Darkness changes people.
When the lights cut out, the silence didn't feel empty. It felt crowded. Breathing filled the chamber. Uneven. Shallow. Controlled. Breaking.
Somewhere to my right, someone whispered a prayer.
Somewhere else, someone was quietly crying.
A metallic click echoed overhead.
Then the voice returned.
"Phase Two will test trust."
A low hum vibrated through the floor.
"Participants will be assigned into groups of five."
White light snapped on without warning.
I blinked hard.
The sleeping chamber was gone.
Or rather, it had transformed.
The bunks had retracted into the walls. In their place stood twenty-five glass enclosures arranged in a grid. Each enclosure large enough for five people.
We had twenty-nine survivors.
That meant four people weren't fitting evenly.
The overhead screen flickered.
GROUP ASSIGNMENTS IN PROGRESS.
Numbers flashed beside our chests. I hadn't even noticed the small black patch attached to my shirt until it lit up.
Others lit up too.
Mercer glanced down at his own chest.
He looked mildly disappointed.
Names weren't used. Just numbers.
The doors to the glass enclosures slid open with a hiss.
"Proceed to your assigned chamber," the voice instructed.
People hesitated.
Then movement began.
I found Chamber 17 near the far left corner.
Inside were four others.
The woman who had followed me across the grid.
A heavyset middle-aged man with shaking hands.
A younger guy, maybe nineteen, eyes darting constantly.
And a tall woman with short braids and a scar running along her jawline.
The door sealed behind us.
The glass wasn't fully transparent. Slightly tinted. We could see silhouettes in other chambers, but not details.
In the center of our enclosure stood a pedestal with a metal box on top.
A timer appeared above us.
15:00.
"Phase Two," the voice began, calm as ever. "Within each chamber, one participant possesses accurate instructions for survival."
A soft click sounded.
The metal box opened.
Inside were five sealed envelopes.
My pulse slowed.
Incomplete information challenge.
"Four envelopes contain false instructions," the voice continued. "One contains the correct directive."
The nineteen-year-old swallowed hard. "Directive for what?"
The floor beneath us vibrated faintly.
"The chamber floors will electrify in fifteen minutes."
Silence.
"Only participants following the correct directive will remain unharmed."
The timer dropped to 14:32.
The heavyset man cursed under his breath.
"So one of us lives?" he asked.
"No," the voice corrected. "All who follow the correct directive live."
I stepped toward the pedestal slowly.
Five envelopes.
One truth.
Four lies.
"Open them," the scarred woman said.
We each grabbed one.
Mine felt normal. Lightweight.
I tore it open.
Inside was a single card.
STAND ALONE. AVOID PHYSICAL CONTACT. MAINTAIN DISTANCE UNTIL TIMER ENDS.
I didn't react.
Around me, paper rustled.
The nineteen-year-old spoke first. "Mine says we all have to hold hands. Continuous contact or we die."
The heavyset man blinked. "That's what mine says too."
The woman who crossed with me frowned. "Mine says the opposite. No one touches anyone."
Scarred woman flipped her card around. "Says only two people should make contact. The rest stand apart."
Four conflicting instructions already.
I kept my face neutral.
We were being forced to debate.
To reveal.
Or to lie.
The nineteen-year-old laughed nervously. "This is sick."
"Or simple," I said quietly.
They looked at me.
"If one directive is correct, the others are designed to cause conflict," I continued. "The question is whether the correct one encourages unity or isolation."
The heavyset man wiped sweat from his forehead. "Mine says hold hands. That sounds like unity."
"Or it ensures we all die together," scarred woman replied flatly.
Timer: 12:03.
Across the chamber walls, I could see other groups arguing through blurred glass.
Shouting.
Gesturing.
Mercer's silhouette stood perfectly still inside Chamber 12.
Watching.
He wasn't panicking.
Which meant he understood something.
I looked back at my card.
Stand alone.
Avoid physical contact.
Maintain distance.
It aligned with one other person in our group.
That meant at least two of us held identical false cards.
Unless—
Unless the system duplicated lies to increase confusion.
"Read yours again," I said to the nineteen-year-old.
He did. Word for word.
Exactly the same as the heavyset man's.
That was interesting.
Two identical.
Two identical opposites.
And one unique.
Scarred woman's instruction—only two make contact—was different from both pairs.
Which statistically made it suspicious.
But the system wasn't random.
It wanted psychological exposure.
"Whoever has the correct card knows it," scarred woman said slowly. "You're just deciding whether to share it."
No one answered.
Timer: 09:41.
The air felt heavier.
"If we all follow one directive and it's wrong, we're finished," the woman beside me said quietly.
"Yes," I agreed.
"So we split," the heavyset man suggested. "Some hold hands. Some don't."
The floor pulsed faintly.
"Incorrect combinations will not be tolerated," the voice added.
My jaw tightened.
They were listening.
Adjusting.
This wasn't just about guessing.
It was about observing leadership and influence.
If I convinced them of my directive and it was wrong, I'd carry the blame.
If I stayed silent, chaos would decide.
Timer: 07:12.
The nineteen-year-old suddenly moved toward the heavyset man. "We should hold hands. That's the majority instruction."
Majority.
I stepped back instinctively.
"No," I said.
Four pairs of eyes turned to me.
"Majority doesn't equal accuracy," I continued. "If the system wanted consensus, it would've given us identical cards."
Scarred woman studied me. "So what's your card say?"
I held her gaze.
"Distance."
The woman beside me exhaled slowly. "Same."
That made two of us openly aligned.
"Convenient," the heavyset man muttered.
Timer: 05:38.
In another chamber, someone screamed.
A loud crack of electricity followed.
Too early.
Testing shock.
Warning.
My brain moved fast.
If the correct directive required cooperation, it would test trust through vulnerability.
If it required isolation, it tested independence under pressure.
Phase One rewarded distribution, not clustering.
The system preferred controlled spacing.
I made my decision.
"I'm standing alone," I said calmly.
The nineteen-year-old grabbed the heavyset man's hand.
Scarred woman hesitated, then stepped away from both pairs.
She stood alone too.
That made three isolated.
Two holding hands.
Timer: 02:11.
The hum beneath the floor intensified.
Sweat trickled down my spine.
No one spoke now.
The countdown echoed louder with every second.
00:10.
The lights flickered.
00:05.
The heavyset man squeezed the teenager's hand tighter.
00:03.
I locked my knees.
00:01.
The floor erupted with white-blue current.
Pain exploded through the chamber.
But not everywhere.
The teenager screamed.
The heavyset man collapsed instantly.
Their bodies convulsed violently before going still.
The woman beside me gasped but remained standing.
Scarred woman clenched her jaw, unmoving.
The electricity stopped.
Smoke curled faintly from the floor panels beneath the two bodies.
The voice returned.
"Phase Two complete."
The glass doors slid open.
"Participants remaining: 18."
Eighteen.
Eleven eliminated in under fifteen minutes.
I stared at the two bodies on the floor.
No blood.
Just stillness.
Scarred woman stepped closer to me.
"You were sure," she said quietly.
"No," I replied. "I calculated probability."
She nodded once.
The woman who crossed Phase One with me looked at the bodies and whispered, "We just watched them die."
"Yes," I said.
Across the chamber, other doors opened.
Some groups had lost three. Some only one.
Chamber 12 opened.
Mercer stepped out.
Alone.
Four bodies lay behind him.
Our eyes met across the room.
He smiled faintly.
He hadn't trusted anyone.
Or no one had trusted him.
Either way, he survived.
The overhead screen flickered again.
PHASE THREE PREPARING.
RESOURCE ALLOCATION BEGINS NOW.
Metal panels slid open along the walls, revealing shelves of water bottles and ration packs.
Not enough for eighteen.
Not even close.
The voice continued.
"Supplies are limited. Consumption patterns will influence Phase Three eligibility."
Eligibility?
That word hit harder than elimination.
This wasn't random survival.
It was filtration.
Mercer began walking toward the supplies without hesitation.
Others followed.
I didn't move immediately.
Because I finally understood something clearly.
The phases weren't independent.
They were connected.
And Phase Two wasn't about trust.
It was about exposing who others would follow.
Mercer had walked out alone.
Which meant either he held the correct directive—
Or he convinced four others to die for him.
He reached the shelves first.
Turned.
Looked straight at me.
And casually picked up two water bottles instead of one.
A test.
Challenge.
The others watched.
The voice hummed softly overhead.
Observing.
Measuring.
The real game wasn't the floor.
It wasn't the electricity.
It was control.
And if Mercer thought he was the only one capable of playing that game—
He was wrong.
Because I had seen the empty control room.
And if no one was running this system—
Then it could be broken.
The screen flashed again.
PHASE THREE WILL COMMENCE WHEN SUPPLY DISTRIBUTION IS COMPLETE.
ELIMINATION RATE: UNDISCLOSED.
The word undisclosed sent a ripple of unease through the room.
Mercer lifted one of the water bottles slightly.
Offering.
Or baiting.
I stepped forward.
Not toward him.
Toward the shelves.
And for the first time since arriving in Zero Sum City, I didn't feel like prey.
I felt like a variable the system hadn't fully calculated yet.