No one announced the beginning.
That's how every real disaster starts.
There was no press conference, no flag, no anthem playing in the background. No dramatic countdown. Just files being moved, signatures executed, and lives erased from databases.
At 02:14 UTC, one hundred thousand names were removed from the world.
Of those one hundred thousand, the imbalance was deliberate.Twenty thousand were flagged for firearm access—guns, rifles, ammunition seeded ahead of time.Thirty thousand were assigned blades—knives, crude machetes, tools that could become weapons.The rest were given nothing.
Equality was never part of the design.
Prisons across continents reported system failures within the same minute. CCTV loops froze. Guards received clearance codes they didn't ask for. Inmates were moved under blackout conditions. No explanations were given because none were required.
When the transport doors closed, the world stopped acknowledging what was inside.
A man in a clean room looked at a screen and said, "They'll adapt."
Another man replied, "Or they won't."
Neither of them cared which.
The aircraft didn't smell like death. It smelled like metal, sweat, and recycled air—human smells. The kind that mean people are still pretending this is temporary.
Chains cut into wrists. Ankles swelled. Some prisoners stared at the floor. Some stared at each other like mirrors they hated.
Arjun Yadav didn't stare at anything.
He sat still. Not calm. Not tense. Just present.
Around him were criminals who still believed in categories.
Murderers thought they were worse than thieves.Thieves thought they were smarter than murderers.Soldiers thought they were different.
None of that mattered anymore.
A man across the aisle whispered, "This is illegal."
Someone laughed.
Another voice said, "They'll pay for this."
No one responded.
People only threaten systems they think are listening.
The mechanical voice came without warning.
No greeting.No authority.
"Participants will now be deployed."
That was it.
No reason.No explanation.
The ramp opened and the wind punched through the cabin. Not dramatic wind. Violent, careless wind. The kind that doesn't care if you're ready.
People screamed. Some prayed. Some fought the chains until bones cracked.
Arjun was pushed.
He didn't scream.
He fell.
The island below didn't look welcoming or hostile. It looked indifferent. Ocean on one side. Mountains tearing the sky open on the other. In between, land that didn't promise anything.
The parachute opened automatically.
Choice was already removed.
When Arjun hit the ground, the first thing he noticed wasn't pain.
It was distance.
No guards.No cameras in sight.No structure.
Just humans scattered too far apart to help each other.
Someone nearby shouted, "Hello?" like this was a bad vacation.
Another man laughed and said, "Relax. This is a setup."
By evening, nobody was laughing.
Hunger doesn't negotiate. It doesn't announce itself. It just shuts things down.
Arguments broke out over nothing.
"Food drop hoga.""They can't leave us like this.""We should walk inland."
A man tried to assert control by raising his voice. Another shut him up with a rock.
That was the first violence.
Not dramatic.Not justified.
Just efficient.
Arjun watched.
He didn't intervene. He didn't help. He counted.
Who panicked.Who followed.Who waited.
The first animal was killed clumsily. No technique. No mercy. People ate raw meat and avoided eye contact, like that would make it less real.
No one said thank you.
Why would they?
On the other island, the landing was worse.
Rocky terrain. Dead ground. No obvious water source. The kind of place that doesn't let mistakes live long.
Kairo Voss landed wrong and laughed when blood filled his mouth.
He stood up, wiped his face, and looked around like he'd been invited.
Seven men approached him. Not because they trusted him—because groups feel safer when the world doesn't make sense.
One of them said, "We stick together."
Kairo killed him immediately.
No speech.No warning.
Just a clean break of the throat with practiced force.
The others froze.
Kairo smiled. Not wide. Not theatrical. Just enough.
"Anyone who leaves dies," he said.
Two tested it.
They didn't get far.
By nightfall, nobody on that island believed this was a game.
By morning, nobody believed in mercy.
Back on the first island, sunrise didn't bring hope. It brought clarity.
People realized no one was coming.
The arguments changed tone.
"What now?""Who decides?""Why should we listen to you?"
That's when Arjun spoke.
Not loudly.Not emotionally.
"We stop wasting time. We divide work. We stop pretending equality exists."
Someone scoffed. "And who put you in charge?"
Arjun looked at him.
"No one."
Silence followed. Not because they agreed. Because no better option stepped forward.
"Food," Arjun said. "Shelter. Stone. Water. You pick one. You fail, you leave."
"Leave where?"
Arjun didn't answer.
He didn't need to.
People understand consequences even when they don't like them.
Far away, on the deserted island, Kairo didn't divide labor.
He divided fear.
People joined him because they wanted to live one more day. He made sure they understood that tomorrow wasn't guaranteed either.
No speeches.No systems.
Just results.
Somewhere above both islands, unseen systems watched.
Heart rates.Deaths.Movement patterns.
No one intervened.
Because this wasn't about survival.
It was about what humans become when survival is the only rule left.
Five years had already started ticking.
Nobody had agreed to the rules.
Nobody had signed consent.
That didn't matter.
The experiment had begun.
And it would not stop until almost everyone was dead.