What happens when a bunch of killers are forced to live together?
BATTLE OF THE KILLERS is a reality show that follows Betinia Woods, a girl kidnapped and forced to live in an underground bunker with twelve other killers. The bunker is equipped wit...
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JOOKIE COCKED his head to the side, showing off his industrial piercing. "This first challenge is deliciously evil. I love it!"
His enthusiasm wasn't contagious. The contestants radiated either sullenness or blankness.
I couldn't really see the other contestants too well in the cages, but up close, we all varied in clothing, size, and race. The only thing we had in common so far was our expressions — confusion mixed with disbelief with a side of uneasiness.
"The audience is gonna love this," Jookie said as he hopped around like Bugs Bunny.
The rude guy narrowed his eyes, clenching his fists like he was ready to knock the joyous Jookie out cold. The new flood of guards — fifteen to be exact — seemed to be the only thing stopping him.
Tears in her eyes, a curly-haired girl with braces and sketchers trembled near me, looking like she wouldn't even harm a worm.
She didn't look like a murderer, but then it dawned on me, I wasn't a killer, but I was still put here. So, maybe she wasn't either. But who the heck sponsored her? Or me? Those unknown questions itched at my brain.
"Do we get to ask questions first?" the rude boy asked.
Jookie looked like he was ready to electrocute him again, but he smiled instead. "No. Only the winner can ask a question. Any question she or he desires in fact." Then he snapped his colorful fingers.
With a quiet start, the guards ambled forward, grabbing us. A guard with white-tinted glasses gripped my shoulders and flung me forward, ordering me to walk.
None of us tried to fight, even the rude guy. Mostly because they jabbed guns into our spines, leading us toward steel double doors before flinging us inside.
Losing my footing, I stumbled into some guy.
He caught me before I fell over, letting my body rest against his strong shoulder so I could stabilize. Once I did, I caught his intense, warm eyes staring at me, studying me with interest.
"Sorry," I whispered, wrapping my arms around myself again.
He ran his fingers through the front of his hair. "It's fine," he said, voice pillow soft. He then took off his leather jacket and pushed it toward me.
I looked up, confused. "Huh?"
Warm-eyes never said anything. He just handed me the jacket and walked away.
The door slammed shut behind me, and I jerked at the echoing noise. Shiny steel formed the walls around us, creating a large room that held only a metal morgue bed and a table of tools. The stench of decaying death smoked the air like humidity on a summer day.
Without a second thought, I tugged on the jacket. It fit a little big, but I liked it like that. It smelled like harsh mint with a tang of delicious almond. My eyes looked for him in the crowd, spotting him leaning against the wall, staring down at his anklet.
