The corridor stretched on forever.
White walls. White floor. White ceiling. LED strips every few meters casting that same sterile light. My footsteps echoed wrong, too flat, too dead, like the walls were swallowing sound instead of reflecting it.
I kept one hand trailing along the wall as I walked, partly for balance, partly to confirm it was real. The surface was smooth and cold, slightly textured. Real. Solid. There.
Unlike the last hour of my life, which still felt like a nightmare I couldn't wake up from.
My body ached everywhere. Not from physical exertion, I'd barely moved. But tension had wound every muscle tight, and now that the adrenaline was fading, I felt it. My shoulders. My neck. My jaw hurt from clenching.
The corridor curved slightly, then opened into something massive.
* * *
The common area was chaos.
The size of three gymnasiums, maybe more. The ceiling stretched up at least ten meters, dotted with those same LED panels providing cold, even lighting. The floor was white tile, mercifully clear of any traps or patterns. The walls were bare except for a few doors marked with simple icons.
And people. So many people.
They filled the space like a disturbed anthill. Some sitting on the floor in tight clusters. Some standing alone against walls. Some pacing, moving without direction. Some shouting. Some crying. The noise hit me like a physical thing, a wall of sound made of fear and confusion and desperate questions.
One hundred and fifty-one survivors. All in one room.
I stayed near the entrance, my back against the wall, just watching.
To my left, a woman, maybe thirty, business attire torn and dirty, was sobbing into her hands while another woman tried to comfort her. The crying woman kept saying something I couldn't make out, the same phrase over and over like a broken prayer.
Near the center, a group of men were shouting at each other. I caught fragments: "-fucking reality show-" "-my lawyer will-" "-police have to-"
A reality show. Right. Where fifty people die in the first round.
Further back, a middle-aged man in a bloodstained shirt sat alone, staring at nothing. His eyes were empty. Shock, probably. I didn't see any injuries on him, the blood must have been from something in his challenge room.
I didn't want to think about what.
A teenager,younger than me, I mean too young, maybe ten, was pressed against the far wall, hyperventilating. An older woman approached him cautiously, hands raised like she was approaching a wounded animal. He flinched away from her.
No one looked okay. Everyone looked like they'd been through hell.
Because they had.
My eyes kept scanning. Trying to find a pattern of the people that were kidnapped.
An elderly man sat cross-legged on the floor, eyes closed, breathing slowly. Meditation? Or just shutting down? Hard to tell.
A woman in gym clothes was doing stretches against a wall, mechanical and focused. Coping through routine, maybe.
A guy in a suit was pacing in tight circles, muttering to himself.
And then I saw her.
* * *
She stood apart from the main clusters, near one of the side walls. Tall, maybe 170 centimeters, 5'7 was it? Athletic build obvious even from this distance. Long dark hair pulled back in a ponytail that had come partially loose. Strikingly beautiful in a way that would've made her stand out even in normal circumstances.
But it wasn't her looks that caught my attention.
It was her posture.
Everyone else was hunched, closed-off, visibly shell-shocked. She stood straight, shoulders back, head up. Her eyes were moving across the room like mine scanning.
Not a victim's stance. A survivor's.
She caught me staring. Our eyes met for just a second. Dark brown, sharp and intelligent. Then she looked away, continuing her survey of the room.
Interesting.
People like this are hard to predict : might be ally might be enemy.
If you see someone so nonchalant in such conditions, you know there is something different.
My gaze drifted onward, and stopped on someone else entirely.
* * *
He was sitting alone near the opposite wall, legs crossed, hands resting loosely in his lap.
Mid-twenties, maybe. Average height and build. Dark hair, soft features. Black hoodie, pyjamas. The kind of person who'd blend into any crowd without a second glance.
Except everything about him was wrong.
Not in an obvious way. He wasn't doing anything strange. Wasn't talking to himself or having a breakdown. He was just... sitting there.
But while everyone else radiated fear in different flavors: shock, grief, panic, anger... this guy looked *calm*.
Not the forced calm of someone trying to hold it together. Not the empty calm of someone who'd shut down. Actual, genuine calm. Like he was sitting in a coffee shop waiting for his order, not a death game holding area.
He was watching the room too, but differently. Not frantically like most people. More like... clinical observation. Taking notes for a research paper.
And he was completely alone. Despite being in a room full of people desperate for connection, for answers, for comfort, he sat alone. Untouched by the chaos.
Something about that set off alarm bells in my head.
I watched him for maybe thirty seconds. In that time, his expression never changed. He didn't react when someone nearby started sobbing loudly. Didn't flinch when the shouting match in the center escalated and someone threw a punch. Just sat there, observing.
*Who the hell is that guy?*
Before I could think about it further, a voice cut through the room.
* * *
"ATTENTION."
It came from everywhere at once, speakers hidden in the walls, maybe. Loud enough to cut through every conversation, every sob, every sound.
The room fell silent in waves, like a switch being flipped.
"WELCOME TO THE GAME."
The voice was artificial. Not quite robotic, but definitely synthesized. Male-sounding but weirdly flat, emotionless. Like text-to-speech software trying to sound human and failing.
"YOU HAVE COMPLETED ROUND ONE. FIFTY PLAYERS HAVE BEEN ELIMINATED. ONE HUNDRED AND FIFTY-ONE REMAIN."
Around the room, people were looking up, around, trying to find the source of the voice. A few people shouted questions. The voice ignored them.
"THE INTERIM PERIOD WILL LAST TWO HOURS. USE THIS TIME TO REST AND RECOVER. FOOD AND WATER ARE AVAILABLE THROUGH THE MARKED DISPENSERS ALONG THE WALLS."
I glanced to my left. Sure enough, there were panels set into the wall every ten meters or so, like vending machines without the display screens.
"IN ONE HOUR AND FIFTY-THREE MINUTES, YOU WILL BE DIVIDED INTO GROUPS FOR ROUND TWO. GROUP ASSIGNMENTS ARE RANDOM AND FINAL. PREPARE YOURSELVES."
"Wait!" someone shouted—a man near the center. "What is this? Why are we here? Who's running this.."
"FURTHER INFORMATION WILL BE PROVIDED WHEN RELEVANT. SURVIVE, AND YOU WILL LEARN MORE."
The voice cut off.
The room exploded.
People shouting questions at the walls, at each other, at no one. The panic that had been simmering boiled over into chaos. Someone was screaming about lawsuits. Someone else about their family. A woman collapsed, and three people rushed to help her.
I tuned it out and focused on what mattered.
*Groups for Round Two. Random assignment.*
That meant forced cooperation or competition with strangers. People I couldn't trust. People who might have different roles. Civilians and killers, the handbook had mentioned.
I pulled the handbook from my pocket and flipped through it. The pages were blank now, the rules for Round 1 had vanished, replaced by empty white paper.
The rulebook reset. New round, new rules, new ways to die.
I shoved it back in my pocket and headed toward the nearest dispenser. I needed water. Food. Something to ground myself before whatever fresh hell Round 2 turned out to be.
* * *
The dispenser was surprisingly simple. Press a button, receive a bottle of water. Press another, get a protein bar or a small pouch of something that looked like rice. No payment required. Just take what you need.
I grabbed two bottles of water and three protein bars. Hoarding, maybe. But I had no idea when we'd get more.
As I turned away, someone stepped into my path.
"You solved it."
I looked up. It was the athletic girl from across the room.
Up close, she was even more striking. Not just beautiful, there was something commanding about her presence. The way she held herself, the directness of her gaze. Like she was used to people listening when she spoke.
"What?" I said.
"Your puzzle. Round One." She tilted her head slightly, studying me. "You're not limping. Not favoring any side. Your hands aren't burned or cut. That means either your challenge was purely mental, or you found a way through a physical one without getting hurt."
Observant. Very observant.
I hesitated. Giving away information felt dangerous. But she'd already figured it out, and antagonizing potential allies seemed stupid.
"Logic puzzle," I admitted. "Four pillars, deduction problem. You?"
"Pattern sequence," she said. "Had to identify which number came next in a series. Got it with two minutes left." She paused. "I'm Tomoko."
"Akira."
We stood there for a second, two survivors in a room full of desperate people, sizing each other up.
She broke the silence first. "Everyone here is smart."
"What?"
"Look around." She gestured vaguely at the room. "Really look. Past the panic."
I followed her gaze.
The guy muttering , still pacing, like calculating something.
The woman stretching, movements precise, controlled, like a trained athlete.
The elderly man, meditating discipline and focus even in crisis.
And that too-calm guy by the wall, still watching everything with that clinical detachment.
"Logic puzzles. Pattern recognition. Memory tests. Strategy problems." Tomoko's voice was quiet but certain. "Round One wasn't just hard. It was specifically designed to filter for capability. And we're what's left."
My brain caught up to what she was saying.
She was right.
That pillar puzzle I'd solved, that wasn't something an average person could work through under pressure. That was competitive logic olympiad level. The kind of problem that required systematic deduction and the ability to stay calm while a timer counted down your death.
"We weren't randomly kidnapped," I said slowly. "We were selected."
"Maybe." Tomoko's expression was unreadable. "Or maybe we're just the ones who happened to be good at the specific puzzles we got. Survivor bias."
"Fifty people died," I pointed out. "That's not a small number. But it's also not everyone. The puzzles were calibrated to kill about twenty-five percent. That's too precise to be random."
She looked at me with something like respect. "You think fast."
"Average Student," I said.
"Chuckled, I hope we can help each other in future then" she replied.
We understood each other. That was... rare.
But before I could say anything else, the chaos in the room shifted.
* * *
The shouting match in the center had escalated. Two men were now fully fighting, fists flying, blood already visible. People were screaming. Some tried to intervene. Others just backed away.
"STOP!" A woman's voice, loud and commanding. "STOP IT RIGHT NOW!"
The fighters separated, breathing hard. One had a split lip. The other's nose was bleeding.
"This isn't helping!" The woman, middle-aged, professional attire, stepped between them. "Fighting each other won't get us out of here!"
"Then what will?" the bleeding-nose guy shouted. "Huh? Is fighting going to get us out of here?"
"We need to stay calm..."
"CALM?" His voice cracked. "Fifty people are DEAD! We're trapped in some sick fucking game and you want us to stay CALM?"
"Panicking won't help..."
"FUCK helping!" He turned to the room, addressing everyone. "Don't you get it? We're going to die here! All of us! This is.. this is.."
He broke down. Just collapsed to his knees, sobbing.
The woman knelt beside him, placed a hand on his shoulder. Said something too quiet for me to hear.
The room had gone silent again. Watching.
And I realized something.
Intelligence didn't matter. Talent didn't matter. Capability didn't matter.
Because fear was the great equalizer.
We might all be prodigies or savants or champions in our fields. But right now, in this moment, we were all just terrified people trying not to die.
"Shit," Tomoko whispered beside me.
I looked at her. She was staring at something across the room, her expression strange. Confused. Like she was trying to remember something.
"What?" I asked.
She shook her head. "Nothing. I just... thought I recognized someone. But I can't place where." She looked away, frustrated. "Doesn't matter."
Even though I followed her line of sight.
But I couldn't pinpoint to whom she was referring.
And then...
The voice returned.
"INTERIM PERIOD ENDING IN FIVE MINUTES. PROCEED TO YOUR ASSIGNED GROUP AREAS."
Doors along the walls slid open,maybe thirty of them, evenly spaced. Numbers appeared above each one, glowing white: 1, 2, 3, 4...
"GROUP ASSIGNMENTS ARE POSTED ON THE CENTRAL DISPLAY."
A section of the far wall lit up, showing a massive list of names and group numbers. People surged toward it immediately, desperate to know where they were going, who they'd be with.
I waited until the crowd thinned, then approached.
I scanned the list, looking for my name.
**GROUP 14:**
- SATO AKIRA
- ISHIKAWA TOMOKO
- MATSUDA YUKI
- TANAKA HIDEAKI
- YAMAMOTO KENJI
Five people. I didn't recognize any of the other names except Tomoko.
At least there was one familiar face.
I looked for her in the crowd and found her reading the same board. Our eyes met. She nodded once.
Group 14.
I memorized the other names: Yuki, Hideaki, Kenji and headed toward Door 14.
* * *
The room beyond was smaller. Maybe ten meters by ten meters. White walls. White floor. Five chairs arranged in a rough circle.
And four other people.
Tomoko was already there, standing near one of the chairs. She nodded when she saw me.
The others were strangers.
A young girl, the same kid I'd seen hyperventilating earlier. Yuki, presumably. She looked even smaller up close, maybe nine or ten years old. Her eyes were puffy and red, but she wasn't crying now. Just staring at the floor, hugging herself.
Ten years old. Jesus Christ.
A middle-aged man in a business suit, balding, wire-frame glasses. Hideaki, maybe? He looked exhausted. Defeated. Like he'd aged ten years in the last hour.
And an elderly man, late sixties, wearing simple clothes, slacks and a button-down shirt. Kenji, probably. He had the careful, observant look of someone who'd seen a lot of life. His eyes were sharp despite his age.
No one spoke for a long moment.
Then Tomoko broke the silence. "I guess we're Group 14."
Hideaki looked up. "Do we... know what Round Two is yet?"
"No rulebook," Kenji said quietly. His voice was gravelly but steady. "We'll get it when the round starts, I assume."
"Fantastic," Hideaki muttered. "Just fantastic."
Yuki said nothing. Just hugged herself tighter.
I sat down in one of the chairs. My knees screamed in protest, I hadn't realized how tense I'd been standing.
"We should introduce ourselves," Tomoko said. She was trying to take charge. Natural leader instincts. "I'm Tomoko Ishikawa. Eighteen. I survived Round One by solving a pattern sequence."
She looked at me. I sighed. "Akira Sato. Seventeen. Logic puzzle."
The others followed.
Hideaki: twenty-seven, office worker, survived by "sheer luck and panic, honestly."
Kenji: sixty-eight, retired teacher, survived by "reading carefully and thinking slowly."
Yuki didn't speak. Tomoko crouched down next to her chair. "Hey. What's your name?"
The girl's voice was barely a whisper. "Yuki."
"How old are you, Yuki?"
"...Ten."
Ten years old. Kidnapped. Forced into a death game. Watched fifty people die.
Tomoko's expression softened. "You did really well to make it this far. You're very brave."
Yuki didn't respond. But something in her posture relaxed slightly.
Tomoko straightened up, her face hardening again. "Okay. Five of us. We don't know what Round Two is yet, but we need to work together. Agreed?"
Hideaki nodded quickly. Kenji gave a measured nod. I shrugged. Yuki stayed silent.
"Good," Tomoko said. "Then let's..."
A panel on the wall slid open with a soft hiss.
Five black handbooks fell out, landing on the floor in a neat row.
We all stared at them.
Then, as one, we lunged forward and grabbed them.
I flipped mine open, hands shaking, and started reading.
**ROUND 2: WOLF AND SHEEP**
**Difficulty: Bishop ♗**
Shit
"I read the objective. My hands started shaking again. This round, the enemy wasn't a puzzle. It was one of us."