His enthusiasm wasn't contagious. The contestants radiated either sullenness or blankness.

I couldn't really see the other contestants too well in the cages, but up close, we all varied in clothing, size, and race. The only thing we had in common so far was our expressions — confusion mixed with disbelief with a side of uneasiness.

"The audience is gonna love this," Jookie said as he hopped around like Bugs Bunny.

The rude guy narrowed his eyes, clenching his fists like he was ready to knock the joyous Jookie out cold. The new flood of guards — fifteen to be exact — seemed to be the only thing stopping him.

Tears in her eyes, a curly-haired girl with braces and sketchers trembled near me, looking like she wouldn't even harm a worm.

She didn't look like a murderer, but then it dawned on me, I wasn't a killer, but I was still put here. So, maybe she wasn't either. But who the heck sponsored her? Or me? Those unknown questions itched at my brain.

"Do we get to ask questions first?" the rude boy asked.

Jookie looked like he was ready to electrocute him again, but he smiled instead. "No. Only the winner can ask a question. Any question she or he desires in fact." Then he snapped his colorful fingers.

With a quiet start, the guards ambled forward, grabbing us. A guard with white-tinted glasses gripped my shoulders and flung me forward, ordering me to walk.

None of us tried to fight, even the rude guy. Mostly because they jabbed guns into our spines, leading us toward steel double doors before flinging us inside.

Losing my footing, I stumbled into some guy.

He caught me before I fell over, letting my body rest against his strong shoulder so I could stabilize. Once I did, I caught his intense, warm eyes staring at me, studying me with interest.

"Sorry," I whispered, wrapping my arms around myself again.

He ran his fingers through the front of his hair. "It's fine," he said, voice pillow soft. He then took off his leather jacket and pushed it toward me.

I looked up, confused. "Huh?"

Warm-eyes never said anything. He just handed me the jacket and walked away.

The door slammed shut behind me, and I jerked at the echoing noise. Shiny steel formed the walls around us, creating a large room that held only a metal morgue bed and a table of tools. The stench of decaying death smoked the air like humidity on a summer day.

Without a second thought, I tugged on the jacket. It fit a little big, but I liked it like that. It smelled like harsh mint with a tang of delicious almond. My eyes looked for him in the crowd, spotting him leaning against the wall, staring down at his anklet.

What was his deal? I appreciated the gesture, but... never mind.

"When someone does something nice, just accept it. Don't overthink it," Tim said one time. That was true, but these weren't ordinary people.

"Hello, contestants." Jookie materialized on a television that descended from the ceiling in the corner. "Your first challenge is to kill this man — "

The ceiling opened up again, dropping down a frightened middle-aged man. Dressed in a plaid shirt and khaki pants, he trembled like a scared puppy.

" — and cut him up and grab the biggest body part," Jookie said, emphasizing biggest with a smile. "The winner gets one question and 2,500 points! You have two hours." He clicked off, but then came back suddenly. "And whoever doesn't complete this challenge will die. They'll get shot in the face by one of our lovely guards. Toodles," he said before a timer replaced him on the screen.

Everyone just stood there for a moment. All thirteen — no it was twelve of us now. There was just thirteen of us like two minutes ago. Did Jookie kill one of us already?

The red-haired girl started to shiver. "This is a joke. A horrible joke, right?" she asked, a southern accent lacing every word.

"Please don't kill me," the victim whispered, tears rolling down his face.

The rude boy watched him cry, nose turned up. "I got electrocuted multiple times. This shit ain't' fake."

The girl with the sketchers began to sob and hyperventilate before throwing herself into a corner, arms wrapped around herself.

"We can't kill him," a preppy boy in a blazer said, shaking his head. "We can't."

The rude boy narrowed his eyes. "Do you want to die? I sure don't. Especially not for some stranger."

I didn't want to die either, but could I kill another person? It sounded so easy, but could I watch the essence drain out of a person until nothing but a blank carcass remained? I didn't know if I could do that.

And what if killing pushed me over the edge, and I became my mother? Blood-thirsty and evil. No one knew how they'd react if they have to do something like that.

"Please. I have children," the man begged, bringing me out of my thoughts. He shivered like he was cold as delicious fear entered his eyes.

The television popped on again.

"To make things more interesting, let me tell you about your victim," Jookie said before cackling. "His name is Michael Lent. A thirty-two-year-old husband and father of four. Wife's currently six-months pregnant with their first girl and he's a church-going man who donates half of every paycheck to charity." Jookie then disappeared with a giggle.

I sighed. He did that on purpose. Getting to know someone made it harder for you to kill them.

"I want to see my family. I want to meet my baby girl," Michael cried, shaking his head. "I don't want to die here. Please."

The rude guy moved forward, dropping to a knee. "I don't want to die here either." He gripped the man by his hair and smashed his face into the steel wall with a loud banging noise.

A few people gasped while others flinched like me. The rude guy did that with no remorse. He didn't even blink.

With thick blood running down his face, Michael screamed, flailing around like a fish, trying to get out of rude guy's grasp. Michael was a fighter.

Rude guy couldn't slam his head anymore because Michael kept moving. So instead, rude guy wailed punches on his face, blood caking his knuckles. Every landed punch sounded like raw meat slapping a cutting board, eerily satisfying.

Michael held on though, determined to live. He ate those punches while screaming and struggling. When rude guy looked like he was about to lose his grip, the huge gruffy-beard contestant behind me surged forward, grabbing a surgical blade off the table.

Running over to the struggling men, gruffy-beard came up behind Michael, snapping his head back with one hand. His stubby fingers held the blade tight before slashing it across Michael's throat in one slick, hard motion.

A trickle of red liquid squirted out of the wound in a quick blink, drenching the rude guy, along with the white floor and the wall.

"What the fuck, man?" the rude guy snapped, dropping the victim on the floor so he could wipe the blood from his face.

Michael, the father of four, crashed to the ground, gurgling blood as thick crimson flowed out of his neck and mouth like a dual waterfall, painting his clothing and skin. He tried to stop the bleeding with his hands, but the liquid flowed through his fingers, staining his prints. He continued bleeding and coughing as the light drained from his eyes at a rapid rate.

Seconds later, he stopped moving and his eyes went blank.

Quietness blanketed the room, everyone still. Gruffy-beard moved first, still mute. He dropped the knife back onto the tool table and grabbed Michael's body, hefting him onto the metal bed by himself.

Wow. This man was BIG and built like he lifted boulders and trees for fun. I noted in my mind to never get on his bad side.

"You k-killed him." Sketcher-girl sobbed in the corner. "He had kids."

The gruffy-beard man ignored her as he lowered the metal table to his level. Stripping Michael naked, he grabbed a meat hammer and began whacking away at the dead body without a care. Each whack created a meaty clank noise as fresh red liquid sprinkled gruffy-beard's face and body.

The preppy guy gagged. "Man, what the fuck is wrong with you?"

Gruffy-beard finally answered. "Doing the challenge."

"This is unbelievable," a skinny girl said, pulling down her plaid skirt and straightening her cashmere sweater. Her tight-curls were pulled back in a neat bun.

In retrospect, this was crazy, completely nuts! But considering the circumstances, this was a him or me situation. The whole game was kill or be killed. I just hoped it wouldn't make me into the thing I feared most.

I was already a little off. I should've been like sketcher-girl over there — sobbing my eyes out, slowly crumbling and breaking down, but I wasn't. Neither were the others. Maybe, we were all killers — whether we killed before or not.

A beep went off. Thirty minutes have passed, and the challenge was only half complete. Could I really do this? Dissect this man?

♟♙♟