You open your mouth to tell Mark you’re not going to do it, but the look on his face stops you short.
He seems to have sensed you’re about to say no. His smile is lopsided and vicious. “You know how much trouble we’d get into if the police find us here?”
You feel your face pale. Mark’s father is a policeman, but you have no one to help you if you do get caught.
You glance at the theatre again. It looks even more ominous than before; who knows what monsters are hiding inside? You’ve never seen one, but if the stories are anything to go by….
You shudder inwardly, and mutter, “Better the police than the infected.”
“You sure about that? ‘Cause I hear the slavers are looking for fresh meat.”
Slavers. The word strikes terror in your heart, the threat much more tangible than the childhood horror stories you’ve heard about the infected. Mark will turn you in if you don’t go ahead, you can see that now.
He knows you’re hesitating. He takes a step closer, puts a heavy hand on your shoulder.
“Tell you what,” he says, in a tone that is almost friendly for him. “You go bring me a souvenir from that theatre over there, and I’ll get you whitelisted. If you don’t….” His shrug says it all.
What do you do?