Page 6 of Impromptu Match

I didn’t want to go down there. What if it wasn’t billionaires hunting humans for sport, but one of those deadly panic rooms or, like, a dystopian-esque fight to the death surrounded by heavily pierced spectators who cheered as a bunch of us average joes were handed weapons and forced to compete in a blood tournament?

I’d lose. I’d lose so bad. I’d be the first to get my head lopped off or a spear jabbed between my ribs. I worked out sometimes, yeah—kind of. Not really—but I’d never thrown a punch in my life. My legs tended to turn to jelly when I panicked, kind of like they were doing now, which allowed the guy to lead me through the door and down a metal staircase. The thumping music got louder.

“Seriously,” I repeated, my voice growing higher in pitch. “I don’t know what this is. I just work upstairs.”

The guy chuckled again, speaking up to be heard over the increasingly loud music. “Look, the dedication is cool, but I think he was hoping for more of a lacklustre, everything-is-shit vibe tonight, you know? Not so much the confused guy who doesn’t know what’s going on.”

“What?” What the fuck was he talking about? What was happening?

He finally stopped with an irritated huff and turned to face me.

“He specifically requested—” He squinted down at his clipboard. “‘—sad office worker forced to attend a colleague’s birthday party.’ I mean, that’s clearly you.”

I reared back in outrage. How dare he? It didn’t matter how painfully accurate it was, it was still offensive!

I finally ripped my arm free. “Seriously, dude, I just work upstairs. I work for HutSec Corporation. I got locked out of the office and I just want to get my keys.”

He looked up from his clipboard with a frown. “Huh?”

Oh my god.

“I don’t know what”—I waved a hand at the empty stairwell—“this is, and I don’t know who Holt is.”

He stared at me for a few seconds before, confusing and terrifying me even further, he leaned in and sniffed. Audibly sniffed. A long, deep sniff.

As I jerked back, he laughed and shook his head. “Awesome character portrayal. He’s gonna love you. But seriously though, play up the whole ‘sad, regretting all his life choices’ thing. You’ve nailed it with the face and posture. You know, that kind of…” He hunched his shoulders and drooped a few inches, then straightened again with a shrug. “Just need to tone down the inflection in your voice and stuff. Make it really wooden and monotonous. Like you haven’t felt enthusiasm for anything in years.”

I felt too seen. Maybe Devil-Sharon had heard my pleas earlier and this was her new form of torture—getting her demon minions to throw me into a wildly uncomfortable situation and point out how sad my life was.

Realising this guy wasn’t going to budge in his belief that I was who he thought I was—I’d clearly passed his freaky sniff test—I decided to stop arguing with him and just leave. But when I turned to sprint back up the staircase, a new group of intimidating punks were coming through the door and making their way down.

The sniffer tutted and grabbed my arm again. “Come on, we need to get out of the way.”

I frantically tried to get my phone from my pocket. “I’m going to call the cops.”

He glanced over at me as we hit the bottom step and he started dragging me down a long, dark corridor. The music got fainter as we moved further away from wherever it was coming from.

“You know Bryce and Heather? Don’t worry, they’re coming tonight.”

“Who the fuck are…? I mean I’m going to get the cops here!” I snapped.

“I just told you Bryce and Heather are already coming.”

WHAT IS GOING ON?

“I don’t mean Bryce and Heather,” I yelled. “I don’t know Bryce and Heather. Who the fuck are Bryce and Heather? I mean I’m going to get you arrested for… for kidnapping!”

“Like I said, dude, Holt really wants the whole ‘sad office worker hating his life’ shtick tonight. He might be interested in this angry, confused thing another time, but just stick to the character he requested, yeah? He’s been a total d-bag this week. Don’t tell him I said that,” he added quickly.

“I’m not a fucking character! I am a sad office worker who hates his life!” God, that sentence was depressing. “I just want my fucking keys so I can go home and fall asleep watching Antiques Roadshow!”

Sniffer let out a hearty laugh. “Perfect, bro.”

Was this a stroke? Was I saying something completely different from what I thought was coming out of my mouth? I couldn’t tell which one of us was acting deranged. This guy seemed so convinced about who I was that I was starting to doubt myself. Had I signed up for some weird dating site in a moment of desperate weakness? Had someone stolen my identity online? Some… niche actor guy who got hired to go to parties as the most depressing person in the room to make everyone else feel better about themselves?

I glanced back in panic, trying to work out whether I’d be able to outrun this guy with his long legs. But then I saw the cackling granny appear at the bottom of the staircase, being led by her giant bald man. She spotted me too and said something to her companion, before they both chuckled and looked over at me.

My face flamed with heat. I narrowed my eyes at her, but a second later Sniffer Guy was dragging me around a corner. Facing forward again, my pulse leaped with fright when I saw another gigantic bodyguard-type guy standing outside a single door at the end of the short corridor.

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