Lyra didn't remember standing. She just knew her legs were moving.
Each step felt like it echoed through someone else's dream.
The players shuffled beside her, dazed. Silent. Like a herd being led to slaughter, and they knew it. But she kept her head up, eyes scanning faces. Details matter. That's what her father had always said.
Notice the ones who watch instead of panic.
Player 078 — tall, twitchy hands, shifting weight constantly. Nervous energy, unpredictable.
Player 016 — a girl with a blank stare, arms crossed tightly, memorizing everyone like a machine. Dangerous.
Player 041 — calm. Too calm. Walked like he wasn't scared at all.
Then there was the boy from the train.
Silver eyes. Again.
He was there at the edge of the group, walking slightly apart from the others. Like the space around him didn't belong to this reality.
He didn't look at her this time.
But she felt him watching anyway.
The corridor they moved through was wide and curved like a tunnel, glowing dimly with soft white lights. The walls pulsed faintly with movement, like they were breathing.
Every few feet, a screen blinked to life.
"Player 241: Marked."
"Player 392: Disqualified. Mental break."
Gasps erupted as one of the girls behind her collapsed to the ground. Her number flickered red.
Gone.
No alarm. No violence. Just — gone.
Lyra clenched her jaw and kept walking.
They reached a vast chamber. The ceiling disappeared into shadows, and at the center stood a large, floating platform with chairs placed in a circle — numbered from 001 to 404. In the middle of the circle was a silver table covered in blinking numbers.
No one knew what it meant yet.
"Welcome to your first challenge," the voice echoed above them.
It didn't sound like a person. It sounded like the system itself.
"This game is called: THE NUMBERS TABLE ."
GAME RULES :-
1. Each player sits in their assigned chair (001–404).
Each chair has one red button on the right armrest.
2. A sequence of seven numbers will flash on the central table.
Only one of the seven numbers is a "safe match" for each player — but the system doesn't tell you how.
3. You have 10 seconds to press the button if your player number appears in the sequence.
But:
If your number is part of the pattern, and you press it → You survive.
If your number is not part of the pattern, and you press → Elimination.
If your number is part of the pattern, and you don't press → Elimination.
If your number isn't shown → Do nothing and wait.
4. The pattern changes every round — could be mathematical, psychological, positional, or random.
5. No communication allowed during gameplay.
CONSEQUENCES:
Failure to respond correctly = instant deletion from the system.
Chair disappears. You vanish. No mess. No second chances.
"You have 60 seconds to sit."
People panicked. Ran. Tripped over one another. Lyra moved fast, finding seat 109 near the edge. The chair was cold, metallic, and somehow molded perfectly to her body.
That's not comforting.
That means this was designed.
For me.
She sat. Breathed. Tried to ignore the pounding of her heart.
Then she noticed it — her armrest had a red button.
And so did everyone else's.
She looked around. Some were too afraid to touch it. Others were already gripping it like it was a lifeline. Or a trigger.
The voice returned.
"Only one rule: Pick the right number. Choose wrong, and the system will decide your consequence."
"Round begins in 3…"
"2…"
"1…"
The table lit up. Glowing numbers flashed: 7 – 14 – 23 – 41 – 76 – 89 – 109
And then they scrambled.
Some slammed buttons. Some screamed.
Lyra hesitated — What's the pattern?
Is it mathematical? A trick? A test of memory?
She stared at her number flashing at the end of the line.
109.
Her hand hovered over the button.
And then…
She pressed it.
A loud ding echoed from the center.
Correct?
Incorrect?
The voice said nothing.
Instead, a chair — Player 076 — suddenly disappeared. Just blinked out of existence, like an uninstalled file.
People screamed.
"Round 1 complete. Next sequence loading."
Lyra gripped her armrests tightly.
This isn't a game.
It's execution masked as entertainment.
And the worst part?
She was good at it.
To be continued…