JUNE 19, 2961
Electronic horns sound, piercing the air and drowning out the sound of late-night vehicles speeding past the glaring neon signs tearing through night's darkness. It may sound as though such a sudden blast of electronic sound would shock us, but everyone had grown used to it by now. It was what signified the weekly tournament held by the government who ruled. We know them as P.O.N.G., but my mother has told me that it stands for something else. However, when I asked her what, she told me that it wasn't for me to know and that I should never utter those words to anyone ever again. I would never dare disobey her or my father as I know they are both intelligent people. They've both survived well into their forties, unlike most who live here. I, on the other hand, am only at the young age of six. In those short years of my life, I have learned much about the world I live in. What I believe to be the most important information regards our government, P.O.N.G. The tournaments they hold each week, one of which the current siren signifies, are important above all else. Only the most honoured are chosen to partake in them. I am lucky as my father was chosen this week. As I have just turned six, this will be the first tournament I am allowed to attend. Hastily, I slide off the couch on which I sit and hurry over to my mother's chair.
"Come on," I yell over the electronic horns. "We don't want to be late." My mother looks away from the book she's reading and down at me, her face betraying a sense of a sadness and worry. I can't imagine why she could feel this way. These tournaments sound exciting to me. My mother sighs and places her book down on the table before getting up from her chair and taking my hand.
"Stay with me," she tells me. "And be careful not to get lost. There are going to be a lot of people out there." I nod quickly, wanting to go, and my mother leads me out the door. Far above my head, I see the headlights of planes soaring through the sky and, though I cannot see them, I know that subways rush through seemingly endless tunnels beneath my feet. Many of the streets, including the one I now stand on, are closed for the tournament. The citizens of the city flood through these streets, clogging them completely as they slowly work their way to the arena. My mother and I are tightly packed among the hoards that fill the street and, in fear of getting lost, I push myself closer to my mother's side and she tightens her grip on my hand in turn. I stand on the tips of my toes, attempting to see beyond the crowd, and catch fleeting glimpses of people in black armoured suits covering every inch of their bodies. From what I can see, they are directing the crowds to assure that they reach the tournament arena. I turn my head and see the entrance nearby, spotlights shining into the sky so everyone knows where they need to go. My mother and I enter the arena and I am shocked at how quiet it is compared the streets outside. The blaring electronic horns that cut through the night's silence are now blocked out by the arena's grey walls and everyone who has entered the building is completely silent. My mother and I find a spot close to the front at my request and I lean against the railing, waiting for it to begin. High above the central arena hangs a white orb. When we were young, we were taught about the basic things such as these tournaments and P.O.N.G. I recall those studies and realize that the orb is a Ballasted And Leaded Load, more commonly known as a B.A.L.L. I knew that it was an essential part of the tournaments, but it had not been explained what its function was. My thoughts are interrupted as a high-pitched hiss echoes through the dome-shaped arena. I look up at the B.A.L.L. again and see the hiss is being caused by clouds of steam being expelled from the area connecting the orb and the roof.
"Ladies and gentlemen," a voice crackles from the building's P.A. system. "Please join me in welcoming our contestants for tonight." A spotlight comes on and shines on a door in the playing field that stretched before me. "Please welcome Contestant Number One." The voice continues as a tall man with dusty brown hair steps out. He wears a white jumpsuit which covers everything below his neck and he holds an equally white shield with both hands. "And now, please welcome Contestant Number Two." The spotlight moves to the opposite end of the arena and another door opens. From this door, my father steps out, wearing the same jumpsuit which left his black hair exposed. Like the first contestant, my father also holds a white shield with both his hands.
"Ladies and gentlemen," the voice addresses. "Let the game begin." I swing my head up and see the B.A.L.L. detach from the ceiling. Defying gravity, it launches towards the first contestant. The brown-haired man swings his shield to cover his face and the B.A.L.L. smashes into it with an Earth-shattering crunch. In that same second, the B.A.L.L. bounces off the shield and, with even greater speed, flies towards my father. He, like the first contestant, raises his shield to block the B.A.L.L. and the projectile again ricochets off the defence mechanism. It sails towards contestant one and he sends it back to my father. He raises his shield, but the B.A.L.L. collides with the side of it, knocking my father off balance. Nearly everyone in the stadium lets out a collective gasp as the B.A.L.L. continues its forward motion path. The wall behind my father deflects the projectile and it flies in my father's direction. In a split second, the B.A.L.L. slams into my father's back and tears out of his chest, taking a few of his vital organs with it. He collapses to the ground, blood spurting from the veins that have been torn and his eyes glaze over. As blood continues to pour from my father's wounds, a neon sign lights up, spelling out the message "Contestant One Wins!" I know that my world can no longer be the same from now on and that, even if the match is over, the games had only just begun.