Total pages in book: 42
Estimated words: 39053 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 195(@200wpm)___ 156(@250wpm)___ 130(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 39053 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 195(@200wpm)___ 156(@250wpm)___ 130(@300wpm)
“It’s time for you all to judge those across the bay,” the first clown announced with a disturbingly cheerful tone. “Pick your costume, grab your weapons, and get ready to prove your worthy of a place in the Devil’s Playground.”
The second clown chimed in, his voice a grave contrast to his companion’s merriment, “You’ve got six minutes—choose wisely.” With a dramatic flourish, they both spun around and exited through the door they had come in, leaving us in eerie silence.
“Great, a timed fashion show with a side of carnage,” I muttered, half amused, half annoyed, as I glanced at the others. Their expressions ranged from bewildered to determined. I picked up a particularly menacing-looking axe and weighed it in my hand, eyeing the assortment of costumes. “Well, let’s get started,” I said, stepping toward a mannequin dressed in a demented jester outfit that seemed fittingly twisted for whatever lay ahead.
Hael and Aisha stood guard while I quickly slipped into my chosen costume, an elaborate jester outfit that felt unnervingly appropriate. After I was dressed, I turned to help them. Aisha picked something sleek and deadly looking, while Hael opted for an outfit that was both grim and dashing.
The others were varying in their enthusiasm; one outright refused to don any costume, standing defiantly in their everyday clothes.
Once we were all more or less dressed, Hael gave me an approving nod. “You look good in that.”
I twirled, axe in hand, the costume’s layers fluttering slightly. “It makes me feel real fancy,” I joked, then caught sight of the LED mask Hael had chosen. “And you look hot. I think I might have a mask kink.”
Aisha chuckled, but her eyes were scanning the room. She was clearly thinking ahead.
Conversation bubbled up among us, uncertainty mingling with resolve until someone finally voiced the question on all our minds. “What did they mean by ‘judge across the bay’?”
Liam, ever the straightforward one, didn’t sugarcoat his response. “They want us to kill. I’m assuming they told the other side— whoever that is—to get ready for the same thing.”
I couldn’t help but feel a thrill at the prospect, despite the danger. “Battle Royale—fun house–style,” I announced with a twisted smile. “I’m a little excited.”
The group’s reactions were mixed, but there was an undeniable buzz of adrenaline among us.
Maya’s frustration was palpable. “Where the hell are Eryx and Rafe?”
I glanced back at the way we’d come, only to find it now sealed off. “Who knows, but they aren’t getting in here from that way.”
“Maybe they got taken out,” someone else muttered under their breath.
Juno scoffed. “Highly unlikely.”
Just then, the light above the rounded door flipped from red to green, signaling the return of the two clowns.
The first beamed at us. “How lovely you all look.”
The second clown’s tone was less cheerful. “Such a shame that won’t help you much on the other side.”
“Oh, don’t talk like that; you might scare our new friends,” the first clown chided, clapping his hands together. “Now, form a single file line so we can give the viewers, and you, what we’ve all been waiting for.”
The instruction to line up single file because we were being sent through the door one by one made sense—it was about proving our worth individually, not as a group. Still, it wasn’t a comforting thought.
“We got this,” Aisha encouraged, her voice steady. “Whatever happens, just make sure we find each other at the end.”
“I’ll find you both no matter where you are,” Hael said to me, his voice low and resolute.
Aisha flashed a confident grin. “Damn straight.”
The light turned red after one person stepped through, and the clown knocked on the door twice, waiting a solid two minutes before allowing the next person to proceed.
As I waited for my turn, I tightened my grip on the axe and prepared myself mentally for what was to come.
“Good luck, little jester,” one of the clowns said with a sly smile as I walked by.
“I don’t need luck, Mr. Clown.”
Stepping into the corridor was like diving headfirst into a Gothic carnival nightmare—my kind of aesthetic. The walls were draped in deep crimson curtains, consuming the weak light and spitting back shadows that seemed to twist and dance with a life of their own. The checkered floor stretched out before me like a chessboard, waiting for players to make their moves—a challenge I was more than ready to accept.
Overhead, dim lighting barely fought off the darkness, casting a sinister glow that made the reds deeper and the black abyss-like. The air was crisply cool, courtesy of an AC probably cranked to its max.
Somewhere, hidden speakers blared peppy circus music. It was loud, designed to cover the sound of movement, adding an extra layer of unpredictability to the mix. Navigating the turnstile at the corridor’s end, I veered around a tight corner and found myself smack dab in a maze of mirrors. Each reflection warped and skewed, with some cracked and others smeared with something that definitely wasn’t lipstick. Echoes of distant screams and cheers bounced off the glass. People were enjoying this—not that I could blame them.