When they all left on the karaoke. I went to plan for the next move inside.
It happened when I was alone. Or at least, I thought I was.
I was reviewing my mental checklist, trying to map out alliances, when a voice called out from behind me.
Soft, hesitant. Almost… guilty.
"Hey," she said. "I need to tell you something."
I turned slowly. It was Kara — the reporter.
Her hands were trembling, clutching her tablet to her chest as though it were her only shield in this nightmare.
"I didn't want to say it yesterday. I wasn't expecting the doctor is also there."
"But… when I checked my logs today, I noticed something strange. I—I think something's very wrong."
I narrowed my eyes. "What do you mean?"
She hesitated. Bit her lip. Then said it—
"The doctor… she was killed. Two nights ago."
I froze. The world slowed down.
My mind blanked, then flooded, like water crashing against a dam, trying to burst through. My breath caught, my chest tightened, and I couldn't feel the floor beneath me anymore.
"What?"
"I—I saw it in the log. The death wasn't reported because… something blocked the system. Like someone jammed the auto-announce. But the timestamp—two nights ago. She's dead."
"Whoever we were talking to, whoever's been walking around with you, comforting me, talking like her—it's not her. I don't know who that is."
Silence.
Heavy. Suffocating. Cold.
Everything around me felt unreal.
The couch I sat on.
The walls of the room.
Even my own breathing.
If what Kara said was true… then the person I trusted the most these past few nights was already dead.
That hug. That whisper. That smile I thought I could lean on—all a lie. Who treated the wounded, plans with me, walked beside me in the dark?
I forced myself not to break. Not in front of Kara. Not now.
She looked at me, fearfully. "I'm sorry," she whispered. "I should have said something sooner the moment I saw her."
I shook my head slowly, then stood.
I clenched my fists. My heart wanted to scream, but I swallowed it down, forced my hands to loosen. I couldn't afford to break. Not now. Not when eyes were watching, not when ears were listening in every crack of every wall.
I breathe in heavily. One breath. Two…
Then I said aloud, mostly to myself:
I need to be one step ahead now…
NO!
I need to be five steps ahead… I'm not going to trust anyone in this crazy game. I need to get ahead. At this point on no more half-baked plans I need to do everything in perfect.
I looked at Kara with a hint of sorrow.
No—I can't trust anyone. I'm sorry Kara I won't be able to trust you as well…
While walking down going to my dorm.
I heavily thought on what to do:
No one is safe—not even the people I think I trust. Assume no one is safe. Even allies.
I have to test everyone. Subtle lies, little traps—see who flinches and other uncharacteristic movement.
Control the narrative. Before they use it against me.
Prepare for death. Mine or theirs.
Find out who's pretending to be her. And why.
As I sat in the dim of my room, staring at my own reflection in the window.
She was killed two nights ago…
But someone had taken her place.
And that meant someone was smart. Enough to take her down and grab her card.
That's why it doesn't make sense when she suddenly went outside the wardrobe when in normal reaction people would hide on a different spot or prepare for the worst but she went outside in her own.
And close.
Very, very close.
The moment she told me…
The moment I heard those words…
They thought they were smart. That I wouldn't notice. But thanks to Kara now I know.
You tried to play me. Now I'll play you back. Better.
I won't tell the others. Not yet.
The person pretending to be the doctor might not even know I know.
That's my advantage.
The only question left now was…
Why?
And what else had I missed?
I needed answers.
I stared down at my card. My official role. My identity in this twisted game.
It never sat right with me.
I'd never felt… like the others.
My card didn't behave like theirs.
At first, I thought I was just imagining it — a quirk in the formatting, a strange texture on the back, and an odd flicker of static every time I look. I thought maybe I was paranoid.
Sitting on the edge of my bed in the dim glow of my room, I turned the card over in my hand, examining every edge, every microscopic detail. The curtains were drawn, the hallway quiet — just the faint hum of the ceiling fan above.
Was there more to it? Hidden abilities? Encryption?
I tapped it against my lamp.
Rubbed it under the warm light.
Even held it under my phone's QR scanner.
Nothing.
Until—
Bzzzt.
My phone vibrated.
A single message.
From an unknown number.
No contact name. No number. Just a blank sender ID and a message that sent a chill straight through my spine.
"That's a fake card, isn't it?"
My breath caught in my throat.
I looked around instinctively, even though I knew I was alone.
I read it again.
That's a fake card, isn't it?
No emojis. No typos. No signature. Just a flat, emotionless line.
Fake?
What did they mean fake?
Was mine different?
Or were theirs?
My pulse quickened. I didn't respond. Not yet. I couldn't afford to. I backed out of the message screen and pulled up my notes.
I jotted down three words:
"They know something."
But who? Who is it?
And how much do they know?
My eyes trailed back to the card.
What if my card was never meant to match the others? What if it wasn't just different — what if it was something important? Something built for this game? I can't seem to sit tight with all the questions in my head.
I didn't even realize I was gripping the card tighter until I saw the sweat on my palm.
My hands were trembling, but not from fear from adrenaline. From something I hadn't felt in a long time.
Familiarity…
This situation — being watched, being hunted, and the puzzle of hidden motives I have a feeling it wasn't new to me.
Some part of me… deep down… remembered this feeling.
Not as a civilian.
Not as a player in a game.
But as something else.
Something colder.
Something trained.
The glow from my phone dimmed, screen fading to black. I was left staring at my own reflection in the glass — faint, ghostlike, backlit only by the soft desk lamp at my side.
Who am I, really?
And why did someone just call my card fake?
Tick.
Tock.
Tick.
The analog clock above my tv carved every second deeper into my thoughts. Nightfall crept closer, and with it, the possibility of death. Another vote. Another elimination. Another chance for everything to fall apart.
But the message…
Why send it now?
Why me?
Was it a threat?
A test?
Or… a reminder?
I stared at the card again, fingers curling around it like it might vanish. The surface seemed to shimmer under the light — not physically, but in perception. Like it knew more than I did. Like it was waiting for me to catch up.
Fake?
No. This card… it's real.
But maybe it's not mine?
Or maybe…
I disregard the though. I faintly laugh thinking something like that was absurd
Civilian. Strategist. Friend. Victim.
What else are hiding?
I leaned forward, elbows resting on the edge of the desk, the card laid flat in front of me like a confession letter.
I should be afraid.
I should be spiraling.
But—
Tick.
Tock.
Tick.
My eyes lifted slowly to the mirror again.
Something... older. Something colder.
A smile that felt like it belonged to someone else — but sat perfectly on my face.
And that's when the question came again, this time in my own voice:
"Is this who I've always been?"
Too many things happened today I can't think straight… Too many question left unanswered…
Inside, I lay alone.
With a ticking clock. Every second, every minute has passed.
Drowning in my own thoughts…