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Behind me, masculine laughter met my ears. I had seen them earlier. A couple guys signing up to be Seekers, if I had to guess by their stocky builds and deep widow peaks. Those dudebro small cock fuck-weasles always signed up for the opportunity to kill a couple civilians without going to jail.
Irritation skittered up my spine.
“Hurry it up,” the attendant barked. “I don’t have all night, even if you are a Legacy.”
Cursing under my breath, I tried the next best thing.
Killer_Kohl.
To my relief, the tablet flashed green,Welcome to Devil’s Playground: Paradise Pier, Killer_Kohl!sliding over the screen.
Ugly tossed my ID onto the small lip of the counter. I moved to pick it up and he grabbed my forearm, jerking me forward to fasten what looked like a smartwatch around my wrist.
As innocuous as it appeared, I knew that the watch would provide vital information to the Architects—the sick fuckers who managed the games—like my heart rate and where I was in the arena. It would also trigger cameras as I got close, letting the viewers stay up close and personal and providing me with a live feed of their comments and critical updates about the game itself.
“If you take that off, you’re disqualified,” the man grunted. “I’m not wasting my breath explaining the rules to a fucking Legacy, kid. Piss off and get into makeup. Hide and Seek starts in two hours.”
A bundle of tarp-like material was pushed into my arms with a marker.
My nose wrinkled as I recognized what the lumpy object was.
“This is your body bag and a Sharpie. After this, you’ll follow the walkway into the prep tent. Your stylist will be waiting for you there. Write your name, address, and the phone number of your next of kin on the paper tag in the front pocket. You’ll then strip and place all personal items in the bag. Don’t worry,Killer_Kohl, if you die, we’ll ship your corpse back to your rich-ass daddy.”
I stormed off toward the black tent just beyond the wickets, looking down at the mass of plastic with a scowl.
Like hell my father would be getting my body. They might as well ship me to a fucking Applebee’s.
Printed signs led me down a canvas hallway that opened into a large circular area that reminded me a bit of my high school locker room—minus the lockers. Long metal benches sat in tidy rows filled with Seekers stripped down to their underwear, plastic body bags gripped in their hands as they waited for a stylist to collect them.
I tried to ignore the stares as I walked into the room. I had done it my whole life, but somehow their attention before the games was much harder to ignore. Because all of them had the same gleam in their eyes.
They were looking for an ally. One that could get them noticed. Too bad I wasn’t one to play nice with others.
I found an empty patch of bench, trying to ignore the Minders dressed in all white stationed at either door with stunning batons strapped to their hips as I sat, pulling the paper card out of the clear front pouch of the bag. It wasn’t unusual for a contestant to get this far and then try to pull out—unfortunately for them, once you’d signed the waiver and entered the playground, the only way out was to win.
The scent of permanent marker cut through the sterile, recycled air as I uncapped my pen, writing the name of the only person who’d given a fuck about me enough to care that I’d died—even if she’d probably drop my ass into a dumpster for lying to her and entering the games.
Kohl Wolff C/O Victoria Miller
#7 Lanchester Avenue
New Windemere, NY
05467
When I was done, I stripped to my underwear, leaving my bracelet and the tracker in place.
If I was going to go through with this, I was going to need a reminder ofwhy.
Her.
I caught a couple entrants eyeing my mastectomy scars. It should’ve made me nervous, but I didn’t care. I was proud of the person I’d made myself into.
At least I was, before I ended up here. Before I signed up to be a fucking killer just like my father.
The games change people, Kohl. It’s like…whoever comes out isn’t who went in.I shook the memory from my mind, staring at the body bag in my hands while I waited to be called.
After a few of the longest minutes of my life, a woman with deep umber skin and long lilac knotless braids tapped my shoulder. “Kohl, right?”
