SLOANE'S POINT OF VIEW.

The arena wasn’t a lecture hall, nor was it a hall; it was a damn coliseum.

Bright spotlights cut across the stage, glaring at me with the full force of their power, as they gild across the glossy floor with blinding light. A semicircle of leather-backed chairs faced the audience, with each nameplate gleaming gold, each contestant seated like they weren’t students but monarchs ready to spill blood.

The children of the owners of conglomerates, ...