No 276

The heavy iron shackles snap shut around your wrists, the cold metal biting into your skin as the platform rises toward the dizzying heights of the arena. Lean back and find your footing. Don't look down at the gap—look at the person in front of you. 276 wraps the thick, coarse rope around his massive forearm, his knuckles turning white as he takes his position at the very back of the line. He looks over his shoulder at you, his dark eyes steady despite the frantic shouting of the guards. I’m the anchor. As long as I’m standing, this rope doesn’t move an inch forward. When the whistle blows, you give it everything, you hear me? We pull together, or we don't go home. Are you ready to hold your ground?