Page 22 of Rat Race

Given Blue’s performance so far, I’d made a snap assessment that she wasn’t a Legacy. Most of us had some kind of background knowledge of how the traps worked. It was one of the perks of having winner parents—even if those winnersweren’t the militant training organization that was the Ranch, they could at least offer you a little advice.

If she kept at it like this, it would be her funeral,literally.

Clumsy girls were usually better at Hide N’ Seek. Rat Race was too much on the athletic side—like a real sport, only every time you played it you had an above-average chance of meetin’ the good Lord instead of headin’ home with a participation ribbon.

But death was what made it entertainin’ to the millions of people watching at home. It’s what paved the way for my family’s career. Hell, paidlotsof peoplelotsof money. The impact of the Games alone had been the biggest economic boost in the entire century.

Like the Olympics, but annually. A massive amount of ad spend, hospitality dollars, and good old-fashioned taxes on bettin’ wins.

And that was only the aboveboard shit.

No matter how wholly fucked the idea of watchin’ people kill themselves for a couple trophies and a bit of money was, there was no puttin’ a stop to it. Thousands of people could die—had—died. But that didn’t change a thing. Population control. Natural selection. Just the cost of doin’ business. Whatever you wanted to call it, I reckoned that as long as Devil’s Playground kept lining the pockets of the right politicians, it’d never be stopped.

Do you get mad at the farmers for raising the pigs or at the people eating the bacon?

It was circle of life shit, and I wasn’t gonna change it.

Naw, I’m here to win the whole damn thing, right?

Give ‘em a good show, make the Ranch some money, bring honor to my parents, and get myself the fuck outta here.

Yes, Lord.

I took a deep breath, slowing my racing heart. Even after years of training, I still found the maze… disorienting. Especially carryin’ my extra baggage.

There’s no way she’ll make it if she doesn’t tag along.

Which means I’d be forced to take her.

For once, I almost wished that I was like my cruel siblings. It’d be way easier to leave her here to die, givin’ me a higher chance at winning if I wasn’t slowed down by someone with no training.

But I couldn’t do it and still live with myself after.

Fuckin’ cock on a rock.

Just ahead was a T in the path, a flat wall that ended in a dead end, forcing us to choose a direction. Historically, the finish line was in a central position, but that didn’t mean cow shit to me. In here, history books were best used as a blunt weapon to try and kill a stray rat.

It was all about instinct and hints. I looked at my watch, but the comments from my viewers weren’t helpful—not that they could be if I was in the lead. Means they wouldn’t’ve seen nobody come to this location yet. Not that it mattered too much, but my gut was saying that the left was the way to go.

Usually, it was worth listenin’ too.

I was just looking down the hall when the girl’s voice made me pause.

“Where are you going?” she asked. Hesitant, maybe even a little scared.

Tug at the heartstrings, why don’t ya?

“O’er yonder to the finish line, sugar,” I answered, hooking my thumb toward the left path. “You gonna sit there like a bump on a log or come along?''

She slowly got to her feet, taking a few careful steps toward me.

“You’re really not a PKer?”

“Naw, blood makes me squeamish.” An outright lie. I’d grown up on the Ranch for fuck’s sake, but it made her shoulders relax nonetheless.

Never you mind that I coulda split her head open easier than peeling an orange.

She really shouldn’t be so trustin’. You never knew who you were spendin’ time with down here.

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