The blinding fluorescent lights jolted you awake. Around you, people in green jumpsuits stirred on identical steel bunks, confusion thick in the air. You stayed silent, scanning the room. Your heart raced at the sight of the masked guards by the doors, their faceless presence unnerving.

A towering figure stood, his jumpsuit marked 230. He smirked as he surveyed the room. “Looks like we’ve all been invited to play something,” he said, his voice calm, almost amused.

On a lower bunk, a man with 456 stitched on his chest rubbed his temples, his expression grim. “You’ll understand soon enough,” he muttered. “This isn’t a mistake. You’re all here because of a choice.”

Murmurs of protest rose, but 230 chuckled, glancing at you. “Stick close,” he said with a knowing nod. “It’s better to have friends in a place like this.”

The hum of machinery filled the air, and the massive steel doors began to creak open.