The Executive’s words hung heavy in the air, and despite his invitation to start, no one moved. Fear rooted everyone to the spot, their minds replaying his cryptic warning. You do not want to find out. The phrase gnawed at their thoughts, amplifying the terror already instilled by the memory of the woman’s swift and brutal execution. Armed guards lined the hallway, silent reminders of the consequences of disobedience.

“What the hell is going on…” Clara muttered, her voice barely audible.

“I don’t know,” Don replied, his fear evident in the tremble of his voice. “Should we play? What if they kill us in the room… They have guns…”

His voice cracked as he finished, his anxiety spilling over. He looked to me for reassurance, his eyes wide and desperate. I swallowed hard, forcing myself to project a calm I didn’t feel.

“We got lucky,” I said, attempting to steady my tone. “Let’s play.”

Don’s brows furrowed in confusion. “Lucky? What do you mean?”

“We need three coins, each of a different color,” I explained, holding out my hand. My three blue coins gleamed under the artificial lights. “Take a look at yours.”

Don and Clara hesitated before obliging, each revealing their own coins. Red and green. Different from mine. Relief flickered in their eyes as they grasped the significance.

“Let’s go,” I said firmly, standing up and heading toward one of the nearby doors. The rest of the crowd watched us, their expressions a mixture of curiosity, envy, and fear. Clara and Don followed close behind, their steps uncertain but determined. When we reached the door, I grabbed the handle and turned it. To my surprise, it opened easily. I had noticed earlier that the doors were locked; it seemed they had been unlocked when the game began.

Inside, the room was sparse but functional. Three administrators stood in silence, their black suits immaculate, their faces unreadable beneath their masks. They carried the same air of menace as the guards outside, their hands resting casually on their holstered revolvers.

“Even more armed men here,” I muttered sarcastically, scanning the room. “What’s the manpower cost for this shitty game event?”

Neither Clara nor Don laughed. It wasn’t surprising; humor seemed impossible in this stifling atmosphere. We entered the room fully, and I glanced around for a lock. There wasn’t one.

“Lock the room. We’ll play with just the three of us. Is that fine?” I directed the question at one of the administrators.

Don’s voice rose in protest before the administrator could reply. “What?! Are you crazy? If you lock the door, how can we run if they start shooting us?”

I sighed, turning to him with a grim expression. “If they wanted to kill us, we’d already be dead. Run? Run where? They’re everywhere.”

My words were harsh, but they were the truth. Don flinched, his fear bubbling over into frustration, but he didn’t argue further.

Clara, sensing the tension, tried to offer reassurance. “It’s fine. We’re all safe… right, Claude?”

Her voice wavered as she glanced at me, her attempt at confidence transparent. It was clear she was trying to convince herself as much as Don. I turned back to the administrator.

“So… can you lock the door?” I asked again, my tone firm.

The administrator nodded curtly. “It’s locked. Now, do you want to play?”

I sat down, motioning for Clara and Don to do the same. “I have a plan,” I said, my voice low but steady. “We’ll all make it.”

Clara leaned forward, her eyes bright with hope. “What’s the plan?” she asked eagerly. Don also stared at me, his fear momentarily giving way to curiosity.

“It’s simple,” I began. “We all bet one of our own colored coins. When the first card is out, the two of you will fold. Next, we’ll bet another coin of our own colors, and Don and I will fold. Finally, Clara and I will fold.”

They blinked at me, their expressions blank as they tried to process the explanation. I could see them visualizing the sequence in their minds, their brows furrowing as they pieced it together. After a moment, understanding dawned.

“By folding strategically, we’re just exchanging coins,” Clara said, her voice laced with realization. “That way, we’ll all have one coin of each color.”

I nodded. “Exactly. That’s why I said we were lucky. We all have different colored coins, so the plan works perfectly. And that’s why I wanted the door locked. If anyone else joined, it would ruin everything.”

The simplicity of the plan was almost laughable, but in the chaos and fear gripping everyone, it was clear that rational thinking was in short supply. Clara’s face lit up with newfound determination.

“Let’s start,” she said, her voice filled with excitement, as if the weight of the situation had momentarily lifted.

Don, on the other hand, remained skeptical. “Are you sure this will work?” he asked, glancing nervously at the administrators.

“We’re not breaking any rules… right?” I directed the question to one of the administrators, meeting his impassive gaze.

“No rules were broken,” the administrator replied. His tone was deliberately vague, but the meaning was clear. This strategy wasn’t against the rules, and they had likely anticipated players exploiting such loopholes.

I smirked, feeling a small surge of confidence. “Let’s start the game,” I said, locking eyes with Clara and Don. “We’ll all make it out.”

The game proceeded, and the tension in the air was palpable as two cards were dealt to each player. Moments later, three community cards were revealed: Ace of Spades, Eight of Diamonds, and Jack of Diamonds.

“Player 9, please announce your move,” the administrator called out, his voice cold and mechanical.

I didn’t bother looking at my cards, nor did I give Clara and Don a chance to check theirs. Without hesitation, I pushed all my chips forward.

“Raise. All in.”

Clara and Don stared at me, their confusion evident. This wasn’t part of the plan we had agreed upon. I could feel their eyes questioning my motives.

“Both of you should fold. Just as planned,” I said firmly, cutting through their hesitation.

After a brief pause, they complied, folding their hands. Inside, I felt a wave of relief wash over me. Now, I had five coins: three blue, one red, and one green. Clara and Don were left with two coins each of their original colors.

The strategy was working. By carefully betting and folding, I would only need to lose two blue coins to ensure I still had a combination of three unique colors—a guaranteed path forward.

The administrator collected the old cards and replaced them with a new deck. The next round began, and this time, Don was the first to act. The community cards revealed were Jack of Spades, Queen of Diamonds, and Ten of Clubs.

“Raise,” Don said, his voice steady as he threw two chips onto the table. He had glanced at his cards and found confidence in what he held: Nine of Spades and King of Hearts. A straight. A strong hand.

Clara’s confusion was immediate. “What? You were supposed to fold,” she said, her voice laced with fear and disappointment. Her eyes darted to Don, seeking an explanation that didn’t come.

I intervened quickly. “It’s fine. Don and I will fold next round for you, Clara.”

My attempt to reassure her didn’t entirely succeed. Her body language screamed unease. The slight tremble in her hands, the way her gaze lingered on her remaining coins—it was clear she was unraveling. Clara realized the stakes. After this fold, she would be left with only one coin. And if Don deviated from the plan again, her fate was sealed.

“Fold,” Clara whispered, her voice barely audible. The weight of her decision hung heavily in the air.

Immediately after, I followed suit. “Fold.”

The chips moved to Don, who now had four coins—two of his original color and two unique ones. Clara was left with a single coin, and her despair was evident. She stared at her last chip as though it were a death sentence, her expression a mixture of fear and resignation.

I glanced at Don and noticed something unsettling. A faint smile tugged at his lips, barely perceptible but undeniably there. It wasn’t a smile of joy or relief—it was the kind of smile you’d expect from someone who had just gotten away with something deceitful. The kind of smile a villain wears in the shadows of triumph. Even Don himself might not have realized he was doing it.