A typical day in the office. I stared blankly at the laptop screen, its artificial glow staring right back at me, as if challenging me to find purpose in this monotony. The hum of air conditioning and the occasional clatter of keyboards filled the air—the background symphony of a white-collar life. My name is Claude Bask, your quintessential office worker, 28 years old, and perfectly unremarkable in every conceivable way.

For many, this job would be a blessing—a dream, even. The workload was light, the colleagues were pleasant, and the dreaded beast of office politics was nowhere to be found. A quiet, predictable life. But for me, it was excruciatingly boring. To be honest, I didn’t even need the paycheck. Unlike most, money wasn’t my concern. This job was merely a placeholder—a distraction—to keep me from staring too long into the void of my own purposelessness. It was uninspiring, offering neither satisfaction nor engagement. Just a dull cycle: two weeks of crunching numbers, followed by two weeks of aimlessly scrolling through my phone during the inevitable lulls.

And here I was, in one of those weeks. My department’s workload had dried up, leaving me wandering the office like a ghost, exchanging polite nods with colleagues, and refreshing the same old webpages on my phone.

“Yo, you got something up today?”

The voice snapped me from my daze. I turned to see Don, a relatively new hire. He was in his early twenties, tall—standing around 180 cm—with light brown hair styled into a center parting. He was the kind of guy who carried himself with an easy, youthful energy. Beside him sat Clara, another colleague, who was equally tall for a woman, about 180 cm as well. Her wavy black hair cascaded to her shoulders, though she often pinned it back with a hairclip. Clara was also in her early twenties and widely considered one of the prettiest employees in the office.

“So, what are you up to, bruh?” Don asked, smirking. He clearly knew the answer—we all did. There was nothing to do.

“What about you guys?” I replied, nodding at both Don and Clara.

They exchanged glances and laughed. We all knew the drill. Phones in hand, minds elsewhere, burning time until the clock set us free.

Resigned to the quiet absurdity of it all, I returned to my desk and sank into the chair. My thoughts drifted to the manga I’d been reading lately: The Shattered Realms. It was captivating, but unfortunately, I was nearing the end of the currently released chapters. At my pace, I’d finish the remaining eleven chapters before lunch. I started browsing for something new to dive into, already lamenting the end of a good story…

Then it happened.

My phone slipped from my hand, but it wasn’t clumsiness. The floor trembled beneath me—an earthquake? Here? Now? That’s impossible. It wasn’t even the season for such things, and there had been no prior signs.

Screams echoed, sharp and jarring. I recognized the voices—Clara and Don.

What was the protocol for this again? The thought flitted through my mind, a reflexive grasp for normalcy in the chaos. But I dismissed it almost as quickly. What would be the point? Mechanically, I reached for my phone and prepared to duck under the desk. And then…

I blinked.

When my eyes reopened, the world was entirely different.

I stood frozen in disbelief, surrounded by a crowd of strangers. Some were young students in school uniforms, others were office workers like myself, and a few were elderly, their wrinkled faces etched with equal parts confusion and fear. A cacophony of murmurs filled the air:

“Where am I?” “What is this place?” “What the hell just happened?”

The space we occupied was enormous—a room so vast it defied comprehension. I turned to look both ahead and behind me, but the sheer length seemed endless, stretching out like ten football fields laid end to end. The scale was surreal, almost dreamlike. But what unsettled me even more was the faint, almost imperceptible sensation of movement. It was subtle, so much so that most people wouldn’t notice it. But I could feel it.

This feeling… no way, right?

I scanned my surroundings. Lining the walls were countless doors, reminiscent of a hotel corridor, though their arrangement felt off, almost artificial. Each door was flanked by a figure clad in black suits, their faces obscured by masks. Their uniformity was unnerving. The sleek, dark coats gave them the appearance of professional hitmen, and worse still, they were visibly armed. Some held revolvers in plain sight, making no effort to conceal their weapons.

And then there was her.

Near the far end of the corridor stood a woman—tall and poised, exuding an aura of calm authority. Her yellow hair shimmered like gold under the strange lighting, and her piercing eyes carried an almost inhuman intensity. She wore formal attire, the very picture of elegance, but something about her presence sent a chill down my spine.

Elaine… what is she doing here? The name surfaced in my mind unbidden. Could it be… her?

The atmosphere grew heavier as the crowd’s murmurs turned to nervous chatter. Fear was infectious, spreading through us like a ripple in water. Yet no one dared to make any sudden moves, as if instinctively aware that escape was not an option.

“No way…” I muttered under my breath, my thoughts spiraling.

A familiar voice pulled me back to reality. Clara and Don had found their way to me, their expressions mirroring my own confusion and unease.

“Where is this place? What happened?” Clara’s voice wavered, her usual composure replaced with raw fear.

“I thought there was an earthquake, and then…” Don trailed off, his words tinged with panic.

“Yeah… I don’t know either,” I admitted, struggling to mask my own uncertainty.

“Should we try to find an exit?” Don suggested, though his tone made it clear he didn’t believe there was one.

Before I could answer, a voice boomed across the corridor, cutting through the chaos.

“Welcome.”

A tall man in a black suit materialized in the middle of the hallway as if he had stepped out of thin air. His sudden appearance drew a collective gasp from the crowd, and one woman’s terrified scream echoed loudly. Those closest to him recoiled, but the rest of us stood rooted in place, captivated by the surreal phenomenon.

“Conquer the game, and leave rich. Lose the game, and lose your life. There is no second chance.” His voice carried an unnatural weight, clear and commanding despite the vastness of the space. No microphones, no speakers—just his voice, resonating as if it had bypassed our ears and spoken directly to our minds.

He raised his right arm, and in an instant, it transformed. What had been a hand became a spear-like appendage, sharp and gleaming. Before anyone could react, he drove it through the neck of the woman who had screamed moments ago. Blood sprayed across the floor, and her lifeless body crumpled.

Panic erupted. Screams filled the air as people began running in all directions, pulling at the doors, banging on the walls, desperate to escape. But the doors wouldn’t budge. Chaos reigned, the crowd surging like a stampede with nowhere to go.

“It’s a monster!” “Run! RUN!”

The cacophony of terror was deafening, drowning out any semblance of reason. I felt Clara and Don tugging at my arm, their eyes wide with desperation.

What now? Where do we go?

“It’s a monster!!!”

“Run!! Run!!!”

The panicked cries echoed through the endless hallway, blending into a cacophony of terror. The screams grew so loud they rivaled the noise of the busiest clubs or the loudest concerts. People were running in every direction, their fear palpable and contagious.

“What should we do… should we run?” Don asked, his voice shaking with nerves.

“Yeah… but where to?” Clara responded, trying to maintain composure, but the cracks in her voice betrayed her own fear. Around us, everyone’s faces were painted with anxiety, their eyes darting in every direction like trapped animals.

Suddenly, a deafening Bang resounded through the corridor.

It wasn’t just one shot; it was a unified volley. The synchronized sound of revolvers firing echoed through the air, commanding instant attention. There had to be hundreds—no, likely close to a thousand—of those suited guards all shooting at once. The effect was immediate.

The tall man clapped his hands twice, his demeanor calm and collected.

“Alright, alright… Calm down, participants,” he announced, his tone chillingly casual.

And, disturbingly, it worked. The chaos subsided almost immediately. People stopped running, their collective panic giving way to a forced calm. Even more unnerving, everyone somehow had a perfect line of sight to the man in the center of the hallway. It was unnatural, as if the very arrangement of the crowd had been manipulated.

His voice was strangely soothing, almost hypnotic, compelling everyone to listen despite the horrors they had just witnessed.

“This woman was noisy, so I chose her as an example. A perfect specimen to demonstrate the consequences. How dare she scream so loudly into my ears.”

What he said made no sense—it was grotesque in its logic. Who kills someone simply for reacting naturally to terror? The sheer absurdity of it was sickening, but no one dared to speak.

He continued, his expression unchanging. “This will be the fate of those who break the rules. So do not break any rules. You may call me the Executive. The people in black? You can call them administrators. And as for yourselves, you will be referred to by your participation numbers. These can be found on your left sleeve.”

It was only then that I noticed the strange patch sewn onto my sleeve. A bold number was printed there: 009. My participation number.

“Claude is number 9,” Clara murmured, examining her own sleeve. “Don is number 61… And my number is 380…?”

The Executive resumed speaking, unperturbed by the murmurs in the crowd.

“You will now be playing games. Those who win will live extravagant lifestyles, the likes of which you could never dream of achieving in your lifetime. And now, I will explain the first game.”

Although no one had asked, it was clear that the only question on everyone’s mind was not about winning. Instead, it was the gnawing dread of what losing might entail. But no one dared to interrupt him. The oppressive atmosphere of fear was suffocating.

“Poker,” the Executive declared, a smirk curling on his lips.

The announcement sent a ripple of confusion through the crowd.

“It’s a game I trust everyone knows,” he continued, “but for the sake of clarity, I will explain it simply. Each of you will receive two cards. Then, three more cards will be revealed face-up for everyone to see. The only difference from standard poker is that all three cards will be revealed at the same time as your initial two cards.”

“What???” The thought flashed through my mind. Doesn’t that just ruin the purpose of the game? Poker is built on bluffing and the suspense of gradually revealed cards. This format seemed nonsensical.

The Executive continued as if he had anticipated our confusion. “You will use the best five-card combination from your two cards and the three community cards to make the strongest hand. As each card is revealed, you may choose to Check, Raise, or Call. All of you currently have three coins in your right pocket. Please, check and confirm.”

I instinctively reached into my right pocket, and there they were. Three coins, cold and metallic against my fingers. But… how? I hadn’t felt them earlier. When had they been placed there? The unsettling thought sent a shiver down my spine.

I pulled out three coins, each one a distinct blue. Clara and Don did the same, revealing coins that were red and green, respectively. The questions swirling in my mind had no answers, but there was no time to dwell.

“The game is simple,” the Executive continued. “Enter any playroom you see along the hallway to begin. The minimum bet to participate is one coin. To advance to the second floor, you must possess three coins of different colors. For every additional coin you collect, your rewards will increase exponentially. We are talking about millions of dollars! Or… you could… save a friend.” He chuckled darkly, the sound reverberating through the silence.

For reasons beyond comprehension, some people seemed momentarily captivated by his words, as if wealth outweighed their mortal peril. Perhaps they were clinging to optimism, believing that winners with surplus coins might spare their lives.

“Once you reach the second floor,” the Executive elaborated, “you will enjoy a lifestyle beyond luxury: five-star cuisine, massages, anything you can imagine. You may leave once all participants have completed their games, should you so desire. And now… the rules.”

His tone shifted, adopting an eerie mix of professionalism and derision.

“1. No violence is permitted in the playroom. 

2. Only those with three coins or more of different colors may proceed to the second floor. 
3. Each game requires an automatic bet of one coin. You may raise further if you believe in your chances. You cannot participate without at least one coin.
4. A minimum of three players is required for each game. 
5. Aside from these rules… anything goes.

And… should you feel the urge to… test the rules…” 

The final words dripped with menace, his voice taking on an icy tone that sent chills through the crowd. No one needed clarification. The punishment for breaking the rules had already been made terrifyingly clear.

“That concludes my explanation. Please, enjoy the game,” the Executive said, his tone deceptively cheerful. With that, silence fell once more, leaving us to grapple with the grim reality of our predicament.

The Executive ended his speech, leaving an eerie silence in the air. Slowly, the hushed quiet gave way to murmurs as people began talking amongst themselves. The conversations were filled with worry and uncertainty, questions overlapping in a chaotic symphony of dread. Some whispered about the rules, others speculated about strategies, and more than a few simply repeated their desire not to die.

Finally, after several seconds of tense hesitation, a voice rose above the din.

“What would happen if we lost?! Will we die?!” A man in his thirties shouted, his voice trembling but loud enough to demand everyone’s attention.

The crowd fell silent once more, every ear straining to catch the Executive’s reply. This was the question on everyone’s mind, the question no one dared to ask until now. The oppressive atmosphere thickened, and the man’s bravery felt like a tiny candle flickering in a vast, dark void.

The Executive’s response was calm and measured, yet laced with an unsettling edge. “You do not want to find out…” he said, his voice soft but dripping with menace.

A shiver ran through the crowd. The words carried a chilling finality, a warning more terrifying than any explicit threat.

“The game has begun,” the Executive declared. “The time limit is five hours. Anyone with fewer than three coins of different colors after the time limit will be deemed a loser. Please… enjoy the game.”