Monsters

"You're the one holding the gun."

"I'M HOLDING THIS GUN TO MAKE SURE NO ONE ELSE CAN!" Brandon barked back, voice cracking with rage.

He trembled, eyes bloodshot. "Yeah. Brandon's not my name. Frankly? I don't even remember what my name was. All I have is an alias. All I know—what I do remember—is I hate, with every ounce of me, people who point weapons. People who treat life like it's nothing. People like you."

Liam's brow furrowed. His voice stayed calm, but his breathing stuttered. "Who are you?"

Brandon gave a joyless laugh. "I don't fucking know." He shook his head, eyes flicking side to side as if searching for memories. "Remember what I told you? Back in the desert?"

Liam said nothing—just kept his face blank, fist still hovering, ready to give the peace sign.

"I never had a school. Never had a childhood. Never had a job, or a friend, or a hobby. I don't even know what are those. I grew up watching violence and horror. And I hate it. Every bit of it. I detest it. That's why they call me Renegade."

Liam listened, but the story meant little to him. A pointless confession—just stalling in a back alley.

"You have no idea," Brandon seethed, voice raw, "the blood, sweat, filth I've crawled through to rebel against monsters like you. You monsters who live among decent human."

Liam didn't flinch. He waited.

Brandon's eyes flicked from Liam's bloody face to the hand still ready to snap up the peace sign. "I'll cleanse this world of violence. And the only way I can do that, is with violence."

"This isn't going anywhere," Liam said flatly.

Brandon's laugh was unhinged—half a bark, half a growl. "No. No, it's not. So let's make a bet."

He jerked his phone out, thumb tapping frantically. He turned the screen so Liam could see: two options, one red, one blue.

"Tonight's question: Kill or Be Killed. Scum like you would choose to kill. I have no doubt. So here's the bet…" Brandon swallowed hard. "We both choose 'Be Killed.' Let's see who survives longer."

Settling it in the game—Liam realized—was perfect. No trace. No witness. Just fair play.

"Fine," he said.

"Tell whoever's on the phone—" Brandon jerked his chin at Liam's burner, "—tell them to hold fire until we're gone."

"V, hold fire. Let them walk."

"Alright." V's voice came through the earpiece, cool and casual.

Brandon backed away, step by step, his two remaining men mirroring him. Guns still fixed on Liam's chest.

When the distance was safe, they turned and ran.

"V, can you kill him now?" Liam asked, voice low.

"He's good. He knew my line of sight. He's gone."

Liam sighed, blood dripping off his chin. "Does your service include medical care?"

He could practically hear V's smirk in his ear.

—

By the time Liam made it back to campus, his head was wrapped in a clean, professional bandage. His face was still a mess—half crusted in blood that trailed down his collar. He ignored the stares.

Trouble waited at the gates. Four familiar faces sat around a battered picnic table—Caitlyn waving him over, Samantha's eyes pinning him down from across the benches.

If it had just been Caitlyn, he'd have kept walking. But Samantha's stare made him feel the need to approach.

"Liam." Caitlyn's voice was soft, too soft for the tension in the air.

"Sit," Samantha said—barely looking up.

He sat beside Caitlyn. Across from him: Samantha and Heather. Next to Caitlyn—Jason, fists clenched, eyes glassy.

Jason didn't waste a breath. "What happened to my father?"

Liam scanned the table. Caitlyn's presence meant the table knew Alex was in the game. "I tried to save him," Liam said evenly. "It was a heat stroke."

"You're lying." Jason's voice cracked—anger seeping through the cracks in his grief.

"I'm not. I'm sorry. I pulled him into the game to have someone in the force to help dismantle it."

"Then why lie to me? Why lie to her—" he jerked his chin at Samantha, "—just to keep us away from the same side?"

Liam paused—mind racing. He glanced at Caitlyn. Her cheeks were red—embarrassed just to be near him.

"I didn't want to drag you both into this," Liam said at last. His voice was calm. Convincing. "It's too dangerous."

Samantha didn't press. She just sipped her tea, eyes unreadable.

"Why was Caitlyn in the plan?" Jason asked, voice cracking.

"It's not him—it's me!" Caitlyn cut in before Liam could answer. "I wanted to be part of it."

Jason's eyes widened. "Well I wanted to be a part of it too! Why didn't I get a choice?"

"Yes," Liam said flatly. "You didn't. Caitlyn stumbled on the plan by accident. That gave her a choice. You didn't."

Jason's teeth ground together, his breath sharp with frustration.

"Did it work?" Samantha asked, her tone dry as ash.

"No," Liam said. "The game caught Officer Quinn's partner filming."

"What now?" Samantha asked again, not missing a beat.

"Underground professionals might be better than cops," Liam said quietly.

"I see." Samantha nodded.

Heather cleared her throat, breaking the silence. "Tonight's question—have you seen it, Liam?"

"Yes."

"Which option did you choose?" Caitlyn asked, leaning closer.

"Be killed."

"Then so are we," Samantha said. "What are the details?"

Heather pulled out her phone, reciting from memory: "Unlike last time, both options leads to the same place, just different roles. If you choose 'Kill,' you get a weapon. If you choose 'Be Killed,' you don't. Everyone's trapped in an abandoned apartment building. Killers who succeed can leave early. Killers who fail to kill by 4 a.m. are eliminated."