13. Vesper #2
Locke follows my gaze. “The bartender last night—he’s not here right now—called them televisions before I passed out. The moving pictures are recorded or something. I don’t know. I’ll be honest. I didn’t listen to the whole lecture he had ready to go on the subject.”
A little jingle echoes over the speakers overhead and someone at the bar, another Frog folk says, “Oh! Oh! Turn it up, Chrono. The Harrow News is coming on. I gotta see this.”
The bartender, Chrono, does just that. When he moves, his little cape swings around his body as he turns the television up with some sort of small black box until we can all hear.
A man appears on the screen, his eyes blank and lifeless.
He’s sitting at a table, professional looking in a pressed outfit of some sort that I don’t recognize.
“It is called a suit,” Cipher supplies helpfully. “It was a popular style of clothing when one wanted to appear professional back on Earth.”
My brows shoot up. “Good to know, I guess?”
The man on the television holds a bunch of papers stiffly in his hands as he stares out at all of us.
“Good evening, Players and Harrowfolk. My name is Ken and this is the HBS Nightly News.”
“HBS?” I repeat.
“Harrow Broadcasting Service,” Cipher answers helpfully.
“We got a great start to the day,” Ken continues.
“As you know, the Harrow Gates were opened and a new flood of players joined us within the Harrow, a cause for celebration.” Some numbers flash on the screen.
“About five thousand of you despite the shortened window! Well done!” He checks his notes.
“Of course, we’ve already lost half of that to the Harrow, other players, and a few from the Harrow Gates themselves.
Let’s see some of the highlights from today!
You’re going to love some of the newest players. Remember to root for your favorites!”
My mouth goes slack at the small tidbit of information. Five thousand players came through, and only half of them are still alive? According to Ken on the television, it’s only been a single day!
The glass changes and we’re met with a scene of a woman standing in the middle of a street, looking confused.
There are three others beside her, though they all seem to be strangers.
One of the men looks at her, grins, and says, “Ain’t no one to stop me from doin’ what I want with you now, bitch.
” Her screams echo inside the AppleFrog’s as we’re forced to watch the man punch her in the face and drop her to the street. He immediately jumps on top of her.
I spring to my feet. “What the fuck is this?”
No one answers. They all just stare at the television blankly.
The woman is bloody and still fighting the man as he rips her clothes from her body when the scene changes and I get a good look at people I recognize.
The family with a baby who’d been in front of me in line.
Only, the baby isn’t moving and the woman is crying over its corpse as they kneel in something white.
Wind whips at her hair as her gasping sobs wrack her body.
I cover my mouth in horror as the man looks around, seems to make some sort of decision, and hits her over the head with his fist. Her body slumps into the white cushion beneath her, the baby’s body sprawling beside her.
Neither of them moves as the man takes a few items of clothing from her, striping her of her jacket and trousers, before he bundles himself up against what must be cold, and leaves her there to die with the corpse of their child.
“Cipher?” I croak. “What the fuck is this?”
“Humanity,” he answers, “in all its glory.”
Scene after scene of people being terrible people, of people killing and raping and stealing, flicker across the screen, until I’m sick with it, until my stomach roils from disgust. In Dross, we’d had no choice.
We’ve all done terrible things. But here, in the Harrow, where we have a fresh start and a chance to survive, where we can do so without starving, it’s somehow worse.
These people are acting like the rats the Ascendants think we are.
Worse than rats. Even rats take care of their families.
“I’m going to be sick,” I say, covering my mouth.
“Now that we’ve seen the highlights,” Ken says as he reappears on the screen.
“Let’s cut to some of our ranked favorites.
Player Number two million, six hundred and one thousand, three hundred and thirty-three, aka Vespera, was voted on by you as the top new contender. Let’s take a look at her progress.”
My mouth drops open. “What the—”
The screen suddenly shows me and Locke running side by side, howler monkeys screaming at us as they chase behind us, their teeth bright on the screen.
I get a repeat scene of the howler monkey taking down Locke and me beating it to death with the rock until its brains splatter outward.
The screen changes to Locke and I sharing the loot crate, both of us looking far more intimate than I’d realized, then again to us fighting the Boiúna and Locke carrying me away from the cavern.
I’m completely purple and blue in the last scene as he carries me away, my body swollen.
How do I have barely anything left? Do we really heal that fast inside a safehouse?
“Vespera is the first player this cycle to defeat a Minor Boss!” Ken says proudly. “We’ll keep you updated as she progresses through the Harrow. Feel free to send in your predictions of where she’ll end up next!”
“That’s not true,” I say, frowning. “I didn’t defeat it. Locke took the final blow.”
Locke snorts. “It’s no different than the propaganda at home, I suppose.”
I blink. “Propaganda. Cipher, who sees this?”
“HBS is broadcast throughout the Harrow to all safehouses,” Cipher answers. “And to Luxe for all Ascendants to see. It is an exceedingly popular pass time in Luxe for those who enjoy gambling on the players.”
“So, they’re watching us?” I grunt. “Watching us die and fight like rodents?”
“Yes,” Cipher answers. “You are never not being watched, Vespera.”
I bare my teeth and kick the nearest table over, angry that we’re still playthings no matter where we are. I should have known we would be. No one makes people fight in something like The Harrow without lacking humanity, but we’re obviously no better. Not after what I’d seen on those televisions.
“Look at us!” I snarl, gesturing to the television as Ken continues showing off other crowd favorites. “We’re no fucking better than them! They treat us like garbage, and in return, we do the same to each other, fighting each other across the field instead of fighting up.”
No one turns to look at me despite my outburst. Not even the few players lingering at the edges of the room. Only Locke does.
“I don’t know if you know this or not, but I’ve killed a lot of people,” Locke says. “We all have our stains. None of that should surprise you. Killers are killers no matter their environment.”
“And will you kill me now?” I ask, lifting my chin and staring him down.
“If you get in my way,” he nods. “Everyone is a threat here. Every single person. But I plan on getting all the bastards at the top. They’re the ones who really deserve it.”
I straighten. “So then why bother bringing me here to heal? Why go through that if you’re just going to kill me down the road?”
He stares at me. Really stares, as if he’s weighing his next words very carefully. “You watch my back, I’ll watch yours,” he says, repeating our deal.
Call me stupid, but that makes him a little more human, a little better than the other people who’d killed for their spots. Locke is just trying to punch up, same as I am. We share a common enemy, and the two of us are sane enough to realize we do.
“I’m Ken, and this is HBS News,” the man on the television says before it goes black. It stays that way for three long seconds before the screen changes to the moving pictures again and the NPCs all come back to life.
“Order up!” Paddles says, coming over with plates heaped full of food I’ve never seen before. “Get some meat on your bones, Honey! Ribbit! Can’t have you wastin’ away when this man decides to give you the ride of your life.”
“I . . . what?” I ask, but Paddles is already moving away, off to do whatever NPCs do.
My eyes flick to Locke who is still staring after her. He meets my eyes and something passes between us, something I don’t have a name for. We’d looked intimate on the television during the recap, but we’re just two players watching each other’s backs. Right?
“Eat,” he says, looking down at his own plate. “You can’t watch my back if you’re malnourished.”
He’s not wrong. Besides, my stomach chooses that moment to loudly growl and makes him smile.
The food does smell really good, better than anything I’ve ever smelled before.
I grab a piece of meat from the plate, a long crunchy strip, and take a bite.
The first taste on my tongue is heaven. The second is damn near orgasmic.
I lose a bit of my humanity while I eat after that, not caring if I make a mess or if anyone is watching.
My Dross mentality kicks in and I eat until I’m sick with the richness of the food, until I damn near vomit from how much I eat, and then I eat some more.
And then I pack the rest up and stick it in my inventory.
No food left behind.
No food left to spoil.