ROGER

T H I R T Y

My foot hit the sidewalk's curb as I darted across the street, sucking in the air that rushed past me in one massive breath. The Hosts at the top step looked at me as I reached the stairs; their guns pointed at my head. But I told myself I had no time to debate this option; it was go big or go home.

In my mind, it played out smoothly: I could run between them, slam my body into the door until it opened, and slide into the hall with a gun in my hands. Somehow, I'd be equipped to run up the stairs. But that unrealistic strategy left my mind as a silent thought and crashed down like the scream it became.

The second I ran into the Hosts' space one grabbed my arm and the other pointed his gun to my temple. The barrel was hot against my skin; fingers burned the sides of my arms. Yet, I bit back my fear as I was forced to kneel like the men before me. My gaze stayed firm, focused, and I followed the second barrel as it moved just in front of my nose.

"Where are you going?" the Host asked me, his eyes searching mine.

His partner pressed the gun further against my head and his free hand flipped through the bottom of my hair. I struggled for a bit, but the other held me good, and I had no choice but to feel fingers slide down my back.

"Inside," I said through gritted teeth. "I need to get inside."

"Huh." The Host in front of me laughed. His dark curls were combed back on his head, his eyes darker than the other hosts I'd seen. His skin, just a shade lighter than my suit, gleamed in the moonlight as he crouched and met me eye level. I watched his lip slide up into a grin. "You're not getting inside."

"I need to." I tried to look at them both. "You don't understand what you're doing."

"Oh? We don't?" I heard the gun click beside my head. "Why is that?"

I squeezed my eyes shut and whimpered, "Because I know how to save you."

"Oh, oh, oh." The Host in front of me stood and pressed his gun against the side of his face. "Do you? You really think you can?"

I lifted my chin and followed the sound of his laughter; his partner's gun followed my every move. I watched him pace back and forth, tilt side to side. For a second, I thought he'd consider what I said. But I found myself looking at his gun again.

I gulped and took in a deep breath.

"You can't," he said, serious this time. He leaned back as he placed his finger over the trigger. "You see, this chance, this right here—" he looked down at himself, "—this is the only chance we have."

"No." I squeezed my eyes and shook my head. "You can live; have your own life. There's a way. I just... you just..."

A cry slipped past my lips as he pressed the trigger and the gun clicked with a hollow response. Every part of me thought a bullet would fire; every fiber of my being expected death. But it didn't come, and he laughed instead. "There isn't a real way, no matter what you say. It's done; you can't change our minds. At this point, it's either go big, or die, and we've done that once already."

My mouth went dry. My heart crashed and burned. The gun pointed at my temple slipped away to point at my face instead. I stared into two separate barrels, both ready to take my single life. Go big, or die—was that what this had become? All I wanted to do was save them...

"Wait, please—"

A gun fired. A scream broke free from my lungs as hot air formed around a speeding bullet. With my eyes shut tight and my mind closed from reality, I wondered where it'd hit, how I'd die. Would it be fast? Slow? Would they laugh as I bled to death?