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The second we walk inside, I'm hit by noise.

Music plays somewhere overhead while the crash of bowling pins mixes with laughter and voices from the bar. Neon signs throw streaks of blue, pink and red across the dark walls, and the air smells faintly of beer, popcorn and something fried.

It's almost cheerful.

Which feels slightly disturbing considering there's apparently a room somewhere in this building where people pay to beat objects to death.

A large man who looks to be somewhere in his fifties stands behind the front desk. He's tall, broad through the shoulders, with grey threaded through his beard and the kind of face that looks intimidating until he smiles.

“Well, if it isn't Jude Hawthorne.”

One corner of Jude's mouth lifts as they shake hands.

The man looks past him at me.

“Tim, this is Nora.”

“Nice to meet you.” My voice comes out rougher than I mean it to as I take his hand.

His eyes linger on me for half a second, but whatever he sees, he doesn't comment on it.

“I’m Tim. I run this place.” He releases my hand and looks at Jude. “Room's ready.”

Jude nods.

“And I managed to get most of the stuff on your list.”

My head turns.

List?

Jude doesn't even look at me.

What the hell?

“Follow me,” Tim says.

We follow him through another door, and the noise from the bowling alley immediately becomes muffled.

The hallway back here is darker, the walls covered in graffiti and signatures from people who apparently survived whatever happens beyond these doors.

Tim leads us into a changing area lined with orange protective suits, helmets, face shields and heavy gloves.

He pulls one of the suits from a hook and hands it to me.

“Put this on. Everything stays covered while you're inside. Helmet and visor stay on too.”

Then he grabs another suit and hands it to Jude.

I look between them. “You too?”

Jude nods. “Just in case.”

“Just in case what?”

He starts pulling the suit over his jeans. “Just in case.”

I narrow my eyes at him.