Page 12 of Rat Race

An idol.Beyond a celebrity, something wholly untouchable.Mythic.

A livin’ legend.

That’s what I’d be when I did this, the final push in my family’s meteoric rise into the upper echelon of the elite who built their fortune winnin’.

I pushed away the worries from outside the island, the concept of failure ceasing to exist for me as my focus narrowed on the doors just ahead.

The cheers and shouts from the crowd faded into a blanket of white noise, barely more important than the drone of cicadas in the July heat.

It’s just me and the maze.That’s it. That’s all I had to focus on, I reminded myself as I jogged in place, trying to warm my muscles that’d gone stiff while I sat patiently in the stylist’s chair.Forget everything else.

The alarm blared, red light filling the room and flashing as the ten-second countdown began, the lit walkways rising slowly as the gates began to open like great sets of crocodile jaws, allowing for the first precious look into the dungeon that’d be my home until I managed to find my way out.

A rat in the trap.

The first corridor went on for about twenty meters before it hit a dead end, warning me that I'd need to make a choice early on. I half hoped that it wouldn’t, forcing me onto a certain path.

But, given the number of players assigned to my gate with about ten of us standing in close quarters, I had to guess the first turn would be aTto try and split up the pack.

The flashes of cameras were blinding, more frequent the closer the short runway got to clickin’ into place. Around me, the other Runners were restless, stirrin’ and shiftin’ into places that would allow them the best chance of being one of the first people in the maze.

A wave of noise, the crackle of static—an aesthetic choice, given the quality of the sound equipment used—as the Devil’s Playground theme song began to play.

The watch at my wrist buzzed, breaking my concentration and pulling my focus.

West_won:Congratulations, Cam.

Pa’s message should've sent a bolt of pride through me as the announcement began, the Architects using the familiar, chipper AI-generated voice to communicate with the Runners and spectators. Instead, bitterness fueled my thoughts.

“Welcome to Devil’s Playground: State Fair, sponsored by The Company! For those of you joining after Hide N’ Seek, welcome back! Our second event of the weekend, Rat Race, is due to begin in a few moments. But first, The Company would like to remind you of a few key rules…”

Overhead, the holographic screens that’d been cyclin’ through ads just moments ago flickered and changed. Images of darkened corridors passing by so quickly it was difficult to get a grip of what we were lookin’ at. At its center was a running countdown, one hundred and twenty seconds and countin’.

“Runners are permitted to enter the arena for a period of sixty seconds once the timer reaches zero. The timer will then reset to give the next round of contestants ample time to prepare to enter the maze. The Company would like to remind you to be courteous to your fellow Runners. Though not expressly forbidden, we do remind you that killing contestants does not assist in the scoring of Rat Race.”

There was a shuffle, another nasally laugh coming from behind me. “Won’t stop us, though, will it?”

“As Runners, your objective is simple: reach the end of the maze. The player with the fastest time will earn the most completion bonus points. However, speed isn’t the only way to become a champion of this game. There are markers placed around the arena, tracked by your watches, that will add to your score over time. Please ensure you are paying attention to the ranking board, easily accessible by saying ‘Rank’ to your tracker.”

I glanced down at the watch in question. What the cheerful little voice failed to mention? Your view count made all the difference in your point score too. The more viewers, the moreeverythingyou did was worth.

“If you have any questions, you may contact an Architect via your tracker’s call function. Good luck, and remember—” The rest of the machine’s message was drowned by a roar of applause erupting through the stadium.

“Play hard! Win, win!” the crowd chanted, my own shout lost to the well of noise.

Rat Race was technically easy, and thank fuck for that since strategy was not my strong suit. Get in. Get out. Don’t die. Simple as that. It wasn’t a mind game like Truth or Dare. Or a game of allies and betrayal like Hide N’ Seek.

Simple. So long as someone didn’t decide to interfere with my plans for their own amusement.

It wasn’t unheard of in the Games. People joined for a reason, and it wasn’t always money. Sometimes it was as simple as being able to get away with things they never could on the outside.

The timer hit ten seconds, and the players and spectators began to chant.

Ten.

There was no turning back.

Nine.

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