if it saves them, brings back the house they need, and provides a decent living for them, I’ll do it.
“Silence is golden,” Timmy muses. “So shall we begin?” Timmy claps his hands together and
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