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"The show must go on!"

With that, the boy was forced to stand on the platform by a dog-catcher pole. The guards wrapped that wire around his neck when he refused to stand still. He tried to loosen its grasp, but the more he tried, the tighter and painful it got.

The ball pitcher matching roared and once the first bowling ball was fired, the guards let go of the boy. Now, he has no choice but to remain on his platform, or else the balls would kill him not before breaking every bone in his body. What a horrible way to die.

The boy clenched his jaws and surrendered to the rules of the game. There was no quick death option. He has to win it to survive.

The machine pitched faster as the hours passed slowly, leading to disastrous effects on the players—especially on the young boy. His legs went wobbly. His balance was poor. His throat became dry. His eyes barely stayed open.

"Kid, talk to me."

Woosh!

The boy shifted his eyes to the source of that voice.

"Stay strong," the guard girl said. "Don't give up now."

Woosh!

The boy scoffed, paying little to no attention to the tint of tears that sparkled at the corners of the girl's eyes.

Woosh!

"You're doing great. You're almost there."

Compassion was what her voice and eyes carried, but could she genuinely feel that? After all, she wasn't of much help. She was simply watching, like the rest of the bad people in this underground stadium, and occasionally giving instructions.

She's one of them, the boy concluded. She just wants to win a bet.

Woosh!

"Careful!"

Woosh!

She's so annoying.

Woosh!

"You're starting to crumble!"

Woosh!

Why should I even listen to her?

Woosh!

"Kid!"

I want to die anyway.

Crack!

One of the bowling balls slammed into him square in the arm. The feeling of bones shattering beneath the skin, blending with muscles and tissues, sucked the air right out of his lungs. His eyes opened wide as a groan deep from inside his tormented soul found its way out.

He collapsed on his knees, unable to breathe from the sharp pain.

"Get up! Get up, now!" his coach screamed hysterically.

Panic helped him regain his focus. He sensed an incoming ball from the left and quickly crouched, letting the ball pass him by. Then he jumped back on his feet and positioned his body perfectly on the platform before the next ball was shot.

He heard his coach letting out a big sigh of relief.

He wanted to do that too, but the pain he was feeling right now was unbearable.

"We almost lost the boy, but he got some skills. I give him that."

The boy's temperature rose. Rigid breathing. Sweat damped his baby face. His broken arm hung lifeless from his shoulder. That throbbing pain escalated to a burning level. He was about to pass out when a round of applause brought him back.

It was the judges. They whistled and cheered at the collapse of another player—the muscular man.

The screens showed the man taking a hit to the nose in slow motion. Then it broadcasted in real-time the man unconscious on the ground with a crooked nose, blood gushing out like a faucet. His coach was next to him, yelling at him to get up before the balls hit him, but it was no use.

The man was out cold.

And the heavy bowling balls collided with his body over and over again until everyone was sure he was dead.

"I never thought I would say this to the strongest guy here, folks, but... You'rrrre out!"

The cruel crowd laughed.

"The only players standing are that boring skinny man and the feisty boy. I'm excited to see who'll be the champion of the games this year. What about you, folks? Are you as excited as I am?"

"Yeah!" they shouted.

The next few minutes were the most difficult for the boy. He could barely keep his legs straight. His eyes gave up on him and replaced the images with blurs.

This is it, the boy thought as the balls came closer to his delicate skin, scraping everything in its path. I'm going to die.

He closed his weary eyes. His legs collapsed.

Just as he was falling, he heard cheers, the loudest so far. The crowd must be on their feet.

The last thing he remembered was severe pain in the head before he blacked out.

When he opened his eyes next time, slowly and tiredly, it seemed like forever had passed. The first thing that woke him was a headache. A pounding, horrible pain on his temple. Something he never experienced before.

He grimaced and reached for the spot where it hurt.

"Ow," he whimpered.

"Good. You're finally awake."

The boy heard the rustling of papers to his right then a screech of metal. He opened his eyes and noticed how white the room was and how comfortable the bed his damaged body was resting on. His ears picked up a peeping sound to his left.

He was in a hospital. His injuries were treated.

A hand waved in front of him.

"Hello. Can you hear me?"

The boy flinched when he recognized the voice. It was his coach—the guard girl. Except she was wearing a police uniform this time.

As soon as the boy's eyes met hers, his heart rate doubled. He recoiled back only to stop because of painful pulses in his arm that made him wince.

"Woah. Easy there, kid." She raised her arms to calm him. "Your arm is busted up badly. Try not to move so much."

The boy's eyes darted between the girl and the room. Fear crept into him, making him shake and shiver.

"Where am I? What do you want?"

The girl gave him a half-smile, almost like she was proud, and said, "I came to give you this." She dropped an envelope on his lap. "And to warn you." She came closer to him with a frown. "Don't ever talk about the games. OK?"

"OK."

Then she left.

The boy let out a breath he didn't know he was holding. Tears streamed down his face. Tears of peace, of freedom.

He swallowed before curiosity drove him into opening that envelope that was labeled with one word:

CONGRATULATIONS

Inside that envelope was a check in the amount of 1 Million US Dollars.

The boy won the Money Game.

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The End

Phew. If I were there, I think I would've died from a heart attack!

What about you? Based on what game you chose from chapter 1, do you think you would have survived?