The Scarab Games

“So, tell me,” the journalist asks, “tell me how you get these beetles to fight each other. Don’t they ever get stubborn?”

“Sure they do,” I reply and walk with him to the tank at the far end of the room. “But as you can see, this one kinda owes me.”

Behind the thick prescription glasses, his eyes were wide and scrutinizing. I was never fond of press folk, but I did like the nerdy ones, because they had good questions.

“He has a state-of-the-art enclosure, expensive food, protection from other bugs,“ I continue. “Not that the latter is a problem. He’s an apex predator.”

“That’s quite fantastic. So, how do you control it?”

“With that.”

I point to the docking station sitting on my desk. The journalist hesitates before he walks over. He holds it in his hands with extreme care, as if it were the Holy Grail itself.

“This is how you control your beetle?”

“Yes. I’ve attached electrodes to all major muscle points under his exoskeleton, all wirelessly connected to that pad. From there, I send tiny signals into the different electrodes which allow me to control his movements.”

“Does this procedure have any side effects?”

I smile politely at him. “It’s not painful for him, if that’s what you’re asking. Your brain sends you the same signals when you decide to get out of bed in the morning, and that’s not painful at all, is it?”

“You’re right, of course not.” He turns the page on his notepad. “But, from what I understand, not all beetle fighters use this method.”

“No. Some go about it more analogously ...”

The journalist stares curiously at me, and I linger by my words. Had I known beforehand that I would be forced to praise my competitors in an interview, I would not have agreed to it. But alas, I needed to keep a sporting attitude.

“-such as my competitor in tonight’s game, Miss Amarah,” I say, trying my best to play up my enthusiasm. “She trains her insect by hand, which is quite ... unique.”

I sour my tone at the end, just so I can see him panic a little bit.

“Would you consider your methods of control more reliable than those of Miss Amarah?” he proposes.

While pondering the question I look into the glass tank. Now awake from his rest, my beetle discovers the piece of food I placed in front of him a few hours ago. He inches forward, making sure that it was indeed food, and then begins to eat. I listened to the soggy, yet sharp, sounds of the rotted wood being crushed between his mandibles.

“I’ve always found not only Miss Amarah, but all women in this industry, to be foolish,” I respond. “They try to befriend their animals, as if they are missing the whole point of beetle fights; it’s a bloodsport. Remove blood from the equation, and all we have left is a beauty contest. They forget the most important principle - violence for violence is the rule of beasts. And they are beasts, these creatures. That you will surely see tonight.”

The journalist does not respond to my statement. Instead he clears his throat and weighs hesitantly on one foot.

“I’m unsure how well that would sit with our readers.”

I sigh again, and unlock the door to my dressing room to show him out. 

“Alter it however you want.”

***

I snap my fingers and point firmly toward the ground. To my relief, without bickering, she elevates herself and balances on her round bottom before tipping forward and landing belly down, right onto the thin piece of tenderloin I had placed in her enclosure.

“What a girl,” I applaud, “Gold star for you, Aries!”

I hear a sound, and look over to see my agent Mia standing in the doorway.

“I have a visitor here for Miss Amarah,” she jeers with a sly smile, and throws my robe at me from the sofa armrest.

“Oh, my. Is it formal?” I ask while I tie a neat bow around my waist.

“You tell me.”

Growing annoyed with Mia’s inexplicitness at first, I realize why when the visitor reveals himself in my doorway.

“Mr. Wilde,” I greet him with a honeyed smile. “Shouldn’t you be preparing?”

He steps across the threshold, hands in his pockets. “Wow. Your room is definitely cleaner than mine.”

“I’m sure it is. What brings you here?”

Wilde eyes me up and down from where he stands.

“Did you not bring any clothes with you?”

I gesture to the room. “Don’t tell me you came in here just to criticize my way of dressing.”

“You look unprofessional and slutty.”

To annoy him, I untie the bow on my robe and let him catch a glimpse of my underwear.

“Unprofessional and slutty ...  Mr. Wilde, I’m blushing. What do you want?”

I get on one of the couches in the room, and he sits down across from me. We exchange irked stares over the tortoiseshell tabletop.

“I want to make you a proposition before the winner is crowned tonight,” he requests.

“I’ll decline. Thank you, though.”

“I know about your situation.”

I glance over to the glass tank, at Aries, resting under a big leaf. Wilde nods to her.

“You’ve gotten this far with only one beetle, right? The one you have in there.”

“Aries.”

“That’s risky for a rookie. You seem like a worthy opponent, having to constantly defend your title like that.”

I raise my eyebrow at him. “I am.”

“I can imagine not everyone likes to see their favored beetle get pinned down by what looks like a large woodlouse.”

I scoff at his comparison, but still a lump forms in my stomach. 

“You used to have two beetles. Right?” he persists, faking his curiosity in a deceptively sweet voice. “This wasn’t the beetle you fought Akako Kamaguchi with, at the Shinjuku championships. Where is the other one?”

“I think you already know,” I grouse. “He passed away.”

“No, no, he didn’t pass away - he was killed. Kamaguchi’s goons got him in his reserve, didn’t they?”

I study Wilde’s face across the table. It crosses my mind how much he looks like a naked cat, how there was nothing superfluous about his appearance. Perfectly chiseled, like out of marble. I can imagine he is much like a cat, as well - surrounding himself with people who like to give and not ask for anything back. 

“He couldn’t handle being beat by a woman, I guess. Are you like that, too?”

Getting all the more restless, I stand up from the couch and pace the room.

“Your beetle doesn’t know how to fight without your guidance,” Wilde says. “Tonight’s game will be over quicker than you think.”

“Start talking sense, or I’ll have you escorted out.”

“You should lose the game tonight.”

I stop dead and fix my eyes to the floor, feeling like I have just received a slap across the face.

“You have my word that I won’t try to kill your bug in the ring. In exchange for the national title, I’ll sponsor you with another fighter.”

Mia comes back, and the sour atmosphere is so palpable that she almost shrinks in size.

“But, of course,” Wilde shrugs upon noticing her, “there’s no pressure. I just fear that when I beat you, my job won’t be as fun anymore.”

“O-kay!” Mia firmly called out, holding the door wide open. “I’m sure Miss Amarah is very flattered that you googled her and all, but we don’t do meet-and-greets. You’re leaving, now.”

She steadily follows Mr. Wilde with her gaze until his footsteps fade. Mia slams the door shut, and hands me a folder.

“Let’s forget about him and go over tonight’s schedule instead,” she sighs and pulls out a few papers from her organizer.

“Forget about who?” I ask.

Mia smiles at me. “Good girl.”

***

Attendees swarm to their seats, vigorous techno music booms through the speakers. After a few minutes, a man in a tuxedo walks out on the sand floor.

“My, my, my …” he rumbles into the microphone. “What a crowd we have tonight! It is my utmost delight to welcome you all to the 24th installment of the National Bugfighting Championships! My name is Ellis Andrews … but you knew that already!”

Sixteen thousand voices surge through the arena, cheering and screaming. The speaker bows his head and calmly gestures to the crowd.

“The victor of this fight will take home the national title of Bugfighting Champion, and be sent to Beijing to compete for the world crown next year. And believe me when I say, the stakes have never been so high. Allow me to introduce the keepers of tonight’s fighters - Ms. Talia Amarah and Mr. Everett Wilde!

Two doors on opposite sides of the arena slide open, revealing Amarah and Wilde in their risqué battle suits; Wilde in tight suit pants and a slightly unbuttoned white shirt, and Amarah in a bejeweled body and a transparent, fur-lined negliché. They meet in the middle of the arena to shake hands, and head to their platforms which elevate once the fight starts.

The speaker suddenly starts hushing into the mic. The crowd goes silent. He puts a finger in the air, directing the attention to the slow but vigorous thumps emerging from under their seats.

“Do you hear that, ladies and gentlemen? It appears our first beetle has arrived ... and she’s no stranger. All things she devours, bird and beast alike. Native to the Andean mountains she grinds her opponents to meal, with a whooping force of four metric tons. Please give it up for the Boarneck Dermestid, the Giant of Machu Picchu; Aries!”

The audience members jump out of their seats and chant Aries’s name. The doors on Amarah’s end open once again, and out comes the titanic beetle crawling. Her yellow speckled, oval body stakes itself forward with the six legs burrowing into the floor each step. One can hear Amarah shouting words of encouragement from her pedestal. Aries raises her stout head and claps her thick jaws together in a power display.

“But, as you all know,” Ellis Andrews continues, “Aries is not the only monster here with us this evening. Behind those doors …”

The speaker points toward the gates underneath Wilde’s elevated platform. The audience quietly chatters.

“ … is a Cobalt Lucanus beetle. Once native to the Amazon rainforest, this beast is one of the very few left in the world, and you ought to be happy about it. He slices, he dices, he spikes his food on spearlike teeth. Careful not to blink, ladies and gentlemen, or you may miss him. Here he is: Titus, the Demon scarab!”

The gates open. Wilde puts his fingers on the control pad, and steers Titus out onto the arena. A pair of antler-like jaws, followed by a lumpy head and long abdomen. Titus patrols the lower frame of the arena, and the screaming spectators reach out their hands. His sleek shell glimmers in the strobe lights.

A few moments pass. Aries and Titus are now opposite of eachother on the sandy floor. Amarah rids herself of her negliché, and crouches down.

“You’re gonna do so well, Aries. So well.”

The speaker brings the microphone even closer to his lips.

“Three … two … one …”

The arena goes quiet once again. The seconds before a game, crowds always stop talking. Amarah takes a deep breath, listens to the silence, savours the peaceful moment.

The battle bell chimes ominously, and Titus charges directly ahead. His mandibles are caught under Aries’s belly. He manages to lift her off the ground.

“Aries, pounce on him!” Amarah yells.

Aries relaxes her muscles and drops her full body weight onto Titus. His head hitting the ground stirs up a large cloud of dust. The audience trills in excitement at the intense first hit. With Titus grounded, Aries pins his legs down and starts walking over his body toward the other side. Wilde is fuming on his pedestal, trying to throw Aries’s grip off by rattling Titus’s legs on the pad, but she proves simply too heavy. Once at the other side, Aries sluggishly starts rotating her body to face her keeper.

“Ooh, that’s gotta hurt!” the speaker injects through the PA system. “Wilde now has to control Titus invertedly! I wonder how this will go.”

Titus gets on his feet and lunges at Aries’s abdomen. He clings to her with his sharp mandibles, and begins to climb up her back. Amarah gestures wildly to the side, so Aries takes a few steps back and thunders her buttocks into the rim of the arena. Titus still has his teeth in, so she slams into it again. The audience members behind the beetle roar and bellow at the violence in front of them - some encouraging and others condemning. Once again, Titus falls to the ground, and Wilde stomps his foot in fury on the platform.

Aries tries to maintain her distance by slowly backing away. Titus, however, speedily flips over and lands on his feet again. Lowering toward the floor, he slithers unusually close to Aries. He circles her narrowly, avoiding her crushing stomps.

“Watch it!”

Titus swiftly thrusts himself upward with remarkable speed. He grabs hold of his opponent's head with his mandibles, and the audience collectively gasps.

“It appears Titus has caught Aries in a death grip!” Andrews shouts and points to the entangled fighters. “This brute move could render her immobilized, if not sever her head completely.”

Titus struts against the ground with his hind legs, forcing Aries's head higher and higher. She is about to become vertical, like an ascending crane. Her legs give way and she lands belly-up with a deafening thump on the sand floor.

“The Giant is on her back! Titus has the absolute advantage! Tell me, how do you get a four ton beetle off the ground?!” the speaker roars.

Wilde steers Titus atop Aries’s stomach. A smirk dances over his lips as he watches her wag back and forth, her legs flop about like rotor blades. Titus traps two of them between his tusk-like jaws, and in one wet bite severs them. Colorless, watery blood spew from her cut off limbs. The spectators marvel at the sight, while Amarah squeals in panic.

“Oh, my God! Aries, roll over! Roll over!”

Aries purrs emphatically, setting the entire arena into motion. She gains momentum and wiggles her abdomen from side to side. Titus loses his balance, and is thrown off to the side. He crashes into another rim, scaring away the nearby audience members.

“Oh, come on!” Wilde snarls from his platform. “This fat bitch isn’t beating me.”

Titus once again arises from the dust and seizes Aries by the abdomen. Limp and slow, she cannot counter him when he pierces her tough shell through the sides. The crowd hollers at yet another sight at the blood of the beast, and Aries winces in pain.

Amarah gets down on her knees and snaps her fingers. Aries drowsily looks her way.

“Remember what we practiced. Alright? Fight, Aries.”

A few still moments pass. Titus is static, jaws locked around his bleeding opponent.

“It looks like Aries is a bit drained! Ha, get it?!”

“Get up, Aries!” she begs. “Just a little while longer.”

In the blink of an eye, Aries regains her power and flicks her abdomen upward. She catches Titus off guard, and he flies several feet up in the air before landing below her. Amarah raises her hand wearily, and guides Aries upward on her trembling hind legs. She firmly points a finger at Titus. He is still on the ground, struggling to find his footing. Aries stumbles over, and though she slips in the sand she lands the final blow. With her four metric tons, she demolishes Titus under her belly, as if he was a piece of tenderloin. His body combusts, and from under her his thin intestines and brain fluid gush out. It splashes over the rims and onto the keepers as well as the closer spectators. As their platforms descend to ground level, Amarah sprints toward the maimed Aries along with the bug vets. She presses her tiny figure against the enormous, fuzzy head.

“You did it,” she whispers gently. “You won, baby. And don’t you worry, those legs will come back.”

Wilde stands still, as if paralyzed, in the face of the massacre. He takes a few hesitant steps toward the point of impact across the wet sand, and puts his hand on Titus’s mandibles. They protrude from under the victor’s body, still intact. He gives them a light yank, but they do not budge. 

A vibrating sound emits from his pocket. He pulls out his phone and exits the battlefield swiftly. 

“Mr. Kamaguchi.”

“Wilde. The fight is over, yes?” a broken English voice inquires. 

“Y-yes, sir, it’s done.”

“And she lost?”

Wilde is quiet and does not respond.

“Mr. Wilde,” the man repeats, firmly, “she lost the fight, didn’t she?”

“Uh … no, sir. She defeated me. I failed to negotiate with her.”

Kamaguchi draws a lengthy sigh on the other end. He then says something in japanese, and gets a reply from further away. 

“I paid you a king’s ransom to make her lose,” he rumbles. “I thought the plan was to put the bitch out of business forever. Did I not make myself clear?”

“Of course you did, sir. It’s just … I didn’t-”

“I clearly made a mistake doing business with you.”

He begins to stumble over his words, droplets of sweat forming on his forehead.

“Mr. Kamaguchi, please, I’m certain we can work out a solution. I will pay you back.”

“Sure you will,” he chuckles. “But this time, I’m coming back for more than just my money. That you can be certain of."