"You don't have to look so dour, you know."
Badr looked sharply across the table. Across from her, the person in the baseball cap and glasses smiled.
"Might be your last meal. Enjoy yourself."
There were five of them then, wedged shoulder-to-shoulder like grim-faced soldiers in fraying pleather booths. The Waffle House sign outside buzzed fluorescent. A silver cloud of gnats and flies circled the light.
Starting clockwise, it was Badr, then the shaggy blond from Oklahoma, the hiker, the black-haired twins, and the misplaced frat boy in a backwards cap. All of them resembled recently relocated wildlife. They shared a glazed, slightly confused and tranquilized look. Grimy clothes that spoke to multiple days of travel. Naturally (being a Waffle House), the waitstaff and the scant few other patrons were unphased by their presence. Their organizer was probably counting on nothing less.
Though Badr hadn't expected much appearance-wise, the nothing of their organizer was a sight to behold. They were truly invisible. Asian descent. Wire-frame glasses. Average build, slightly shorter-than-average height, unremarkable face. They were cloaked in layers of dark, muted colors. Black boots. Black fishing jacket. Hair hidden under a dark brown baseball cap with an embroidered fish on the front. Badr found her eyes slipping past them every time her gaze traveled around the table. Among their motley crew, their event organizer was actively sliding into the background.
At her scrutinizing gaze, the organizer smiled. They slid a contract to Badr over a pile of laminated menus. She scanned the document. A lumped-together patchwork of refitted liability waivers, likely sourced from PDFs scavenged from Google. To the untrained eye it might look professional.
She eyed the others, wondering if any of them were buying it. The twins and frat boy seemed convinced.
"Everyone's got one now?" the organizer said, "Any questions?"
There was a strained pause broken only by distant muffled chatter and clinking forks.
"Come on," they prodded. "It's your last chance."
Frat boy raised his hand like he was in school. "You're serious? About all this?"
"Yes."
"About murder?"
"Uh, if I catch you, yeah."
"Aren't you... like... afraid of the police?"
They shrugged. "That's what the contract's for. Isn't it?" A light chuckle. "Ah, but I'm well aware of the consequences. I'm prepared for it."
Everyone exchanged glances. The dam on questions seemed to break.
"Why can't we record stuff?"
"Because I enjoy my privacy, and I'm sure you'll want to after the fact."
"What are your pronouns?" asked the female twin, quite genuinely.
"No comment."
"What happens if we make it to the end and go to the cops?" added Shaggy Blond.
They shrugged. "Hey man, you do what you gotta do."
A beat of silence.
"Why aren't you worried?" asked the male twin.
"Because it seems like a real waste of time for you all to find me, follow my directions, and make it all the way to sitting in a Waffle House with me to report me now."
"Waffles?" interjected a waitress with an armful of plates.
"Thank you ma'am," the organizer chirped, happily taking their food. They began to cut into their meal.
"You know the story of the Cannibal Café guy? He put up advertisements for someone to volunteer themselves to be killed and eaten. When he was first charged, he was convicted with manslaughter, and he argued he was carrying out assisted suicide. Nowadays he walks free from time to time. He's a vegetarian funnily enough.
"I have different motivations. He got retrialed because he killed for sexual gratification, and that's just not what I'm about. It's a sort of experiment, yes. But it's for fun. Mostly for fun."
They smiled beatifically. Their eyes were invisible behind their glasses, reflecting fluorescent light like highbeams on the road. "I think what you get out of it is up to you."
—
They marched two by two through the forest. The moon hung fat and full overhead. Badr was stuck with the hiker. The twins remained together, whispering conspiratorially. The frat bro and blond Jesus were talking loudly and tripping over ground roots.
"Hey," the hiker muttered.
She really didn't want to talk, but responded anyway. "Hi."
"I noticed you didn't ask a question."
"I didn't have anything to ask," she replied.
He hummed in acquiescence, but something about the way the hiker narrowed his eyes made Badr think he didn't believe her. "What's your name?"
"Badr."
"I'm Kil Whan." His backpack was hiked over his shoulder, studded with pins and patches. "I've been place to place, but I think this is the weirdest thing I've ever done."
"Yeah, me too," Badr replied wryly.
"So..." He leaned his head over, and Badr sensed the coming impact of the one question she didn't want to hear. "What's someone like you doing here?"
She gritted her teeth. "Someone like me?"
"Nothing bad, just..." He gestured to her. "You're not a hitchhiker, you're not a YouTube freak. You don't look obsessed with death or murder. You seem the most normal out of all of us, honestly."
'Thanks," she said warily. The good thing about the niqab in situations like this was that it hid her facial expressions. "I'm an investigative journalist. If that answers anything."
He hums. "Some things, yeah. Hey... if we both survive, you wanna go out for coffee sometime?"
Badr was saved from having to answer by the organizer's cheerful announcement. "We're here!"
They were clearly outside someone's living space— whether it was the organizer's was uncertain. The windows were black, the door padlocked. Badr thought she saw a bucket full of dark liquid inside.
"Okay! You signed the contract, you know the deal. I've taken all phones and other devices that can record. The range is to the edge of the woods. Hunt starts at midnight and ends at sunrise. Until then, I get to do what I like. Ground rules aside— keep it fair, huh? I'm not saying don't defend yourself— I know it's your lives we're talking about. But I'm just one guy. Seems like it defeats the purpose if y'all just gang up on me. Give me a chase before you put up your dukes, alright? I'd greatly appreciate it.
"You get a fifteen minute head start. You'll know when it ends. Good luck and happy hunting. Go!"
With that, they scattered to the forest like startled deer.