The Host's Judgement

9. The Eclipse Nightclub - Part 2

The main lobby of the Grand Summit Hotel looked even more hostile under the gray light of dawn trying unsuccessfully to break through the armored window panels. The red emergency lighting had been turned off, replaced by surgical white spotlights focused on the center of the circular hall.

Fifteen survivors. That was the number remaining on the floating count of the digital panel above the crystal chandelier. Fifteen sinners, each glancing at their neighbor with the fear of someone who knows the next secret revealed could be their own.

Gabriel walked glued to my back, his thin fingers gripping the hem of my worn jacket. I could feel his body trembling. Every time I looked at him, the image of his sister Mariana suffocating in the darkness of the Eclipse Nightclub flashed through my mind. Guilt was a silent poison beginning to paralyze my movements.

In the center of the lobby, the marble floor had disappeared.

A massive square opening, approximately ten meters wide, revealed the empty shaft of the hotel’s sub-basement. I looked down: four floors of free fall ending on a bare concrete floor. A fall like that would instantly break anyone’s neck.

Spanning this abyss was a fragile structure. The Line of Life.

It was a rustic rope bridge, but the crossbeams weren’t ordinary wood. They were transparent acrylic planks, and each one had a name laser-engraved on it, glowing under the spotlights. I could make out some of the names closest to the edge: Marcus, Diana, Gabriel, Hayes, Elena…

“Welcome to the second round,” the Host’s voice echoed through the speakers, making Gabriel jump in fright. “Before you is the Line of Life. Fifteen planks for fifteen survivors. To cross the abyss and reach the east wing of the hotel, you must follow a strict order. Each participant can only step on the plank that bears their own name.”

“Seems too simple for this psychopath,” muttered Diana, the lawyer, adjusting her glasses with a coldness that defied the gravity of the situation.

“However,” the voice continued, “the weight of truth varies. Three of these acrylic planks were pre-sabotaged with micro-cracks. They will not support the weight of a human body. If you step on your plank and it is compromised, you will fall. Unless, of course, someone decides to test the plank’s resistance for you.”

A cold shiver ran down my spine. I looked at Marcus. He understood the rule in the same instant. The macabre smile he had shown in the bedroom returned to his lips.

“The crossing order was determined by your sins. Player number one: Marcus.”

The digital panel flashed, displaying Marcus’s name in red letters.

“To hell with it,” Marcus snarled, stepping forward. He looked at the bridge and then at the group. “I’m not going to stand here waiting for a computer command.”

He walked to the edge of the abyss. The first acrylic plank, with the name MARCUS engraved on it, swayed slightly with the air current rising from the shaft. He tested the weight with the tip of his chrome shoe. The acrylic creaked but seemed solid.

With a quick movement and confidence born of pure sociopathy, Marcus jumped onto the center of his plank. The material cracked loudly. Everyone held their breath.

The plank held. Marcus let out a harsh laugh, gripping the side ropes of the bridge.

“See? The Host likes people with balls,” Marcus mocked, looking back. “Who’s next on the slaughter list?”

“Player number two: Hugo.”

Hugo, the former security guard from the Eclipse Nightclub the muscular man who, according to the whispers in the corridors, had locked the emergency exits to prevent gatecrashers stepped forward. His face was covered in sweat. He looked at the plank with his name, located two meters away from Marcus’s.

By now, everyone already knew that all of us there had a direct connection to that tragic night at the nightclub. We all carried some guilt.

“Go on, security,” Marcus taunted, extending his hand toward him but keeping his own body safe on the first plank. “Show everyone that all that size is good for something.”

Hugo swallowed hard. He gripped the bridge ropes so tightly his knuckles turned white. He looked down at the concrete four floors below, then closed his eyes.

“I can’t…” Hugo whispered. “My plank… its reflection looks different. There’s a cut in the middle. It’s going to break.”

“If you don’t go, the timer will zero out and the Host will kill you anyway, you idiot,” Marcus hissed, eyes bloodshot. Suddenly, an idea seemed to cross the businessman’s mind. He looked at Elena, who was at the edge holding the small black box with the golden key. “Hey, Doctor! What’s in that box you won by betraying Hayes? It’s a privilege, right? Use that shit now! Save the big guy there.”

Elena took a step back, clutching the box to her chest.

“The privilege is mine,” she replied, her voice sharp as a scalpel. “I’ll only use it when it’s my turn.”

“Selfish bitch,” Marcus spat on the floor. He turned back to Hugo. “Listen here, Hugo. If you jump and the plank breaks, you die. But if you jump and pull me… we both fall. So here’s what you do: just jump and clear your conscience with the past.”

Hugo opened his eyes. There was animal desperation in them. He looked at me, then at Gabriel, and finally at the plank with his name.

“I was just following orders that night…” Hugo shouted, his voice echoing through the empty lobby. “Marcus told me not to let anyone leave without paying! It wasn’t my fault!”

With a roar of frustration and panic, Hugo took a running start and leaped toward his acrylic plank.

The sound that followed was not that of a firm landing. It was the dry, violent crack of high-density plastic breaking in half.