The First Challenge
The New World of SwapTech
chapter 6
by
deleted_user
The north garden was a war zone dressed as a spa. Water features hissed steam. A thirty-foot structure of slicked beams, cargo nets, and rope bridges loomed over a churning pool dyed neon pink.
Sienna stood on a floating platform, bikini top now paired with combat boots. “The Gauntlet,” she announced. “Cross the beams. Reach the bell. Fall in the pink, you’re out. Last three ringing bells advance to the final heat.”
Charlie went first. He waddled onto the first beam, arms windmilling. The wood groaned.
“Structural load capacity,” Ken muttered, pushing his glasses up, “is clearly not rated for—”
Charlie belly-flopped into the pink. Splosh. Gone.
“Out!” Sienna laughed.
Ken climbed up next. Five-seven on a four-inch beam. He froze, vertigo hitting. “According to my vestibular system—” He tipped sideways, straps flapping, and hit the water. Out.
Polly strutted across, talon nails extended for balance. She stopped halfway to adjust her hair extensions for Zelda’s camera. “The Brand doesn’t rush—”
She slipped. The extensions caught on a rope. She dangled, screaming, then dropped. Out.
Walt shoved past Javi. “Watch it, cowboy. Silver fox coming through.” He made it three steps before his linen shirt caught wind. He pinwheeled, Botoxed face frozen in surprise, and splashed. Out.
Ruth tried next. Four-foot-eleven. She jumped for the first beam, fingers grazing the edge, missed, and dropped straight into the pink. She surfaced sputtering. “I hate this!” Out.
Laurel stepped up, cardigan off, yoga-toned arms bare. She looked at the chaos, looked at her book in her pocket, and simply stepped off the platform into the water. “Not worth it.” Out.
Zelda filmed herself doing a backflip onto the beam. She stuck the landing, winked at the camera, then did a split for content and slid off backward. Out.
Magnus climbed with surprising grace for 240 pounds. Beads clicking, he reached the halfway point. Below him, Alejandra slipped, her neon nails scrabbling for purchase.
“Grab my hand!” Magnus boomed, extending a dinner-plate palm.
“I don’t need—” Alejandra started.
He caught her anyway, lifting her up. But the weight shift threw him. He swung her to safety on a platform, then his own beam cracked. He dropped into the pink with a Viking roar. Out.
Javi had been crossing steadily, Stetson low, scarred arms pumping. He saw Alejandra safe, nodded, then turned to help Ruth—who was already out. The hesitation cost him. Bruce barreled past from behind, shoulder-checking the cowboy.
“Move, old man,” Bruce grinned.
Javi teetered, caught himself on a rope, but his hat fell. He reached for it—instinct—and tipped backward into the drink. Out.
He surfaced, spitting pink water, eyes murderous.
Bruce, Svetlana, and Alejandra stood on the final platform, three bells gleaming.
Bruce cracked his neck, tattoos gleaming, 6’5” of arrogant muscle. “Easy.”
Svetlana rolled her ice-blue eyes, platinum hair swinging. “You are big. Big falls hard.”
Alejandra bounced on her toes, abs rippling, neon nails flashing. She eyed the other two. “Vamos. Let’s finish this.”
The final heat waited. Three bodies. One Machine.
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January 29
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