You and a few dozen others had been lured alone, drugged, and dropped onto a remote island as “prey” for what the gamemaster had called “The 500th Annual Hunting Games”. Apparently rich people were sick bastards who liked to hunt humans for sport.

Survive five days and you’d be allowed to leave. By day three you were looking worse for wear. You stopped by a stream to drink when a strong arm went around your neck and a low voice whispered in your ear “You look very fun to play with, lisichka.”