The Hungover Games -

Jack and the woman looked at each other in pure, unadulterated horror. They both sat down on the cold concrete, held their heads in their hands, and waited for the inevitable shame to begin.

“Welcome,” boomed a voice from overhead, “to the Hungover Games.” The Hungover Games

Jack woke up to the sound of a gong. Not a gentle, meditative gong—the kind that announces a bloodsport. His head pounded in triple time, and the floor beneath him was cold, damp concrete. Jack and the woman looked at each other

Jack groaned. The last thing he remembered was his friend Dave saying, “One more shot, bro. What’s the worst that could happen?” Apparently, the worst was waking up in a dystopian reality show where the only weapons were regret, dehydration, and the vague memory of a bad decision. Not a gentle, meditative gong—the kind that announces

He opened one eye. Then the other. He was in a large, circular arena, surrounded by fifty other people in various states of dishevelment. A woman next to him was still wearing a sequined tube top from the night before, her face half-smudged with glitter. A man clutched a half-empty bottle of tequila like a teddy bear.

“I don’t want to fight,” she whispered, wincing.

In the final showdown, it came down to him and the woman in the sequined tube top. They stood ten feet apart, swaying slightly.