The Lottery

by Blobskin

Rating: mature
Tags: Violence, Dark, Death, Human, Gore, Original Character, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Horror
Length: 6272

A collection of humans are trapped with Last Chance, I giant pony from another world. She forces them to play the lottery to determine who gets to live. The losers are violently murdered in front of everyone.

Last Chance is a giant pony from another dimension who kills anyone that loses her rigged games. Eaten, crushed, pulled apart, etc. She enjoys watching helpless humans struggle and eventually fail. Today's game is the most unfair yet: a simple lottery. Oliver Swanick can do nothing but watch as those around him are savagely murdered while he tightly clutches the ticket in his hand and prays for all he's worth he will be among the winners. If there are any winners after an event like this...

Published 2022-06-29 14:00:01 UTC
Last updated 2022-06-29 14:00:01 UTC

Chapter 1

Version: 2

Oliver Swanick had blonde hair and a strong build. He was just a bit above average height and his tanned face sported a pair of square glasses. He was a middle-aged man with no wife or kids, but he made up for it with a love for his community. Currently, Mr. Swanick was standing in the middle of a baseball field along with a few hundred other people all staring up in terror.

Casting a shadow over the cowering humans was a massive pony-like creature with thick grape purple fur and a wild curly mane of leaf green hair. The pupils of her eyes were black slits surrounded in crimson. On her flanks was an image of two bright white dice and atop her head sat a spiraling horn. Her shoulders were at least five stories high, putting her head a little above even the tallest trees. Her hooves were as wide around as a common sedan.

The previous times she had visited Earth she had introduced herself as Last Chance, the most "merciful" of the ponies that saw humanity as mere toys. Each month there was one visit that could last anywhere from a single hour to an entire day. Then the pony would return to their world. Sometimes the death toll was only a few hundred with minimum property damage. Other times the pony would bulldoze half a city and leave many thousands dead and missing. It depended on which one showed up and what they decided to do.

Each one of the invaders had a gimmick. A kind of game they liked to play. Last Chance had a thing for luck. Probabilities. She would trap a number of humans then force them to play games of pure chance. The games obviously weren't fair and the losers died in typical brutal fashion. However, what made her the most merciful of the giant ponies was her sense of honor. If you somehow managed to win her game she did in fact let you live. So there was hope. A tiny drop at least.

Today Mr. Swanick had the great misfortune to be caught in one of her games of death.

She had come out of nowhere, like all the ponies did, while the elementary school was hosting a baseball game. The game had barely started before the little "earthquakes" hit. Then the sound of crunching metal as Last Chance began trampling cars and buses in the parking lot. Before anyone realized what was coming the fence around the field had begun to pulse with green magic. Obviously the work of Last Chance to ensure no one escaped. Panic set in right as her smiling face appeared above the electronic scoreboard.

Mr. Swanick wasn't sure what happened next. There was a flash and everyone who had tried making a run from the bleachers -- which included himself -- was now here in the field. The man looked around as he took heavy breaths. Everyone was confused and dazed. Like a minute of time had simply been lost. How many people were there? It seemed like... too many. Everyone was scattered about, almost as though randomly distributed so they took up most of the field. Mr. Swanick gulped as he turned to face their captor. She had moved as well. She was no longer obstructed by the scoreboard. Now she was standing just beyond the fence of right field. The scoreboard had been on the left field side.

She raised one of her huge hooves and moved it over the pulsing green fence of right field. The panic flared again and everyone close to her fled. There was screaming. Oliver was stunned and found he could do nothing but watch from his place near the pitcher's mound. All around him there was movement. A wave of vibration traveled up his legs whenever Last Chance took a step. People brushed past him. Chaos. That's what it was. Chaos.

His ears tugged his head in the direction of the bleachers where several people had tried to hop the fence, but couldn't. Whenever someone touched the green metal there was a snap like someone clapping and the person was thrown back and left gasping for breath. As though they had taken a hit to the diaphragm.

Giggling caused Mr. Swanick to abruptly face Last Chance again, who was now firmly standing in right field. She was huge. And amused by the humans.

"Come on," she began. "Playing with me can't be that bad? Right?" Her raised eyebrow felt like a threat, no matter how cute her grin was.

The screams quickly died down. People crouched and huddled, as though trying to seem smaller. The space around the huge pony's hooves was devoid of anybody. The crowd had condensed into a half-ring around and away from her. She had a lot of room to move around without stepping on someone. Even as big as she was Last Chance only took up about an eighth of the field. If that.

Mr. Swanick caught in the corner of his eye the two teams that had been playing mere minutes ago collected into a cluster. He saw what were couples with kids hugging one another. And Mr. Swanick saw many like himself who stood alone. Afraid and stranded. All around them was an impassible fence. What could they do? Where could they go?

BANG!!

A gunshot rang out. Many people, Oliver included, instinctively ducked and covered their ears while wildly searching for the one responsible.

It was a large man with a red baseball cap and a plaid button shirt. His appearance screamed trucker. A trucker with a 9mm pistol aimed up at Last Chance. Oliver was speechless. He had brought that to a kid's baseball game? That was illegal! Right?

A series of loud pops exploded from the gun as he unloaded on the giant pony. Shot after shot. Every one of them loud enough to echo into the distance. Oliver had to admit, the guy looked tough doing it. He stood straight, both hands on the gun. He was steady. He didn't sway or waver. He fired with practiced ease.

Yet it was all for nothing. Last Chance's ears perked at the initial shot, but she was otherwise unaffected. Like usual. You couldn't hurt the invaders. Assault rifles. Tanks. Missiles. Bombs. None of them ever left so much as a mark. This brave man's pistol was no different. Loud but useless. Soon he was out of ammo.

"Are you done yet?" Last Chance snorted with disapproval.

The fat man kept pointing his weapon at her for a moment, then lowered it slowly. "Fuck you you evil bitch!"

She frowned. "You are rude. I don't like rude men. You don't get to play with me."

The horn atop the huge violet pony's head glowed green. Then the fat man was gone. Replaced with a red cloud of vaporized blood. The sound was the worst though. The crowd of spectators had gone silent when he started shooting. So the sound of his death, like a ruptured balloon, was heard crystal clear by everyone.

A number of people screamed.

Mr. Swanick felt like ice had run through his veins. He began to breathe faster and faster. Oh my God I'm going to die, he thought. Help wasn't coming. If the authorities even knew Last Chance was here they wouldn't send anyone for the same reason shooting at her was pointless. It would just be putting the lives of soldiers in danger. Everyone else in the world was running or hiding. Meanwhile, here they were. Trapped. Everyone here was going to die.

The giant pony smiled and nodded at the fat man's destruction. Then she ignored the cries all around her as she spoke. "Alright, now that the distractions are dealt with, we can get started. Today's game is simple. You're all going to play the Lottery!" she cheered.

The massive horn atop her head flashed and Oliver suddenly found himself holding a piece of paper in front of his face. When had he raised his arm? When had he grabbed something? Never mind that, what was this paper? It was thicker than printer paper, more like card stock, and it had a slick gloss coating. Like wax or maybe it was laminated. It bent rather than fold as he pinched it between his thumb and index finger. The only thing on the paper was three numbers in thick black letters.

225

The Lottery. A card. A number.

Oliver stared dumbly at the thing for what felt like forever. When he finally pulled his attention away from the mundane slip in his hand he found everyone around him doing the same. Hundreds of faces that were confused.

Last Chance grinned in satisfaction. "The Lottery is very simple," she laughed. "Each of you now has a number and soon I'm going to give you a rule to go with them. If your number follows the rule then you advance to the next round. If your number follows all my rules today, you win!" she explained cheerfully. She then looked up in thought. "This time I think there should be... let's say four rules."

Oliver looked back down at his card.

225

Would his number win? Would this little card save him or doom him? The man wasn't sure how long he simply stared at the card clutched in his fingers. He was so lost in thought and wonder the only thing that snapped him out of it was the voice of Last Chance booming across the field once more.

"Well well well, we have 324 participants today. Not bad," the huge mare snickered. She was looking at the scoreboard which she had magically transformed at some point. The new design made Oliver's eyes bulge in horror.

Total/Alive/Dead : 325/324/1

"Well, let's get the game started with a nice simple rule," Last Chance began with a sagely nod. She looked down, closed her eyes, rubbed her chin, and hummed deliberately. The suspense made Oliver's heart race and his fingers tightened on his card. Last Chance looked up slowly. "The number three. Your number cannot have a three in it."

Oliver didn't even have to look down. He was spared. The sigh of relief was so great he collapsed to his knees. Mr. Swanick felt so exhausted. Like he'd just finished a tough day at the gym. But his peace was immediately shattered by the cries. The man glanced around himself in a daze, his mind needing another second to realize not everyone had passed. Around him there were several that were running for the fence. Or rushing from one person to another begging for help. Or frozen staring at their tickets with a look... Oliver couldn't describe. The losers of the first round.

Total/Alive/Dead : 325/242/83

There was a clicking sound as the scoreboard's numbers rapidly changed. Oliver found his gaze locked to that final entry. More than 80 people labeled dead. His gut tightened and sunk. His neck creaked as he turned his head toward Last Chance. Her evil eyes literally glowed with red malice and her grin was predatory. Oliver was about to watch 80 people die. And there was nothing he could do about it.

"Well well well," Last Chance mocked. "Looks like I've got to decide on a punishment for the first round. But what to do," she chuckled. "You know what? Setting all this up took a lot of work." The mare began to rub her belly. "It can really leave a mare famished. I think I'll just have me a little snack before we get to the next round." With that her horn began to glow bright green.

All around the field seemingly random people were surrounded in a matching green aura and began to float into the air. Friends and loved ones lunged for them as the victims flailed about. There was so much yelling and screaming. There was one man whose wife or girlfriend had actually clung to him as he flew away only to lose her grip a bit later and plummet back to the grassy field below. There was a child of maybe ten reaching back toward her mom begging to be saved and the woman rushing after her pleading for the girl's life. A young man spun about in the air hurling insults and curses like they were candy. An older woman who bowed her head and clasped her hands in front of her as she prayed.

The cloud of levitating people condensed in front of Last Chance who casually took a seat and eyed her snacks hungrily. She licked her lips with a sinister smirk. Then she addressed the watching crowd. "Don't mind me. We'll resume the game as soon as I'm done with my meal." Then the dying started.

Last Chance opened her equine maw wide and let drool leak over her lips. Three helpless humans drifted forward. Two men and a woman. One man and the woman hugged and whispered to each other. The last man seemed to struggle against the magic that held him, desperate to break free even if it meant plummeting five stories. Together they were easily stuffed atop the mare's tongue. Then the great maw snapped closed with a horrible crack. Oliver flinched. Their legs. Those three people... their legs had been left... outside. Six severed limbs fell to the grass below as the pony began to chew in earnest.

Mr. Swanick's own mouth hung open and his arms limp as he watched. The man was only vaguely aware of the renewed attempts of his fellow prisoners to escape. People once more tried to climb the fences that separated them from the bleachers. Again the glimmering fence threw back anyone who tried to touch the metal. Some guy took off his coat and attempted to drape it over the metal and haul himself up without his skin making contact with the enchanted wire. He failed and was tossed aside like everyone else. A pair of men tried to throw a small woman over the top with pure strength. It seemed like she might escape, but as soon as she passed over the fence she stopped in midair and was sent flying back. Nothing worked.

Meanwhile, a river of blood gushed from the pony's lips. A grisly and seemingly unending song of death. Human after human was tossed into what was becoming an ever more red plastered cavern. Then brutally pulverized into unrecognizable meat. The sound of mashing flesh, snapping bones, and dripping blood never stopped. All the while the levitating humans still waiting for their turn struggled, begged, or closed their eyes and cried. And Last Chance took no notice of anything but the sensation in her mouth. The various pleas of her future meals? Utterly ignored. The people determined to overcome her magic fence? She didn't seem to even know it was happening. Last Chance just sat there, lazily plucking humans from the air like fruit from a tree and plopping them into her mouth to enjoy. The show just went on and on.

Oliver thought he was going to throw up. That he managed to hold it down until the mare's meal was done said something about him, but he wasn't sure what. How could he watch 80 people die right in front of him and have no real reaction? What was wrong with him?

Last Chance hummed and massaged her now slightly bulging belly. "That was good," she said while licking her lips, failing miserably to wipe away the trail of crimson that had dribbled down her chin, neck, and even onto her chest. Her lips were painted with death. "But we still have three more rules to choose and I know you're all eager to see who wins," she giggled. "So, for the second rule, let's go with something a bit more complicated. Your number cannot be divisible by four," the mare's eyes flashed with malice as she spoke.

225

Oliver glanced at his number. He had never been a particularly smart man, but he was very confident his odd number couldn't be divided by an even number like four. He was spared for a second time.

Total/Alive/Dead : 325/174/151

The clicking drew Oliver's gaze. What was that, another 80 people? Almost half of the attendees of the baseball game. The man felt his eyes tearing up and his fist clenched even as it still held his ticket.

"Perfect," Last Chance declared happily. "I'll give you all a moment this time to work out whether you lost or not."

Oliver's attention was quickly dragged to his left where the two baseball teams were in an uproar. A few members had apparently lost and were pleading with their teammates to trade tickets. The idea hadn't occurred to the older man. Mr. Swanick eyed his card as the concept rolled around his mind. He was in his 40s. Most of his life was behind him. He didn't have much of a future left. What more was there that he could accomplish even if he tried? But one of those kids? They still had time. They didn't deserve to die. Not here and not now. They needed to live!

Before he knew what he was doing Oliver rushed across the field to the teams and grabbed the closest crying boy. He shoved his card into the boy's face. "Take mine," Mr. Swanick ordered. The boy stared at the ticket and the man who had come out of nowhere. He didn't move. Oliver growled. "Take the card boy and I'll take yours. I've lived enough."

The others around the pair had gone silent, watching. Oliver felt something in that moment. Powerful. Free. It was true he wasn't really saving the boy. There was no way to know if Oliver's number would pass the next two rules, but what he was really giving this child was a second chance. And Oliver was choosing the time of his death. He wasn't waiting for his number to lose, he was taking one that already had. The number the boy had of 180. It was divisible by four and would assure he was among the next to die, not this child. Oliver felt pride. He was taking his life into his hands. This was his decision to make. Not some monster from another world.

Tears, not of sorrow, but of joy, rushed down the boy's face. But Oliver knew they didn't have time. The man snatched the bad ticket from the boy.

But the boy's hand refused to let go.

"Let go kid!" Oliver screamed in panic. If he didn't get that card away from him it would be the kid who died next.

"I can't..." the boy whispered fearfully, eyes widening as Oliver continued to tug on the piece of paper.

Oliver froze. He swallowed. He looked at his other hand still clutching his own ticket. He willed his fingers to release it and let it fall to the ground. Yet his fingers remained locked on the card. Oliver couldn't let go of his number. "I can't either," he mumbled.

The man's throat tightened. He couldn't breathe. Oliver was aware the giant mare was saying something, but none of the words registered. It was just him and the boy in a baseball uniform, both gripping a lottery ticket. They couldn't trade numbers. They couldn't choose their fate. Whatever happened, both of them were merely the victims of fate. Their destiny entirely bound to the cards they were given at the start. There was no escape.

The boy's body began to emit a green aura and his eyes widened. Oliver thought he knew what was about to happen, but something else took him by surprise. Instead of flying away the boy straightened into a rigid stance and robotically began to march by Oliver. The older man watched with a drooping mouth as the child walked. Something was wrong with his movements. Was it mind control? Before he could even guess at a way to break it he was pulled forward and fell to the ground.

His hand was still gripping the boy's ticket.

Oliver growled as he was dragged after the boy. He reasserted his hold and brought his knees up under him. The boy was strong enough to pull him along? That couldn't be. Oliver tried tugging back, planting his knees into the grass of the field and digging his toes into the soil. It didn't even slow him down. That's when he noticed the others. Everyone who had lost this round was also surrounded by the green glow and also marching like puppets toward a smug Last Chance. Oliver finally lost his grip and fell on his face.

"He's just a child," Mr. Swanick whispered into the grass as the boy continued away from him. "HE'S JUST A CHILD!!" he screamed. Last Chance took no notice. Lots of people were yelling. Why would she care about his words specifically?

A densely packed crowd of people steadily grew in front of the mare. They stood with almost no room between them. Shoulder to shoulder. The pony looked down her blood coated nose at them with glee. No one else dared approach. The field was empty. The remaining people formed a ring that hugged the walls of the baseball field. Oliver was the odd man out. The one closest to Last Chance but not among the group who had lost. He was on his knees, silently waiting for the massacre. Would she eat them too?

The towering unicorn stood up. Then she stooped, hovering her muzzle just above the heads of the helpless crowd. "Don't worry, this will be over quickly," she murmured softly. Then the mare lunged upward! In a second the creature that already seemed so massive appeared to double in size as her front hooves lifted off the ground and she reared. Kicking her front hooves in the sky like she was riding a bicycle. For a moment she remained in that pose as everyone gazed up at her with awe. A shadow was cast over half the field and a stunned peace seized that precious few seconds in time. Then Last Chance came down. Hard.

The ground audibly rumbled as the enormous mare planted her front hooves into the middle of the group of humans still immobile in front of her. Now under her. Blood and gore exploded outward from the landing site, painting those not immediately crushed with a slush that used to be other people. Still they couldn't move. Some in the audience howled in despair and covered their eyes or entire heads. Last Chance lifted one of her hooves. Stretches of slime and organs tried to pin her down, but her massive strength made it easy to break free. The mare appraised the crater of mashed humans and the coating on her foot for a moment. She snorted and smirked. She picked her next victims and turned the hoof over again. It rained blood down on them, but they couldn't move. Not even to wipe the crimson rain out of their hair. Then the hoof dropped with a sickening crunch.

Boom. Boom. Boom. Last Chance danced on the collection of humans. And with every step there was another spray of guts and meat.

Every square inch of Oliver's skin crawled. He felt so cold and empty. He couldn't even save one child. He couldn't even choose the time of his death. Powerless. Nothing. Pathetic. His heart hurt watching as more and more people were turned to hamburger and the one responsible laughed. Oliver fell forward and threw up. The acid burned his throat and the man choked on sobs. It was hopeless. There was nothing he could do. Nothing any of them could do.

Oliver wiped the disgusting bile from his lip onto a sleeve. Then he remembered his ticket. He eyed it.

225

No. There was hope. One tiny droplet of hope. His ticket. His number. It... might save him. It was all he had. Oliver clutched the little card with both hands and prayed. Inside he called to the heavens above that his number would win. That he might live. That he, Oliver Swanick, might be spared this massacre. His very soul was bound to that piece of paper.

Meanwhile, innocent people, many he knew, were ground into a bloody sludge. Boom. Boom. Boom. Oliver prayed.

"Ah," Last Chance sighed. "That was fun." The mare finally, mercifully, paused her violent crushing. There were no humans left to pulverize. "Whoa," she gasped as though out of breath and lazily studied the space around her, as though searching for some straggler that had escaped. There were none. She nodded in satisfaction, her legs now painted the same grisly red as her lips. Then she glanced at the scoreboard with a raised brow. "So 174 of you left and two math rules to go," she hummed. "What should the next rule be though?"

Swanick continued to clutch his ticket. He continued to pray. Everyone did.

Last Chance turned her malicious eyes to the cowering mass of people still left alive. "Prime. Your number cannot be prime."

Swanick felt his heart skip a beat and his throat tightened. What was a prime number again? It had been so long since he'd been in high school. He wasn't sure what that meant anymore. Was his number prime?

Total/Alive/Dead : 325/135/190

The scoreboard clicked, though not as much as the times before. Last Chance perked an ear and she actually seemed disappointed. "Oops," she mumbled. "That wasn't a good rule. There aren't a lot of prime numbers anyway. What a waste, I barely got any of you that time." She sighed and shrugged. "Oh well."

Mr. Swanick thought he caught a wave of... confusion? Yes, there was confusion among the survivors. When he turned to look it became obvious why. He wasn't the only one who had forgotten what a prime number was. People were showing each other their tickets and pointing aggressively. Everyone was trying to figure out who had won this round and who hadn't. Some were getting hysterical in their demands for help.

Last Chance picked up on the humans' conundrum and rolled her eyes. "Oh brother. I know everyone is eager to just get to the final round so I'm going to cut this stupidity short. Anyone got a problem with that?" Most of the audience was silenced by that. Then the huge unicorn's horn began to glow. There was a flash of light and several dozen people were suddenly standing in the middle of the field to the mare's right. "See, this is who lost," Last Chance grunted while gesturing to the teleported group.

The latest selection of victims was smaller than the previous, yet just as varied. Men, women, children. All of them together. They took a moment to realize where they were and several immediately tried to make a run for it. Back to the "safety" of the fence. But Last Chance proved she was very perceptive and quickly put a stop to that. Her horn glowed again and all of them were suddenly pulled to the ground, as though an irresistible force had bore down on their shoulders. As though Last Chance had simply increased the strength of gravity in that one spot in the center of the baseball field.

The mare clicked her tongue. "Now now, that's no way to behave. Losers should accept defeat with grace and humility." Someone cursed at her from the ground. She snorted with amusement. "I think you humans need to be reminded who's in charge here."

Last Chance turned, her blood stained hooves carefully shuffling past the small circle of humans pinned to the grass. They tried to watch her, terrified yet curious what evil she was about to unleash. Swanick watched too. Almost everyone did. The unicorn stood behind her next batch of victims all the way at the back of the field. She tilted her head and gave them a smirk that showed too many of her crimson covered teeth. Another reminder of her cruelty. Then she did something unusual. The huge pony spun around and presented her tail and backside to the audience. She glanced over her shoulder and chuckled. "If you don't like the rules, don't play the game," she mocked. Her hips rocked back and forth, her tail swayed ominously. Then the towering equine monster tucked in her back legs and let her rump drop.

In a single instant every man, woman, and child that had been immobilized vanished in an explosion of yet more gore. A single burst of dirt and red mist. Last Chance laughed. She cackled with glee and wiggled her behind in place, grinding what remained of those helpless people. Her jubilation made the air vibrate. It was the only voice making a sound as all the humans had gone pale and silent. That insane joyful howling went on and on. Last Chance had to hug her belly as the spasms shook her body. She threatened to tip over.

Oliver Swanick stared at his ticket. At the number printed on it. The black letters had not changed. It was his only hope. The only chance he had. One rule remained and this simple number would decide his fate. He swallowed, his throat still burning from earlier. He closed his eyes. The man begged. He wanted to live.

Eventually Last Chance was able to regain her composure enough to stand up and show the crowd her blood and mud caked ass. She giggled as she spun around to face them once more. "This sure has been a fun game, but we've all got places to be." Her cat-like red eyes roamed the captive mass who remained. She seemed to meet each and every face for a second. Then she nodded in an oddly serious fashion. "I know you all just want this to be over, so I'll grant your wish. This is the last rule. If your number passes, you may go. If your number fails... you die."

Oliver held his card with both hands. Every breath felt like it was filled with glass shards. His mouth was dry. He sweated. He shook. This was it.

"A square root," Last Chance said darkly. "The square root of your number must be a nice, neat whole number." Her eyes glowed with malicious intent.

Oliver glanced at his number. 225. What was the square root of that? How did he calculate it? The square root was the opposite of multiplying a number by itself to get a larger number. What whole number multiplied by itself equaled 225? Was there a trick to doing that math? The middle aged man couldn't remember. He ignored anything else. He focused on this task. Would his number spare his life? He had to figure it out. Oliver closed his eyes and thought hard, pushing through his fear and panic. He'd have to do that math with brute force.

10 times 10 was 100. That wasn't large enough. He needed a bigger number.

20 times 20? What was that? 400? That was too big.

12 times 12. That was... 144. Too small again.

15 times 15? That was... hard. He needed to recall his math tricks. 15 times 5 was 75, plus 150 was equal to...

Oliver Swanick felt his jaw drop and his eyes opened. He stared up at the sky. Blue with the occasional wispy cloud. Beautiful and sunny. His arms hung limp at his sides. All his strength, mental and physical, was spent. He was completely spent. Tears began to streak down his face. He had been spared. The square root of 225 was a tidy 15. A whole number. He had passed. He lived. A rapid clicking sound made him peak at the scoreboard. He choked.

Total/Alive/Dead : 325/9/316

That couldn't be. It had been over a hundred before. That had to be a mistake. It was wrong. The outcry that ignited in the field agreed with him.

Last Chance laughed. "Don't be sore losers. You should be applauding the winners. The lucky few who managed to come out ahead today." Her wicked smile did not inspire anything. The glow from her horn did make many flinch though. But there was no flash and nothing seemed to happen. Until Oliver realized his ticket had turned gold and now shown with light. Similar sparkling appeared around the field as the other winners found themselves instinctively holding their tickets up. The field was quiet again. Then there was another flash and Oliver found himself somewhere else.

Around him were eight others in varying states. There was a woman who was crouched on the ground seemingly unresponsive. There was a young man wearing one of the team's jerseys glaring at the golden paper in his hand. There was one of the kids from the game who's eyes jumped from one person to another. They were the winners. And they included Mr. Oliver Swanick.

"Congratulations my fine contestants!" the voice of Last Chance echoed over them. Oliver's head snapped up to where the mare's muzzle hovered above them. It was then he also realized where they were. Beyond the fence. They were outside the boundary of the baseball field! "As promised, you can go. Feel free to stick around and watch as I deal with the losers. You are the winners, so I shall not harm you should you choose to stay. Enjoy the show!" she said cheerfully.

Then the massive equine turned away from them and began stomping into the field. There was screaming. Those who remained scattered. Oliver didn't even realize he had stood up and approached the fence. His eyes were wide as he stared. A hoof crashed down on a pair who had been fleeing. Someone was levitated up to the mare's maw and tossed inside where they were chewed to pieces. Then Last Chance flicked her head to the side and a beam of fire lanced from her horn to someone trying to rush around her. The man burst into flame and stumbled to the ground. The unicorn moved slowly, casually, but she never stopped. She was hunting now and no one else would be spared. The fence still glowed with green magic and any who tried to touch it were thrown back. There would be no escape for the rest.

Oliver turned away from the scene. Two of the other winners had already done so and were walking away lifelessly. The unresponsive lady remained on the ground seemingly unaware of anything. The kid had tried to grab the fence to scream back to his team inside, but had been blown back... away from the field. Mr. Swanick would have tried to help the boy back to his feet normally, but he felt empty. His mind had simply stopped. This was it. So many he had known since he was a child were dead or about to be. And these nine people, including himself, were the only ones left.

His hollow eyes rolled around in his head. His limbs felt like noodles. In front of him was an empty lot and a line of trees on the horizon obscuring the highway that ran by the school. Should he head that way or circle around back to the parking lot and look for his car? What was he supposed to do now?

Author's Note

Oliver Swanick is a bit of a famous NPC from Fallout: New Vegas. If you've never played the game, or simply forgotten after all these years, allow me to explain the reference.

In New Vegas there is a town called Nipton and when you first try to enter it you will be greeted by a man named... Oliver Swanick. The man is clearly a bit crazy and cannot stop cheering about winning the "lottery" even long enough to explain what the hell he's talking about. Eventually he'll simply run off, freeing you to enter the town where you will discover a massacre. Everyone in town has been killed and some in brutal fashion. There you may encounter a squad of Caesar's Legion whose leader is happy to explain what happened.

The Legion invaded the town, took everyone hostage, then made them play a lottery to see who got to live. Oliver Swanick was the winner so he got to watch all his friends and coworkers die one by one as their numbers came up, then was simply cut free and told he could go. The man clearly snapped from the trauma.

Oliver Swanick became a bit of a meme in the Fallout fandom as it was common to simply kill him as soon as you met him. Creating a hilarious, if not dark, conclusion to his story. The man got to watch everyone he'd ever known die, then was set free even as his mind broke from the horror, then as he races out into the world to embrace the life that was spared by pure chance, he's killed by the first person he meets. Man that's dark. But funny.

Oh, one more thing. The numbers presented in this story are entirely accurate. Yes, I put the work in to make sure the math was right. Made a chart up to 325, crossed out numbers along with the rules given in the story, counted what remained, rinse and repeat until the end. You're welcome. I know how many of you were deeply concerned about that.