"Alright, ladies and gentlemen!" Charlie's voice boomed across the arena, his theatrical energy undimmed by the carnage that had just unfolded. The floodlights cast harsh shadows across the blood-soaked sand below, and the metallic tang of death hung heavy in the recycled air. "Time for our second stage! We're kicking things off with a real treat..."
Charlie's expression soured as he read the name from paper. "Number one. Rhett." His lip curled in distaste. "What do I even do with Rhett? It's such a bland name."
It's a perfect name! Rhett thought angrily as he stood up from the concrete bleachers, his fists clenched tight enough that his knuckles had gone white. He was still boiling from the aftermath of Kiwi's death—that kid who looked barely fifteen, who'd barely lived her life to the fullest. It's simple and straight to the point!
