“Contestants, prepare yourselves!”
Massive gates grind open ahead of us with a thunderous mechanical groan.
The crowd’s roar crescendos.
Bron flexes his shoulders beside me.
“Ready?”
“Ready.”
“On three?”
“No.”
He grins.
“Fair.”
A deafening horn blasts across the stadium.
The platform beneath us flashes green.
“GO!”
Chaos erupts.
Every couple launches forward at once, boots pounding across the steel grid as the first section of the arena explodes into motion.
“Left!” I shout.
Bron doesn’t hesitate.
We veer hard toward the western corridor just as a rotating steel arm slams down where we’d been standing a heartbeat earlier.
The air whooshes with the force of it.
“Nice call,” he mutters.
“Eyes up!”
The corridor ahead twists through a series of shifting platforms that rise and fall like a mechanical tide. Each step has to be precise, timed with the slow grinding rhythm of the machinery beneath our feet.
I scan the pattern.
Three platforms rise.
One drops.
Two shift sideways.
“Follow my steps!” I shout.
Bron stays half a pace behind me, matching my movements exactly.
The metal plates shudder beneath our boots as we sprint across them.
Behind us someone yells.
