The Mall (Evenstad Media Presents Book 2) Page 9
Knowing what I do now, the bullets were unnecessary. The door was electrified, or otherwise rigged to stop escape. As soon as he touched it, his body froze. I don't know for sure how many volts it takes to kill a man, but there were enough there. I could smell the burning skin by the time he dropped. That’s why I assume it was electrocution. The burning smell. I hope the electricity was enough to kill him long before that happened, though.
The doors were the only slim chance of escape any of us had. And now I see they are not an option. I hadn’t thought to leave through them, yet it still saddens me to see that even that was covered. A perfect trap.
ENTRY END
06
JOURNAL 08QUINN
ENTRY 009
DATE: 2/4/2075
I've kept an eye on the bastard who burned down the bookstore, just in case he tries anything. The last few days have been uneventful. He hasn't left the knife shop since then. In fact, no one's left their shops since that day. I can't blame them. The man who got electrocuted, his body's still there. So's the blonde one who died in the beginning. The bodies are piling up around the mall, and those are enough to keep people from leaving. It's keeping me from leaving, even though I don't want to admit it. It's not the only reason I haven't gone to take care of that sadistic jackass, but it's one of the reasons. You don't get desensitized to death no matter how often you see it. It's always there when you see a corpse, that reminder of your own mortality. And it feels stronger in here, where you could die at any second, just because. Just like a firefight.
I'll have to leave eventually, for food if nothing else. But I'm going to put it off as long as I can. Until then, I'll just watch and wait for whatever happens next. I can hope that no one else will die between then and now, but I'm fairly certain already that hope is going to be crushed to dust. Especially with that man out there.
ENTRY END
JOURNAL 03BILL
ENTRY 006
DATE: 2/4/2075
I've been looking around while Kim sleeps. There's plenty of empty shops up on the second floor, much closer to the food court, and without stairs to worry about. I don't know how much food is left there. I've been having a harder and harder time finding it when I go up on a run, lately. I think we're coming close to the end of the supply, which makes it all the more important that I get closer. I'm not going to sit around and wait for someone to steal the food I need to survive. I've got my eye on the movie shop up there. It's a couple yards from the food court, if I can just get in.
I want to wait until I have a good chance, though. Kim's finally going to be useful, when the time comes. I'll play up how little food we have, and how I think we both need to go up there to get it, so we can get as much as possible. Food's so important, he'll cave in eventually. I can get him out of my path the same way I did with Lia. He can be my distraction.
I admit, I might miss having some companionship, when all's said and done. But I'd rather be alone and alive with twenty-million bucks than dead protecting someone who's probably going to die anyway. But yeah, I'll probably miss him.
ENTRY END
TO: Evenstad Media
FROM: Kadar Asad
SUBJECT: Imran Asad
SENT: 2/5/2075 AT 11:03 p.m. EST
I send this to you in desperation. I saw tonight's episode of The Mall, and I couldn't let it go any longer. My father is injured. I know him. He'll try to continue on the best he can, even as he grows weaker and weaker. In the few minutes you had of him on the episode, I could see it happening. He won't make it much longer, now. Perhaps not even a day. His wound is deep, and he has no way to close it properly, which means it will come open again. I know you know that, and I know that you won't let him out, either. If you were going to show him that small amount of mercy, you would have done so long before now, or not had him on this show to begin with.
But please, let him know that I forgive him. That's all I ask of you. It's a simple thing, and I don't care how you make it happen. He needs to know, so that suffering, at least, can end. Please, I beg you to let him know. Show him that much humanity, enough to put a dying man in touch with his son in his final days.
Kadar Asad
—
TO: Kadar Asad
FROM: Evenstad Media
SUBJECT: Imran Asad
SENT: 2/6/2075 AT 8:26 a.m. EST
Mr. Asad
Unfortunately, under the terms of the contract your father signed to work with us on 'The Mall,' he's allowed no contact from anyone connected to the company nor with the world outside of the arena. If we were to allow contact to occur in this one case, we'd have to allow it in others, and that's not something we're able to do without harming the integrity of gameplay. Your father did understand the details of the competition when he agreed, so there is no way we can breach that contract.
Regards,
Evenstad Media
JOURNAL 06TESS
ENTRY 007
DATE: 2/4/2075
It's been some time since I've gotten a package from whoever the mystery person is that was leaving them for me. I hope they're okay, out there. I still want the chance to say thank you, even if they never leave me another one. I don't care a lick about that. They didn't have to help in the first place, and I'd hate to think that someone so kind as that would end up dead. I know the chances are good that something happened, but I want them to beat the odds. At least beat them long enough that I can show them my gratitude.
It would be a shame for someone with so much light in them to just die like that.
ENTRY END
Unnecessary Cruelty
Posted 2/6/2075
I watched The Park, disgusted as I was. I wanted them to say it wasn't real. But they never did. I vowed to stay away from it, but I had to watch the second season. They could do it once, but twice? I couldn’t believe it. Or, I suppose, I didn't want to believe it. It couldn't happen, is what I told myself. Eventually, the truth would come out. Something would happen to let everyone know that it’s fake.
But after a month of The Mall, I'm sure it's real. And I'm sure there's something sadistic going on here. Both seasons, they've had an older man on here. Last season was Manfred, who withered away as we all sat and watched. I'm just as guilty as everyone else. This year, they give us Imran. And now he's injured. Badly, by the looks of it.
There's a pattern, and it's concerning for any old man who winds up somehow tricked into this show, if they manage another season after this. God-willing they won't, but I'm sure it'll happen again. The ratings are good, and so are the viewer numbers. They wouldn't throw away a cash cow that good.
Maybe the people in charge have daddy issues, or granddaddy issues. I don't know. But it seems, especially this season where they have robot guards, they could put people out of their misery rather than letting them slowly fade for the world to see. They've robbed these men of the dignity in quiet, private death, and they've added torture on top of it.
I pray for the next man over fifty to go into one of their disgusting arenas. Next year, I won't watch, and I urge everyone else to do the same.
JOURNAL 11KIM
ENTRY 005
DATE: 2/7/2075
So apparently, we're running short on food. I'm really fucking freaked by this. This whole thing is already bad enough. If we start starving, it's going to get worse, as hard of a time as I have believing it could be worse than this. Kidnapped and expected to kill. Starving us seems stupid, like there's really no point to any of it. They had plenty of food in the first season of this stupid show. They couldn't extend that to us, too?
I want to puke, but I'm not going to let myself. Bill convinced me to actually eat something. Just some old, uncooked fries, but something. And if he's telling the truth, I can't afford to go throwing up any food.
At least something kind of good came from this shitstorm. Bill's actually trying to take care
of me, which means some part of the plan must have worked, I guess. But now it seems pretty pointless. Really pointless. We'll probably both starve before I see anything come from my work.
ENTRY END
JOURNAL 12IMRAN
ENTRY 006
DATE: 2/8/2075
In the end, all men are made fools by death, and I am no exception, although I feel I've been a bigger fool than the average man. Perhaps because I'm in a situation very far separated from the average experience, now.
The wound I sustained gathering food came back open. I'm not trained to handle those sorts of things. I make dolls and puppets and try to be a good person. I've never had to tend to anything more than a childhood scrape. I was lucky the first time, I thought. I wasn't bleeding, and I assumed I'd be okay. That was my first foolishness. Simply moving around the shop ripped it open again, and nothing I could do would stem the blood flowing from it. Now, as I type this, my fingers are tingling with oncoming numbness. My toes as well. It doesn't hurt, at this point, and I can be thankful for that. But I don't even have a needle and thread here to sew myself back up. No matter how badly I would do at it, I have to think it would be better than what I'm doing now. Lying here, bleeding to death. And now, I think there's no hope for myself.
I will die here, and I will likely die soon. I won't take my own life. Not when I'm so close to my inevitable, natural death. Hardly natural, I suppose, but much more natural than slitting my own throat. I have nothing here I could slit it with, either.
More than dying here, though. Much more than that, and much further back in my life, I was still a fool, and death has brought that to the forefront, now. I have little family left. My youngest son died before I moved to the United States, and my wife not long after we bought our first house here. It left me with a lone son, and we lived in practiced peace for quite some time. I knew the truth about him since he was very young, but when he finally told me, I stopped talking to him, unless I could avoid it. I loved him, and I always have. His sexuality had nothing to do with that. But it caused a rift all the same. Foolish of me once again.
We never spoke, and I denounced him except in my own private thoughts. I tried to convince myself he was useless, that no connection remained. I wanted that to be true, because that is what I was expected to believe. But Kadar was always my son.
Now, as I bleed alone on the tile floor here, my foolishness is made clear to me. I don't want Kadar to watch this show, see me like this. But I hope he is, if only to see my message to him. It took what little strength I had, and given the choice, I would never change my mind. Before I died, I needed to apologize to him. I needed to tell him the truth. I spelled it out in fingerpaints on the front window of this shop, and I hope that the producers show that. Let them do just that one thing for me.
I've done what I can. This is the last of me, the fool.
ENTRY END
TO: Frederick Evenstad
FROM: Niels Evenstad
SUBJECT: Important
SENT 2/8/2075 AT 3:15 p.m. EST
Brother, Sister,
I realize I've been distant for some time now, and I told you it was nothing. And I realize there's not much to offer to me in the way of kindness, now. But this is important, and I need you to read it. I'll explain everything.
I have a disorder. Johnson-Freel Disorder. It's autoimmune, and it's attacking my organs. They have a few cases on record similar to mine, but it's not enough to have any way of managing it. They've put me on medication that helps control other autoimmune disorders like lupus, but they don't appear to be having much of an effect. Not enough of an effect to save my life, at least.
I'm sorry it took me this long to tell you, and I'm sorry I'm telling you in an email. I should have told you both in person, most likely, but I wanted to give you two the chance to process this before we got together about it.
Unless something changes, or they find a new treatment, they've given me a few years, conservatively. They also told me that there are a handful of people who live a long life with this disorder. But the odds aren't good. Survival rates past age fifty are only twenty percent.
That's why I've been under so much stress. I needed to get this show out and running. We need the money, and we need more money on top of that. I want our family to feel secure even after my death, should anything happen. Once I'm gone, if something happens to Evenstad Enterprises, I don't want our family to suffer. That's why I've pushed so hard. I should have told you, I suppose. I could have gotten your help with it. But I'm telling you now. You two stood by me through everything, and I owe you an explanation. Really, that's the least that I owe you. But I think it's a good start. Or at least some kind of start.
Please don't respond to this email. I'd like this kept between the three of us. I'll make an announcement to the rest of the family later, and the public at some point after that. But, particularly before The Mall is finished and things have settled a bit more, I'd like this to remain a secret. So please delete this email after reading, and delete it from your trash folder as well. Say nothing of this to Uncle Magnus. He doesn’t need any reason to see me as weak.
Again, my deepest apologies to you both. But your concern and your constant questions let me know that someone cares. I couldn't have asked for more than that.
Niels Evenstad,
Chief Operating Officer, Evenstad Media
05
Shocking News from Evenstad Media Hack
Posted 2/10/2075 at 12:23 p.m. EST
Yesterday, Evenstad Media's network was hacked for the second time in a month. Among the information released was a thread of emails between Niels Evenstad (COO, Evenstad Media), Frederick Evenstad (COO, Evenstad Technologies), and Marta Evenstad (COO, Evenstad Farms) revealing that Niels Evenstad has Johnson-Freel Disorder, a rare autoimmune disorder with no known treatment or cure.
According to the emails, he's been given a few years to live, and has been building the fortune of Evenstad Enterprises in preparation for his death.
When asked for his opinion on these revelations, Magnus Evenstad (CEO, Evenstad Enterprises, Former COO, Evenstad Media) denies comment. If we find more information, we will post it.
JOURNAL 08QUINN
ENTRY 010
DATE: 2/10/2075
It's coming closer and closer to when I'm going to have to leave the security room and go get the bastard that burned down that bookstore. Another body got added to the pile, and the deaths are just going to come faster and faster. Which means my time is running out.
There's also something strange going on with the two guys in the makeup shop. Mainly with the big guy, but the little one's probably got something to do with it, too. I can't put my finger on anything, exactly, but I get a weird vibe from that guy. From both of them, yeah, but from the big one especially. Not because they're having sex. I could give two shits about that. But… something. Maybe it’s just that he’s big enough to be a real threat, but I don’t think it’s that simple. I have to try and figure out what it is, which means I'm definitely going to keep watching them, too. Something's bound to happen and I plan to be there to see it. Maybe even stop it, depending on what it is.
I couldn't do anything about the bookstore or the guy who ran from the fire. Or the old guy, for that matter. But damn it if I'll sit around here when I actually can help.
ENTRY END
JOURNAL 11KIM
ENTRY 006
DATE: 2/11/2075
Bill came up with a plan and I'm really not sure about it. I mean, the idea seems like it's pretty good, the way he puts it. We need food, and he can only carry so much with him at a time. And I know that. But I was counting on Bill being the one to take care of me. Get the food and work to keep me safe. Now that plan's going to shit real fast. And the bad thing is, there's nothing I can do to stop it. Mostly because he's right, I think. If we're going to, you know, not die, I have to
go up to the food court with him and carry stuff. It's the only way to make sure we both have enough to get us through to the end. Or closer to the end.
So I guess I've made up my mind about what to do. I'm going with him. I don't like it, but it's what has to happen.
ENTRY END
JOURNAL 05EVAN
ENTRY 007
DATE: 2/11/2075
So far, I've got a count on almost everyone. I've moved around a bit, sticking to the edges so I don't get shot by the guys with guns. I think there are other safe paths through them, but I know I can be good on the edges. No need to take unnecessary risks. I've counted out seven bodies, including the one in the bookstore. I never went in to see if anyone died, but I guarantee that no one came out of there. I'd have seen it. And I've seen three people alive, four counting myself. Which means there's still someone left. And I know who it is, too. The young black lady who was looking around in the beginning of the game. She's somewhere, I'm sure. Nobody's leaving this place. That much is pretty damn clear. The fact that I don't know where she is doesn't make me feel any more confident in my ability to make it out of here alive, either.
But there's one saving grace. Once everyone who might be a threat's gone, there's one young lady in one of the downstairs clothing shops who looks about as dangerous as a strong gust of air. She's just sitting in there trying to hide. She had a pretty good spot. It took me a bit to see her head sticking over the top of the counter. But she's in there, and I think she'll probably be there when all's said and done. As far as I can tell, that’s probably where she’s been the entire time. So at least one part of winning this might actually be relatively easy.