A competition: Last Lady Unfertilised

The Butler clears his throat. "The late Master Sebastian Carmine invites you to participate in a game of his own design. It is through this game that the inheritance of his material possessions shall be divided and decided."

Murmurs rippled through the group of men. It seemed as if most were in the same mind as Roger: they'd just wanted to show up, find out what they'd inherited, and leave. As great as the richness on offer was, none of them had come expecting to have to work for it.

"All of you have arrived in groups composed of an even number of gentlemen and ladies," the Butler continues. "This is as Master Carmine intended. Friends, mothers, sisters, daughters, girlfriends, wives, coworkers, et cetera. Through subliminal messaging in the invitations, you were all encouraged to bring along with you women whom you care for. For this game is to be played in pairs, and each team shall require members of both genders in order to operate effectively."

The murmuring gets louder. What kind of game has gender as such an essential factor?

"As you can see, the ladies have already been ushered into their own private waiting rooms-"

"What did you do to them?!" one man stands up and yells. "My wife hasn't moved a muscle in the two hours she's been in there!"

The rest of the men voice their agreement, clamouring with worry and suspicion. The Butler turns his palms towards the group and lowers them, which reduces the volume of the room remarkably quickly.

"There is no need for concern," the Butler says, as calm and monotonous as ever. "Master Carmine's spirit has the ability to channel various powers through the candles of this mansion. The ladies have been put into a temporary trance, to spare them any negative emotions that may come from being alone in the waiting rooms for a number of hours."

"Why couldn't they wait with us?!" another man demands.

"Because if they were informed of the rules to the game beforehand," the Butler says, with all the emotional intonation of a corpse, "they would likely refrain from participating."

Concerned silence immediately shoots throughout the men.

Before anyone can find their voice, the Butler continues. "When the game begins, the ladies will be released into a maze. Shortly thereafter, you gentlemen will enter the same maze. Your goal shall be to impregnate the ladies on the enemy teams."

"Wha-?!" A shocked gasp ripples through the crowd, only to die in the men's throats.

The Butler continues unabashed. "When a lady is impregnated, the gentleman on her team shall be immediately sterilised. The game shall be over when only one lady is left unimpregnated. At that time, the winning lady shall be entitled to one-billion dollars, as will the gentleman who successfully impregnated the most ladies. This gentleman shall also be unsterilised if necessary."

The Butler pauses for effect, but somehow no-one is able to speak up in time to interrupt him.

"If a child is then conceived between this winning lady and gentleman, that child shall be the heir to everything Master Carmine owns, excluding the two-billion dollars, and everyone else currently in this mansion, including the other children conceived in the maze, shall serve as the heir's employees for their remaining working lives. If this heir is not conceived, then the other children conceived shall be invited back to this mansion in twenty-one years to participate in their own game, where an heir shall be chosen from one of them."

The Butler pauses again, but this time it seems to be intended to allow the men to speak. Finally, the mysterious **** which had been holding everyone's tongues seems to relax.

"What the hell is wrong with you?!" one man yells.

"You can't make us play your sick game!" another shouts.

The Butler produces a stack of papers from somewhere. "I'm afraid we can. You see, if you do not all sign these contracts agreeing to the terms of this game, then we shall instead release the ladies into the maze with a collection of unsavoury men whom we have at our disposal. Rapists, murderers, all sorts of nasty criminals."

Roger's blood runs cold at the thought of Becky being faced with a horde of malicious lowlives. But at the same time, he feels sick to his stomach at the idea of the other men around him seeking to knock her up in this twisted game.

The Butler places contracts on the tables in front of each of them, with a pen beside each one.

"Please, sign."