“Go to hell, all of you! I’m not going to spin this shit!” I shouted.
“You have to do it,” said this female computer voice, “otherwise I will have to take measures again.”
“I’m telling you once again: I’m not going to do anything!”
“Chris, please, we will understand,” said Emma pleadingly.
“Shut up, bitch,” I shouted to this “innocent” thing. “Shut up!”
In the heat of the moment I hit the wheel as hard as I can several times, trying to break it.
“It’s pointless, Mr. Royce,” commented the voice assistant calmly. “The wheel is made of metal, you have to make a lot of effort to damage it at least a bit.”
My hands are shaking and my blood is everywhere: on the table, on my fists and on the wheel. I put my palms on the table and started to breathe heavily.
“What are you planning to do this time?” I asked angrily. “Turn on that sound! I don’t give a shit about it! Do you hear me? I don’t give a shit!”
There was a click from above, I looked up and saw a black square screen diverging on the ceiling. In a few seconds a long white mechanic hand went down, holding a gun.
“Mr. Royce, do you really want to end your life instead of revealing a small part of it?”
The barrel of the gun pressed against my right temple. My heart was pounding harder and harder.
“Is this one of your ‘death jokes’?” I asked hopefully. “You love it when we are scared! But why us? What’s so special about us?”
“It’s your fault that you are here. You knew what you had signed up for.”
I could only manage to snort and smile a little.
“I didn’t expect a different answer.”
“Mr. Royce”, the gun pressed harder against my temple, “it seems to me that there is no reason to continue this conversation with you.”
What? It’s not another Ayama’s practical joke?
“No! Stop! I’ll tell you everything you want to hear!”
“It’s too late,” she said.
A second later a shot went off.