The Host's Judgement

17. The Weight of Truth

The silence that settled over the circular room was so thick it could almost be heard. Looking at that armored glass box filled with money, knowing that the only way for one person to leave with all of it and absolute forgiveness was through the deaths of the other nine, instantly transformed the atmosphere.

The trust that was already a scarce luxury among us evaporated completely.

Marcus took a slow step backward, distancing himself from Roberto. Elena Vance’s eyes moved from face to face, cold and calculating, as if she were diagnosing which of us would be the first to give in to the Host’s temptation. Gabriel shrank closer to me, his breathing short.

"No one is falling for this… right?" — Beatriz’s voice broke the silence, trembling. "This is exactly what he wants. For us to kill each other so he doesn’t have to design more traps."

"She’s right"— Diana intervened, her lawyer’s voice taking on a firm tone of authority. "If we start distrusting one another, his game wins by default. We have to stay united."

"Easy to say when you’ve got Hayes and the kid as a shield" — Marcus scoffed, arms crossed. " But look around. Does any of you really trust that, if things get tight, the person next to you won’t stick a knife in your back for the ten million?"

Before a general argument could break out, the electronic panel above the glass box flickered. The red glow of the hundred-dollar bills was replaced by a cold, surgical yellow light.

The mirrored walls began sliding upward with a mechanical creak, revealing that the circular room was merely the antechamber of something much larger. Before us appeared a new space: a semicircular chamber that resembled a stylized jury courtroom.

In the center of the chamber stood ten chairs arranged in a semicircle. In front of each chair, bolted to the floor, was a metal pedestal with a small digital scale and a touch-screen panel.

The Host’s voice echoed, solemn and relentless:

"Distrust is the first step toward survival. But justice demands order. Welcome to the second phase of the reckoning: The Blood Scale."

The screen on each of the ten pedestals lit up, displaying our respective names in bold letters.

"Ten years ago, at the Eclipse Nightclub, your selfish decisions cost lives. Today, your decisions will decide who deserves to keep breathing. The rules are simple:"

"Each of you must sit in your corresponding chair."

"The panel will anonymously display a dark secret of one of the players present in this room, a hidden truth about what that person did on the night of the fire."

"After the revelation, you will have sixty seconds to vote. The question is simple: Does this person deserve to be punished?"

"If the majority votes YES, the accused’s pedestal will release a mechanical blade. To save their own life and nullify the punishment vote, the accused must place their hand on the digital scale of their pedestal and spill exactly 150 ml of their own blood to balance the scale."

"If the accused refuses to pay with blood before time runs out, the chair will deliver a lethal electric charge."

"My God…"— Melissa brought her hands to her mouth, stepping back." He wants us to mutilate ourselves."

"Ah, and one important detail for our potential Traitor..."— the Host’s voice took on an amused, almost sadistic tone. "If the accused dies from lack of blood or from the electric charge, the body count toward your “Redemption” advances. The game begins in sixty seconds. Take your seats."

No one wanted to be the first to sit, but the sound of metal locks echoed beneath our feet. The floor of the antechamber began to heat slowly, a gray smoke with the smell of sulfur rising from the edges.

"Sit down! Now!" — Roberto commanded, running to the chair that displayed his name.

One by one, we were forced to take our places. The moment my body touched the seat of the HAYES chair, leather restraints automatically locked around my ankles. I looked to the side; everyone was restrained the same way. Our arms were free to interact with the panel and the scale, but we were immobilized.

In the center of the semicircle, a large projection screen descended from the ceiling.

[ STARTING ROUND 1 ]

The screen flickered, and white text began to type itself out, accompanied by a computerized narration that distorted the original voice of the secret’s author:

“On the night of the fire, I was near the emergency exit at the back. When the chaos started, I realized the door was locked from the outside with a padlock to keep street people from getting in. I had the key in my pocket. But instead of opening the door for the crowd screaming behind me, I opened it just enough for myself to pass through, locked it again from the outside so no one could follow me, and threw the key down the sewer to make sure no one would discover I had escaped from there first.”

A cold shiver ran up my spine. That secret was monstrous. That decision had condemned dozens of people to die of asphyxiation against a locked iron door.

On the screen of each of our pedestals, two glowing options appeared:

[ DESERVES PUNISHMENT? ]

[ YES ]

[ NO ]

I looked around the semicircle. Which of us held that key? Who was the monster who had locked the door behind themselves?

Marcus kept his face impassive. Elena wore a cynical smile. Lucas typed frantically on his panel, trying to bypass the system. Gabriel was shaking so hard he could barely look at the screen.

The timer on the wall began to count down:

[ 00:59 ]

[ 00:58 ]

" Who did this?" — I shouted, my voice echoing through the torture courtroom. " Which one of you threw the fucking key away?!"

No one answered. Their silence was confirmation that the Host’s game was already working perfectly. We were the judges, the executioners, and the next victims.