The Eighth Guardian

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The man in the green tie has been watching me all day. It’s weird. Both the tie and the watching. His tie is green—not the crimson or navy that seems to be the uniform color for these guys, but green. And he has no business watching me like this. I’m tired. Sweaty. My body has been through hell, and it’s not over yet.

I failed the first challenge. The man should have stopped watching me then.

They hung me by my ankles and plunged me headfirst into a swimming pool chilled to a hypothermic forty degrees. The lock on the chain around my ankles had a code. An alphanumeric code that they flashed in Morse code with the pool light. I had fifteen seconds under the water to figure it out before they’d bring me up for a ten-second break, then dunk me right back under.

But the water was cold, too cold, and every vein in my body exploded when I hit it. Water rushed up my nose, and I sputtered and choked. I whipped my head around and couldn’t even find the pool light. They brought me up, and the ten seconds passed before I could process it. They plunged me back down, and water filled my throat. I coughed and choked and breathed in more, feeling the vomit rise.

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