[ WP ] A form of entertainment has been developed where people are brought to the brink of death and then teleported to medics who normally revive them . The longer you wait , the more money you earn . You have just lost everything and with no other choice you enter the games .

I had a ground-level view of the stadium behind iron bars as I waited. 
 
 That was nice; tickets like these would have costed a year's salary for the well-off. The contestant before me finally tapped his thigh twice with his twitching hand. The floodlights went green, and with a roar of the announcer he dropped through the great trapdoor to the team of medics waiting below. 
 
 Then the massive video display blinked, flashing up my name - *Mouse Dixon* - and my heart rate - *175... 180... 185*. Amusement rippled around the stands. It's okay. Pain is just pain, and contrary to popular belief, not that many players die. The other side of the board was my concern: * $ 100... $ 200*. I would just keep my eyes on that as it bobbed and bounced upward. No less than 1.5 million dollars would do. 
 
 The iron swung open. 
 
 My sandals scratched on sand, wearily complying with the Colosseum theme. The frigid whisper of air conditioning swirled. I paced toward the reclined psychiatric chair, with its braces and straps hanging open. A dozen hosts circled around, hidden behind matching gladiator masks. Eccentric plumes dangled above expressionless steel faces. 
 
 I perched on the leather, swung my legs up, and lay back. The sounds were indistinguishable, but I could almost feel the fans weighing me up and taking their bets. There was no guilt: it was all willing, after all. 
 
 The hosts closed in to immobilize me. Mind over matter. Some money for the memory wipe, some for plastic surgery, and the rest to invest in my trade. A limbo to purge me, and a rebirth ready on the other side.
