A giant screen flickered on above us, displaying two numbers:
Former participant count: 680,481,562
Current participant count: 640,472,121
The forest clearing went quiet. The survivors, those who'd made it across the river and past the first brutal challenge, all looked at one another with wide, unsettled eyes.
The voice returned again, calm and mechanical as always.
"40,009,441 participants failed to reach the finish line. Congratulations to all who have advanced to the next round. You have officially been assigned your Player IDs. This completes the initiation ceremony for the Games."
My palm throbbed slightly. I looked down, and there it was. A glowing sequence of letters and numbers, etched like it was beneath my skin:
P-123700FQ-M
It looked impossibly real, like a digital tattoo. I flexed my fingers, and it flickered slightly with every movement. Others around me were doing the same. Every single person held up their hand, staring at their own glowing Player ID.
The voice continued.
"You will now be allowed a rest period of forty-eight hours before the next game commences. Each participant will be assigned to a building. Two participants per room. Buildings house fifty participants each, automatically assigned based on proximity. Proceed to your assigned quarters immediately."
Nearby, I noticed a few people glancing at one another, wide-eyed, muttering under their breath. The system didn't just assign rooms arbitrarily, it had picked their roommates for them.
I swallowed, feeling the weight of it. The first game had been only an introduction—a savage initiation—and now the system had officially claimed us, numbered us, and begun the next phase.
Then without warning, doors appeared in front of us, too many to count. They stretched in neat rows, each identical except for the numbers glowing on their surfaces. We were supposed to walk in, but the sheer scale made it hard to know where to begin.
I glanced down at my palm. My Player ID had shifted, replaced by a new set of numbers:
Door No. 267
Room 461-B
I didn't need to think twice. Something about the way it appeared, precise and absolute, made it immediately clear that this was my destination.
The girl beside me, still holding my hand, immediately lifted hers. Her fingers trembled slightly as she showed me her palm.
P-348103GV-F
And then, just like mine, it switched.
Door No. 267
Room 461-B
Her voice wavered as she murmured, almost to herself, and she kept glancing at me as if seeking reassurance:
"W-We… we're… in the same room, right? Since… since it said roommates are picked based on… proximity…"
I followed her gaze, then looked down at my own palm. She followed my eyes, locking onto mine as if seeking confirmation. I gave a short nod.
"Seems so."
Her shoulders visibly relaxed, a shuddering exhale escaping her lips. She wasn't hiding it, she didn't want to be away from me. Figures. I'd saved her life in the river.
And just like that, the first fragile thread of trust formed between us, silent, tentative, yet impossible to ignore.
People were already moving toward their assigned doors, walking with a mix of fear and resignation. Fifty participants per building meant others had already gone ahead, slipping inside before us. I followed with her close at my side, letting the flow carry us forward.
The moment I stepped through the door, the brightness nearly blinded me. My eyes watered as they adjusted, and when I could finally see, I realized we were no longer in the forest.
We were in a corridor unlike anything I'd expected. Vast. Wide. Ceiling high enough that it made the entire space feel hollow. Polished floors reflected the overhead lights, and along the sides were open areas: small swimming pools, a basketball court, even exercise machines tucked into corners. The place felt more like a luxury hotel than anything remotely connected to the brutality we'd just endured.
But even as I observed, it became clear we weren't meant to wander or touch anything freely. People moved with quiet precision, picking up towels, adjusting chairs, making sure nothing was out of place. Workers—caretakers, househelp, attendants—glided along the corridors, carrying trays or tidying the pool area. Their smiles never wavered. Their movements were… too perfect.
The girl stayed close, her hand brushing lightly against mine, and we made our way to the reception desk. A woman stood there, smiling in a way that made my skin crawl. Her voice was calm, smooth, and eerily warm:
"Please take the elevators to your assigned floors. Place your palm on the door of your respective room to access it. Enjoy your stay."
The words were simple, polite, almost inviting. The girl hesitated, and the same woman repeated the exact same line, tone for tone, word for word. My eyes flicked to her, and I saw the moment she realized what I already suspected.
These workers were not human.
The girl's grip on my hand tightened, and I squeezed back slightly. Her fear was obvious, but she didn't let go. Not yet.
I knew, at that moment, that we were only just beginning to understand the rules of this place.