Rupture Fest 2013: The Game Show

It was Friday. The beautiful, sophisticated and most well-heeled women in the City were prattling among themselves at a charity ball at an art museum, absent their powerful, businessmen husbands who usually accompanied them to such things. While they sipped champagne and pretended to be experts on cancer, world hunger or whatever other cause celebre their family's charitable foundations were championing, their husbands were off at their annual 'boys weekend' at the City Country Club. Cocktails, gossip and society magazine photo ops for the ladies. Golf, backroom politicking and brandy for the men. It was all a decidedly sexist affair, but it was a tradition among the City's elite power couples that continued with hardly any debate, lest they upset a social order that had allowed them to maintain their shiny images for generations.

However, the golf courses and parlors of the City's secluded country club were markedly quiet considering a group of fifty bombastic men were supposedly on holiday there. Most of the support staff waited around in perfectly-pressed uniforms in these empty venues, not speaking a word of the oddity at the risk of losing what was clearly an easy job. All of the day's activities were taking place in a building at the edge of the club's grounds whose vaulted ceiling and old world architectural touches made it look more like a stately manor house than a modern pole barn.

Inside the large empty building bleachers had been erected facing a stage. Behind the stage was a white wall outlined in various colored lights. In the center of the wall was a mural, an artistic conglomeration of the world-famous logos of the various companies whose top executives were at the club for the weekend. On stage right was a glass and metal podium as modern as it was pretentious, with a small remote-control type device attached to its top. The stage was awash with light from array of ceiling lights and gels would have rivaled a Hollywood movie set. And above the middle of the stage suspended from the ceiling by two massive metal beams, a strange contraption hung. It was a long box shaped object about the size of a refrigerator resting on its side, covered in a silky black cloth. Whatever the object was, it was humming slightly, barely perceptible in the empty auditorium.

Moments later, the businessman filed in coolly as if attending a board meeting. They were all dressed in tailored suits, some wearing jackets but most without, and were sharply groomed. Even the oldest of the group, a banker in his 60s, had the vigor and youthfulness of a man twenty-years his junior - the reward of a privileged, comfortable life. The men took their seats and a hush came over the crowd. The lights in the auditorium dimmed so that only the stage was lit, the lights along the wall began to flash in rhythm to thumping techno that was playing from nowhere but everywhere at once. As the crowd began clapping in rhythm, the music got louder, the lights flashed faster and the lights shinnying down on the staged shuddered and flashed to add an air of almost game show excitement to the scene.

"Are you ready?" came a disembodied male voice.

"YES!" the men chanted in unison.

"I said are you ready?" the voice asked again.

"HELL YES!" the crowd, again in unison, answered more soundly and started to clap and cheer.

"Let's play!” the announcer said waving as he emerged as if from nowhere and took his spot behind the podium.

The announcer was a middle-aged, well dressed man with slicked black hair and was holding a stack of note cards the backs of which all had the same amalgamated logo that was over the stage. He had a toothy grin and exuded charm like a professional TV game show host, pointing to various executives in the gathered crowd to greet them by name . This was clearly not the first time he had seen this crowd. When the crowd quieted down again, the stage lights dimmed, the techno faded out and a spotlight shone on the announcer.

"Gentleman, welcome to the 2013 Annual City Club Rupture Fest!"

The crowd went into hysterical cheers, an older weapons contractor executive in the front row threw his tie and jokingly cat called "We love you!" to the announcer. The techno music briefly roused before fading again, and the audience quieted back down, leaning in as if hung on the announcers every word.+

"I'm Jack and I'm glad to be your host again this year. We have a busy agenda as you saw in invite letters you all received, and a lot more events so fella's this is gonna be the only time all of you are at the same event until the banquet Sunday night."

The sound of paper shuffling could be heard as men pulled out the invitations Jack had alluded to and briefly glanced over the itinerary. Friday, Saturday and Sunday were each broken into three sections 'Morning', 'Afternoon' and 'Evening'. Friday's 'morning' slot was marked simply 'Arrival, guests settling into their rooms', and Friday afternoon was marked 'The Game Show', its font red to indicate that it was new for this year. The executives had already RSVP'd in advance which events throughout the weekend they wanted to attend. Friday evening had three listed events -- 'Market Mash Up', ˜Darts and 'Power Grab'. No further explanatory text or information was given as if the attendees already had long-standing knowledge of what these events were... Saturday and Sunday's three slots each listed three more events each with names such as "Intern Interview" and "Golf", but Sunday evening only listed one event "The Banquet". After a few moments, and some excited whispering amongst themselves, the men put their programs away and turned their attention back to the stage.

Jack continued, "You're probably all wondering what The Game show is this year. It's not as hands on as 'Power Grab'..." a few of the executive chuckled knowingly, "But we're sure you're going to like it. Let's just give these boys a few minutes to get everything setup."

While Jack made chit chat and poked playful fun at the executives, strikingly-efficient men dressed entirely in black and wearing mirror-lenses sunglasses were busily setting up the stage of the 'game show'. Two waist-high white tables, supported by only one slightly curved, elegant leg that seemed ostensibly insufficient to hold the table top's weight were put on the stage a few feet from each other. On the table tops, as could been seen more clearly by the executives on the higher tier seats, were red circles at the middle. Behind the table, a sleek white pole at least eight feet tall was erected, each bolted to the ground and tested for strength by being shoved and pushed on by three of the men in black at once. Meanwhile, the shroud was removed from the object suspended over the stage, and a man in black seemed to take a quick measurement to verify that the tables were positioned equally under the thing. Compared to the sleekness of the rest of the stage props, the box over the stage was an unpolished mess of visible gears and pulleys. Audible murmurs of confusion filled the crowd.

Finally, the last man in black to leave the stage, stopped, turned around and reached into his pocket for something. He placed two large walnuts -- one each --inside the red circles on the tables, looked up one last time to verify everything was in position, and then left the stage giving Jack a thumbs up.

"Here's how the game works," Jack pressed a button on the podium and two black chains slowly descended from the box toward the tables.

At the end of the chains were small black weights, about the size of a grapefruit, and perfectly round. There was no indication of how much the balls weighed, but given the elaborate contraption needed to keep it and the chains aloft it could be concluded that it was heavier than it appear. The chains descended until the weights touched the walnuts slightly, then -- without any input from Jack's control panel -- the chains retracted slightly as if it was able to sense it had touched something, until the weight was just barely touching the top of each nut.

Jack continued "In a moment we're going to bring out two of the boys you're companies so graciously volunteered and set them up just so, " he indicated to the tables, "so that their family jewels are on the table like these walnuts. Then I'm going to ask each of them a series of trivia questions, some hard some easy."

The crowd nodded.

"If he gets it wrong, this happens..." Jack pushed a button. The contraption holding up the chain made an odd series of clicking sounds but nothing appeared to happen; the crowd's confusion was palpable.

"And if he gets it right, this happens..." jack pushed another button. The chain above the left table rose slightly.

"The object is to answer as many questions right as you can..." Jack pressed a button multiple times until the chain above the left table was nearly twenty feet in the air -- the chain nearly totally retracted back into the mechanism.

"That way you place your opponent in the most peril if his weight were to, say... drop."

A chuckle erupted from the crowd.

"However, if you get cocky and the other player starts answering questions right too..." Jack pressed some buttons and the chain over the right table rose until the weight was five feet above that table's walnut.

"And if you get nervous and start answering questions wrong." Jack pressed another button. The strange clicking sound filled the theatre until the chain above the right table quite suddenly was released, sending the weight crashing onto the walnut, cracking it into two pieces.

"You see, when a player answers a question wrong, the mechanism holding his chain is loosened until... well you see what happens. So the object of the game is to answer as many answers right as you can to make sure opponent's nuts are in the most danger. Oh, and to make it more interesting, the higher the weight goes for a player, the harder his questions become making it more and more likely that he'll answer wrong and..." Jack smiled wickedly as he pressed another button on his control panel.

The weight above the left table was released, the weight fell from nearly twenty feet, colliding with the walnut below so hard fragments of shell hit some of the men watching in the front row.

The crowd erupted into cheers. This was going to be a fun game.

The men in black bough out two strapping, naked young men, and tied their hands and feet behind the poles at the tables, holding them firmly in place. They then proceeded to roughly grab and tug out each set of balls, binding their sacks with athletic tape until the contents of each sack bulged obscenely, pulled ten inches from their bodies, the skin so taught on each set that it seemed to shine.

Each set of nuts was then placed inside the red circle on their respective table and held in place by an Upside down U shaped clamp. Each young man struggled and tugged, but their balls were totally trapped, inside the strike zone of the hanging weights. Meanwhile, above, the contraption was making all manner of noise as an elaborate reloading system was readying another set of chains and weights. The chains slowly descended until the weight made contact with each pair of balls, like it did with the walnuts.

"So, let's meet our players, Rob and Abner, graciously um... donated, by the ninety-nine percent. After all, there's 99 of them for every one of us, so who'll miss them?"

The gathered executives erupted into laughter, as if totally undisturbed at the macabre nature of Jack's statement.

Rob, a fairly tall, pale skinned lad couldn't have been more than 25. He had an average build, no strongly-defined muscles, but not quite flabby either. He had dusty brown hair that partly covered his eyebrows and boyishly handsome looks. To this right was Abner, shorter than Rob by a good twelve inches, but in superior physical condition. His Latin complexion glistened under the studio lights. His pectoral muscles where perfectly chiseled, his legs powerful and well defined and his arms, even taught from being pulled behind his back, were rippling with muscles.  

Each 'contestant' had amply large nuts, Robs coming in slightly larger, but each having balls each the size of small eggs. Abner's were more round, Rob's, more oblong, but both were at serious risk of being neither large or round...

Jack dramatically cleared his throat and started the game "Let's begin!"

A dramatic orchestral strike filled the auditorium, the spot light lifted from the announcer's podium and focused instead on Rob and Abner. The intensity of the lights was already causing the two to begin to sweat.

The sight of the two helpless handsome lads -- one an 'every man', the other a hunky 'alpha jock' being held captive, knowing that at any moment all signs of their masculinity could be turned into goo, was too much for some in the audience. The sound of multiple zippers being unzipped filled the air as some of the men began pulling out their own tools to play with while they watched.

"Question one goes to Abner. What color is a red fire truck."

"Red! Please let us go..."

"Correct!" Jack pushed a button and the chain above Rob's bulging sack rose slightly.

"Question two, Rob. What color is a blueberry?"

"Blue! Please..."

The chain above Abner's huge nuts rose.

The crowd erupted into laughter at the boy's plight.

"We just wanted to test out everything, and make sure each guy is at least in a little danger! Now to the real questions..."

Abner and Rob each answered their respective next two questions correctly, making each weight about 5 feet above the doomed sacks. After answering each one correctly, the men would give the other a sidelong pleading glance as if to say "I'm sorry I'm pretty much guaranteeing your nuts are toast by answering this question right."

It was now the seventh overall question, and Abner's fourth. He glanced up nervously, by now sweat profusely dripping from his forehead, and watched the weight dangling five feet over his bloated Latin baby makers, waiting for its moment to squash them to mush.

"Question 7, Abner. What element discovered in 1950 is named after the most populous U.S state?"

A hush gathered over the crowd, some of the men leaning in in breathless anticipation that Abner would answer incorrectly and in turn goo his balls. Up to that point the questions had been getting harder but were still within the realm of 'common' knowledge. Not any more.

"Um..."

"Clock is ticking..." Jack laughed, his hand hovering dangerously close to Abner's penalty button.

"Californium. It's Californium."

"Correct!" there was a cranking of gears and the ball waiting to mush Rob's eggs rose ever higher. A portion of the crowd erupted into cheers, with those who were eager to see Rob's skater boy nuts turned to peanut butter approving of Abner's right answer.

"Now Rob, we always see the same side of the moon. Why is that?"

A hush befell the audience.

"Um... gravity?"

Jack paused, and placed his hand over his right ear as if listening to a hidden speaker there.

"That is incorrect. We were looking for 'tidal locking'. Tidal locking is the answer."

The crowd gasped as a grinding of gears indicated that the mechanism holding up Rob's weight was loosening...

"Okay, looks like you're safe for another round. Next question for Abner.

The announcer went on to ask Abner a surprisingly convoluted question about some obscure accounting rule. Many in the audience assumed the street smart stud would get it wrong and there was a collective audible gasp when the announcer declared.

"Correct!"

The weight above Rob's sack rose ever higher. It was not nearly to the ceiling. There wouldn't be anything left of his nuts if it fell now...

"Okay Rob”

Rob, clearly flustered, was more concentrated on the weight than getting the question he had just been given right. He responded in a rush, realizing he was wrong before the buzzer had even gone off. The gears cranked and ground, but nothing happened. The announcer had just turned to ask Abner the next question when....

"It's dropping!" someone in the first row screamed in giddy excitement.

Rob looked up as the heavy weight fell from the sky toward his nuts. He screamed, begged struggled, and the weight fell as if in slow motion, mocking the end of his manhood.

The weight dropped lower and lower, picking up speed as it fell until

SPLOOOSH!

The weight collided with Rob's nuts and didn't even slow down until it hit the table top with a wet thud. Rob's nuts didn t gradually compress upon impact, they exploded instantly into chunks that showered the audience as if two fleshy cherry bombs had popped. The men in the first two rows were covered with nut meat, which had been turned to chunks of goo. Rob's pent up sperm and pieces of liquefied ball gunk splashed the back row. Rob's eyes were locked in horrified gaze at the weight resting on a pile of gooey mess that once been his huge, firm balls. There was simply nothing left of them now, except the splattered nut goo that was now being wiped off the faces of the City's elite businessmen.

"Well, I guess Abner is the winner!" the announcer said coolly and dramatic music began to play over flashing lights.

By now Rob was in hysterics as the well-rehearsed men in black swooped the stage to clean up the mess. Abner was roughly freed from his constraints and lead off stage. Meanwhile, one of the men lifted the heavy ball weight from Rob's totally deflated sack, dropping it nearly on his foot it was so slick with ball guts. The audience laughed.

Without being prompted a few of the men came to the stage to examine the damage up close. Rob was comatose, freed from his constraints, his limp body being held up by a man in black.

"They're totally flattened," one of the businessmen said grabbing the totally squashed sack in his hands, its mushed contents had been completely squeezed out like a burst sausage.

"I can't believe it! There's nothing left!"

"Just mush"

The men continued to fondle the ruined equipment, totally amazed at how absolute the destruction was. The gooey mess hardly even resembled balls.

"Gentleman, gentleman. This is just a taste of the weekend to come!"

The crowd cheered as the ruined skater was lifted and carried off stage. As they dispersed, a middle age executive named Greg Robins was tapped on the shoulder,

"So Robins, where are you headed this evening?" asked a wide-eyed man in his fifties, a bit of Rob's goop still visible on his forehead.

Greg smiled, "Market Mashup sounded fun. I heard they totally changed it up this year,"

"I would hope so, that damn whack-a-mole mallet thing was so hard to use last year,"

Greg laughed.

This was gearing up to be the best Rupture Fest ever... and it was only the first day.