The Host's Judgement

19. The Scale and the Blade

The electric buzz under Jonas’s chair rose in pitch, vibrating through the metal floor and reverberating into the soles of my feet. The smell of ozone mixed with cold sweat in the room was suffocating.

[ 00:38 ]

[ TARGET: 150 ml ]

“Jonas, you have to do this!” Diana shouted, leaning forward as far as the restraints allowed. “There’s no other option! Either you cut yourself, or the discharge is going to kill you!”

“I can’t! I have a phobia of blood… I can’t!” Jonas screamed, his eyes fixed on the surgical steel blade that gleamed under the yellow light. His hands hovered trembling over the pedestal, fingers splayed just centimeters from the cold metal, refusing to press down.

“Stop being a coward, journalist!” Roberto growled, fury etched into the lines of his ex-cop face. “You had the courage to lock dozens of kids inside so they would burn to death and save your own skin. Now own the fuck up to what you did and pay the price!”

“I was twenty years old! I was scared!” Jonas’s voice cracked into a hysterical falsetto. He looked at the glass panel with the money in the center of the room, then at his own pedestal.

[ 00:22 ]

The electrical noise became an audible crackle. Small arcs of static electricity began snapping against the metal legs of Jonas’s chair, making his pants vibrate. He let out a groan of pain when the first mild shock punished his calves.

“Go on, Jonas! Now!” I shouted, feeling my own heart hammering against my ribs. As monstrous as his secret was, watching a man get fried alive in front of us was a terror I did not want to witness.

With a roar that mixed despair, hatred, and pure survival instinct, Jonas closed his eyes and pressed the palm of his left hand against the mechanical blade mounted on the pedestal.

The blade slid with a dry click.

Jonas’s scream tore through the circular hall. It was a sharp, lacerating sound. He jerked his hand back in an involuntary reflex, but the cut was already done: a deep, transverse gash crossed the side of his palm, splitting the skin open in vivid red.

“Press it against the cup! Don’t let it spill!” Beatriz instructed, her voice desperate, eyes wide.

Jonas, sobbing uncontrollably, pressed his wounded hand over the opening of the graduated acrylic cup. Blood began to flow, dripping heavily into the bottom of the container.

The digital panel started updating the values in real time:

[ 12 ml… 25 ml… 40 ml… ]

The process was agonizingly slow. Jonas used his other hand to squeeze his own wrist, trying to force the flow down faster. Blood splattered onto the edges of the marble pedestal. His face, once red with panic, began to take on a grayish, sickly tone.

[ 00:10 ]

[ 78 ml… 95 ml… 110 ml… ]

“It’s not going to make it… the flow is slowing down!” Lucas warned, eyes locked on the panel.

“Squeeze harder, Jonas! Squeeze!” I shouted.

[ 00:05 ]

[ 125 ml… 135 ml… ]

The chair emitted a continuous high-pitched beep the warning signal of the imminent deadly electrical charge. Jonas gave one last desperate tug on his own arm, practically milking the open wound over the cup.

[ 00:01 ]

[ 151 ml ]

[ TARGET REACHED ]

With a hydraulic click, the electric locks on Jonas’s chair disengaged instantly. The high-voltage buzz ceased, leaving only the sound of the journalist’s chaotic breathing and the slow drip of excess blood into the acrylic.

Jonas collapsed forward, resting his forehead against the blood-stained metal pedestal, his left arm hanging to the side as he pressed the wound against his shirt to stop the bleeding. He was alive, but the pale face and trembling lips showed he was at the limit of his strength.

No one celebrated. The silence that returned to the room was even heavier, charged with the metallic smell of fresh blood that was now beginning to spread through the hotel’s air conditioning.

The projection screen in the center of the room flickered again, erasing Jonas’s data.

[ ROUND 1 COMPLETED ]

[ STARTING ROUND 2 ]

Elena Vance brushed an invisible speck of dust from her pants, looking at the screen with a coldness that made me freeze.

The display began typing the second secret. And somehow, all of us knew that the next round would demand even more from us.