Page 22 of Drop His Mask

Raven

Present Day

When I opened my eyes again, I wanted more than anything tonotbe in the middle of another fucking game. I wasn’t fully healed, mentally or physically. We hadn’t been able to talk with Enzo yet, to clear the air. Except now there wasn’t any time.

We had fallen asleep after fucking, after talking about Sparrow. I didn’t expect to be pulled into another game so soon, except now here we were, but where exactly washere?

Sitting on cool metal bleachers I was surrounded by the remaining players. There weren’t many of us left. We were in a large industrial room, and directly in front of me was a wall sized window. Through the large window,on the other side, was a much smaller space. It almost appeared to be a medical room.

Except it didn’t have much equipment. It just had the surgical table, a counter filled with tools and weapons, and a very large metal pool looking thing that took up the remaining space.

I didn’t have any clue what this might be, but it didn’t look good.

Attempting to move, I quickly realized I was attached to the bleachers, handcuffed by my wrists and ankles.

“Hello and welcome to our eighth game together.” The mechanical voice echoed around the room, I tried to find where it was coming from or a screen with The Host, but there wasn’t one.

My anxiety skyrocketed.

What is going on? Where is The Host? And why is his disappearance causing waves of unease to skitter down my spine?

Instead, I tried to find Jayce or Levi. I was directly in the center of the bleachers and it only took a few moments to locate both men. Levi was a few rows up with Enzo and Maverick. Jayce was to my right a few seats over. We seemed to be the only team not sitting together.

Another point towards being targeted. How would we form a plan?

197 and his crew—194, 195, 196—sat directly in front of me. Turning around I found 32 right behind me with her team—33 and 34—they were the only other women left in this game. She offered up a soft reassuring smile that I returned.

Discovering my allies alive and well calmed my nerves a bit. I could almost ignore that Ivan and his team were only a few rows behind me. Could almost ignore how the back of my head was itchy from Ivan’s stare. The scars on my wrists, the ones that he had left behind, ached underneath my restraints.

“The rules on this game are straightforward. Your job is to get as many vital organs as you can into the barrel using the tools on the counter and the body on the table to help.” The robotic voice echoed around the room. “Please note that for this game, we are looking for you to place the ten most vital organs in the barrel. Anything not on our list will not be accepted.”

The light in the surgical room flickered off. I tried to discreetly wipe my sweaty palms against my scratchy sweatpants. There were too many variables, I couldn’t strategize. And what does that even mean? Organs in the barrel? Were we going to be surgeons? What were the ten vital organs on their list, are they not going to tell us? Are we supposed to just guess?

197 leaned back against my knees, his head turning until his dark eyes found mine. An inescapable forest. “There you are. My little survivor, I missed you.” His lips curled into a half smile. “Better stay alive again for me–we’re almost to the end now.”

I wanted to argue, to be angry with the man. But I had to admit to myself I was relieved to see him breathing. That the sight of him caused my heart to pound into my ears. To his right, 195 twisted around as well and offered me a soft grin. His lip was split and the part of his cheek I could see with the mask on was bruised. He didn’t appear bothered by it, but I was.

How did that even happen? He looked fine the last time I saw him. When he was leaving marks on my neck to satisfy the rules of a game, successfully winning the round from it.

And then their team had been exempt from the puppet game because of that.

197 shoved his shoulder into 195. “Turn back around,” he gritted.

The light in the surgical room flashed back on, pulling my attention away.

There was now a body strapped to the operating table inside.

A hood over their head, a collar attached to the hood securing it in place, their limbs strapped down. They wore a long-sleeved loose shirt and sweatpants, but from this distance it was difficult to discern their gender.

Why are they tied there if they aren’t ali—

I didn’t have time to finish the thought before the “body” began to writhe about. I couldn’t hear anything, but it was evident they were alive. Their nails scratched down onto the table below as they continued to trash against their restraints.

“There will be fifteen minutes to complete this game. We currently have thirteen teams, and that is just a few too many for our next game. There will be eight teams that win. The five teams that have the least number of organs in the barrel at the end of their time will lose. The team that has the most organs in the barrel with the fastest time will win something special.” I finally found that the mechanical voice was coming from the speakers above. “The Sponsors have chosen the order for this game. Up first will be 132 and 131.”

Two men I vaguely recognized from previous games stood shakily in front of me. They were both large and stocky. I wondered if that would give them an advantage or disadvantage.

Two guards walked up grabbing the men and whisking them away. A few minutes later, they were shoved inside the surgical room, and a moment after that, noise flooded our space.

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