Cold metal pressed against Lia's cheek as she woke to the sound of distant clanging—sharp, metallic, echoing like a hammer inside an empty vault. Her head throbbed. Her throat burned. For a moment she couldn't remember where she was.
Then she felt the tracksuit.
Harsh fabric. Rough seams. A number stitched coldly across her chest:
301
Her breath hitched.
She wasn't home.
She wasn't free.
She was inside the same nightmare that swallowed her sister.
Lia pushed herself upright, her hands shaking. The air was freezing and smelled like metal—sterile, chemical, wrong. Above her, long fluorescent lights buzzed unevenly, flickering as if they were fighting to stay alive.
Rows of metal bunk beds stretched endlessly in every direction. Three levels high. Hard corners. No sheets. No warmth. Just steel and cold.
And people.
So many people.
Bodies moving, whispering, sobbing, sitting frozen in shock. Every tracksuit carried a number—from 001 to 300. No names. No identities. Just digits marking their existence.
Lia's pulse hammered as she looked around.
Her breath fogged in the freezing air.
A woman curled on the lower bunk rocked back and forth, whispering to herself.
A muscular man punched the bed frame until his fists bled.
Two teenage boys clung to each other, terrified.
Despair soaked the room like a thick, suffocating fog.
---
The Chamber
The walls were towering slabs of concrete, smooth and gray, with no windows—no hint of the outside world. Only metal doors on each end, thick and seamless. Doors built to seal things inside.
Above, cameras tracked silently across rails.
Always watching.
The air vibrated with murmurs:
"Where are we?"
"They kidnapped us."
"We're going to die, aren't we?"
"This is illegal. Someone will find us."
"No one ever finds anyone."
"My cousin disappeared last year…"
Lia swallowed hard, clutching the edge of a bunk to steady herself.
Her heart wouldn't slow down.
A small girl with braided pigtails noticed her panic and approached.
"You just woke up?" she whispered.
Lia nodded stiffly.
"I'm Hana. 173."
Her eyes darted nervously around the room before she leaned closer.
"Everyone who got the golden card ended up here. They said it was a game. A chance. A prize. But once you accept the card… there's no going back."
Lia's stomach twisted.
Before she could respond, someone yelled across the room:
"They told me if I played, I'd win enough money to fix everything!"
"Fix everything?" another man barked. "You realize what this is? We're lab rats! They're going to kill us!"
People murmured louder.
Fear spread like fire.
And just when the noise reached a breaking point—
BOOM
A deafening thud.
The lights snapped off.
Darkness swallowed the chamber.
Screams erupted instantly—raw, terrified, desperate.
Someone grabbed Lia's arm.
She flinched and nearly struck them, but it was just a trembling boy.
"Please—please don't leave me," he whispered.
"I'm not—" she began—
FWOOOM
A harsh spotlight exploded to life, blinding the room with cold white light.
Every voice fell silent.
Every breath froze.
Because a figure stood on the balcony above.
---
The White Mask
He wore a long black coat that swayed faintly, even though the air was still.
And a mask—smooth, porcelain-white, blank.
Expressionless.
But the emptiness of it was worse than any expression.
It felt alive.
Slowly, he lifted his chin and scanned the crowd.
Not like a human.
Like a machine.
Like a predator.
Every participant he looked at shrank back—shoulders tight, throats dry, breath shallow.
When his gaze slid toward Lia, something inside her froze solid.
Her breath stopped.
Her heartbeat skipped—once, painfully.
Because she **recognized** that shape.
The silhouette in her hallway.
The figure beside her bed.
The last face she saw before the needle pierced her skin.
The White Mask paused.
Tilted his head slightly—an unnatural, sharp motion.
Like he was studying her.
Like he already *knew* her.
Lia stepped back instinctively, hitting the cold metal frame of a bunk.
Her fingers dug into the steel.
He kept staring.
And for one haunting moment, the world felt like it shrank to only the two of them.
Then—
A distorted voice boomed from hidden speakers:
"Three hundred participants confirmed."
The doors of the chamber slammed shut with explosive, hydraulic force.
Several people screamed.
One man collapsed.
Another tried to run but slammed into a locked door.
The panic was instant and wild.
The White Mask didn't flinch.
Didn't blink.
He simply raised a hand, and the entire chamber fell silent.
"Rule One," the voice echoed.
"If you lose… you die."
Gasps.
Cries.
Someone vomited.
Hana grabbed Lia's sleeve, trembling.
The boy beside her—Yeon, his number 112—began to shake violently.
"Rule Two: The winner will receive 100 million dollar."
A stunned, horrified silence followed.
Billions.
A life-changing sum.
A price placed on blood.
The White Mask lowered his hand and turned away, disappearing slowly into the shadows behind the balcony door.
But Lia still felt him.
Watching her.
Waiting.
---
The Aftermath
Lights hummed back on.
People collapsed to their knees, sobbing, yelling, praying.
"We need to escape—there must be a way out—"
"No one escapes!"
"They'll kill us! They're insane!"
"I'm not dying here—"
"What if my family never finds my body?"
The terror was heavy enough to choke on.
Lia gripped the railing of a bunk and forced herself to breathe.
Her sister had been here.
She had walked this exact floor.
She had stared at these same walls.
She had heard this same announcement.
And she never came back.
That thought stabbed through Lia like a blade.
She *had* to find the truth.
She couldn't leave her sister behind a second time.
---
The Chamber Prepares
A sudden burst of static crackled overhead.
Then a mechanical voice—cold and emotionless:
"Participants. Prepare for Game One."
A siren blared.
Red lights washed over the chamber.
Two massive doors at the far end hissed open, revealing a corridor glowing red with pulsing lights. The ceiling was low, lined with steel pipes. The walls were reinforced concrete, streaked with rust, as if something corrosive had touched them long ago.
The floor was polished so perfectly it reflected their faces—
—but their reflections looked distorted.
Stretched.
Twisted.
Wrong.
A chill ran down Lia's spine.
Participants hesitated at the threshold.
Someone whispered, "This feels like a slaughterhouse."
Another muttered, "Or hell's waiting room."
Guards in red uniforms—faces hidden behind black masks—lined the corridor, holding rifles with emotionless precision. They didn't speak. Didn't move.
Just watched.
Ready to shoot anyone who resisted.
Joon, the scarred man, stepped forward with jaw clenched.
Hana clung to Lia's side.
Yeon stumbled behind them.
Lia forced her trembling legs forward.
Every camera rotated toward the group.
Every light flickered like a heartbeat.
Every breath felt heavier than the last.
The corridor swallowed them one by one.
The doors behind them slammed shut with a thunderous boom.
No turning back.
No way out.
Only one path.
One game.
One chance.
Lia stepped deeper into the red-lit tunnel, each footstep echoing like a countdown.
Somewhere ahead, the first game waited.
And as fear crept up her spine, a single question burned in her mind:
Was her sister still out there…
or had she become another ghost of the games?