Free Buzz: A Thriller by Anders de La Motte Page B

the basics. Speaking of forensics and investigating the crime scene . . .
    No one had taken any blood samples or fingerprints, or even his photograph, at least not that he could recall. The hash had given him a nosebleed while he was asleep. He’d had grass nose before, and it always looked worse than it was, so he must have scared the life out of the people in the camp. But if the cops hadn’t taken a blood sample while he was unconscious, then his shirt was bound to contain all the samples they could possibly need.
    But just like the whole of this damned country, the scenario felt fake, almost contrived.
    He could hardly bear to finish the thought without his heart starting to race, and he forced himself to take several deep breaths.
    The fact was that however he looked at it, however hard he examined all the details of the past few days, he couldn’t quite shake the idea that it was all just some sort of . . . Game . . .

7
BOARD GAMES
    Pillars of Society forum
    Posted: 12 November, 23:18
    By: MayBey
    There are only three types of citizens—police, prisoners, and those who haven’t been caught yet.
    This post has 36 comments
    THE DOOR BANGED open and suddenly they were inside the cell. Four sweaty guards and a huge officer with an acne-scarred face and a filthy shirt.
    HP didn’t even have time to get up before they were on him.
    “Name! You tell me name now!” the pockmarked man screamed, his face close to HP’s.
    Before he had a chance to reply they had pulled his arms up behind his back, strapped his legs together, then carried him out like a parcel. It all happened so fast that he didn’t even have time to feel scared.
    The room they carried him into was slightly larger than his cell. There was a narrow table at its center and he could seestraps hanging down from the sides. The table slanted down at one end, but rather than put him down with his head at the higher end, they tied him down with his feet at the top. It was distinctly uncomfortable, lying head down, and it only got worse when they strapped his arms and legs down.
    He could feel his heart pounding hard in his chest.
    “You tell me name!” Scarface hissed in his face, so close that he could smell the sour tobacco on the man’s breath.
    “T-Thomas Andersen,” HP replied, not sounding quite as cool as he would have liked. On the way in he had noticed the camera in one corner of the room, and now he was almost completely certain:
    The Game had found him!
    ♦  ♦  ♦
    He had every reason to be afraid, terrified even.
    Weirdly enough, though, it wasn’t just fear that was making his pulse race.
    Scarface nodded to one of the guard orcs, who pulled a black hood over HP’s face. Everything went dark. He heard the trolls talking to each other, but once again he couldn’t understand a word. But he did think he’d picked up one thing.
    If they really wanted to get rid of him, there was no reason to drag it out. But instead of burying him out in the desert they had put time and effort into staging this whole charade. That had to mean something.
    Suddenly he could make out the sound of liquid dripping onto the stone floor.
    What the hell were they actually up to?
    A moment later a wet cloth was pressed over his face.
    The first two seconds weren’t too bad—he could stillbreathe even if he could feel the hood pulling tighter as he breathed in. There was a smell of wet toweling, which was more reassuring than frightening. Then he noticed a wet gurgling sound and suddenly water was seeping through the fabric and into his nose and mouth.
    It wasn’t much—but enough to make him gasp for breath, which merely meant he sucked more water through the cloth. Some of it caught in his throat, making him choke. He coughed, then took several quick breaths out of reflex, which immediately resulted in him breathing in more water.
    More choking, breathing, coughing, and water.
    But no air . . .
    Freaking hell —these bastards were drowning