Page 27 of The Most Dangerous Games

“So, I’m #222. Wyatt’s #77. You’re #9. What the hell do the numbers mean?” Hannah gets back on her new mystery.

Alek nods decisively. “I’ll tell you. Nothing at all.”

Then Wyatt directs her attention back to the stage.

Jimmy Donaldson has reappeared and is walking to the microphone.

21.

Wyatt feels the mood shift the second Jimmy steps up.

It’s ridiculous, but it’s real. People straighten. People look. Like they’re watching someone who’s supposed to know what comes next.

“Pretty sure I’ve watched every video he’s ever made,” he says to Hannah and Alek.

“I watched the one last week where a guy and a girl won $500,000 for staying in that nuclear bunker for a hundred days,” Alek says. “Felt familiar, but it was somehow a relief to see it as a game for once.”

Hannah doesn’t look away from the microphone. “Half a million times two thousand,” she says immediately.

Wyatt blinks. “That’s—”

“A billion,” Hannah says. “It’s a billion.”

Jimmy is onstage and leaning toward the mic stand now. He lifts a hand for quiet. But right before he begins to speak someone from the crowd yells out, “You’re crazy until you’re successful and then you’re a genius.”

Jimmy taps his index finger to the side of his head, smiling, and leans toward the microphone.

“Who said that?” He looks around and no one admits it. “It’s a pretty good line, even if it’s a little cringe,” he says.

It gets him a good laugh.

“Anyway, thanks everyone. Let’s quiet down. Thanks, and hi. For those of you who don’t know, I’m MrBeast—or Jimmy Donaldson. You can just call me Jimmy. But yeah . . . you’re probably wondering what’s going on. Sorry . . . someone’s talking in my ear . . . okay, sorry again, I have to give you the rules first apparently.”

He reaches into his pocket now and comes out with a bright red pendant on a string. He clears his throat, straightens his posture, smiles, and—

“Let’s get something important out of the way!” he yells, like when addressing contestants in his viral videos. “First thing: When you leave this field, you’re getting one of these.”

He holds up the necklace.

“This isn’t jewelry,” Jimmy says. “It’s your extraction device. If you hit the red button, a team comes and gets you. Fast.”

The field stirs.

“This state-of-the-art device, no matter what situation you find yourself in, you can’t break it, you can’t destroy it, and you better not lose it. If at any time you feel you’ve reached your breaking point, press the red button.”

Murmurs race through the crowd.

“And listen to me,” Jimmy adds, voice hardening. “If you press it, you’re safe . . . but you’re out. No coming back. That’s the deal.”

He waits until they’ve absorbed it.

“This competition is dangerous, but I take safety very seriously. Just because you CAN get seriously hurt, doesn’t mean you SHOULD. Hands to your heart,” Jimmy says. “I want you to promise me you’ll use it if you’re in real trouble. Not because you’re scared. Because you’re in danger.”

The crowd shuffles. Some snicker. A few roll their eyes. Then someone shouts, “I promise!”

Another voice joins. Then another.

The crowd erupts in everyone saying it—ragged, nervous, real.