The lights cut out. A low rumble started. When they flickered back on, the sneezer was gone—vanished, leaving behind only a single flip-flop and an empty can of White Claw.
The rules were clear now.
“Fine. You both win. But you have to watch a recap of everything you said last night on video.” The Hungover Games
A spotlight hit the center of the arena, revealing a table piled with things that looked helpful at first glance: a bottle of water, a breakfast burrito, a pair of sunglasses, and a single Advil. Fifty people lunged. The lights cut out
Jack, moving slowly and deliberately, grabbed the sunglasses and the burrito. He ate the burrito in three desperate bites, then put on the sunglasses. For a moment, the world softened. The rules were clear now
Jack stumbled through the next few hours, avoiding sudden movements, loud noises, and anyone who said, “I feel great, actually.” He crawled through a tunnel of discarded party streamers, scaled a foam pit that smelled suspiciously of cheap vodka, and at one point had to outrun a rolling wave of brunch leftovers.
“Me neither,” Jack said. “My temples are throbbing.”
