The night wind on Island 0 brought not only the scent of salt and decay; it brought despair.
Salim stood frozen, staring at the industrial tablet screen flickering dimly in his hand. The number 200/200 in the corner looked like the starting score of a video game, but Salim knew, every digit there represented a beating heart—a heart now threatened to stop at any moment.
Around him, the members of Group 27 were struggling against their new reality.
"My bag..." Rehan's voice trembled, almost like a suppressed sob.
Rehan was kneeling on the wet sand, feeling the ground around him frantically. His fingers dug into the sand, overturning rocks, searching for something that wasn't there.
"Where is my bag? My laptop... My Jammer..." Rehan looked up at Salim, his face deathly pale under the moonlight. Those usually cynical and calculating eyes were now filled with pure terror. "Lim, they took everything. My laptop, Lim! That's my life! My database, my scripts... everything is in there!"
Not just the laptop. Rehan reached into his pants and hoodie pockets. Empty. His phone, flash drive, even the smartwatch he always prided himself on, all gone.
"Calm down, Han," Salma said, though her own voice sounded thin. She stood up, brushing off her dirty uniform skirt. "Check yourselves. What's left?"
Udin checked himself. "Nil. Just uniform, belt, and shoes. Even my wallet was taken. Damn it, my mom's photo was in there."
Alya, who had regained her composure first, checked her shirt pocket. "Pocket stethoscope... gone. Penlight... gone. The First Aid kit I brought from school... gone. They stripped us to the bone."
Salim looked at them one by one. This was the first step of dehumanization. By taking personal items, the organizers not only removed survival aids but also stripped away their identities. Without a laptop, Rehan was just an awkward teenager. Without a First Aid kit, Alya was just an ordinary girl.
"They want us to start from zero," Salim analyzed coldly. "Zero equipment. Zero weapons. Zero help."
Salim raised his right hand. The prusik bracelet from Maya still circled there.
"Except what is attached to the body and considered 'harmless'," Salim continued. "Check your pockets again. Maybe something small slipped through."
Rehan reached into his inner jacket pocket. He pulled out a cheap mechanical pencil. "Just this. What's the use of a pen without paper?"
"Keep it," Salim ordered. "Any sharp object, no matter how small, can be a weapon in a desperate situation."
Salma stepped into the center of the circle, instinctively taking the leader role. She gripped her tablet tightly.
"Okay, enough panic. We have to analyze the situation. Rehan, you said this is a closed intranet network?" Salma asked.
Rehan nodded weakly, still in shock but his brain starting to work. He turned on his tablet again. "Yeah. The OS is Linux-based, but the kernel is deadlocked. I can't access root without an external keyboard or terminal access. This is just a monitoring and display tool. We are just users, not admins."
"Try opening the 'Rules' menu," Salim said. "I saw a glimpse earlier, the content was weird. We need to dissect it. In a game like this, rules are the only thing separating us from corpses."
The five of them gathered around Salim's tablet placed on a flat rock. The screen light illuminated their tense faces.
Salim pressed the "GAME RULES" icon.
There were no clear points 1, 2, 3. What appeared was text in ancient calligraphy style against a blood-red background.
THE CODE OF ISLAND ZERO
Article I: The Balance of Life
In no-man's land, the jungle law is lord.
One falls, a thousand grow.
Blood is currency, breath is the wager.
Eliminate or be eliminated, until the seventh glow.
Article II: Point Currency
A thousand points capital, shrinking with time.
Eating costs points, drinking costs points.
Whose wallet is empty, their neck shall sever.
Seize from the opponent, and live forever.
Article III: Territorial Sanction
Stay not in one spot, or the sky will rage.
The red zone walks, chasing the tired age.
Water's edge is death, friend's edge is treason.
Only one throne remains, at the end of the season.
Silence. The night wind felt even colder, piercing the bone.
"This... this is insane," Alya whispered. "Poetry? They want us to kill each other based on poetry?"
"This isn't just poetry, Al," Salma cut in, her eyes narrowing sharply. "This is instruction code. Old literature was often used as war ciphers in the past. Let's dissect it stanza by stanza."
Salim nodded in agreement. "Let's dissect. Article I. 'Blood is currency'. The meaning is clear. Killing or injuring opponents will give rewards."
"But what is 'One falls, a thousand grow'?" Udin asked, confused. "Does it mean if one dies, a thousand people come back to life?"
"No," Salim answered quickly. "That's hyperbole. It means, one opponent's death provides enough resources (Points) to sustain many people—or in this context, one group. If we kill one person, the points we get might be enough to feed the five of us."
Rehan pointed to Article II. "'Whose wallet is empty, their neck shall sever'. That refers to Life Points. Look at the top left corner of your tablets."
They all looked. There was a number: POINTS: 1000.
And next to it, a small number kept decreasing every second.
-1... -1...
"Our points are decreasing automatically!" Rehan shouted in panic. "This is the cost of living. Just breathing costs money here!"
Salim calculated quickly. "One point per second? No, that's too fast. Looks like one point per minute. Wait."
They waited. The number dropped again after a minute.
"One point per minute," Salim concluded. "An hour is 60 points. A day is 1,440 points. Our capital is only 1,000. That means..."
Salma's face paled. "It means if we do nothing, we all explode in less than 17 hours. Not even until tomorrow night."
The fact hit them like a sledgehammer. 17 hours. That was their life limit if they remained passive.
"We have to find points," Udin said, his voice heavy. "How?"
"'Seize from the opponent', the rule says," Alya read with a trembling voice. "We have to... take other people's points?"
"There's another way," Rehan interrupted, his finger swiping the screen to the SHOP menu. "Look at this. There's a price list."
* Mineral Water 600ml: 200 Points.
* Bread Loaf: 300 Points.
* Bandage: 150 Points.
* Folding Knife: 1,000 Points.
"We can transfer points," Rehan said. "There's a Transfer feature. So if we catch an enemy, we can force them to transfer their points to us before... before we eliminate them."
Salim fell silent, staring at Article III.
"'Stay not in one spot, or the sky will rage. The red zone walks...'," Salim muttered. "This is a classic Battle Royale mechanism. The safe zone will shrink. If we stay here, this area will become a red zone. And 'the sky will rage' probably means artillery bombardment or drone attacks."
"So the conclusion," Salma summarized with the firm tone of a leader, though her hands trembled. "We have three problems. One: Our life time is less than 17 hours. Two: We need expensive food and water. Three: We have to keep moving."
"And four," Salim added, pointing to the dark forest. "There are 39 other groups who just realized the same thing. And they must be panicking. Panicked people are dangerous."
Suddenly, Udin raised his right hand, signaling silence. His ears twitched slightly.
"Shhh," Udin hissed.
Everyone froze instantly.
"There's a sound," Udin whispered, his eyes staring sharply at the bushes to the north, about twenty meters from their position. "Sound of breaking twigs. Footsteps. Not animals. Pattern is irregular."
Rehan hurriedly lowered his tablet screen brightness to minimum. "Any signal on the radar?"
Salim checked the MAPS feature on his tablet. The map was still dark (fog of war), only a 10-meter radius around them was visible. But, at the edge of that radius, there was a faint blink.
A red dot.
"Someone's coming," Salim whispered. "One person. Or maybe a scout."
Udin immediately took a stance, ready to pounce. He had no weapon, but his calloused hands were clenched tight.
"Do we hide or fight?" Alya asked fearfully.
"Can't hide. Our collars have lights," Salma pointed to the green light blinking on Alya's neck. In the darkness, the light was like a lighthouse.
"We face it," Salim decided. "Udin in front. Me and Rehan backup. Salma, Alya, behind. Find rocks or wood. Now!"
They moved fast but silently. Udin stood behind a large tree. Salim picked up a sturdy tree branch.
The footsteps got closer.
Rustle. Rustle.
The figure emerged from the bushes. He wore a Rajawali High uniform torn at the sleeves. A male student. He walked staggering, holding his head.
It wasn't an enemy ready to attack. It was a victim of panic.
The student looked up, seeing the alert Group 27. His eyes widened.
"Help..." the student moaned. "My group... they... they went crazy..."
Before the student could finish his sentence, he collapsed to the ground. In his back, a makeshift arrow made of a sharpened twig was embedded.
"Back!" Udin shouted.
From the direction the student came, three other figures appeared. They carried wooden sticks sharpened at the ends. Their faces weren't panicked. Their faces were cold.
It was Group 23. Septian's Group (Literature Student).
Septian stood in the middle, holding a simple bow he likely made himself in a short time—or found. He smirked seeing Group 27.
"Well, well," Septian said, his voice poetic but terrifying. "Look who we found in the dead of night. The Student Council President and her bodyguards."
Septian glanced at the student lying on the ground—his own member whom he seemingly sacrificed or hunted.
"Jungle law, Salma," Septian said, quoting the rule on the tablet. "'One falls, a thousand grow'. This friend of ours... he was a burden. His points are more useful to us."
Salim saw Septian's tablet light up. Septian's points increased drastically. He just killed his own friend—or let him die—to take his points.
"You're insane," Salma hissed.
"We adapt," Septian retorted. He raised his bow, aiming at Salma. "And you... you are walking point banks."
Udin stepped forward, becoming a shield for Salma. "Step over my corpse first if you want to touch her."
"With pleasure," Septian answered.
The first battle on Island 0 was about to break out. Not out of grudge, but out of a cruel, simple mathematical calculation: Their Points mean Our Lives.
Salim gripped his wooden stick tightly. His brain spun, calculating distance, arrow angle, and wind speed.
Welcome to hell, Salim thought.