GAME 2 – Catch Your Breath
Lyra's eyes snapped open.
She wasn't standing. She wasn't sitting.
She was trapped — sealed inside a glass chamber no larger than a coffin. Cold. Cramped. Sterile. Her breath fogged the panel before her, and a faint hissing sound was the only company in the silence.
Then came the voice. Calm. Cold. Unmistakably artificial:
"GAME 2: CATCH YOUR BREATH"
GAME RULES :
1. Each player is sealed in an oxygen-controlled chamber.
2. Oxygen levels will decrease over time.
3. Panicking (heavy breathing, movement, screaming) will accelerate oxygen depletion.
4. A control panel will appear — choose one switch.
5. You have 3 minutes. There are three switch .Only one switch is correct.
FAIL CONDITIONS:
Choose the wrong switch → Instant elimination
No decision in 3 minutes → Suffocation
Panic = oxygen drains 2× faster
Screams, pounding, rapid breathing = death speedrun
Lyra forced her lungs to calm.
Inhale. Count. Exhale.
Her heart pounded loud enough to drown the hiss.
Then a panel emerged near her knees. Three glowing buttons blinked softly beneath her:
Red
Blue
Black
No hints. No instructions. Just color-coded death… or salvation.
She hovered a hand.
Red? Too aggressive.
Black? Too final.
Blue?
Her gut twitched. She pressed blue.
A pause. Then…
Click.
A hiss of clean oxygen flooded the chamber.
Her vision cleared.
"Player 109: CLEARED."
She fell to her knees, coughing in relief.
Across the dome of glass chambers, the system continued without emotion:
"Player 043: ELIMINATED."
"Player 202: ELIMINATED."
"Player 317: ELIMINATED."
"Player 355: ELIMINATED."
"Player 076: Already marked. Error bypassed."
Five names vanished. No screams. No bodies. Just seats going dark.
Five more dead.
Then the lights glitched.
Her chamber flickered — not like breaking glass, but like broken code.
Pixels crumbled. Reality folded.
She didn't fall — she transitioned.
And landed inside a white, cube-shaped room.
Across from her stood Rhea, Player 021. The razor-eyed girl who hadn't spoken since arrival.
"Great," Rhea muttered. "Partner round."
The voice returned. Now colder. Sharper.
PHASE TWO – PARTNER MODE:
RULES:
1. Chambers now hold 2 players.
2. Each player must choose independently.
3. Both must choose the correct switch — or both die.
4. The buttons are the same — Red. Blue. Black.
5. Choices are randomized per person.
6. You may communicate.
7. Time limit: 2 minutes.
8. Oxygen is already dropping.
Lyra's palms sweat. The switches reappeared.
Rhea crouched beside her.
"What color did you press before?" Rhea asked.
"Blue," Lyra whispered.
"I picked red. I lived."
Two truths. But this wasn't a pattern. It was a mind game.
"If we pick the same and it's wrong…" Lyra began.
"We both die," Rhea finished.
The timer ticked like a heartbeat.
They looked at each other. Then down. Then back.
"One…" Rhea said.
"Two…"
"Three."
Click. Click.
A pause.
Then — oxygen rushed in.
"Players 109 & 021 CLEARED."
The wall behind them pulsed open.
From behind pixelated glass, Lyra watched four more failures.
One screamed — oxygen dropped instantly.
One pressed too fast — wrong button.
One pair couldn't agree — timed out.
One chamber glitched — system override.
"PLAYER COUNT: 383 REMAINING."
10 dead across Game 2.
Rhea leaned back against the wall, breathing shallowly.
"You're lucky," she muttered.
Lyra didn't respond at first.
Then she whispered, "I'm learning."
And in her gut, something colder than fear settled in.
This wasn't random.
This wasn't fair.
This wasn't a game.
This was a purge.