PLAY DEAD

“A harrowing event,” the voice of a professional, a woman reporter speaking over a graphic headline and birds eye view of Rangtana Hospital, “terrorism unfolds tonight.”

The bright white light from the helicopter above captured Thura on the roof, dressed in his Bando disguise. His arm wrapped around Pomi, scalpel to her throat. In his other hand, a radio-microphone, with the end touching his lips, “My name is Ichikawa, Bando! I am sick and tired of the oppression Ruam Mai has over us, down below, in what you all call the Lower Pits.”

“Help me, please, I-I’m just a girl!” Pomi screamed out.

Rangtana Hospital had a public address system attached to different parts of the walls and center building. The megaphones blared Thura’s voice, “At midnight, I will blow this hospital up, along with this girl and all the patients and staff locked up in a single room, unless my demands are met! You have six hours to respond—time is ticking!”

The news switched to a ground view of the same woman reporter, speaking into the camera and microphone, “Behind us law enforcement is mobilizing and getting a handle of the fast unfolding situation happening here. This is Kirigoe, Miwa of Channel Seven News reporting live on scene—at Rangtana Hospital in the Arattani District!”

Crowds of civilians amassed behind yellow tape, bordering squad cars and police officers dressed in gray uniforms.

Beyond them was the FOB (Forward Operating Base) tent for the Special Operations Unit and other tactical members of the Arattani Police Department—Crisis Negotiator Adebayo stood at the forefront with his team, looking up past the locked gate, toward the roof where Thura stood with Pomi held in tight in one arm, “Get me in contact with that man—now!”

The SOU members sat in a separate section of the FOB, being quickly briefed on the situation and the layout of the hospital by their captain, Jacinto Trinidad—possible entry points, unknown threats, and positions to take if de-escalation were to fail, “Ichikawa, Bando is a dangerous fugitive with multiple counts of violations and crimes—while we know very little on the man, we know he is capable, and the threat is real.”

A quiet and listening team of nine specialists were geared up in black and armed-to-the-teeth: ballistic vests capable of stopping heavy fire, short barrel rifles with several attachments, glocks, ballistic shields, flashbangs, and other aggressive methods of entering and occupying a space—ready to eliminate threats.

In a normal crisis situation, this would spell doom with no escape in sight for Thura—but this was what he wanted, to summon the best the district had to offer. He whispered to Pomi as they moved toward the roof entrance, “We’re going inside. Secure the third-floor and stay with Red’s sister.”

“Okay.” She responded, pretending to be helpless for the helicopter in the sky.

Back below, a husband and wife stood beside each other, watching both the commotion and Kirigoe, the reporter from Channel Seven. With them—their eight year old daughter spoke, looking in the entirely opposite direction, “What’s that, mommy?”

“What’s what, honey?”

She turned, following her daughters pointed finger, “Dear, what are those?”

A nearing buzzing sound, about a dozen drones in the sky, whizzed meters above their heads—heading toward the hospital with their spotlights washing over the crowd of civilians and the authorities, the husband said, “What the hell, drones?!”

“No, not that,” their daughter lowered her finger, “that.”

Phasing between the shadows of the street and the light lamps, a large mass—a hulking body with a child’s festival mask strapped over his face. Super Cyclops, hummed a song, the tune of a Saturday morning cartoon, Super Rangers. He moved toward the commotion, with several others—carrying bats, knives, chains, and pipes.

Kirigoe reacted first, halfway ready to run, “Oh my god.”

Her camera man spun to a crowd, breaking into chaos, running and trampling each other. A bordering police officer called it in, standing by his cruiser and on the radio, “Something big is coming our way! I repeat, we have a big problem up here!”

“I-It appears a large group of men, coming this way, I don-”

As Red entered through another tunnel, arriving at the next station of the Rapid Transit, the Channel Seven’s broadcast cut out—just as a metal pipe was swung into view of the camera.

———————

Red watched as the broadcast cut to a commercial about some fancy hotel in upper Ruam Mai—the luxury suites, the countless amenities for pleasure and play, the area it was in—it was something Red had rarely experienced, if ever. Upper Ruam Mai was a different world, miles and miles from where he was now, the Rapid Transit Car had come to a full stop with mounds of people itching to get off and standing up before others, lining by the double doors that would soon slide open.

Not that monster again—he’s still in the game. I can’t be surprised, the size of him... And he’s humming that song again, what’s his deal?

While several people removed themselves from the Transit Car, Red remained for a moment, in a thought and an itch to scroll on QuickGram for anymore footage and news on Rangtana Hospital, the plan… All those people—I can only hope that they’ll be okay by the end of it. I can’t worry about them—not right now. The police are there, all over the hospital, they’ll be okay, they should be okay, I think. Thura’s plan was to summon them for protection—and that’s what they’re going to do. I have to get off and keep moving.

Red took a step off the Transit Car and found himself in the midst of a bustling station, a terminal tower at the center of the lower pits. Terminal towers were tall structures dedicated to the transit system with cars going in all sorts of directions and areas of Hlum Lang. Songkran was about to begin and brought strangers in surges, bound together in tight spaces. They either waited for the next transit car available, switched lines, or headed for the exit elevators. He shuffled through people, bumping shoulders, squeezing between when he could, or waited for an opening and for people to past by.

I’m getting nowhere! Move it, move it, move it! It’s like waiting in a line at an amusement park—only there’s no awesome ride at the end, aghhhh! Red balled his fists and stuffed them into his pockets—remain cool, remain...

It was a hard shove that stilted Red, in a crowd of unknown faces. Oww… Who the heck-

“Reddy-boy…”

Red spun, meeting the familiar voice and face with his own, “Pak.”

“Yo’, egh—cough—Ga-haha,” Pak cleared his throat, standing before Red, under the hood of a muted rain coat, “…almost didn’t recognize you with the fresh cut.” The sleeve of his rain coat, covered his whole right arm—it dangled and hung like wet laundry struggling to dry on a damp clothesline. “Oh this? Don’t worry, it feels worse than it looks.”

Red’s fingers inched into the inner pocket of his coverall, searching for the handle of the serrated knife Thura had given him. I can’t take any chances.

“Happy, you’re still alive, honestly,” the frame of his glasses were bent out of shape, the glass cracked, “I look rough don’t I? Be honest.”

I can’t find it! Is it in the other pocket?! He’s getting closer!

“Reddy, you were going to stab with this thing?” Pak slammed into Red’s chest, driving him hard into a nearby wall, with his left forearm, “So, preoccupied with the ugly parts of me, you didn’t catch that I stole from you.”

Bystanders looked on, for a moment, but continued on their way. Their footsteps and voices filled the station’s air, drowning Pak and Red out. No one was going to stop and get involved in something happening down in the slums, especially not in an underground Rapid Transit Station on Panam and Fifth. In Pak’s left hand was the leather-sheath knife that was once in Red’s coverall pocket. Up close, Red looked up at Pak’s face, his eyes sagged, his lower lip was scratched up, and his cheeks were dirtied.

I can’t… breathe. Red grabbed at Pak’s forearm against hurting chest, squeezing as tight as he could, and then pressing his back against the wall, pushed forward.

He—’s weaker! “Let—go!”

“Oho’ha,” Pak released Red, giving him space, “You wanna’ fight?”

Red had his one and two up as his lungs grabbed air with an open mouth, “Y-ea-h.”

Pak lowered his arm, sliding the sheathed knife into his back pocket, “I’m messin’ with you, Reddy. I don’t care about this game anymore. You’re not the one I want.”

Huh?

“Nico and Boon, they were idiots,” Pak tilted his head up at the ceiling, his hood fell back, staring at the light directly above, “but they were my idiots—my friends. That giant freak took their lives, so I’m going to take his stupid head. I’m going over there, Reddy.”

Red lowered his guard, “I’m sorry.” I really am. He’s been alone, surviving ever since. Seeing him this way, I can’t help but feel kind of bad for him. We started the game at the same time in that alley, and things kept ramping up—for the both of us, anyway. I guess Nico and Boon were really important to him.

“Thanks Reddy. Hey, you got anymore Space Out?”

“I-” do actually, “Uh-yeah.” Red grabbed the two pills he had in his pocket, I don’t know why I have these, but I remember holding them at Rangtana Station, right after that nightmare, late yesterday.

“…You can have them.”

“That’s so kind of you.” Pak replied, taking them into his left hand.

Pak’s knee shot up into Red’s stomach, GUAH!!

“Fucking moron.” He shoved the black pills into Red’s open mouth, and wormed his fingers into his throat, augh, aughgah, making Red gag while eyes widened and watered.

Red’s adam's apple rose then fell, gulping with two whole pills slithering down his esophagus—Space Out had entered his system.

“Ah. Ah. Ahhh. Don’t throw up!” Pak slipped his fingers out and BAMM!!! He shut Red’s mouth with an uppercut to the chin—blood spritzed out between his lips.

“See you around, Reddy-boy.”

———————

Falling backward—Red planted his back to the wall with saliva and blood coating his lip, I don’t want to fight anymore. He palmed the wall with both hands before sliding and slipping to the ground and caught a glance at Pak on the Transit Car that had just arrived—he disappeared behind the mass of people walking in both directions, and then the car itself sped off to the next destination.

Red struggled to steady his breath, closed his eyes, what do I know about these freaggin’ pills? It’s inside of me. I’ve never taken them myself—how long did it take before it started? Focus, dang it. The ends of Red’s fingers rubbed thick grime and rough textures off of the wall. He became aware of his own tongue swirling in his mouth like a slimy creature, trapped. The more he held his eyes closed—the more the black threatened to remain. Focus, focus, hocus, pocus, and locus.

His eyes unsealed, light entered between the dark of his lids, and saw that station, once filled with several people, was now totally empty. I gotta’ get out of here, but how do I get out of here, if I can’t get out of here. Red staggered himself up right, and started on as if he was balancing himself on a beam. One step at a time, Reddy-boy. He thought to himself, I said. Wait what-is that? A hole the size of a pin-prick formed in the air. Then it was all around him, ten, twenty, fifty, the numbers kept climbing—like an infection, it spread to the floor, the ceilings, the wall behind him, and the empty air itself—spatially impossible.

They spiraled into themselves, their diameters expanding. Black holes that slowly sucked up the space and textures around them, crumbling. He peered into a hole, like a window to another dimension and saw himself in a sea of people at NerVANA night club, selling drugs, and felt old thoughts claw themselves up to the surface of his mind, “A packet of two for fifty and for the rest of the night, until sunrise, you’d be hallucinating—full of sexual vigor or frothing at the mouth from a bad trip, hopefully in bed—if not in some alley way next to some dumpster.”

No, no, no, no, focus—Red, focus. He slipped away from that hole and moved on, look for the exit. His thoughts came back clear in waves, his head surfaced from endless thoughts, an ocean of imagery underneath him. He was still in the station, aware enough, until time began to dilute again and pin-prick holes would expand again, like eyes opening—and in each one a window into different moments of his life.

Pomi’s face appeared in a hole, drawn to it like a fly to a fire, Red stuck his head inside to see. It was a restless night, Yui’s hospital bill was coming up, and he hated being late—the notifications reminding him of the fees that would accrue if he ignored it for too long. Red was scrolling endlessly, watching nothing but brain rot and comedy behind the suffering realities of every day life in other parts of the world. The western world was undergoing massive changes in their political spheres, opting to be one of aggression and war instead of defenders of peace, were they ever about peace? He flicked the screen up once more and caught Pomi’s face on his phone, serene. She had darker hair and was just beginning her streaming phase—wait, what I’m doing?

Within the hole, Red was outside Pomi’s window with his hand planted against the glass. He was huffing and puffing, licking the surface, no, I don’t-I never thought about her in that way! He reeled his head out of the hole, but tripped over his own foot—time slowed—he was able to rotate his entire body, facing a giant crater in the ground, and fell into the black.

Red came to. The ground rumbled beneath his knees and feet. Where am I? Why’s the floor so cold? It’s like it’s shivering. I’m shivering. He examined where he fell from, about two meters from where he stood. The rumbling beneath him grew in strength, he glimpsed a light coming his way—huge eyeballs and a gaping mouth belonging to a giant tuna barreling, the fish slipped and slithered through the dark tunnel—threatening to swallow anything in its path.

Red was in its path.

He felt hands grasping and tugging at his shoulders, and bent his neck back to see his mom and Yui, reaching and grabbing at him—he held onto their arms and climbed out of the hole, just before the fish had zoomed by.

———————

“Please stand behind the yellow line, for your own safety. Thank you, and have a wonderful day.”

Red was flat on the ground, looking up at the two that had pulled him out, their faces were unfamiliar. Strangers that didn’t want to see a man get smooshed under a transit car. The holes were gone and his breath came back in a slow inhale and exhale. Thank you, he wanted to say, but he was out of breath.

“Did you know? The Pacific Blue Fin Tuna can grow up to and on rare occasions thirteen feet in length, and weight up to a small sized car!”

“Waaah?! That’s huge!”

I don’t know how much more I can take of this, my mind keeps getting dragged under—like I’m drowning and struggling to swim back up to the surface—back to clarity.

———————

My mom used to tell Yui and I scary stories about times when she lived in Laos—scary stories meant to scare and make children behave. During the night, the monsters came out—severed heads floating through the sky with their organs as a tail, a creature with backwards legs that feasted on anyone lost in the night, and the witch and its servant monkey—malevolent spirits that hunted and ate humans, usually children.

Panam Street was in full form tonight, flocks of people blurred under street lamps, shifting in a haze, moving too fast or too slow for Red’s dilated eyes to keep up with—like a parade of lost souls and demons in the afterlife.

His throat cleared, fiddling with the side buttons on the phone, watching the sea of shadows moving all around him. I’m a ghost. A lost soul, waiting to be kidnapped. Red began humming the Super Ranger song, steady beats, slow—as he took a step forward into the masses.

Then it began, I want to go home. “Watch it!” I don’t want to do this anymore. “Get out of the way!”

The incessant noises piled on, the shoving and shouldering drove harder against his body, a ringing—the jingle of the claw machines. I can’t do this.

Scroll. Scroll. Scroll.

Red’s thumb flicked up the screen of the phone, his gaze locked on the endless feed. Thirty-second clips of chaos: Rangtana Hospital on fire, partygoers dancing under neon lights, a prank where a boyfriend pretends to propose but ties his shoe instead, human beings screaming, a chunky cat, a giant man smashing a member of the SOU through a car window. Laughter, explosions, screaming, chuckles, giggles, and cries—he swiped through it all, until his thumb began to cramp and a text message blipped on screen:

irlPomi: You’re such a pervert. Watching me on that tiny little screen, breathing, and wishing you were with me.

Then another text, and another:

MOM: When are you going to grow up and start thinking about your future? You can’t be a kid forever—you have to think, when are you going to start a family? When are you going to become the man of the house?

YO BIG SIS: It’s your fault, you know?

unknownuser7585199: She is going to die because of you. She is going to die because of you. She is going to die because of you. She is going to die because of you. Pomi is going to die because of you.

BUZZ. BUZZ. RING. RING. LET THE GAMES BEGIN, FIGHT DIRTY! WA-CHA!

“There’s a comfort in the hate isn’t there?”

Who… are you?

“I’ll fade away—disappearing from the minds of all those that deemed me worthless, left me, stopped talking to me, abused me… It doesn’t matter, Red. I hate you. Everyone hates you—or they’re not even thinking about you. Nobody cares what happens to someone like you—you who provides nothing to society, nothing-”

My sister… I pay my sister’s hospital bills—she needs me.

“You put her there.” Need a reminder?

“You were released from the cell. You could’ve called her, you could’ve stopped her from coming your way. Instead you wanted to spite her for taking so long—what was taking so long? She was at a party and you were stuck in a cell. You were upset. But then on your way home, traffic stopped, you were standing on that bridge, watching them wheel your sister into the ambulance. Her car horn blared, endlessly, emergency lights flashing, ocean waves crashing, the deep city skylines of Ruam Mai in the distance twinkling like stars stuck to slabs. She was coming to get you—because you couldn’t sit tight for another couple of hours—she was coming to get you.”

I know—I know, I know, I know, focus—I know, bogus, I know…

“So why are you still alive?”

…I hate you. “And I hate you.”

Red curled up into a ball on the sidewalk, shaking—frothing at the mouth. People avoided him like a hole on the ground, few made comments, and some recorded on their devices before leaving. “He’s tweaking out!” “That’s Panam Street for you.”

“Here—drink, drink.”

Cool, clean water touched his lips and entered his mouth—Red swallowed, then grabbed at the bottle, squeezing every drop down into his throat. A little boy holding a stuffed bunny had knelt down to give him some water from a plastic bottle, “My big sister says to always stay hydrated!”

The boy from the arcade? Your sister?

“Augh—cough—can you show me where this is?” Lying on his side, Red tapped at a dot on his phone, the map of Panam Street laid out on the screen.

“Okay, handyman—but don’t tell my sister, she always gets mad at me when I play by the water.” The young boy fretted.

He fitted a mask over Red’s face.

Red felt well-carved details against his face with his fingers. He ambled up and swayed left and right, before balancing himself and looking at the boy in a similarly carved mask, that of a ghost, and part of the Phi Ta Khon festival (ghost festival). The awkward shape of the mask turned the boy into a little goblin monster with a big head for a body and small limbs protruding at the ears and chin of the mask. Intricate colors and carvings made the mask grin red permanently.

We’ll be disguised as spirits walking among the monsters of the night—a form of protection. Hidden, invisible—I’m comfortable in this form. He thought, still hazed—still dreaming—high, the night grew darker and time seemed to freeze.

“Nala won’t recognize us, if we’re in these!” The boy said, chipper, taking Red’s hand and showing him the way through the parade of the dead—mingling with spirits and demons and monsters and gods.