Sam walked out of the military compound with a smile on his face, excited by the idea of his week off despite the snow-covered ground and the bite in the air on this Scottish winter morning. As always, some made it, excited by the prospects of becoming elite soldiers whilst most didn’t, having packed up their bags and returned to whatever unit they came from throughout the process.

Sam easily recalled his own trials for the SAS, he’d been 24 at the time, making him one of the youngest potential recruits at the time. He shook his head with a grin at the thought, another few years in the Royal Regiment of Scotland would have done him some good, but his officer had been a bit of a knob, so he’d immediately filled out his AGAI form, submitting his application.

Sam trudged through the snow to his car, a two door, 90’s American muscle, just about the worst vehicle to drive when you had to navigate Scottish country roads, covered in snow with no remaining light out. Not that he cared, this car was his baby and that was that. He slipped into his driver’s seat and buckled himself in. He checked the rear-view mirror, there was a screw loose and he was always having to reposition it so he could see out the back properly. He smiled into it as his reflection looked back at him. Looks wise he wasn’t too special, brown eyes, short cropped brown military haircut and a nose with a slight kink in it which spoke of it being broken several times previously. He was 6ft 4” (193cm), which meant his head touched the roof of his car, making his driving position a little awkward. To match his height, he was filled out with well-toned muscles which spoke of rigorous fitness training, bringing his weight to just over 110kg, making his car strain and sink a little too low to the road it travelled over.  He started the ignition and set off back to Glasgow where he would spend the week, thinking back on his time in the SAS as he did so.

When he’d sent in his application those years ago, he thought the SAS trials couldn’t be all too hard for him, sure they were renowned for their intensity and barely anyone passed them, but he reckoned he had decent odds due to his martial prowess. Before enlisting he’d competed in mixed martial arts competitions, hoping to go pro. He never made the cut, a fierce right hook to his jaw which knocked him out in front of a talent scout had ended that dream, but his close combat skills and physical fitness were the talk of his unit, even being close to breaking the full kit 10km race record on a few occasions which had stood for over a decade.

Fast forward a few years and several successful missions, he was asked to fill in during SAS close combat training as the instructor was unwell. That instructor never did make it back to full health and was given his honourable discharge.  Sam was then offered the full instructor position and decided that sleeping in a warm bed each night with proper cafeteria staff nearby beat the hell out further dangerous, treacherous escapades through deserts- well, that’s what he told those who asked.

The truth was, he was tired. Tired of killing. People say taking your first life takes a serious toll on your mind, but they fail to mention the subsequent lives. What of kill number two, three or fifty? Should he just have grown used to it?

After so many years he’d hated it, hated what he’d become. A man capable of turning off his emotions so he could eliminate an unaware target, complete his missions and return to base before they closed the cafeteria. The new posting hadn’t just been a new job, it had been his lifeline. It helped him feel… something again.

Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

Sam glanced down at the dashboard of his car, it was just after 5pm and the roads were pitch black, his beat-up headlights on full beam barely revealing enough of the road. It would be his 33rd birthday tomorrow, which to most people was an unremarkable affair, likely celebrated with a slice of cake and a pair of new socks, but his mum profusely believed that every birthday was a major occasion. She’d rush across town to his apartment for lunch, dragging his dad along with her who believed a phone call would suffice and she’d make ‘Sam’s favourite meal’ of chicken fajitas.

There wouldn’t be anyone else, he had no siblings, no wife, kids or even a girlfriend. He had plenty friends of course, but most of them were military and were stationed all over the world and he’d largely grown apart from anyone he knew from his school days.

He creased his brows at the thought. Before, he hadn’t settled down with anyone because he was always being sent overseas and that was incompatible with family life, that and his lack of emotions pushed most potential partners away. But his role in the armed forces had changed now, he had a stable post, he was no longer being thrust into dangerous situations and at most he was only a few hours from Glasgow. Additionally, if by some miracle he found a partner, his on-base living arrangements would improve significantly, not that he should meet someone just for better living...

Perhaps he’d use this week off to make an online profile, maybe go to meet and greets, is speed dating still a thing? The drive home was pretty standard, he had the heating thrumming, almost shaking the dashboard as it was working overtime to keep his car lukewarm at best and the radio was smashing out the usual crap, he was relaxing into the drive when a written message appeared over his vision.

Do you volunteer for the Pyramid of Blood?

Sam slammed onto his break and clutch, bringing his car to an emergency stop. Glancing to his rear-view mirror he noticed it had flopped downwards from the sudden halt. He looked out his back window and saw that any car approaching would see him stopped and would have plenty of time to halt behind him.

“What the hell is that?”, Sam grumbled out as he looked around, yet the message remained in front of his eyes, no matter where he turned his head. What could it be? Technology certainly hadn’t made it far enough to pull this off and he didn’t think he was going mad, but what in hell was the pyramid of blood? It sounded like some B-rate horror movie. He spoke aloud,

“No.”

The message disappeared.

Sam waited for a few moments for something else to occur, for something else to appear, but nothing did. He began driving again, then the radio changed, cutting off the music,

“Breaking News! A message has appeared in front of seemingly everyone asking whether they’d like to volunteer for something called the Pyramid of Blood. This occurred roughly a minute ago. One man in our studio who said “yes” disappeared right after. Yes, disappeared. We are waiting on a statement from authorities as to what is happening, meanwhile we urge all to say “no” if they have not yet done so. To repeat…”

The radio began the same cycle, repeating the same message. Well, should he be relieved to know he wasn’t going insane? Or spooked out by some creepy and frankly unexplainable shit going on? Sam huffed. Damn, whatever it was, it was pretty messed up. Before he could have any other thoughts on the matter a second message appeared.

The Pyramid of Blood requires five percent of humanity to participate. Due to a lack of volunteers you have been randomly selected to compete.

Sam read the message as he drove along the road, “Ah, fuck me.”

He disappeared.