“What the hell was that?” Dr. Tate asked aloud.

“Some kind of explosive. A hand grenade maybe?” Hutchins said.

“Looked like a big rock to me,” the Ambassador said.

The stunned crowd murmured at the unprecedented situation. Even the staff stopped mid-task, hands frozen over keyboards, afraid to continue the event. None were more shocked than the surgeons themselves and they could only mill about in astonishment, as they waited for Dr. Menclewski to display some kind of reaction.

With arms folded behind his back, Dr. Menclewski simply stared at the corpse of his creation on the main screen. His finest work had been destroyed. The gorilla body smoldered in ruin. Whatever the woman had thrown had impacted dead center in the stitch’s multi-eyed head and blown it to pieces. No stitch, no matter how fearsome, could operate without a brain.

The doctor was a prideful man. Methodical. Meticulous. Confident. Only one outcome had never been taken seriously enough to prepare for.

Defeat.

He winced, just a bit, as the smoke had cleared. It was the only expression he allowed himself, even when the three survivors had given the camera the middle finger. At this point, he cleared his throat in the direction of the technical staff and they hurriedly cut the feed.

As composed as always, the doctor turned to his guests. Those hoping for an embarrassing show of emotion at his first defeat were disappointed. “Well, this was a quite unexpected ending,” he said as calmly as if they’d been watching a stage play. “I’d like to thank you all for coming and hope you can attend our next little soirée. I know in the past we would replay significant highlights and continue our viewing party well into the night. However, in light of recent events, it would be best that we wrap things up here. Limos are outside to transport you to the destination of your choice.” Dr. Menclewski waved his hand to the door, summarily dismissing the crowd.

With the uncomfortable awkwardness, it didn’t take long for the room to clear. In short order, only the surgeons, a handful of staff, and the Ambassador and her guards remained. The continued presence of the latter clearly annoyed the surgeons and Dr. Tate took it upon himself to remind the old woman that her car awaited.

“Oh, I don’t think so. We all know this contest isn’t over.”

“It isn’t?” Hutchins looked around with hurt confusion that his fellow surgeons had excluded him from a secret plan.

“You know we can’t let them go,” Dr. Landis said.

“I didn’t know that. That’s pretty unfair of us. I knew we were basically evil, but I didn’t know we sucked and would cheat.”

Dr. Menclewski snapped around. “We are not cheating, any more than God is cheating when he decides life or death. This was a test of our abilities and a lesson to be learned. These people were subjects, obstacles to be overcome. Now that the assessment is completed, they are expendable at best and liabilities at worst.” He turned to Dr. Tate. “Make the call.”

***

The surviving trio headed back into the lodge and gathered at the dinner table, still laden with the now cold feast. Wayne and Bianca had basically carried Isaac in, as he remained woozy from the strangling.

“So that’s it?” Bianca asked. “We won.”

Wayne shrugged. “I thought there’d be some kind of celebration. A parade. Confetti. Girls in bikinis.”

“I feel like we were never meant to win. Think they’ll even pay up?”

Isaac glanced at the nearest camera but didn’t feel like dampening their victory with his pessimism. Instead, he lined up three shot glasses. “You’re about to taste the best bourbon you’ve ever had.”

“I don’t like bourbon.”

“Me neither.”

Isaac snorted. “That doesn’t change the fact this will be the best you’ve ever had.” From his Everbag, he pulled Jughead, and before he could pop the cork the spirit cut into a litany of foulness.

“You bastard! I’ve been floating in there for a week! Even prisoners get yard time every day. Who the fuck are these two? This some kind of threesome? Oh yeah, you’re definitely going to get this pair wasted and then grease them up for an old-fashioned meat triangle, you sicko. It’s obvious you need to get them drunk because they’re way too attractive for you. But guess what? I don’t get people laid. I get people killed. Awww, look at the sad, confused faces on these two. They’re lucky they’re easy on the eyes because they look none too bright.” The jug ranted all through the pouring process and continued screaming as Isaac crammed him back into the bag.

“Cheers,” Isaac downed his glass as Wayne and Bianca stared. Both of them started to open their mouths with some kind of Jughead-related question but Isaac cut them off each time by making drinking motions.

“Weird. I suddenly really have the urge to drink anyway,” Bianca said, and Wayne echoed her sentiment as both knocked back the bourbon and made hissing noises to relieve their burning throats.

“See. Best you’ve ever had right?” Through the porch windows, they saw multiple sets of headlights appear in the dark distance, heading to the lodge at a high rate of speed. “There’s your parade, Wayne.”

“Why do I feel like they’re not coming to give us one of those big novelty checks?”

Bianca threw up her hands. “So, they’re still going to kill us?”

Isaac nodded. “Yeah. These types generally have easily bruised egos.”

“So, what’s the plan?” Wayne asked with newfound confidence as if they were an unbeatable squad now.

Isaac realized he’d finally won them over. They were officially on Team Isaac. So, it bothered him a bit to say, “I didn’t expect us to survive the stitches, so I didn’t actually plan anything else out.”

“Seriously?”

He rubbed his chin, wracking his brain for escape options. But they were in the middle of rural-nowhere with no transportation and he certainly didn’t have enough firepower left in his bag to handle several vehicles worth of opponents. He debated running down to the rec room bar for another drink to help him think and that’s when he snapped his fingers. “Wayne, go down to the bar and bring up every bottle one hundred proof and over. Bianca, grab every rag or cloth you can. We need to buy some time.”

***

“This is bullshit,” complained Hutchins just loud enough only the Ambassador heard him. They had reactivated the video feed and had the magician and two survivors on the main screen. One of the smaller screens showed the recreation room and Hutchins had to indignantly watch his stitch continue to swing impotently from the ceiling. “In victory I lose and in defeat Menclewski still wins.”

“Technically he lost as well,” Ambassador Murray replied.

“His stitch still finished with three kills. That’s three more than me.”

“But you see now he’s not unbeatable. Every champion hits the canvas eventually.”

“That sounds really weird coming from a Hell bigwig like you.” Hutchins shook his head.

“Hardly. When has Hell ever won the day? We’ve lost every conflict we’ve been involved in, even the little ones no one knows about. Frankly, we’re like the Germany of the supernatural world. We pick a lot of fights and then get our nose bloodied.”

This made Hutchins laugh boisterously. He pulled yet another beer from inside his coat. “Want another?”

“Why not.” The pair clinked their bottles and went back to watching the screens.

***

A half-dozen SUVs skidded to a halt in front of the lodge, the doors popped open, and out leaped twenty or so men dressed in black tactical gear and armed with assault rifles. They encircled the lodge with weapons trained and began to close in.

Isaac ripped another rag to finish making his line of Molotov cocktails. Wayne proceeded to light each one and Bianca began hurling them around the lodge. Within seconds most of the first floor was ablaze and all of the entrances were engulfed. The gunmen had gotten as far as the porch and then retreated when the flames went up.

“Ok, upstairs. Clear a wall, disable any cameras, and stay away from the windows,” Isaac ordered, and the pair complied as Isaac took the stairs down to the recreation room. The retractable glass wall remained open and, just as he hoped, the gunmen had selected it as the last non-burning entry.

Hutchins’s Mongrel still swung from the ceiling. Outside more of the gunmen rounded the pool. Isaac waited for a group to enter the rec room and just as the first one saw him and aimed his weapon, he commanded the slithering rope to let loose from the rafters.

The Mongrel’s feet hit the floor and it immediately swung its axe into the head of the nearest gunman, dropping him in a spray of metal, plastic, and blood. The gunman’s companions panicked at the sudden threat in their midst and two more were quickly hacked down. The rest opened fire, peppering the Mongrel with dozens of shells, as Isaac shut the door on the ensuing carnage and ran to join the others.

***

“Holy shit! Look at my wolf-man go,” Hutchins cheered.

Dr. Stevens shook her head. “You realize those are our men.”

“Not my men. Don’t ruin my moment.”

“He’s right. We shouldn’t be negative about Mr. Hutchins’s sudden success,” Dr. Menclewski said, much to the surprise of the group. “His creation has taken down three...” he paused as the Mongrel on the screen swung its axe, “four highly trained men. Four is tops for the evening. That is most commendable.” He nodded at the bar owner.

Eventually, enough bullets riddled the Mongrel that it could barely function. It collapsed on shredded legs and managed little more than waving the axe with one hand. The surgeons watched the remaining men move to the stairwell, where they were once again forced to retreat due to the flames on the first floor.

“Find the magician,” Dr. Menclewski ordered the technician, but now the lodge interior cameras showed only static or smoke. “What the hell is he up to?”

***

Bianca and Wayne had done just what Isaac had asked of them. They picked the bedroom with the whitest wall, moved all the furniture away from it, and taken down every decoration. The pair had pillowcases pressed to their faces to filter the smoke that billowed up from the first floor and now rolled in waves across the ceiling.

Initially, he pulled a brush and tin of paint from the Everbag before chastising himself. The fire and smoke were raging too quickly for those tools. For speed, he opted instead for a plain black marker.

He drew a line from the floor up, over, then back to the floor. The frame finished, he started with more intricate patterns, rushing as much as he could while keeping a steady hand. Any error would be disastrous. Burning would be preferable to a mistake on this spell.

Eyes watering from the smoke Isaac finished the last stroke, a fist-sized circle, and chucked the marker away. If he’d been able to take a deep oh-shit-here-we-go breath he would have, but he had neither the time nor the clean air. He grabbed Bianca’s hand, who in turn grabbed Wayne. Then the magician pressed his free hand to the circle and pushed the wall open...

***

At the increasingly frustrated urging of the surgeons, the technicians scrolled feverishly through all of the camera feeds, but the ones in the house had either gone offline or were obscured by smoke. In resignation, all the monitors were switched to the outdoor cameras, showing only the exterior of the burning house.

“It doesn’t make any sense. The magician just burned the survivors and himself up?” Dr. Tate asked.

“Maybe he knew he couldn’t take on our team.” Dr. Stevens replied.

“Oh please,” Ambassador Murray said loudly. “The magician isn’t there. I don’t know where or how he went, but I’d bet dollars to donuts they’ve escaped.”

Dr. Menclewski nodded reluctantly. “Call the rest of the men off,” he said to Dr. Tate. “We’ll wait for morning and then search the ruins.”

“And that, ladies and gentlemen, is officially the end of tonight’s festivities.” Ambassador Murray planted her cane and used it to lever herself up from the loveseat. She swatted away the helping hands of her guards. “I’m the voice of Hell on the mortal plane and I damn well better be able to get out of my chair without help.” She straightened up. “Thank you for the entertaining evening. It was indeed much more enjoyable than your past offerings. Gotta watch those Albatrosses.”

As the old woman headed toward the door Dr. Menclewski fell into step beside her. “Why do I feel like this was the ending Arrangement wanted?”

Ambassador Murray paused. “Ibby,” she said—a shortened version of Dr. Menclewski’s first name, the usage of which irritated him to no end. “Even in my position, I would never pretend to fully understand the motivations of Arrangement. I have learned, however, that when someone gets too big for their britches, Arrangement arranges a spanking. And I do believe your butt is red. So, if you had some grand schemes in play, I’d slow my roll with them.” The old woman patted him on the shoulder. “Mr. Hutchins, why don’t you ride with me? I’d like to hear about how you created a stitch that killed four heavily armed men and won tonight’s contest.”

Mr. Hutchins, genuinely surprised by the offer, jumped up and quickly followed her, passing by the surgeons, who watched with narrowed eyes and furrowed brows.

When they were gone Dr. Menclewski ordered a round of drinks for the surgeons as they watched the hunting lodge dissolve in flames.

***

In the wee hours of the next morning, Hutchins entered his basement workshop, intent on sleeping off his developing hangover. Instead, he found Isaac, sitting at his desk and aiming a shotgun at him.

“You’re alive,” Hutchins said. “How?”

Isaac pointed. “I borrowed your dimensional door. Made one in the lodge, started a fire to destroy the evidence, popped into your workshop, had some Marshmallow Abysseseses...what’s the plural for abyss?”

“You copied it? By memory?” The surgeon studied the many intricate patterns and symbols of his door.

“I’m good at remembering that kind of thing. Sure, I was sweating some of the smaller runes, but I had to take the risk.”

“The Iron Ambassador said you’d gotten out. I shouldn’t have doubted her.”

“Murray was there? Your party really did bring in the hoity-toity crowd.”

“I guess. To be honest I don’t mix well with them.”

“Apparently you mix well enough.”

Hutchins pulled up a chair and almost sat until Isaac pointed the gun at him, motioned for him to stay standing. “Are you going to kill me?”

“Oh, I’d very much like to. And that’s still a possibility. But first I figured we’d chat about our business agreement.”

“Yeah. Look, I had no idea they’d break the contract. No one has ever actually won one of our contests. I suppose it’s no surprise Menclewski had no intention of paying up,” Hutchins conceded.

“Well, all of your stitches were defeated and two of the contestants survived. Bianca Ortiz and Wayne LaFell. It’s my opinion they’re owed compensation.”

Hutchins nodded, eager to cooperate. “I can make that happen.” He reached for his phone.

Isaac tapped Wilma’s trigger. “Don’t get hasty. We’re moving beyond the paltry previously agreed upon winnings. They’ll get the original cash prize as well as a few other demands.”

Hutchins nodded again, not quite so enthusiastic this time.

“First, Wayne’s dream is to open a restaurant in New York City. Second, Ms. Ortiz has always had a dream of pursuing a career in medicine.”

“Those are big considerations.”

“I didn’t say considerations. I said demands.”

“I don’t know that my fellow surgeons will respond better to a synonym.” Hutchins swallowed hard. “Ok, you got the drop on me. That’s a given. But the others are more resourceful, more powerful. They won’t respond to threats. They’re too arrogant.”

“Honestly, I don’t care how powerful this group is. Maybe you’re right and I can’t get to them. But I won’t come for them. I’ll come for you. And I know I can get to you. So just do right by Bianca and Wayne.”

Hutchins nodded and Isaac got the sense he agreed not only because of Wilma being pointed at him but because he wasn’t entirely immoral. “I’ll make it happen.” He reached for the phone again and Isaac couldn’t help but grin when he tapped the shotgun and the bar-owner let out an exasperated sigh. “Now what?”

“We didn’t talk about Bianca’s medical school.”

“Dr. Menclewski could get her in anywhere. Hell, he could send her to an ivy league. That’s not an issue.”

“Medical school isn’t really what she had in mind. Oddly enough, seeing the stitches in action kind of piqued her interest. Crazy world huh? So, you’ll be taking her on as an apprentice.” Isaac then had to talk over the man’s babbling protests. “You’ll pay to relocate her here. You’ll give her a job at the bar, with a good salary, and health benefits. And in her off hours, you’ll teach her the trade. In my opinion, she’s a natural. Maybe she’ll give you an edge in future contests.”

Hutchins sighed. “Can I finally sit?”

“Sure.”

“She wants to be one of us? You’re right. Crazy world. To be honest, when I saw you sitting there, I kind of figured my days of necromantic contests were over. And now the first time anyone survives she wants to take part. Ironic.” Hutchins eyed him curiously. “So, you’re just going to let us keep going about our business? Our contests?”

“I don’t give a shit about your twisted games. I mean, you’re necromantic surgeons. By definition, that means you’re all a bunch of twisted assholes. You work foul magic, but so do I. I don’t expect you to start having your stitches mow lawns or wash dishes.” Isaac stood up, slid Wilma into the Everbag. “I’ll have Bianca and Wayne contact you. Consider them under my protection from here on out.” Hutchins nodded, started to dial, and almost looked to throw the phone when Isaac turned and made one last demand. “Oh, and I’m still getting lifetime free beer here.”

Isaac left the basement quickly, not out of any sense of danger, but because the dramatic interaction with Hutchins had been the topper to an exhausting week. He was bruised and battered, and he knew exactly where best to go to recover. But first, he plopped down at the bar for one more Marshmallow Abyss.