Chapter 3 - The VIP Panic
Elara stared down the barrel of the high-powered rifle.
She calculated the distance between herself, Marcus, and the nearest concrete pillar.
It was too far to run.
Candidate 03 whimpered softly behind her, trembling in fear.
Elara slowly lowered the stun baton, letting it drop to the sand.
Marcus smirked and lowered his eye from the sniper scope.
"Smart girl," he muttered, stepping forward with zip ties in his hand.
He made the fatal mistake of looking away from her hands for one second.
Elara kicked the stun baton straight up into the air.
She caught it by the handle and hurled it like a javelin directly at the arena's main electrical box on the wall.
The baton collided with the high-voltage panel in a shower of brilliant blue sparks.
The entire stadium plunged into absolute darkness.
Screams echoed in the pitch-black arena as the backup generators failed to engage.
Elara grabbed Candidate 03's arm and sprinted blindly toward the VIP access tunnels.
She knew the layout of these elite fighting pits because she had spent months studying the architectural blueprints.
They slipped through a heavy steel door just as emergency red lights flickered on.
The narrow concrete corridor was eerily quiet compared to the slaughter outside.
"What do we do now?" Candidate 03 asked, gasping for breath.
"We hunt the man who started this," Elara replied coldly.
They hurried down the corridor, checking every corner for security patrols.
Suddenly, a figure stepped out of the shadows, blocking their path.
It was a wealthy guest wearing a golden masquerade mask and a blood-spattered tuxedo.
He raised a silver handgun and pointed it directly at Elara's chest.
"I have been waiting for you, Elara," the masked man whispered.
He slowly reached up with his free hand and removed his golden mask.
May you like
Elara stopped breathing.
The man holding her at gunpoint was her older brother, Julian, who had supposedly died in the fire fifteen years ago.
