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I knew what I needed to do.
Survive.
In the countless hours of game footage I’d reviewed leading up to stepping foot inside the arena, there was one clear advantage that every single winner, Seeker or not, had in common.
A weapon.
A lot of the players were bigger than me, stronger. So I’d need to make sure that I could level the playing field. I couldn’t kill them without risking a penalty, but I could at least injure them enough to escape. That, or risk being a punching bag for a man who’d been waiting his entire life for a chance to legally kill a defenseless woman.
A man likeDylan, and he had no shortage of reasons to want me dead.
All the carnival games were fucked. Demented versions of themselves with rotating prize boxes that would open automatically if you won.
It was one of the craziest things about this setting—it was like the entire carnival was staffed from the shadows. The games, concessions, and even the rides all fully operational but not a soul walking around.
Turns out that Fixers didn’t much care for being shot at—they stopped having civilians in the arena back in 1994 after one of the players detonated landmines and killed half a dozen. Hard to convince people to come work for you if they’re worried an eighteen-year-old with a concussion is going to start setting up death traps at any time.
I kept low and moved fast, evading the dead bodies of ghosts who’d yet to be picked up. I expected any moment to be intercepted by Seekers looking for their next kill. The night was wearing on and they’d soon be getting desperate.
That’s what didn’t make any sense, the games area was like a ghost town—even with a fuckload of first aid supplies available at a few of the stations. I was the only person moving in and out of the shadows.
At least, the only person I couldsee.
The knowledge that someone may be out there, their form becoming one with the darkness as they watched over me, caused the hair to rise on the back of my neck.
Maybe it’s just that the other Ghosts were looking to find prizes elsewhere?
I moved straight past all the lifesaving options, heading for the games with the guns.
It was a type of dart game where you’d throw a set amount of darts at the balloons, and depending on how many you got, the better the prize. Not particularly difficult, but damn, was it stressful to play a fucking fair game while keeping on the lookout for people who wanted to end my life.
I threw my first dart, a bright yellow balloon exploding with an audible pop. I looked over my shoulder, praying that no one heard. But still, the long walkway that led to the games was dark. No glowing masks to be seen.
The next dart hit blue, then green.
Victory.
The ding of the prize box unlocking was music to my ears as I hopped over the counter toward my brand-new handgun. My fingers brushed the acrylic container, excitement simmering in my veins.
Too easy. With this, I could—
Laughter, the kind that meant that multiple people were approaching, met my ears, and I ducked down, crawling to hide with my back against the counter.
Shit.
I was lucky to even get a prize unlocked, but I’d be risking my life if I crossed the space to grab it.
Wood dug into my shoulder blades as I pressed myself against the booth, using the shadows to hide me from view.
Get the gun.I could practically hear the viewers screaming at me.
I didn’t dare check my watch.
Just wait. Wait while they walk right past you. Then get the gun.
I could hear a set of footsteps coming my way, the sound of boots crunching the gavel making my heart pound in my chest.
I prayed they couldn’t hear it over the sadistic, high-pitched music that was blaring out of the booth’s speakers.
