I like to refer to myself as a catastrophically asocial individual, a notion that is doubtlessly universal amongst people familiar with my temperament. Mao Ann is to human interaction what cats are to water, or what vampires are to sunlight, or what billionaires are to paying taxes: fundamentally and fatally averse.

Case in point, despite the abundance of events and activities happening on campus all year round, I’m liable to spend the bulk of my time shut indoors, cowering from the abject horror of going outside and (God forbid) meeting another human being. Like some sort of less intelligent H.P. Lovecraft.

And yet…

When the good folks over at the MUSA Buddy’s Programme told us that they were organising an event in the vein of Beast Games, I volunteered to cover it. I reasoned that, as a writer in MONGA, I had to provide coverage for at least a few on-campus events; otherwise I’d be a pretty lousy contributor.

— * —

We arrive on the scene at around 5:20 PM, the badminton court reverberating with heavy percussion and fast-paced music, the pitched roof looming six, maybe seven metres above us. The booming voice of the host introduces him as Mr. Yeast; an objectively fantastic name. I am immediately sorted into Team Red by the event’s facilitators. We are to compete against Team Purple, Team Green, and Team Yellow, though these groups will doubtlessly be abandoned as we get further into the night and more participants are eliminated. Nevertheless, we are comrades in arms for now; we sit down in a circle and exchange names.

The first few games pit the four groups against each other. We memorise colour sequences that flash rapidly on screen, play hot potato with balloons, and engage in a rock paper scissors showdown. Participants are then eliminated via several rounds of musical chairs; the groups that performed well in the first few games need to eliminate fewer members. The contestant pool shrinks. We close out our first elimination round by watching the members of Team Yellow and Team Green play musical chairs to “A Careless Whisper”.

After a short break and some refreshments, we return to the floor for our next elimination round. We are presented with a pile of boxes, each with a card in it; the card either signals an instant elimination (red) or free passage to the next round (green). Each group sits in its own circle, with one member choosing a box to open. The person to the left of them can then choose to “steal” the box and the card within based on information given by the first member. This continues until everyone has drawn a box. As you can imagine, this game requires a cunning, deceptive mind. Unfortunately, I have a terrible poker face, so when I draw a red card in the first round, I’m quickly eliminated. I decide to stick around, though — things are just beginning to heat up.

The next game sees the remaining contestants race each other in an effort to capture one of several flags set up on the opposite end of the room. The game takes place over a few rounds, with the number of available flags randomly set each round. Every round, the contestants have to decide whether to run or wait for the next one. All who fail to capture a flag of their own are eliminated. A series of non-lethal tramplings ensue. Only ten remain at the end of the challenge.

The grand finale takes place on an arena of exercise mats: each remaining contestant has a large name tag stuck on their back. Their mission: eliminate others by tearing off their name tags. The last one standing wins. To expedite the process, if the game goes on for three minutes without an elimination, a “mystery man” will jump in and eliminate one contestant at random.

An initial explosion of violence erupts between three contestants, but it soon subsides. The mat is silent for some time as hasty alliances are forged between various competitors. Short and violent skirmishes claim the name tags of several contestants. The crowd coalesces around the arena as facilitators shrink it by removing individual mats. The tension grows.

During my quest for a better view, I encounter one of my teammates from earlier. I find myself asking a question. “Who do you think is gonna win?”

They shrug as I sit down. We start waxing poetic about the night’s events as the melee on the mats reaches its climax.

Only three remain, but their Mexican standoff has gone on for too long: the mystery man clause is evoked, prompting a facilitator in black to leap into the fray. He tears the name tag off of one unlucky participant; the crowd, hungry for blood, erupts in cheers. A back-and-forth ensues between the remaining two participants as they scramble for purchase on each other’s backs. Eventually, it devolves into a tussle, a violent melee on the ground. Seconds pass. Then, a hand emerges, clutching a ripped name tag. The crowd’s applause is deafening.

A short awards ceremony sees the winners (all twenty-six of them) receive their rewards. Many photos are taken, “We Are the Champions” by Queen is played, Mr. Yeast almost falls off the stage. It’s a joyous occasion for everyone involved.

I exit the badminton court and take a moment to think. I spent the night, admittedly, in a state of perpetual nervousness, constantly looking over my shoulder for threats that existed nowhere but in my head. But I also had fun. I had fun memorising colours. I had fun fighting in the rock paper scissors war. I had fun seeing people lie about cards they drew. I had fun watching people scramble violently for the tags on each other’s backs, had fun cheering with the crowd whenever someone narrowly escaped elimination, had fun applauding the eventual victor.

As I once again embark on the long trek back home, I am left with one lingering, pestering thought: I should probably do this again.

written by Hii Mao Ann

Photos by Bong and Sophie