I didn't have an answer to any of those questions.
"I actually don't know; that's also what I would like to know," I said, looking at the wall.
The next text appeared, but sadly, it was not a hint.
"Do not expect any hint until game number 5 is completed. Only then may you have a hint or two.
For now, I ask you to answer the question so we can move on with our games or stop and send you all home."
"Do you have a clear answer?" I asked Jack after reading the text.
"Well, I just told you my answer. Now it is up to you to decide."
"Thank you," I said sarcastically.
I have guessed that this could be one of those dark internet shows, but I hoped that I was wrong. I know that there is no escape from those people.
What do I do now? Do I just say one of the showrunners from the dark web? Could that be an answer?
I didn't know, but there were no other answers I could think of.
Maybe it was right. Maybe I was injected with drugs and am now hallucinating most of the time.
Yeah, that could be it. But maybe it isn't. Maybe everything, every event, every death that happened was real.
"Dan," Jack called, "I think it tells us we have a time limit."
I checked the wall, and yes, again, there was a time limit to answer, but 2 minutes this time.
"So, what are you gonna answer?" Jack asked.
"I don't know. What you said makes sense, but I am not sure about it."
"Me neither, but if it is right, your answer won't matter. So let's hope that I am wrong," he said, sitting on the floor and waiting for me to answer.
"The problem is not answering; the problem is not knowing what's going to happen. What if I am wrong and let someone die? What if I won't be lucky next time?"
"Don't think too much," Jack said with a tired voice, "the more you think, the more time you are going to lose."
"True," I said, "I guess a wrong answer is better than no answer."
Then I took a deep breath and turned my face toward the wall.
"A showrunner in the dark web," I said, closing my eyes.
A writing noise again. The text changed, showing the result of my answer.
"Sadly, your answer was wrong; however, unlike before, you are starting to see the big picture. With the help of Jack, you are about to understand the purpose of these games."
"So I was right?" said Jack, letting out a sigh.
A new text was added under the existing one. It was for Jack.
"Jack, the door is open, and I want you to go through it. Do not worry, you will not be harmed. This is important for Daniel's rest and the next game. It will be played with someone else."
Both of us stood silent for a minute. Then Jack stood up and extended his right arm, probably for a handshake.
"It was until here, I guess," he said.
"Won't you be grossed out?" I said with a smirk, showing my hand.
He took a half step forward and shook my hand.
"Thank you, really."
I did not respond; I just couldn't. I pulled him into this mess, so saving him was the only thing I could do.
Then he walked toward the door, which opened on its own, waiting for Jack to pass through.
"Consider becoming a surgeon, if we survive here, that is," he said, leaving the room.
"No, thank you," I mumbled. I obviously didn't want to go through the same experience. But if becoming a surgeon would help me get out of here, I would.
The text changed again as soon as Jack left the room. I turned to see if it was about a new game, but it wasn't.
"Game number 5 will start in a few hours. I want you to rest during this time, because the next game will tire you a lot. If you need anything to rest, a bed, a chair, or a physical need like a bathroom, just ask; it will be provided."
"Then," I said, "give me a chair."
Immediately, the door opened, and 2 men entered the room, carrying a chair. They put it in the middle of the room, facing toward the wall. And without saying anything, they left.
I came closer to the chair and touched it with my hand. It felt really comfy. So I sat, and in a matter of minutes, with the help of tiredness, I slept, not knowing what kind of hell awaited me.