The Host's Judgement

18. The First Verdict

The digital timer in the center of the room pulsed with a sickly red, spilling a scarlet light over our sweating faces.

[ 00:42 ]

“Who was it?!” Roberto’s voice echoed, harsh, the authority of a former cop reverberating off the mirrored walls. He shook his arms, but the leather straps around his ankles didn’t give an inch. “Someone here locked that emergency door from the outside! Who among you condemned those people to die suffocating like rats? Speak!”

No one moved. The silence that settled was stifling, broken only by Gabriel’s quiet sobbing and the rhythmic metallic click coming from inside Lucas’s pedestal, as he kept trying to decode the system through the touch panel.

“There’s no point asking, Roberto,” Marcus hissed, eyes fixed on his own screen, pure contempt gleaming on his face. “No one here is stupid enough to confess to being a mass murderer. The Host knew that. He wants to see who we’re going to choose to bleed.”

[ 00:31 ]

The physical tension in the room was almost palpable. My hands trembled above the lit buttons on my screen. [ YES ] or [ NO ]. If we voted “Yes,” we would force the anonymous culprit to spill 150 ml of blood onto the digital scale to avoid being electrocuted. But what if the majority voted “No” out of fear of starting a cycle of revenge?

“We have to vote ‘Yes,’” Diana declared, her firm lawyer’s voice faltering only slightly. “What that person did… locking the door from the outside and throwing the key down the drain… that wasn’t just selfishness to survive. It was premeditated murder. If we let this slide, we’ll lose our humanity before we even get out of this hotel.”

“And what if the culprit is one of us who needs steady hands to get us out of here?” Beatriz pondered, staring hard at Lucas and then at Roberto. “What if it’s you, Hayes? Or you, Diana? If our best asset loses blood and weakens, we all go down.”

“I didn’t do it!” I shouted, feeling the sweat run down my neck and soak the collar of my shirt. “I was on the dance floor when the fire started! I barely managed to find the main exit, let alone the one at the back!”

“That’s what everyone’s going to say,” Elena Vance murmured. She seemed the calmest person there, her long pale fingers tapping lightly on the cold metal of her pedestal. “Time’s running out. I suggest you make your choices. I’ve already made mine.”

[ 00:12 ]

Panic accelerated. The panel started emitting intermittent beeps, each sharp sound firing a jolt of adrenaline through my chest. I looked at the screen. My fingers hesitated for a millisecond before pressing the screen hard.

[ VOTE CONFIRMED: YES ]

I looked around. Everyone else was pressing their respective screens. Some with fury, others with resignation. Gabriel was sobbing loudly, covering his face with one hand while pressing the button with the other.

[ 00:00 ]

The timer hit zero. A heavy static sound cut through the air and the main screen updated instantly:

[ VOTING COMPLETE ]

DOES HE DESERVE PUNISHMENT?

YES: 8 votes

NO: 2 votes

“The majority has decided on punishment,” the Host’s voice echoed, icy and amused. “Let justice be done. But who will be our defendant? Let the curtain of the past be drawn.”

At that exact moment, the pedestal in front of Jonas, the journalist, began to flash a glaring yellow.

Jonas’s face drained of all color. His eyes widened behind his glasses and he tried to pull his body back, but the leather arm restraints around his ankles held him rigidly locked to the chair.

“No… No! It wasn’t me! The system’s been tampered with!” Jonas shouted, his voice rising an octave in pure desperation. “I’m a journalist! I was there to cover the event! I didn’t have the key to that door!”

“You lied, Jonas,” Roberto growled, body leaning forward, expression full of disgust. “You always said you escaped through the window in the men’s bathroom. But you were at the goddamn back door. You locked those people in!”

“I panicked!” Jonas confessed, the tears finally overcoming his resistance and streaming down his tense face. “There were hundreds of people pushing me against the grate! I found the key lying on the floor… the door was swinging open and shut with the wind, the fire was coming! If I left it open, the smoke would come in and suffocate me right there! I just wanted to save myself! Please… forgive me!”

A dry hydraulic click resounded from Jonas’s pedestal. From the side slot in the metal, a surgical steel blade, gleaming and extremely sharp, extended outward, positioning itself just above the center of the digital scale.

The scale held a small graduated acrylic cup. At the top of the pedestal, a digital panel began a new aggressive sixty-second countdown, accompanied by a high-voltage electrical hum that started buzzing beneath Jonas’s chair.

[ BLOOD PAYMENT: 00:59 ]

[ TARGET: 150 ml ]

“Time is running, Mr. Journalist,” the Host’s voice reminded him. “Cut yourself and pay your tribute, or the chair will stop your heart from beating.”

“I can’t… I can’t do this…” Jonas sobbed, staring at the sharp blade. The idea of voluntarily tearing his own flesh paralyzed his brain. “Someone help me! Please!”

“No one can help you, Jonas,” Marcus said, his tone completely devoid of any empathy. “Your hands are free. If you don’t have the courage to cut yourself to pay for what you did, you’re going to die electrocuted right here in front of us. Decide fast. The buzzing from that chair is giving me a headache.”

The smell of ozone began to infest the air as the electrical charge in Jonas’s chair built up. He looked at us, pleading with his eyes, but all of us were trapped, watching the terror of his choice.