The setting sun bathed the arena in an orange light. After enduring the ordeal of the first game, the players were gathered in a vast warehouse with metal walls. The oppressive silence was only broken by the irregular breaths of the participants, still marked by the recent carnage.
Doubts and tension
Loan, visibly troubled, approached her friends:
—I don't know if I can continue...
"You have no choice," replied Arthur. If we give up, we know what's waiting for us.
Étienne, usually calm, raised his voice:
— But at what cost? We all risk dying here!
Maylan looked at his friends one by one, searching for words to reassure them. He himself felt a visceral fear, but he understood that they had to stay united.
— Listen, he said, if we support each other, we have a chance. But if we let ourselves be overwhelmed by fear, we're done for.
Each player seemed lost in their thoughts, some crying silently, others displaying a cold determination.
— Do you think there will be other alliances? asked Préstamo
— It's almost certain, replied Arthur. But trusting here is playing with fire.
— So we stick together, concluded Étienne. No pact with the others.
The group nodded in silence. However, Maylan couldn't help but notice a man in the corner of the room who seemed to be watching them. He wore a number: 147. His eyes were piercing, and an enigmatic smile floated on his lips.
After the meal, the players were led into another space, this time an immense hall with elevated bleachers. In the center, a massive structure was concealed under a tarp. The murmurs grew more numerous until a masked guard, dressed in red, spoke up:
— Congratulations on surviving the first game. You are 156 players still in the running. The next game will start tomorrow morning. Get ready.
A large screen lit up, displaying a countdown: 12:00:00. Each flashing digit seemed to weigh heavily on the shoulders of the participants.
A player suddenly approached a guard:
— I want to leave! Do you hear me? Let me out!
The guard looked at him in silence before drawing his weapon. The shot rang out, and the player collapsed under the horrified screams of the others. The room fell into a chilling silence.
"The rule is simple," the guard announced coldly. Now that you have voted, you stay, or you die.
Arthur and Étienne clenched their fists, their faces marked by restrained anger.
Back in the communal dormitory, the players gathered into small clans. Maylan observed the others, discreetly analyzing the alliances that were forming. The man with number 147 seemed to be leading a group of six people.
— We should be careful with them, whispered Maylan. There are too many of them.
— And very well organized, agreed Arthur. We must remain vigilant.
Loan, tired, sat on her bed.
— Do you think we have a chance? he asked weakly.
— We don't have a choice, replied Maylan. If we're here, it's to win.
In a corner of the room, a discreet whisper was heard. Maylan turned his head and noticed a young woman, number 271, who seemed to be trying to get his attention. He hesitated, but his instinct urged him to approach.
— What do you want? he asked softly.
— Just to let you know, she said in a lowered voice. Watch out for 147. He is not here to play.
— Ok, thanks, Maylan replies softly.
The Night Before the Chaos
The light went out suddenly, plunging the dormitory into darkness. The players froze, some murmuring prayers. But in that darkness, footsteps and conspiratorial whispers could be heard.
"Stay close to me," said Maylan to his friends.
The group formed a defensive circle around their beds. A palpable tension hung in the air, every sound becoming suspect.
As the hours stretched on, Maylan wondered if their friendship would be strong enough to survive the trials to come.