So I would have to say, right up there next to people watching me go to the bathroom, being naked in public, or crying in public, my current situation is the most humiliating experience I have ever had the pleasure of enduring.

After exiting my ship, the bloody bounty hunters, with no warning, I might add, shot me with a tranq. Then threw me in a stasis pod until we got to their destination.

They told me once I woke that they hadn't wanted me going all "psycho Krog" on them, so they decided to keep me knocked out. Also, I didn't need food rations that way, which they stole from my ship

As I had suspected, their little transport pod had taken us to their ship. A giant merc ship made up to look like a harmless freighter ship.

Wherever this was, I don't know. All I know is I am not on their ship anymore.

I made a point to check out their ship, though, one day while I was being shuffled from my holding cell to the Med Bay for a check-up and some tests.

The docking bays could be seen through the view windows in the halls here in the lower decks of what I heard the merc's call "the station."

Earlier I heard the crew talking when they had thought I was still out of it. We came in on the Star Rover III.

And according to the mercs conversation, we are now in some sort of colossal space station located just outside the borders of Armada's controlled space.

Which means nothing because this could be anywhere in the vast thing that is space. However, it does mean the only rules here are those made by whoever has muscled their way to the top of the food chain here.

This could be bad or good. My guts are going with the bad.

That brings us to my current situation. I happen to be chained to a vertical gel pad. It is sucking my naked form into it. Currently, nothing but the tips of my breasts, nose, chin and mouth are left sticking out.

Did I mention I am spread eagle? Even though the weird gel is over my eyes, and I can't see myself, it is still disturbing.

Especially considering I am in the centre of a massive sphere-shaped coliseum that makes up the station's centre, which is currently full of people.

Yet, that still isn't the most embarrassing part. The embarrassing part is letting a crowd of some 2.5 million into the most inner part of my mind.

Fucking merc bastards!

The crowd in the coliseum, people on the station, and those who pay for the live broadcast in this local space area are waiting with great anticipation for this year's annual Battle of the Minds show.

Out here, beyond the borders of Armada, entertainment comes in many forms. Both moral and immoral. Not sure this is immoral. But perhaps if the lack of my consent to participate is considered, it could be. The other men and women had volunteered. Stupid.

Suddenly a breather is on my face, tubes jabbing up my nose, and a mouthpiece shoved between my lips. I feel it seal around my face, making my skin pull tight. Air fills my lungs as the gel-like substance finally swallows me whole.

My body is entirely immobile, and if I were the kind of person prone to claustrophobia, this would be very bad.

I can wiggle my fingers and toes just ever so slightly. However, that seems to be my maximum range of motion. The gel is thick but thankfully warm.

I was told the gel serves three purposes. One, it works like a stasis pod and keeps us alive for the duration of the contest. Two, it carries the nanites needed to connect our brain waves to the games system. Three, it will stop us from hurting ourselves.

The last one almost makes me feel warm and fuzzy inside like these assholes care.

I get mentally ready for what, I am not sure, but somehow the nanites in this gel are going to make a connection to my subconscious. I will be forced into a sleep-like state and my delta waves accessed.

They need this connection to implement a series of virtual reality programs. I am about to participate in the ultimate contest of the strength of the mind. Only the person with the strongest mind will survive without severe mental whiplash and win.

The losers get whatever fate the crowd votes for. There are several possible outcomes for the losers, depending on how much the crowd does or does not like them.

I am not much of a people person, so I am already deciding I need to win.

The winner spends a year on this station, in the life of luxury. In my case, my captors will spend a year in luxury, treated like royalty, while I stay locked up. All I have to do is promise to play along as if I am not a captive when we have social obligations that require my, the winners, presence.

They promise to let me live if I do this. I only want to live so I can kill them. And find Ufrik. Wherever in the blazing stars, he sailed off to. My desire is strong.

Maybe though, if I am honest, I am not ready to die. Just maybe, that is the real reason for my being here, instead of dead.

I had seen the bounty hunter's eyes. He wouldn't have batted an eye if I had done something reckless, and he'd been forced to kill me. Pretty sure he'd have enjoyed it. If I am a Krog, he'll get paid for my dead body just as easily. Maybe even more.

I would be easier to dissect that way. That's the part that scares me the most. This whole thing is based on the sketchy assumption I am a Krog.

If I am, this should be a piece of cake for me. Well, if the stories about the Krog are true anyway. If not, it could turn me into a blubbering, drooling nutbar who pisses herself every time I hear the word sunshine. Let's just say I have my concerns.

Three others have been sucked into their vertical gel pads with me: two males and one other female. We are inside a large transparent tube that runs almost the entire length of the centre of the coliseum. I am told it is approximately two and a half kilometres. Not long if you are running or even walking. However, considering what we are about to do, this could take a while.

I was also told the longest this game had ever lasted was three weeks.

Each one of us is chained to our gel pad, spread eagle, 100% naked for everyone to see. Our pads are connected to a central conduit inside the tube. This allows our pads to move upwards, one at a time.

For each virtual reality program initiated, there will be one winner. Only the winner moves upwards towards the finish line, the very top, where the station's overlord awaits the winner.

How many virtual realities will depend on how quickly each reality program is completed. The longer it takes to complete a program, the slower the progress.

So the goal is to complete the challenge first and fast so you can move upwards quickly. Well, at least it is going to be my goal.

The virtual reality program is fed from the previous winner's subconscious, or when starting, whoever draws the lucky number—creating a world and a challenge from their darkest deepest secrets and fears.

We have no idea what the challenges will be or how to win. It will be different each time, and it adapts to our choices.

And we enter each new virtual world, or V.W. for short, completely oblivious. We will have no idea who we are, where we are, how we got there, or what we are supposed to be doing. It will be like waking up with amnesia every time. So we won't be able to carry the lessons learned from the previous V.W. with us.

To top it off, everything is supposed to feel truly real. Some of the previous contestants have died. Their minds not realizing it is just in a dream-like state and not suffering through whatever it was their mind was seeing. Not exactly comforting.

Giant view screens are being displayed up and down, around our containment tube, giving everyone close-ups of our current physical condition. Some narrator has been pumping up the crowd with overdramatized descriptions of our progress. I am glad I can't hear or see any of this.

The view screens will soon display the first V.W. we are going to be forced into. Well, I suppose technically, I am the only one being forced.

The others all want their chance at a year of paid luxury. Whatever that will entail. I don't know the details.

This station may not publicly endorse slavery, but I bet for a few extra credits, less concerned individuals gladly turn their heads.

I know the doctor who gave me my physical and the OK to participate hadn't commented on my apparent captive state. I would bet my life savings there is a huge underground black market for all kinds of things here. Including slaves. Lucky me.

Which begs the question of how long it will be until someone from Armada comes here to unload some merchandise. It could be my exit if I am ready.

Most don't know Armada does shady dealings outside their borders. But I do. As long as they don't come while I am in the middle of this bloody contest, it could be perfect.

I suddenly feel a million tiny pinpricks all over my body. It isn't necessarily unpleasant more like a gentle tingle all over my skin.

I have no idea how but I hear a voice speaking to me in my head. It sounds far away, but it is clear. It is a female Squardrim. Her voice is hypnotic and beautiful. Good choice for the person to lead us into our first V.W.

"Please relax, contestants. I want you all to inhale deeply. A mild neurotoxin will enter your system, helping you get ready for your transition into the game's home base. This will be where you will find your virtual selves if the game is suddenly stopped or a malfunction. Otherwise, you won't be here again until there is a winner."

I am surrounded by complete darkness. The gel stops all sounds of the outside world from reaching me. It is a seriously trippy feeling. I feel disconnected from everything. I am not sure I like it. I can no longer feel my body. It is like I left it somewhere.

I don't like this.