January 23 2073. Old York. Alan Walker.
A palpitating paranoia—deep-rooted in my mind since the haze of this morning. Often I would brush it away, only for it to pulse back into the forefront of my thoughts once more.
What exactly transpired this morning?
Yet another piece, missing.
I continue running; Consistently peering over my shoulder in anxiety of them following.
Though it seems I have escaped for now.
My body is barely holding on; my mind is blurry; I'm tired; I'm nauseous. Yet I continue forward towards 'Little Olympia.'
Under-prepared is an understatement.
I come across, in the now dark of night, warehouses in rows, attached to two newly built towers, all lit up by bright, pulsating, colorful lights. halo-images float in the air with text that says 'Little Olympia,' alongside cartoonish hands that point towards the first towers entrance.
Is this how childish it really is when you're not in those grim, underground games?
In government-regulated Player Tests, loosing ones life is much more rare than in the unregulated games I'm used to. It eases my mind slightly. But even still I cannot lose. If I am not marked as a Player Tester here, who knows when another all inclusive game will take place. By then I'll most certainly be long gone.
I trek forward, dragging my feet through the damp asphalt and head towards the tower. my head droops, eyes scan my surroundings through my eyebrows. I veer off the sidewalk and step in a puddle.
My reflection stares back at me through the dark, rippling, muddy water; contrasting neon lights bounce off. My deep-set, haunted eyes take it all in. My face is too thin, my frame too similar. Thankfully, overgrown, black hair covers some of my vision, making it hurt less to see. I pull my eyes away.
A crowd of shouting people pack around the entrance.
"Why must we fight?!"
"Just surrender to the great Deity AHM!"
"These games are only bringing more suffering! Accept AHM as your savior and be granted tranquility!"
The rallying cries of madmen tears through the night. Most high Sigil men surprisingly. I pity the delirious cultists.
Everybody grieves different.
I shove through the crowd to make my way inside.
"Boyyyy" an Adept cultist plants his hand on my shoulder. Reflectively I throw it off.
"Don't fucking touch me" I say.
"You must accept the reckoning as truuuuth. Open your heart to AAAAHHHMMM!" he wails. His eyes grow wide as they lock with mine.
"Youuuuu, you areeee—"
"Alright, alright, enough!" an HW interrupts the crazed lunatic "Let the boy through damn it."
The lunatics open a path. The HW sees my face clearly, noticing my scar, grimacing.
"Tsk. Just a damn Scarred"
I push open the tower doors, stagnant air shocks my nostrils. bright florescent lights blind me. a tumultuous line of varying Sigiled citizens crawls back from dozens of desks where people apply and scan their I.I.D.
As I walk to the nearest line, a Scarred man eyes me down.
"Trouble getting through the Lulu's?" he boasts.
"Look at this one, I give him till the second game." Another adds.
"Oh how generous! Hahaha."
"Bitch took "Little" Olympia, too serious!"
How elementary.
Ignoring them, I stand my place in line. Slowly inching towards a woman at a desk.
Many men and some women are scanned. a halo-screen is displayed each time, showing each individual's name, date of birth, Sigil, and other information I cant make out. The many Scarred display an image of an X, what I will be seeing. The Nulled display a zero representing their lack of a mark. The Passers display a bronze P like the color and mark of their Sigil. The Adept display a silver A. And a Cognate a couple lines over gets scanned for a marble white, crescent C to appear.
"Next!" she shouts.
I walk up and lay my eyes on her. Smooth skin, no Sigil defiling her perfect proportions, but far too imperfect to be a mere Null. Her hair long and straight, as dark as her entrancing eyes, contrasted by her pale skin. Within me I feel a warmth for this woman, it confuses me. It worries me.
"I.I.D please." She says softly.
"Oh, y-yeah, s-sorry"
Why the hell am I stuttering over this woman!
I hold my arm out in front of me, she scans the imprinted I on my wrist. The halo-screen display flashes open from the desk. It's backwards from my point of view. But I see it clearly.
In place of where my Sigil were to be displayed.
A joke.
This is some rich bastard's idea of a fucking joke.
Someone, somewhere, is laughing. The man who injected me at the clinic? The eerie woman in front of me? Or someone higher up, some elite must've just put a target on my back for their own sick amusement.
This isn't a gift. It's a death sentence.
A Scarred with a Cognate's mark... I won't last a day. They didn't just mark me. They painted a bulls-eye on me.
Looking only slightly surprised at the screen, she quickly closes it out...
and laughs.
"Tehehe, well, Happy Birthday, Alan Walker! Good luck in the games!" she tilts her head, her face contorts, wearing an uncanny expression. A wide grin. A devilish grin. A witches grin.
I look around to see if anyone had observed the display. To my luck no one seems to be paying attention, or they don't show on their face that they had seen.
I sit, waiting for my name to be called for, like others before me. My heart pounding.
"Hey! I heard that lady say happy birthday to you. Happy Birthday man!"
A Null approaches me. His giddy self, scraggy beard, and bloated belly annoy me.
"Thanks." I halfheartedly reply.
"I'm so excited! I really think today I can become a player! Or I guess a player tester but still. Imagine being on the rankings! Being able to actually participate in the Exams!"
How naive is this guy?!
"My wife and daughter are really counting on me to take it home this time! Its hard for a Null out here."
Poor guy...
"You can always retake the aptitude test, cant you?" I pityingly reply.
"I swear they make it harder each year! Trust me I have tried but I'm at that age where the old brain just don't grow no more..."
"Oh, I see. I'm sorr—"
"Ah, get this pretentious dick off the display!" A Scarred man yells while huddled in a group around a HS.
I drown out the noise, and try to peer through the gaps between the men, seeing what broadcast they are making such a fuss about.
In a crowd filled area, on a stage, at the edge of the cliffed crater of Western China, a man stands, white hair flowing in the wind, powerful, not in his stature, but in his presence. Anyone would recognize him. Enel Huang, 'The World's Most Powerful Man'.
"I affirm my country. I affirm its people. And I affirm the will that binds us together!"
"By the decree of the new powers that govern us, I have been named this nation's Angel Communicator, and the fate of its Olympians now rests in my hands. On the day of the Reckoning, like all of you, I lost everything. I lost my home, I lost my family, and I lost my father—a man who was not only my blood but our president."
"But the homes within our cities is not the only thing that was lost that day. I lost something more profound."
"I lost my ignorance!"
"An ignorance that allowed a tragedy of this magnitude to erupt in our world. But for everything that was taken, something was given. That day, I did not just gain a title. I gained a singular, unbreakable purpose. I gained the clarity of a world with nothing left to lose. And I will forge that clarity into a power to fight for the future that was stolen from us!"
"I will not stand by as a mere Angel Communicator, an ear for the messengers of our new "God". I will stand with our chosen. I will bleed with them. I, myself, will fight as a player on the field of Olympia to reclaim this nation's soul and take back its freedom!"
The men standing at the display roar their envious opinions at the man. He is far too perfect for reason. Not a single asymmetry in his face, not a single quiver in his voice, not a single lie in his tone. He is the strongest. The smartest. The world's most powerful man. There's no doubt about it. Yet I hate him all the same. Men like that just don't exist. I don't trust him for a damn second.
He lost everything. His family, his father... the President of his nation.
And in that loss, he found a new goal. A new power.
He stands on the edge of his own grave...
And he speaks like a damn king.
So what?
I lost everything too.
And what did I become? A Scarred. A murderer. A body haunted by a mind I can't control.
The men here hate him for his perfection. For his Power.
I hate him because he is everything I ever wanted to be.
Someone people love.
"'Alan Walker!'" An HW yells my name and escorts me down a white, narrow, mellow lit hallway into what looks like an interrogation room.
A woman sits at a metal table in the cramped room, two frozen-still, masked, suited HWs stand behind her with pulse rifles. A camera in the corner of the room.
The woman's face I immediately recognize.
Its the woman at the desk.
"Hello Alan!" The maniacal-looking woman greets me and gestures me to sit in the chair facing opposite her.
I sit.
"Are you familiar with the Player Tests?"
"No," I lie. She chuckles, seeing through me.
"Okay, then! For now, you are just participating in an interview, so do not stress too much as we need to examine your determinations and get to understand you better! Just all to see if you are a good fit to be a Player Tester!" she claps her hands together smiling at me
"After this interview, you will be participating in six different games, each representing a different section within Olympia! As the Angels have described to us, we have lined up for you each of these games, Sport, Battle, Mind, Race, Survive, and... Game! All not in that order as we don't yet know the trueee order!" All her words are exaggerated and kiddish.
"So for now I will just be asking you a series of questions! Please try your hardest to quickly think of an answer, no matter how hard of a question it is! Okay dear?"
"Y-yes, I understand."
"Perfect." Her smile curves even more uncharacteristically on her face.
"What made you participate in 'Little Olympia'?!"
"To become a Player Tester and rise within the rankings..."
"And to bring back my life from its current disposition."
"Okay. I will accept that answer for now. But one more rule... don't lie." Upon speaking those words, her voice halts in its cheerfulness.
she picks the voice back up. "Okayyyy question number tw—"
"I would have died if I had not participated. Some way or another, that is."
"Next question then." She smiles, pleased at my answer.
"What makes a poor man?"
What kind of a question is that? Is there a wrong answer to this?
She looks at me impatiently. time is ticking on an answer.
What kind of answer is she looking for. A literal one? A moral one?
"A man who has nothing left to lose but believes he still has something to protect." I answer
An honest answer. She just wants an honest answer.
She dances her finger at me.
"Mhmmm, Correct!"
The rooms pressure is harsh.
What the hell kind of a question is that for an interview.
Why is it so interrogatory in here!?
A game.
This is not a mere interview.
Its a fucking game.
"Question number three!"
"What makes a bad man, Alan." She says statically.
Another. What the hell kind of game is this. It must be Mind right?
No. What if its Game.
What is the puzzle. What is the key?
What the hell is the answer!
"A man who mistakes control for love, and uses strength to create fear..."
"A bad man is a coward who wears the mask of a king."
Her face slowly twists into an unnerving frown, she looks down. Clutching her waist.
"Wrong." She whispers, never once breaking eye contact with me.
Grabbing out a holster...
a revolver.
With a 3 round barrel.
She enters a bullet.
I'm frozen. No. I cant act. The HWs will gun me down if I do.
She spins the barrel, points it at me.
66.6%.
My entire life relys on that 66.6%
Click
The gun doesn't fire.
I'm alive.
Why.
Why is my life at stake in even a damn government regulated Player Test.
"'All inclusive'" I laugh.
"You, understand now?" she replies.
"It doesn't matter what I say."
"You're going to kill us all anyway." I say exhaustively.
"No, no, Alan, you got it all wrong! It's quite the contrary, really!"
"I want you to win!"
she points towards the camera in the corner of the room.
"In fact, they are quite interested in you. 'The Scarred Cognate' they're calling you!"
They?
Oh.
"Hahahahaha" I laugh.
"A Player Gamble." I say.
"Only the biggest." She replies in a melodic tone.
I have only ever heard of them. In the underground tests I participated in, death was never the goal. Though it wasn't especially rare. There were always bets placed, but never to encourage death. it's the same with the regulated tests. On the contrary, Player Gambles seek to kill all those except the true strongest. Elite men and woman watch and sometimes participate in the killing. Some watch for the entertainment of it all. Some watch to find and sponsor a truly remarkable player.
And it seems that they have their eye on me.
"Lets hurry along, now! Next question."
My heart is beating out of my chest. I try to control my breathing and my shaking to just think.
What the hell is the key to the puzzle!
"What makes a good man?" She asks
She wants the truth. An honest answer. A calculated answer. An answer separated from myself. An answer that will help me survive.
"There are no good men. There are only men who are good at lying to themselves about the things they have to do to survive."
Her eyes dig deep in my soul, face blank of expression. I cant tell if she is pleased with my answer.
I cant take it back now.
"Good. Next one!" her liveliness returns, my heart continues beating.
"Now tell me, Alan."
"What makes an Olympian?"
I think, my mind rushing with possible answers. She stares me down. Time is running out.
"3"
Think, damn it!
"2"
"A cog."
"A—a what?" She stammers.
"A great and sizable cog in a grand machine, serving a purpose beyond itself."
"I see." She laughs.
"How poetic... but if that cog were to... break, then the whole machine halts, Alan."
"Yes, you may be right. But also, if that cog were powerful and sizable enough... it could reverse the flow of the entire grand machine."
"I accept. Next question then." She looks satisfied. Not grinning creepily, not static in her expression, and not grimacing towards me. Just looking satisfied.
How many damn questions are there?!"
"How did you get your scar."
My heart sinks.
She knows.
"I-I killed..."
"I killed nineteen men."
"Who else, Alan."
She is going to make me say it.
My heads droops to the floor. Tears blur my vision. I want to run. I cant run. I've only ever ran.
"My father. I killed my father."
"Was it truly you, who killed them?"
"No... No I couldn't have. I swear."
"What about your mother, Alan?"
I pick my head up and confront her eyes. Her soulless, dark, enchanting eyes. Like the skies of tomorrow, like the fractured, desolate world beyond Olympia.
"I loved my mother. With all my soul, I loved her. No matter the demon that inhabits me would I ever harm her. Id drag the damn beast down to hell with me if it ever tried."
The words are truth. Some part of me believes I was trying to protect her. Its all too hazy to know.
My emotions laid bare, she doesn't grab her gun.
"I believe you, Alan. Next question" she smiles at me. It makes my heart sink deeper.
"Is God real."
What the fuck kind of a question is that!
There is no right answer. There just isn't.
"I would be ignorant to say yes. So if there is a God, he is either a monster or a coward who has abandoned his post. So no, not in any way that matters."
She stares through me. Sighing—Her Face like stone.
"How foolish."
How! What the hell was I supposed to say!
"There is a god, Alan."
"His name is AHM."
A bullet in the barrel.
She cocks it—Spins it.
She points it towards my forehead.
33.3%
It's over.
If God is real.
He would just let me die.
Click
"You really are a lucky one!" her smile flickers back.
"Next question!"
There is no key. Its just luck. If I say the right thing I pass. If I don't I die. Its as simple as that. There are no rules beyond my answers.
I just have to say what she wants to hear.
"A ship is repaired over a century. With every single plank of wood replaced, one by one. At the end, is it still the same ship?"
The Ship of Theseus.
I've stopped asking myself what these damn questions are.
But what the hell is the answer!
No. I know.
She knows me.
She knows my past.
"You're not asking about a ship. You're asking if I am still me. The answer is, it doesn't matter what I am, as long as the hull is still floating and the damn ship still sails."
"Very observant!" she yelps
"I must say. I like your answer. So I will accept it! Now neeeeext question!"
It really just depends on what answers she likes.
This damn witch.
This is no game. There is no strategy.
Its just a gamble.
"What is the difference, between a King, and his own shadow?!"
"Easy." I say with my false confidence. Hoping my answer will please her.
"Nothing, there is no difference. In the right light, a shadow can be a thousand feet tall, making all men bow. It is an illusion that holds real power. The king is the same. His power is an illusion—a story we all agree to believe in—that has real, tangible consequences"
She clasps her hands together. Letting out a hum to let me know shes pleased.
"I accept it!"
"You are truuuly on a role! Almost done! Now neeext question!!!"
"You see two people drowning. One is the last good scientist, who holds the cure to a very deadly plague! The other... is your mother! You can only save one. Who do you choose?!"
What does she want to hear for this one. The scientist surely. No. I would save my mother every damn time.
"3"
I think. And think.
"2"
I flash the HWs a menacing glance.
The don't react.
"1"
I get it.
I look dead at her. This time my face contorts like hers. A smile. An ignorant smile.
"Both."
"HAHAHAHA. That is no—"
"I would save both. I would figure it out god damn it!"
"Are we ten years old? Do you think you've cracked the code?"
"No" I laugh.
"I know I have!" I exclaim.
"An ignorant answer, I get it. But I simply would just saveboth!"
"Way to manipulate the rules." She says, grinning as she loads the final bullet in the revolver's chamber.
"There are no rules! Its just a damn gamble! A game of fucking luck!" I shout, bolting up from my chair.
Expectedly... the HWs don't react.
"Exactly! So don't ever be bound by the rules of a game, Alan!" She drowns out my thoughts in her malicious, frenzied laugh, standing eye to eye with me. She cocks the gun, pointing it at my head.
Exactly...
0%
If I am shot with this bullet there is a 0 percent chance of survival.
But I have far greater odds.
100%
I have a 100% chance of winning this game.
The trial of Mind.
My hands flash, my head dashes to the side.
I rip away the gun.
Turning it against her.
The HWs...
They don't move an inch.
She lets out a groan, perhaps of relief. Falling back into her chair.
"Congratulations. Alan Walker. You have passed the first game of 'Little Olympia,' the trial of Mind." She says to me. Still smiling.
The frozen HWs behind her disappear.
A halo-image.
I let out a relieved laugh.
Just like I thought.
Behind me the door swings open and real HWs appear.
After passing the interview for the position in hell, demons have come to take me to the seven circles.
"Alan." The witch calls to me.
"Final question." She says.
"Yes."
"What is it that you want in life?" she asks, softly, sincerely.
Why does she care.
"Remember now. Be truthful."
"To live. I just want to live a normal life."
"So I'll fight the damned demons and Dante if that's what it takes."
She laughs.
And laughs.
A familiar laugh.
A sinister laugh.
Like that of a witch.
"Perfect."