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“Um,” said Ireny. “I’m here for my interview.”

The secretary at the front desk took no notice of her, primarily because the secretary at the front desk wasn’t actually there.

Ireny blinked unsteadily for a moment, then leaned over the counter and peered down. A few pens were scattered across the unoccupied desk, and a rapidly-cooling mug of coffee bearing the same strange logo she’d seen in her email sat nearby. She leaned further, hoping to see if there was anyone in the office beyond, but that, too, looked empty.

There was a little cardboard sign sitting on the desk beside the mug. It read OUT FOR LUNCH! BE BACK IN 30 MIN.

Ireny looked at the sign, then out through the glass doors at the last rays of the setting sun, then back at the sign. Then she heaved a sigh and settled down on the floor to play Fruit Ninja.

An hour and a small supermarket’s worth of sliced produce went by before she looked up again. Outside, night had settled in properly, and the lights outside the building did little to pierce the darkness or give any indication of where in town she was, if she was still in town to begin with. She had no idea how long she’d been out for in that van (long enough for the better part of the beer to wear off, so a few hours at least), which meant she could be anywhere by now, which didn’t really bear thinking about, because hell if she could afford the cab fare back to her flat, and--

She paused mid-thought. Someone was cooking something. Someone was cooking something good.

She briefly considered remaining where she was, but her stomach quickly vetoed that idea. Interview or not, her stomach was telling her it was about time she started filling it with something other than alcohol. And if the secretary of whatever this place was had any sense whatsoever, they’d already clocked out and gone home.

Point was, someone was still in the building, and whoever it was had food. Ireny stuffed her phone into her pocket, picked up her mostly-empty bottle of Augustiner, and pushed herself back to her feet.

Following her nose was easy. If nothing else, her college education had trained her to track down food wherever and whenever it was available. What was harder was trying to remember when she’d turned left or right in case she needed to get back to the front doors later. She’d always had a reasonably good sense of direction, but only when there were landmarks to navigate by. Here all the hallways were the exact same shade of nondescript grey, with only the occasional security camera for a change of pace, and even those started to blend together after a while.

She was starting to consider giving up and heading back when the quiet babble of distant voices finally reached her ears. Another few moments, and the hallway in front of her opened up into a massive, brightly-lit cafeteria, dotted with low-set tables and benches.

About fifteen people were already seated at the tables in groups of four or five, most of them clustered near some kind of makeshift serving area. There was a line there, too--ten or so more standing patiently with syrup-stained plates. The warm, fluffy smell was so strong she had to swallow before she entered the room, entirely oblivious to the few curious glances the others threw at her. God, she was hungry.

“Hey, is that--?”

Ireny turned. The voice had come from the direction of the pancake line. She pushed her glasses further up on her nose as she approached, straining to see the faces of the people standing patiently in their neat little queue. Nobody she recognized there.

But then the voice said, “Ireny?” and a couple people at the head of the line shuffled aside, and behind them there was a massive electric griddle away, and behind the griddle stood--

“Bram?” she said. And then: ”Oh my god, are those pancakes?”

Bram waved a spatula.

“Dude,” said Ireny as she headed to the back of the line. “What the ████ are you doing here? Did you get one of those weirdass interview invites? What, did they pull people straight up out of past OCTs for this? Who else is here?”

“Wish I knew,” said Bram, flipping a pancake. “I haven’t seen anyone else we know yet, but it can’t have been a coincidence, though, right? I mean, how many of us were in the Hunger Games OCT, and how many writers are out there total?”

Ireny reached out to snag a pancake off the corner of the griddle and made faint agonized sounds as it burned her fingertips. “I’m not trying to make a ████ing conspiracy theory out of it, it’s just weird, is all,” she said, jiggling the pancake from one hand to the other before she risked a bite. “Also. Dude. You are a ████ing lifesaver, did you know. Like, the once and future king of breakfast foods.”

Bram offered a grin. “The pantry was unlocked, and it seemed like the least I could do while everyone waited for the first round to start, so…”

“No complaints from me on that front,” said Ireny as she took another bite of her stolen pancake. “Except--wait. The first round?”

“Hey, uh, excuse me,” said the girl behind her, “but can you guys have this conversation later? You’re holding up the line.”

“Hang on,” said Ireny. “First round of what? Is it interviews? Please say it’s interviews.”

“I want pancakes too,” said someone else.

“Aye, uh,” said Bram apologetically, sliding a stack of pancakes on a plate and handing it to her. “Hey, Ireny, can you go find a seat? I’ll drop by after I’m done with this batch.”

There were plenty of empty seats in the cafeteria. Ireny automatically moved to the nearest one and sat down, still mystified. She’d done interviews before: they were full of stiff, awkward candidates with neatly pressed slacks and tightly clenched fists, all trying a little too hard to appear relaxed.

Picking up her knife and fork, she started making inroads on the pancakes, eyeing the people nearest her. This did not look like an interview. Granted, she had stopped thinking of it as a conventional interview the moment a large white van had pulled up in front of her favorite sports bar and she had had the actual wherewithal to get in, but that was totally beside the point. Everything about this situation was all wrong. Nobody here was dressed for the part. And yeah, maybe it was for the chance to get published, but what kind of publisher kidnapped people as part of their contract negotiations? What the ████ kind of a first impression was that?

And Bram was right, as much as she didn’t want to overthink the whole thing. How many people were there in the US? They had to have pulled from the entire country, at least, with the two of them from different coasts entirely. What were the chances of that?

“Hey, is this seat taken?”

Ireny looked up. There was a--kid? It was hard to tell his age--in a red and grey hoodie standing in front of her, holding a plate of pancakes.

“Nah, it’s free,” she said, although it was through a mouthful of pancake, so it came out closer to “Nhhhrrffrrhhhh.”

The--kid? Other candidate--seemed to get the idea, because he set his plate down with an audible thunk and dropped into the seat across from her. “Call me Excab,” he said, which saved her the trouble of asking. “I guess you got one of those watches too, huh?”

Her watch. Right. She’d forgotten they’d done something to it--it felt the same on her wrist, and the weight didn’t seem to have changed. But the interface…

“Ireny,” she said as she stared down at it. “You wouldn’t happen to know what this is all about, would you?”

Excab paused to swallow a bite of pancake before he answered. Well, an entire pancake. It was actually kind of impressive. “Sheesh, is that a serious question? Didn’t you just--sit through a presentation or whatever?”

“I fell asleep,” said Ireny defensively. “They didn’t catch me at a good time.”

Excab eyed her as another pancake disappeared down his throat. People were in the habit of eyeing her, usually, but something about his expression told her this was different.

“No kidding,” he said, and wiped his mouth. “Okay, I’ll explain, but pass me the syrup, would you? I don’t know when the round’s gonna start, and there’s no way I’m fighting on an empty stomach.”

“Wait,” said Ireny. “Whoa. Hold up. Fight?”

---

“This right here,” said Ireny, “is some Grade-A bull████.”

“You’re telling me,” said Excab, effortlessly clearing away the last of his pancakes. “They didn’t even mention it until after I actually got here.” He grinned. “Guess that was kind of my fault. I should’ve read the fine print, right?”

“I didn’t sign up for this!” Ireny said heatedly, stabbing a chunk of pancake with a fork. “I thought this was gonna be like--questions about my five worst qualities and writing samples and things, not ████ing Battle Royale! And you’re saying we can’t leave until there’s only one of us left?”

“Pretty much,” said Excab, who was clearly contemplating the pancake line and debating the merits of going back for seconds.

“Oh my god, I’d stab you right now if I thought that would get this over faster. No, not really, I wouldn’t.” She slumped over in her seat until her forehead hit the table. “Aedan,” she said aloud. “Are you ████ing kidding me, they gave me Aedan. I haven’t written him since high school. What the ████ am I supposed to do with him?”

“Who? Can I see?” said Excab, half-rising, and Ireny leaned back so fast she nearly fell out of her seat.

“Nope! Nothing to see. Just bluffing. A joke! Ha ha.”

“Okay, okay, suit yourself,” he said, straightening and picking up his plate. “I’m going to get more pancakes. You want some?”

She shook her head, staring back down at her watch as he left. After a moment, she reached out and drained the rest of her lager. And then promptly wished she hadn’t, because it tasted like it had gone flat and lukewarm hours ago. Which it had.

So that was it? Here’s a small crowd of people you’ve never met before, now try to incapacitate them for the chance at a publishing deal? Oh, and by the way, you get to turn into--she cycled through the options--a steampunk telepath, an Austrian werewolf, and a weasel. None of whom you’ve written or drawn in years, so hell if you remember half of what they even used to do. Great. Have fun!

Her watch pinged and went black. So did everyone else’s, judging from the quiet murmur that rolled across the cafeteria.

After a moment, ROUND 1 START flashed across the watch screen in eye-searing blue. Ireny shut her eyes involuntarily, wincing, and opened them again just in time to see the words replaced by OPPONENT: EXCABLUIR.

“Welp,” said Ireny.

There was a commotion on the far side of the room: apparently two of the candidates had decided not to waste any time. Several more were running for the doors, either in an attempt to escape or to find somewhere more secluded to duke it out. And her own opponent--

She turned just in time to see a heaped plate of pancakes descend into her line of sight and come to rest, gently, on the table.

“So,” said Excab, pulling a face. “This is awkward.”

“Yeah,” said Ireny, glancing at the ongoing fight. “Yeah, look, dude, I may be a raging misanthropist most of the time, but I’m not actually in the habit of punching people in the face for book deals, much less spilling actual ████ing blood.”

Excab raised an eyebrow. “I was going to say most people aren’t, but I think those two are proving me wrong as we speak.”

“I guess they really want to get published,” said Ireny. “Listen, I, uh. I don’t? I mean, I do,” she amended hurriedly, at Excab’s dubious look. “But I have priorities, you know? I’m applying to physical therapy school, I’ve got--other plans at the moment. Plans that don’t involve imminent violence. So if you want to take the win--”

“You’re resigning?” said Excab disbelievingly, folding his arms. “Just like that?”

Ireny waved a hand. “It’s technically a win for both of us, okay? You get to move on, I get to--I don’t know, work on my apps and stuff while I wait for everyone to finish killing each other.”

A frown began to creep over Excab’s face, much to her surprise (and faint annoyance). “Come on,” he said. “You’re seriously going to just drop out? At least make me work for my win. What did you sign up for, otherwise?”

“I signed up,” said Ireny, “for a sit-down interview with some stuffy old dude in a suit, on the off-chance that something might come of it. Not this. If you want to be Katniss Everdeen, be my ████ing guest. Come on. What if I pay you off? I’ve got a couple bucks left in my wallet. Even more of a win for you, okay?”

That was probably the wrong thing to say. Excab’s frown only deepened further. “Really? Jeez, you’re going to bribe me now? Look, I didn’t sign up for this planning to fight, either, but now that we’re here, we might as well make an effort, right? I don’t know about you, but if I’m going to win this thing, I want to feel like I earned it!”

He planted a fist on the table for emphasis, rattling the plate of pancakes.

Silence (punctuated occasionally by the sound of shouting from the other side of the cafeteria). They both looked down at the pancakes, then up at each other.

“Of course,” said Excab thoughtfully, “there are other ways to fight it out.”

“You’re kidding me,” said Ireny. “You’ve already eaten, what, fifteen--”

“Doesn’t matter. Are you up for it?”

She considered the plate of pancakes. “Yeah,” she said. “Yeah, I think I am.”

“Good,” said Excab. “Because I’d hate it if you were planning to…waffle on the issue.”

Ireny grinned.

The cafeteria had mostly cleared out, but Bram had been busy. A small mountain of pancakes remained on the counter, and where Bram had been a moment ago, a woman standing on looked like a large floating Roomba was already mopping busily away.

“Five pancakes to a plate,” said Excab, grabbing a pair of tongs. “That way we can keep track of how many we eat.”

“Works for me. Hey, is there anything to drink in here? Ma’am?”

The woman wordlessly jerked her thumb at a doorway without looking up, and kept mopping.

“Get juice if they have it,” called Excab as Ireny headed for the door, which turned out to be a walk-in fridge. She pulled a gallon each of orange and apple juice off a shelf and returned to the cafeteria, where Excab had finished laying out ten plates on either side of one of the tables.

“Okay,” said Excab. “Finish the entire plate, no leftovers. Breaks are allowed between plates, but if you don’t start the next one within five minutes, it’s an automatic loss. Throwing up is an automatic loss.”

“Got it,” said Ireny, and rolled up her sleeves. “Let’s do this. On three--two--one--”

---

The first plate was easy. So was the second. The third was...it was fine.

By plate four, though, Ireny was starting to regret doing this sober. And, if she was perfectly honest with herself, not entirely certain she was going to win. She’d never been a fast eater, and Excab was already starting on plate five.

At least the voice in her head that was going You’re in a pancake eating contest for a stupid book deal had gone thankfully quiet. It was a matter of pride at this point. If she was dumb enough to get herself talked into this, she was stubborn enough to get herself out of it. She shoveled another chunk of pancake into her mouth, washed it down with a swig of apple juice, and went for the next plate.

Excab, on the other hand, was looking more and more confident by the minute, which was intolerable, and getting punnier and punnier, which was...slightly less intolerable. It gave her something to focus on, at least.

“Come on, I think you can do better than that,” he said, clearing away the remains of plate six. “I eggspected more from you.”

“Give me a break,” she snapped, pausing only briefly to chew. “You call that a pun? Face it, the odds are stacked against you. Slow and steady wins the race.”

“It doesn’t, actually,” said a voice.

They both looked up. The cleaning lady from before was standing over them, arms crossed.

“What do you want?” demanded Ireny.

“And who are you?” added Excab, pulling plate seven to him and spearing a pancake with his fork.

“I’m the person who has to clean up after you when you’re done,” said the woman brusquely. “You can call me the Janitor. And I want you to hurry it up.”

Excab pulled a face. “Sheesh, we’ll be done soon, okay? I’m just gonna kick her butt, and then we’ll be out of your hair.”

“You wish,” retorted Ireny, slamming down plate six. “Are you gonna keep talking, or--”

As one, they each stuffed a pancake into their mouths. And as one, their expressions abruptly changed.

“I overheard your rules,” said the Janitor. “Five minutes between plates? You’ll be here for hours. So new rules. I’ve put habaneros into each of the remaining pancakes. First one to call it quits gets the privilege of not being reamed out by yours truly. And a glass of milk.”

“You couldn’t have gotten milk to begin with, Ireny?” demanded Excab as the Janitor moved away.

“Are you ████ing kidding me? You specifically asked for juice!”

“I like juice! I didn’t expect to--” He swallowed, eyes streaming, and slowly reached for another pancake. “Look, the hottest stuff I normally eat is wasabi, and that’s a different kind of spicy!”

“So give up,” said Ireny, wiping her face with a napkin. “Can’t take the heat, get out of the kitchen!”

“You first!”

“As if!”

Okay, that would go nowhere. Ireny drummed her fingers against the table for a moment, a long and colorful line of censor bars dancing in her head. Think, she told herself as she chewed, even as her mouth screamed protest and her nose ran. Come on, think.

She prided herself on her spice tolerance. Ordinarily, she figured, she’d have the upper hand. But she was also pretty damn close to full, and it wasn’t a question of who could last the longest, it was a question of who could eat the most. And with Excab still three pancakes ahead--no, four--

She looked down at her watch as she worked her way through another pancake. OPPONENT: EXCABLUIR was still blinking merrily away. But if she pressed the > button…

A series of pictures flashed across the screen. Brief ones. Excab. A kid with a pickaxe. Some kind of spirit thing. A bird in a cravat.

“Taking the easy way out so soon?” taunted Excab, even as he grabbed the jug of orange juice and poured about half of it down his throat.

“Doing a little research,” said Ireny, blowing her nose. God, she really was full.

“Two can play that game,” said Excab, reaching for his own watch. “Hey--a weasel? Are you serious?”

“Dude, I said I fell asleep!”

Aedan wasn’t going to be any help here anyway. She was pretty sure she’d already eaten about forty weasels’ worth of pancakes, and switching into his body all but guaranteed a messy demise. Assuming food transferred. She didn’t really want to find out the hard way.

--Wait.

Did food transfer? Because if it did…

Excab was showing no signs of flagging. At this rate, he was going to win regardless of what she turned into. Unless--unless--

“You know what’s interesting?” she said casually. “Birds don’t have capsaicin receptors. They can’t taste spice.”

“What are you saying?” said Excab suspiciously.

“I’m saying--” pause to swig apple juice-- “that if you really wanted to take the easy way out, you could. Unless you still want to earn your win. I figure you already have.”

Excab stared at her, his expression of suspicion only deepening. At least, she figured it was an expression of suspicion. Right now both their faces were kind of a mess.

Ireny took a deep breath, “I mean,” she said, “it’s either you try to keep that lead now, or I win.”

And then she turned into a werewolf.

She’d reflect on the utter weirdness of turning male later. Being a human male didn’t even last that long: as soon as she saw her hands lengthen and her jacket turn brown, she focused all her energy on changing.

Now that was weird. Hair everywhere, for one, and the uncomfortable feeling of having a set of paws stuck in sleeves, and despite her best efforts, the burn of the habanero still lingering on her tongue. Canids have only slightly fewer capsaicin receptors, she thought fuzzily, but even that thought was slipping, turning soft even as her sense of smell sharpened to a needle point and her sated appetite expanded into something immense and ravenous. Florian as a wolf was ninety percent instinct: pancake, hungry, eat. Pancake, hungry, eat. Plate, hungry, eat. Pancake, hungry, eat. Bird, unhappy--

Bird, she thought, and forced herself to look up, a pancake still caught in her (his?) jaws.

Excab had changed after all. Maybe it had been the sight of a wolf working methodically through plate after plate. Maybe it had been the habaneros. But he’d changed, and he clearly hadn’t taken into account the fact that a bird’s stomach was proportionally smaller than a human’s. The Janitor was already flying over with a mop, her face incandescent with rage.

Something beeped. Ireny looked down.

WINNER: IRENY, said her watch, and she had to fight to resist the urge to howl. That would be undignified.

Switching back and yelling “YEAH! SUCK IT!” was much more proper.

“YEAH!” said Ireny. “SUCK IT,” which was promptly followed by, “Oh my god, I shouldn’t have switched back.”

And then, oblivious to the Janitor’s shouts of “Don’t you dare!”, she promptly threw up as well.

END ROUND 1

Description
“Um,” said Ireny. “I’m here for my interview.”

The secretary at the front desk took no notice of her, primarily because the secretary at the front desk wasn’t actually there.

Ireny blinked unsteadily for a moment, then leaned over the counter and peered down. A few pens were scattered across the unoccupied desk, and a rapidly-cooling mug of coffee bearing the same strange logo she’d seen in her email sat nearby. She leaned further, hoping to see if there was anyone in the office beyond, but that, too, looked empty.

There was a little cardboard sign sitting on the desk beside the mug. It read OUT FOR LUNCH! BE BACK IN 30 MIN.

Ireny looked at the sign, then out through the glass doors at the last rays of the setting sun, then back at the sign. Then she heaved a sigh and settled down on the floor to play Fruit Ninja.

An hour and a small supermarket’s worth of sliced produce went by before she looked up again. Outside, night had settled in properly, and the lights outside the building did little to pierce the darkness or give any indication of where in town she was, if she was still in town to begin with. She had no idea how long she’d been out for in that van (long enough for the better part of the beer to wear off, so a few hours at least), which meant she could be anywhere by now, which didn’t really bear thinking about, because hell if she could afford the cab fare back to her flat, and--

She paused mid-thought. Someone was cooking something. Someone was cooking something good.

She briefly considered remaining where she was, but her stomach quickly vetoed that idea. Interview or not, her stomach was telling her it was about time she started filling it with something other than alcohol. And if the secretary of whatever this place was had any sense whatsoever, they’d already clocked out and gone home.

Point was, someone was still in the building, and whoever it was had food. Ireny stuffed her phone into her pocket, picked up her mostly-empty bottle of Augustiner, and pushed herself back to her feet.

Following her nose was easy. If nothing else, her college education had trained her to track down food wherever and whenever it was available. What was harder was trying to remember when she’d turned left or right in case she needed to get back to the front doors later. She’d always had a reasonably good sense of direction, but only when there were landmarks to navigate by. Here all the hallways were the exact same shade of nondescript grey, with only the occasional security camera for a change of pace, and even those started to blend together after a while.

She was starting to consider giving up and heading back when the quiet babble of distant voices finally reached her ears. Another few moments, and the hallway in front of her opened up into a massive, brightly-lit cafeteria, dotted with low-set tables and benches.

About fifteen people were already seated at the tables in groups of four or five, most of them clustered near some kind of makeshift serving area. There was a line there, too--ten or so more standing patiently with syrup-stained plates. The warm, fluffy smell was so strong she had to swallow before she entered the room, entirely oblivious to the few curious glances the others threw at her. God, she was hungry.

“Hey, is that--?”

Ireny turned. The voice had come from the direction of the pancake line. She pushed her glasses further up on her nose as she approached, straining to see the faces of the people standing patiently in their neat little queue. Nobody she recognized there.

But then the voice said, “Ireny?” and a couple people at the head of the line shuffled aside, and behind them there was a massive electric griddle away, and behind the griddle stood--

“Bram?” she said. And then: ”Oh my god, are those pancakes?”

Bram waved a spatula.

“Dude,” said Ireny as she headed to the back of the line. “What the ████ are you doing here? Did you get one of those weirdass interview invites? What, did they pull people straight up out of past OCTs for this? Who else is here?”

“Wish I knew,” said Bram, flipping a pancake. “I haven’t seen anyone else we know yet, but it can’t have been a coincidence, though, right? I mean, how many of us were in the Hunger Games OCT, and how many writers are out there total?”

Ireny reached out to snag a pancake off the corner of the griddle and made faint agonized sounds as it burned her fingertips. “I’m not trying to make a ████ing conspiracy theory out of it, it’s just weird, is all,” she said, jiggling the pancake from one hand to the other before she risked a bite. “Also. Dude. You are a ████ing lifesaver, did you know. Like, the once and future king of breakfast foods.”

Bram offered a grin. “The pantry was unlocked, and it seemed like the least I could do while everyone waited for the first round to start, so…”

“No complaints from me on that front,” said Ireny as she took another bite of her stolen pancake. “Except--wait. The first round?”

“Hey, uh, excuse me,” said the girl behind her, “but can you guys have this conversation later? You’re holding up the line.”

“Hang on,” said Ireny. “First round of what? Is it interviews? Please say it’s interviews.”

“I want pancakes too,” said someone else.

“Aye, uh,” said Bram apologetically, sliding a stack of pancakes on a plate and handing it to her. “Hey, Ireny, can you go find a seat? I’ll drop by after I’m done with this batch.”

There were plenty of empty seats in the cafeteria. Ireny automatically moved to the nearest one and sat down, still mystified. She’d done interviews before: they were full of stiff, awkward candidates with neatly pressed slacks and tightly clenched fists, all trying a little too hard to appear relaxed.

Picking up her knife and fork, she started making inroads on the pancakes, eyeing the people nearest her. This did not look like an interview. Granted, she had stopped thinking of it as a conventional interview the moment a large white van had pulled up in front of her favorite sports bar and she had had the actual wherewithal to get in, but that was totally beside the point. Everything about this situation was all wrong. Nobody here was dressed for the part. And yeah, maybe it was for the chance to get published, but what kind of publisher kidnapped people as part of their contract negotiations? What the ████ kind of a first impression was that?

And Bram was right, as much as she didn’t want to overthink the whole thing. How many people were there in the US? They had to have pulled from the entire country, at least, with the two of them from different coasts entirely. What were the chances of that?

“Hey, is this seat taken?”

Ireny looked up. There was a--kid? It was hard to tell his age--in a red and grey hoodie standing in front of her, holding a plate of pancakes.

“Nah, it’s free,” she said, although it was through a mouthful of pancake, so it came out closer to “Nhhhrrffrrhhhh.”

The--kid? Other candidate--seemed to get the idea, because he set his plate down with an audible thunk and dropped into the seat across from her. “Call me Excab,” he said, which saved her the trouble of asking. “I guess you got one of those watches too, huh?”

Her watch. Right. She’d forgotten they’d done something to it--it felt the same on her wrist, and the weight didn’t seem to have changed. But the interface…

“Ireny,” she said as she stared down at it. “You wouldn’t happen to know what this is all about, would you?”

Excab paused to swallow a bite of pancake before he answered. Well, an entire pancake. It was actually kind of impressive. “Sheesh, is that a serious question? Didn’t you just--sit through a presentation or whatever?”

“I fell asleep,” said Ireny defensively. “They didn’t catch me at a good time.”

Excab eyed her as another pancake disappeared down his throat. People were in the habit of eyeing her, usually, but something about his expression told her this was different.

“No kidding,” he said, and wiped his mouth. “Okay, I’ll explain, but pass me the syrup, would you? I don’t know when the round’s gonna start, and there’s no way I’m fighting on an empty stomach.”

“Wait,” said Ireny. “Whoa. Hold up. Fight?”

---

“This right here,” said Ireny, “is some Grade-A bull████.”

“You’re telling me,” said Excab, effortlessly clearing away the last of his pancakes. “They didn’t even mention it until after I actually got here.” He grinned. “Guess that was kind of my fault. I should’ve read the fine print, right?”

“I didn’t sign up for this!” Ireny said heatedly, stabbing a chunk of pancake with a fork. “I thought this was gonna be like--questions about my five worst qualities and writing samples and things, not ████ing Battle Royale! And you’re saying we can’t leave until there’s only one of us left?”

“Pretty much,” said Excab, who was clearly contemplating the pancake line and debating the merits of going back for seconds.

“Oh my god, I’d stab you right now if I thought that would get this over faster. No, not really, I wouldn’t.” She slumped over in her seat until her forehead hit the table. “Aedan,” she said aloud. “Are you ████ing kidding me, they gave me Aedan. I haven’t written him since high school. What the ████ am I supposed to do with him?”

“Who? Can I see?” said Excab, half-rising, and Ireny leaned back so fast she nearly fell out of her seat.

“Nope! Nothing to see. Just bluffing. A joke! Ha ha.”

“Okay, okay, suit yourself,” he said, straightening and picking up his plate. “I’m going to get more pancakes. You want some?”

She shook her head, staring back down at her watch as he left. After a moment, she reached out and drained the rest of her lager. And then promptly wished she hadn’t, because it tasted like it had gone flat and lukewarm hours ago. Which it had.

So that was it? Here’s a small crowd of people you’ve never met before, now try to incapacitate them for the chance at a publishing deal? Oh, and by the way, you get to turn into--she cycled through the options--a steampunk telepath, an Austrian werewolf, and a weasel. None of whom you’ve written or drawn in years, so hell if you remember half of what they even used to do. Great. Have fun!

Her watch pinged and went black. So did everyone else’s, judging from the quiet murmur that rolled across the cafeteria.

After a moment, ROUND 1 START flashed across the watch screen in eye-searing blue. Ireny shut her eyes involuntarily, wincing, and opened them again just in time to see the words replaced by OPPONENT: EXCABLUIR.

“Welp,” said Ireny.

There was a commotion on the far side of the room: apparently two of the candidates had decided not to waste any time. Several more were running for the doors, either in an attempt to escape or to find somewhere more secluded to duke it out. And her own opponent--

She turned just in time to see a heaped plate of pancakes descend into her line of sight and come to rest, gently, on the table.

“So,” said Excab, pulling a face. “This is awkward.”

“Yeah,” said Ireny, glancing at the ongoing fight. “Yeah, look, dude, I may be a raging misanthropist most of the time, but I’m not actually in the habit of punching people in the face for book deals, much less spilling actual ████ing blood.”

Excab raised an eyebrow. “I was going to say most people aren’t, but I think those two are proving me wrong as we speak.”

“I guess they really want to get published,” said Ireny. “Listen, I, uh. I don’t? I mean, I do,” she amended hurriedly, at Excab’s dubious look. “But I have priorities, you know? I’m applying to physical therapy school, I’ve got--other plans at the moment. Plans that don’t involve imminent violence. So if you want to take the win--”

“You’re resigning?” said Excab disbelievingly, folding his arms. “Just like that?”

Ireny waved a hand. “It’s technically a win for both of us, okay? You get to move on, I get to--I don’t know, work on my apps and stuff while I wait for everyone to finish killing each other.”

A frown began to creep over Excab’s face, much to her surprise (and faint annoyance). “Come on,” he said. “You’re seriously going to just drop out? At least make me work for my win. What did you sign up for, otherwise?”

“I signed up,” said Ireny, “for a sit-down interview with some stuffy old dude in a suit, on the off-chance that something might come of it. Not this. If you want to be Katniss Everdeen, be my ████ing guest. Come on. What if I pay you off? I’ve got a couple bucks left in my wallet. Even more of a win for you, okay?”

That was probably the wrong thing to say. Excab’s frown only deepened further. “Really? Jeez, you’re going to bribe me now? Look, I didn’t sign up for this planning to fight, either, but now that we’re here, we might as well make an effort, right? I don’t know about you, but if I’m going to win this thing, I want to feel like I earned it!”

He planted a fist on the table for emphasis, rattling the plate of pancakes.

Silence (punctuated occasionally by the sound of shouting from the other side of the cafeteria). They both looked down at the pancakes, then up at each other.

“Of course,” said Excab thoughtfully, “there are other ways to fight it out.”

“You’re kidding me,” said Ireny. “You’ve already eaten, what, fifteen--”

“Doesn’t matter. Are you up for it?”

She considered the plate of pancakes. “Yeah,” she said. “Yeah, I think I am.”

“Good,” said Excab. “Because I’d hate it if you were planning to…waffle on the issue.”

Ireny grinned.

The cafeteria had mostly cleared out, but Bram had been busy. A small mountain of pancakes remained on the counter, and where Bram had been a moment ago, a woman standing on looked like a large floating Roomba was already mopping busily away.

“Five pancakes to a plate,” said Excab, grabbing a pair of tongs. “That way we can keep track of how many we eat.”

“Works for me. Hey, is there anything to drink in here? Ma’am?”

The woman wordlessly jerked her thumb at a doorway without looking up, and kept mopping.

“Get juice if they have it,” called Excab as Ireny headed for the door, which turned out to be a walk-in fridge. She pulled a gallon each of orange and apple juice off a shelf and returned to the cafeteria, where Excab had finished laying out ten plates on either side of one of the tables.

“Okay,” said Excab. “Finish the entire plate, no leftovers. Breaks are allowed between plates, but if you don’t start the next one within five minutes, it’s an automatic loss. Throwing up is an automatic loss.”

“Got it,” said Ireny, and rolled up her sleeves. “Let’s do this. On three--two--one--”

---

The first plate was easy. So was the second. The third was...it was fine.

By plate four, though, Ireny was starting to regret doing this sober. And, if she was perfectly honest with herself, not entirely certain she was going to win. She’d never been a fast eater, and Excab was already starting on plate five.

At least the voice in her head that was going You’re in a pancake eating contest for a stupid book deal had gone thankfully quiet. It was a matter of pride at this point. If she was dumb enough to get herself talked into this, she was stubborn enough to get herself out of it. She shoveled another chunk of pancake into her mouth, washed it down with a swig of apple juice, and went for the next plate.

Excab, on the other hand, was looking more and more confident by the minute, which was intolerable, and getting punnier and punnier, which was...slightly less intolerable. It gave her something to focus on, at least.

“Come on, I think you can do better than that,” he said, clearing away the remains of plate six. “I eggspected more from you.”

“Give me a break,” she snapped, pausing only briefly to chew. “You call that a pun? Face it, the odds are stacked against you. Slow and steady wins the race.”

“It doesn’t, actually,” said a voice.

They both looked up. The cleaning lady from before was standing over them, arms crossed.

“What do you want?” demanded Ireny.

“And who are you?” added Excab, pulling plate seven to him and spearing a pancake with his fork.

“I’m the person who has to clean up after you when you’re done,” said the woman brusquely. “You can call me the Janitor. And I want you to hurry it up.”

Excab pulled a face. “Sheesh, we’ll be done soon, okay? I’m just gonna kick her butt, and then we’ll be out of your hair.”

“You wish,” retorted Ireny, slamming down plate six. “Are you gonna keep talking, or--”

As one, they each stuffed a pancake into their mouths. And as one, their expressions abruptly changed.

“I overheard your rules,” said the Janitor. “Five minutes between plates? You’ll be here for hours. So new rules. I’ve put habaneros into each of the remaining pancakes. First one to call it quits gets the privilege of not being reamed out by yours truly. And a glass of milk.”

“You couldn’t have gotten milk to begin with, Ireny?” demanded Excab as the Janitor moved away.

“Are you ████ing kidding me? You specifically asked for juice!”

“I like juice! I didn’t expect to--” He swallowed, eyes streaming, and slowly reached for another pancake. “Look, the hottest stuff I normally eat is wasabi, and that’s a different kind of spicy!”

“So give up,” said Ireny, wiping her face with a napkin. “Can’t take the heat, get out of the kitchen!”

“You first!”

“As if!”

Okay, that would go nowhere. Ireny drummed her fingers against the table for a moment, a long and colorful line of censor bars dancing in her head. Think, she told herself as she chewed, even as her mouth screamed protest and her nose ran. Come on, think.

She prided herself on her spice tolerance. Ordinarily, she figured, she’d have the upper hand. But she was also pretty damn close to full, and it wasn’t a question of who could last the longest, it was a question of who could eat the most. And with Excab still three pancakes ahead--no, four--

She looked down at her watch as she worked her way through another pancake. OPPONENT: EXCABLUIR was still blinking merrily away. But if she pressed the > button…

A series of pictures flashed across the screen. Brief ones. Excab. A kid with a pickaxe. Some kind of spirit thing. A bird in a cravat.

“Taking the easy way out so soon?” taunted Excab, even as he grabbed the jug of orange juice and poured about half of it down his throat.

“Doing a little research,” said Ireny, blowing her nose. God, she really was full.

“Two can play that game,” said Excab, reaching for his own watch. “Hey--a weasel? Are you serious?”

“Dude, I said I fell asleep!”

Aedan wasn’t going to be any help here anyway. She was pretty sure she’d already eaten about forty weasels’ worth of pancakes, and switching into his body all but guaranteed a messy demise. Assuming food transferred. She didn’t really want to find out the hard way.

--Wait.

Did food transfer? Because if it did…

Excab was showing no signs of flagging. At this rate, he was going to win regardless of what she turned into. Unless--unless--

“You know what’s interesting?” she said casually. “Birds don’t have capsaicin receptors. They can’t taste spice.”

“What are you saying?” said Excab suspiciously.

“I’m saying--” pause to swig apple juice-- “that if you really wanted to take the easy way out, you could. Unless you still want to earn your win. I figure you already have.”

Excab stared at her, his expression of suspicion only deepening. At least, she figured it was an expression of suspicion. Right now both their faces were kind of a mess.

Ireny took a deep breath, “I mean,” she said, “it’s either you try to keep that lead now, or I win.”

And then she turned into a werewolf.

She’d reflect on the utter weirdness of turning male later. Being a human male didn’t even last that long: as soon as she saw her hands lengthen and her jacket turn brown, she focused all her energy on changing.

Now that was weird. Hair everywhere, for one, and the uncomfortable feeling of having a set of paws stuck in sleeves, and despite her best efforts, the burn of the habanero still lingering on her tongue. Canids have only slightly fewer capsaicin receptors, she thought fuzzily, but even that thought was slipping, turning soft even as her sense of smell sharpened to a needle point and her sated appetite expanded into something immense and ravenous. Florian as a wolf was ninety percent instinct: pancake, hungry, eat. Pancake, hungry, eat. Plate, hungry, eat. Pancake, hungry, eat. Bird, unhappy--

Bird, she thought, and forced herself to look up, a pancake still caught in her (his?) jaws.

Excab had changed after all. Maybe it had been the sight of a wolf working methodically through plate after plate. Maybe it had been the habaneros. But he’d changed, and he clearly hadn’t taken into account the fact that a bird’s stomach was proportionally smaller than a human’s. The Janitor was already flying over with a mop, her face incandescent with rage.

Something beeped. Ireny looked down.

WINNER: IRENY, said her watch, and she had to fight to resist the urge to howl. That would be undignified.

Switching back and yelling “YEAH! SUCK IT!” was much more proper.

“YEAH!” said Ireny. “SUCK IT,” which was promptly followed by, “Oh my god, I shouldn’t have switched back.”

And then, oblivious to the Janitor’s shouts of “Don’t you dare!”, she promptly threw up as well.

END ROUND 1