Veteran, Game, Porno

Inspired by the above 3-word prompt courtesy of the unfathomably creative Emil Ottoman

Lights from a bad porno and this is hell. Hell in a fluorescent glow, everything fake and ugly.

Cheap porno with tired, hopeless actors. It’s too late for this bullshit.

It’s all about the game.

Winning in the game isn’t about winning the way you think it is.

It’s about not losing.

You don’t lose, you win.

I’m a veteran. I haven’t lost yet.

Losers don’t come back for a second season.

Pinball noises and the neon lights make people look like sad fucks. Garish shades of too bright too dark edges.

I don’t know where I am.

It’s still a game.

It’s a beautiful day outside but in here it’s smoke and mirrors. It’s a hall of mirrors and I bang my hands arms face against each sheet.

Somewhere I can hear the pinball machines playing.

I know it’s a beautiful day because there’s only a few people watching. People with warm tans and white smiles.

Some of them want me to win.

Some of them want me to lose.

I want to live.

Someone is screaming down the halls. Echoing against the mirrors and there are streaks of blood on them. A handprint. I see a shoe.

This probably isnt the best way to go. I smack my bloody palms at the mirrors, my face warped and distorted. Something inhuman, to use. An avatar for a special kind of depravity.

I don’t remember what my face looks like anymore.

One of the consequences of being a veteran.

I find another path and the people leaning over the edge watch, kind of bored. Their eyes flitting from one side of the maze to the other. Maybe ten people. I watch two drift away.

Are they going to see the pinball machines?

I came here to play on the pinball machines. I never got to see them never got to play them.

Pinball background to a shitty porno.

Veteran adult actor here.

But real porn stars get to go home.

Smack my forehead against a hanging piece of glass, strung up with thin wire. There’s a muffled cheer as the world goes black and bright for a few agonizing seconds.

Somewhere an alarm sounds.

Maze shift.

I manage to avoid the walls as the rotate and change by rolling away. There’s a crunch and a scream nearby.

Someone wasn’t fast enough.

There’s a noise and the screaming stops.

Three people left.

Someone’s running towards me. If they have a gun I lose if they have a sword they lose where would they get a fucking sword.

Trapped in a dead end hallway and I’m fucked, I’m fucked I’m fucked. I can hear someone reloading behind the nearest wall.

I hit the ground. Bullets ricochet. A grunt. Thud. Silence.

Someone cheers. Another curses.

It’s quiet. Only a few players left.

I don’t lose.

The other players lose. Blood-soaked gun on the floor and it’s in my slippery hands and when I run out of bullets a blunt weapon works fine.

By the time I don’t win, it’s late. Two people left. Speakers announce my name.

Lucky me.

The people exchange money.

One spits in my direction.

The walls slide down into the ground.

I step over the bodies of the other players. Losers. I’m not a loser. It’s enough.

I go to my little room. Cage. Cell. There’s a fresh plate of food and the sheets on the metal bed have been changed.

The door slams shut behind me.

I wipe the blood from my face and hope they have enough footage to finish the season.