Luckily, the amount of time we spent walking was enough for me to forget my annoyance at being tricked.  The first hallway was pretty short, I grant you; I figured our destination would be behind the door we were moving toward the first time, and which only took about half a minute to reach.

Then Elba pulled the handle, opening the passage to a spiral staircase that stretched infinitely high into the air, and down, down, down into the depths of the earth, till the steps disappeared into an ominous, stifling darkness.

But I wasn't thinking about the darkness so much as I was my leg muscles.  "We're going that way, right?" I asked, pointing at the floor.

Elba gave me a dry smile.  "Guess again."

So up, up, and away, we went.  I don't even know how many levels we passed, how many steps I was getting in.  All I knew at that time were two things: one, that I was sure that I would die from the aching in my calves, and two, that we trekked so high into the air  that when I paused to catch my breath and look down, I couldn't even see the floor where we had started from.  I would say whether or not this gave me a case of vertigo, but since I don't know whether you the reader are afraid of heights, I'll let you draw your own conclusions about that.  I'm flexible.

Finally, just when my knees threatened to give out altogether, Elba stopped short.  She looked absolutely no worse for the wear, like she had been walking up and down this crazy flight of stairs all her life- and here I was, struggling to get air back into my lungs.

"We're here," she announced, pointing to the door nearest us.  As we drew closer, I heard the sound of a good-sized group of people chitchatting and laughing together. When she had decided I had rested for long enough, she placed her hand on the knob, turned it, and pushed it open.

Have any of you guys seen Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory? Not that creepy Tim Burton one where Johnny Depp looks like something straight out of the "I'm Going Slightly Mad" video.  I mean the Gene Wilder one from the early seventies.  Remember the part where Mr. Wonka opens the really big door to his factory and everyone is just gobsmacked by the immense candy land on the other side, with the lollipop trees, the candy cane bushes, and the chocolate waterfall?

Well, the experience was similar to that- except there was no candy.

Aside of eye candy, that is.

Within this impossibly huge room, there were girls, girls, girls as far as the eye could see, of all shapes, sizes, and colors, with ages ranging from thirteen to thirty.  Among this sea of females, so far I could see only one attribute they all had in common: staggering beauty.  I wasn't all too convinced that we hadn't stumbled upon the Miss Universe pageant by accident.

"What are you waiting for?" Elba nudged me forward.  "Go join them!"

I squinted.  "Who are they, though?"

Elba shrugged.  "Just your competitors."

I shook my head.  "Okay, look, if this is a beauty pageant, I've already lost.  Just telling you right now."

"It's not a beauty pageant.  My God, how superficial do you think our organization is?  The next thing you'll claim is that we've got a swimsuit contest."

"But aren't you seeing a pattern here?  Look at them!  They're gorgeous!"

"As are you."

"No, I'm not!  I bet the ugliest among them is a knockout compared to me!"

Elba rolled her eyes.  "Never heard that one before."

"Huh?"

"Save that stuff for the judges, okay?  Now go find an empty seat and get settled so they can start finally."

With a sigh, I did as she asked. As I drew nearer, however, my misgivings seemed to shrink as I began to be able to pick out familiar faces in the crowd.  Not that I realized I knew these people personally, you understand, but I sure did recognize a bunch of them. In a seat near the aisle I spotted Ariana Grande, while I could have sworn I caught a glimpse of a young Uma Thurman over in the corner.  In one row alone I saw 2000s era Megan Fox, 90s era Jennifer Lopez, and 2010s era Margot Robbie all squeezed together.  After a while, though, it occurred to me that they were all just lookalikes.  Had to be.  After all, Audrey Hepburn had passed away many years ago- and yet, there she was, chatting it up with Lucy Boynton and looking like she had just walked off the set of Breakfast at Tiffany's.

My anxiety getting the better of me, I sat down toward the back in the closest seat to the aisle, climbing over a beautifully tanned pair of legs. The face that belonged to these legs did not ring any bells of recognition, but she, too, was beautiful beyond words, especially when she smiled and made her emerald green eyes sparkle.

"So you're the one we've all been waiting on," she joked, putting her hand out for a shake.  "Welcome!"

"Thanks," I said sheepishly.  "Sorry, I didn't know anyone was waiting on me."

"None of us did, till we got here," she rolled her eyes.  "What are they calling you?"

"Uh- well, my name is-"

"No, no!  We're not supposed to use our real names here," the girl on the other side of me chimed in.  "Didn't you get assigned some kind of nickname when you signed in?"

"Oh, yeah, yeah, sorry.  They, uh- they gave me 'Kimi.'"  I gestured toward my name tag.  Why am I the only one with a tag?  Where's theirs? 

"Kimi's a good one," the super-model sighed, "way better than mine."

I frowned.  "Why?  What's yours?"

She groaned.  "Dorothy."

"Why did you get that one?"

"Because I have the unbelievably good fortune to share a name with one of his cats, they gave me a different cat name- and one that's a hell of a lot frumpier, I might note.  C'est la vie, I guess."

"Dorothy's not that bad," the other girl said.  "Weird, though.  My name's a cat name too- but they gave me Lola.  And he never called any of his cats Lola, I don't think."

"It's probably just random then," Dorothy the model yawned.

I glanced back and forth between my bodacious bookends.  "Who's 'he'?"

They stared at me.  "You mean, you don't know?" Lola asked.

I blinked.  "Should I?"

Dorothy shook her head in amazement, then pointed.  "Well, if you don't, you're about to find out.  Here comes the MC now."

The words were barely out of her mouth when none other than Leo waltzed to the front of the room and tapped a couple times on the microphone, sending sonic booms bouncing all over the four walls surrounding us.  The room fell silent.

"Salutations, my fine friends," he greeted us.  "Welcome to the orientation of this spectacular week-long event you'll never forget until you die."

A few scattered chuckles rose into the air, but for the most part we all sat there like stones.

Upon seeing his joke (or whatever the heck that was) had not been well-received, he cleared his throat.  "Well, I could stand up here for half an hour going through all the details of the week is going to be broken down before the actual event takes place- but I think all you people would much prefer to hear an overview- from the Prize himself."

A collective gasp, with a few screams of joy erupting at strange, ear-splitting intervals.  Me, I was still confused.  The Prize is a he?  What is this, an off-brand The Bachelor?

Before I could indulge in any other sideways jokes, though, the curtains behind Leo parted to reveal an enormous cinema screen.  Without warning the room was plunged into darkness, causing those same high-strung people to shriek once more. 

But whatever noise they had made before was nothing compared to the absolute pandemonium that shook the rafters, when the screen lit up- and his face appeared.  I knew its every detail already by heart -that unmistakable curve of his jaw, the hooded black eyes, the slim, aquiline nose, the taut, full lips, and that soft dark hair.  The projection of perfection itself only smiled as the cacophony continued, and I could only sit there and stare in awe.

"Good evening, darlings," Freddie Mercury crooned.