My brother, Tomas McConell, was chosen about a year ago for a life-threatening 'game' that took place in the Chiron Complex. A group of teens would be put in an apartment and forced to kill each other if they ever wanted to make it out again. Tom spoke of the horrors he'd endured, the way he'd hidden himself in the chimney while all the other 'players' slaughtered each other until no one but he was left standing. He came home, but something had changed in him. It was a scary thing for the whole family to witness and even scarier for him to go through.

So, you can imagine everyone's shock and horror when I received a letter from the Chiron Complex, identical to the one my brother had received a year prior.

The probability that two McConell children were chosen was practically nonexistent, but apparently the universe didn't get the memo, because there the letter was, painfully real, in my hands.

And, a few days later, there I was, sitting in a crowded room and waiting for someone to call out my name and the guards to escort me and my new roommates to our apartment, where we'll fight to the death for a chance at freedom.

"Frank Colombo," the skinny man on the stage was saying. "Taylor Grant, Bee McConell," I perked up at the mention of my name, looking to where Tom had told me the guards waited. Sure enough, six guards stood at the doors, looking very ready to grab any kid who tried to bolt. I was pretty convinced no kid would even attempt a stunt like that though, the man onstage had made it very clear that anyone who tried to escape would be killed and their head mailed to their family -- if it was found -- and their entrails made into ropes. "Luis Murray, Molly Newman and Ally Samuels. Got to the exit, you will be escorted to your apartment."

I stood up and walked over after shouldering my bag, not bothering to try to hide the shaking of my hands or the quivering of my lips. I saw five other kids stand up and walk over to where I was heading but decided I'd observe them closer later. I'd have plenty of time, unless someone decided to stab everyone the second the door closed.

One guard grabbed my hands the second I walked up to him, not taking any chances. The others did the same with the other kids and walked us to a pair of elevators, pointed in opposite directions as if they were angry with each other. We were ushered into the one on the left. We stepped inside and I took the time to look at the other kids. They all seemed to be around my age but otherwise basically nobody had anything in common: there was one pretty girl with cocoa skin and long curly black hair standing beside a guy who looked like someone had strapped him to a medieval torture device and stretched out his arms and legs.

The doors pingged open on the 33rd floor and the guards pushed us onto a landing with a red door at the end, so normal it could almost have been a floor in any other apartement, were it not for the metal mark on the door: a winged lion with it's maw open, snake fangs on its upper jaw and possessed-looking eyes. The mark of the Chiron Complex.

The guards pushed us inside the apartment and shut the door. I heard the many locks click shut and leave us trapped inside. The door could be a wall, for all the luck we'd have getting out. One short girl with black hair slammed herself against the door and punched it repeatedly. She was pretty jacked and the door groaned, as if informing her it didn't like that, but

didn't give. Obviously. The girl punched the door once more, shouting a few colorful phrases at it for good measure, and leaned her forehead against it in defeat.

A skinny blonde girl took the angry one by the shoulders and led her to the living room which the hallway we were in opened right into. The two sat down on the couch and stared at the blank wall, faces displaying very different emotions: the blonde girl had mourning eyes, as if imagining her funeral, whereas the short girl's face showed seething rage, like she was ready to punch a hole in the wall and crawl out, kicking everyone on the way.

Everyone else gathered on the couch, except this latino kid and I, who were forced to sit on the floor.

"So." The pretty girl I'd observed in the elevator started. "We should get to know each other if we want to spend any time together."

"I could kill everyone this instant and leave, no need for introductions." The guy beside me commented jokingly... or at least, I hoped it was jokingly.

"Bold of you to assume you could even kill a gnat." The short girl snapped, turning her anger towards him, which must've been pretty scary, because he squeaked quietly and looked away.

"I think introductions are probably going to come in handy." I piped up and everyone nodded in agreement. "I'm Bee McConell, I come from Washington and my brother went to the Chiron Complex. He didn't kill anyone. Just wanted to make that clear." Everyone waved and mumbled their greetings.

"I'm Frank Colombo, my mom's Mexican and my dad's from Cali. I live in San Diego." Frank got the same reaction as I did. He had curly brown hair that flopped to one side of his face and looked like he never paid much attention to it yet somehow knew how to keep it a not-mess. He had warm brown eyes and a cheeky smile frozen over his features.

"My name's Taylor Grant. I'm from Greece and I live...d in D.C." The way she added the past tense sent a shiver of cold down my spine. "Oh, and I'm agender and use they/them, so don't you go mistaking me for some cis/het" They spat, like 'cis/het' was the worst insult they could think of, and glared at everyone threateningly. I felt pretty guilty cause I'd been calling them a girl when they were clearly not ok with that. They had piercing hazel eyes and their eyebrows were low over their eyes, like they spent a lot of time frowning out of concentration. I may not know much about expressions but concentrated frowns and angry frowns are different, that I can tell. Their hair was black with the roots dyed purple, and styled in a pixie cut. Their features were sharp but somehow not too threatening, I felt like I could trust them... or at least, could, if we weren't all supposed to murder each other.

"I'm Molly Newman, I live in New York." Molly was the pretty girl from the elevator. She had round features and bright blue eyes, and her whole demeanor radiated nervous friendliness.

"Luis Murray, from Virginia." The guy with the Southern accent informed us. He had sandy hair and long, pale features with brown eyes. He was really tall but otherwise the dude was pretty regular.

"And I am Ally Samuels." She had a thick French accent. "I come from France but live in Pennsylvania. I moved here when I was 10 years old." Ally was pretty, she looked like the classic 'dumd rich blonde' and those types of people generally tend to be pretty, but something about the way she held herself and the glint in her eyes told me that she wouldn't dream to go down without a heck of a fight.

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Here ya go, my Chiron children. It's the first original story I'm actually dedicated to but, being a dedicated fanfiction author with much practice in the craft, I'm going to be adding author's notes at the start/end and maybe some references to musicals and series and stuff.

Love y'all,

Starii🌼