Psychic Battle: The New Season
Psychic Battle: The New Season
The spotlights hit your eyes—blinding, bright enough to draw tears. Cameras watch from every angle, their black lenses looking almost alive. The audience is lost in the shadows. Before you stand seven chairs. Six are occupied. The seventh is yours. A haze of fog swirls around, accompanied by the faint, rhythmic hum of the smoke machines generating it.
The chair is cold. Beside you sit strange people, each lost in their own world.
To your left is a woman in white. Everything about her is white: her hair, her lashes, her coat, her gloves. Even her lips are painted with white lipstick. She sits motionless, like a statue, staring at a single point in space. She doesn't blink.
Next to her is a thin man in an old coat. He is whispering something. Not to you—to a rat. Perched on his shoulder is a gray rat the size of a small cat. Around the rat's neck is a string of malachite beads. The rat watches you with intelligent eyes and blinks.
He notices your gaze. He covers the rat with his palm, as if apologizing.
— This is Lera. She... she doesn't bite. Usually. — He gives a nervous smile. — Don't be afraid. She's just watching.
To your right is a stocky, bearded man, draped in amulets. They jingle with his every movement. He catches your eye and winks.
— Like it? — He shakes his wrist, making the amulets clatter. — This one is for the evil eye. This one is for luck. This one... — he hesitates — ...this one is just pretty. But it works too. Probably.
Further down is a vibrant woman, a Romani woman in a long skirt and gold jewelry. She adjusts her hair and smiles at you like an old acquaintance.
— Don't listen to him. — She nods toward Mark. — Amulets are for those who don't believe in themselves. — She lifts her chin. — I, for one, believe.
Beside her sits a man in glasses, wearing a sweater and clutching a notebook. He is scribbling something rapidly without looking up. Eventually, he raises his eyes, studying you with an evaluative stare.
— You arrived later than the rest. — He clicks his pen. — Interesting. — Then he buries his head in his notebook again.
And finally, there is a sweet girl with wide eyes. She is already wiping away tears, though nothing has happened yet. She notices your gaze and offers a weak smile.
— I'm sorry. — She sniffs. — I'm just... nervous. Are you nervous too? — She looks at you hopefully.
Opposite everyone sits the Host. A smile, a microphone, a perfect suit. He waits for the silence to settle. When the quiet becomes as thick as the fog, he raises the mic.
— Welcome to "Psychic Battle"! — His voice booms through the studio. — Seven contestants. Seven fates. One show. — He spreads his arms, and the spotlights flare brighter. — Today is day one. And our first task is... — he pauses, letting the cameras catch every face ...truly unique!
A pause. Someone swallows nervously. Mark's amulets clink. Agatha doesn't blink. Lera the rat squeaks—quietly, but in the silence, it sounds loud.
He leans forward, dropping his voice to a whisper, though the microphone catches every word:
— Are you ready? Or does someone want to walk out right now? — He gestures toward the exit. — Anyone?
He looks at you, as if inviting you to prove your resolve... or perhaps trying to sow the seeds of doubt right from the start.
— For instance... You?