"Very well, the show has provided a new set of cards."
The announcer's voice boomed over the intercom with a rushed and improvised speech. As his voice came towards the duo, kinship with it was a canister holding a stack of cards. Stanley released the cards from the container shortly previous to his shuffling and taking a card from the top. Roswald admired how he could cut a deck with no problem.
"I believe it is my play, Stan."
"'Stan?' Where did the formality come from?" The creature was monstrous and nothing short but he had failed to pick up on how Roswald was trying to filibuster the round. "We didn't play on my draw so that means that you can have your small ego helped."
He was close. That much can be admitted. Though he was evil, evil is a clock that is right twice a day.
"Really?" The answer was half sarcastic in tone. It reaffirmed his thoughts on the filibuster. "I guess you're right. Read your card please, I don't have all day."
Now he's trying to provoke me? What a world we live in where there are people like him trying stuff like this on entities like me.
As he turned the card over and his gaze soon perceived the words on it in a particular font, he understood what was going on.
"Let me understand, whatever is going on, the cards don't matter."
The announcer was gob smacked by the answer. For sure, he was already bending the rules by getting a new deck, but two pacifists were something they had no way of expecting or countering. Without protocol, there's only improvising. Thus, he improvised.
"The results of any given round are completely random, and we try to accommodate the needs of our tournament." Of course he was lying through his teeth. "If neither side's chosen to compete, then a coin will be flipped and one of them will be destroyed. The winner shall survive."
"Well partner, this mellow drama is coming to an end." Stanley looked at the card and was behold that the card had said, YouWin! Like that, the round was over. It was a rigged game. "I'm sorry kid, I really am. But it was always going to be me."
Roswald, in his final moments, stood tall like a soldier. He may have lost, but he knew that when he stood tall, Stanley would never win. He was preparing his final plan. With a line of thought, he started to plan the downfall of the game itself.
He would use Morse code. Tapping his side with his index finger because of the fact that live footage editing was most likely a reality. If they were able to wrangle some of these people, they could most likely do that. The Traveler and the nihilist were smart enough they could pick up on it.
Next, he would make the message out to find a way out. But for the next few rounds, they would have to give off a mediocre performance. If they were too good, the announcer and all those that put them here would be able to see that they were trying to rush on through the tournament, blowing their cover. If they were really bad, it would be obvious that they weren't giving their all. Thus, with their game theory and the fact that the tournament needs to be rigged at times, it would be perfectly clear that a mediocre performance would be supreme.
"I've said my piece. Get on with it."
Stanley, if the creature could feel anything, would most certainly have felt a sense of earned triumph. This was a middle difficulty object. But he hadn't taken one thing into account. The one thing that his entire plan had banked on, the bad couldn't decode the message. If they did, they could reveal the plot for leniency in the tournament.
"It was nice knowing you kid."
As Roswald plunged into the sand, he could feel his body become colder and colder. For most of his life he helped others. Even in the end he was helping others. But for a moment, for a single moment in his life, he wished that at least once he was selfish. That he took something that didn't belong to him or that he had mistreated others or he heightened the aging of the clones so that way he could spit them out faster. But he couldn't place his finger on what he wanted him to do.
I guess that doesn't make me a good person if I never had the opportunity to do something bad. But at least I tried. I gave it my all. Dear God I did.
When the Traveler watched the round before him, he always made his way to the only room that was out of place in the hotel, that being an office. He went there and made sure to lock the door and drank whatever he managed to get his hands on. If he was to be right in his prediction, he would be happy and have a big enough buzz that he would party with the good. If they lost, he would cry for a few hours and think of the person. He wasn't any good with the loss of others. He wasn't any good at all.
"Wait a minute…"
Right as he took another swig, he had seen something off. It was Roswald tapping his finger.
Is that Morse? Let me look at that little genius.
E-s-c-a-p-e.
Of course we should escape!
F-r-o-m.
Where else would we escape from?
H-e-r-e.
Yes, go on.
M-i-d-d-l-e.
Middle of what?
P-e-r-f-o-r-m-a-n-c-e.
He's tapping very fast. But now I understand it. He wants us to give a middle performance as we try to escape! How wonderful. Which means that we must win the next round. According to my theory it is most likely a duel. Which means that we are going to have to send out a good fighter. Middle of the road. Thank you, Roswald. I'll never forget you.