“What the fuck am I doing?” Smitty muttered.

“You’re about to have the single biggest stream in game history. That’s what you’re doing,” Gretchen reassured him.

The plan sucked as far as Smitty was concerned, but he had agreed to go into the cauldron, hunt down the cheater, take him out, and then come back home in one piece. Home being to his streamers. Agreed, or coerced? He still wasn’t sure. The prospect of a $5 million bounty just to take out one lone wolf was very attractive.

Around him stood a half dozen armed guards. The towering gate rose before him, and a man worked at the control panel off to the side. A couple of lights flashed atop the fence, warning those in the immediate area that the electricity was about to be turned off for a minute so they could open the gate, and permit Smitty access to the game zone.

Not that any of the players were less than three miles from the location.

“Can’t enjoy a stream when I’m lying dead on my back,” Smitty said.

“Was that your attitude during your two games? Seems to me that Smitty wasn’t afraid of shit.”

“You calling me out, Gretchen?” Smitty asked.

“Maybe. Look. You come back in one piece, and maybe I’ll give you a piece,” Gretchen practically purred into the headset.

“Wait. Really?” Smitty perked up.

“Come back and find out. That’s all I’m saying.”

That’s when it hit Smitty’s drug-addled brain. They didn’t care about him. They didn’t care that he might never come back. It was all about viewership, ratings, and advertising income. They had offered him money, and now they had somehow gotten to Gretchen and used her as just another lure.

But what was he supposed to do? They were seconds from announcing “another shocking twist” and even Millhouse wouldn’t be able to compete with Smitty on this one.

Really, they could have picked a better way to make this go down. In the past the show runners had sent in armed contingents when cheating was suspected. Or snipers. But this brilliant idea had Smitty suiting up in full body armor, a helmet with multiple cameras that could also withstand a direct hit from a 7.62 round, and a visor that was like something out of an Iron Man movie. It showed him the entirety of the area around him, as well as other players. The main target stood out in bright red. All Smitty had to do was point his souped-up motorcycle in the right direction, take the dude out, and then come back to watch the end of the game. With an hour of play left, it wouldn’t be long before the zone closed to a few hundred feet in diameter.

“I don’t want to do this,” Smitty said even though he kind of did. Kind of in a way that was hard to explain. It was like he was a recovering crack addict and they had come up with a way to get high as fuck one time and one time only.

“You do want to do this,” Gretchen said. “See, there’s a bunch of money on the line, but as Trevor pointed out, they kind of own you. Now go out there and do God’s work.”

Smitty snarled at the suggestion, but what choice did he have?

He had argued that this wasn’t the right way to go about taking out the cheater. Mr. Price had gotten him on a conference call with the legal department and they had explained that it was well within the purview of Chicken Dinner to use him in this manner. An obscure section of his contract had been read aloud and each word had arrived like a dart, swift, sharp, and right in his ass.

The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

But there was one last point that really swayed Smitty, and that was the fact that they were going to throw a metric shit-ton of cash at him for a single kill.

The number of players was now down to under a dozen, and they had been steadily closing in on the final zone as the minutes ticked by.

“Hey, Smitty. We’re just about ready. Millhouse has them riled up, so it’s your turn to take over.” Trevor’s voice came over his headset. “We’re working on cutting Dale’s feed now. As soon as I finish the countdown, he’s going to lose his help, and then you can do the big reveal.”

“Shit’s messed up, man. If I didn’t know any better I’d say I was set up for this,” Smitty growled. “Hey. Why don’t we just shock his ass until he passes out, and then have a team pick him up?”

“Whoever is helping him has managed to scramble the signals. Our attempts to do just that have failed, so we’re going to assume they shut down the harness.”

“So we actually have two cheaters. Where’s the other one?”

“That’s the million dollar question,” Trevor said. “We won’t know how he got help until you take him out and retrieve the body. The game’s closing in on the final ten and you probably won’t even be near them. We’re going to guide you in and keep you safe. So go do your thing.”

“My thing? I got my thing right here,” Smitty said with bravado he didn’t feel.

He angled the camera on the high speed motorcycle around so it faced him. Smitty lifted his helmet, and held it in front of his chest.

“You’re live in three, two, one…”

“Howdy, Chicken Dinner fans. I just sucked down one of these.” Smitty pulled out an empty Mule Punch energy drink can and held it aloft. “Have you had one lately? No? Well, get on that shit.” Smitty admonished his stream. “Now I bet you’re all wondering why I’m decked out in full gear, with a helmet in one hand, and my ass on the seat of a bike. Well, there’s a problem out there in the game and yours truly is heading into the maelstrom to sort it out.”

Smitty shifted the helmet around again, as he prepared to deliver the shocker. He knew all too well that the eyes of the world, currently focused on him, had widened in disbelief. There would be gasps of shock, and the odds-makers in Vegas would be going out of their fucking heads right about now.

“We think we managed to cut the feed. Dale Furlong is now in the blind,” Trevor said in the headset. “But they are rotating their IP address through a bunch of different parts of the world, and it’s a little baffling. We’re going to keep him offline for as long as possible.”

“Here’s the deal,” Smitty said and put on his game face. “A player has managed to sneak a device into Chicken Dinner that allows him to cheat. We can’t have that.”

Smitty paused to let the cries of dismay flood the live stream.

An alarm sounded, and the lights on top of the fence flashed.

“That’s right. A fucking cheater,” Smitty said as he leaned forward. “In my house!”

Smitty flared his nostrils.

“Now the show runner has asked me if I’d like to help out and, of course, I jumped at the chance. They could have sent in a team, a sniper, or even a drone to take him out. Instead they’re sending yours truly.” Smitty smiled grimly. “I’m going to hunt him down, take him out, and then exit the theater without disturbing the other players so they can finish the game in peace. So stay tuned, folks. I’m Smitty, and I’m going back in to get me a fresh bucket of Chicken Dinner.”

Smitty switched his feed to his front camera.

Smitty’s earpiece clicked twice to indicate that Trevor was back on the line. “Hey. Another player just bit the dust.”

“Yeah, I see them on my HUD. Who created this thing?”

“Pretty fucking sweet, eh? It’s the culmination of a lot of trials. It’s something we’re testing for next year’s game.”

“Wait. You’re going to let the other players see each other?”

“It won’t be that advanced for them. We’re going to have squads competing in the next game. The tech will help the duos keep track of each other,” Trevor said.

“Squads? That sure adds a new dimension,” Smitty said.

“New location too. We’ll fill you in once this game is over. Things are going to get pretty wild next year.”

“What’s wrong with this place?” Smitty asked.

“It’s time. Ten years have done a number to this place. There are still bodies out there that haven’t been recovered from previous games.”

“Gross.” Smitty rolled his eyes.

“You’re a go, Smitty. Have fun in there.”

“Okay, I’m going in.”

“Safe travels. Talk to you in a few,” Trevor said and clicked off.

Smitty would have to get back on his feed in a few seconds, but first he needed to make a quick pit stop so he could top off his buzz with a pair of pills.

They had opened up the big chain-link fence and a half-dozen guards in full body armor, carrying large automatic assault rifles, stood on either side as Smitty rolled through the entryway.

One of the men nodded at him while another gave a sort of salute. Smitty extended his right hand, and then tucked it to his chest as he gave a short bow.

Smitty grimaced, fired up the motorcycle, and headed into the war zone.