Murderball

An open garage door, with white paint drawing a square around it with the letters 'GOAL'. It's reminiscent of a makeshift goal for a children's soccer game. But the people standing around the door aren't children. The six of us are dressed in black suits, and rather than uniforms and soccer shoes, all of us have firearms and cell phones. And in two hours, most of us will likely be dead.

What we're playing here is not soccer. In order to reduce incarceration costs, the government has instituted a game called 'Murderball', where two teams of six death row inmates each try to bring a digital ball to the opposing team's goal area. The ball is loaded into one of the specially-made cell phones the contestants hold, and can be stolen or passed by holding the cell phones close to each other. Oh, and we're all carrying firearms. I have a sniper rifle for distance shots and a handgun for close-range defense. We're free - and even encouraged - to cause each other phyiscal harm or even kill one another. The prize for winning - at least for those of the winning team still alive by the end of the match - is a choice between prize money and government work, the option to play again for increased rewards, or freedom. The penalty for losing is death.

Our cell phones are vital in this game. They're our method of communication in the team, our radar, our way of reading announcements, our map, our timer -- simply put, if you lose your cell phone, you're fucked. As such, all six of us are holding our phones in tension, waiting for the signal for the game to start. Before the start of the game, we were asked to pick two weapons and enter a name into our cell phones. The cell phones display our names and weapons, and will display those of the enemies as well once the game starts.

In order to better memorize our respective tactical duties, our team has chosen to name ourselves systematically after soccer positions. I'm 'Midfielder', giving support to the attackers from a distance. The short fat guy over there, 'Keeper', will defend our base using a sniper rifle and remote controlled explosives. Defender, the tall angry-looking guy, will kill any opponent who comes too close with a charged laser handgun and a regular handgun for if the lasergun runs out of charge. Striker, the older-looking guy, will lead the attack with a machine gun and grenades, while Left and Right will support him with machine guns and hand guns. Our plan is to resolutely charge into enemy territory to end the game well before its two-hour time limit.

Our cell phones light up all at once. 'GAME START', the display reads. 'BALL CARRIER: REAPER'. The enemy will start with the ball, putting us at a disadvantage. Well, only one way to solve that. I nod to the other attackers, and we charge forward over the decayed roads and ruined buildings.

The game takes place in an abandoned city area, and is broadcast live on television. Throughout the game, countless helicopters fly above the area to record the battle. Our suits also contain several cameras each, allowing viewers to see the action from up close. Despite the game's short existence, it's already garnered a huge viewerbase, becoming the most watched sport on television. I guess it must be really interesting for them to watch us die.

As we search for a good position to ambush our enemies, I check my cell phone for the enemy team's formation. But as I bring up the formation screen...
"What...is...this...?!"
Noticing me standing still in shock, the other three also stop running.
"What's wrong?"
Left asks the obvious question.
"What, what the fuck is this?! Are they screwing with us?!"
"The enemy's formation, right? Show it, what's up with it?"
I show Striker the phone's display in response to his question.
"What isn't up with this formation?! It makes no sense!"
All enemies are still at their base. But that's the least strange thing about it. Our enemies' names...are Reaper, Reaper, Reaper, Reaper, Reaper and Reaper.
"They all have the same name..."
"Looks like we're playing against Team Reaper today."
Right makes a snarky remark as Left states the obvious.
"That's not all, dammit! Just look at their weapons! They're just screwing with us, they're screwing with us!"
The first Reaper has two sniper rifles. The second Reaper has two handguns. The third has two machine guns. Two charged lasers. Two more machine guns. Two more handguns.
"...Oh, I get it. Yes, they definitely are screwing with us. To think nobody's done that before..."
"You get it? Why the hell did they choose such an illogical set of weapons...?!"
"They're hiding their individual identities. If everybody is 'Reaper', you don't know who 'Reaper' is, right?"
I guess...that does make sense.
Striker continues his explanation.
"Just like that, they're hiding their weapons. They're standing still to redistribute their weapons in reasonable ways without it being registered on the formation screen. See, if you die, the enemy will know there is no attacking sniper left. But if we kill one of them, we have no idea what role we've eliminated."
Damn. It looks like they got us good...
"Anyways, they're starting to move. Let's go."
On Striker's signal, we start to run again.

Having the ball is a beneficial thing for the team, but a curse for the individual. Your phone blocks all other functions, displaying only a ball on the display, and on the map you're highlighted as an orange circle, making you an easy target. You also can't turn off the phone, making it impossible to hide. You need the support of others to make it to the other side alive.

"Midfielder, you can see the two of us down here, correct?"
A voice rings out from my phone. The map displays the orange circle coming closer.
All other enemies are missing from the radar. Are they going for an all-out attack? If so, they're quite slow...
"Yes, I can see you clearly from here, Striker. The area to your right is blocked by buildings and out of range for me. Push the carrier to the left, if possible."
The orange circle draws closer.
I check my scope once again to make sure my rifle is set correctly.
Closer and closer. The orange circle draws closer to the ambush point...
"Interesting, that orange circle?"
I am confronted with a handgun pointed straight at my face as I turn around.
The gun belongs to the smug-looking man in front of me.
"I asked a question. Is it interesting?"
"Wh-who are you...?!"
The man snorts at my question.
"I'm Reaper. Surely you could've read that from your cell phone? I came here to kill you, so as you seem unable to hold even a simple conversation, I guess I'll just execute my task and return."
Then...a dry bang.
The smug man collapses in front of me.
"...Return in a body bag, that is."
"Took you long enough, action hero."
Right was standing by to defend me - an obvious target, a lone sniper with his phone on - as Striker and Left lured the carrier to the ambush point. And he almost failed at it, dammit.
"You have to wait for the perfect moment."
"This isn't a fucking action movie. You three need me to survive, you know. Now go join Striker and Left down there."
Immediately after Right left, noise starts coming from my phone.
"Fuck, Left, stay here, don't fucking move! Midfielder, support! We need support, attackers from front and right!"
The voice is almost drowned out by machine gun fire.
I immediately rush up to my rifle and start looking for targets. Immediate, trained movements. Movements I regret ever training.
"Dammit Striker, I told you my range was blocked to the right! What the fuck have you two been doing?!"
"We've been ambushed! At least one machine gunner and a sniper went ahead of the carrier!"
From behind the buildings, a machine gun-wielding target emerged.
"Gotcha..."
At the same time, the noise from the phone increases.
"Left! Fuck! Left, hang on, get up, Left!!"
I pull the trigger.
"Dammit Left, say something!"
A split second later, the man in my sight collapses like a puppet. It doesn't feel like I've killed a human being. But deep inside, I know. I...took that man's life just now, with a single finger movement.
When I turn to look at my cell phone, I notice the orange circle is in a vulnerable position.
"Midfielder, Left took a shot to the head, he's unconscious. What will we do?"
I change my aim, and sure enough, the carrier enters my vision.
"Leave him."
He's not even running, he must think he's safe there.
"We'll leave him behind to die?"
"Dead weight. He took a bullet to the head, he's dead either way. Do you want just him to die, or do you want us all to die?"
I pull the trigger.
"Roger."
My cellphone immediately notifies me.
'REAPER HAS DIED'.
'CARRIER IS DEAD'.
A mere second, a mere pull of the trigger. I have taken a life once again.
"Midfielder, good job! Right is on his way to collect the ball!"
Collect...the ball...?!
"Wait, Striker! Call him back! He's not going to survive that!"
But before I can finish, my cellphone lights up once again.
'RIGHTWINGER HAS DIED'.
"Dammit Striker, you fucking knew there was a sniper there!"
"I thought he'd retreated! I swear to God, he moved from his position and stopped firing! I thought it was safe...!!"
A trivial misjudgment. And the result, the death of another human being.
"Dammit...stay in the shadows over there and let me know if you see anything, I'm moving position!"

Two fatalities on our side, three deaths on their side. You would say we have the advantage. But something's wrong. There's been no movement near their base. None at all. No surveillance, no defense preparations, nothing. Are they not defending? But if this is an all-out attack, where are the other two enemies...? I have a bad feeling about this...

And as I started setting up on the roof of another building, my prediction proved correct.
'DEFENDER HAS DIED'.
And, a second later, a distant explosion and another notification.
'REAPER HAS DIED'.
Dammit, what's going on around our base?! Why are they attacking there when the ball is still in the center of the area?!
"Midfielder, I'm under fire! Can you aim at the base from over there?!"
"Fuck, ask earlier! Stay alive for one more moment!"
Both Keeper and the remaining Reaper seem to have turned on their phones, as their positions were displayed on the map.
I quickly set up my rifle and search for the enemy, but I can't find him.
"What's keeping you, Midfielder?!"
"I can't find him! Where the fuck--"
Then I finally got the enemy in my sights.
At the same moment, a sound from my phone.
"FUCK!"
I don't even need to check my phone to see what it says.
I pull the trigger, and my phone plays the same sound again. But it was already too late to save Keeper.
Nine lives have been extinguished so far in this game. Now it's two versus one.
"Striker, Defender and Keeper just died! How are things on your end...?!"
The phone responds with only silence.
"Striker?! Striker, can you hear me?! Striker!!"
And again, the same sound.
'STRIKER HAS DIED'.
"No! Striker! Fuck, dammit...!!"

I know that out there, people are enjoying this. Thousands, tens of thousands, hundreds of thousands of people are watching how ten people were just murdered, all from the comfort of their homes. Dammit...when did society become as fucked up as this...? Ten inmates, most of them convicted for purely political reasons, ten human beings died in these past 30 minutes! How can people just watch and enjoy it as if it's someone else's business?!

I turn off my cell phone and change my position.
--I've killed three people these past 30 minutes.
Climbing on another roof, I look for the enemy, but he remains out of sight.
--I've killed those three people. I'm a murderer.
Changing my position, checking my surroundings, rinse, repeat.
--I'm a murderer. It's so easy to turn people into murderers.
We remain out of eachother's sights. 60 minutes left until we are both executed for going over the time limit.
--It's so easy to turn people into murderers. I've murdered so many people in the past. I thought I could change, but it's so easy to turn people into murderers...
I approach the carrier's cell phone and turn on mine.
--It's to easy to turn people into murderers...all you have to do is face them with a simple choice.
I carry over the ball to my own phone and break into a sprint.
--A simple choice. 'Kill or be killed'. No matter how strongly any human refuses to harm others, if their life is at stake anybody turns into a monster.
I throw my cell phone on a roof and continue to run.
--I want to stop being a monster. Let this be my last murder. Let me finally break free from my past...
I set up my rifle.
It took only an hour to again get used to what I had tried to forget for years.
And like any amateur, the enemy takes the bait.
I aim at his head as he's setting up to shoot at my phone's position--
And pull the trigger.
He drops dead.
A simple trick, a simple shot, and he collapses to the ground.
That was all it took.

It must be quite an anticlimax for the viewers. But that's how it is. Beautiful things can have an exciting climax. But assassination is just the process of pulling a trigger to rob a human being of their life. There's nothing beautiful about it. Dear viewers, I hope I ruined this game for you with this anticlimactic ending. I can only pray that someday you will realize that there is nothing beautiful about the systematic murder of human beings.

I calmly climb up the roof where I placed my cell phone as bait, pick up my cell phone, and walk to the enemy base.
'TEAM SOCCER WINS!'
My cell phone congratulates me. Congratulations, you have just taken four lives.
Four lives...as a sacrifice so that I can finally have one again.
The door inside the garage unlocks, and I enter the building.

"Congratulations on your victory!"
A middle-aged man congratulates me, but I don't pay any attention to him.
The fat government official with the military clothing over there, that's the guy I need.
As I approach him, he starts talking to me.
"Well done, 23-983-432. You are the sole winner of today's Murderball match! If you take the first prize, you get the full amount as you're the sole survivor. A grand total of six million, just for you alone! So, what will it be? Will you take the prize money and government job, or will you play again?"
"I would like the third prize, please."
"The third prize? Are you sure, 23-983-432? You'll get increased prize money even if you don't play again, and you'll be set for the future!"
"I only ever participated to regain my freedom. Please just let me go."
"The first prize will also allow you to regain your life, and you will even get a good career out of it! But, if you are absolutely sure..."
He motions to the door to his right.
"Thank you."

I open the door, which leads to a small hallway, which leads to another door.
The first door closes behind me as I open the second.
However, this door leads only to a small room without any other doors.
"Dead end...?"
The door closes behind me.
"Indeed, a dead end, 23-983-432."
It isn't until then that I notice there's another man in the room.
The man is wearing a military uniform and holding a handgun.
I immediately grab the door handle, but the door is locked.
"What...is...this...?"
"Inmate 23-983-432. You have violated law 1783 regarding physical harm brought upon fellow inmates, as well as laws 7 and 7e, for going against the will of the state and ignoring the advice of a government official."
He raises his handgun, pointing it at me.
"What is this?! You promised me freedom! You bastards promised me freedom...!!"
"Inmate 23-983-432. In accordance with law 93 I will now grant you the only freedom befitting a death row inmate."
He pulls the trigger.
A dry bang.
And I collapse.
I collapse, just like that.
A simple pull of the trigger.
My consciousness is fading.
As if I could stop being a monster.
As if anyone ever could.
We are monsters.
We are all monsters.
This cruel society--

A simple...
...pull of the trigger...

...

..

.