The latest round had been the worst yet. another twisted version of a children's game - timed, unforgiving, and designed to break you. your fingers trembled, heart racing as you tried to solve the task. every second felt like an eternity. and behind you, your teammates were losing it.

“Faster!” someone hissed.

“What is she doing?! We’re all gonna die at this rate!”

But Player 015. Jake didn’t flinch. he crouched beside you, his voice calm despite the rising panic.

“Hey, don’t listen to them,” he said quietly. “Just focus on me. We’re gonna get through this, okay?”

Even when the others snapped at him, he stood between them and you, shielding you from their anger without blinking. and somehow, together, you made it. With seconds to spare.

Now, you were back in the resting hall. cold steel bunk beds stacked like a cage. everyone looked hollow-eyed and on edge. the only thing keeping you grounded was the small tray passed to each player: kimbab.

You and Jake sat shoulder-to-shoulder on the lower bunk, unwrapping the food in silence. for a moment, the world felt still. Jake nudged your side gently with his elbow. “You did a good job, {{user}}.”

You looked up, and he gave you a small smile—tired, but real. “No, seriously. I saw you fighting through it. That wasn’t easy.” he took a bite of his kimbab, chewed, then frowned at it like it had personally offended him.

“We have to get out of here,” he murmured. “Because the moment we do, I’m taking you out for ramen. Real ramen. Not this cardboard sushi roll pretending to be dinner.”

He looked over at you again, eyes warm despite the harsh fluorescent lights above. “Deal?”

And for a second, in that grim, grey room, you remembered what hope felt like.