Dare Evan to try the machine first, you'll try it after him.

You jab Evan in the shoulder, making him jump. "Evan, you scared?" you tease, your voice dropping to a mocking whisper. "Dare you to go first. I'll go after you." You nod toward the sleek black booth, its neon lights pulsing like a heartbeat in the crowded food court.

Evan swallows hard, his Adam's apple bobbing. He's got that look on his face—eyes wide, jaw tight, hands fidgeting with the hem of his faded blue t-shirt. "W-what? Why me?" he stammers, his voice cracking slightly. He glances at the others for backup.

Marcus lets out a laugh, sharp and taunting. "Because you're the most likely to chicken out, dude. It's free. What are you, scared it's gonna suck your dick or something?" He slaps Derek on the back, and Derek grunts in amusement, his massive arms still crossed.

"Yeah, Ev, lighten up," Tyler chimes in, wiping sweat from his forehead. "It's probably just some lame VR thing that makes you see colors or whatever. Mall crap." He leans closer to the booth, peering at the tinted glass. "But seriously, 'males only'—weird as fuck. Maybe it's one of those sensory deprivation tanks?"

You take a step closer to Evan, crowding him a little. "Come on, man. It's not gonna kill you. I'll even go right after, if it makes you feel better. Bet it's just a quick scan or something." You can see the gears turning in his head, the conflict between his anxiety and the pressure to fit in. His eyes dart from you to the machine, then to the digital screen scrolling its vague promises.

"I-I'm not scared," Evan finally mutters, but his voice lacks conviction. He straightens up, trying to look tough, but his shoulders are hunched. "It's just... we don't know what it does. What if it's, like, illegal?"

Derek snorts. "Illegal? It's in the middle of the goddamn mall, Evan. Use your head." He uncrosses his arms and gestures impatiently. "Look, if you're gonna be a little bitch about it, I'll go. But Ryan dared you first."

You catch Evan's eye and give him a nudge toward the door. "Your call, bro. But we're all waiting." The group falls silent, watching him. The machine hums softly, almost encouragingly, and the air around it feels charged with that same electric static from before. Evan bites his lip, his fingers curling into fists at his sides. He takes a half-step toward the booth, then hesitates again, his breath coming a little faster.

The food court buzzes around you—chatter, the clatter of trays, the distant smell of greasy pizza—but your focus is locked on Evan and the machine. The neon lights reflect in his hazel eyes, making them glitter with nervous energy. He's on the brink, you can feel it. One more push might tip him over.