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Just another way that cunt outshined me. The genetic fucking lottery.

But whatever, I just made sure to make my own. My beauty channel grew in subscribers every day. And four months after I turned eighteen and my after-dark channel went live, it exploded.

I mean,obviously.

The way I saw it, there wasn’t much I could do in there to fuck this up aside from dying. Not a chance I’d lower myself back to the working class. No hate to the people who served me coffee—they were providing the essential service of making sure I was caffeinated enough not to go to jail—butfuck that. I’d rather bleed out in the concrete death box, thanks.

It’d be downright embarrassing… and I couldn’t take much more humiliation after what Natalie did.

I needed to redeem myself.

No, fuck that. I needed to eviscerate her.

It was just my luck she entered the Games because it totally solved all the pesky legalitiesassociated with what I wanted to do to her.

The Games had rules, of course, what game didn’t? But most of them had to do with the staff. The other players? They were free-range.

Fuck them.

Kill them.

Hell, you could probably resort to cannibalism if you could do it in a way that made people hand over their wallets.

The Architects didn’t give a fuck as long as they were getting a good show out of it.

And if there was one thing I could do was give a satisfying performance.

I didn’t care about the money. I had more than I needed from my family—hellotrust fund—and sponsorships. Fuck, I didn’t even care if I made it to the end at all.

There was only one goal that meant anything to me, as I watched her stupid high pony bouncing with her every movement.

I need to get to her.

As long as I could finally get my claws into Natalie, the rest would be worth it. Even if it did cost me my life. At least I’d be going out knowing that I’d gotten mine.

What?Was I just supposed to let some sleazebag stranger kill her? Or worse, her own stupidity when she inevitably fell into some trap?

That girl’s blood belonged to me from the moment she dared step into my spotlight. And I was here to collect.

The timer reached the ten-second mark, the crowd beginning to chant the dwindling numbers as we were bathed in red light for a second time.

It seemed to go faster this time, the infectious energy of the crowd making my heart beat faster in my chest.

Once the light flipped to green, the catwalks snapping into place with a loud metallic click that was nearly drowned by the cheers and screams overhead, the Runners jerked into motion.

I watched with distaste as the girl who ruined my entire life was first in through the doors. The opening was large enough for me to see her turn to the left, but that was as far as I got.

No matter. I’d spent enough time chasing after her that I was confident I’d be able to think like her. I’d track her down in seconds, minutes if she was lucky.

The thought of cornering her in the maze had taken over my mind. Every waking minute since turning eighteen had beenconsumed by the fantasy of her death. It was rotting my mind, coating the surface like novocain. Making everything else duller by comparison.

It would be such sweet revenge. Not only would everyone watching see just how much better I was than her, but all those back home that dared look down on me would realize that I wasn't one to fuck around with. That they’ve made a horrible mistake.

Overhead, the screens changed, calling lot three to take the podiums as the catwalks moved back to the ground. The timer counted down, warning them their preparation period was quickly ending.

The screams I’d become accustomed to lowered to a murmur, the crowd whispering and jeering as Hiram took his podium. Even in his mask the man was obvious—the thing about Devil’s Playground is there wasn’t an age cap, not really. But it was, mostly, a young person’s game.

Dude had to be pushing fucking fifty if the silvery hair poking out of the top of his mask was any indicator.