The Culling Lottery

5. The Game

The results were not lopsided but they certainly left no doubt. The Iron Team won by several thousand votes. Briana's team. The audience loved the way they treated Nina so harshly, even after she had won both contests against Cory. They loved how blood trickled continuously from Nina's myriad wounds, torn open every time she shifted from pulling at her tongue to sitting on the saw blade, from standing on the cruel edge of the triangular iron beam to hanging from the barbed wire wrapped around her tits — swollen now like purple balloons. It had been particularly exciting when she had developed cramps in her feet and calf muscles during the night and thrashed about wildly, screaming. Her frenzied dance on the sharp-edged beam had opened up wounds on her feet, so even the iron was smeared with blood.

Lilya's agony on the cross was actually even worse than Nina's torments as she rose and sank, hanging from the nails in her wrists, then pushing up on the nails in her heels to breathe, then down again, then up, down, up . . . endlessly through the night, her legs splayed obscenely open, ready for cunt tortures to come during the morning. They would break her legs at 13:30 hours and she'd no longer be able to push herself up to breathe. She would asphyxiate just in time to be prepared for roasting. The Wood Team had wanted to use a wooden pole to break her legs, but Tiffany had insisted they use a heavy bat to avoid unnecessary battering of the legs. The team had no idea how hard it is to break the shin bones. The chefs had enough skin damage to cover up without having to deal with a mass of unnecessary welts on her shins.

Cory's feet and ankles were seriously burned by morning. Her chin, breasts and belly were red with blood still dribbling from her mouth where the barbs chewed ever deeper into her ruined tongue and palate. She could still summon enough strength to jog in place and occasionally pull herself up on the bar to lift her feet out of the flames for a few seconds. But she was noticeable weaker, slower. She had wept herself dry. Her eyes were hollow, betraying her longing for death.

Tiffany's lips trembled when she glanced at Sveta's monitor. The Ukrainian girl with the spectacular bosom was still strikingly beautiful as she hung over the vat of acid. But her feet and ankles were gone. She had barely enough strength to tuck her legs up an inch or so to prevent continuous contact with the liquid surface, preferring to let them down for short bursts of agony as her slowly lowering body edged her closer to death. By late morning most of her legs would be gone. By mid morning they would end at the knee. By noon those long slender limbs would exist only in photographs of the vibrant young woman entering the best years of her life. By mid afternoon the lower half of her torso would be gone and the upper half would give up its struggle to support life. It would be time to harvest those wonderful breasts. The chefs would probably also grill the meat from her shoulders and arms, tenderized by the long hours of stress. Sarae, the girl who would take her place in the roasting pit, was still chained to a bed as a whore for whatever guest chose to fuck a tall, beautiful blonde during her last hours of life. And many already had.

It was time to meet with the Water Team and the Iron Team to congratulate them on earning a doubling of their earnings and offer them the Bonus Option to quadruple it. Tiffany dearly hoped that Briana would be satisfied with the huge fortune she had already amassed and not press her luck. None of these young fools knew it, but their chances of escaping this "bonus" option alive was far less favorable than they imagined. If Briana had deigned to consult with her mother before signing up again for the URP Lottery, she could have warned her. But no. Children are smarter than their parents. Briana was focused on the money, not the odds.

Tiffany confronted the twenty-four members of the Iron Team and the twenty-three surviving members of the Water Team in the small auditorium where the full contingent of Candidates had met on Thursday. Standing on the dais before the cameras, she read a prepared speech off the teleprompter.

"Congratulations to you all of you on both teams. In your separate ways you have doubled the payout of your original contract. But that's only the beginning! URP is now offering to double that again. Four times the original amount! Enough for a lifetime of elegant ease! IF you're brave enough to accept the Bonus Option. You are not to know in advance what this entails, but the winners are assured of riches far beyond the hopes of most human beings. Those of you who lack the courage to accept this challenge may simply accept what you have already won and withdraw. But those of you who have the vision and the guts to go to this ultimate level of conquest, take two steps forward!"

More than half the members of the two teams stepped forward, Briana among them. Did the girl have no sense at all? Tiffany couldn't just let her do it without making one last try to warn her off, even though it meant risking her job. Worse, she could be charged with breach of contract — a capital offense. Nevertheless, she looked her daughter directly in the eyes and added a remark that was not on the teleprompter, choosing her words carefully.

"While there is still time to back out, I want you understand the finality of your decision." She held up an envelope. "This envelope contains the rules for the Option Bonus game. I don't know what they are. I don't know the odds for winning or losing. What I do know is that the winners will be fabulously wealthy and the losers will be permanently dead."

She paused to let that sink in. Briana didn't flinch, although a few of the others looked a little startled. Do these kids never seriously consider the possibility of death, she wondered?

"So here's your last chance to decide whether to walk away with what you have, or put your life back on the line to redouble it. Anyone care to step back?"

A few chewed on their lips and looked a little dubious, but no one moved. Briana glared defiantly back at her mother, tossing her golden curls in a saucy gesture of contempt for the faint-hearted. Tiffany swallowed her sorrow. She had once defied death herself and could understand her daughter's youthful bravado. But she also knew something Briana did not. There would be no 96% safety net in this "bonus" game. Yet with a sinking heart she knew it was too late. Briana was determined and there was no way to discourage her short of dragging her out and tying her up. Tiffany returned her gaze to the teleprompter.

"Excellent!" she read. "Those in the back row who are too timid to reach for the pot of gold, move to my left!" She pointed to a wall painted gray. "Those who stepped forward, who are ambitious and strong and want it all, as well as those who meant to step forward but momentarily doubted themselves, move to my right!"

She gestured to a wall painted in brilliant orange. The entire front line moved right, plus two more from the rear.

"Excellent!" she shouted. "These are the worthy ones!" She looked balefully at the others. "Is there anyone on that side of the room who realizes he or she is passing up a golden opportunity to multiply her wealth many times over? This is your last chance to turn a small fortune into a huge fortune."

Another four girls crossed to the "Bonus Option" side.

"That's it, then. On this side we have . . ." (she counted,) ". . . thirty-eight brave souls who want to extend their riches. On the other side we have . . ." (she counted,) ". . . nine who do not. Is that how it stands?"

She glared pointedly at the nine. God! If only Briana had enough sense to be among them!

"All right then. You nine may go immediately out that door." She pointed. "You others, congratulations! Come immediately with me to Studio 5 and we'll get started on your next level of riches."

She marched out the door and led the thirty-eight out into the California sunshine and several hundred yards through the URP lot to a large building near the center. She ushered them into a vestibule, and when the last of them was inside, the doors snickered shut behind them. Again, she knew what they did not. Only a few would emerge from this place alive.

The thirty-eight volunteers were herded down a long corridor and out into an arena about the size of a football or soccer field. Stands on both sides of the arena were filled with spectators, a little over five thousand by Tiffany's estimate. She could tell from the expressions on the faces of her charges that they had expected another lottery. Why this large crowd? They had little inkling at this point that most of them would be meat for tonight's feast, and that those who would be enjoying their roasted young flesh were these spectators, here to watch how they came to be on the menu.

Tiffany lined the contestants up by size, the taller more muscular specimens to her left, the smaller more delicate ones to her right. Briana was not tall, but she was strong and fit, so Tiffany had no choice but to include her among those on the left side. Then she assigned them numbers, starting from the left. Each contestant was a One or a Two. Briana was a One. She had them form two lines, the Ones facing the Twos about ten feet apart.

"Ladies and gentlemen!" Tiffany's amplified voice boomed around the arena. "Please welcome the volunteers for this morning's special games."

There was a resounding round of applause and cheers

"As you know, the winners will go on to great riches, and the losers will be meat for this evening's festivities."

More cheers and applause. Gasps of surprise from the two rows of young people. She held her envelope aloft.

"In this envelope are the rules for the engagement that will determine the winners."

Tiffany tore it open and studied it for a moment. As she did so, eight officials of URP emerged on to the field carrying baskets. Two of them began tying electric blue sashes around the waists of the Ones. Two others were wrapping red armbands around both upper arms of the Twos. The other four officials began attaching leather wrist and ankle cuffs to the players on both teams. The cuffs were also colored, matching the sashes and armbands. Dangling from a single chain link on each cuff was one side of a locking device. On the right side: a thick steel pin. On the left side: a steel sleeve. A set of the cuffs was handed to Tiffany and she demonstrated to the crowd how they worked. Push the pin in the sleeve, there's a click, and it's locked in place.

She gestured toward the two teams lined up on both sides of her.

"As you can see, our two teams are now color coded, so I shall refer to them from now on by their team color: Blue or Red." Suddenly her voice hardened. "Teams: strip! I want you completely naked within sixty seconds, except for your cuffs, sashes and armbands."

Both lines broke into an immediate flurry of disrobing and well within the minute all thirty-six females and two males were wearing only the requisite items, their clothing in heaps around their feet.

"Spread your feet apart!" she barked.

They obeyed promptly.

"You will now bend over and touch your hands to the ground so the officials can insert one last piece of equipment."

Some didn't look especially happy about what would obviously follow, but no one hesitated. Four of the officials, working from both ends of the two lines, began planting dildos into the presented female vaginas and male anuses. A fifth official handed one to Tiffany to demonstrate for the audience.

"Many of you have seen this little number before. We affectionately call it our 'spine cone.' It's a small dildo, about six inches long. But it's no ordinary dildo. See these cute little spring-loaded spines, or barbs?" The giant arena screens showed it in close-up. "They fold neatly into the dildo while it's being inserted." She demonstrated by making a circle with the thumb and index finger of her left hand and pushing the dildo harmlessly through. "But then the little buggers pop up again to hold it in place. Doesn't hurt at all, unless you move." She smiled malevolently. "There are two ways to take it out. You can rip it out with this leather strap that hangs down to about knee level — also color coded. That hurts quite a bit. Or I can push the button on this little remote . . ." she brandished it, "and all the little spines fold down again so it can slip out nice and gently." The screens showed a close up of the barbs retracting into the dildo.

When all the contestants had been fitted with their dildo, the blue and red strips of leather now hanging between their legs, she ordered them to stand up again.

"Now as you can see, members of the two teams are easily identified. The Blue Team with their sashes. The Red Team with their armbands. All of them with their colored tails between their legs. The game is Capture the Flag , the same game you may have played as a youngster, only this will be somewhat more lethal. If I may direct everyone's attention to each end of the field, you will notice that flags have been set in place, Blue on my left and Red on my right. The object, of course, is to capture the other team's flag and bring it back the length of the field and plant it in the hole beside your own team's flag. To win, a team must not only have both flags in place at their end of the field, but every member of the opposing team must be dead."

She paused to let that sink in.

"And not just dead, but in good condition and ready for roasting. The chefs are very fussy about that. They want these carcasses delivered without the kind of damage the original four are suffering with their various tortures. They want them in pristine condition: no unsightly cuts, abrasions and contusions. They want, and URP demands, that in the process of winning this game these contestants produce for them at least eighteen beautiful, unblemished specimens turning on the spits for our valued clients to enjoy. Therefore, the kill must be made with this instrument."

Tiffany held the dildo in her left hand and pushed a button on its base, next to where the colored leather strap was attached. A short knife blade popped out the front end.

"As you can see, the spine cone is also a switchblade. To achieve a proper kill, the competitors must remove the spine cone from their opponent's cunt or ass, deploy the blade and cut her throat with it. Or his. The kill must be with the same blade that was inside the victim. Any improper kills will be punishable by death to the killer. It doesn't matter who makes the kill, as long as it is done properly. Every cut or contusion on the corpse, however, aside from the mortal wound to the throat, will be penalized by a ten percent reduction of the bonus to every member of the winning team."

She paused to let them think about that. The officials reappeared with single-tail whips draped over one arm and began handing them out.

"In addition to the weapon buried in your opponent's vagina or rectum, you will be allowed to use the six-foot whip now being distributed. It can be used as a whip or as a garrotte, but keep in mind that death by garrotting is illegal. You must cut your opponent's throat with her own spine cone. Any kill made in any other way will be considered murder and the perpetrator will be delivered to the chefs. Is there any question?"

A girl with red and blond stripes in her hair, both on top and below, raised her hand. "How can we be unblemished if our throats are cut?"

"A fair question. The stitching machine and cosmetic pastes used by the chefs will conceal most contusions and lacerations. The chefs also cover it with a special choker that's both attractive and heat permeable. When the carcass has turned a lovely bronze, the choker is removed and the cut is practically invisible. Nevertheless, every cut you make them conceal will deduct ten percent from your winnings. Any other questions?"

The thirty-eight were silent. It had finally sunk in that at least half of them would be dead before this game ended.

"Good," Tiffany said. "Now I want each team to go to their own the end of the field and prepare to defend their flag and figure out how to capture the other one and slaughter the opposing team. You will have two minutes to decide on your leader and plan your strategy. Starting now!"

A digital clock appeared on the giant screen, counting down from three minutes. Both teams scurried toward their own flag.

Briana was not about to waste time by letting the team argue over a new leader. She began issuing orders even before her eighteen teammates reached the blue flag.

"Roberto! You are the strongest one here. We need you as the last line of defense at the flag."

"But I can take out three of four of their smaller girls before they even get this far," he countered.

"I'm sure that's true. But while you're doing that some others could slip through. We can't let them grab our flag before we get to theirs! You stay here! Gina, you team up with me to charge their front line. You're tall and strong and I'm fast and wiry. Are you squeamish about yanking out the fucking dildo and cutting their throats?"

Gina looked like she'd been kicked in the stomach.

"Oh all right. I'll do that. You use your whip, right in their face, and I'll trip them up. Once we get them down and at least partially disabled with the wrist or ankle cuffs, I'll jerk the damn thing out and cut their throats. I don't like it either, but better them than me!"

"But we just partied with them last night. How can we just kill them?"

"Fuck all that! One team or the other is going to be dead within the next twenty minutes. Are you ready to be killed and eaten?"

"No." Gina's voice was weak but definite.

"Then dump all that sentimental shit and get ready to kill the bastards, because they're sure getting ready to kill you." She shouted, "Does everyone understand that? Those guys are not our friends anymore. They're our enemies and they're making their own plans to kill us . If you want to live to see nightfall and not wind up on a roasting spit, you'll start thinking of them as the deadly threats they are and concentrate on how you can kill them before they kill you!"

Briana spent the last minute pairing off taller girls with shorter ones while desperately trying to conjure a battle stratagem in her mind. She soon had eight pairs of girls paired up, with two women and Roberto as the last ditch defense of their flag. She glanced at the clock. Twenty seconds left to lay out a battle plan for her troops. If only she could think of one!

"Listen up, guys!" she shouted, trying to think of something sensible to say. "We don't know if they'll come at us as singleton fighters or in clusters, so we'll have to prepare for both possibilities." She pointed out five of the teams, including herself and Gina. "We will be the front line attackers." She pointed out three more teams. "You guys will hang back just behind us to tackle those who get past us. The final three will have to lay into anyone who breaks past the first two lines. DO NOT show any mercy whatsoever! The rules are simple. Either they die or WE die. When you get them down, rip out the fucking dildo, push the fucking button and slit their fucking throats! Our first objective is NOT to capture the fucking flag, but to kill every one of the Red Team. Is everyone clear on that?"

There was a general shout of assent, although not as ruthlessly fervid as Briana would have hoped. A klaxon sounded and Briana heard her mother's voice over the PA system.

"The time for planning is up. You must now engage. If no one has been killed within the next three minutes, all of you will die."

"Go!" shouted Briana, and her front line began trotting toward the Red Team. "Remember, kill them all first, then go for the fucking flag!"

Tiffany watched her daughter rally her troops and charge toward the opposing team with a mixture of pride and despair. Her heart broke to see the perfection of Briana's body. Narrow waist. Perfect breasts. Pretty face. Cascades of natural blonde hair. And such a small chance of survival.

The Red Team, under Justin, had elected to present a line of apparently single fighters, including Justin himself, as the advance offense. Briana immediately swerved to meet him head on, shouting at Gina to follow her. Last night he had fucked her. Now she would fuck him with his own dildo! He smiled as their courses converged, drawing back his whip arm to strike at Briana. She was expecting it. As the whip whistled toward her, she spun 180 degrees and took the painful snap on her back, then continued her spin to face him and snapped the end of her own whip on his testicles. At the same moment Gina's snap caught him in the face. He screamed and faltered. In that moment Briana was upon him and grabbed the leather strap attached to his butt plug, yanking it viciously. He screamed a second time and clutched at his torn anus as Briana found the button on the dildo. The blade snickered out and Justin simply stared at her in disbelief as she sliced his windpipe and jugular vein in a single swipe. Even before he toppled to the ground to bleed to death Briana and her cohort had charged on to the next target.

Gina turned out to be a quick study and an excellent fighter. By their third encounter she was really into it, charging a frightened girl who was flailing her whip around ineffectually and knocking her to the ground. While Briana wrenched the girl's arms up behind her and locked her wrist cuffs together, Gina grabbed the leather strap between her legs and ripped the diabolical "spine cone" from her vagina. As the girl screamed and writhed on the ground, Gina grabbed her by the hair, yanked her head back and neatly cut her throat.

Four of the original Red front line had managed to reach Roberto and his two flag defenders. Briana managed to quick glance toward them just in time to see one of the girls grab the flag while Roberto was fighting off the other three. She screamed at Gina to follow her and immediately set a course to intercept the dark haired girl who was hot-footing it back to her own end with the Blue flag.

As they approached her, Briana realized the girl was huge. At least six foot one and well muscled. But failure was not an option. Failure was death. The girl slowed but did not stop as Briana and Gina drew between her and her destination. Suddenly she darted to her left, Gina's side. Gina, instead of sprinting in that direction, snapped her whip, but missed. Briana was instantly behind her and catching up, but it was too late. The tall girl with the Red armbands had reached the flag platform and planted the Blue flag beside her own Red one.

Briana launched herself at the girl and knocked her down. Gina, following closely behind, grabbed at the leather strap between her legs and jerked the dildo out of her in a spray of blood. The girl screamed and clutched at her wounded cunt as Gina snapped the switchblade out and cut her throat. Briana yanked both flags out of their holes, and wheeled about to run them back to her own end of the field when Gina screamed. Her partner had dropped her whip and was clutching at her own face. Jackeline, the petite blonde from Peru, had successfully taken her out with a crack of the whip and was closing in on her. Briana started to go to Gina's defense, but was quickly set upon by two other girls. Briana recognized one of them at once. Olga, the Rumanian girl. She liked Olga. They had enjoyed a pleasant night of pleasuring each other and a couple of male URP technicians, when they had first arrived in L.A. Now she had to kill her as quickly as possible or it was all over. She dropped the flags and took a better grip on her whip. The second girl was bigger than tiny Olga, so she kicked Olga in the crotch to disconcert her as she cracked her whip in the larger girl's face. The girl flinched from the pain and Briana instantly dived at her crotch, grabbing the leather strap and tearing the barbed dildo out of her vagina. As the girl doubled over in agony, Briana popped out the blade and slit her throat.

Olga, recovering from the kick, was aghast at what Briana had done to her partner. But it was too late. Briana flung herself inside Olga's whip snap and quickly looped her own whip around the girl's throat, shutting off her air supply. Olga thrashed mightily, but Briana was stronger and kept the garotte tight until Olga sagged and collapsed. Briana quickly loosened the coil of whip, ripped the dildo out of the Rumanian girl's cunt, snapped its blade into working position and, looking directly into her stunned eyes, drew the blade across her neck.

Without bothering to watch yesterday's friend tumble backwards clutching her neck, blood spurting between her fingers, Briana spun around to meet the next threat. It was Jackeline, her whip hand drenched in blood. A glance at the ground behind the Peruvian blonde confirmed that it was Gina's blood. Her partner was still writhing as she died, grasping not at the gaping wound in her neck but at her bloodied crotch where the "spine cone" had been torn out of her vagina, shredding the sensitive tissues inside.

Before she could react, Briana felt the tip of Jackeline's whip bite into her neck as it coiled itself around her throat. A brutal jerk of the whip pulled her off balance and within reach of Jackeline who grabbed a handful of her blond curls and pulled her to the ground. Then Jackeline made a mistake. She was kneeling in front of Briana's face, knees spread for stability, trying to throttle her victim with the whip. And succeeding — Briana couldn't breathe and knew she would soon pass out if she didn't do something. That's when she spotted the dildo strap dangling between her assailant's spread thighs. Briana was lying on her right arm and someone was twisting her left arm up behind her with one hand while trying to shove the other between her gets to get at her own dildo strap. As consciousness began to dissolve, Briana used all her remaining strength to heave herself up off her pinned arm, reach up and yank on the strap in front of her face. There was a scream and the whip around her neck came loose. She yanked again and the dildo came free with a gush of blood. She was fumbling for the switchblade button when a terrible pain erupted between her own legs! The second attacker had pulled out her own dildo!

The hell with the rules! She had no time to waste! This woman was about to cut her throat. She rammed the blade of Jackeline's dildo into the nearest target — Jackeline's belly — and twisted it, hoping that would distract her long enough to deal the other girl. She pulled it out of Jackeline and slashed wildly behind her. She felt the blade slice through something; there was a gasp and the hand holding her wrist let go. Ignoring the fiery pain in her vagina, Briana rolled away from Jackeline and scrambled to her knees. A tall dark haired girl with a fresh gash in her cheek was closing in on her, a dildo blade in her right hand, her left hand extended to grab Briana's hair. Briana slashed at the arm as she rolled sideways to avoid the onslaught. A spray of blood indicated she had done some damage. Her attacker, maddened with frustration and frightened by the blood filling her mouth and pouring from a long diagonal slash on the underside of her left forearm, lunged toward Briana, aiming the blade at her neck. Briana rolled again and the blade missed, plunging harmlessly into the ground. This time Briana managed to clamber to her feet while her opponent was still struggling to regain hers. Without a second's hesitation she propelled herself into the wounded girl's body, driving her blade into her windpipe, ripping it sideways to tear open her throat. At the same time another sharp pain just below her rib cage told her the girl had managed a final cut of her own. The two staggered away from each other.

The dark haired girl was staring down at the blood streaming between her breasts and off the fingers of her left hand. She began to shake. Briana could see teeth through the gash that had opened up her left cheek. She dropped to her knees, her head drooping, the rich mane of hair falling across her ruined face. She began to sway, fending off death, fighting for a few more precious seconds of life.

Behind her Jackeline was standing in a puddle of her own blood, holding her belly, her eyes empty. Briana glanced around to make sure there was no other immediate threat, then circled around behind her, seized a handful of blond hair, tilted her head back and slit her throat. Jackeline grunted, sighed and slipped to the ground.

Briana made a visual survey of the arena. The sight was appalling. The field was littered with dead and dying girls. Both of the male combatants were dead as well. Only six others were still on their feet, besides herself, and were paired off in what amounted to three wrestling matches. Briana was still holding Jackeline's dildo switchblade; in fact, its spines had dug into the palm of her hand. She had to peel it away, adding a third point of pain to her growing list. She picked up the two flags she had dropped and jogged to the other end of the field to plant them at her team's end.

Now there was just the matter of killing the last three opponents. It turned out to be easy enough. She approached each of the wrestling couples from behind the girl with the red armbands, reached between her legs and yanked the spine cone out of her cunt. The terrible pain invariably shocked them into a momentary freeze, just long enough for her to grab their hair, tilt their heads and slit their throats. All three were dead or dying within a minute and a half.

Only four were still standing. All wore the blue sashes. Both flags were proudly on display at the Blue end of the field. Five-thousand spectators were cheering wildly, waving a sea of blue flags!

She had won! She was fabulously rich! She was fairly confident that surgeons could repair her badly torn vagina; it would be a shame if she could no longer enjoy sex. But she would worry about that some other time. It was too bad about all these dead girls, too. But hey, they had volunteered for the risk, just as she had. She was just smarter, and a better fighter. Her mother was out on the field and about to speak. Why didn't she look happier? Did she resent the fact that her daughter had prevailed in spite of all the gloomy warnings?

"Ladies and gentlemen," Tiffany was saying, her amplified voice cutting through the noise of the crowd. "We have our winners! Come, girls! Join me here at center field to receive your honors. They were certainly hard won."

Three other officials joined Tiffany at center as Briana and the other survivors threaded their way through the bodies on the field. One of the officials carried three gold medallions embossed with the URP logo and suspended from a necklace of blue ribbon. As Tiffany read the name of each girl, a second official hung the medallion around her neck and the crowd thundered their approval. Why only three medallions, Briana wondered? She was fourth in line. A niggling fear crept into her belly.

When the officials reached her, two of them took her arms and drew them behind her. The third snapped handcuffs on her wrists. What was this? Briana began to tremble.

"Unfortunately," her mother was saying, "this fourth Blue Team survivor, Briana Boylston of Malibu, California, made an illegal kill. She used a spine cone taken from Jakeline Aroyo of Chiclayo, Peru, to kill Ute Gerhardt of Dresden, Germany. This gave her team an unfair advantage and, under the rules of play which were spelled out at the beginning, constitutes murder."

Tiffany paused to get her emotions under control. She had to get through this. The crowd was murmuring with renewed blood lust. She turned to face her daughter.

"Briana Boylston: as much as it pains me to do so, it is my obligation as Chief Execution Officer at URP, which owns all rights to your body until noon tomorrow, to impose on you the mandatory sentence for your crime. Through the authority vested in me by Ultimate Reality Productions, Inc., the State of California and the United States Department of Justice, I order that you be taken to the roasting pits where you will be put to death by whatever means is deemed appropriate by the Head Chef. I further order that your body shall be roasted and served at tonight's feast, along with the others who have fallen on this field of battle."

Briana was too stunned to speak. Which was just as well because a ball gag was forced into her mouth. In her mind, as they strapped the gag tightly in place, she replayed that egregious error, that single moment in a desperate fight that both saved and condemned her. She had been trying to survive. So much for that. She had fought fearlessly in the arena where victory was possible. Now, as the officials buckled a collar around her neck, survival was no longer a possibility. She felt her knees grow weak as they led her off the field on a leash to begin a long walk to the roasting pits. She had finally drawn the short straw. She was out of luck and almost out of time. She was only eighteen and would be dead in an hour. Or sooner.

The cruelest cut of all, the one that finally cracked the shell around her emotions and allowed her tears to trickle out, was the image of her own Mom pronouncing the death sentence. Yet was that any worse than the ease with which she had killed her friends in the arena? We all have to do, she thought to herself, what we have to do. It was a bitter philosophy. Not enough to hold back her sobs.