The sounds of the raging party hit me the moment the door is open. Tinkling laughter, the sounds of glassware moving, people talking at various levels. I can pinpoint one man who laughs too loud, his mirth boisterous and obnoxious. A woman stumbles in front of us, her partner catching her before she can fall on her face. Both of them laugh as if it’s the funniest thing in the world.

“Look at them,” I whisper under my breath. “Unconcerned with the literal murder happening half a mile away.”

“They’re desensitized to it,” Jiro whispers back. “This is their normal.”

We walk among them, and though eyes trail after me and undress me with lewd gazes, none of them look at my face. Never have I been so relieved to have so many chauvinistic men look at my ass and tits. We pass by women fawning over men, men throwing their heads back while smoking cigars, people having the time of their lives despite what they’ve come here to do.

But then I see the betting stations.

At first, I don’t know what I’m looking at. There’s a bar with screens behind it. The pictures on the TVs change every so often, sometimes lingering on one picture when there’s movement. I can see some of the Prey, some of the Hounds, moving through Prey Island. Other screens list bets that the bartender seems to handle. Exuberant amounts of money flash on each line, millions, bet on people to die.

The top listed bets are for and against a single person.

Freya, the goddess.

My stomach twists. At least it isn’t ‘The Stripper’. There seems to have been hundreds of bets on or against me, purposely. Some have already lost. They bet on how long I’d last, how brutal my death will be, who will be the one to take me out. There’s even a bet for how many times I’ll be raped during the hunt.

“I’m going to be sick,” I whisper, staring at the screen.

Jiro’s fingers find mine where they’re threaded over his elbow. “Don’t think about it. Think about getting away. They’re not betting on that.”

I nod, knowing he’s right, but it’s still sickening to see the blatant disregard for human life right in front of us. And we’re supposed to be the animals? Clearly, they’re more feral than we are.

The betting stations are in the middle of the floor but to the left and right of the large ballroom seems to be doors leading to somewhere. I don’t have time to explore them, to search out more secrets, but the temptation to bring them down from the inside is strong.

But we’re going out with a whisper, not with an explosion.