The silence after the first elimination was heavier than the screams.
Player 076 was gone. No blood. No body. Just an empty seat — and the ghost of someone who'd existed one second before.
Lyra's hands trembled slightly on her knees. Not from fear, but from calculation. She wasn't just trying to survive — she was trying to understand.
"Round 2 loading," the voice echoed.
The table flashed again:
4 – 12 – 20 – 36 – 72 – 109
Again.
Her number. Why?
A whisper rippled through the players — fear, realization, paranoia.
"Pick the right number."
Pick? Or press your own?
Was this a trap? A test of ego? Of instinct?
Lyra's mind raced. First round, she pressed her own number — 109 — and survived. Someone else didn't.
What if it wasn't about the right number? What if it was about being the last one to press?
Around her, players hesitated.
And then someone cracked.
Player 036 — a teenage boy with shaking hands — smashed his red button.
Nothing happened.
Then… a ding.
A green light glowed beneath his seat.
He exhaled in relief.
Lyra's eyes narrowed.
The first one who pressed... survived.
Then the table flashed again.
6 – 17 – 45 – 81 – 109 – 304
It was speeding up now.
People were shouting across the circle. "DON'T PRESS TOO EARLY!" "WHAT'S THE PATTERN?!" "SOMEONE DO SOMETHING!"
Player 081 stood up and screamed, "I CAN'T DO THIS!" — and then vanished mid-step.
Deleted.
No error message. No countdown. Just... removed.
Panic spread like fire. Lyra's heart was racing, but her mind sharpened.
This game isn't about the numbers. It's about testing reaction under pressure. Who acts first. Who hesitates.
She could feel the weight of the silver-eyed boy's gaze again, even though she didn't look for him.
He's watching me.
She waited. Watched others flinch.
When the next set appeared — 5 – 15 – 109 – 208 – 399 — three people slammed their buttons at once.
Three red lights flashed.
One green.
The system made a cold choice.
"Player 208: Disqualified."
The seat disappeared. Screams echoed. People were starting to break.
Lyra's hands moved with precision now. She stopped trembling. Fear became fuel. Her mind was clearer than it had ever been.
Six rounds.
Then ten.
Numbers kept flashing, faster and faster.
Sobs filled the air. People shouted false patterns, accusing others of sabotage. Some begged for the rules to be explained.
But the system didn't care.
By the end of Round 11, twelve seats were empty.
One of them belonged to a girl who had never spoken a word since waking up.
Another to a man who had tried to help someone else make a choice — and paid for it with his life.
Lyra didn't flinch anymore.
She'd survived every round.
She didn't guess. She calculated.
She pressed her button only when no one else did. Or just before hesitation turned fatal.
"Final Round Initiated."
The table flickered.
Only one number glowed.
109.
Her number.
Everyone turned to look at her.
The pressure was electric.
She didn't wait.
She pressed.
The table turned black.
The platform began to sink.
And the voice returned — smoother this time. Almost... impressed.
"Player 109: Passed."
"Welcome to the real beginning."
Lyra closed her eyes, letting the silence fold around her.
This wasn't survival anymore.
This was war.