5

Asher

Present

We’re led single file down the dim hallway, deeper into the belly of the warehouse.

The sound erupts as we enter. The bass pounds tracks from the speakers, the music pulsating between rave tracks, rock, and industrial. Above the music, the sound of the crowd screaming is like a raw-throated feral animal. Cheering for us. The ones who are going to give them the show of their fucking lives.

The warehouse is dark and cavernous, an industrial void with exposed pipes snaking along graffiti-streaked walls. The air buzzes with energy and anticipation.

Girls in skimpy black leather outfits carry around trays of liquor. The crowd is the usual mix of adrenaline junkies, underground thrill-seekers, and rich-as-fuck elites who get a kick out of watching. In exchange for tonight’s show, they’re funding the whole thing. They want spectacle. They want entertainment. They want blood .

This is my second year in the Mortalis Society’s competition, and the roar of the crowd never gets any less deafening.

Tonight’s my night. I’m either leaving with the money or not leaving at all.

A voice crackles through speakers dotted around the warehouse. “Players to the center.”

The twenty of us form a ring around a firepit in the center of the warehouse. Across the circle, Blair takes her place, her hands clenched together, trying to hide the fact they’re shaking. The firelight flickers against her face, casting shadows over her wide eyes.

Axel stands next to me, a bleach-blonde mohawk asshole I’ve crossed paths with in this underground scene. He’s a brawny former cage fighter who got noticed by the Collective and invited into the Society. Like most of these guys, he thinks he’s hot shit.

“You know that chick you were talking to?” he mutters to me. “Brunette Barbie over there?”

I shrug. “Used to.”

“She’s gonna be the first one I take down,” he says. “Or maybe the last. As long as I get to fuck her before the night’s over.”

Possessive rage sparks in my gut, bitter and unwelcome. Blair isn’t mine. Let every other man in here have a go with her for all I fucking care.

I don’t realize I’m biting my tongue until I taste iron.

Fuck, so I do care.

That’s why I’ve been watching her over the last couple years. It’s like an addict relapsing. I try to go without it. I tried to move on. But the longer I hold out every time, the more I want it. Just a glimpse, I tell myself.

Except this time I thought I was done for real. And now she shows up on the most important night of my life.

Typical fucking Blair.

I force myself not to look at her again. She’ll be out of the game before the first dare is over, and it’ll feel like fucking bliss to watch her crash and burn.

The music shifts, a new beat pounding through the speakers, and a spotlight explodes on a rusty, makeshift stage above us. The beam cuts through smoke-filled air, illuminating five men in hoods and ghostly white masks—the Collective.

Except for one man: Lex stands slightly apart from the rest, leaning casually against the metal railing, his face uncovered, the scars on his skin lit up in shadow.

“Welcome to the Mortalis Society.”

His voice booms through the speakers, igniting another roar from the crowd. This is the man who spotted me and invited me into the world of the Dare Club. He’s the reason I’m playing here tonight.

“I’ll explain the rules for the newcomers. We began with humble roots—thrill-seekers playing with extreme sports, fight clubs, cheap dares. We outgrew them. We craved more, needed an outlet beyond what society allows. We desired adrenaline above all else. Call it an addiction, if you choose. But we pursued the high. We needed our own outlet for it. Today, you stand within it. Now, we have this arena, away from prying eyes, where the darkest sides of human nature are set free.”

The crowd screams. Blair’s eyes go wide, her hands trembling by her sides.

Good. Let her be scared. She doesn’t belong here.

“Tonight, the stakes are higher. The risks are greater. Over time, this game has grown from a small, selective gathering to what you see tonight. Here, you’ll face three dares that will test your blood, mind, and soul. You won’t all walk out of here by morning.”

I glance at Blair. I tried to warn her.

“You will face three major challenges designed to push your limits. We call these dares . These follow a pattern: Sanguis, cerebrum, anima. Blood, mind, soul . Based on the reaction of the Collective and the crowd, you may also be issued individual dares. If you fail, you will be eliminated. If you do not accept the dare, you will be eliminated. The Collective decides who moves to the next round. The dares will continue until one player is left standing. The prize, courtesy of our generous donors, is one million dollars.”

Across the circle, Blair’s face is a pale mask, fear rippling beneath the surface. It’s subtle, but I’ve spent enough time in risky situations with Blair to see it.

A digital display flickers to life overhead, blood-red neon numbers counting down.

Ten.

I feel my pulse spike, the familiar heat of adrenaline licking through me. That perfect fucking mix of fear and thrill.

It’s the feeling that I got addicted to when I was six years old. It’s the feeling I’ve been chasing ever since. For a while, Blair was my partner in chasing that adrenaline high.

Five.

No. Stop thinking about her.

Four.

Think about why you need the money —Grandma in her hospital bed, the bills I already can’t pay.

Three.

Blair’s voice echoes in my mind from years ago: Just because you don’t care about anything, Asher Stone…

Two.

I grit my teeth.

I carve Blair out of my mind.

I go dark, my thoughts still and quiet.

Here we fucking go.

One.