“Don’t joke with that. I don’t like it,” I say solemnly.
“Then stop treating me like I’m made of glass,” she fires back.
“All right. I’m s?—”
“Don’t say you’re sorry again or I might kill you myself, Nykander.”
“All right, all right. I…” I swallow my words. “I’ll be good.”
“Good boy.” She pats me on the shoulder and gives me a smile.
I’m shocked at how she manages to find humor in such a grim situation, but I admire her ability to be able to smile. Mine is a lot more forced.
As I continue to scan the room, I note that along one side, there is a narrow bench with a bunch of scattered belongings—clothes, some pans, knives and other household items.
“Any item you purchase will remain here after your termination. These are from previously terminated individuals.”
‘After my termination’ sounds so…finite. As if my fate has already been decided.
“And how do we purchase items?”
“Via tokens. You may exchange points for tokens.”
Suddenly, four disks with a flower motif in the middle appear on the bed.
“You have been assigned four tokens by the system. You may use them to purchase food or other items for the time being. For any future purchases, you will be required to exchange points for tokens.”
I see. Very straightforward system. “And what is the value of a token. How much food can we buy with it?”
Moe gives me a nod of approval at my question.
“One token equals one day’s worth of food for one individual.”
Four tokens means two days for the two of us then.
“And what’s the point-token exchange rate?”
“One point equals one token.”
That’s not too bad, I think.
Moe doesn’t seem to agree with me, though. She purses her lips, her features tight.
“So we must earn points to eatandget out of here. It seems to me this system is quite tricky.”
“Only the strongest may exit,” the wraith says in response. “It is up to each participant how they manage their points.”
Moe bites her lip and glances at me. I nod, realizing her worry. This realm wants its participants to be stuck in a cycle: fight, earn, spend,die. The chances of us making it out seem slimmer and slimmer.
“Final directive.”
His voice is loud and clear, as if it were amplified like a siren.
Instantly, we turn our attention to him.
“Initial combat engagement required within forty-eight hours. You may either challenge a combatant of your choice or accept a challenge from a fellow combatant.”
“What?” Moe’s eyes widen.
