2025-11-30 02:05:45For a long moment, no one moved.
Not a step, not a shift, not even a breath too loud. After watching dozens, maybe hundreds, explode in front of us, the reality settled in like a vise around the throat: the Game wasn't optional. It wasn't a joke, a prank, or some sick social experiment. It was a rule system with absolute enforcement. People who had screamed were now silent. People who had run were gone, reduced to stains and scattered pieces across the ground. The clearing looked like a slaughterhouse. Blood everywhere. Body parts everywhere. Some people had chunks of flesh on their clothes, arms, hair. A girl beside me was shaking so badly her teeth clicked, her shirt also stained with someone else's blood. I looked down at my shirt and it wasn't clean either. Of course it wasn't. Some people sobbed quietly. Others stared ahead, empty. Panic was still there, but fear kept everyone perfectly still. Then the voice returned, too controlled to be anything human. "Participant count update." The forest went dead quiet. Everyone listened and held their breath. "Initial global uptake from Earth: 812,491,003 participants." My stomach tightened. Eight hundred million. Over eight hundred million people… tapped the same ad? It hit me instantly, people tap things on their phones every second. Ads, pop-ups, fake 'You won!' banners. A billion taps happen on Earth every few minutes. Whoever, or whatever designed this, definitely knew that. The voice continued. "Fatalities from orientation disobedience: 132,009,441." Screams rippled again but they were trapped screams, small, terrified ones, and no one dared to move an inch. Eight hundred million people. One hundred and thirty-two million already dead. In what, ten minutes? Fifteen? "Remaining active participants: 680,481,562." Six hundred and eighty million people still left. My mind did the math automatically, the way it always did: The percentage… the scale… the length of this "Game"… If that much people still remained, then there was no fast finish line. This was going to be long. Long and catastrophic. A man somewhere behind me whispered, barely audible: "…this is insane…" No one disagreed. And I stood there, frozen like the rest, feeling the weight of six hundred and eighty million strangers around me, and the crushing realization that we were nowhere near the real beginning yet. The voice returned, as a screen flickered on into existence above us. "FIRST GAME: REACH THE FINISH LINE. TIME LIMIT: TWENTY MINUTES." A glowing marker appeared far ahead, a thin beam of light rising into the sky like an invitation none of us wanted. "You may… impede other players. The system will not interfere." The words settled over us with a clarity that needed no explanation. From the screen, we could see that a river separated us from the glowing finish line. It wasn't wide, but the water churned in a slow, dark roll that made its depth obvious. Those who couldn't swim were already doomed. Someone—a woman—panicked and bolted forward. Her foot had barely hit the dirt before her body burst apart in a sharp, wet blast. A few people screamed again and froze instantly. "PREMATURE MOVEMENT DETECTED. VIOLATION." The voice paused, then... "COUNTDOWN INITIATING." A timer appeared beneath the screen: 00:10 00:09 00:08… The moment it hit zero, everyone surged forward in a desperate wave. We broke out of the forest and sprinted across the clearing toward the river. As we got closer, the air filled with cries, and once we reached the bank the splashes started. People jumped in without thinking, some hesistated before also jumping in, while others stood there shaking uncontrollably. The girl from before, the one who'd been shaking so hard her teeth clicked, grabbed my arm as she whispered, "Please… please, I can't swim. Don't leave me." I looked at the river, then at the timer in the sky counting down: 12:42. If I pulled her with me, I'd be slower. But the river wasn't long, just deep. With steady strokes, I could drag her across and still make it. People were panicking everywhere. One man sank to the ground, covering his face as he whispered to himself. He wasn't even trying. He knew he wouldn't make it. The girl's fingers tightened around my wrist even more. "Please… I don't want to die like this." I nodded and took her hand. "Hold on to my shoulder. Don't let go." We slipped into the cold water as others splashed and thrashed around us. Some were already sinking. Farther to my left, someone dragged another person by the collar. Seeing me help the girl seemed to push a few others into doing the same. My muscles burned as I pulled her along, keeping her above the surface while kicking the water steadily. She gasped, sobbed, and clung to me with trembling fingers, but she didn't let go. We reached the other side with 7 minutes to spare. My legs shook as we stumbled onto the muddy bank, and she broke into relieved, exhausted cries. More people pulled themselves out of the water, some dragging others with them, others crawling out alone with wild, desperate eyes. Not everyone made it to this side. Not everyone even tried. We pushed forward again—just a short run this time—and by the time we reached the glowing finish line with her, plenty of people were already there. The ones who hadn't helped anyone were catching their breath, bent over or staring at the ground like they were trying to pretend they hadn't heard the screams. The timer above us kept counting down, its final seconds blinking like a warning we could only watch. 00:07 00:06 00:05... Those of us past the finish line turned as the screams started again. People still trapped on the other side of the river, those who'd hesitated too long, those who couldn't swim, those who were still running toward us, went up in sudden, violent bursts. Some exploded mid-stride. Others barely made it out of the water before they were torn apart. No sound came after the explosions. Just the aftermath—the drifting mist of red and the ripples on the river settling like nothing had happened at all. I exhaled shakily and looked down. The girl's hand was still locked around mine tightly. She was staring straight ahead, shoulders trembling, tears slipping down her cheeks, but she didn't let go. None of us moved. And for a few long seconds, it felt like the whole world was waiting to see who would die next.
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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
