“You must be pretty expendable, you three, getting sent in here to tidy up for us.” There’s a pause while everybody considers the truth of this. Then all three Gamemakers make a break for the ladder that leads down to Sub-A. Maritte’s arm snaps back and I think I’m a goner, but the trident whistles over my head and lodges in the mopper, sending him into a pillow of poppies. Almost simultaneously, the woman with the drill grabs at the spot beneath her ear and comes away with a dart. She collapses as the final Gamemaker plunges headfirst through the open berm into Sub-A.
Murdering janitors in the games weren’t on my bingo card
