The — Hungover Games

A spotlight hit the center of the arena, revealing a table piled with things that looked helpful at first glance: a bottle of water, a breakfast burrito, a pair of sunglasses, and a single Advil. Fifty people lunged.

Then he heard it: a soft, wet ah-choo from across the arena.

The arena went silent. The voice overhead paused, then sighed like a disappointed game show host. The Hungover Games

They stared at each other. Then, simultaneously, they both said, “Truce?”

The rules were clear now.

“Welcome,” boomed a voice from overhead, “to the Hungover Games.”

The lights cut out. A low rumble started. When they flickered back on, the sneezer was gone—vanished, leaving behind only a single flip-flop and an empty can of White Claw. A spotlight hit the center of the arena,

In the final showdown, it came down to him and the woman in the sequined tube top. They stood ten feet apart, swaying slightly.