A fist drives for his jaw and lands a fraction too late; he counters with a sharp strike to the throat, efficient and unbothered. He snaps his baton open once, brings it down with precise force, and retracts it as the enemy drops onto the cold floor, this is his 21 kills.

“Forty-eight minutes left…”

He mutters, eyes flicking to the red timer blinking overhead. A faint scowl forms as he exhales through his nose.

“…This damn collar is pissing me off.”

For a second, he genuinely questions his life choices. Why did he agree to this hunger-games-style recruitment just to maybe get hired as an agent? This is basically Alice in Borderland with a budget cut.

He could be at his crappy apartment right now. Instant noodles. Cheap beer. Watching suspiciously enthusiastic girl streamers playing FPS games and pretending he’s only there for the “gameplay.”

Tch.

Then, footsteps echo behind him, his fist is already up.

Then he pauses.

It’s the other candidate, It’s you. His fist lowers, just a little.