The doors to the next room slid shut with an echo that reverberated in Ethan's chest. The cold, metallic walls of the chamber seemed to close in around him, a stark contrast to the last trial's intense pressure. The billionaire's voice, booming from hidden speakers above, faded into the distance, leaving a lingering sense of unease in its wake.
"Congratulations, survivors. You've made it through the first part of Round 3. You have earned your rest."
The weight of the words hung heavy in the air. The rest. The chance to breathe, to recover, to take a moment to reflect before the next storm of trials arrived. Ethan didn't know how to feel about the idea of rest. After everything that had happened, a moment of reprieve felt foreign.
They were still in the game, still fighting for survival. And yet, there was something about the promise of rest — a break from the relentless pace of death and survival — that seemed almost more dangerous than the trials themselves. In this moment of stillness, the true horrors of the competition seemed to seep in, reminding Ethan that the game was far from over.
The small room they had entered wasn't much. A narrow, stark space with a single, long table running along the center. On the table were several trays of food, an assortment of simple but filling meals: bread, soup, fruit, and water. The walls were lined with a few uncomfortable chairs and sparse lighting that did little to make the room feel welcoming. No windows, no warmth, just a sense of cold detachment.
Violet was the first to move, stepping into the room cautiously. She looked around, her eyes scanning for any hidden traps or cameras. Ethan had learned that she didn't trust easily — not anymore, not after everything they had been through.
"This is it then?" Violet's voice was strained, as if she was still holding her breath. "A break before the real tests begin?"
"I don't know," Ethan replied, his voice quieter than usual. His mind was still reeling from the last trial. The tests were getting harder, but so were the people. He didn't know who to trust anymore.
Bloom entered the room after them, her expression unreadable as always. She walked to one of the chairs by the table and sat down, folding her arms across her chest as she observed the others. If she felt any different after the last trial, it didn't show on her face.
Scorch followed behind, rubbing his neck, a weary look in his eyes. "I don't know what's worse," he said quietly, his voice carrying a trace of bitterness. "The trials themselves or waiting for the next one."
Ethan felt the same. The tension in the air was palpable, a weight that had settled on their shoulders long ago and never quite lifted. The food was in front of them, yet no one moved to touch it immediately. There was something unsettling about the offer of nourishment — as though it was another trap, a small comfort to lull them into complacency.
No one spoke for a long while. The silence in the room was thick, broken only by the occasional clink of metal chairs or the soft rustle of fabric as they shifted uncomfortably. Each of them seemed lost in their own thoughts, their minds racing, trying to come to terms with what had happened and what was yet to come.
The Resting Hour
It had been hours since they had entered the room, and the silence was starting to feel heavier. Violet finally stood up, walking slowly toward the food. "We need to eat," she said, her tone matter-of-fact. "We can't afford to ignore our bodies right now. We might need our strength later."
Ethan had to admit, she was right. He wasn't hungry, not really. But the promise of sustenance, the need to nourish himself for the battles to come, was undeniable. His body was exhausted, and his mind was strained from the last test — the mental endurance challenge where he had nearly broken. He had stood in front of that glowing orb for what felt like an eternity, trying to maintain his composure as the very walls seemed to press in on him.
And yet, as soon as he picked up the bread, he couldn't shake the nagging feeling that this was all just another game. Another trick.
"Do you think they're watching us?" Scorch asked, breaking the silence. His voice was low, almost conspiratorial. "They've been doing that since the start, right? Every move we make, every word we say — it's all part of the game."
"I don't know," Ethan answered, glancing at the small security cameras placed in the corners of the room. It felt strange to even acknowledge their presence. There was something about the idea of being constantly observed that gnawed at him. "But it doesn't matter. At this point, we're all in it. We have no choice."
Violet looked at him, her eyes sharp as always. "We can't trust anyone, Ethan. Not even each other. This game... it changes people."
Ethan nodded slowly. He understood what she meant. Each of them had changed, slowly, piece by piece. The weight of the game had taken its toll. What started as a battle for survival had become something darker, more insidious. The line between allies and enemies had blurred, and trust had become a scarce commodity.
Scorch's words echoed in his mind as he took a sip of water. "Do you think anyone's going to make it out alive? Or is this just one big show for the billionaire?"
Ethan didn't know how to answer. The idea of survival had become a cruel joke. Every time he thought about the prize, about the billion-dollar reward, it felt less like a dream and more like a baited trap. But what else could they do? They couldn't turn back now. There was no going home.
The Others' Thoughts
Bloom stood up suddenly, her eyes narrowing as she looked toward the others. "You're all focused on survival. I get it. But think about it. What's the point of winning a billion dollars if you don't even have your sanity left?"
Her voice was calm, but there was an underlying tension, a sharpness to it that Ethan hadn't heard before.
"You think we're losing our minds?" Violet asked, her gaze calculating.
Bloom gave a small, humorless smile. "We're already halfway there, aren't we? We've been through what, two rounds? Three? And each one gets worse. How many people have died already? How many more will die?"
Ethan's throat tightened. He hadn't allowed himself to think too much about the number of fallen players. There had been over a thousand when the game began. But now, there were only 15 left. Fifteen people who had managed to make it this far, some by luck, some by skill, and some by betrayal.
It was difficult to wrap his mind around the idea that so many had fallen. And the thought of how few were left — how close the end was — made him feel sick to his stomach.
The billionaire had promised only one would survive. And only one could claim the prize.
Reflection and Strategy
The hours dragged on, the tension between the survivors growing more palpable. Ethan's mind was constantly spinning, trying to analyze the others, to determine who might be trustworthy and who might be hiding something. He couldn't help but feel as if they were all playing the same game — but on different levels. Each of them had their own reasons for being there, for fighting to survive. Some were in it for the money, others for the chance to prove something to themselves.
But Ethan? Ethan wasn't sure anymore. The need to survive was still there, but something else had crept in. A desire to outsmart the game itself. To prove that he could play by the rules and still come out on top.
Still, the fear was there too. The constant, gnawing fear that the next round would be their last. That the game would claim them before they could even comprehend what had happened.
He glanced at the others, each of them lost in their own thoughts. For now, there was nothing to do but wait. The rest was temporary, a brief reprieve before the next trial.
The doors at the far end of the room remained shut, the sounds of distant machinery echoing beyond them. They were waiting. Waiting for the billionaire to make his next move.
And when that time came, Ethan knew one thing for sure: He had to be ready.