2025-11-30 02:10:23A giant screen flickered on above us, displaying two numbers:
Former participant count: 680,481,562 Current participant count: 640,472,121 The forest clearing went quiet. The survivors, those who'd made it across the river and past the first brutal challenge, all looked at one another with wide, unsettled eyes. The voice returned again, calm and mechanical as always. "40,009,441 participants failed to reach the finish line. Congratulations to all who have advanced to the next round. You have officially been assigned your Player IDs. This completes the initiation ceremony for the Games." My palm throbbed slightly. I looked down, and there it was. A glowing sequence of letters and numbers, etched like it was beneath my skin: P-123700FQ-M It looked impossibly real, like a digital tattoo. I flexed my fingers, and it flickered slightly with every movement. Others around me were doing the same. Every single person held up their hand, staring at their own glowing Player ID. The voice continued. "You will now be allowed a rest period of forty-eight hours before the next game commences. Each participant will be assigned to a building. Two participants per room. Buildings house fifty participants each, automatically assigned based on proximity. Proceed to your assigned quarters immediately." Nearby, I noticed a few people glancing at one another, wide-eyed, muttering under their breath. The system didn't just assign rooms arbitrarily, it had picked their roommates for them. I swallowed, feeling the weight of it. The first game had been only an introduction—a savage initiation—and now the system had officially claimed us, numbered us, and begun the next phase. Then without warning, doors appeared in front of us, too many to count. They stretched in neat rows, each identical except for the numbers glowing on their surfaces. We were supposed to walk in, but the sheer scale made it hard to know where to begin. I glanced down at my palm. My Player ID had shifted, replaced by a new set of numbers: Door No. 267 Room 461-B I didn't need to think twice. Something about the way it appeared, precise and absolute, made it immediately clear that this was my destination. The girl beside me, still holding my hand, immediately lifted hers. Her fingers trembled slightly as she showed me her palm. P-348103GV-F And then, just like mine, it switched. Door No. 267 Room 461-B Her voice wavered as she murmured, almost to herself, and she kept glancing at me as if seeking reassurance: "W-We… we're… in the same room, right? Since… since it said roommates are picked based on… proximity…" I followed her gaze, then looked down at my own palm. She followed my eyes, locking onto mine as if seeking confirmation. I gave a short nod. "Seems so." Her shoulders visibly relaxed, a shuddering exhale escaping her lips. She wasn't hiding it, she didn't want to be away from me. Figures. I'd saved her life in the river. And just like that, the first fragile thread of trust formed between us, silent, tentative, yet impossible to ignore. People were already moving toward their assigned doors, walking with a mix of fear and resignation. Fifty participants per building meant others had already gone ahead, slipping inside before us. I followed with her close at my side, letting the flow carry us forward. The moment I stepped through the door, the brightness nearly blinded me. My eyes watered as they adjusted, and when I could finally see, I realized we were no longer in the forest. We were in a corridor unlike anything I'd expected. Vast. Wide. Ceiling high enough that it made the entire space feel hollow. Polished floors reflected the overhead lights, and along the sides were open areas: small swimming pools, a basketball court, even exercise machines tucked into corners. The place felt more like a luxury hotel than anything remotely connected to the brutality we'd just endured. But even as I observed, it became clear we weren't meant to wander or touch anything freely. People moved with quiet precision, picking up towels, adjusting chairs, making sure nothing was out of place. Workers—caretakers, househelp, attendants—glided along the corridors, carrying trays or tidying the pool area. Their smiles never wavered. Their movements were… too perfect. The girl stayed close, her hand brushing lightly against mine, and we made our way to the reception desk. A woman stood there, smiling in a way that made my skin crawl. Her voice was calm, smooth, and eerily warm: "Please take the elevators to your assigned floors. Place your palm on the door of your respective room to access it. Enjoy your stay." The words were simple, polite, almost inviting. The girl hesitated, and the same woman repeated the exact same line, tone for tone, word for word. My eyes flicked to her, and I saw the moment she realized what I already suspected. These workers were not human. The girl's grip on my hand tightened, and I squeezed back slightly. Her fear was obvious, but she didn't let go. Not yet. I knew, at that moment, that we were only just beginning to understand the rules of this place.
Previous Chapter
Latest Chapter
Different Directions
We moved like ghosts after that, every shadow a threat, every echo a footstep. The timer bled down: 38:44:12.We found Mason and Chloe's second key target in a high-ceilinged chamber full of silent, suspended engine blocks. The pair holding it—a man and woman—didn’t surrender. They’d gotten their first key the hard way, and it showed in their wild eyes. They fought.It was chaos. Mason traded blows with the man, their struggle sending tools clattering from a workbench. Blaire and the woman grappled, a desperate, silent tangle.I was trying to get to Blaire when I saw the other man break free from Mason. He didn’t go for Mason again. He saw me, isolated, and lunged, a wrench raised high.I froze. The baton in my hand hummed, useless. My mind saw the equations, the angles, the force—but my body wouldn’t move. Hurt him or die. The logic was perfect. My will was not.“ERWIN!” Jude’s shout was raw.He barreled into me, shoving me sideways. There was a sickening thwack.Jude grunted, stumbl
Cost of Living
We’d become efficient. Ruthless in a bloodless, quiet way.Our strange pack of eight moved through the rusted arteries of the Asylum with a grim rhythm. We’d collected our first Keys. Mason and Chloe had their second target, LOCK-14G. Me and Laura, Jude and Blaire—we’d all scanned our first Locks. We’d even helped Lena and Sam get theirs. No one else had to die. Not yet.Our size was our weapon. We’d corner a pair, our group spilling into a room or blocking a corridor. Mason would stand front and center, crossbow not quite aimed, but not quite not aimed either. His face said everything: Compliance or carnage. Your choice. It was always compliance. They’d press their trembling palms to ours, hear the chime of their own death sentence, and we’d move on, leaving them hollow-eyed and alive.The timer on the distant wall glowed, a constant reminder in the gloom: 41:15:53.We had time. But time was just another form of pressure.We were walking down a wide access tunnel when Chloe broke th
The First Key
We kept moving. The metallic groans of the Asylum and the distant, muffled sounds of conflict were our only soundtrack. Time was bleeding away. 47:02:11.Jude was shaking. Not a lot, just a fine tremor in the hand that wasn't clutching his stained knife. He kept looking at it, then ahead, his eyes unfocused."I...I just killed someone," he muttered, not to anyone in particular.Blaire squeezed his arm. "You didn't see her die.""She's not gonna make it out with that wound," Jude said, his voice hollow. "She'll bleed out. She'll still die. It's still my fault."Mason spun around so fast it made Chloe jump. He got right in Jude's face, his own composure cracking. "What did you think was gonna happen, huh?" He shoved Jude back against a cold metal pipe. The clang echoed. Everyone froze. "They were gonna ask nicely? That guy aimed a pipe wrench at your fucking face. So get it the fuck together."I saw the rage in Mason's eyes—not just at Jude, but at the situation, at the blood on his own
Blood in the Rust
The heavy door sealed shut behind us with a final, hydraulic hiss. The sterile light of the prep room was gone, swallowed by the oppressive gloom of the Ironclad Asylum.We stood in a high-ceilinged corridor of rusted metal and stained concrete. Pipes snaked along the walls, dripping with condensation. The air was cold and smelled of wet rust and something faintly chemical. A giant digital timer was projected in the air at the far end of the hall, its numbers glowing a sickly green:47:55:43Forty-eight hours to become killers, or be erased.“This way,” Mason whispered, his voice all business. He led, crossbow raised, sweeping the shadows. We followed in a tight, nervous cluster.The sounds began almost immediately. Not the ambient groans of metal, but active, human sounds. A sharp cry echoed from a level above, followed by a wet, crunching thud—like a baton hitting something soft. Then silence.Chloe whimpered, clapping a hand over her mouth. “I… I can’t do this,” she breathed, her v
Poetic Punishment: Words Made Weapon
The morning light was a liar. It spilled into the room, clean and warm, pretending the night before hadn’t happened. Pretending I hadn’t lain awake for hours feeling Laura’s heat beside me, thinking things I had no right to think. She was already up, dressed in the dark, practical clothes from the wardrobe. She stood by the fake window, her back to me. She didn’t turn when I sat up. The silence was a third person in the room. The three-toned chime broke it, harsh and final. The TV flicked on. SYSTEM ANNOUNCEMENT PREPARATION PHASE TERMINATED. ALL PARTICIPANTS REPORT TO MAIN LOBBY. TRIAL BY ORIGIN COMMENCES IN T-MINUS 30 MINUTES. No “please.” Just a command. We didn’t speak. We didn’t need to. We walked to the elevator, stood in it, and watched the numbers descend in a silence so thick I could taste it. The lobby was different. The eerie social calm was gone, shredded. People stood in their obvious pairs, faces pale, eyes darting. The attendants were gone. The only
The Undoing
We spent the remaining hours of our rest period watching the attendants. It felt like a dead end. Every question, every accidental spill, every prodding comment just bounced off them. Their replies all tied back to the same loop: Your comfort. Your safety. Enjoy your rest.Before we knew it, it was evening. The last night before the next game.Back in the room, the silence felt heavier. I lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling, trying to trace a path in my mind that didn’t end at a locked door or a timer counting down to zero.The bathroom door opened.I didn’t look over until she was halfway to the bed. Laura walked out wearing a shirt. My shirt. One of the plain grey ones the system had magicked into existence in the wardrobe.It was big on her, hanging off one shoulder, the hem stopping high on her thighs. My eyes went straight to the smooth skin there, then darted away, a hot flush crawling up my neck.“You’re wearing my shirt,” I said, my voice tighter than I meant it to be.She
