#1. GaMe StArT

"Next!" The cashier's voice rang out, cutting through the low hum of the bank. Her tone was stern, slightly impatient, as she glanced toward the line of customers that had slowly started to grow behind Axel Judge.

Axel, his gaze dull and unfocused, didn't move. His body felt heavy, as though it was encased in lead, and his feet seemed glued to the floor. He was aware of the people around him, the occasional whispers, the shuffle of feet, but he didn't care. His entire existence, his entire world, had shrunk down to this moment— this transaction, And yet, when he spoke, his voice cracked like a brittle bone.

"I'd like to withdraw all of my money from my account."

The cashier— her sharp eyes briefly flicking over him— took a second to analyze him. His worn-out suit, the rough curls in his hair, the barely-there stubble clinging to his face like a layer of regret. She didn't know his story, but his broken demeanor told her everything. There was no confidence in his posture, no pride in his voice. 

"Account details, please," she requested, her voice soft yet firm.

Axel handed over his card with a mechanical motion, his eyes never really focusing on anything in particular. He had no interest in the world anymore. He had no interest in life.

As the cashier typed his details into her terminal, Axel felt a cold pit settle in his stomach. It had only been a few days since she left him— she, the woman he'd loved for seven years. Without a word, without a trace, she had disappeared, and with her, she had taken everything. Every cent from his bank account, every bit of trust he'd ever placed in her, and every dream they had built together. 

He had come to the bank hoping she had left something behind for him perhaps out of sympathy.

The thought twisted in his gut, but he shoved it away.

The cashier paused, then glanced back at him. Her face was impassive, but her eyes were calculating. "Mr. Judge, I'm afraid the balance in your account is… quite low. Approximately 17 dollars and 25 cents. I'm unable to process a withdrawal of that amount."

Axel's hands clenched into fists at his sides. He had been through this before— he had thought he was prepared. But somehow, it stung more than it ever had before. He wanted to scream at her, to make her understand that the amount didn't matter. It was the principle, the loss, the betrayal. But all that came out was a weak, hollow breath.

The cashier gave him a second look, studying his face for a moment, perhaps searching for some hidden truth in his weary eyes. Then, without another word, she returned to her terminal, tapping the keys with a methodical precision. Her shoulders, taut from tension, seemed to relax slightly, but Axel couldn't bring himself to care about her discomfort.

"Sorry, sir," she said quietly, though there was a hint of hesitation in her voice. "I really can't—"

Before she could finish, the person behind Axel shoved him roughly forward. "Hey, buddy, you deaf or something?" The words were an attack, sharp and accusatory.

Axel stumbled, his head jerking forward with the force of the shove. The jolt made him dizzy, but he regained his balance with a deep breath. His mind was numb, but the irritation was growing. He turned his head just enough to catch a glimpse of the man who had pushed him— his expression cold, impatient, and completely unaware of Axel's internal collapse.

"Sorry," Axel muttered, the word coming out like a whimper.

The man sneered. "Yeah, you should be." He muttered something else under his breath, but Axel didn't listen. He wasn't even sure he could hear it, not with the roar of thoughts crashing against his skull.

"Sir...."

The cashier's voice had become more distant, a muffled sound that didn't quite register in Axel's brain. He was beyond this. He was done. This was the end of the line. His life had been reduced to an empty bank account and broken trust.

Still, he handed her the details again. Her fingers were quick, mechanical, tapping the keys with a skill that reminded him of how much of his life had been nothing but routine— nothing but the same monotonous motions. What was the point of it all?

The cashier's voice broke through his haze again, this time softer. "Mister Judge, I'm sorry, but I can't proceed with your request. You... you don't have enough funds."

Axel blinked at her, his gaze unfocused. "I know," he said, his voice so low it barely registered. "I know."

His life, in that moment, seemed like nothing more than a series of empty steps. A tragedy, 

The cashier, though, seemed almost relieved. "Um... sir," she said, her eyes flitting nervously between the other customers in line and him, "you're holding up the line."

Axel felt a ripple of anger, but it was small, distant— like it was happening to someone else. He forced his gaze toward her. His eyes, cold and detached, flickered with something unrecognizable.

She was young, barely in her twenties, with big, expressive eyes that seemed to magnify the sorrow and fear. She had a slender frame, and her orange hair was pulled back into a ponytail that bobbed with her every movement. She was pretty, in a delicate way, and the buttons on her uniform strained against the weight of her chest.

"Just look at you," Axel muttered, his voice thick with bitterness. "You probably have the perfect skincare routine. Your skin's flawless, isn't it? You're probably just perfect, aren't you?"

The words came out like venom, dripping with a resentment that he didn't know he could still feel. The anger was foreign to him, but it seemed to pour out of him uncontrollably. Her reaction was quick, sharp, like a slap to his face. Her lips twisted into a tight, thin line, and she straightened up.

"Excuse me," she said, her voice clipped. "I will have to ask you to leave now. Immediately."

Axel didn't flinch. He didn't even look away. He stepped forward, slowly, deliberately, and in a movement almost as if rehearsed, he slapped her—hard—across the face.

The sound was sharp. It echoed in the small space, breaking the tense silence that had settled like dust over the bank. The woman cried out in pain, clutching her cheek. A strangled sob broke from her throat, and her eyes were wide with shock. 

The air in the room shifted.

"Security!" she screamed, the word tearing from her throat like a plea. 

Axel didn't resist when the security guards swarmed around him, their hands clamping down on his arms with a strength that he could barely register. His movements were sluggish, his mind still fogged with detachment. He was aware of the people watching him, their eyes filled with a mix of fear and judgment. But he didn't care. 

The guards pushed him toward the door, but Axel wasn't finished yet. Not with them. Not with her.

"What's your problem, why not have some dignity and just get out!" She screamed at him.

"Dignity?" Axel sneered, his voice rasping. "That's rich, coming from you."

The bank was in chaos now— people shouted, whispered, panicked. Axel felt something deep inside him break free. Something dark. Something twisted. But there was no time to revel in it. No time to reflect.

The lights flickered once, then died completely. A brief moment of pitch-black silence.

Then— BAM! A bright red light flooded the room, casting everything in an eerie glow. 

"What the hell?" someone shouted.

"Is this a prank?" Someone else said.

Someone reiaded a more pressing concern. "I can't get my phone to work."

A man in the corner dropped his phone. "Mine's dead too!"

A big noise erupted from the corner, "Guys the doors have all vanished."

"What the hell is going on here?" Someone cried.

"Something's wrong. This isn't right," another person mumbled, his voice trembling.

The sound of a high-pitched ringing pierced through the room, coming from the ceiling. It was almost unbearable, and for a moment, no one knew what to do, where to go. 

Then the voice came.

"Testing, one, two, three..."

The voice was clear, mechanical, but it had a sinister edge to it. Everyone in the room froze.

"Good day, participants." The voice continued, cold and indifferent. "Welcome to the Ultimate Survival Game."

Axel's stomach tightened. His mind screamed at him to understand what was happening, but no answer came.

"The rules are simple: Complete the tasks given to you to survive, fail and die. The first task will begin shortly. Stand by."

The red orb that hovered in the air above them pulsed with light, and a strange, unholy chill ran down Axel's spine. 

The screen before him flickered to life. The text on it was simple, direct.

**First Task: Qualifying Round**

**Game #1: The Fifty Heads Game**

**Level: E**

**Time Limit: 30 Minutes**

"Now what's this?" Axel asked himself.

The red orb spoke again. "You have recieved your first task. The rules of the game are quite simple. There are approximately 147 heads in the area, reduce the number to 50 to pass the game. Know that there will be a penalty for failure. Survival is of the fittest."

Axel's pulse quickened. Heads. People. How— could it be....? 

He looked around, his mind racing. People were already starting to panic. The room had descended into complete chaos, people screaming, crying, clawing at the walls in a desperate bid for escape.

But the exits were gone.

Axel stood motionless, his body stiff. The words on the screen blurred before his eyes.

**Game Start.**