Pound of Flesh by Scott O'Neill

The neon-flashing balance scale tilted toward his opponent.

A crocodile smile oozed from the host, “Devin! Do you give up, or will you…”

The audience chanted, “Tip! The! Scale!”

Devin thrust his arm into the Sacrifice Zone. Surgical lasers flared. His severed forearm thudded down beside his hand and fingers on the scale, which tilted back toward him. His cauterised stump smelled disturbingly like barbecue.

“After a word from our sponsors,” announced the host, “we’ll bring you the life-changing, million-credit final round of…”

“Pound! Of! Flesh!” roared the crowd.

Devin watched, trembling, as his opponent rolled up both trouser legs.