They were dragged—bloodied and limping—across gravel and stone toward the house they had once thought of as a vacation prize.

The Playroom door creaked open. The masked men shoved them inside.

Seven heads turned.

Max. Nina. Amelia. Leo. Celeste. Eli. Jude.

They were already inside, gathered in a loose circle. Some stood, while others sat against the walls, all looking like they hadn’t slept in days. Some were bruised, and some were visibly shaken.

Joseph and Preston stumbled into the room, coughing and out of breath.

Then, the lights dimmed.

The screen on the far wall blinked to life, static crackling to reveal a familiar distorted voice.

The Mastermind.

The mask shimmered in the low light, the eyes hidden in shadow.

“How disappointing,” the voice said. “I was hoping to see someone’s head pop this morning.”

No one moved. Joseph’s ears were still ringing.

“I warned you, didn’t I?” the Mastermind continued. “Not to tamper. Not to let someone get it removed. And yet… Joseph managed to sway every single one of you, even after the rules were clear.”

A long pause followed. The silence burned.

Then the voice brightened, mockingly cheerful.

“But that’s okay. Really. You’ll pay the price later. One of you will still join the other two girls tonight.”

The screen flickered.

Lena’s name appeared.

Then Sasha’s.

Both were struck through in red.

“Until then… enjoy the breakfast we’ve prepared for you downstairs. You’ll need your strength.”

The screen snapped to black.

The lights came back on.

The masked men turned in perfect unison and disappeared through the door—silent as always, their boots the only sound.

The room was still.

No one moved for a few seconds.

Finally, Max let out a weak breath. “Well, that was… so not the vibe.”

Amelia slumped against the wall. “I hate this game.”

Celeste was still staring at Joseph.

Then, Preston stepped forward.

His voice was rough and quiet. “...I’m sorry. For what I said.”

Joseph looked up.

Preston met his eyes—no bravado this time, no accusations—just guilt.

“I was wrong,” he added. “You didn’t have to do that for me. But you did.”

Joseph didn’t answer; he just nodded.

One by one, the others slowly gathered around.

No hugs. No tears.

But the tension had cracked. There was something else in the air now—uneven, awkward solidarity.

They walked out together.

Down the staircase.

To the long dining table that had been empty for days.

Now, it was filled with steaming trays of food.

Eggs. Toast. Fruit. Coffee. Juice. All too perfect.

All too wrong.

No one sat down right away.

They stood there—nine players, full plates, and hollow silence.

Whether or not they had breakfast, they knew what tonight would bring.

Someone else wouldn’t make it back.

They ate in silence.

Knives scraped against plates. Forks clinked on porcelain. No one spoke.

No one asked who cooked the food.

No one commented on the neatly folded napkins or the single white daisy in the vase.

It wasn’t breakfast.

It was a countdown.

Joseph barely touched his plate. Across from him, Eli picked at the toast. Jude stared at his coffee as if it might poison him. Amelia chewed mechanically, as if that was the only thing tethering her to the ground.

Max was the first to stand.

“Okay,” he said, wiping his mouth with a fancy napkin. “This is officially the worst hotel service I’ve ever had.”

He strode to the main door, gripped the handle, and yanked.

It didn’t budge.

He tried again, rattling it and slamming a shoulder against the wood. 

“Cool,” he muttered. “Locked. Of course.”

His eyes darted up to the ceiling camera near the hallway.

“You watching, huh?” Max raised both hands, flipping off the camera. “Enjoying the show?”

No answer.

Just the silent red blink of the lens.

Max picked up a butter knife from the table, weighed it in his hand, and then hurled it at the camera.

It shattered with a sharp crack, sparks bursting like fireflies.

Everyone flinched.

The room went still.

Then—click.

The screen behind flickered to life again.

That mask.

That voice.

“Since you’re all so bored that you’ve decided to start trashing the place,” the Mastermind said smoothly, “why don’t we continue this birthday celebration instead?”

Max froze.

The others turned to stare at him, hard.

“Seriously?” Nina said. “Did you have to do that?”

“I was just trying to—” Max threw up his hands. “Okay, okay, I get it. My bad.”

Footsteps echoed outside the room.

A second later, the masked men returned.

Several of them.

Carrying the velvet box.

The birthday box.

They placed it gently on the table. Its ribbon was darker now, as if it had soaked up too much night.

The screen flashed again.

“But… since Joseph has completed his task so efficiently,” the Mastermind purred, “we’ll let him rest. He’s exempt from this next round.”

Joseph didn’t move.

His chest was still heaving from earlier. Dirt was dried under his fingernails. His shoulder ached.

He stared at the box.

“Instead, Joseph,” the voice continued, syrup-smooth, “you’ll be the one to choose.”

Max muttered, “Oh, come on.”

Joseph looked around the table. Eight people. Eight stares.

His gaze dropped to the velvet box.

His fingers curled.

“Fine,” he said quietly.

He reached forward.

Opened the lid.

Inside: one folded slip of paper.

He pulled it out.

Unfolded it.

"Read the word aloud:  

'...Limbo."

A soft chime echoed through the walls.  

The Mastermind chuckled.  

"Oh, this one’s my favorite. Let’s play limbo tonight."  

There was a pause.  

"Prepare yourselves."  

Then the screen went black.  

Silence stretched on.  

Finally, Max muttered, almost to himself, “That laugh just now…”  

He glanced sideways at Joseph.  

“Did anyone else think it kinda sounded like him?”  

Joseph didn’t look up, blink, or say a word.  

Now, eight stares were fixed on him instead.

They didn’t speak much after that. Some wandered to the far end of the house while others stayed behind at the table. There wasn’t anywhere else to go, nowhere to hide. 

Eventually, the weight of exhaustion took over. One by one, they drifted back toward the living room, where cushions and rugs had been piled into a makeshift sleeping area. No one spoke about it, but none of them wanted to sleep alone. 

Joseph lay still with his eyes open, staring at the ceiling fan, which didn’t spin. His shoulder throbbed in time with his heartbeat. Nearby, someone was snoring softly, while someone else was quietly crying. 

His eyelids grew heavy. Sleep came without warning. 

---

Darkness enveloped him once again. It wasn’t the suffocating kind from before; this darkness was thinner, like fog. There were no shapes, no light—just the sound of gravel shifting underfoot and a faint breeze carrying voices that seemed too far away to be real.

A voice broke through, casual and boyish. “Hey! Name’s Preston. What’s yours?” 

A pause followed. Then another voice, younger and uncertain, replied, “Oh, h… hey. I’m David.” 

More voices joined in—distant and warped, like memories trying to surface through water. 

“Hi, I’m Nina.”  

“Leo.”  

“Sasha.”  

“I’m Celeste—wait, do we just go in a circle?”  

“Eli. Whatever.”  

“Lena.”  

“Amelia.”  

“Jude.”  

“Max, your big bro.”  

The names bled together—one after the other, some playful, some cautious, and some too tired to bother. Just introductions. Nothing else. Stripped of everything they had become, they were simply people saying their names. 

Silence followed, then a faint laugh— not cruel, just… shy. Joseph didn’t see them; he couldn’t move. He could only hear the voices echoing, looping, stretching like old tape in his mind.

“Hey, I’m Preston. What’s yours?”  

“…David.”  

“David.”  

“David.” 

---

He jolted awake. The living room was dim with evening light. The others were still there, sprawled across blankets and cushions, curled in corners. Jude lay on his back, eyes closed, while Celeste was wrapped in a throw blanket, barely breathing. 

The quiet was total. Only the clock on the wall ticked down the hours. 

Joseph didn’t say anything. He just stared at the ceiling again, waiting.