At the other end of the arena, one of the boys loses his grip on the rope. He slips into the boiling water and lets out a bloodcurdling scream. I climb even quicker and manage to pull myself, stomach first, onto the platform. When I look down, I realize that the water is filled with giant, wriggling maggots, at least fifty foot long and completely see-through. Clearly, these animals evolved in hot, radiated, toxic waters.

The crowd squeals as though they find the sight squeamish. I’m so angry with them, with the way they’re treating us and the pleasure they’re deriding from our fear and misery. But the fight is leaving me. I have no energy to spare to scream at them. All that’s left in me will have to go into fighting the maggot-like creatures.

In the water beneath me, they writhe and wriggle around. More keep appearing, squirming, their disgusting transparent bodies making me feel sick. If the audience is expecting me to kill them, they’re going to be sorely disappointed. There’s no way I’ll be able to fight all those disgusting creatures; there are literally hundreds of them.

But the waters are rising, bringing them closer and closer, and there’s nowhere left to climb. I can’t get any higher.

That’s when I realize I’m not supposed to climb or fight. This is the end of the line. For the crowd, the enjoyment comes with the toe-curling anticipation of knowing one of us is about to die, of watching the terror on our faces. I have no choice but to delight them by cowering back from the platform edge.

The water begins lapping at the side of the platform. The maggoty worms are so close to me now I can see their bulbous eyes. They have rows of perforated teeth, like needles. The crowd squeals with delight as another quake begins to shake the podiums. I hear the shrill scream of a girl and know another one of the competitors has fallen into the deathly waters.

I cling on for dear life, praying that I make it out of here alive. But I know it’s futile. The end has come.