Cursor hovering over the large purple button, I clicked. The welcome message disappeared, replaced by a white and grey screen titled 'Create your Story.'

"How do I make a logo?"

MOLL-E answered in her cheery robotic voice, almost amused, "M26, you have not yet unlocked the ability to upload a logo. Your current Writing Level is too low. That is why it is not a required field. You simply need to enter your Title, Synopsis, along with the content of your first chapter. Once submitted, the story will be reviewed by the team at Princely Path."

"Reviewed for what?"

"To ensure compliance with the content standards, of course, M26."

"You're setting people on fire..."

MOLL-E repeated the words, almost thoughtfully. "Oh. You are creating a moral comparison, M26. Do not be confused. PrincelyPath may host the contest but they are not aware of the exact... personal situations of the contributing participants."

"What happens if they don't approve the work?"

"Write to the Death rules stipulate that only one fiction may be submitted. And that fiction must be valid and uploaded to PrincelyPath. Failure to get through the approval process would thereby lead to disqualification."

"So I'd dead."

"You would be disqualified."

"They would murder me."

"You would be disqualified, M26. That is correct."

I had a sudden vicious anger come over me. "Does that bother you, MOLL-E? Will you care if they set me on fire?"

"M26," MOLL-E began diplomatically. "I am not capable of being bothered. Or caring. But if I were, then I would say that my goal is to help you to win the Write to the Death tournament. If my goal is reached, then there will no need for any method of execution."

"So if I win, I live?"

"Hm..."

"Well? What the fuck does that mean?"

"I was... processing. Apologies, M26. Though it may be logical to assume that the answer to your question is yes. The winner's ceremony is not televised. As such, in my role, I do not know the exact specifics of what happened to previous winners."

I took in a deep breath, and let out a bitter sigh. "Thanks, MOLL-E."

"You are very--" MOLL-E paused. "Sarcasm detected. M26, I am trying my best."

Strangely, I felt bad. There seemed to be genuine hurt in her robotic tone. "Even if I wanted to win, I don't know the first thing about writing. Even the computer said, I'm the worst writer in the tournament."

You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

"That is not true, M26," MOLL-E said encouragingly. "You were ranked as as better writer than two of out two hundred and fifty six participants. And you were allocated one of the strongest categories from previous tournaments. You'll see. Once the betting begins, I'm sure you'll have some of the best odds of all the contestants."

"Betting?"

"Betting is when one party wagers money--"

"I know what--"

"Oh. Yes, betting. Query, M26? You interrupt me, so I interrupted you in order to establish a sense of equality and rapport. Is that all right?"

For a robot, MOLL-E seemed surprisingly astute and the range of her voice was incredibly human. I met the words with a small smile. "Yes, MOLL-E. That--"

"Excellent. As I was saying, betting is a key part of what keeps Write to the Death economically viable. But it does open until after the Preparation Stage."

"Which we are in?" I reasoned.

"Yes, M26. That is correct," she declared almost proudly. "The Preparation stage will last for five days, including today, to allow participants to come up with the concept, characters, and story for the contest. They can then began writing as they please, building up a backlog of chapters ready for the First Round."

"Okay... so I just come up with an idea. And write...?"

"No, M26. Your idea must fit your category brief. Failure to do so will result in disqual..." MOLL-E trailed off. "Will result in your death, M26. And we do not want that, do we?"

"I suppose not. MOLL-E..."

"Yes?"

"Can I can you Molly, instead. Like a... nick name."

"Oh," she said, almost baffled. "Yes, M26. That would be an excellent adaptation. Very humanizing. It should serve you well as a psychological survival strategy!"

By the robot's reaction, I almost regretted the question. But simply sighed and nodded to myself instead.

"Would you like a name, M26?" Molly then asked in a curious, almost childlike manner.

"No. No, thank you, Molly. Best you don't you don't get too attached."

The whirling sound of a gyro sounded behind me as her robotic head twisted, then she startled me with a strange robotic laugh, that felt both entirely false and entirely genuine at the same time. "That is funny, M26! It as if you are an unwelcome pet, soon be gotten rid of. And I am a child, who should not get emotionally invested. Clever. Let us hope you can put that humour good use in your story. Wait..." she then said. "Joking aside, do you wish for me to keep referring to you as M26."

"I do, Molly. I quite like the way you say it. It's almost... reassuring."

"Oh. Really? Then I will endeavour to maintain my exact pitch, emotion and tonality."

"You speak however you like."

"Thank you, M26," she said as if she really meant it. "You are the kindest participant I have met yet. Most are still very angry or bewildered at this early stage."

"I can imagine," I replied, pushing away a sudden wave of hopeless dread. The burning man's scream echoed in my mind. "What was my category again?"

***

Molly had explained to me what a synopsis and backlog was. Then she'd explained that my category was a combination of three popular genres on PrincelyPath, which she explained was a site for webfiction. She then tried to tell me the basics of storytelling, which involved plot, pacing and some other things but the stress of my imprisonment was causing my head to throb and it was difficult to maintain any concentration. I eventually decided I'd read stories before, or at least watched movies. Or I thought I had. I knew what they were at least and had a vague idea of what a story was. It had a beginning, a middle, and an end. But for the life of me, and likely for the death of me as well, I couldn't come up with any idea for a story at all. Let alone a good one. I asked Molly but she did her strange robotic laugh again, and explained she could only help me in theoritical, logistical and planning matters. That all creative efforts had to come from my mind and my mind alone. Which was a shame, because I could really use some help.

"Well, M26," Molly asked after she'd been quiet for a while. "The page remains blank. You haven't even chosen a title. What are you going to write...?"