Donnie walks over and grabs him by his greying hair. The man screams.

‘The people have spoken.’ Donnie raises his voice to be heard over the sobbing. ‘Scammer’s time is up.’

He doesn’t sound like he’s talking to me. I look up. A bundle of cameras and microphones is mounted on the ceiling, nestled in a web of cables. Each lens is pointed at a different set, a little red light glowing underneath.

When I look back down, Donnie has pressed his gun against Scammer’s temple.

The chains jingle as the man raises his hands. ‘Please! Can you at least just—’

Bang! The muzzle flash lights up a sudden spray of red on the wall. The other prisoners scream. The man goes limp, and Donnie drops him. He hits the concrete floor face first. When a second shot goes through his heart, he doesn’t even twitch.

A woman in a tattered evening gown, handcuffed to the door of a priest’s confessional, starts weeping.

Fred is watching me closely. I realise that this was a test. A cop—or any decent person—would have tried to intervene. At the very least, they would be horrified. But I just stood there and let it happen. I was so busy thinking about how to get myself out of this, it didn’t even occur to me to try to save anybody else.

‘Cool.’ I hold out my hand for the weapon. ‘Can I do the next one?’

If I was armed, I could leave. I’ve never fired a gun before, but the Guards don’t know that. I could bluff my way out.

Donnie doesn’t give me the P320. He just laughs and looks at Fred. ‘Your boy’s keen.’

Fred steps away from the wall and stretches. ‘After voting closes, sure,’ he tells me. He looks around the room at his whimpering prisoners like he’s counting them.

A new plan starts to form. One that suits me better.

‘Thanks, man. I appreciate it.’ I put a hand on Fred’s arm and give it a friendly squeeze. It’s nice and firm. Fred is one hundred and eighty pounds of lean meat. Donnie is maybe two twenty. What would be the total weight if you added the others back at the house? A thousand pounds or more?

Without a vehicle or a gun, I can’t think of a way to escape.

But maybe I don’t want one.