Total pages in book: 118
Estimated words: 108563 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 543(@200wpm)___ 434(@250wpm)___ 362(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 108563 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 543(@200wpm)___ 434(@250wpm)___ 362(@300wpm)
After finding the industrial area, I pull my car into a dark alley, far away from the meeting spot, not wanting my car to be tagged or become familiar to any of the other contenders. After cutting the engine, I slip out into the night, silently making my way through the quiet streets, keeping to the shadows.
I hear footsteps in the streets of other contenders making their way toward the warehouse, too confident with their own skills to conceal themselves. It’s people like that who’ll be the first eliminated. Not by me though. People who make themselves easy targets don’t interest me. I like the ones who make me work for the kill. I like the challenge of tracking a ghost, of drawing them out, blindsiding them, and the Twenty-Third Annual Serial Killer War Games promises just that. Though, I’ll have to be patient. The prey I’m after won’t be easy to find. They will bide their time in this twisted game.
Moving through the industrial area, I slip between old buildings, cutting through the back of rundown properties until finally launching myself over one final fence and coming to a stop in the side alley next to the warehouse.
There are a few cars parked down the street, each of them attempting to be discreet as though they’re not about to step out of their cars and walk directly into the warehouse and out themselves as one of the contenders.
Despite the games not officially starting until after our induction meeting, I’m on high alert and can sense the people around me. Any of these fuckers could strike at a moment’s notice, especially when ten million dollars is on the line. And while there certainly are strict rules, there are definitely a few that the bastard organizers would turn a blind eye to.
Personally, I don’t care for the money.
I’ve been a contract killer for well over fifteen years. I charge what I want, and the assholes sick enough to hire me are willing to pay whatever it takes to get the job done. I have more money than I know what to do with, stashed in multiple accounts across the globe. I couldn’t even guess how much there is, but there’s more than enough to ensure I never have to work again. The only issue with retiring is that I enjoy working.
This next month though, this isn’t work. This is play.
Glancing down at my watch, I take in the time. It’s 11:59 p.m. One minute to go.
Contenders approach the warehouse from all directions, skeptically eyeing each other as they mentally make plans of attack. They’re all looking for the weakest link.
It’s already clear to me who the contract killers are opposed to the serial killers. There’s a different sense of stealth between them. The assassins have training. They stick to the shadows and watch the other contenders like prey, while the serial killers walk straight through the moonlight, their egos too big for their own good. They’ll be the first to go. In fact, over the past twenty-two years, I don’t think a serial killer has ever won these games. It’s always been a contract killer.
They start making their way into the warehouse and not having enough visibility, I slip over the top of the fence and drop to the ground, putting me right by the warehouse. Then, without skipping a beat, I move right into the building, bring my elbow up in a shallow arc, and shatter the side window.
Reaching in, I feel around for the window latch until my fingers brush over the cool metal lock. I quickly unlatch it before finally sliding the window open. Not wasting any time, I pull myself up and through the window before coming down inside what appears to be an abandoned office space.
An old desk sits covered in dust, and the shelves have been torn down and discarded haphazardly across the small office. I move around it, making my way to the internal door, and without a moment of hesitation, I reach for the handle and let myself out into the main floor of the old warehouse.
Most of the windows have been boarded up, and there’s a distinct ammonia smell in the air that suggests someone has been cooking something up in here. I wouldn’t blame them. It’s the perfect location. Away from the busy streets, no surveillance, and it has more than enough space for the perfect setup. Either way, I don’t really give a fuck.
Sensing the people around me, I make the first move, stepping out of the shadows and revealing myself. Then, one by one, the other nineteen contenders do the same until we’ve formed a large circle in the center of the warehouse.
This part of the initiation process is simple. Reveal yourself.
We must form a circle, and once the final contender has arrived, the clock will start. We’ll stand for forty-five minutes, allowing everyone the chance to learn the faces of the other men and women they’ll be responsible for hunting. During this time, they must learn as many details as they can because it’s the only chance they’ll have to learn who they’re up against. Then, at some point during those forty-five minutes, we must reveal our aliases.