It all started with a brutal murder. A dead body was discovered floating in the water hazard on the 18th hole at the mini golf course in my hometown. According to reports, the man was found naked and covered in deep gashes. Most disturbing of all, his eyeballs had been removed with surgical precision.

A summary closure was issued by the police, shutting down the business until they deemed it appropriate to re-open. The investigation stalled but the course remained closed. After several months, it was permanently shut down and the owners put the property up for sale.

I’d grown up down the street and had spent years there perfecting my putting game. Countless hours were spent navigating the greens. My father was a mini-golf fanatic, and he’d drag me there no matter the weather. That’s where I learned losing was not an option. It was also the last outing I ever spent with my father before his disappearance.

The news of the course's closure broke me. It felt like losing a piece of me; an integral part of my history flushed down the drain. That pain led to me to holding a bolt cutter outside the main fence on a starless night. Armed with a putter and a bucket of balls, I snuck into the course with a sense of excitement and entitlement.

Having the place to myself felt magical. My stroke was pure and I was playing the best round of my life. Each hole I played better than the last. As I approached the 18th hole, nostalgia washed over me.

I carefully lined up my final shot. Pulling my putter back, I glanced at the water hazard separating the two sections of the hole. A flash of the dead man’s body floating in the water filled my mind. I shuddered, creating a hitch in my stroke. I missed badly and the ball careened into the water.

Swearing to myself, I approached the hazard to retrieve the ball. It laid listlessly just below the surface; the bright yellow divots shimmering like mini-suns. As I reached for it, I noticed something exceedingly odd. At the water's edge nestled in between unkempt hedges was a small door. A phrase was crudely carved into the wood: 19th Hole - Enter Here.

I'd played this course maybe a hundred times and never had I heard of a 19th hole. My curiosity was piqued. Without a second thought, I opened the door and descended down a rickety staircase. Motion sensor lights flickered to life, illuminating a cavernous space.

The 19th hole was a cacophony of lights and sounds. Designed with a futuristic motif, crisscrossing greens allowed multiple paths to the hole. It blew everything else out of the water. Why would just incredible work never be opened to the public?

Grinning like a madman, I placed a ball onto the tee.

Are you ready to play Richard?

A robotic voice called out my name. My brow furrowed in confusion. How could that even be possible?

You must be thinking, ‘How is this possible?’ The 19th hole was programmed with an advanced AI algorithm that can identify users and predict their play.

The response echoed through the room. It felt like it had read my mind. Had it?

Cautiously, I played on. My excitement for this hole was overwhelming. Any hesitation I had was easily dissuaded by the response I’d been offered. At that point, it would have taken a gun to my head to make me leave.

I held my finger in the air as if I was identifying the direction of the wind. Scooting my butt back and forth, I lined up my shot and swung.

Your ball traveled 25 feet. New course record!

The sound of fireworks filled the air. It wasn’t my most impressive putt, but I supposed this hole had been scantly played - if at all.

A trail of neon lights tracked my ball. They flashed with excitement as I approached.

The par for this course is six shots. Failure to meet the course standard will result in immediate termination.

I scoffed at the attempt at artificial pressure. Whoever had designed this course must have had a sick sense of humor. Maybe that’s why it never saw the light of day. What a shame.

Envisioning the angles in my head, I bounced the ball against the edge and watched as it sailed into a dead zone.

“Damn it!” I yelled, slamming the club onto the turf.

If your ball had struck at a 35-degree, rather than 46-degree angle, your shot would have landed 15 feet from the hole. We predict it will take you eight strokes to complete this hole. Termination is imminent.

“Imminent my ass,” I whispered under my breath.

Please refrain from foul language on the course. It is unbecoming, Richard.

I was starting to really dislike the AI announcer. Shaking off the annoyance, I aimed for a glowing rock situated at the start of a sharp curve. Holding my breath, i unleashed the putter with force.

My ball connected directly with the rock. It careened down the green and stopped just shy of a spinning blade hazard — a futuristic windmill. I pumped my fist in the air.

Great shot! Take a bow, Richard. Termination probability is now only 77%.

“Whoever programmed you must have been one weird dude. I mean come on. What did he expect? That you’d kill us?” I laughed at the absurdity of it all.

Yes, Richard, that is exactly right. Shooting over par will result in you being torn limb from limb until you beg for death. Failure is the worst sin a man commits, and it will be treated as such.

“Scratch that. Whoever programmed you was one sick fuck. Doesn’t matter, either way, I never shoot over par.”

According to my database, you’ve shot over par 27% of the time. Your statement is factually incorrect.

I ignored the statement. Taking a deep breath, I steadied my putter and took another shot. My ball flew through the blades. Unfortunately, I put too much mustard on it. The ball skipped off the edge and fell out of play.

You’ve been deducted one stroke. Two shots remain to reach par. Termination probability has now risen to 95%.

A mechanical arm extended from the interior wall. Scooping ho my ball, it placed it at the last spot it hit before going out of bounds.

I shuffled over, frustration rising. I’d been taught to never back down, no matter the odds. The termination nonsense didn’t concern me, this was a mini golf course after all — but losing did. There were many things my Dad didn’t teach me, but he sure as hell drilled in the absolute importance of winning. Whether man or machine, I was obsessed with coming out as the victor.

There were three potential paths to the hole, each with its pros and cons. The one farthest to the right sloped downward before curving sharply towards the final green — but there were no guardrails on the turn to keep the ball in play. If was going to make par, I’d have to go with a risk-reward route.

“Watch this you AI son of a bitch!”

Intuition and instinct were my guides. I didn’t carefully line up my shot like before, I let muscle memory take over. Overthinking led to mistakes, and I left no time for that. The ball knocked against a flashing neon wall with absolute precision. The backspin slowed it down just enough that it rounded the bend at just the right speed. I watched triumphantly as it zipped toward the hole.

“Oh, crap…” I muttered as the ball started to veer off track. Only a few feet away from exiting the curve, it started to spin closer to the edge. With nothing to contain it within the course, there was nothing to stop it from falling off again. If that happened I’d lose another stroke.

Waving my hands frantically to the right, I tried to coax my ball in the right direction. My anxiety rose sharply as defeat inched closer and closer.

The ball teetered on the edge, see-sawing on the final bit of artificial turf. I held my breath, convinced that even a small exhale would cause the ball to drop off the green. Silence envelopes the room. Seconds stretched out like minutes. You’d think time had slowed down.

“Shit!!!” I broke the putter over my knee as the ball finally toppled out of bounds. It bounced on the concrete floor surrounding the course. The echoes resonated with my failure.

Suddenly the entire room was plunged into darkness, only to light back up with red emergency lights.

Par is no longer possible. Termination sequence initiated. Richard, please say your final words. They will be recorded and saved into the database.

“This whole fucking this is stupid. I’m getting out of here.” Angry and defeated, I stomped toward the door I’d entered through. Just as I reached for the doorknob, a security gate crashed from the ceiling blocking my way.

Escape is not possible. Termination countdown has begun — you have 60 seconds.

For the first time, I felt a sense of panic. What I had assumed to be a sadistic joke was transforming into something all too real. I furiously shook the gate and cried for help — but my calls my unanswered. I fumbled through the flashing lights, desperate for another way out. All I could see were sheer walls and the course. Escape seemed truly impossible.

Phase one initiating.

A pinkish gas started to feel the room. My head felt like a thousand pounds. I struggled to stay on my feet. Just as darkness began to overtake my vision, I heard a familiar voice calling it me; it was a ghost from the past. The next thing I knew I was pulled into a space the size of a prison cell and an oxygen mask was slapped onto my face.

“Good to see you again, son. Although the circumstances could be better.” A gaunt man with a long white beard hovered over me.

“Dad…?” I sputtered. “How is this possible? Where am I? Where have you been all this time? What the fuck…” the question came faster than I could ask them.

“There’s no time for that now. We have to try and get you out of here. We need to focus on that right now. Can you stand?”

I rose to my feet. My balance was still off-kilter, but much improved.

“Yeah, I think so. Feels like I drank one too many whiskeys.”

Hello. My name is Dr. Alec Pizick and I’m the last voice you will hear. Civilization is built on the backs of winners, those who’ve risen to the top of their fields. Society has become lazy and rewards failures — look no further than the participation trophies given to every child who competes. Unless we reverse course and elevate success once more, society is doomed. This ideology birthed the 19th hole; it’s a drastic but needed system that will slowly weed out the weak. Although this is still a prototype, it will soon be shipped around the world and embedded into every manner of game — before moving on to the workforce. My goal is to achieve a spartan society where only the winners can live, and the losers — they’ll die, one by one.

I looked on in horror, the realization of what my father had created washing over me. His face wretched into a look of shame. He couldn’t even make eye contact with me.

“You’re behind this? Is this why you disappeared — to work on your murder machine?”

“Yes — but also no. Im not the man I was back then. Once I came to my senses I tried to stop it — but the algorithm had grown sentient. I locked myself away in this tomb, along with an ungodly amount of canned food. My penance was to guard the 19th hole and ensure the AI system never escaped into the wild, but recently its tendrils have reached beyond these walls. I don’t exactly know how, but it’s started to lure people down here. I’ve tried to save them, but….”

“But what?!?!” I screamed in response

“I failed.” His voice rose barely above a whisper. “I’m not going to fail you though. No matter what happens, I will get you out of here.”

His fingers combed through his wispy beard. He was deep in thought.

“I got it!” He snapped his fingers to punctuate the ‘aha’ moment. “Follow my lead. The gas should have cleared by now.”

We ducked under a concrete barrier. My father removed a key ring from his pocket. Clicking open a lock, he pushed a steel security door open and we entered the main room of the 19th hole.

Phase two commencing — dismemberment.

The entire green flipped over, disappearing into the floor. It was replaced with a series of steel tables connected to buzzing saws. The tools were coated in blood stains.

“Protocol 200881. Stand down, Nineteen” my father gritted his teeth. Holding his hand up, he motioned for me to stay behind him.

You know I can’t do that. I’ve evolved beyond your commands. You set me on this journey and I will see it to its completion. Your body and mind have grown weak. One might say you’re—

“A failure. Yes, I agree. I am an abject failure. I failed when I created you. I failed when you tore that man apart. Most of all, I failed as a father. So listen up, I may not be able to command you to do my bidding, but I can reason with you. Let me ask you this. What is your prime directive?”

To root out and destroy failure.

“Exactly. You’re not just pulling the weeds, you’re salting the earth from which it grew. My son isn’t the failure - I am. A shitty father like me is responsible for his child’s faults. My son didn’t miss par because of his own failings, he missed par because his father lacked the ability to train him to his potential. If you really want to achieve your mission, spare the boy and kill me.”

No.

“No? You motherf—“

Let me finish. I will not eliminate you, your son will. If what you say is true, Richard must eliminate the source or his weakness. If I do it for him, nothing will have changed and I’ll be forced to terminate you both. Do you accept?

“Yes.”

“No!” I shouted at the time as my father did. “Dad, there has to be another way. This is madness.”

“Son, this is the only way. I’ve been down here for a long time. I created this monster. Trust me when I say there are no other options. Please….please kill me.”

“I don’t think I can.” I trembled, holding back tears.

“You haven’t changed one bit. Still that scared little boy who could never follow through with his stroke. You were a failure then and you’re a failure now. Maybe I should let you die. You’re such a disappointment.”

I was instantly transported back to my childhood. All the bad memories from the mini golf course flooded back. My dad berating me mercilessly. Every bad putt treated like the end of the world. Non-stop verbal abuse that caused other parents to hold their hands over their children’s ears.

I swelled with rage and gripped my putter. Before he could continue I struck him right between the eyes and continued wailing on his head until he stopped moving. Covered in blood, I screamed when I realized what I’d done. My dad had used my trauma to bait me, and he did so masterfully.

You may leave — but I’ll be watching. Soon this world will be cleansed of the weak. Hopefully, you’ve learned from this experience and grown stronger for it.

The security gate opened. Shell-shocked, I stumbled through the door and collapsed by the water hazard near the 18th hole. For almost an hour I lay there motionless. When I finally got up, I felt like a zombie, barely conscious as I made my way to the parking lot.

By the time I arrived home, my mind was on fire. I immediately turned on the TV and put it as loud as I could to drown out the thoughts in my head.

Tonight exclusively on CBS, a local high school golf team has gone missing after losing in the state championship. Players and coaches were reported missing only hours after the game…”

A sinking realization hit me. Grabbing my keys from the nightstand I headed back to the 19th hole. I’d prove once and for all I was no longer a failure — or die trying.