𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐌𝐀𝐒 𝐄𝐃𝐈𝐒𝐎𝐍
∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

Easy peasy.

Though not everyone seems to agree with that thought.

"That's not fair!" Calls a girl. "I have a limp!"

"So do I!" Adds another boy.

Thomas steps away from the crowd to glance around. The room is about twenty meters long. Bright, colorful paintings adorn the walls. The floor is yellow, apart from two red lines on each side of the room.

"The beep test is a fitness test to check how long you can keep running. You run back and forth between two points, keeping up with beeps. The beeps get faster over time, and you stop when you can't keep up," the woman from the speaker calls. "Every player must reach stage 10. That's 94 shuttles and 1.88 kilometers. Every player who does not make it will be eliminated. If you do not reach the end line before the beep twice in a row, you will also be eliminated."

Back at school, Thomas easily reached stage thirteen. Maybe it's a tad scarier with your life on the line—however, if he can make up his mind and do even better because he's risking his life, he'll get through this just fine.

The murmurs of the crowd grow louder. Some are already breathing heavily, wasting air for what's about to come.

Thomas exhales through his nose, rolling his shoulders back. Stage ten. 94 shuttles. 1.88 kilometers. Easy.

The first beep sounds.

He takes off at a steady pace. Others around him are soon stumbling, either from nerves or lack of fitness. But no gunshots just yet.

This, this is simple. Even if you're not in shape, you should be able to run less than two kilometers if your life depends on it, right?

Thomas settles into a rhythm as he tries to imagine the difficulty for others. The beeps begin to grow closer together, forcing everyone to pick up speed.

By stage five, a few players are already lagging behind. A man curses as he stumbles, barely making it in time. The ginger girl with the limp grits her teeth, determined but struggling.

The first gunshot rings out at stage six.

Thomas doesn't look.

Stage seven. Another shot. A man screams. A strangled sob.

His heart pounds, but not from exhaustion. His legs move faster now, adrenaline fueling his steps. The beeps are getting faster and faster. He can't afford to reach the line too late. 

Stage eight. The weaker players have dropped. He sees a man collapse just before the line, hands outstretched. A pink guard steps forward, gun raised. Thomas forces his eyes ahead.

Stage nine. His breath is coming faster, sweat dripping down his temple. The girl with the limp beside him wails, "I... I- can't—" before she falters and misses the line. The next beep comes, and she doesn't make it—two missed lines in a row.

Another gunshot.

Thomas is practically sprinting just for extra safety, when out of a sudden, he trips. He made sure to jump past the dead bodies—and yet he has fallen to the ground.

As fast as he can, Thomas scrambles back up. His eyes flicker to his side. A boy runs next to him. Blonde, slim, tall. His gaze determined yet... off.

He did that on purpose, Thomas realizes.

The last beep rings out. He follows the examples of others and stops running, turning his head. The remaining players—far fewer than when they started—stand panting, some shaking. The ones who failed lie motionless on the floor, blood pooling around them.

His jaw clenches when he sees the blonde again, but he decides to confront him later. Not here, with the guards close.

He keeps an eye on him, though; the blonde walks up to a girl, who's shaking so heavily that her knees wobble. "You made it," the blonde says.

Thomas rolls his eyes and turns away. He's not sure if he's going to make alliances, but if he is, he sure won't choose weak ones.

In the corner of the room stands a boy that looks about the same age as Thomas and the blonde. He quietly observes, arms crossed, a clear stack of muscles popping from his rolled-up sleeves. If anyone, it will be that guy.

Or the girl that caught his eye since the beginning. Hair that's almost as white as snow. Calm and collected, yet ready to throw a punch. In shape.

Other than that, no one looks good enough to survive this.

◎

"Yo... what's... up?" The blonde slowly wonders, glancing up at Thomas from his bed. A heavy British accent slips through.

"You made me trip."

"Didn't mean to."

He raises an eyebrow. "You sure about that?"

"Yeah."

"I think you were trying to get me killed."

"Mate, I don't even know you. Why would I want to get you killed?"

Thomas sharply points at the 'X' on his chest and then the 'O' on his own suit. "Maybe you're trying to eliminate the people who voted to stay."

"Maybe you're delusional. The people who voted to stay will die soon, as they have a lack of brain cells."

He scoffs. "You clearly have a lack of well-working limbs."

One second later, the guy is face-to-face with Thomas, his brows furrowed with anger, breaths heavy. "Sorry?"

"I said, your limbs clearly don't work well. The beep test wasn't really... your thing, was it?"

"Hey!" A girl snaps at Thomas from above. The same girl that barely survived the beep test. "Stop arguing. It's useless. He didn't do anything wrong. You're just trying to pick a fight."

"And so what?" Thomas snarls. But eventually, he stumps away. It's a waste of time to focus on these people.

On his way to his bed, he passes the two blonde siblings, multiple crying people, and a few others who are starting to rise arguments.

"Hey, you!" Someone whistles at him from one of the top beds. "Come here."

Hesitantly but making sure he doesn't look intimidated, Thomas climbs towards the group of people. He recognizes half of the faces from inspecting them earlier, but not all of them.

"We were thinking to form alliances. Might be helpful for the next games. You in? You seem strong," says a boy. "We're ready to share our real names."

He knows he will be stuck with these people for the rest of his time here. That might be a problem. On the other side, it's more security for him to survive. The tension is rising and he can feel that the games aren't the only deadly things; people are getting aggressive.

"Yeah, sure, whatever." Sighing, Thomas sits down. "So what are your names?"

"I'm Eli," The boy who called Thomas over says.

"Lena," greets another girl.

Thomas slowly nods. They seem good enough. Strong, ready. Both got an 'O' on their chest.

"I'm Thomas."