Note: While this story follows on from the prologue, you should be able to get by if you haven't read it. This chapter is focused on character introductions, so contains a bit less gunge than normal.

Part 1: First Steps

Dusk approached. A coach wound its way through quiet country lanes, curious faces peering from within. They were almost there. Wrought-iron gates slid smoothly aside, admitting them into an immense, immaculately maintained estate. Minutes passed as they journeyed through the grounds, the lawns and parkland slowly yielding to glades shadowed by towering stands of oak and ash.

A quaint old manor slid gently into view, but Jen paid it no mind. It was the woods that held her gaze. Her bright brown eyes flicked back and forth, seeking a gap in the greenery. How could something so large be so elusive? The eastern sky was tinged purple by gathering twilight when at last she saw it. There, nestled in a fold in the landscape, was the dome. Excited whispers rose among the passengers. She could catch only a few fleeting glimpses through the press of trees, but it was enough. Her heart quickened upon realising how close they were.

The huge glass structure, its surface faceted like a crystal, was the size of a small theme park. All too soon it disappeared from view, the road twisting a final time to deliver them to the manor's forecourt. Jen sat up in her chair and peered back for one last look, but it was gone.

Soon, she promised herself.

Sinking back, she glanced to the slender woman beside her. Sarah's seat was angled back, leaving her elfin features facing the ceiling and her golden tresses tumbling majestically over her shoulders. Eyes closed, she seemed utterly oblivious to her surroundings. Dextrous fingers tapped against close-fitting jeans, keeping rhythm with the music humming through her headphones.

Try as she might, Jen couldn't suppress a mischievous grin. It had been she who'd talked Sarah into this little escapade, who'd persuaded her to cross the Atlantic for one day of carefree madness. How she'd managed it was a mystery even to her. There had been no deceit involved - Jen wouldn't dream of such a thing - but all the same she had a nagging suspicion that Sarah didn't quite know what she'd let herself in for.

They weren't the only Americans on this bizarre venture; surprisingly enough almost half of the dozen participants hailed from across the pond. The rest were presumably British, though she still wasn't completely sure. This country seemed to have more accents than people. The whole group was female, clearly a conscious decision on the part of the organisers. From what she'd heard, participants in Bromsfield Manor's supposedly legendary team-building events were predominantly male - corporate types, mostly - making this all-girl charity event an attempt at evening the balance.

The coach came to a crunching halt on the manor's gravel forecourt. On disembarking, the contestants fanned out, glad of the opportunity to stretch their legs after the lengthy ride. Standing on tiptoe, Jen rolled her shoulders and yawned. She felt better already. It was just past midsummer, and even at this hour the day's heat still lingered. Sweeping back her chestnut hair, she took in her surroundings. The grand building was Georgian, so claimed the blurb, but it wasn't at all how she'd pictured it. It was all so solid, so orthodox... so sensible. Great blocks of pale grey stone covered the facade, though a tangle of ivy surmounted the entrance, where formidable oaken doors studded with black iron rivets barred their way.

There was no sign of any staff, and the doors were shut fast. Jen considered mentioning something to the driver, but no-one else seemed to be concerned. Instead, coalescing into smaller groups, they chattered amongst themselves, their shadows assuming monstrous proportions as the sun touched the distant hills. The coming sunset promised to be glorious.

*****

With her legs still stiff from the long journey, Lena shook her hair free and peered curiously at her new friends. The atmosphere was akin to her first day at university. Before setting off they'd arrived one by one at a restaurant, each a little apprehensive, and had gotten acquainted over lunch. Though some had been more talkative than others, everyone had done their utmost to be friendly and the group seemed to have bonded well. One, Louise, seemed a little shyer than most, but a pair of American girls had quickly taken her under their wing.

Without really intending to, Lena found herself eavesdropping on a nearby conversation. Two blondes, Ellie and Holly, were studying an imposing pair of statues that flanked the main entrance. One stone figure wore pelts, the other a toga. It might have been Lena's imagination, but both weathered visages bore mysterious grins. Above them a few archaic words had been etched into the door's lintel.

"Wonder who they're meant to be," Holly wondered aloud.

Ellie gave the statues a cursory glance, the dying sunlight reflecting from her almost feline eyes. "Beats me," she concluded.

"Loki and Hermes," intoned a third voice, "trickster gods."

The pair looked back to find another girl only a few feet away. Lena recognised her as Annabelle, a feisty little brunette with a sarcastic streak a mile wide. A quizzical look crossed Holly's round face. "How'd you know that?"

With her narrow mouth curling into a smirk, Annabelle's eyelids fluttered theatrically. "Oh, I have my ways. Years of training, y'know. Plus it's written on the bases, which helped."

As one, Holly and Ellie turned, glanced down... and groaned. Pretending not to notice, Annabelle began rummaging through her comically overstuffed travel bag. Holly gave a self-deprecating grin as she faced Annabelle, folded her arms and nodded toward to the arch. "Alright then, Miss Clever Clogs, what does the carving say?"

"Ooh, a challenge." Stepping beside Ellie, Annabelle tucked her hair behind her ears and peered up at the arcane lettering. The two women had similar builds, Lena noticed, both shorter than average yet wonderfully curvy. Annabelle nibbled her lip thoughtfully. "It's Latin. World centre? Centre of the world? No. Worldwide centre of..." Her eyes flashed with triumph. "Worldwide Centre of Silliness."

Ellie sniffed. "Figures."

Genuinely impressed, Holly clapped Annabelle on the shoulder. "Where'd you learn all that?"

Suddenly coy, Annabelle shrugged. "Hidden talents." Her gaze wandered to the stately home. "You reckon there's a bar in there?"

"Are you alright, Lena?"

Still listening-in on the others, it took a moment for Lena to realise she was being addressed. Turning, she found Liz peering at her. Suddenly awkward, she stumbled over her words. "Ooh, sorry. I'm fine... thanks."

Liz nodded, though her expression retained a hint of uncertainty. A woman of positively Amazonian stature, Liz made an imposing sight - standing half a head taller than Lena and with a figure to die for. Neat blonde hair fell almost to her shoulders, framing an oval face with a slightly dimpled chin. With a sweep of her arm she gestured to the manor and its grounds.

"Crazy, isn't it? All this for something like... well, you know." Was that a note of anxiety in Liz's voice? She'd struck Lena as the calm, unflappable type. "So I hear you've done something like this before?" Liz went on, her cut-glass accent crisp and clear.

Ah, so that's it. Lena shook her head, midnight-hued locks swaying with the motion. "You mean for Comic Relief a few years back? That wasn't really the same. I got out of that quiz clean, don't ask me how."

"And you're willing to risk it again?" Liz seemed baffled by such a notion.

Lena tittered softly. "Sure, though something tells me I'm not getting away with it this time."

Pursing her lips, Liz peered at the dome. There was definitely some trepidation simmering beneath that regal exterior. Eyes gleaming like orbs of frosted blue ice, Liz's regard flicked back to Lena. Trying too hard to seem casual, she cleared her throat. "So... ahem... from what you saw, what do you suppose it's like? You know, being gunged?"

Lena's face lit up. "Oh, there's nothing to worry about, seriously. I hear it's a bit weird when it first hits you - kind of slimy, you know? But once you get past that, it's great fun." Her companion didn't seem convinced. "Don't worry. It'll be wicked, really."

In the face of such infectious enthusiasm, Liz couldn't help but smile. "Well you never know, maybe I'll stay clean."

Now it was Lena's turn to grin. "Um, yeah, good luck with that."

****

Jen flitted through the chattering figures. Aha, there she is. Lingering at the outskirts of the group, Sarah had put away her phone and now studied her surroundings with an air of mild suspicion. Jen sidled up beside her. "So we finally made it," she said, trying to play it cool.

"I guess," Sarah replied warily. She nodded toward the distant dome. "What's up with that?"

"That? That's, like, the arena. It's where the game happens."

"Game?"

Now Jen was confused. "Uh... yeah, the game. It all happens in there. You know, the entire reason for us being here?" Still Sarah looked blank. Suddenly it hit her: Sarah was teasing, she must be. Despite all the time they'd known each other, Sarah's dry sense of humour always caught her off guard. "You remember - charity fundraiser? Slime? Ring any bells?"

In a flash Sarah rounded on her. Jen flinched at the look of panic on her friend's face. "Say what now? Slime? You mean like Nickelodeon slime?"

Oh no, please tell me she's joking.

"Well... yeah. But you knew that. I mean, it's like the whole point of the trip. Well, supposedly there's some kind of story, but the whole thing's really just an excuse to get us messy." She paused, having noticed Sarah's horrified expression. "You seriously didn't know that?" Sarah shook her head, aghast. "Wow. I mean that's... Wait, what did you think we'd be doing?"

"I was told there'd be tanks, guns and tanks, or something."

"You mean gunge tanks?"

"Maybe, it was a bad line."

Jen nodded, beginning to comprehend. "Yeah, gunge is kind of a British word for slime."

"What? Oh you're kidding!" Sarah moved a hand over her mouth. "I thought I'd get to drive tanks!"

Suppressing a chuckle, Jen tried to sound comforting. "Afraid not, sorry." Seeing Sarah's shoulders droop, she began to worry. "So... you still going to go through with it?"

Sarah hesitated, weighing her options, and then grimaced. "Well it is for charity," she muttered dejectedly, "I can hardly back out now."

Inwardly Jen sighed with relief. She'd been looking forward to sliming Sarah for weeks. Both were ambassadors for one of the charities behind this event, and were here on their behalf. Several of the group were famous to some extent, each representing a cause they were personally involved with. Naturally not every charity had a suitable spokeswoman, or at least not one willing to risk getting dirty, so the remaining contestants comprised volunteers picked from among each charity's membership.

A baritone voice cut through the hubbub. "Please excuse my lateness."

Every face turned to the doorway. Somehow the heavy oak doors had opened without a sound, and there, framed against orange lamplight, stood a tall, serious-looking man in a smart black suit. For a long moment he surveyed the visitors impassively, but then he nodded, as though pleased with what he saw. "Welcome to Bromsfield Manor," he said formally. "I trust you're all here for tomorrow's festivities, yes? Good. Please, do come in."

With that he disappeared inside. Amidst whispered jests and knowing looks, the others followed.

*****

In retrospect, Sarah had wondered why the prospect of her going to the UK to drive an armoured vehicle had elicited such a deluge of donations. Now she had her answer, and some answer it was. Gritting her teeth, she managed by a supreme effort of will to bite back the frustration seething within her. Whatever her misgivings, an awful lot of money had been raised for some fantastic causes. She was hardly going to let those people down.

Under normal circumstances she'd have been marvelling at the antique furnishings and baroque artworks that bedecked the long hallway, but sadly there was no time. There was thinking to be done. Wallowing wasn't her style. Challenges were there to be overcome. And so, to that end, Sarah's machinations had already begun.

Okay, so people are going to get slimed, right? That doesn't mean I have to be one of them.

Amidst this debacle, only one thing was certain: the next time she saw her agent, he was dead.

The mysterious stranger set a brisk pace. Not being the tallest of people, Sarah was forced to scuttle comically to try and draw alongside him. Who was this person, the owner? The butler? Whoever, he clearly wielded some kind of authority, and that made him potentially useful.

He spoke without breaking his stride. "We are indeed honoured to find ourselves in such esteemed company. I should warn you that our accommodation may not be to your usual standards, though we trust it will suffice."

Finally Sarah caught up. Falling into step beside him, she lowered her voice, seeing no sense in broadcasting her misgivings to everyone else. How to play this? "Excuse me, sir," she began, "I'm afraid there's been a mistake. It appears I've arrived here with certain... misconceptions."

The stranger's aquiline profile shifted a fraction. "Is that so? Regarding what, may I ask?"

"The slime," she stated simply. "I mean, I'm happy to take part and everything, it's the 'getting messy' side I'm not so keen on."

"I see. Quite the predicament you're in."

This guy seems reasonable. This might actually work. "Exactly, so I was wondering - is there a chance we could come to some sort of... arrangement?"

Eyes the colour of slate regarded her with an air of distant curiosity. "Ma'am," he replied, half-smiling, "people who enter the dome tend to find exactly what they seek and no more."

"Uh, I'm sorry, is that a yes?"

Just then they arrived at a reception area, where their host halted to address the group. "Ladies," he announced, "if I may have your attention. On the table to your left you'll find an envelope bearing your name. This will contain your room keys, along with an itinerary and some additional details. I would urge you to read these carefully." His steady gaze flickered for the briefest of moments. "The maids will show you to your rooms. Supper will be served shortly, and then we'll reconvene tomorrow morning to begin your briefing." He paused, the corners of his mouth curling a fraction. "And I think you all know what happens then. In the meantime I wish you all a most pleasant stay. Look, here come the staff now."

Hearing a door swing open, Sarah glanced over to find a group of maids ambling in. When she turned back, the man had disappeared. As excited muttering filled the air, Sarah felt adrenaline pulse through her veins.

This may not be as easy as I'd hoped.

*****

Morning light peeked through the curtains. Lucy, as usual, had risen early. Growing up on a farm nurtured such habits. Crossing the cluttered yet cosy bedroom, she swung open the heavy drapes and gazed out upon rolling countryside.

Mist still clung to the ground, yet already the windowpane felt warm beneath her fingertips. Today looked set to be a scorcher. Her room offered a commanding view of the dome, which glinted enticingly in the wan light. Nestled amidst the woods, multifaceted like an insect's eye, there was a certain tranquil beauty about it, though Lucy still marvelled at its sheer scale. At least thirty metres high at its central point, it covered an area the size of several football fields. To think she'd almost not volunteered! The chances of someone like her being chosen had seemed so remote, but her friends had convinced her to apply regardless. And now here she was. It still didn't seem entirely real. The scene before her was more like a dreamscape, an ethereal melding of wonder and absurdity. Not something that could really happen. Not really. Not to her.

It had all been a little overwhelming at first, but Kelly, a gregarious young woman who wore what to Lucy was a scandalously low-cut dress, had gone out of her way to get her talking. The pair had made a laughing bet as to which of them would get messiest today.

An engine's purr pulled her back to earth. The coach had returned, and with a hiss of brakes came to rest upon the gravel. The door folded open and out came a troupe of athletic young women, all casually dressed and with sports-bags slung over their shoulders. Lucy watched them march purposefully across the forecourt and disappear into a side entrance.

Could there be another event taking place today? It seemed unlikely. Pushing it to the back of her mind, she made her way downstairs to find some food.

It seemed she was the first up. Peaceful sighs emanated from the other rooms as she padded down the landing, the thick carpet tickling her bare feet. All seemed still, so it came as a shock when, on turning a corner, she almost collided with an oncoming tea trolley.

"You alright there, sweetie?" asked the silver-haired old dear who pushed it.

"Uh, yes... thank you. You just startled me."

Watery eyes regarded her with kindly curiosity. "One of them contestants, eh?"

Lucy nodded politely. "I'm here for the big charity thing. We arrived last night."

The older woman seemed surprised. "Oh, that's today is it? Tsk, nobody tells me anything. Cup of tea, dear?"

"Oh, yes thanks," said Lucy, gratefully accepting the proffered cup and saucer.

"So what've they got lined up for you? They do all sorts in there. What is it, go-karts? Painting ball, or whatever they call it? Climbing, maybe?"

Lucy smiled bashfully and looked at the floor. "We're playing the gunge game," she whispered.

There was a sharp intake of breath. "Really? Goodness, I'll never understand why pretty young things like yourself let themselves in for all that."

Cheeks reddening, Lucy chuckled. "If you don't mind me asking, how messy does it get in there? I mean, is it just a couple of cream pies, or..." Her voice trailed off. The look on the maid's face was all the answer she needed. "Cool."

*****

Nikki shifted on her leather armchair and gave Tasha another nudge. It was no good. Try as she might, the buxom brunette seemed oblivious to anything and everything. They were five minutes into the briefing and Tasha had dozed for three of them. In fact, had Nikki not hammered on her door she'd probably have missed the entire event from oversleeping.

All twelve contestants sat in the compact auditorium, where they watched avidly - for the most part - as an introductory video played out on a vast screen. They'd sat through the usual spiel on health and safety, now was almost time for the fun to begin.

Onscreen, a pretty Australian was speaking into the camera, a radio headset peeking through her hair. "This is a distress signal from the research facility on Aurelius VII," said the nervous redhead. "Something's happened here. They're loose. They're everywhere. We need immediate evac. Does anyone read this?"

Tasha stirred... and then drifted off again. Nikki grinned and shook her head. Having sat side by side on the long flight from the States, the two of them had quickly bonded. She herself had only just recovered from the jetlag, but Tasha, along with Ellie and some of the Brits, had insisted on partying the night away at the complimentary bar. They'd been up laughing and chatting long into the night.

Giving up on rousing her new friend, Nikki settled back in the chair, crossed her tanned legs, and focused on the video, absently twiddling a strand of dark hair as she did so. The reactions from the audience told a story in itself. The appearance of the first Gunge Ghouls triggered a good deal of muttering, which grew to jittery giggles when that leggy blonde dodged through a room of them, and then culminated in a litany of ewws when she ended up in the slime.

It looked even wilder than Nikki had dared hope. Her friends back home, in exchange for their donations, had given strict instructions for her to get slimed and bring back pictures. It was a promise Nikki fully intended to keep. Of course, from what she'd heard, everyone had reached their donation targets within days or even hours of the event being announced. Apparently a lot of people really wanted them to get gooey. Nikki hadn't quite decided whether that was a compliment or not.

To her right sat Lucy, a cheery brunette with unfortunate taste in clothes. The poor girl looked like she'd just come from ploughing a field. Nikki noticed her perk up when one of the 'scientists' opened the outpost doors, allowing the ghouls to flood inside.

"So we get to switch sides?" Lucy whispered, eyes twinkling at all the possibilities that might entail. There was laughter as Kirsty's fate played out onscreen, the writhing figure barely visible beneath hails of muck, but if anything Lucy's smile grew wider.

There was more laughter when the redhead's luck finally ran out. Even Sarah, who until now had looked rather uncomfortable, couldn't conceal a snigger. Just then the screen began to crackle with static interference. Craning forward, Nikki just about discerned the wall opening up. Beyond, lost in shadowy fog, something moved. What the hell? She leaned closer, but the distortion was becoming worse. With the image disintegrating, the three slime-covered scientists could be seen huddled together, taunting a mysterious shape that loomed over them. Amid shrill squeals there was a final hiss of static, and then the picture cut out. It was replaced a moment later by an elaborate corporate logo accompanied by the words 'Transmission terminated'.

As the lights went up, their guide reappeared onstage. Once again he was dressed in a suit, though this time he'd dispensed with the tie. "So team," he intoned, somehow keeping a straight face, "you've seen the situation. Those researchers are still out there. Your mission is simple: get to that facility and either rescue them or retrieve their work. The game ends when you succeed in either of those objectives, in which case whoever's left can escape, or when you're all eliminated. Any questions?"

Liz's arm shot up almost instantly. "What was that big thing at the end?" she demanded, seeming to have scarcely believed what she'd just seen.

"Oh, you mean our big-budget showstopper?"

"No, I mean Jabba the Hutt's deformed cousin."

The stranger winced. "Touché. Oh I wouldn't worry about that thing, it doesn't appear very often. I mean, you'd have to be incredibly unlucky to run into that." Producing a pen and notepad from his pocket, he added in a curiously measured tone, "It's Liz, isn't it?"

Liz nodded confidently, but then frowned as the man scribbled something down. Nikki stifled a titter. She might just come to regret that.

Down at the front, Sarah appeared to have overcome her initial revulsion. "I have a question," she declared. "Those ghoul things, or whatever they're called, looked pretty unstoppable. How are we supposed to beat them?"

The butler's expression was one of wry amusement. "You're right, confronting the ghouls head-on would be somewhat, shall we say, ill-advised. I can tell you that there are certain... secrets to be discovered out there. I can't really say much more than that. As for the ghouls themselves, I think I should refer you to an expert."

Stepping back, he beckoned to the corner of the auditorium, where a slender, bespectacled young woman emerged from the shadows and advanced to centre stage. Nikki started - had she been there the entire time? The man in black nodded in greeting. "Ah, Joanna, perhaps you'd like to introduce yourself to our visitors?"

"Happy to," came the prim response. "Hi everyone, my name is Joanna, and I'm a Gunge Ghoul." There were a few gasps from the assembled contestants. "Don't sound so shocked! We're actually quite normal under all that makeup, and those hideous outfits."

"Our guests would like to learn a little more about you and your associates."

Joanna smiled demurely. "They would, would they? Well, as you've just seen, our role is to get you as mucky as possible, and believe me, we're extremely good at our jobs."

A voice piped up from the audience. "We'll see about that."

Pretending to be outraged, Joanna planted her hands on her hips. "And who said that?"

A hand waved fearlessly in answer. It belonged to Lucy.

Joanna's voice was a silken whisper. "I'll remember you." She cleared her throat. "Ahem, as I was saying: while undeniably awesome we are, unfortunately, not invincible. You see, each of us has a weak spot. On our costumes, at the back of the neck, you'll find a cord. Pull it and all the slime we carry around gets released, leaving us harmless." Joanna raised a finger to silence the rush of voices. "But remember, each of us is basically a walking gunge tank. If one of us goes down, things can get pretty colourful for anyone nearby."

Sarah crossed her arms in annoyance. Nikki suspected that wasn't the answer she'd been hoping for. Getting that close to a ghoul meant an almost guaranteed sliming, and reaching for the drawstring practically invited one of those sloppy hugs they seemed so keen to dish out.

In the row ahead, Holly raised her hand. "Out of interest," she asked warily, "has anyone ever managed to win?"

The pair on the stage exchanged knowing glances.

"Next question?"

*****

Lost in thought, Liz barely heard the remaining queries. What had she gotten herself into? She could have spent the weekend at her family's holiday home, or browsing her favourite London boutiques, but no, instead she was about to be chased through a dome by a bunch of gunk-flinging drama students. It was preposterous.

For a minute she thought they might be expected to enter the arena in their own clothes, but fortunately not even the mysterious organisers were quite that cruel. Instead, once they'd run out of questions, they were led outside, down a shaded colonnade, to a ramshackle changing room that jutted from the base of the dome. The fact that it had been painted to resemble a crude spacecraft prompted more than a few eye-rolls.

Their guide tapped a button on the structure's side, and a door hissed open. "Right, rescuers," he said, not quite keeping the irony from his tone, "this is your ship. Isn't she a beauty? Probably best if you don't answer that. This is where I leave you. Change into whatever you want, and wait in the landing bay once you're done."

"Then it begins?" Jen asked eagerly.

"Then it begins."

It was a relief to get out of the heat. The sun wasn't even close to its zenith, but already the day was sweltering. The spaceship theme continued inside, every surface awash with tinfoil, glued-on readouts and random machines that seemed to do nothing but make occasional pinging sounds. It was all atrociously amateurish, yet at the same time strangely charming.

Once she'd deposited her phone and jewellery in a locker, Liz stepped into the changing area. It was roomier than she'd expected. Bright, spacious and lined with curtained-off booths, there was a door on the left hand wall which presumably led to the landing bay... and then to the dome.

Putting that unwelcome fact to the back of her mind, Liz lost herself in fashion. Flicking through the racks, she sifted through the assorted garments like a prospector searching for gold. Clothing was a matter she took extremely seriously. The outfits on offer ranged tremendously in styles and colours, but were divided into three broad categories: ghastly overalls which would at least protect the wearer from most of the gunge, various tops and shorts, and a selection of swimwear.

For now the others were just browsing, while simultaneously keeping a keen eye on what everyone else was doing. Nobody wanted to be the only one in a boiler suit. Amateurs. Liz would show them how it was done. She'd always considered herself a trend setter. A-ha, that's it! Having spied the perfect top, she was in the process of lifting it from its rack when something drew her attention.

Jen had been hovering uncertainly near the third section, but Kelly beat her to it. Though evidently not the brightest bulb in the firmament, and judging by her dress something of an exhibitionist, Kelly was the sort of person it was impossible to dislike. Straightforward and charming, she seemed to exude glamour from every pore as she strode to the beachwear aisle, a protesting Lucy in tow. Liz's heart filled with sympathy for the latter, whose unflatteringly baggy attire made a flapping sound as she was tugged along.

Poor Lucy, this is what a rural upbringing does to people. I could teach her so much...

"I really don't think I should," muttered Lucy, trying to edge away.

Kelly, however, was insistent. "Look," she said amiably, "gunge is wet, right?"

"Well, yes. But-"

"So," Kelly continued, "those Aussies had the right idea. When you go somewhere you know you'll get wet, you wear your bikini. It stands to reason."

"I'm not sure this is quite the same."

"Sure it is. Besides, it's boiling out there. Now let's find something to suit you."

"I'm just not sure I'd feel comfortable..."

"Rubbish. Have you seen yourself? You've nothing to be nervous about." In a single decisive motion Kelly picked a hanger from the rack and passed it to Lucy. "Here, try this one on."

Lucy tried to protest, but her voice faltered in the face of Kelly's determined grin. Sighing, she shuffled to the nearest booth. Everyone else pretended to carry on with what they were doing while they waited for her to change. Liz was beginning to suspect she'd got lost in there when at last the curtain twitched back and Lucy tiptoed from the cubicle, clad in a daring gold bikini. Liz joined the chorus of approving murmurs; those baggy clothes had been hiding a sensational figure.

Embarrassed by the attention, Lucy twiddled a long strand of coppery-brown hair and peered at her feet. Kelly, meanwhile, was beaming with pride. "See, didn't I tell you?"

"So it's okay?"

"Okay? It's more than okay. Now I need to find something like that."

While Kelly rummaged, Jen plucked up her courage and joined her. Liz gulped - she knew what was coming. Sure enough the floodgates opened. Annabelle and Ellie giggled, daring one other, before they too skipped over to the swimwear aisle. They were followed almost instantly by Lena, then Holly. As one, Tasha and Nikki turned to each other, shrugged, and headed over, being sure to bring Louise with them. The latter offered a meek protest but was swept along nonetheless.

Has everyone gone mad? Glancing back to the top she'd had her eye on, Liz sighed. It was no good, she wasn't about to be the odd one out. Muttering under her breath, she sashayed over to the others. So much for trend-setting.

Soon all the contestants were milling around the beachwear section. All but one, that was.

*****

After much deliberation, Jen picked out a black bikini festooned with white polka dots and strolled to the changing booths. The whole situation - putting a crowd of twenty-something women in a room full of clothes and telling them to pick whatever they wanted - was asking for trouble. They'd been deliberating for twenty minutes already. Liz in particular must have tried on a dozen outfits, yet seemed no closer to a decision even after enlisting Annabelle and Tasha as assistants. It was especially pointless, Jen mused while fastening the ties at her hips, considering that whatever they chose was only going to get filthy anyway. She finished affixing the top and studied her reflection. Not bad, even if I say so myself. Although generally quite petite, genetics had gifted Jen with considerable curves precisely where it mattered. Naturally this tended to garner a good deal of male attention, something which was by turns a blessing and a curse.

Exiting the booth, she noticed Sarah alone at the room's far end and went to join her. "Hey Sarah, you okay?"

Sarah mustered a smile. "I'll be fine, thanks. I like your bathing suit."

"Thanks. How come you're not wearing one?"

"Why? Because I'm not entirely insane, that's why. Didn't you see what happened in that video? You seriously think I'm going out there in a few scraps of cloth and some string?"

Jen chuckled. "Okay, I guess I see where you're coming from, but it's not that silly when you think about it. Look at it this way: we can just jump in the shower and be clean in ten seconds."

Sarah sniffed. "Yeah, well I don't plan on getting slimy, so that won't apply to me."

"If you say so. But anyway, wearing this helps get me in the right frame of mind." She noticed Sarah's eyebrow curl. "I mean it. Look at me, how can I possibly take myself seriously wearing this? It's perfect."

Sarah sighed, as though despairing at the absurdity of it all. "That makes absolutely no sense. Besides, we're being filmed..."

"Yeah, but it's not like it gets broadcast. We get sent all the footage of ourselves, plus the highlights. Pictures only get used if we give our permission. It's all in our contracts."

Sarah glanced over to the others. "I don't know...."

"It's okay. No pressure. Just wear whatever you feel comfortable in and I'll see you in the landing bay." With that she headed out. By now Liz had narrowed it down to her favourite eight, which at least was progress.

*****

Having finally grown exasperated with Liz, Tasha stomped into the landing bay. Stifling a small yawn, she spotted Nikki chatting to Louise and strolled over to them.

"Hey Tasha!" called Nikki, before adding to Louise, "This is who I was telling you about."

Shapely and doe-eyed, with honey-blonde hair and delicate, symmetrical features, Louise seemed to radiate an innocent glow. Peering inquisitively at Tasha, she said in a softly-spoken voice, "Is it true? Did you really sleep all through the briefing?"

Damn, was I that obvious? "I might've... er... rested my eyes a little," she conceded.

"Ha-ha, classic! So do you have any idea what we're doing?"

Tasha waved a hand dismissively. "I'm sure I'll wing it." Just then a thought struck her. "Unless you want to fill me in?"

Nikki whispered something inaudible into Louise's ear. "Oh, that's mean!" she replied, doing her best not to laugh.

Tasha's eyes narrowed. "What's mean?"

"Nothing," said Nikki, "we'll tell you everything you need to know."

*****

Hearing the door open again, Jen looked up from her conversation to see Sarah emerge. She'd gone with a white tank top and navy shorts, but sky-blue strings slanting across her collarbones betrayed the bikini she wore underneath.

Bounding over to her, Jen beamed. "You went for it, then!"

Sarah shook her head emphatically, a little too eager to set matters straight. "Don't get carried away, I only wore both because I hear there's a pool in there."

"It's a start."

Everyone paused as a distinct "Come on!" sounded from the changing area. After a few moments the door opened and Annabelle appeared, leading a protesting Liz by the hand.

"Can I just try on one more?" Liz's voice faded upon realising all eyes were on her. "Oh, sorry, was I keeping you waiting?"

With everyone finally ready, the twelve contestants assembled at the landing bay doors. Nikki and Louise spoke in hushed tones, giving Tasha the gist of what they were meant to be doing. Tasha stared back as though they were mad.

A screen flicked on above the bulkhead door, upon which the man in black appeared. Jen noticed his gaze falter, not quite knowing where to look. A few demure giggles rose from the team, who seemed happy to have pierced their host's stoic exterior. Quickly regaining his composure, though, he addressed them in a loud, clear voice. "Hello team, glad to see you've... changed. In a few moments the door in front of you will open and the game will begin, but first we have a little test for you."

Sarah was instantly on edge. "Test? What kind of test?"

"Call it an ethical dilemma. Let me introduce you to someone."

With a hydraulic hiss and a blast of steam, a panel slid open on the right-hand wall. Jen took an instinctive step back. In the revealed space was a small cubicle, about the size of a shower stall, separated from the rest of the room by a clear screen. Within, perched on a metal stool, was a pale young woman with long tawny hair. Barefoot, she wore black shorts and a snug yellow t-shirt bearing the Splatter Dome logo, and was looking rather nervous. The reason for this soon became clear - on closer inspection it was nozzles, not rivets, which studded the cubicle walls.

"This is Belle," their host went on. "She works behind the scenes here at the Splatter Dome. It's not often we have so many VIPs in attendance, so she asked for a chance to meet you all."

"This isn't quite what I meant!" chirped Belle.

"Yet another reason why you should never, ever trust me. As you can see, Belle here has rather foolishly sat in a gunge tank. Her fate, however, is in your hands."

Jen stepped closer, gave Belle a sympathetic smile, and inspected the cubicle. A large black lever jutted from the wall beside it. "How do you mean?" she asked.

"Whatever happens," their host announced, "someone's about to be gunged. You can either release poor Belle or pull that lever and slime her. If you let her out, though, one of you will be picked at random to take her place. Your decision has to be unanimous. So, what's it to be?"

Jen could feel a rush of excitement in the air, crackling from person to person like electric current. Eyes aglow, the team looked to each other, waiting for someone to take the lead. Holly obliged. Striding to the wall, she gripped the lever. "Easy enough choice," she declared.

Lucy looked a little unsure. "It seems a bit mean," she said quietly.

"I'm sure no-one's forcing her," Holly replied breezily. She looked to the booth's occupant. "You okay in there?" Belle crinkled her nose and grimaced playfully. "See, she doesn't mind."

Straightaway Jen pictured Sarah sitting on that stool. "So what do we think," she asked her teammates, "anyone willing to risk being slimed?"

Lena giggled. "I am if everyone else is."

"I'm not," Sarah replied adamantly.

"Nor me," added Liz.

Again their host's voice drifted from the speakers. "There's one thing I forgot to mention," he said with a hint of amusement. "Belle works in the control room. In fact, she'll be the one dropping gunge on you later on."

Belle rolled her eyes. "You could've kept that quiet, you know."

That little titbit settled matters. Holly made ready to do the honours. "Right then, voting time. Hands up anyone who thinks we should let her go. No? Didn't think so. Okay, time for a little pre-emptive payback!"

"No, wait!"

With a wicked grin, Holly pulled the lever and hopped back to watch the show. "Sorry, Belle, you're about to get gooey."

Clutching her hair, Belle tensed her shoulders as a klaxon wailed. Vibrant blue flared at the base of the cubicle, slopping around her ankles and pattering against the plastic screen. With a shrill squeak she tried to lift her feet clear of the spray, but more nozzles were already burbling into life, rising one row at a time. Up and up crept the slime, slathering Belle's legs inch by perfect inch. With her expression veering between mirth and embarrassment, she groaned and shook her head.

"I'm so going to get you all for this."

Jen watched raptly. It was one thing to see a sliming play out onscreen, but quite another to witness one in person. Slowly the booth's occupant was disappearing from view, the screen turning opaque as more and more blue slime doused it. Belle's fate could easily be hers soon, but still Jen found herself tittering helplessly.

The slime went higher still, sloshing over Belle's hips and drenching her shorts. Lifting her arms in a futile attempt to keep them clean, a quavering gasp escaped her lips as the remorseless gunge painted her midriff. Seconds later, just as the logo on her chest was being buried, a pea-green torrent poured directly atop her head, provoking a startled yelp and a splash like an unfurling umbrella. Face frozen in bewilderment, green rivers spilling down her forehead and trickling over her cheeks, Belle tugged at the base of her shirt, releasing a surge of pent-up gloop that had slid down her top.

Laughing, Holly waved cheerily to her now almost invisible victim. The front of the cubicle was a wall of slithering gloop, but Belle had time to wave back before finally disappearing from view. Slowly the sound of rushing liquid faded to an occasional drip. Jen realised that she'd hunched over in sympathy, hands on her chin and hair flowing over her shoulders while she beamed like an idiot. What have I gotten myself into?

Sarah pointed accusingly to the screen. "So what was the point of all that?" she demanded, trying to disguise a smirk.

"Karma," was their host's simple reply. "You all just gunged a perfectly innocent girl. What goes around comes around."

Chuckling guiltily, Holly leaned toward the booth. "Sorry, Belle!" she called. In answer, a hand wiped a clear patch on the inside of the screen, through which a thumbs-up sign appeared.

The man in black swept his intense gaze over the group. Remembering she was wearing practically nothing, Jen felt warmth rush to her cheeks. "Right then, team," he said, "here we are. You know the mission. You know the enemy. You know the odds. If anyone has cold feet, turn back now, because things are about to get messy." Bolts clicked open on the bulkhead door. There were chuckles from some girls, whimpers from others. "Ladies, on behalf of Gunge-Aid, an official name which I have just invented, prepare to face the Splatter Dome!"

A tinny fanfare trumpeted discordantly as, with a loud clank, the doors swung open, revealing a cylindrical tunnel ending in a disc of white light. One by one the contestants stepped through. Seeing Sarah wavering, Jen squeezed her hand and offered a reassuring smile.

"Don't worry. It'll be fun, I promise."

With that she stepped into the tunnel and looked back, hoping with all her heart that Sarah would follow. Now alone in the room, Sarah hesitated, cast a wistful look back, and then finally crossed the threshold. The portal closed silently behind her.

The game was on.

To Be Continued....