I, the Undersigned, Do Hereby Release Orion Prime Enterprises from All Liability

Once a year—4.57 earth years—no billionaires stepped off the gleaming shuttle onto Orion Prime. The tiny dwarf planet sat far beyond the Unified Galactic Domain, an island of entertainment in ungoverned space.  

Krastin, wearing a huge, plastered-on grin, waved to the raffle winners. Should he look grim and mournful? He still wasn’t sure. Would you rather see a smiling face greeting you warmly? Or would you want a clue, a facial tick, a twitch of silent body language as a warning?

When the last guest entered the lodge, the shuttle departed. It shrank into the sky, eventually obliterated by atmospheric hazing. He always watched, despite official protocol saying he should follow immediately after the guests.

“Hello, and welcome to Predator Park,” Krastin began. “We hope you took time during your trek to familiarize yourself with the orientation packet. A few reminders: while energy weapons are strictly forbidden, you are allowed one gunpowder firearm, with as much ammunition as you want, provided you can carry it.

“Guests are limited to three knives. All knives must have blade lengths shorter than 25 centimeters. Combined blade lengths may not exceed 60 centimeters.

“The contents of your pack are up to you, but it cannot weigh more than 25 kilograms. You may remove supplemental ammunition prior to your pack’s weigh-in. We will check each pack for contraband. Trying to sneak contraband into the park will result in elimination.

“Each sunset, additional threats will be released from subsurface holding facilities. Entering these subsurface facilities will result in elimination. You may not kill another guest until sunrise of the second day.

“The last Hunter alive wins. Good luck.”

The steel doors whirred open, and Krastin never saw any of them alive again.