“Whatgame? No one here has my back, and you bitches already blast me on Twitter.”
“But I haven’t done that, have I?” he pressed. “You want to screw me over too?”
“Is this where you guilt trip me about spending Christmas with your family five years ago? Don’t play the history card, PB. I haven’t heard from you in months.”
I leaned into Melange’s ear. “Were they together or something?”
“Worse,” she replied. “Best friends.”
I exhaled grimly, all too aware my own baggage was five feet away.
As Winston came back, apple in hand, PB reeled to Hartt. “Give Vanessa something! You have the allies to run the game if we win the first Tribulation. Don’t piss that away.”
Hartt was practically purple with rage, but he nonetheless threw up his hands, relenting.
“Ness, what do you want?” PB called.
“Guarantee that I never see a Trial, or I’ll do this every Tribulation.”
“Fine!” Hartt bellowed, the rest of our team frantically echoing him. “You’re immune!”
As a satisfied Vanessa hustled home, I snuck another glance atImogen before she leapt into her tunnel. “Hey, nothing for you over there.” Melange nudged me. “Chin up, tits out.”
While I’d never received that precise coaching advice, the sentiment wasn’t wrong. I had to prioritize the win. The money. Thekids.
Upon Vanessa’s return, I furiously launched forward. The plexiglass surrounding me was smudged from frenzied elbows and sweaty knees, the air ripe with the pungent stench of reptile. I reached the first porthole within seconds to snatch my apple, cheap Styrofoam with a glossy paint job. And then a scream pierced the din of the Arena, jarring me to attention.
Across the way, Imogen flailed in her porthole, clawing at her chest. I saw a snake had somehow slithered into her jersey when she’d stretched into the tank for her apple, its tail now snapping across her collarbone like a metronome. She screamed again, and any hesitancy I’d normally feel about diving into a snake pit vanished. I climbed out my porthole into the ten-foot-wide chasm between the tunnels, dodging the snakes in my path.
I rushed to kneel by her tunnel, where Imogen kept scratching at her chest, the striped tail thrashing at the top of her jersey. I managed to grab it, wincing as I threaded it out of her shirt. Its head emerged, the angry snake now oscillating between us as I cried, “I got it!”
I swear I saw a flash of relief when her eyes met mine—right before she slapped mehard, setting my face ablaze and knocking me so off balance I collapsed from my knees to a mercifully bare space on the grimy terrarium floor. I won’t pretend I didn’t deserve it.
As I cupped my face, Imogen bolted with her apple, and the damn snake I still gripped sunk his little teeth into my other hand. Annoyed more than anything—Imogen’s slap had stung more—I flung him away, but then I froze. A massive red python was coiled against the tunnel, mere feet from me. Its mouth was open wide, and two long tails waved in its gaping jaws, one dusty pink and the other a muted brown. The tails trembled and seized, nerves pulsing as the greedy python devoured the other snakes whole. Bewildered, I scrambled back to my tunnel, remembering where I was and the reason why. I couldn’t be swallowed alive again either.
The ghost of Imogen’s palm pulsed across the broken mosaic of my face as I booked it back, my shoulders testing the tunnel walls. Upon my return, Hartt seized my apple and ran to the lockbox where my Devils waited, a seething mob missing only their pitchforks. The Angels had yet to divine the combination, but despite Vanessa’s stunt, a loss would clearly be my fault.
I guiltily studied the six numbers over my teammates’ shoulders—a pair each of 0s, 1s, and 3s. Hartt blindly bossed numbers around as a roving cameraman’s lens revolved from the lock to me, my fate in the balance… 001133… 310013… 103301…
“Jesus Christ, use a system!” Melange pleaded. “Keep 10 at the start!”
Then Ecklund’s opening words hit me.Right back to the beginning…
I leaned in, my voice low so eavesdropping Angels wouldn’t hear. “It’s 101303.”
“Why?” Chase asked suspiciously.
“October 13th, 2003. The day the first season ofEndeavorpremiered.”
If Hartt doubted me, he didn’t show it. He thumbed the combination, and the box miraculously opened to reveal a tempting red button.
“Do the honors,” Hartt said, clapping my chest. I was shockingly numb as I pushed it, triggering explosive fire bursts around the Arena, while Ecklund screamed over the roaring flames, “DEVILS WIN!”
Our team erupted in a triumphant wail. Even the Russians smothered me with hugs.
“Luke the Duke is back, and I think he’s earned a new title,” Ecklund exclaimed. “Ladies and gentlemen, bow down before the King of Hell!”
The King of Hell.Fuck me.
