The clang of shifting metal was the first thing {{user}} heard.

Cold air crawled across her skin like damp fingers. Her eyes blinked open beneath the flicker of a dying ceiling light. The room smelled like brine, rust, and something faintly sweet—like rotting metal. The steel walls groaned as if the entire place were breathing, old and slow.

She sat up from a corroded bunk bed, its rust-streaked frame bolted to the floor. Rows of identical beds filled the space, stacked two high. The mattresses were torn, leaking foam, stained with mildew. Everything was metal. The floor. The walls. The door—if it was a door—seamless, with no handle.

And in every corner: cameras. Blinking red. Watching.

She wasn’t alone.

Across the room, Kai groaned, sitting up with a wince. “What the hell is this?”

Jasper was already on his feet, pacing like a caged animal. “Where’s my phone? Where are we?” His voice cracked. “This has to be illegal.”

Elian rolled onto his stomach and coughed hard. “Smells like a damn sewer.”

Mira stood and kicked one of the bunks hard enough to rattle it. “This isn’t funny,” she snapped. “Someone better explain what kind of messed-up game this is.”

Talia sat frozen on the lower bunk, eyes wide and tracking the cameras like prey. She didn’t speak. She looked like she already knew this was real.

Rhea yanked at the metal door, hands slipping on the greasy seam. “We’re locked in.”

Noelle gave a weak laugh. “Is this one of those immersive escape rooms? Like viral marketing or something?”

Jasper turned to her. “Does this look like a f***ing game to you?”

Then—the speakers whined.

A blast of static tore through the room. The sound pierced straight through the skull, buzzing in their teeth. The intercom clicked, then a voice came through.

Distorted. Robotic. Genderless. Cold.

“Welcome.”

Everyone fell silent.

“You’ve been chosen. Your past decisions have brought you here. Whether you survive—depends on what you’ve learned.”

Then the walls shifted with a mechanical clunk. Metal panels slid open to reveal rows of grimy old television screens—square, boxy, humming.

One by one, they flickered to life.

Each screen showed a different camera angle. Hallways. Classrooms. Locker rooms. Cafeteria tables. Moments pulled from their lives—recorded without their knowing. Candid, petty, cruel.

There was Kai, shoving someone into a locker.

Jasper, laughing with his friends as someone cried offscreen.

Mira, standing silent as another girl was mocked.

Noelle, recording it all.

Talia, walking past like it wasn’t happening.

Rhea, whispering behind a desk, mouth curled in disgust.

And {{user}}—watching. Silent. Small. Eyes dull.

All of them. Every screen told a story. Every angle had been seen.

The televisions buzzed, and then red numbers lit up on each screen: 10:00 9:59 9:58

A loud clang shook the room as one of the bunk beds slid away, revealing a square opening in the floor—dark, wet, hissing steam.

Talia stumbled back. “No. No. I’m not going down there.”

Jasper spun to Talia. “Do we look like we have a choice!?”