At night, they were herded back into the playroom. It was the same one where they once fought over chairs and piñatas as if it were a birthday party, not a countdown to death. The room looked darker now, smaller. The windows were blacked out, and only one overhead light remained, buzzing and flickering. In the corner, on top of a table, was a gun.

Max muttered something too soft to catch. Nina didn’t speak at all. Jude looked like he might vomit. The screen on the far wall lit up again, and the Mastermind’s mask filled the frame.

“Welcome back,” the voice said. “Since you’ve been so restless this morning, we thought we’d stretch your legs a little.”

Celeste crossed her arms over her chest. She didn’t speak. 

“Today’s game is simple. It’s called Limbo.” A mechanical whir rang out, and a steel pole descended from the ceiling, stopping just above waist height. 

“The rules are easy,” the Mastermind continued. “Each of you will take turns going under the bar. If you touch it, you’re disqualified. But—this wouldn’t be a party without a twist.” 

Two masked men stepped forward, grabbed Joseph by the arms, and forced him to stand beside the revolver. His chest tightened. He didn’t resist, but he didn’t look at it either. 

The Mastermind’s voice dropped, delight evident in it. “Joseph will fire one shot from the revolver after each player passes- or fails. Only one bullet inside. Russian roulette. Whoever gets shot… is eliminated.” 

The room went dead quiet.

“No,” Eli snapped. “Hell no. You think we’ll let you play games with our lives again?” He stepped toward the nearest masked man. Joseph saw it coming a second too late. 

“Eli—”

Too late.

Eli lunged, and the masked man didn’t hesitate.

BANG.

The bullet grazed Eli’s calf, tearing skin and muscle but missing bone. He stumbled back with a choked yell, hitting the floor hard and grabbing at his leg as blood soaked through his pants. Celeste gasped. Nina cried out. Max backed away as if he had seen a ghost.

“Let that be a reminder,” the Mastermind said. “Noncompliance results in disqualification. And you don’t want to be disqualified. That's including you, Joseph.”

No one spoke. They just stared at Eli, writhing, teeth gritted in pain. A silent and faceless medic appeared from the hallway and knelt beside him, wrapping his calf. The bleeding slowed. A masked man dragged over a folding chair and shoved Eli into it. He was still in the game. They were all still in the game, except Joseph.

The gun was placed gently in his hand. Joseph didn’t move. 

The Mastermind’s voice slithered in again. “Let’s begin.” 

No one volunteered. Then, finally, Celeste stepped forward. She didn’t speak and didn’t even glance at Joseph. She ducked under the limbo bar in a swift motion, barely clearing it. Her arms trembled as she straightened.

Joseph raised the gun. His hand shook. He turned the barrel toward the floor—toward one of the masked men—and pulled the trigger. 

Click. 

Empty. 

One of the masked men stepped forward, raising a gun.

“No!” Joseph snapped. “I didn’t shoot anyone. I’m sorry.” 

A long silence followed. 

Then the voice returned. “Try that again, and next time the bullet goes in your head instead.”

Joseph didn’t lower the gun, and the others didn’t move. The game had only just begun, and already, it was the cruelest one yet.

Joseph’s hands trembled as he raised the gun again. Celeste was already standing there, shoulders squared, face pale. He didn’t want to aim. Didn’t want to look at her at all. But the masked men were watching. So he turned the barrel toward her leg, away from anything fatal. His finger hovered over the trigger. He didn’t breathe. 

Click. 

The hammer dropped on an empty chamber again. But the sound was enough. Celeste collapsed. She crumpled to the floor like a puppet cut loose—knees buckling, arms limp, gasping for air as if someone had knocked it out of her. Her hands trembled against the cold floor, and her head dipped low. 

Max rushed forward. “Hey—hey, she’s okay, right? She just—she just freaked out—”

Joseph didn’t move. He couldn’t. The revolver felt like a weight soldered to his hand. His fingers were locked stiff, and his chest felt tight. Above them, the Mastermind laughed softly. 

“Aw. How touching.” 

“Next.” 

Leo stepped forward, slower than Celeste had, but steadier. His face was blank—neither angry nor afraid, just focused. He didn’t speak to anyone or spare Joseph a glance. He just moved to the bar, exhaled once, and ducked.

His back arched. His legs shook just slightly. But he made it through. Clean. 

A few held their breath. Max clapped once, then immediately stopped. Joseph lifted the revolver again. He didn’t look at Leo’s face. Didn’t look at anyone. He just aimed low again—toward the leg—and pulled the trigger.

Click. 

Leo flinched, but didn’t fall. He blinked hard, nodded slightly, and stepped back in line. 

No one said a word. Two down. One bullet still inside. And Joseph’s hands wouldn’t stop shaking. 

Max blew out a shaky breath. “Alright. My turn, I guess. If I die, someone delete my browser history.”

No one laughed. He gave a weak grin anyway, then muttered, “Tough crowd,” and stepped toward the bar.

His usual swagger was gone, replaced by something smaller, tighter. His hands fidgeted, and his shoulders hunched slightly, as if bracing for a hit.

Max crouched, his knees bending awkwardly, and ducked under the bar. For a second, it looked like he wouldn’t make it—his hair nearly brushed against the metal—but somehow, miraculously, he cleared it. He stumbled up, flailing his arms with a dramatic gasp. “Boom, baby!”

Still, no one smiled. He looked at Joseph, and his grin faded. Joseph gripped the gun tightly.

Max raised both hands. “Hey, it’s okay, man. If it’s me—make it quick, yeah?” 

Joseph’s throat closed. He tried to aim low again and then fired.

Click.

Max visibly sagged in relief. He bent over, hands on his knees, and let out a long, exaggerated exhale. “Jesus Christ, I think I just blacked out.”

Joseph looked away. That was four shots. One of the next two would be the bullet; still, he had to keep going. No one stepped forward. Joseph didn’t blame them. 

The silence stretched, thick and choking, until the screen above them blinked again. The Mastermind sighed, almost bored. “Fine. If you can’t decide, I’ll do it for you.”

Everyone stiffened. The masked man pointed. “Jude. You’re next. Since you can’t keep your hands to yourself and have been tampering with our devices.”

Jude looked up as if he hadn’t heard correctly. “W-What?” he said, his voice cracking. “No, wait—someone else goes first. Just let me—”

A masked man grabbed his arm. 

“No, no, wait—” Jude struggled, but they were already pulling him forward. He stared at the bar like it was a guillotine. 

Joseph couldn’t breathe. Jude dropped low, his knees shaking. He tried to bend, duck, and keep his balance—he barely made it under. He staggered back up, his face pale as bone. 

Joseph raised the gun. His hand trembled worse than before. He looked into Jude’s eyes, then looked away. He aimed low—somewhere non-lethal—and pulled the trigger.

BANG.

The shot echoed like a coffin lid slamming shut. Jude collapsed instantly. Everyone screamed—Celeste, Nina, Amelia. Joseph dropped the gun like it burned, and he instantly vomited. Blood soaked through Jude’s pants. Joseph didn’t move. He couldn’t.

The Mastermind’s voice returned, smooth as silk. “Jude Madox eliminated.”

The limbo pole slid silently back into the ceiling. A beat passed, then came the whir of unlocking doors. The masked men moved quickly. No one resisted.

Jude lay slumped in the middle of the room, hands pressed to his bleeding leg. His breath came fast and shallow. 

One crouched beside Jude and began wrapping his leg—tight, fast, mechanical. Blood had soaked all the way through the fabric. Too much, maybe. More than it should’ve.

The gauze kept coming—layer after layer after layer, like they were trying to cover something up, not stop it.

Max was the first to be grabbed—still pale, still shaking. They dragged him through the exit and down the white hallway. A moment later, Celeste followed. Then Leo. Then Nina. One by one, each of them was pulled toward a door in the corridor, white with gold plaques mounted at eye level, each engraved with a name. 

Eli tried to stand but stumbled; a masked man caught his arm and helped him half-drag him forward. He didn’t fight it. None of them said a word as the doors swung open and closed again, swallowing them whole. 

The others were gone—dragged one by one into their white rooms. Only silence remained now, thick and humming.

Jude didn’t look down. He didn’t say a word.

The other masked man grabbed him under the arms. Jude winced but didn’t resist.

They dragged him down the white corridor, past closed doors and golden name plaques, until they stopped at one.

JUDE MADOX

The door opened with a mechanical hiss. Inside was a single chair, white walls, a white floor, and a camera blinking silently in the corner. They pulled Jude into the room and dropped him into the chair. Then, without a word, the masked men turned and left, closing the door behind them with a soft click.

He was alone—or so he thought—until a shadow moved at the edge of the room. The Mastermind stepped forward, slow and deliberate. Same black suit. Same expressionless mask. They reached into their pocket, pulled out a phone, and held it up. The screen lit up. 

Jude stared and froze. His hands twitched against his thighs, and his breath caught. The Mastermind tilted their head slightly, their voice smooth behind the mask. “You remember?”

Jude didn’t answer. He didn’t need to. The fear in his eyes said everything.