goes next. He recites Hamlet’s “To be or not to be” with his eyes closed. At four minutes, the Dthrip touches his earlobe. He whispers “Alas, poor Yorick” and then shrieks “I AM NOUGHT BUT A COWARD!” He runs. The Dthrip does not chase. It returns to the chair.
You are a pattern of neurons, she tells the fear. And I have run out of f cks to give in this humid hellhole.* goes next
A scroll is delivered by a producer dressed as a minor Greek god (Hermes, probably—though the wings are taped on). He whispers “Alas, poor Yorick” and then shrieks
“Amina,” Dimitri says, “you are our last hope. Or our last victim.” You are a pattern of neurons, she tells the fear
Amina opens her eyes. She doesn’t cheer. She stands up, brushes off her shorts, and says, “Someone get me a hazmat shower and a gin and tonic.”
Dimitri’s smile does not reach his eyes. “The Dthrip will be released from its cage.”
That night, around the campfire, Leo asks, “How did you not move?”