Meanwhile, on the first floor, the timer continued to tick down. Only 30 minutes remained, and the hallways were filled with restless participants. Many had long since run out of coins, just like Clara. They wandered aimlessly, anxiety etched into their faces, unable to understand why they had not yet been killed. Those with a single coin clung to it desperately, too afraid to risk their last chance at survival. The atmosphere was heavy with dread and uncertainty.

A stalemate had taken hold. No one dared to play. Those with no coins could only wait for what seemed like an inevitable end, while those with one coin hesitated, paralyzed by the fear of losing everything.

But then, one man took action.

It was the same man who had discovered Kenneth’s mangled body in the bathroom. His mind, overwhelmed by fear and desperation, was consumed by a single, overpowering desire: to survive at any cost.

“If I can’t play… then… I’ll kill the fuckers with coins…”

The man mumbled the sentence repeatedly, his eyes wild and unhinged. His first victims were already approaching, oblivious to the storm brewing in his mind. A woman and a man, both in their 30s, walked toward him cautiously. Desperation was evident in their movements. They needed a third player to begin a game, and their hopes rested on the disheveled man before them.

“Do you have a coin? If you do, we can play a game…” the woman asked, her voice trembling as she nervously extended her last remaining coin for him to see.

Her words acted as the trigger. Without hesitation, the man launched his fist forward, striking her with every ounce of strength he could muster. His intent was clear: to kill her. The force of the blow sent her sprawling to the ground, blood trickling from her nose.

The man accompanying her froze in shock, his face pale with fear. He didn’t attempt to intervene. Instead, he turned and ran, his cowardice overpowering any notion of helping the woman.

The surrounding participants were equally stunned, their eyes locked on the horrific scene. But no one stepped forward to stop the assault. The man continued his attack, raining punches on the woman’s face with relentless fury. Her screams faded quickly, her life extinguished as her face became unrecognizable. Five minutes passed before he finally stopped, his knuckles dripping with blood, his victim motionless on the floor.

With a deranged laugh, he bent down and pried the coin from her lifeless hand. As he stood, his maniacal laughter filled the hallway. It was then that one of the administrators broke the silence.

“No rules were broken,” the administrator declared, his voice echoing through the hall.

The words sent a chilling realization through the crowd. Eyes darted around the hallway, suspicion and malice growing with every glance. Violence had just been sanctioned, and fear turned to hostility.

As the man’s laughter subsided, he raised his bloodied hands and looked at the others with a twisted grin.

“Who else… has a coin?!” he shouted, his voice brimming with menace.

Before anyone could respond, a chair came crashing down on the back of his head. The impact sent him to the ground, blood pooling beneath him. Behind him stood another participant, wielding the chair like a weapon.

“That coin… is MINE!” the attacker snarled.

The hall erupted into chaos. Some participants fled, desperate to avoid the violence, while others threw themselves into the fray, their survival instincts driving them to fight. Blood splattered the walls, and the once orderly hallway descended into a battlefield.

As the violence raged on, the timer hit zero. A mechanical voice rang out, cutting through the chaos.

“Ding Ding Ding Dong. The timer has reached five hours. All game activities are suspended. Game 1, Conquering Poker, has ended.”

The announcement brought an eerie stillness. Administrators stepped in, asserting control. In one room, Clara sat motionless, her body slumped in the chair she hadn’t left for hours. Her mind had shut down, retreating into a world of nothingness. She hadn’t heard the screams, hadn’t registered the violence outside. It was ironic—her mental withdrawal had kept her alive.

An administrator entered the room, yanking Clara to her feet with a sharp pull. “Stand the fuck up and move,” he barked, shoving her forward with a gun aimed at her back.

“Huh… what the fuck…?” Clara muttered weakly, her voice devoid of emotion. She stumbled forward, her body moving on instinct as the administrator guided her out into the hallway. She wasn’t alone. A few others who had hidden in playrooms were also being escorted out. They had survived the violence, but none of them had enough coins to advance. Their faces mirrored Clara’s blank expression, a mix of despair and resignation.

The administrators herded the survivors toward the center of the first-floor hallway.

Meanwhile, on the second floor, Claude and Elaine’s meal was interrupted by the announcement.

“Hmm,” Elaine mused, her tone rising with curiosity. “Let’s see the results.”

She stood abruptly, walking briskly toward the designated gathering point without waiting for Claude. The center of the second floor was marked by a large see-through window and a distinct red box painted on the floor.

Claude watched her leave, hesitating for a moment before heading toward the same location. However, he chose a different path, deliberately avoiding walking alongside her.

The gathering process was slow. The hallways on both floors stretched endlessly, and it took time for the participants to converge. But surprisingly, within half an hour, everyone had assembled. The length of the halls had been mitigated by the fact that no one had ventured all the way to the farthest corners, allowing the gathering to proceed faster than expected.

The air was thick with tension as the participants waited, their battered bodies and broken spirits a testament to the brutal first game.

A thought crossed Claude’s mind as he walked toward the center of the second floor.

“Where the hell… is the kitchen, by the way?” It was a nonsensical thought to be having at that moment, but he couldn’t help himself. He remembered the waiter serving his food earlier, approaching from the right side. Claude’s path now led him from right to left.

“So if the kitchen was on the right, then if someone orders from the far left corner, doesn’t that mean… the waiter… is about to break a leg?” He smirked faintly at the absurdity of his musings, but his train of thought was interrupted by a familiar voice.

The executive appeared behind the glass window on the second floor, his presence commanding instant attention.

“Greetings, participants,” he began, his voice resonating effortlessly through the air. Despite the thick, soundproof glass that separated the two floors, everyone—from the winners on the second floor to the losers below—could hear him as if he stood right beside them.

The participants on the first floor looked up at the winners, their faces a mix of envy and despair. Meanwhile, the winners peered down at the carnage below. The setup was deliberate, designed to foster arrogance and guilty pleasure among those who had ascended.

“What the hell happened down there?” one of the winners on the second floor exclaimed, their voice trembling with shock. The scene below was chaotic and gruesome. The center of the first floor was crowded with the surviving losers, gathered in a circle under the watchful eyes of the administrators. Surrounding them, however, was a horrifying sight: pools of blood, scattered coins, and lifeless bodies strewn about.

While many winners had been oblivious to the violence of the last hour, it didn’t take much to piece together what had transpired. Coins had become the catalyst for murder.

“As expected, huh…” Claude muttered, his voice tinged with disappointment.

The executive’s voice rang out again, drawing everyone’s attention.

“Winners on the second floor!” he announced. “I congratulate you for making it up here. Those with more than three coins, you now have choices to make! You may leave by going to the black door behind you and depositing all your coins into the machine. For every additional coin deposited, your net worth will increase by one million USD! Yes, a single coin is worth an entire million dollars!”

Cheers erupted from a few of the participants who held more than three coins. The prospect of wealth overshadowed any lingering thoughts of the bloodshed below. Their eyes gleamed with excitement, their minds fixated on their newfound fortune.

“What about me, bro? I only have three coins! Can I leave with some consolation prize? It wasn’t easy to get three coins of different colors, you know!” a young boy’s voice rang out, filled with desperation.

“Yeah, can we?”

“YEAH! WHAT ABOUT IT, EXECUTIVE?”

The crowd grew restless, their voices rising in a cacophony of demands. Most of them had just three coins, and the grisly scene on the first floor had left them eager to escape. But their hopes were met with a cruel reality.

“Those with three coins will not be allowed to leave… unless you can pay us one million USD!” the executive replied, his tone cold and dripping with mockery.

“What… what the fuck??”

The crowd’s reaction was unanimous. Anger, disbelief, and panic rippled through the winners as they realized their predicament.

Claude remained silent, his expression unreadable as he processed the information.

“A million USD, huh…” he thought. “Is that the criteria to qualify as a participant? Do they kidnap broke people so they’re forced to play? They can’t leave because they’re broke? No… that can’t be right…”

His mind wandered to Elaine. “Then why did Elaine and I get kidnapped here?” he wondered, searching for a common thread among the participants. Was there a shared factor? Or was it all random? The questions gnawed at him, but deep down, he knew the answers might not matter in the grand scheme of things.

The crowd’s roaring protests were abruptly silenced as the Executive’s arm transformed into a sharp, diamond-like structure. The crystalline appendage gleamed ominously under the harsh lights, exuding an air of lethal precision.

“Would you like to test my patience and kindness further?” the Executive declared, his voice cold and brimming with menace. The icy tone sent shivers down the spines of everyone present. Almost instantly, silence enveloped the room, the atmosphere thick with tension.

Satisfied with the quiet, the Executive continued as though nothing had happened.

“Now, allow me to continue,” he said smoothly, his tone returning to its usual calculated charisma. “Massive winners of the second floor, I speak to the few who have truly conquered the game. You, who hold many coins at your disposal. If you so wish, you may save any loser on the first floor! The condition to save them is simple: three coins of different colors—the same requirement you met to qualify as a winner. In return, the house will ensure that the loser you save will become your slave while in this area. Whatever you wish, we will enforce it. If you desire obedience, we will ensure they follow your every command.