~~ Trillin Trillin ~~
The alarm clock on the phone buzzed.
"Ugh…" A young man, lying in bed, reached for his ringing phone. As he opened his eyes and glanced at the screen, the time glared back at him: 7:30.
"Crap, I'm late!"
He jumped out of bed and dashed to the bathroom to take a quick shower. When he stepped out, he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror.
His face was unremarkable, with brown eyes that looked sunken and tired, framed by dark circles and his messy black hair betrayed his lack of effort to maintain his appearance.
"Damn, damn, damn! I'm later than ever!" he muttered, his raspy voice dripping with frustration.
Without wasting another second, he hurried to the kitchen. He slapped together a quick sandwich—barely more than two slices of bread and a smear of whatever he found in the fridge—then shoved it into his mouth as he grabbed his bag.
He ran to the door, swung it open, and bolted outside.
But as soon as his foot hit the threshold, something strange happened. His vision blurred, the world around him seemed to warp, and before he could process it, he tripped over nothing and fell face-first onto the ground.
Except… he didn't hit the ground.
Instead, his body seemed to vanish into thin air, leaving behind an eerie silence, as if he had never been there at all.
...
A sharp pain shot through the back of his neck, jolting Number 29 awake. His breathing was erratic, and his heart hammered in his chest as he sat upright, clutching the base of his skull.
"Ah… what is this?" he groaned, his fingers grazing the cold, smooth surface of something embedded just beneath his skin. The sensation was foreign, unnatural, and his panic only grew.
"Stop moving so much," came a calm yet firm voice.
He turned his head sharply toward the source. Sitting on a low wooden stool near the window was a woman—Japanese, with long black hair that fell neatly past her shoulders. Her sharp, observant eyes studied him carefully. She wore simple, practical clothes and sat with the posture of someone used to being in control. A faint frown creased her face, as though annoyed by his reaction.
"Where… where am I?!" he blurted, his hand still pressed against his neck. The pain was subsiding, but his mind raced with confusion and dread. "What is this thing in my neck? What's going on?"
"Relax," she said, standing and walking toward him. "Panicking won't help you. Take a deep breath."
But he couldn't. As soon as his fingers pressed harder against the chip, something happened.
His vision blurred for a moment, and a flood of information poured into his mind, as if someone had connected him to a machine. Images of a colossal labyrinth, and a timer—three years, ticking down—flashed before his eyes. A voice, cold and mechanical, echoed in his thoughts:
"You have three years to prepare, You're part of team 3579. The labyrinth awaits."
His body stiffened as the voice faded. He gasped for air, pulling his hand away from his neck.
"Three… years?" he whispered, his voice trembling.
The woman—Number 3—watched him without a word. Her expression softened slightly, but she didn't look surprised.
"You felt it, didn't you?" she asked after a moment. "The… message?"
He nodded slowly, his hands shaking. "What the hell is this? Why… why can't I—"
He stopped mid-sentence, his brow furrowing. He tried again, this time forcing the words: "Why can't I remember anything?"
She sighed. "I don't know. None of us know. Whatever they put in our necks, it stripped that away from us. Names, pasts, memories—gone. All we have are numbers now."
Her words sent a chill down his spine. He looked at her, his mouth dry. "Who did this to us?"
She shook her head. "If I had the answer to that, we wouldn't be sitting here."
He looked around, his breathing gradually slowing as he took in his surroundings. The wooden walls, sturdy and rough, framed a space that felt both fragile and safe. A warm breeze slipped through the cracks, carrying the scent of leaves and wood, while sunlight poured in from a small window, bathing the interior in golden light.
He turned toward the open window, where he could see the massive walls of the labyrinth stretching high into the sky, their towering presence casting long shadows over the landscape. Despite the strangeness of the situation, the combination of sunlight and gentle air was oddly soothing, easing the edge of his panic.
"Where… where are we?" he asked, his voice steadying but still thick with confusion.
She glanced at him, her arms crossed, her tone calm but firm. "This is the shelter. The only one we've got. The treehouse was here when we arrived—whoever brought us here must've built it. It's enough for now, but don't get too comfortable."
His brow furrowed as he processed her words. "Who's 'we'? How many people are here?"
"You're Number 29," she explained. "A new person shows up every day. Tomorrow, Number 30 will arrive, and the group will be complete. So far, you're the second-to-last."
"Every day…" he murmured, glancing at the floor. The thought of being part of a slow, methodical process unsettled him.
Number 3 leaned against the wall, her sharp eyes fixed on him. "You need to adapt quickly, Number 29. The first few days are hard, but if you can keep it together, you'll make it. There's no room for hesitation here."
He turned back toward her, the weight of her words sinking in. "Adapt to what?" he asked.
Her gaze flicked briefly toward the window, where the shadow of the labyrinth walls loomed large. She didn't answer directly. Instead, she said, "You'll see soon enough. For now, just focus on getting your head straight. Tomorrow, things will change again."
Number 3 pushed herself off the wall and stepped toward him, her gaze unwavering. "Listen, don't think too much about it right now," she said, her tone sharp but not unkind. "Overthinking won't help you here. It never does."
She walked to the window, glancing outside briefly before turning back to him. "Come on," she said, gesturing toward the door. "I'll show you around. The place isn't much, but it's home for now. You'll meet the others too"