Jack woke up to the sound of a gong. Not a gentle, meditative gong—the kind that announces a bloodsport. His head pounded in triple time, and the floor beneath him was cold, damp concrete.
“Your challenge,” the voice continued, “is simple. Survive. Avoid eye contact. Do not under any circumstances say ‘I’ll be fine.’ And whatever you do—do not sneeze.” The Hungover Games
They stared at each other. Then, simultaneously, they both said, “Truce?” Jack woke up to the sound of a gong
The Hungover Games: no one really wins. But at least you don’t have to fight for the Advil alone. “Your challenge,” the voice continued, “is simple
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.
Then he heard it: a soft, wet ah-choo from across the arena.