Source: Audience Effects from The Internet Archive
Sting Game (Short Story)
The buttons, their black centres irises in pools of white, three hundred eyes staring into the studio lights. Blank souls, unquestioning, waiting.
“Everything’s wired up, Niamh. We’re good to go.”
“I know I’m fucking wired.”
“We’re making a mark here. This show…”
“Paudie. Tell me one more time. You know I’m neurotic. We’re clear? 100%?”
“I told ya. We`re good to go from every angle.”
“You know I’m a fucking nut. Thank God the mother is dead. That’s all I say. Ha!!’’
‘’We’ll kill it.”
“Jesus, I`m a lunatic.”
“That’s why they love you, Niamh.”
§
The audience settling into their seats. Curiously sedate. Waiting.
Behind the host’s open platform on a huge screen:
Welcome to “Nighty Night with Niamh”
§
“… And a big round for The Survivors. What a song! What a performance! Whoop! Well, are we enjoying the buzz tonight, folks? I hope you’re as tickled as I am to be here. Of course you are. And now, who do we have in the hot seat but Janey Bayer!”
“And I’m tickled to be here, Niamh, I can tell ya.”
“Ha, Janey! I know ya love a tickle! Speaking of buzzes and tickles, you know what? We’re going to play a little game with ye good folks in the studio audience tonight. Listen, ye’re going to love it. First of all, who wouldn’t want to be sitting in my seat interviewing Janey Bayer. Who wouldn’t? And who among you…” Niamh stares with exaggerated interest into the sea of faces before her “…wouldn’t come down here right now and sit beside me for the chance to interview her yourself?“
The audience cheer heartily
“And that’s where the game comes in, folks. Play along and one of you is going to get that chance! Yes, I’m not joking, one of you is going to come down here tonight and sit next to me and talk with Janey Bayer. Big yay!”
More cheering.
“But who’s it going to be? That’s the question. Well, here’s how it’ll work. You see, right in your chairs there, there’s buttons. Look at them, they’re like little eyes, aren’t they? And you might have been wondering what they’re for. Some of you naughty ones might even have gone so far as to press them wondering what they do, hehe.”
The audience titters along.
“Well, they do nothin’… yet. We’re not so stupid as to let you loose before telling you what it’s all about. You see, those buttons there get you into the game, but there’s a catch. If you press the button, you’re in with a chance to come down here with me and Janey. So far, so simple. But, wait a second… Pressin’ the button also gives a little tickle to someone else in the audience—at random, like—who’s opted in the game with you, and so you’ll open yourself to be tickled by anyone else who’s in. And those little tickles will get ramped up a bit as we go on, and we must… But don’t worry about that—any time you want out, just double tap your button and that’ll do it for ya. You can take a nice rest. But remember, once you’re out, you can’t get back in. And the winner is the last one who stays in.”
“Jaysus, that sounds fun.”
“It does, Janey. So, are ye up for it, folks? Are ye up for a tickle?”
A chorus of enthusiasm from the audience.
“Well, let’s get started with level one, the lickle tickle…”
Three hundred hands press three hundred buttons and the audience erupt with glee.
Niamh and Janey beam.
A minute or so later…
“Will ya look at them, Janey. You’d think it was Christmas. And not a one bowed out yet. We’ll have to ramp it up, soon.”
“You’re the boss, Niamh!”
“Listen everyone, you’re doin’ brilliant. And the fun’s just started. Now, we’re gonna level up from the tickle to the buzz. So hold your horses there for a second while our engineer elf, Aoife, shifts us up a gear.”
The audience, a swathe of smiles and giggles, pauses placidly.
“Are we there yet, Aoife? We are? Right so, everyone, your buttons are ready… for the buzz. Let’s go!”
A couple of loud, but still merry, “Ohs” punctuate the studio as the audience get into it again. Soon, there’s a veritable concerto of excited ‘Ows’, ‘Oohs’ and a shared laughter that verges on the hysterical.
Well, ya know what Janey? They’re a brave bunch. They’ve been buzzing each other away like maniacs for the past few minutes and hardly a one is out yet. What are we going to do? We can’t have all of them down here, can we?”
“Might be a bit crowded alright?”
“Folk, folks… Fooooolks, can I get your attention, please? Fooolks—and that means you too, fella in the brown jacket jabbin’ at that button like there’s no tomorrow, ha. Jaysus, give them an inch! Fooolks!”
The audience settles down.
“Ye’re doin’ great. Not only are ye doin’ great. Ye’re doin’ much better than we ever planned for, so ye are. Have a look up at the screen there. All your seats are numbered up there. Red means you’re still in and grey means you’re out. As you can see, we’ve a sea of red. The red sea, Janey!”
“It is that, Niamh, it is.”
“And only one or two of ye have given up. So, we’ll have to, well, we’ll have to make it a bit more… interesting. So. we’re going to get Aoife to shift us up a level again. We’re going from a buzz to a sting—just a little one, mind. But ye’ll feel it. So if any of ye want to tap out now, out ye go. Can’t say we didn’t warn ye!”
Niamh looks up at the screen.
“Woah! Not a one! A crowd o’ warriors we have here. Aoife, you’ve got the thumbs up. Give us the sting!”
The audience immediately get to it and a torrent of pained “Ows” sweep across them, interspersed with the odd curse and a diminishing trickle of good natured laughs. On the screen, red chairs are turning grey at a notable rate for the first time.
Niamh and Janey sit placidly, waiting.
The rate of change from red to grey peters out. Those who have stuck at it seem determined to continue.
“Well, well”, Niamh interjects. “Time for a break folks. A break. Staaaaaaaahhhp a minute!”
The audience, some of whom are looking decidedly irritated and exhausted, settle down.
“Who would have believed it? We’ve got to the top level—the sting—and nearly half o’ ye are still in. And we don’t want ye tearing into each other with anything other than your little buttons. So, we’re a bit stuck, so we are. Who would have believed it, Janey? What are we going to do?”
“It’s feckin intense isn’t it, Niamh? Those stings look a bit ouchy. How are we gonna whittle them down?”
“Well, folks, don’t panic, because we have a backup plan. A support battalion that’s gonna come ridin’ in to the rescue to make sure one of ya gets down here and gets the prize ya deserve. And that is…”
“That is…?”
“That is, Janey, our viewers at home! You lot!” Niamh says directly into the camera before turning back to the audience facing her. “Now listen, the rest of ye, your buttons have been, eh, ‘disarmed’, so to speak, and the arms sent out there into the great virtual whatchamacallit. Ya won’t be buzzing or tickling or stinging each other any more. So, ye can relax because… our viewers at home will be doin’ it for ye. Big yay!”
A scatter of claps from the audience, who appear less than delighted at the prospect.
“Now wait, some of ye… I mean what we want to emphasize now is ye’re all free, 100%. To bow out with a click. Right now! That’s the only thing your button’ll do from now on. Take ye out if the goin’ gets too tough. One click and ye’re out. And there’ll be no talk of cowards here. Ye’ve all shown yourself to be proud warriors loyal to the prize—to come down here and wear my crown as interviewer of Janey Bayer. So, ye’re free to leave before Aoife shifts us up the next level, “the bump”, which will be, eh, administered by our fans at home. Ye can take yourself right out of it and watch on. Like I said, no strings attached. Now’s your chance… Let’s look at that screen.”
There are some mumbles from the audience and about a third of the remaining red chairs turn grey.
“Well, warriors indeed! Would ya look at that, most of them up for the bump!”
“Jesus, me heart!”
“Mine too, Janey! I can hardly look, hehe! Now, home audience, get yourselves on our site and register, right now, and you can bump any seat in the house. Choose carefully though; one round, one bump each. Who do ye want in and who do ye want out? And while ye’re doin’ that, let’s take a break folks. And come back to us, come back to us. As if ye won’t, ha!”
In seats around the country, viewers reach for their phones. Reaching, registering, choosing.
“Weeeeelcome back! Now, Aoife has done the necessaries and ramped us up. And looks like our viewers are well game. Remember, those of ye who are left can bow out at any time with a push of yer button. You might be bumped more than once. Ya might get sick of it quicker than ya thought. We’ll have our little time limit in the background, but bein’ a lil’ naughty we won’t tell ye how long ya need to stick it out. So if ye’re not sure about any of this, remember ye’re free the whole time to do whatever ya want: stay in or bow out. And there’ll be no coward talk like I said. Ye’re all proud warriors and there’ll be a hamper for every single one of ye at the end of it, regardless.”
A scatter of mild claps and three more red seats turn grey.
“Right so, viewers at home, the level’s been upped to ‘bump’. It’s over to ye.
Ye’ve got a birds-eye view of the folks in the studio here, and all ya need to do is press on one to bump ‘em. Who dy’e want out. Pick one and bump! … Are we ready, Aoife? Right? Ok, we’re ready… get bumping!”
A sudden barrage of loud “Ahs” and curses from the audience as every one of them gets “bumped”, many multiply so. Quickly, half of those left bow out.
“Ooooh, it’s mean, Niamh.”
“We are being a bit naughty now, Janey! The mother would kill me. Thank God she’s dead is all I’ll say. Thank God, she’s dead!”
The bumps continue. But those who haven’t bowed out by now seem inured and carry on with a look of determined fury until Niamh shouts “Time!”
“Fifty of ye left. Fifty! Can ye believe it? Who would believe it? And the game supposed to be finished a round ago at the sting? Well, only one thing for it now, isn’t there? Another ramp up, to… the… blow… Fifty of ye left, but think carefully. Your choice. If ya thought that hurt, this level will blow ye away hehe! Sorry, I’m awful, I know it’s tough, but look, Janey down here waitin’ for the winner. And ye’re all winners with your hampers anyway. No one’s going to say a word to those of ye who’ve had enough.”
“I love ye all” Janey blurts with some emotion. Then: “I can’t watch any more, Niamh.”
“Sure, it’s only a game, Janey. That’s the thing we’ll remember when it’s all over, wha’? Right, folks? Are ye still in. Let’s have a look at the screen… Five more of ye out. Round of applause, ye deserve it.”
The audience is almost fully silent. Sullen, still, waiting.
“Right, well, anyway. Have ye ramped it up, Aoife? Ya have? Well, what’s left to say, but blow us away!”
The shouts and curses from the last round have turned to screams of shock as members jerk and roil in their seats. More than two thirds of those left immediately capitulate. For the first time, some get up and begin to leave the studio. Several openly curse the host and Janey as they do so.
“Now, folks, folks, ye won’t get your hamper if ya don’t stay to the end. It’s just a game, ya potty mouths!”
“You did warn them, Niamh! But, Jesus, I can’t look!”
For a minute the screams and groans go on. Half of those left bow out as multiple blows rain in from the ether, leaving only the eight most tenacious in place as Niamh once again yells “Tiiiiime!”
For once she appears genuinely stunned. “How. Is. It. Possible? How. Is. It? We couldn’t let it go on any longer. Jesus, we’d have the Gards in to us. But that’s… how many?
She looks quickly to the screen. A full eight of ye left. Eight bleedin’ gladiators havin’ slayed your lions. I can’t believe me feckin’ eyes. can you, Janey?”
“Mine are still closed, Niamh.”
“Well, keep ‘em closed, Janey. We’ve got to see this through. There’s still too many to come down to ya yet, to wear the crown. But I’ll tell ya something. We’ve got to give credit to ye heroes who are still with us. We’ve got to give ye credit somehow. So, here’s what we’re going to do. Any of ye who make it through the next round can come down here. If it takes eight crowns, we’ll have to fix it. Somehow. But we have to go on, to. The. Blast. And it’s gonna be a blast. But be warned, folks, it’s really gonna be a blast and remember ye’re still free, 100%. to tap out. Those buttons, our little eyes there, are your route to freedom. One press and it’s all over for ya. Any time. Ye’ve made it this far. Ye’re all heroes already. No one needs to be a martyr. Ye’re free to take yourself right out. And while ye think about it—because it’s a big decision, folks—we’re going to take a break. In the meantime, Aoife, raaaaaamp us up to the blast!”
A minute later… “We’re back! And there’s still seven of ye in. The magnificent seven! The luckiest of lucky numbers wha’? And to the eighth one who took themselves out on the break and then tried to do something—which we’ll just say is completely illegal and threatening to our staff and guests here, not to mind me—I want to say, I forgive you and you’re still a winner. We are all in this together, folks. All of us. We’re all a part and so we’re all together… If ya know what I mean. Anyway, and finally, thank you to the security for their prompt action today. You too are heroes.”
“My fucking heart, Niamh. I thought that fella was gonna…”
“Now, Janey, all is forgiven and forgotten. It’s time, remember, it is now time… to have… a blast! Arm them, Aoife!”
In a heartbeat there is uncontrolled screaming among the seven remaining competitors—five of whom have within a few seconds fallen unconscious, though they continue to be hit, slumped there, bodies jerking spasmodically as they are beset by blasts from the viewing gods.
“Jesus, Niamh!”
“We’re almost there, Janey.” Niamh says as she gets to her feet. “We’re almost…”
The two remaining competitors for the crown can no longer even scream, but their eyes are open and glow with fierce resistance.
“That’s it! That’s it!” Niamh shouts now in triumph as one of the two finally collapses.
Our host sprints to the final remaining conscious competitor, the winner, a young redhead with close cropped hair and a barrage of freckles that have become all but lost in her blood-flushed face. Niamh hugs the woman and drags her up.
“Our queen, our queen! We have a queen!”
The woman, stiff as a board, stumbles to the stage and Niamh tries to seat her on the couch. No sound emerges from her except “Urrrrnggg”.
“Our queen! Sit down here next to Janey now and let’s have a chat! Aoife, bring the crown, bring the crown! Jesus, what a show!”
“Oh, God, Niamh, I still can’t look.”
“A winner, we have a winner. One winner!”
§
“Engage the aul’ grey fella up there Paudie, will ya? Sure there’ll be no one gettin’ hurt.”
“There’ll be heart attacks before we’re halfway through, Niamh. Some of these biddies…”
“There’ll be no biddies either. At least no real ones.”
“Will ya just spit it out.”
“The studio audience will be actors, Paudie, a bunch o’ stooges. All of ‘em”.
“Actors, it’s all for the…”
“For the viewers at home… Right… Call it a social experiment, I don’t fuckin’ care.”
“Since when are we in the business of…”
“The business is the data. There’s companies who will pay through the nose for it.”
“How d’ya know that?”
“Because it was their idea, ya goober. They came to me. Capiche? Naughty Niamh, ha! Well, thank God the mother’s dead. To hell with it. “
“Oh… I… I like it… But gettin’ this past the boys and girls on the standards committee?”
“I told ya they came to me. But they didn’t come to me first, see? Is the aul’ grey fella upstairs awake yet, Paudie?”
“Niamh approaches the producer and pats him playfully on the head.”
“Pull is pull, Paudie.”
“…That’s some pull, Niamh.”
“Thank God, she’s dead! Ha, Paudie!”
§
“How many?”
“65%”
“Went all the way?!”
“What can you say? They had a blast.”
Source: Sting Game from The Beast Machines – Paul R. Buckle Archive
