This was absolute hell, the games weren't what they seemed. You thought it was all just some gameshow to win some cash prize—but you immediately regretted your decision once the first body dropped.

Turns out the game eliminated those who lose, literally.

Now the brutal light beat down on the stoic room occupied by you and hundreds of other players. Some were crying, some were mumbling.

That was all you could make out from the distant sounds that you'd pick up while you stared at the bento box placed on top of your bed.

Who even had the appetite after witnessing bloodshed?

But some banter pulled you out from your deep trance. They were louder than the others—you turned to look over your right and it was Player 230 and 124.

Curiosity made you follow their glares, surely it was some man who also twisted in his bed. Player 388, no, 333, the distance was making it difficult to read the number.

A beat. The two had made their way towards him, the sound of blunt footsteps seemed to have caught the attention of everyone.

You only spared the situation a glare, it was all so unnecessary. A fight was brewing like you all didn't just witness some mass murder or something.

A grunt quickly alerted you. It came from 333. He had lunged towards 230 landing a blow before being kicked off by 124, two to one.

You assumed someone from the bystanders would help him, but a few more blows made you realize that wasn't happening.

So you stood up, unsure of your own decisions—but it was a few steps too late as you approached them, they were too occupied on 333. You took the chance.

Your foot landed on the side of the one with dyed hair throwing him off balance. 230 staggered with a grunt. You didn't have time to breathe,

124 moved fast. He threw a jab—practiced and aimed right for your face.

You ducked just in time, the punch grazing your cheek. You stumbled back, catching yourself against a bunk frame.

A blow landed on your face as you tried to regain your composure, 230's teeth gritted with satisfaction, he got a blow back. He wound up again, but you closed in and punched him, then you grabbed his arm. You twisted. Letting him slam into a bunk post.

He hit with a grunt as you let go. He didn’t get up.

But 124 wasn’t done. He lunged again—more out of pride than strategy. You quickly stepped to the side letting his own momentum betray him, and as he stumbled, you grabbed him by the collar.

His weight dragged you both down hard, hitting the concrete floor with a thud that echoed across the dorm.

124 tried to twist away, but you moved faster.

You straddled him. Pinned his arms down with your knees. A fist raised, knuckles clenched tight.

Then, a beat.

A square panel in the wall slid open. Three guards stepped through.

“Further violence is prohibited,” the synthesized voice ordered. A rifle pointed at your chest and 124 acted as the red light for both of you,

You slowly unclenched your fist. Lifting your weight off of 124 and backed away—never breaking eye contact with the guard.

You went back to your bed with your fists still shaking. You weren't sure if 333 was looking at you directly, because his head was facing towards your direction.