Chapter 85.
The Host looks quite pleased with himself as he lets that sink in.
“You must be joking,” Alek says.
“Do I look like I’m joking?” he says.
“You expect us to fight each other?” Wyatt asks.
The silver-haired man nods.
“You hear people say they’d ‘kill to win’ all the time,” he says. “We’re about to find out which of you would be willing to kill the person in the next chair—or at the next table—to win this particular competition.”
“You’re talking about duels,” Gabrielle says. “To the death.”
“Exactly,” The Host says brightly. “You will all be paired off in the morning. I’ll select the pairings.
I’ll select the weapons. Some of you will fight with small knives, which happened to be Mr. Tipton’s choice of weapon just a few moments ago.
Some will be given handguns. And some will fight with their fists. And feet, if need be.”
He chuckles.
The sound on this night is more chilling than ever.
“But then all of this will be Ultimate Fighting in a way, won’t it?” he says.
He finishes his wine then. As he’s leaning over to place it near Gabrielle Fontaine, he starts to place a hand on her shoulder.
She recoils before he can.
“Ne le faites pas,” she snaps.
Don’t.
The Host smiles like he’s amused she still has fight in her.
“This is madness,” Gabrielle says in English.
“On the contrary, Mademoiselle Fontaine,” The Host says.
“It is an element that is quite necessary. You’ve shown you’ll sacrifice comfort.
Safety. Pride. Even your bodies. But are you now willing to sacrifice each other?
That’s the question we need answered. Because in the war to save our world from imminent destruction, these are the kinds of sacrifices that might need to be made, in the ultimate fight for survival. ”
Alek feels nausea rise.
Jack’s voice cuts through it.
“I’ve been thinking about something,” he says.
“Other than throttling me?” The Host asks.
Jack ignores him.
“Why does there have to be just one winner?” he says.
“You mean cut the pie up into pieces in the end?” The Host says.
“We’ve already shown we can team up to get things done,” Jack says. “We’ve saved people together. Why couldn’t we do that for the biggest possible stakes?”
For the first time, The Host looks genuinely interested.
“Interesting,” he says. “You come up with that all on your own?”
“It’s just common sense,” Jack says.
The Host starts to say something else, but stops himself. Claps his hands together instead, the noise jarring enough that it’s like the crack of a pistol being fired.
“Now all of you go and get a good night’s sleep,” he says. “Lord knows, you’re going to need it.”
He turns and starts to walk toward the door through which he’d entered.
“I’m not doing it,” Hannah says.
The Host makes a slow, theatrical turn.
“Excuse me?” he says.
“I’m willing to do a lot,” the girl says. “I’ve already done a lot. But not this.”
The Host offers what might pass as a paternal smile if they all didn’t know him better.
“Well, that will be your choice,” he says. “Do you want to press your red button yourself, or would you like me to do it for you, Miss Wagner?”
Hannah sits motionless, and expressionless, staring back at him. She knows everyone in the room is watching her.
“I’ll think about it overnight,” she says finally.
The Host once again heads for the door.
It’s Jack’s voice that stops him this time.
“You said we’d be paired off for these duels,” Jack says. “Right?”
“So I did.”
Jack makes a gesture that takes in both tables.
“But there are only eleven of us,” he says.
The Host’s smile is faint. Like he’s been waiting for this.
“Twelve, actually,” another voice says from behind them.
They turn. A man stands in the doorway, travel-worn and smiling like he’s late to a party he never stopped attending.
Saad al-Harbi, player #7. The cocky prince who’d been sent home before they’d all left Ohio.
“So nice to see all of you again,” Saad al-Harbi says.
“Wait,” Alek says. “You can’t be here. You were out.”
“I was removed,” he says. “Not released.”
Wyatt blinks. “That’s . . . not the same thing.”
“No,” Saad says. “It isn’t.”
“You all keep using the word ‘eliminated’ like it means ‘safe,’” The Host says. “Like it means ‘free.’”
He steps closer, voice calm.
“It doesn’t.”
Silence.
Saad takes one step into the room. “They put me in a different box,” he says. “A different kind of test.” He looks around at their faces. “You think you were the only ones being watched?”
Beat.
“Plus. What can I tell you?” the prince says, looking even more arrogant than ever. “Money talks.” He smiles broadly. “You think your favorite influencer is the only one who can bend the rules?”
Alek’s mouth is dry. “Why bring you back?”
The Host answers before Saad can.
“Because tomorrow requires pairs,” he says. “And because Mr. al-Harbi has . . . reconsidered his willingness to do what it takes.”
Saad’s smile fades into something harder.
“I didn’t come back for fun,” he says. “I came back because they made something very clear.”
Jack’s voice is low. “What?”
Saad meets Jack’s eyes. “That ‘no’ is not one of the options.”
The Host’s smile returns.
“Now,” he says, “we have twelve.”