I’m a patient person, at least by human standards. That day, I wished time would just stop so I never had to leave. I was uncomfortable, sure—my seat was hard, my ass felt like it would go flat if I sat any longer, and if I stood there was no room to move so that didn’t help to get the pins and needles out of my legs. But the glass prison was preferable to the chaos that waited out there.

I was inside a cell made of thirty centimetres thick bullet-proof, fire-proof, claw-proof, and gore-proof glass. I wasn’t alone: hundreds of demons waited in the Glass Lobby, the last station before the Culling began in earnest. The room was round and a thousand-something cells, filled with all manner of demon, lined the entirety of its wall, save for one spot which had a large red door with no handle. The way we were positioned, we could see every other participant.

Despite the glass, they had their ways of hiding themselves: changing faces, covering their features with hair, facing the wall if they were small enough. It made it difficult to identify the competition. However, none of them could hide their type, or their canto, as it was called. Every demon had distinct physical features that marked them for what they were, just not necessarily who.

I didn’t want to see them, but a lot of demons certainly wanted to see me. I made no effort to cover my appearance. After all, a human was obviously a human no matter how they tried to hide it. They were too normal not to stand out.

Deciding to keep my mind off them—and to prevent myself from hyperventilating, I admit—I drew out a dented iron locket that dangled from a chain around my neck. An old keepsake from my childhood, and the only thing that had kept me sane for most of my life, living under the oppressive order of a demon-centric world.

Whenever I held the battered thing in my hand, my thoughts always turned back to the one who’d given it to me. She was dead now, and I’d always wondered what had happened to her in her final moments. What had happened during her life that I was never able to be a part of?

Well, no point in wondering. I thought I’d never figure out that answer since I was likely to die myself. I stuffed the locket back into my shirt. When I looked up, I met a single golden eye that watched me sideways from the cell beside me.

“Sorry, the store’s closed for renovations,” I said dryly.

The demon was a balaam. They looked as human as anyone else, though a little too thin to be a man and a little too flat to be a woman. No surprise there: balaams are rather ambiguous, and they revel in that fact. Oh, and this particular one had an eagle’s head. Nearly forgot. Sometimes it was the human parts that stood out on a demon, by virtue of how weird some of them were.

This one eyed me with their head tilted. Then their head jerked again and they stared at me front on.

“Are you a human?” they said. There were enough gaps through the fronts of our cells for their voice to carry around.

“No, I’m a dog. Don’t pet me; I’ll bite.”

Their head tilted again. I cupped my hands behind my head and leaned back, trying to ignore them.

“I am Toll,” they said. “What is your name?”

“The Colorado River.” Better not to play this game with a balaam. They loved dealing in questions, and it never worked out well for the ones that tried to best them at their own trade.

Toll tapped their beak to the glass. “Was that a locket?”

“No, it’s a choker.”

If the balaam was frustrated or contemplative, there was no way I could tell. They had bird eyes and a bird beak. There was no way to read any expressions off that.

They said, “All humans are able to bring a single item into the Culling. It helps to even the odds against demons. Why would you choose a locket?”

“To fuck with you, obviously.”

“That human brought something useful.” Toll’s beak jerked up to point at the cell behind me.

Turning, I could see Berlin waiting anxiously. She wore a hoodie so her expression was hidden, but I knew she’d be anxious. Her legs were pumping up and down and her shoulders heaved rapidly from quick breaths. Hyping herself up.

Clutched in her hands was a small sack. She didn’t need to open it for me to know what was in there. Aside from a weapon, it was the only thing a demon hunter needed. Some didn’t even need a weapon so long as they had that. Hopefully she wasn’t one of the more dogmatic sort, but given her performance on Meet The Participants last night, I had my suspicions at the time that she’d try to claw a demon to extinction the moment she was let out of her cage.

“Good on her,” I said, then faked a yawn and stared up at the domed ceiling.

A siren blared. Everyone’s attention turned to a flashing red light in the middle of the room. This was it. The moment of truth—a truth that even a human couldn’t lie away. My heart started racing of its own accord. Legs shaking, palms sweaty. Normal human reactions to a perfectly fucked up situation. Emotions that a demon would never feel nor understand.

The blaring sound and flashing lights stopped suddenly, and I was shaken from my unease when a message popped up in the air right in front of me.

Welcome, Participant!

The Culling will begin in one minute. Participants will be released one by one and will walk through the red door. Failure to comply will result in immediate elimination.

I scanned the cells around me and, sure enough, the only message I could see was the one bolted directly onto a spot in front of wherever I was staring. Every other demon, and Berlin too, was staring in front of them as well, their eyes scanning left to right, reading something that only they could see.

How about that? We even got messages beamed straight into our brains. Of course, the Marquises—our overlords who ran all of society, and the Culling by extension—could have just as easily announced these things over a speaker, but this gave us a sense of the difference in power between us and them. There wasn’t a single demon in this room who could manage something like this. It was a reminder that the rules must always be obeyed, because we had little choice otherwise.

There was an X button in the corner of the message. I instinctively wanted to tap it, but I figured that if the thing had been beamed directly into my brain, I could probably close it with my brain. I mentally tapped the X button and, sure enough, the message blinked away.

Looking around, it seemed most demons weren’t quick on the uptake. A few made no movements, including Toll, but the rest tapped the air in front of them. I almost laughed aloud. Demons were not a creative lot, that was for sure.

A long minute passed in silence. Then a transparent cell door flung open, recognisable only by the distortion of a winged demons’ image. The demon stepped out and strode calmly to the door. Nobody shouted or jeered or tried to rile him up. If this room were filled with humans, everyone would have been screaming at them, slamming on cell doors, trying to spook the poor bastard. But these weren’t humans; they were demons. And fear was something they could rationalise away, assuming they felt it at all.

The winged demon stood before the single red door. It swung open of its own accord and inside was an eerie white nothing. My throat caught as I stared into it, knowing that what lay beyond was a world of horror and violence. I was staring into a reality which hadn’t quite yet sunk its claws into me.

Without ceremony, the demon stepped through, and the door shut behind them with an uneventful clunk.

The room was silent again as every demon waited patiently for their cell door to open. More demons were unlocked and more demons walked through the red door. I kept my head tilted back and my eyes closed. I didn’t care. I already knew my chances were slim. Once we were a quarter of the way through, a chance at an early start was lost so I was once damned. If I didn’t get a good start or the Ring they shoved us in was terrible, I was twice or triple damned.

The Culling is divided into nine Rings, each with its own rules and challenges. In each Ring, participants collect points and items which can be used in later rings. Each year, the Culling administrators, who are separate from and overseen by the Marquises, decide which Rings will be used. There’s a limited number of Rings to choose from and they always use the same rules. The Rings are never revealed to the participants before they enter, but for the audience at home? They are informed of every insidious plan and get to gleefully watch us struggle against the odds.

Berlin was let out early enough. She leapt up, exhaled sharply a few times, then sprinted full tilt for the door. It was probably the most amusing thing to happen so far today. So far.

You’re probably wondering why demons, despite being so pragmatic, would not try to run straight for the exit in order to grant themselves a few precious seconds. The reason why was comparative advantage: so long as all the participants were walking, there was no disadvantage in walking themselves.

Therefore, once Berlin bolted out the room, every demon followed suit. Those precious seconds were now vital—a demon hunter had gained a lead on them.

When the room had half emptied, Toll tapped their beak on the glass again to get my attention.

“Are you afraid, human?”

“Terrified.” Well, truthfully, the whole thing felt surreal. I still wasn’t too sure that this was happening, like I would blink at any moment and wake up in my tiny, human-appropriate apartment. If anything, I was anxious, a bit indifferent.

“Fear is appropriate,” the demon said. “There is much for you to fear. Look.”

The balaam pointed towards the opposite end of the room. A bunè, the meanest and ugliest bastard I’d ever seen, was pressed right up to the glass. His ripped chest, an exaggerated mockery of a human’s, heaved up and down against the cell wall. His breath steamed up the glass.

Now, I know I said earlier that demons didn’t bother shouting at each other like humans did to the new inmates at a human prison, but there was an exception.

Humans are always scared in battle, but what they fear most is the quiet tenacity of a demon whose will had settled on murder. Aside from erasing them, there’s no way to stop a demon once they start attacking. That was terrifying, and the demons know it.

So, trying to freak us out, this bunè was watching Berlin and I like a vulture waiting for its pray to finally choke it. Too bad for him. I understood this game he was playing and that made the experience sobering.

“I think he wants to kiss me,” I told the balaam.

Toll tilted their head in response. “Are you brave or ignorant?”

“Neither. Just plain old stupid.” Realistically, all three.

The next cell door opened. It was Toll’s. Stepping out, the balaam stood before my cell, turned, and watched me with both golden eagle eyes. I tried not to let it get to me, but that stare was so acute that it was hard not to feel like you were being measured up.

Toll spoke slowly, deliberately, “The one who gave you that locket would be proud of you, Algier.” Then they turned and, unlike the other demons, walked towards the door.

The hairs were standing on the back of my neck. I had to stifle myself, or else I’d blurt out a question to the balaam, like, “How do you know my name?” But I kept my mouth shut. It was bait, a game to the demon. They wanted me to ask a question.

As they strolled across the room, they watched me sideways with one eye. I made a promise to myself that when I got my hands on a weapon, I’d slice that bird’s horns off and make it answer every question I had.

But that was human thinking, not demon thinking. A balaam would play their games right to the grave. Every demon would. I placed a hand on my chest and felt out the locket, took a deep, long breath, then felt calm.

There was a good reason I’d chosen this locket and not a weapon. Simply put, the greatest disadvantage that humans had in the Culling was not fatigue or lack of strength, but the weakness of the mind. Constant, endless fighting. Brutal, pointless slaughter. These were things that few humans could maintain for extended periods of time. Stress broke the mind if it were allowed to fester, and the Culling went for a long, long time—at least, it was long for any human who was in a constant battle with their psychology.

I needed something that would prevent me from breaking before the demons got to me. That’s what the locket was: one of two gifts that my mother had given me, and a reminder of who I was. I am a human. I am weak, stupid, riddled with flaws, and wholly dishonest. And if lying was my only advantage, I needed to be in a state of mind where I could keep myself from saying, or doing, something I’d regret.

Toll took one last look at me before hopping through the doorway, and, reconsidering my previous promise, I hoped I’d never see them again because I’d probably do something that would get me killed.

The room trickled away, slowly, slowly. Hours passed until, finally, I was alone. By this point, I’d already resigned myself to death. Oh, I’d fight, but I wasn’t expecting much. The ones who got an early start had more of a chance to collect items, not having to worry that another participant had snapped them up first.

Nobody really knows why there is a time difference in each demon’s start, or what determined a demon’s start position. Is it the crime they had committed? Perhaps the strongest participants are placed last? Or maybe they shove you at the back of the line because the Marquises don’t want you to live. You’d think that for the Culling to be fair, they’d drop them all into the first Ring at once. That’s just the thing, though. The Culling isn’t fair. It’s designed so that, if every participant really wants it to be so, everyone could survive.

But though demons don’t lie, they have no loyalty either. Their only concern is following the rules—their own rules, designed to carve out a pathway towards their own goals, but which ultimately align with each other’s. It’s the commonality of a demon’s personal rules that create what we humans would call “civility”. However, when a wish is dangled in front of their eyes, and the possibility of success is just within grasp, then whatever mask of civility these Hellish shits once wore is thrown into the fire.

These demons were probably asking, where’s the logic in diluting the prize pool? Not all of them, of course, not just yet, but as the realities of the Culling settled in, the rules they’d obeyed for the last hundred years on Earth would crumble before a new logic—the original logic—of power and violence. Hence, a slaughter was inevitable, despite how unnecessary and terrible it seemed.

In a way, the Glass Lobby was a chance to witness those masks slip in real time. It had been my favourite part of the Culling to watch as a kid, despite how boring other humans claimed it to be. There was a quiet fascination in seeing which demon broke first. I’d always bet on that one making it far into the Culling, and I’d won a lot of money from those bets.

Every other demon had left the lobby. I was dead last, and given all the time in the world to visualise my uneventful end. Finally, a message invaded my vision, telling me to enter the door under threat of elimination—a nicer word for death.

The cell door swung open without a sound. I took a deep breath, exhaled until empty, took as much time as I needed. I was already at a disadvantage, so why not relax a little and clear away the doubts that fogged my mind. I stood, dusted myself off, then walked towards the door and the white nothingness that lay beyond.

Remember when I said I had one advantage that demons didn’t? I wasn’t being completely honest. I have a second advantage: I know everything there is to know about demons and the Culling. Most demons wouldn’t bother learning these things because the time wasted could be spent pursuing other goals. But humans? We hedge. We take unnecessary precautions, not because we’re idiots but because we don’t trust other humans to do the right thing. And I’m less trusting than every other human out there. As I learn more, I trust less.

Besides, ever since I learned about what happened to my mother, I knew it was only a matter of time before I ended up here.

I took a deep breath, turned slowly, waved a mental goodbye to the glass prison and the life I’d just fucked up, then stepped into the white void.