Dark Arena

[Harakiri]

WARNING-Mature Content (Which makes you want to read this even more, doesn't it?)

 

I have nowhere to post this, and if you still find this too adult for the forum you can delete it Archimage, I just need some constructive criticism. It's a short story that leads to another short story that leads to the main story, but you should be able to understand it well. I guess I'll post it in parts so the first story will be like five parts, so on and so forth. Saturday I go to Florida for two weeks, so don't expect any updates for two weeks. This was inspired a lot by Battle Royale, a Japanese book/manga/movie, so if you like this, check those out. Since Battle Royale's back story was kind of lenient and never talked much about America, you could even say this is what was going on in the Empire of America.

 

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DARK ARENA

 

BY: RATCHET573

 

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Part 1: Before the Arena

 

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Over the course of the years the population has grown incredibly. Every country is dealing with overpopulation. A lot of it can be blamed on thousands of genetic tests conducted throughout the world. Whether it be bringing the dead back to life, implanting a human brain into a cyborg thus creating an artificial version of the deceased, or if it was just cloning, it all added up to more and more humans (and artificial humans) walking the Earth.

 

 

 

The government's of the various countries biggest problems were the fact that more housing was needed, more room was needed for it's people. More people meant that more food needed to be produced, more gas needed to be available. Because of this, economies crashed. Wars were waged against countries needing more land for their people.

 

 

 

And the world continued to fall into ruin.

 

 

 

American government were now faced with a serious problem. How do we control our population? Sex was America's new favorite hobby. More and more teenagers were getting pregnant, more and more people were finding themselves giving birth. Sex fiends were never caught because there were so many of them. Rapists were everywhere. Dead bodies were piling in apartment basements of crazy men who could also be found in their bedrooms hacking the prostitute they picked up to bits and freezing her body parts.

 

 

 

The president needed a way to stop this. His idea was simple. Combine the excitement of a television game show or reality show with the action of a video game. Television was also a favorite past time of Americans, and they were demanding more.

 

 

 

I'll give them more, the President would soon say in a famous American speech that would legalize a new way of controlling the population. Arena fighting.

 

 

 

Every week, two hundred and one people of each of the fifty states would be sent to an arena.

 

 

 

First would be the convicts on death row, then the convicts in for life, then it would move to known sex offenders, and finally to random people. They would then fight to the death, and the last one standing would be allowed to live like nothing had happened.

 

 

 

Once the population of the United States was stable as it was twenty-five years before, then the President would call this off.

 

 

 

Of course the people rebelled, but this was quite simply the easiest way of solving the problem besides killing the people out of nowhere. Having men with guns walk the streets and randomly shoot people because they were born.

 

 

 

They were born. They had no control over this. This was inhumane. It was wrong.

 

 

 

At least you get a chance, the President would retort, at least you have the chance of being that one man who triumphs over two hundred.

 

 

 

Why air it on the television?

 

 

 

Because, then you have something to watch. Our world is chaos, you can't complain that it's inhumane to watch the cleansing of this chaos.

 

 

 

By killing random human beings?

 

 

 

What do you want me to do? Send them in a rocket ship to the moon and let them build a colony?

 

 

 

But...

 

 

 

It's for the good of the economy, of the world, that you accept that you might be fighting in these arena games. Every week I will make sure the channels air the percentage of people we need eliminated, compared to the number we have eliminated. That way, you can know you are just that much safer.

 

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Jason Jones sat in his kitchen in Illinois a year later, watching the small television set on the counter. It aired the fights, people fighting hand to hand, blood flying across the camera. No one dared hit a cameraman. One of the rules was that if somebody ever attacked the staff, they would get their brains blown out.

 

 

 

A referee was now on camera, a shotgun in one hand and a whistle in the other. He wore the black and white stripes that basketball referees used to wear when it was popular.. The referee watched intently, a glint in his eyes. The sick [bleep] enjoyed this. It made Jason want to reach through the television and kill him.

 

 

 

Jason's brother, Arthur, walked into the kitchen and opened a cupboard, grabbing a bowl and a box of cereal. He sat at the table with Jason and made his breakfast. He ate about half of it before he noticed how intently Jason watched the fighting, the crazy action taking place in the arena. There were even people, civilians who had no idea if they would ever be sent into that very arena to die, watching and cheering.

 

 

 

Why are you watching this? I thought you were against this? Asked Arthur.

 

 

 

Jason turned his gaze from the screen to his brother. I'm waiting for the percentages.

 

Arthur nodded and had another spoonful of cereal.

 

 

 

Jason continued to watch the brutal war for another hour before the percentages showed up.

 

 

 

50/50.

 

 

 

It was half way over. The president predicted it would be over in a year. He was completely off.

 

 

 

The graph was replaced by a live video of referees outside of the arena, shooting down protesters.

 

 

 

THIS IS WRONG! Yelled one woman holding a picket sign. Those were her last thoughts as her head found it's way, in pieces, to the ground.

 

 

 

The announcer then replaced the screams and chants of the protesters. Such a shame they couldn't have kept their opinions to themselves. They now add themselves to the death count and to the percentage! You folks out there have only one year to wait and hope. One year to know if your safe...

 

 

 

Jason turned the TV off. One more year of killing, of murder. One more year of cries of family members as their sons, daughters, wives, husbands, grandpas, grandmas...one more year of the death of thousands.

 

 

 

Arthur took this moment to walk into the room. You finally done watching that crap?

 

 

 

Jason nodded. He stood and walked with his brother to the front door.

 

 

 

Jason and Arthur lived in the family home. Their parents had both been killed in the arena, and after much mourning, they had now grown to accept that their parents did it because it was their duty. Even if the two boys, both eighteen, didn't feel it was right, they accepted that their parents did it so that the two boys wouldn't have to watch them be killed.

 

 

 

Jason shook these dark thoughts from his head as they walked to the Mustang parked in the driveway.

 

 

 

Arthur drove, and Jason sat on the passenger side. He hated not driving, not focusing on the road. When in the passenger seat he looked at the houses, and the children in boxes, at people scrounging for food in the garbage bins. It made him both mad and sad.

 

 

 

The store was packed, as usual. Jason bought a couple frozen meals, a steak, a couple snack items and sandwich stuff. Arthur bought whatever he could find, as usual.

 

 

 

After getting through the checkout and getting the food into the car they drove home and put it all away.

 

 

 

That's when there was a knock at the door.

 

 

 

I'll get it. Arthur said cheerily.

 

 

 

Okay. Jason continued to shove food into the cupboards.

 

 

 

It took Arthur ten minutes to walk into the kitchen, his face sullen, tears welling in his eyes. He held an open envelope in his hand, the paper not even half pulled out.

 

 

 

What's wrong? Asked Jason.

 

 

 

Arthur handed the paper to Jason. His hands were shaking.

 

 

 

When Jason read the first line, he knew why Arthur was shaking.

 

 

 

Dear Arthur Jones,

 

You have been selected to join us in our arena.

 

 

 

No [bleep]ing way. Jason was about to cry as well.

 

 

 

Due to the rise of the nation's population, the government have decided that the easiest way to save the country is to make people like you fight in arena games. You and two hundred others have been selected to fight in the arena located in the Peoria fairgrounds. Please be there by five in the morning on the date of January 26.

 

 

 

Thank you for your cooperation,

 

United Federation for Population Control

 

 

 

Arthur's tear stained face turned toward Jason.

 

 

 

I don't want to die. He was able to sputter out.

 

 

 

Jason hugged his brother tightly. He couldn't believe this. First mom, then dad. And now Arthur. How was Jason going to survive without his family? His friend Jon was still alive, but that was it.

 

 

 

Jason took Arthur into his bedroom and lay him down on the bed. Please, quit crying. We can get through this.

 

 

 

Arthur shook his head. I'm dead.

 

 

 

Jason didn't reply to that. He couldn't. He knew his brother could not survive whatever he was going to face in the arena. He went downstairs into the kitchen and called Jon.

 

 

 

Hello? Jon answered.

 

 

 

Yeah, it's Jason.

 

 

 

Hi...Jason. The man sounded like he was crying as well.

 

 

 

No way. He couldn't have...no...

 

 

 

Jon, Arthur is going to be killed.

 

 

 

Jason noticed Jon's crying even more.

 

 

 

Not him too!

 

 

 

Jon...you...

 

 

 

Yes. Jon answered.

 

 

 

Jason held back tears.

 

 

 

Jon. I'm going instead of my brother. Jason did not know where it came from. He had no idea how the words had registered in his brain and made it out of his mouth.

 

 

 

Jason, I always knew you were a good man. Jon laughed between cries.

 

 

 

Jason hung up the phone. Jon would know why. The emotional distress the three were going through was enough to make someone go crazy. They were strong though.

 

 

 

Jason went to his brother's room and stole the letter from his hands.

 

 

 

I'm going instead of you.

 

 

 

Now Arthur looked at Jason like he was crazy.

 

 

 

Why? He asked.

 

 

 

Because I know more about combat than you. Jason laughed. I was the nerd who beat every bully to a pulp, remember.

 

 

 

Arthur remembered a fight where a tall, fat kid had stolen Jason's trigonometry book. Jason had kicked the kid in the ribs, breaking two of them, and then shoved the kid's head into a locker door, breaking his nose.

 

 

 

Jason was prone to violence, and had been in the local Juvenile Detention Center.

 

 

 

Jason was a fighter. He had more of a chance then Arthur, who had always been on the receiving end of punches, but had never thrown one.

 

 

 

Arthur nodded. Thank you so much...

 

 

 

And thus began the adventures of Jason Jones.

 

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Another part will be posted soon!

[Harakiri]

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Part 2: Enter the Dark Arena

 

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He drove to the designated area on the designated day at the designated time. There was a parking lot sitting in front of a grocery store. A large, dinghy bus was parked in front, and the letters playing across the electronic sign at the front read Dark Arena.

 

 

 

Jason carried a duffel bag over his shoulder. He slowed his gait entering the bus, and showed the bus driver what was inside. He didn't even look past the blanket that sat at the top. Perfect.

 

 

 

What the [bleep] do you need that stuff for? The bus driver was snotty, fat, and looked like he belonged in a trailer park.

 

 

 

This is my stuff. I'm surviving this goddamn game of yours, and then I'll make sure to get back home on this bus.

 

 

 

The bus driver laughed. Believe that if you want.

 

 

 

Jason did not respond to this, just sat toward the front. There were about fifty people in the bus, tons of tough looking bald guys who's eyes squinted like they couldn't hold up the muscle. There were elderly folks, and even children of every age, each crying for their mothers or fathers.

 

 

 

Jason decided that he would sit next to one of the older kids, who didn't seem to give a damn.

 

 

 

Hey. Jason said. He set the duffel bag between his legs.

 

 

 

The kid just nodded.

 

 

 

You looking forward to this? Jason asked.

 

 

 

What the hell kind of question is that? The kid cried out.

 

 

 

Jason smirked. You kids are going to form your own cliques during this game. I want those cliques to stay as far away as possible from the fighting. I don't know you, but you seem reliable. I know you care for these other little ones who are going in to get slaughtered.

 

 

 

The kid looked up at Jason. How'd you know?

 

 

 

Jason smiled. I just had a feeling.

 

 

 

How can you smile at a time like this? The kid was crying even harder now.

 

 

 

Because I've got a plan to get the hell out of this.

 

 

 

Yeah right. Tons of people have tried.

 

 

 

This one will work. But we need to survive the first half of the games, which should be easy. There will be a lot of the elderly, and after surveying a lot of games over the past month, I know the elderly are the first to go. Then the weak looking. Kids are usually afterward, mostly because nobody wants to kill a kid except for the crazy ones who fight in the final minutes of the battle.

 

 

 

The kid knew he could depend on Jason. There was just something about him he could trust.

 

 

 

What's going to happen at the end of the first half?

 

 

 

Quite a bit. You wouldn't believe who I was able to contact.

 

 

 

Jason whispered the name in his ear.

 

 

 

No way!

 

 

 

Yeah, way.

 

 

 

The kid laughed. Jason did so to.

 

 

 

The bus rolled on, into the Peoria fairgrounds, and towards the large arena. It was getting dark out, and spotlights were waving back and forth. The inside was probably blindingly bright.

 

 

 

The bus entered the gates of the arena, and parked inside a warehouse like area.

 

 

 

Everybody got out, and noticed that another hundred and fifty or so people were all crowding around a man in a white suit.

 

 

 

Hey, there's the rest of today's meat. Come on, crowd around. Hey, what the [bleep] are you doing? Duffel bag? He was directing this at Jason.

 

 

 

I'm just carrying some things. Jason said.

 

 

 

Don't talk so goddamn sweetly to me. I swear to god I'll kill you before you enter the arena if you continue to be so snide. Now, what's in the [bleep]ing bag?

 

 

 

Nothing. I'll put it back in the bus if you want.

 

 

 

Do it! The man in white was pissed off. Jason threw the duffel bag into the first seat on the left row. The bus driver sneered as Jason left the bus and joined the crowd.

 

 

 

Jon was standing toward the back of the crowd and Jason put a hand on his shoulder.

 

 

 

The people here are about as stupid as you can get. Jason whispered his his ear. They didn't care that I was not Arthur Jones, and they did not check my bag.

 

 

 

What's in the bag? Jon asked.

 

 

 

In between a bunch of blankets there is a bomb and tons of gunpowder. Once it goes off, the whole place will be a mess.

 

 

 

YOU! I SWEAR TO GOD! The man in white's face was turning red. He looked comical. Jason quit whispering and listened to what the man in white had to say.

 

 

 

Now then, you idiots are all going to go inside and stand on top of one of the white dots spray painted in various areas. Choose one. Then wait. It will probably be a couple minutes before we can get the game going. Remember that at the half way point weapons will be available if you can get a hold of them. Five axes, five knives, nine brass knuckles, and one pistol. Now then, if you try to get out, the referee's will blow your brains out. If you beat up a referee or member of the staff you will get your brains blown out. So, get your [wagon] in gear and lets go.

 

 

 

Two hundred and one men, women, children, old folks, convicts, rich people, poor people, whites, blacks, Hispanics, farmers, business owners, teachers, every kind of person you could ever think of, all walking into a small hall in single file to walk out into the Dark Arena, the ultimate game of life and death.

 

 

 

Jon, you have to survive the first half of this. Jason whispered.

 

 

 

Why? What's going on?

 

 

 

You wouldn't believe who I was able to contact.

 

 

 

Who?

 

 

 

Jason mouthed the name Zach Archer.

 

 

 

Jesus! The leader of the resistance movement? You hired him?Jon whispered back.

 

 

 

Yup. He'll be here at the halfway mark. He has another appointment at the moment, but he can make it and help us bring down this hellhole. He has the remote for the bomb, and he didn't even make me pay! He wants to help!

 

 

 

This will make us wanted fugitives!

 

 

 

Not if Archer and his rebels can find a way to destroy the government. And I am sure he could.

 

 

 

They walked out to the arena. People in the stands were screaming, the referees paced back and forth, cradling their shotguns in their arms. About five yellow school buses stood in various places around the arena, and in the center was a large platform, atop it stood a man with slicked back hair and a microphone. Camera men were running about everywhere, most wearing nothing on their torsos but the Kevlar body armor provided to them by their boss.

 

 

 

On the North side of the arena, atop the stand stood a giant television, currently doing a slide show of all the people who were fighting's picture and descriptions.

 

 

 

Jason and Jon stood towards the back of the arena. The kid from the bus and a couple other kids crowded onto dots around Jason.

 

 

 

"We're going to survive." The kid said.

 

 

 

"Yes we will. All the old seem to be crowding around the entrance that we came from." The roar of the crowd was deafening and Jason had to literally scream to talk to the kids and Jon. "The old will go. Then a couple of fights will take place between the men with more muscles."

 

 

 

Suddenly, fireworks shot up from the stands, exploding into dazzling lights in the sky. The announcer smiled brightly and waved his arm across his body.

 

 

 

"WELCOME..."

 

 

 

"TO..." The crowd said.

 

 

 

"DARK ARENA!" Both the crowd and the announcer screamed in unison.

 

 

 

"Tonight's fight is going to be action packed and is promised to make you grin or cringe! Some key people for tonight, a talk show host from Chicago who's show had been running for twelve years..." The name was read off and then more key people were mentioned. "A WWII vet" "A restaurant owner" "An Actor".

 

 

 

It took about five minutes for the announcer to yell out "ARE YOU READY!"

 

 

 

"YEAH!" The crowd screamed back at him.

 

 

 

"WELL THEN LET'S GET THIS GAME STARTED!" More fireworks, more screams from the crowd.

 

 

 

That is when the chaos began...

 

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Constructive criticism would be appreciated. This is not going to really be an integral part of my main story, this will just cover the first two chapters of it. I won't post my main story because that's my big writing project, but if it isn't too great I'll post it here. It's going to be an expected 6-700 pages.