You take ages finishing the legal document, scribbling your signature for one last time. Passing it to a woman, she leaves the reception, walking through some double doors and disappearing.

Your name was Peter Newman, a regular guy who just happened to find a website one day offering millions of dollars to come on a game show. You hadn't heard of this game show, so you were sceptical at first, but with your brother advising you to do it, you found yourself signing up. The document you signed required your name, address, age and a picture of your face. Weirdly, you had to describe your appearance beneath it. You wrote that you had long, wavy brown hair and a fairly average look about you. Nothing shouted 'sexy' or 'cute', but you were nevertheless comfortable with your appearance. The only issue you had with your face was the lack of facial hair and overall softness to your face. It had stuck with you since you were a kid, often getting bullied by your arguably feminine look, but you managed to ignore the most of it.

Suddenly you get snapped out of your reflection. The receptionist was calling your name and asking you to go into a room down the corridor with an elaborate list of instructions. Getting out of your chair and walking through the double-doors, you stroll along, looking at pictures of guests and potential winners hung up on the wall. Weirdly, each image was in black-and-white.

Eventually you end up in a waiting room, sitting patiently on a black leather sofa. Time passes and you can hear an audience giving a round of applause.

Strange, you thought, I don't remember seeing a separate room for audience members.

You shrug this pedantic thought off and read a little magazine on the coffee table in front of you. Leaning back and putting your feet up, you read an exclusive interview with a celebrity which describes their sex life in vivid detail. It was entertaining, but oddly erotic.

A while later, another woman enters the room, asking for you to get ready to go on stage. You nod, unsure if you could decline, and get up. Shaking from nerves, you wander through a door, then a curtain. You find yourself in a large circular room with an older man in the centre. He welcomes you and gestures to a spot behind a counter. You get behind it and stare ahead at a camera, a small clock being visible just behind it. It counts down from ten.

There we go then, you think, I was right. No audience members in sight.

"Hello, everyone and welcome back to another instalment of The Daily Depravity! Today's guest, the every-man known as Peter Newman! Now, buckle up, kiddos! This is going to be a funky ride!"