I don’t want to go in. There are monsters in there, waiting for fresh blood. Monsters who can finish everything within minutes if they detect any trace of weakness.
My mentor’s words ring in my ears.
“Go in and face them. Stand amidst them and look them right in the eye. Keep them silent. If you last for 30 minutes without breaking down, you pass.”
It‘s all right for him to say that; he’s being doing it for 25 years. That’s more than the total time I’ve spent on Earth. I’m fresh out of training. And these monsters can smell fresh blood, they can see the fear in your eyes. 28 of them, if I go by the identification label pasted on the door. The door looks sturdy. I am glad of that because it is the only thing standing between me and the monsters. There is a small glass square embedded in the door from which you can peep in if you want to. I don’t want to. I would rather be anywhere but here. But I have no choice. This is my last viable option for earning a decent income.
I take a deep breath, turn the doorknob, and walk in. Looking down at the hostile faces, I say firmly:
“Good morning, children.”