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20. The Gold Collection
The hum beneath Marcus’s chair was a continuous electric thunder, making the very marble of the pedestal vibrate. Bluish sparks began to crackle at the iron joints of the structure, and the smell of burning hair and ozone flooded our nostrils.Marcus was livid. Sweat poured down his temples, soaking the starched collar of his dress shirt.“This is absurd! I demand to speak to whoever is behind this! I can buy this entire hotel!” he screamed at the mirrored walls, his voice dangerously thin, stripped of any elegance. “I’ll pay twenty million! Thirty million! I’ll double everyone’s prize money here! Turn this fucking thing off!”“Money has no value where the only acceptable currency is life, Mr. Marcus,” the Host’s voice mocked through the speakers, almost whispered, heavy with sadistic pleasure. “Your wallet cannot cushion an electric discharge. And time flies for those who carry so many souls on their backs.”[ BLOOD PAYMENT: 00:35 ][ TARGET: 150 ml ]“Marcus, just cut already!” Beat
19. The Anatomy of Revenge
The smell of fresh iron hung in the air, dense and suffocating, mixing with the residual ozone still escaping from the generators beneath the chairs. To our left, Jonas remained bent over his own pedestal, pressing the wound on his hand with a torn piece of his shirt, his sobs now reduced to a weak, noisy breathing.No one could look away from the scarlet pool that slowly trickled down the side of the black marble until it stained the dark carpet.“One down,” Marcus murmured, his voice stripped of any trace of sympathy. He looked at Jonas’s wound not with pity, but with the coldness of someone assessing the wear on a gear. “Less blood in the system. Less resistance for the end.”“Shut your mouth, Marcus,” Diana hissed, her knuckles white from gripping the sides of her own chair so tightly. “We almost watched a man die by electrocution right in front of us. Keep your sadism to yourself.”“It’s not sadism, lawyer. It’s mathematics,” he shot back without even looking her in the eyes. “Th
19. The Scale and the Blade
The electric buzz under Jonas’s chair rose in pitch, vibrating through the metal floor and reverberating into the soles of my feet. The smell of ozone mixed with cold sweat in the room was suffocating.[ 00:38 ][ TARGET: 150 ml ]“Jonas, you have to do this!” Diana shouted, leaning forward as far as the restraints allowed. “There’s no other option! Either you cut yourself, or the discharge is going to kill you!”“I can’t! I have a phobia of blood… I can’t!” Jonas screamed, his eyes fixed on the surgical steel blade that gleamed under the yellow light. His hands hovered trembling over the pedestal, fingers splayed just centimeters from the cold metal, refusing to press down.“Stop being a coward, journalist!” Roberto growled, fury etched into the lines of his ex-cop face. “You had the courage to lock dozens of kids inside so they would burn to death and save your own skin. Now own the fuck up to what you did and pay the price!”“I was twenty years old! I was scared!” Jonas’s voice cra
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 palp
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 d
16. The Price of Absolution
The silence that followed the Host’s voice was almost worse than the noise of the gears crushing the acrylic. We stood at the beginning of a wide corridor, the walls covered in a dark, almost black wallpaper that seemed to absorb the little light from the crystal chandeliers above us. Ten survivors. Ten uneven, noisy breaths sharing the same rarefied air. Marcus wiped the sweat from his forehead with the sleeve of his crumpled suit jacket, his bloodshot eyes fixed on the iron doors that had just locked behind us. He let out a nasal laugh, a dry sound with no humor in it at all. “Ten million…” Marcus murmured, shaking his head. “We went through all of this because of an empty promise of ten million reais.” “What do you mean by that?” Jonas asked. “I mean we’re idiots, journalist,” Marcus spat on the carpeted floor. “Who guarantees that this money even exists? Who guarantees that this whole damn thing isn’t just some broke sadist watching us on security screens, laughing while we t
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