The girl stayed close to me the entire elevator ride, barely leaving enough space to slip a piece of paper between us. When the doors opened, we stepped into a quiet hallway lined with ten doors: 461-A to 461-J, each identical.
We stopped in front of 461-B.
A faint palm-shaped symbol glowed on the barcode lock. I raised my hand and pressed my palm against it. The scanner lit up in a clean sweep, and the door unlocked with a concise, mechanical click.
Two guys standing by 461-A glanced over, watched what I did, then one of them pressed his palms to their own lock as if confirming they were doing it right.
I pushed the door open and stepped inside with the girl right behind me.
The room looked almost too perfect. A wide couch faced a massive wall-mounted TV. A polished table sat near a tall window, and farther in, a neatly made bed waited behind a half-open door. The bathroom lights glowed softly, and everything smelled new—fabric, air, even the silence felt manufactured.
She hovered near the entrance, still gripping her elbow with her opposite hand, the way she had since the forest.
"You should… take your bath first," I said, keeping my voice steady. She needed the moment more than I did.
Her eyes flicked up to me, then she nodded and headed toward the bathroom.
I settled onto the couch and let myself sink into it. For a room built with artificial warmth, it felt strangely comfortable. I stared at the blank TV screen as the quiet settled, trying to piece together the mess in my head, even though I wasn't sure there was anything left to piece together. The game had its rules, its choices, its designs. All we could do was move wherever it pushed us.
I leaned back, letting the silence stretch, waiting for the water to stop running, waiting for whatever would come next.
After some twenty minutes or so, the bathroom door clicked open, and steam drifted out before she stepped through it. A towel was wrapped around her body—barely. It clung to her chest, showing a little of her cleavage and ended high along her thighs, revealing her legs that caught the light as she moved. Droplets slid down her collarbone, gathering at the edge of the towel before falling to the floor.
For a second, I forgot how to breathe.
If this place wasn't already twisting my nerves into knots, I might have reacted… differently. She was beautiful—strikingly so—and the contrast between her earlier trembling and the soft flush on her skin now made it hard not to stare.
She noticed of course. Her fingers gripped the towel tighter as she shuffled forward.
"Uhm… t-there's nothing to change into," she whispered, voice so small.
"Oh… uhm…" I cleared my throat, dragging my eyes back to her face. "Have you checked the wardrobe?"
The thought formed as I spoke. Everything here looked too polished, too prepared; it didn't make sense that clothes would be the one thing they forgot.
She shook her head gently.
So I stood up, pushing myself off the couch, and walked with her toward the bedroom. She stepped ahead of me, the towel shifting slightly with every movement. I kept my eyes focused on the back of her head, trying not to notice the way her hips swayed, or the gentle jiggle of her ass, or even how the curve of her lower back disappeared into the towel as she walked ahead of me.
When we reached the wardrobe, she pulled the doors open.
Nothing.
Two seconds of empty space. Silence thickened between us.
Then—
A mechanical hum buzzed through the wardrobe walls.
"Analyzing…"
We both froze as lines of faint light scanned downward, as though measuring… everything. Height. Weight. Body structure. Maybe even preferences, whatever that meant in a place like this.
A soft chime followed.
"Analysis complete."
Clothes materialized from thin air. One piece, then another, swirling into existence like pixels taking shape. Shirts, jackets, shorts, dresses, sleepwear. Shoes slid neatly into the lower compartments. Watches clicked onto their display holders. Caps folded themselves into place.
Half the wardrobe organized itself in muted colors for me. The other half, vibrant and soft, arranged itself for her.
I stared at it all and exhaled a disbelieving breath.
"This place just keeps surprising me," I muttered, unable to figure out if I should be impressed or terrified.
I left her to change and went to take my bath. The water was hot, almost too hot, and I let it run over me as if it could wash off everything I'd seen today. It didn't.
When I came out and slipped into a grey T-shirt and black shorts, I walked back into the living room and stopped.
She was on the couch, hair damp, now dressed, and staring at the table. Dinner—if that's what you could call it—was laid out in ridiculous abundance. Chicken, sauce, rice, vegetables, bread… way too much for just two people.
She lifted her eyes to me, nervous, hands fidgeting.
"S-Some people came in," she whispered. "They said it's… dinner."
I nodded and sat beside her. The food smelled absurdly good, warm and fresh, like it had been cooked by an actual chef instead of whatever nightmare system was running this place.
She was still scared, watching me more than the plates. The rules said we had forty-eight hours to rest before the next game, and if there's one thing I understood about games and systems, it's that—just like math—they always followed and sticked by rules. So I picked up a fork and took the first bite. Nothing happened. No choking. No burning. No weird aftertaste.
When she saw I was still breathing just fine, she finally leaned forward and started eating too.
We ate in silence for a while, the kind that wasn't awkward—just heavy, settling, and exhausted. Eventually, when the tension in my shoulders eased enough for me to remember basic human interaction, I finally asked, "So… what's your name?"
She looked up from her plate, fingers tightening briefly around her fork.
"Laura," she said quietly. "Laura Dwayne."
I nodded. "Erwin. Erwin Wickison."
She repeated it under her breath as if committing it to memory, then after a hesitant pause, she whispered, "Thank you Erwin… for saving me. At the river."
I met her eyes for the first time since we sat, and despite everything we'd just survived, I found myself smiling. "You're welcome."
We kept eating after that. That little interaction somehow made the silence feel different—less frantic, less terrified. Almost human again.
When we were finally done and retreated to the bedroom, that's when I noticed it.
What I hadn't noticed before.
One bed.
Just one.
A sharp, uneasy breath caught in my chest.
What would Diana say if she knew I was about to sleep next to another woman? Then again… it wasn't like I had any intention of doing anything. This was survival, not a vacation. Still, the thought pressed at me harder than I wanted it to.
I glanced at Laura. From the way she bit her lip and stared at the floor, I knew she was thinking the exact same thing.
She spoke first, a soft attempt at lifting the tension. "I'll, um… I'll take the left side."
I nodded. "Right side's fine."
She climbed onto the bed, settling near the edge. I followed, lying down on the opposite side. We left a thin, careful space between us—small, but deliberate, like an unspoken boundary neither of us was brave enough to cross or foolish enough to ignore.
I closed my eyes, willing sleep to come, but the quiet didn't last long.
A sound slipped through the wall to our right.
Moaning.
Soft at first, then unmistakably clear.
Rhythmic. Messy. Urgent: "Yes, yes, yessss"
Room 461-C.
My eyes snapped open. For a second, I wondered if I was imagining it, if my mind had finally cracked under the day's insanity. But no… it continued. Movement. A bed hitting a wall. Breathless gasps. Whoever was in there wasn't just having sex, they were lost in it. As if the river of blood and explosions we'd survived meant absolutely nothing.
What kind of mindset even allowed that?
How detached did you have to be?
I tried to ignore it. Tried to focus on the silence between Laura and me. Tried not to notice the way she shifted slightly beside me, not sleeping either.
And that's when the thought crept in—quiet, insidious.
Is this what the Game wanted?
To strip us bare from the inside out?
To grind down fear, dignity, restraint… until all that was left were instincts and impulses and whatever twisted version of ourselves it preferred?
So I stayed awake for a long time, listening to sounds that shouldn't have mattered… but somehow did.