Page 153 of The Most Dangerous Games

“Even though he’s the one still making up the rules as he goes along?” Alek asks. “And even though we still don’t know how he’s going to come up with a winner if we don’t accept this offer?”

“I know you’ve all heard me say this before,” Jack says, “but screw him.”

Tipton and Marcelo and Zhi slowly nod their heads in agreement.

“I might have put it more colorfully,” Tipton says. “But on this one, I’m actually with the rest of you.”

“Well, at least we’re in agreement on that,” Alek says.

In the next moment, The Host reappears, clearly having been listening to their conversation from the next room. It is much the way he’s been listening in on them from the start whenever it’s suited him, and without them knowing for sure when he was.

“Fifty million,” he says.

“Wait,” Marcelo says. “You just doubled the offer that quickly.”

The Host shrugs. “It’s what you do in a negotiation. And to be honest . . .”

“Good one,” Alek says.

“Even I fear what comes next,” The Host says. “But what’s necessary can be terrifying. It’s locked into a process for a reason.” He lets that sit. “Take the money. Call it mercy. Or stay and pretend you’re better than those of us who built this.”

Marcelo leans forward, voice careful. “So to be clear. Fifty million each to walk away. And a billion for whoever we agree is The One.”

“Indeed,” The Host says again. “More money than any of you will see in your lifetimes. In ten lifetimes.”

“But not a billion,” Tipton says.

The room falls into silence until Marcelo blurts out, “I’ll take it!”

The rest turn to stare at him. But Marcelo isn’t looking at them. He’s looking directly at The Host, as if they’re the only ones in the room.

“I’ll take the money and walk away,” he says. “No questions asked.”

“But he said that first we have to agree who in the room should be The One,” Alek says.

“Maybe I already have,” The Host says.

Chuckles. The sound is even more jarring than usual.

“You have a deal, sir,” he says to Marcelo.

Then he adds: “Now get out of here.”

Marcelo stands. He gives them a quick nod—apology, or farewell, or both—and heads for the door. But before he can leave the room, The Host reaches out and yanks the red button off the chain around his neck.

“Loser,” The Host says.

“Maybe,” Marcelo says, “but a rich loser.” He gives the rest of them a quick nod, then walks out of the room.

The Host walks back to the head of the table and addresses the four people still left, out of the original one thousand.

Jack. Alek. Tipton. Zhi.

“Anyone else?”

Tipton’s gaze flicks to the door—like he’s listening for a sound nobody else can hear. Could this be a way out? he allows himself to think for a second. But what if he doesn’t hold up his end? He can’t risk anything happening to her.

Tipton looks at Alek, then the others. “Let’s get on with it.”