Brandon

I take my physical activities seriously and never miss a day of training

and running, whether for the team or for myself.

It’s important to keep order and discipline, and I’m nothing short of

perfection in creating stability and habits.

Besides, if I don’t maintain a routine, I’ll only slither down that rabbit

hole of nothingness and eventually skid into an unfortunate freak accident.

No thanks.

In no time, I manage to reach what looks like the middle of the forest

after losing the rest of the students. Late afternoon light casts ominous

patches of orange on the dirt and between the huge trees. But soon enough,

the gray clouds strangle the beams of hope and swallow them into darkness.

I crouch behind a large bush that covers my entire frame and wait.

That’s all I can do at this point.

Stay low. Wait. Observe. And never ever draw attention to my presence.

An activity I excel at.

If Lan shows up, whether as one of the Heathens—which is highly

unlikely—or one of the participants, I’ll get a gut feeling thanks to the

useless twin hunch.

A few people run by like a pack of wolves, squeals of excitement falling

from their lips and painting the sky in blotches of brick red on midnight

black.

The stench of mindless violence lingers in the air and forms sinister

halos around the participants' heads.

Their thrill is short-lived, though. Orange Mask stalks right after them,

carrying his vicious club. I silently cringe when he hits one of them so hard,

their face swings to the side, and blood explodes on his mask, which cracks

in two.

I catch a glimpse of someone walking around dazed with an arrow stuck

in his shoulder and a limp arm glued to his side.

Eliminated students’ numbers are announced by that disturbing robotic

voice, sometimes one after the other. I think the process is automatic,

because whenever I catch a glimpse of someone getting hit by an arrow or

Orange Mask’s club, their number is immediately announced.

Throughout the whole freak show, I don’t move, and when I do, it’s

only to adjust my position.

Where are you, Lan?

While I take pride in my stamina, I probably can’t keep this up for an

extended period of time.

Maybe I should strategically move to another nook of this extravagant

forest in case my brother is on the other side—

A sudden chill scrapes the back of my neck, followed by scorching hot

heat as a deep, rumbling voice whispers in my ear, “Why aren’t you

running?”

My senses saturate in a rush of overwhelming external stimuli and my

brain is unable to keep up with the overload. I lose balance and fall on my

arse, hitting the ground with an impact that reverberates in my bones.

I stare up, my eyes clashing with the yellow-stitch mask that’s marred

with splashes of dark red.

Blood.

It’s everywhere—clinging to his mask, staining his dark shirt, forming

rivulets on his neck, covering the tattoos on the backs of his hands like

gloves, and sticking to strands of his jet-black hair that falls in waves to his

shoulder blades.

Nausea floods my mouth and shoots straight to my fucked-up brain.

Tick.

Tick.

Tick tick tick tick—

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