It wasn’t me. I did none of it. How did you get here, Tila? I want to ask.

“Now, for the moment, do nothing. Just watch. And listen.”

Don’t look away.

Images flow onto the blank wall, so quickly I barely register one before the next flicks into my field of vision. A praying mantis. The inside of a cat’s mouth. The glowing algae of the bay. The aftermath of a battle. Blood splattering on white walls. A decomposing corpse. A little girl in pigtails, holding a teddy bear by an arm. Ink blots, like in old psychological tests. Nature. War. Humanity. Over and over again.

Sounds come with them—from soft birdcalls to shrill shrieks and sirens. Smells appear too, and some are nice: cinnamon, the green smell of broken pine needles and the scent of crushed apples. Others are putrid: rotten fish, decomposing flesh, the oniony smell of unwashed bodies.

The man with the blond quiff bends forward and throws up onto the white floor. I glance at him but then fix my eyes to the wall.

Don’t look away.

I don’t know what this means. What it’s meant to test. Am I passing or failing?

The images go on for what feels like a long time. I clutch the sides of the chair. My stomach roils, but I clamp down tight on my tongue. I won’t throw up. Soon, someone else pukes, but still I don’t look away. I think it might be the red-haired girl.

The images cease. All returns to pure whiteness. I sag against my chair in relief. The room smells of acidic vomit and new sweat tinged with old fear.

“Now,” says the distorted voice in our minds. “Stand.”

We stand. I allow myself to look at the others. The other girl has vomit smudged in her red hair. The blond man’s hair is in disarray. The green-haired man seems relatively unruffled. I wonder what I look like to them.

“Now, face each other. Tila, look at the man with green hair.”

I almost start at being addressed by this stranger. This is the oddest test I’ve ever taken. I don’t understand the rules. I don’t know the score. I haven’t studied, as Tila’s notes stopped right before I needed the cheat sheet most.

The voice changes slightly. Still modulated, but more familiar. “Study your opponent’s face, Tila. Memorize every line.”

I look at him, and he looks at me. I see a man, but only barely. He can’t be much older than twenty. I think he’s half-Chinese and half-Mexican, or something along those lines. I wonder what awful things he’s done to get this far.

“Good. Now look at the man with blond hair.”