Chapter Fifty-Four
"LADIES AND GENTLEMEN!" Calgary roared, his voice booming through the speakers and across the airwaves, "WELCOME, WELCOME ONE AND ALL, TO A VERY SPECIAL SHOW. TONIGHT, FOR YOUR ENTERTAINMENT, WE'LL BE MAKING AN EXAMPLE OF A COUPLE OF PARASITES!"
The crowd roared like some kind of hellish monster, assent and approval and bloodlust all rolled into one. It was like a crowd at a hockey game baying for blood during a fight. And just like being part of that crowd, the bloodlust was…intoxicating. Calgary swelled a full size at the sound of their excitement, the thundering of the crowd all he needed in that moment.
The stage was in front of the rodeo arena, and all eyes were on the blue-eyed man in his jeans and cowboy hat as he spread his arms and grinned at the camera like a shark. Behind Calgary stood Edmonton and Alberta, and neither of them seemed to be sharing quite his level of excitement.
Edmonton's stomach was tied in knots, partly because of the size of the crowd, and partly because if this stupid plan didn't fucking work...well for a start, they were doomed, and to finish, he was in for a world of agony.
Calgary had a microphone in his hand, and he beamed up at the audience, pressing a button on the microphone's stem and holding it up.
"BEFORE WE GET ANY FARTHER INTO THIS, I THINK SOME INTRODUCTIONS ARE IN ORDER! I'LL BE YOUR HOST FOR TONIGHT'S EVENT, AND FOR THOSE OF YOU FROM THIS BEAUTIFUL CITY I CALL HOME…well, you all know who I am, eh?"
Calgary winked at the camera, the crowd roaring in approval- most of them were Cal's people, for sure; Edmonton could sense relatively few of his own in the gathered throng.
"BUT FOR THOSE OF YOU FROM OUT OF TOWN, I'M THE KING OF STAMPEDE CITY, HEART OF OUR NEW WEST! BUT YOU CAN CALL ME CAL!"
The way Cal said "our new west"….it sent a shudder down Edmonton's spine. The corruption of his brother's old slogan…he wasn't sure how to respond to it. There was a temptation to just sink into the sickly joy his people felt at this spectacle- because they knew. They all knew what this was about, what was going on here.
"Now, for those of you tuning in from our...ugh...glorious capital city, I'm sure you'll be familiar with the man to my right. But for those of us from down south, GIVE IT UP FOR THE CITY OF CHAMPIONS, THIS HERE'S MY BROTHER EDDY!"
And Edmonton grinned.
The crowd roared, but that wasn't what had him smiling. Because the number of people that WEREN'T watching this broadcast was astronomically small. He could feel his people's heartbeats, and could feel their emotions shift when Cal shouted his nickname to the heavens. And he felt in the depths of his soul an outpouring of love. Tainted, perhaps, by Corvus's propaganda; but love nonetheless.
The people of Edmonton were cheering for him.
Well, who was he to disappoint them?
He threw his arms up and grinned at the crowd, feeling a sudden sense of giddiness. The city waved at the untold millions watching through the cameras, smiling down the lenses at the souls that were woven into the fabric of his beating heart.
"AND FINALLY, LAST BUT CERTAINLY NOT LEAST…well. Do I really need to say it? You all know who this lovely lady is."
Edmonton took a step back in perfect sync with his brother, letting Alberta have her moment in the limelight.
And the crowd went ballistic.
His little sister smiled softly up at the crowds, face hard to read beyond contentment. She was smiling and waving at them, a look of delight on her face. The crowd thundered their approval, chanting the three syllables of her name in a thundering unison that seemed to shake the ground.
Her name had three syllables, and so too did Corvus's chants. As the crowd bayed its collective approval, feet and hands joined in the rhythm, Al-ber-ta, Al-ber-ta, Al-ber-ta….
A musical track began to play though the grandstand's speakers, a three-beat rock arrangement, in perfect sync with the crowd's chanting. And deep in Edmonton's bones he felt it, felt their chanting, and felt an urge to give in and join them.
The music swelled, overpowering; the bassline reverberated through the bones of the crowd, through the airwaves and through the internet. And there was something else mixed in with the song too, in time with the drumbeats; Corvus's frequency buzzed underneath it all, filling their minds with its swaddling embrace.
"STRONG AND FREE. STRONG AND FREE. STRONG AND FREE."
Edmonton's eyes glazed over and the smile on his face relaxed.
Yes.
God, yes.
"Strong and free. Strong and free. Strong and free."
He chanted along, letting himself spiral downwards into their mire. There was joy down there for a change; a twisted joy, but a joy nonetheless. After all, nothing was sweeter than savouring victory, right? Why shouldn't they celebrate?
But that hateful space in his mind, the one Saskatchewan had cleared out….it wasn't joining in. Edmonton scoffed at himself and his need for "clarity"- he had clarity, right here and right now. He looked over the crowd, chanting right along with them- feeling it right down to his bones.
He chanted along happily, the music swelling all the while; and as it climbed slowly to crescendo, the star performers were lead onto the stage, cuffs on their wrists- or in Ontario's case, huge titanium manacles, clamped around his arms and binding them tightly together. Each of them was flanked by one of Gunnar's soldiers with a gun, except for Canada. He wasn't with them, and instead he was lead across the dirt arena floor towards the platform, stumbling and staggering and unable to stand up straight.
Edmonton grinned at them lazily, feeling simultaneously relaxed and giddy. They were gonna die. They were all gonna DIE, and then, once they were all dead and in little pieces? Then he was gonna save his brother. Everything was gonna be perfect.
The thought of his brother had Edmonton glancing over at the man himself, and that was the instant that the hateful space of clarity in his mind tore through his mental fog. He was here to save his brother. He was here to save them all. And what was going to happen here was sick and twisted and-
And, and, fuck it. Fuck it all to hell. Fuck all that. The last month of his life had been a waking nightmare, and generally…fuck it. He was going to have fun with this for ten fucking minutes. His people sang to him in his blood, in his soul, calling him with their siren song to join them in their revelling.
And what kind of a personification told their people to fuck off, eh? A bad one, that's what.
"WELL, NOW! WHO'S READY FOR SOME FUN, EH?!"
The crowd roared, and Edmonton grinned. Oh, god yes. Yes, he was ready for some fucking fun. This was gonna be awesome.
A woman dressed in the typical Young Canadians getup- Jeans and red and white tassled shirt, with a white hat to finish- trotted up to Calgary with something long and slim and wrapped in cloth in her hands. Calgary reached out and grasped the end of it, pulling it out of the length of fabric and holding it aloft for all to see.
It was a sword.
"Who here's heard of the Circus Maximus? Anybody?"
The crowd roared in the affirmative, a thunderous bellow of delight from those who had read and knew what he was implying.
"Excellent. So for those of you who've read ahead, you'll know that the ancient Romans used to throw the people they didn't like very much to the lions. We thought about doing that, and I went and asked the zoo if I could borrow theirs, but they said that it would be too dangerous- for their lions, that is. It would be really stressful for them, and they might die. And to be honest, that'd be a real tragedy, no joke. So then I thought, what's something homegrown, dangerous, and well-loved?"
Calgary spun around, pointing the sword straight across the rodeo arena to the gates that two men in cowboy hats were pulling apart.
"RELEASE THE BULL!"
Edmonton cheered along with the crowd as it lolloped out of the chute and onto the arena floor. It was huge, a beast of a longhorn, with razor-sharp prongs that had been souped up with the addition of hardened steel caps. The bull was wearing a huge collar, like the kind that used to be attached to oxen for pulling carts; this one was adorned with spikes and bells, like a janglier version of a dogfighting collar.
At the same time as the jet-black Longhorn lunged its way onto the field, the platform started to move upwards, slowly. The steel column rose from the ground with a soft whine, raising its single occupant ten feet off the ground. Safely out of the reach of the bull, but in danger from something else entirely.
"Now, I'm a simple man, with simple needs," Cal began, gesturing at the platform, "And one of those little things I need in my day is a nice, big EXPLOSION. Why don't you all have a gander at the slovenly waste of oxygen slumped up there in the cherry picker, eh?"
The camera zoomed in on the cherry picker's single occupant- Canada himself. The men who'd lead him over there had undone his shirt, revealing the bomb vest snaking across his chest for all to see. Wires and cables and bundles of explosives sewn together and strapped to his chest. He was handcuffed in place on the platform, slumped, without his glasses- and blinking out of sync, one eye and then the other. If he was aware of what was happening around him, he sure didn't look it.
"I think we all know who that is, don't we? Just in case, though…let's give our ol' Dominion a big hand, eh? We were gonna play "The Maple Leaf Forever" for him during the last few minutes on the timer, but that was a bit too on the nose."
The crowd roared and laughed their delight, and this time it was full of nothing but hate. The word parasite thundered up from the gathered throng like the rumblings of a stormcloud, hissing and screeching from the bleachers, the standing room, the box seats…the entire province, it seemed.
Canada seemed to stir a little at that, lifting his head slightly, the slightest snatch of clarity flashing in his purple eyes. And right before the camera pulled away, Edmonton could have sworn he saw those fucked-up violet eyes shed a single tear.
Calgary spun around and beamed at Slate, and oh. Edmonton had barely even registered the human's presence, if he was being totally honest.
The prime minister's shackles were undone, and Calgary handed him the sword, the two soldiers to either side of him pressing their guns straight into the PM's back, lest he get any ideas. They'd let Slate wear his army fatigues, complete with a helmet; he looked like a proper serviceman, a sign of respect.
"So here's how we're gonna do this!" Calgary roared, "In the good old days of the Circus Maximus, they didn't throw those gladiators into the ring unarmed, goodness no! So, Prime Minister, we're going to play a little game, you and I. If you win, not only do you get to live, but I will PERSONALLY ensure that you and your men are all sent home safe and sound, promptly and efficiently!"
Alberta's eyes flashed at that statement, and Edmonton caught the change. That right there had just pissed his little sister off. The look she was giving Calgary- and indeed, himself- had shifted from pride to….disgust?
Edmonton was confused, but he didn't have time to contemplate, because Calgary wasn't done.
"Now, Commander Gunnar was sadly unavailable to be here, but I'm sure he'll appreciate the swelling of our forces with the addition of Slate's men when he loses!"
"WHEN I LOSE?!"
The faintest echo of Slate's trademark hollering was caught on Calgary's microphone, broadcasting the dying spark of the PM's old fire across the province for all to hear. And Calgary turned around, grinning at Slate with the exact same expression as he'd had in the +15's, the lunatic grin of the murderous madman sneaking onto his face once more.
The look of fear in Slate's eyes brought a twisted joy into Edmonton's heart. He was scared of Cal- scared of all of them. Good. Let him feel that fear. Let him treble and quake before them.
"Yes sir, Prime Minister! WHEN you lose. Because our little game is very simple, sir. I'm going to throw you and all the rest of these flea-bitten lowlife RATS into that pen with that bull. And if you can kill the bull before the timer on our dear Dominon's vest runs out….you'll be free to go. But I think we all know that's not going to happen, eh?"
Slate opened his mouth to protest, but Calgary wasn't having it. The city spun around and snapped his fingers, at which point the soldiers undid the cuffs of the three provinces behind him.
And before Manitoba could make good on any of this threats, before Ontario could tackle Alberta or Quebec could shove Slate aside to get his mitts on Edmonton, all three and Slate as well were shoved off the stage and into the ring with the bull.
"START THE TIMER!"
On one of the walls overlooking the rodeo arena there was a large LED timer, intended to be used for the rodeo events during Stampede week. It bloomed to life, a series of red numbers totalling the number of minutes Canada had left to live.
But Calgary wasn't quite finished.
"IF YOU BOYS PUT ON A GOOD ENOUGH SHOW, I MIGHT CONSIDER LETTING YOU LIVE. EXCEPT YOU, FRENCHIE. SCREW YOU."
Quebec swore loudly in French, getting to his feet in the nick of time. The bull thundered towards him, and he barely managed to dodge out of the way- one of its horns grazed his arm, tearing the shirt and skin. A line of bright red blood wept out of the gash, and the cameras splashed it all across the giant telescreens around the grandstand.
Edmonton grinned. Oh man, this was going to be awesome. He could afford to sit back and watch the show for a bit, right? All he needed to do was grab Cal's microphone out of his hand, and he could do that whenever.
His speech could wait, after all.
Couldn't it?
A/N:
YEEEHAW I FINALLY GET TO POST THIS ONE
And lest you think this is something I pulled out of my ass, naw sonny. I've been sitting on this idea for Cal's show for literally an entire year, so it's very gratifying to finally write it down.
Next chapter soonish.
Leave a review and let me know your thoughts!
