Joanna strolled merrily through the concrete jungle, fiddling absently with her knife as she went.

  Her eyes stung the way they often did after pulling all-nighters, her brain felt foggy but elated at the same time. She just couldn’t get that mysterious cowboy out of her mind.

  She knew that killing him would have been the safe option. He seemed the kind to track her down and lynch her after the stunt she’d pulled and though she wouldn’t have been opposed to him tying her up, she wasn’t willing to die for it either.

  We’re the same, he just hasn’t realised it yet.

  Her stomach somersaulted as the lewd image entered her mind and she shook her head trying to displace the thought. Was this Bonny and Clyde syndrome she was experiencing? The thrill of the kill awakening a strange new desire within her?

  It was certainly possible; all of this was so new to her after all. She’d killed her second person today. The first time wasn’t fun. It was a murder born of rage and hatred. It was sickening, it was necessary. This second murder had been different though. She was doing the man a favour, offering him salvation and sparing him from the pain the game had caused. He was weak, too weak to survive in this harsh new world.

  Murder was a harsh term, she decided. After all, it genuinely was a mercy killing. So what if she had enjoyed it? Her own feelings, her own elation, they didn’t change the fact that she had done him a favour. She had saved him. It had been a kindness. So why did the brother’s hateful eyes bother her so much?

  What was that yokel’s problem? Shouting at her and calling her a bitch. She’d done his brother a favour, Bazzledazzle was too cowardly to do himself. What kind of a name was that anyway? Bazzledazzle, there was nothing even remotely dazzling about him.

  John Doe on the other hand… now that was a man worth keeping an eye on.

  Joanna knew that she needed to keep her ratings up if she wanted to survive. Powerful sponsors and the love of the public were always important. Nothing had changed in that regard. Tanlan had inferred as much. She had to be entertaining if she wanted to survive. She had to survive to reach her goal, to enact her revenge. If she could give the weak a painless death in the process then all the better.

  In life, just as in this game show, nothing secured a career like the monetary backing of a wealthy conglomerate, and she was going to make sure she got one. She had to.

  First though, she needed to find somewhere to spend the night and get some food. A high protein diet was paramount to staying in top physical condition, or so she’d read in a health article recently. Fuelling the muscles was going to be an important factor in the longevity of surviving the game.

  After all, no one knew how long it would last and if she could be sent anywhere in the world when she entered the next gate, chances were that her ability to keep her body strong would be crucial. She had to become a warrior. There were no two ways about it.

  After wandering through the deserted city streets for a while she eventually came across a tavern with the lights on. It was a little hole in wall style drinking establishment with a glowing, green neon sign hanging above the door.

  Watering Hole was emblazoned in glowing letters and Joanna pushed the door open carefully. Creeping around the frame as it creaked slightly, she found herself looking upon a strange creature.

  It was a triceratops with the bodily structure of a human, two legs, torso, arms, hands, it looked positively ghoulish. She loved it.

  The dinosaur was wearing a neat, black fedora with a red band around it’s middle and a dark, checkered suit with a pocket watch chain hanging regally from its waistcoat pocket.

  “Welcome madame,” it said in a posh English accent, barely looking up from the glass it was polishing. “Please, come in and take a seat.”

  Tentatively she obeyed, pushing through the door and taking light steps towards the creature. She kept her pilfered knife up the sleeve of her leather jacket and held the feeling of her card power on the edge of her thoughts.

  The dinosaur seemed pleasant enough, but she wouldn’t be caught off guard if things soured.

  “What are you?” She eventually asked as she pulled up a barstool, refusing to remove her eyes from its pointy face.

  “What I am is not important,” he replied in a voice that held a certain melodious quality, “what I can do for you however…”

  Intrigued, she leaned forward on her elbows and stared up at him through the tops of her eyes, waiting for him to continue.

  Without looking at her, he said, “you need cards to pass through the gate and it just so happens there’s one ripe for the taking right here, in this very establishment. The executives are happy to let you take it, assuming of course that you’re willing to make it… entertaining. They’ve been watching you and I think we could form quite the partnership you and I.”

  “Oh my scaley little friend,” Joanna cooed, “you have no idea how entertaining I can be.”

  ***

  The author's content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

  Joanna left Watering Hole a little under ten minutes later. Flames licked at her back as the smell of burning alcohol and human flesh clung to her nostrils.

  The screams of the dying echoed in the abandoned city streets and she smirked, flipping her new card playfully in her fingers before sliding it into her solar plexus.

  I am their salvation.

  ***

  “I hate being right!” John yelled as he and Truffle sprinted desperately along the street.

  Behind them, a kaiju sized shrimp holding a lit barbecue raced after them on comically tiny legs. Apparently it wasn’t enough for the showrunners to introduce yet another stereotypical regional monster, they also had to make it utterly ridiculous and able to travel on land.

  The viewers must be loving this, John thought scathingly as he darted down a side street.

  Not one to run at the first sign of danger, John had already attempted to fight the beast. When he’d cast his line for the last time that day and had almost been reeled in himself by the monster, he’d pulled out both of his pistols and emptied round after round into its shell.

  However, this shrimp was hardier than one might expect and the ricocheting bullets were reflected back at him, nearly turning him into Swiss cheese. Realising that the shrimp’s shell was bullet proof, he decided to run.

  Though the shrimp kaiju was fast, thankfully, it wasn’t very agile. Whilst John darted down the side street with the agility and grace of a cat, the kaiju smashed headlong into the corner building before managing to complete a turn and follow them.

  “Boss, over there, an open door!” Truffle squealed as they reached roughly the halfway mark of the side street.

  Knowing that they simply didn’t have the stamina to outrun the shrimp forever, John dived through the open door and hoped for the best.

  Panting violently as his lungs threatened to punch a hole through his chest, John kicked the door shut from his position on his back and did everything he could to quiet his breathing.

  The room shook as the kaiju stormed down the street, its tiny legs causing a miniature earthquake with each bouncing stride.

  John and Truffle waited silently as the steps neared and then began to fade.

  “I think it went past us,” Truffle whispered, nudging John with his snout.

  He nodded and sat up slowly, pulling his hand up to his face. He stopped. His palm was black bright and oily.

  Glancing around his surroundings he realised that the building they had entered seemed to have extensive fire damage. His hand was covered in soot and the bar countertop to his side looked like the remains of a log in a campfire.

  One soft tap and it was likely to crumble to ash.

  “We need to get out of here,” he said suddenly in a harsh whisper. “This building could collapse at any second.”

  Though he didn’t say it aloud, he had also concluded that if the giant shrimp came back and found them it could easily break through the wall, trapping them and covering them in rubble.

  As if on cue the rumbling footsteps of the kaiju rocked the floor and ash fell from the ceiling like black snow.

  “We can’t go back out there, Boss,” Truffle replied, trying and failing to keep his voice low, he shivered slightly as he glanced nervously towards the door. “Maybe there’s a back door?”

  Before John could stop him he trotted off into the back rooms.

  “Wait,” he shout-whispered after the pig, “it’s not safe!”

  With a huff, he pulled himself off the floor, wiped his hands on his thoroughly soiled jeans, and followed after Truffle.

  There was an odd stench in the air, one that he almost recognised. It was burnt, pungent and foreboding. It made his skin tingle and feel slimy and uncomfortable. His nose hairs seemed to latch on to the smell as if it was warning him of something. It was thick, all-encompassing and oppressive.

  Stumbling over destroyed bar stools and through mounds of ash he found himself wandering through a series of back rooms that seemed to be sleeping quarters. Destroyed beds and charred nightstands littered the rooms and they reminded him of the post-nuclear houses in a Fallout game. It was repulsive and dirty.

  “Truffle,” he whisper-shouted, “where the hell have you gone, we need to leave!”

  “In here,” the pig replied, but his usual joviality was gone.

  John walked wearily past a few more rooms before his eyes landed on the black spotted teacup pig standing still inside the last room on the left. His snout was ruffling up and down as he sniffed at something and then backed away slowly.

  Taking a step inside the room, John saw what his companion had been smelling.

  Laid on a burnt-out bed was the charred remains of a family of three. Two men and their daughter, or what was left of them, their faces immortalised in an eternal scream.

  Etched onto the wall above their heads in jagged knife marks were the words I am their salvation. Thin whisps of smoke danced through the air in ringlets, leaving their corpses peacefully.

  However, nothing else about the scene was peaceful. This was recent, red clumps of flesh and scarce clumps of hair clung to the skin made charcoal and John gritted his teeth in anger.

  “Joanna,” he growled under his breath, “what was the point?”

  “Experience points?” Truffle asked, “I think I recognise these people.” The pig snuffled a burned hand which disintegrated into ash. A clatter rang out across the room and John bent down to pick up a tarnished wedding ring.

  Engraved on the inside was the words: I love you Frank, always and forever.

  John stumbled backwards. Truffle was right, they did know these people. The Johnsons. They lived over the road from John and Anne. They had entered the portal shortly before he had. They had a kid. His eyes washed over the tiny, blackened corpse and began to water.

  Skill activated:

  Trauma response.

  “Fuck you,” he said quietly to the roof as the skill took hold, quelling his upset and preventing tears from fully falling. Taking a deep breath, he spoke to Truffle in a low whisper. “It can’t be for experience. I don’t understand why she did this. The only thing we’ve been able to get so far are shards and cards…” he trailed off as the realisation dawned on him and, squinting for a closer inspection of the bodies, he noticed a hole in Frank’s sternum.

  Subconsciously, he placed his hand over his solar plexus and gulped. His card felt warm there, like a second heart. If his suspicions were right, then this game had just gotten even deadlier.

  It seemed it was possible to steal other people’s cards by ripping them out of their bodies.

  “Come on Truffle we’re leaving,” he said hurriedly, backing out of the room and marching towards the door with his fists clenched and his mind wandering elsewhere as an idea began to form.

  “But what about the shrimp?” The pig called after him. John did not reply. His skills may have stunted his ability to be traumatised and sad, but it didn’t prevent him from being angry, and he was furious.

  You will not take my humanity.

  He’d spent a lifetime without being exposed to dead children and burnt corpses and in a single day he’d seen four, over two separate incidents. He felt oddly responsible. He should have killed her, even if it risked his own life. He wouldn’t make that mistake a second time.

  “I have a plan for the shrimp,” he eventually said as he reached the front room, Truffle hot on his heels and panting. “Do you still have access to that power you got from the Hob-Koala?”

  “I think so, it hasn’t been twelve hours yet has it?”

  “Good, because I’ve heard great things about Australian street food and we’re going to put fried shrimp on the menu. Then we’re going psycho hunting.”