As soon as the numbers appeared, the room went quiet in a way that felt heavier than before, the system voice mocking as ever:
Former participant count: 640,472,120
Current participant count: 640,214,315
257,805 participants have been terminated.
Congratulations. You have successfully advanced to the next phase of the Games.
Please proceed through your assigned door.
The system congratulated us like that number meant nothing. Like those people were just… a statistic. And maybe now they were.
I barely heard the rest as the doors materialised. Mine appeared the same as before, simple and silent, waiting.
Laura stepped forward beside me and I followed, but before I crossed the threshold, my eyes drifted—not intentionally, just pulled—to Catherine.
She was still standing where the game had ended, trembling while she tried to swallow sobs and breathe normally. Someone placed a hand on her shoulder, but it didn't stop the way her body shook.
I looked away before she noticed me staring and stepped through the door.
The transition was instant, and we found ourselves walking the familiar hall toward the hotel lobby again. The atmosphere here was normal—too normal—like the building itself didn't acknowledge the chaos happening inside its walls.
Laura walked in silence beside me, but I kept replaying her earlier answer in my head.
Fun.
She'd said the game was fun.
I still didn't know if she meant it, or if she said it because she thought she was supposed to. And neither option made sense.
We pushed through the glass doors into the ground floor. The air smelled like polished marble and expensive nothing. Just before we reached the elevators, voices caught my attention.
Three guys stood near the corner, leaning against the wall like they owned the place, laughing with that careless energy of people who weren't thinking about consequences.
One of them slapped his knee as he talked.
"Dude. The card literally said: Blue tells Red to pleasure themselves through their clothes."
The other two burst into laughter like it was the greatest punchline ever written.
One leaned closer.
"Dude. Did she do it?"
The first guy nodded, grinning like he was proud of himself.
"She did. And I won't lie... I got hard."
More laughing. Loud, careless, entertained.
I slowed, jaw tightening before I even realized it. Something sour settled in my stomach—not jealousy, not anger, just… disgust.
I glanced at Laura.
She was watching them too. Not smiling. Not curious. Just quietly taking it in with that unreadable expression she always had—like she was evaluating something the same way someone looks at a strange insect.
Our eyes met for just a second, and I knew she saw the look on my face.
I didn't say anything.
I just pressed the elevator button, keeping my posture straight, pretending the world wasn't getting uglier by the minute.
When the doors slid open, I stepped inside and waited for her to join me.
Because despite everything—despite the games, despite that word she said—
I still wanted to believe I could hold on to something human.
Even if I had no idea how much longer that would last.
And it didn't last long.
Because by nightfall, the same crazy assholes from 461-C were at it again. Sex — loud, messy, and definitely unbothered by the fact that nearly three hundred thousand people died today. Their headboard slammed against the wall like they were celebrating survival with the most obnoxious mating ritual imaginable.
I lay on the bed staring at the ceiling, pretending the sound wasn't there. Pretending it didn't irritate me. Pretending I didn't understand exactly why people clung to distractions like that.
Anything to forget.
Just then, the bathroom door opened, and Laura stepped back into the room.
I lifted my head slightly… and froze.
She was wearing nothing but a thin T-shirt — a bit oversized enough to pass as casual but short enough to make it very clear it was chosen on purpose. The fabric hugged her chest, outlining the shape of her breasts, and hung just past her ass, leaving her thighs completely exposed.
Every step made the shirt shift just enough to tease more.
The look in her eyes said this was intentional, and I could already guess where this was going before she even spoke.
She climbed onto the bed slowly, then swung one leg over me and settled on my lap, straddling me like she'd rehearsed it.
My breath caught.
"…Laura, what are you—"
She placed a finger on my lips.
"Shh," she whispered. "Just listen."
So I did.
And all I heard was the same rhythmic chaos echoing from 461-C — bodies slamming, beds creaking, breathless laughter, and the kind of desperation that only exists when death is breathing down someone's neck. It was raw, messy, almost feral.
I swallowed, trying to steady my voice.
"Laura, I have a fiancée and I lov—"
She cut me off without hesitation.
"It's just sex," she murmured, like the words were obvious… harmless.
Then she tilted her head, studying me with a quiet certainty before adding, almost playful:
"Besides… you're already getting hard."
My heart raced. She moved her hips gently against mine — innocently, experimentally, as if to confirm it — and the motion dragged friction right over where I was already responding. There was no room left to pretend I wasn't, because that single motion made everything worse... and impossible to ignore.
"See?" she whispered.
I hated how right she was.
Laura then slid down my body, hands sliding down my chest. She knelt between my legs and slowly unzipped my pants.
I wanted to stop her, but the sounds from the next room only fueled my desire.
As soon as she freed my straining cock and wrapped her lips around it, all rational thought fled.
Her tongue swirled around the head, teasing me until I gripped the sheets, torn between guilt and ecstasy.
The night became a blur of heat and impulse after that — rough, reckless, selfish. Every line I swore I would never cross blurred until it vanished, and I stopped caring about what was right or wrong. I just moved with her and lost myself in her like the world outside the mattress didn't exist.
When morning came, the adrenaline was gone, and reality hit with the kind of weight that settles deep in the bones.
I woke first.
Laura was curled beside me, breathing steadily, completely at peace — like nothing about last night was complicated or dangerous. Her hair was spread across the pillow, her hand resting lightly against my chest as if she belonged there.
I slowly sat up, pressing my palms to my face.
I cheated.
On Diana.
The realization wasn't a sharp stab — it was a slow, sinking collapse. But what made my stomach twist wasn't the guilt.
It was the truth that followed.
As I stared at Laura's sleeping form — at the softness, the warmth, the comfort I shouldn't want — I felt it.
A quiet, horrifying certainty.
I wanted to do it again.
And that was the moment I knew: the Games weren't just trying to break me.
It already had.