"You want a UZI?!" Van's exclamation to his request after they had been sequestered in a hotel room sounded impressed to Chester's nervous mind.

Chester nodded and looked out the three-story window taking in the city. He could see the lit-up stage across the street with the crowd becoming larger the closer it came to midnight. How convenient the setup was.

The door flew open and a group of dressed up, overly excited wardrobe and makeup crew descended on Chester. The stage manager stood off to the side, directing what Chester should wear and how he should look.

"You will be introduced, told the rules once more, then you will exit and be on your own," the man told Chester, "Your girlfriend is not exempt from the law as you well know, so be careful about how she behaves once filming begins. I am giving her a set of Vid frames like you, so everyone can see and hear everything you do."

"She's not my girlfriend," Chester muttered, sneaking a peek across the room to where Van was laughing and putting on makeup while chatting with one of the makeup artists, "She can tag along and carry things. I know the rules."

"Good, will you be staying in the city or traveling?"

"Traveling for sure. I'll need an armored truck ready. Weapons are my first stop."

The man looked skeptical, "Pardon, but you don't seem like the violent sort. Are you sure you wouldn't like to enjoy the mansion we keep for all yearly winners? Decorators have already been, and it's a fabulous Halloween setting for you to invite your friends and family."

Chester shook off the overly made-up hairdresser that told him, "Oh my goodness, look at your ears! Where have you been getting your haircut? You should really grow it out to hide how big they are."

Without thinking, Chester took the scissors laying in front of him and stabbed the woman in her cheek. The room came to an absolute standstill except for the woman he'd stabbed who screamed and bled, falling to her knees in a sobbing mess.

The stage manager sighed and touched his headset, "We need another hairdresser up here stat," Then he smirked at Chester, "This isn't my first lottery and I apologize for my presumption. I think you'll give an excellent show this year. Too bad we aren't filming already."

"Chester!" Van exclaimed, coming over to him, "What the hell did you do that for?"

Chester watched as two men helped the sobbing woman out of the room. Why had he stabbed her? "She insulted me. I'm tired of being shit on Van. If you don't like it, you can get out."

Van's face hardened, and she put her hands on her hips. "So, this is how it's going to go? How about you punish those who actually deserve it? That woman may have insulted you but she was doing a job. Don't you want to get out of here and start things off the right way?"

"What way would that be Van?"

Van reached over and touched his cheek, coming away with blood, "Be truthful to your past. This is your chance to right wrongs. I don't care what you do as long as it's deserved. Now, I'll stick by you, but don't talk to me like that again."

Chester smirked, "Okay, sorry. You look pretty."

Her green eyes lit up and she rubbed the blood on her finger off on the black pants wardrobe had outfitted her in, "Thanks. You look very cute Chet. I like the way your hair looks."

Ten minutes later Chester was standing on stage in front of a curtain. He could hear the crowd and tried to settle his nerves by telling himself he deserved this.

Chester thought of his mother and wanted to laugh at her last words to him. She had said she would win, but it was the wrong Drivel that had. He wondered if she might have actually won had he entered her same as every year.

"Remember to just smile and wave," the stage manager reiterated, "Vanyla will be waiting in the truck you requested. Any more questions?"

Chester cleared his throat, "The weapons armory does have a UZI, right?"

The man's eyebrow rose perfectly, "No one has used a UZI in years. Too much damage. You know it will be your neighborhood cleaning the mess, right?"

Chester smirked, "Better know this right fucking now, I could give a shit less what my neighborhood has to clean up."

"Chester Drivel how dare you!"

Cringing at his mothers' tone, Chester turned to see her standing with Fred March. What the hell was this? Fred March rushed forward, took and shook his hand although he struggled to maintain distance from the pair.

"You little ungrateful shit head," Marla growled, ignoring March and poking Chester in the chest, "After everything I've done you leave me behind and who's that slut I saw you with earlier? Huh? Did you honestly think I wouldn't hear that my idiot son had won the lottery?"

The stage manager rushed towards them, stress and heat behind his words as he ordered everyone off the platform. Fred March held Chester's hand in a death grip, pulling him aside as Marla argued with the man.

"Hello Chester," March finally dropped his hand only to put one beefy arm around Chester's lean shoulders, "I know you only have a minute so I'll just get to the point. Don't harm your own people in the next 24 hours son. Help them. We haven't had a winner within our sort in over a decade. I don't know you, or your lovely mother," Chester snorted and wiggled out of the man's hold, "but we need to stick together as a community. There are many things Governor Spell does to our neighborhood... are you listening?"

Chester had never hit anyone in his life. He curled his left hand into a fist. It was weak because he was a weak man, but he still lashed out and March had been too excited in his speech to notice Chester had turned on him. His fist connected with the man's pudgy face and it hurt like a son of a bitch.

March stumbled back, touching his face, "Why did you do that?"

"Everyone get the hell out of here!" The fancy stage manager had cracked, "Where the hell is security? Security! What is going on? Ma'am, you need to leave!"

Chester shook his hand out, trying to ease the pain, telling his mother and March, "I will do whatever the fuck I want to do. And Mother? I suggest you find someplace to hide because before my time is up, I'm going to be doing something called patricide."

Marla paled and slapped Chester across the face, causing him to fly back into the closed curtain, "You always were a nasty boy Chester and you grew into a spiteful, deceitful man. Where's your loyalty?"

The crowd on the other side got louder and three mountain-sized men appeared to wrangle March and Marla off of the stage. Chester glared daggers at his mother, ignoring the managers' frantic call for order and gave her the finger before she was out of sight.

"You," the man wiped his forehead with a folded handkerchief, "stand over here and take these glasses and don't say a damn word."

Amused and feeling like a hero for standing up to his mother, Chester gladly took the thick, black-framed glasses and sat them on his face. There was a flash that temporarily blinded him, then he was facing a crowd that whooped and shouted his name. He grinned, waved and was amazed by the clarity of his vision. It was as if everything around him was laser-focused for the first time in his life. Why didn't everyone have these glasses? Oh right, he was being recorded.

The producer found his inner calm, making a short speech all citizens knew by heart as it was always about the rules. Chester frowned down at the crowd and noticed the inebriated state of nearly every single person. Casting his eyes around, he spotted a beer and liquor stand. Did this happen every year? Chester then heard angry protest that he had been declared the winner. An angry mob wasn't something he wanted to deal with. Had the city intoxicated its own people for this purpose?

"Chester Drivel," he was given a tight-lipped smile, "We look forward to watching what a man such as yourself can accomplish in 24 hours. It is twenty seconds to midnight. Are you ready?"

The crowd was turning. Chester dodged a shoe and heard someone make fun of his name. It wasn't the first time his name had been disparaged but the shoe-throwing was new. Chester nodded and backed away, steeling himself to run to where Van was waiting.

Thinking of Van, a smile broke out on his face and he turned and ran towards the back of the stage, people getting out of his way as quickly as they saw him coming. He had told Van he didn't know how to drive, realizing there was only a handful that did anymore but she had reassured him she was an excellent driver. Chester would have to ask her when and where she had learned because only the elite was given that privilege and they usually hired someone to do it for them anyway.

"Wow," Chester stopped as Van waved at him from the drivers' side of a large black armored truck standing on the step, "You can really drive this thing?"

Van smirked and pushed her Vid frames further up, "Hell yes. Come on, we have a lot to do."

"We do?" Chester asked, opening the passenger door.

"Chester!" March was calling his name, hustling their way. Chester looked at him and saw a crowd had followed. Groaning, he quickly entered the truck and shut the door.

Van hit the locks then calmly asked, "Do you want to get rid of Fred March?"

Chester turned and saw March, who had reached the truck and was pounding on the window. The vehicle had every upgrade imaginable and Chester looked at the dashboard which glowed with many switches and gadgets. He smiled when Van handed him a tablet, saying all the instructions were on there. This would be fun.

"He's useless. Tried telling me to think of my shitty neighborhood, as if they ever cared about me." Chester answered her, finger swiping across the screen of the tablet until coming to the outside defense system. It didn't look too complicated. "Look, this truck can throw out an electrified pulse with a reach of twenty feet! Should we try it on those idiots?"

Van grinned as she turned to look out of the back window where a crowd had gathered. No one could see them inside the truck and Fred March had no idea Chester was about to shoot him full of electricity. Locating the correct toggle among the mass of others, Chester took one last look at the instructions, then hit the switch. Van and Chester's eyes couldn't believe it when a bright white flash, looking like a wicked cat-o'-nine-tails, lashed out on all sides of the vehicle and blew every person in the vicinity backward. Their screams were almost in sync, making Chester chuckle.

"Holy shit!" Chester swallowed as he caught Van's eyes, "Did it kill them? That was awesome!"

Anxiously they looked but there was no movement from those hit with the electricity. Afraid to go outside, Chester slung down in his seat and felt odd. Those people had done nothing to him, but at the moment it had seemed like a good idea. Fun.

"Chet," Van touched his upper arm and he looked into her sympathetic green eyes, "Remember what I said earlier? This is your time and sometimes that requires doing things that will make you question you're conscious, but that wasn't so bad. They are probably knocked unconscious. Now, why don't we head over to the armory and get you that UZI, huh?"

Chester laid his hand on top of hers, "That sounds like a great fucking plan. Do you know how to get to Neighborhood Diamond?"

Van squeezed his arm and his pulse raced, "I do. Why?"

Chester dropped her hand then reached for the seat belt, "I told a woman one day she'd know what a freak was, and I intend on making good on my threat."