"Gentlemen, it's time to place your bets," came a sarcastic voice.
Six hands deposited half a dozen hundred-dollar bills on the table.
"Your bet, sir?"
The first blinked, a nervous twitch he'd developed over the years, "Fifty."
"Fifty?" said the second, sitting opposite him. "Twenty."
"Dervish?"
"Forty," said the third.
"Mr P?"
A bored and disinterested fourth voice said, "Thirty."
"Sixty," said the fifth.
"You think they'll make it that far?" said the sixth, raising his eyebrows.
"I have a hunch."
"You're not the only one…"
There were a number of sniggers around the room.
"You're funny," snapped one of them, a young man with a definite hunch protruding out of his back.
"I know," said Masquerade.
"You're all charlatans!" declared the seventh, a tall figure standing in the doorway. "Don't you have any faith in me?"
"Sure we do."
"So what's your bet?"
"Ten."
"Ten yards? I'm glad someone has confidence in my abilities."
"Don't make me regret it…"
"Don't worry. Right, I'll get into position. Somebody release the game."
Masquerade waved his hand at the blinking young man who'd bet first, "Hit the switch."
"Why me?"
"You're sitting next to it."
"Fine."
He pushed the lever that was beside his chair, and the six of them moved over to the large double windows that overlooked the forested enclosure outside.
"And they're off…"
Down below, they could see a group of frightened, huddled creatures, each looking fearfully about the artificial jungle environment they'd just been forcibly ejected into.
"They'd better move soon or your sixty yards is out of the question, Napoleon," Masquerade said softly.
"Only one of them needs to make it," he was reminded.
"Come on, move!" urged the kid who'd bet on fifty yards.
The animals below began to move, perhaps sensing that it was better to be on the move and seeking safety, rather than standing still and inviting whatever dangers might be lurking in the dense forest.
There was a sudden phut and whoosh of air, and one of the animals collapsed to the floor dead, blood pouring from a neck wound. Terrified, the others began to scream, and run in all different directions.
"Look at them go!"
There was another phut and another dead body hit the ground.
"Where is he, anyway?"
Nobody answered. The confident figure they'd been speaking to mere minutes ago was now a silent hunter among the trees. A blaring sound rang throughout the forested compound.
"They've reached ten yards!"
"Go on, hunt them down," said Masquerade.
"Twenty! Let them get to twenty first!"
"Beer?" someone said.
"Beer," the others agreed.
Another blaring sound.
"Twenty!"
"Go on! Forty!" Dervish yelled.
The beer arrived, and six bottles were opened.
"How many are still alive?"
"Mr P?"
"Two or three, it's hard to tell."
Phut.
"One less, anyway."
The blaring sound came twice more.
"Forty! That'll do! Kill them now!"
"One left," said the one called Mr P.
"I bet it's the big one," said Masquerade.
Blare.
"Fifty!"
"Come on, come on! Sixty!"
"Don't get your hopes up, Alexander…"
Blare.
Phut!
"That's the last one! Sixty yards!"
"Yeah, nice work, Caesar," Masquerade said sarcastically.
"He wins again," moaned the blinker. "Why does he always win?"
The winner, now five hundred dollars richer, shrugged, "I know the way Sagittarius hunts. And I know the way the animals will try to run. It's all logic."
"Nerd," someone said under a cough.
The door-frame was suddenly filled with the triumphant hunter, "Got 'em."
He strode into the room to grab the seventh bottle of beer. From behind him came a disparaging voice, "Oh, you guys are so pathetic…"
They all turned to face the young woman who stood in the doorway, shaking her head, dark eyes filled with contempt.
"What?" said Masquerade. "Hunting's a sport. What else is there to do around here, anyway?"
"Well, I'm sure you can find something better to do than watching a bunch of humans being slaughtered."
"Are you kidding? What could be more entertaining than that?"