Click.
A sudden, piercing snap of a switch echoes through the cavern.
Fzzzzzzzt.
A flickering white light crackles to life overhead. For a moment, it struggles—buzzing, spasming, casting brief shadows that dance across the jagged walls—before finally stabilizing.
What's even powering that thing?
The room we found ourselves in is quite small. It's strange how there's an echo in such a space. If all 6 of us were to line up next to each other, with our arms out, we'd probably cover most of the room. The walls are made of white asphalt, and they seem to reflect the light. Blindingly so. The floor is of a darker, more rough textured rock. I can't really describe the feeling under my feet as anything other than unpleasant. There isn't much else to really look at other than more boulders, and a few unlit torches on one of the walls. There's also a very dark and unnerving hallway that leads to God knows where.
Like hell I'm about to go that way. You think I'm stupid or something?
My thoughts are interrupted by a realization. I can now see the physical form of the people's voices I've been hearing this whole time.
The silence shatters—not with words, but with gasps, stares, and the sudden tension of strangers thrown into an impossible situation. None of us say anything right away. It's like we're trying to confirm what our eyes are showing us:
We're real. This is real.
Kai is sitting cross-legged at the side of the room, with his hands in the air like he's being held at gunpoint. He has shaggy brown hair with streaks of red running through it, and deep-set dark brown eyes that flick around the room like he's trying to memorize every detail. His skin is pale—almost as white as the glowing walls—and his expression rides the line between annoyed and amused. His features are sharp but not exaggerated. Nose, mouth, ears—all normal. But there's something about the way he holds himself, like he's trying to act relaxed while preparing to sprint at any moment.
He's wearing a faded red t-shirt with some half-worn graphic on it, paired with a loose black jacket that looks two sizes too big. His jeans are ripped at the knees, scuffed with dirt and dust like he's been dragged here through a construction site. On his feet are a pair of old, mismatched sneakers—one black, one gray. Whether he dressed like that on purpose or not, I can't tell. Either way, it fits his personality.
Christy stands not far from the center of the room, arms crossed, back straight—like she's bracing herself against everything around her. She has shoulder-length black hair pulled into a low ponytail, not a strand out of place. Her skin is fair, almost porcelain under the harsh light, and her eyes are sharp, calculating—like she's already sizing up everyone here, including me.
She's wearing a charcoal gray hoodie—plain, no logos or designs—with the sleeves pushed up to her elbows. Her black jeans are snug but practical, and the knees are lightly torn like she's had to move fast through rough ground. Her boots are worn leather, dark brown and heavy-looking, like they've seen more than one storm. There's a faint smudge of something on the hem of her hoodie, but she hasn't bothered to clean it. Her whole look screams control. Her expression is calm—too calm, almost—but the way her fingers tap lightly against her bicep tells another story. She's nervous. Hiding it well, but it's there. Just like the rest of us.
Lena is practically bouncing on her heels near one of the boulders, her energy completely out of place in this bleak, echoing room. She's short—noticeably so—with pale skin and light blonde hair that falls to about her shoulders in soft, messy waves. Her eyes are a delicate, icy blue, wide with curiosity as they dart from face to face, trying to make sense of the strangers around her.
She looks younger than the rest of us—probably still in high school—and she's dressed like someone who expected a lazy day: an oversized pastel sweater with a smiling cartoon animal on the front, and leggings already scuffed at the knees.
There's a nervous smile on her face—too bright for a place like this. It feels like she's trying to stay positive. Maybe for herself? I'm not sure if it's courage or just fear with a mask on.
Blair stands at the edge of the room, perfectly still—like movement is something she only does when absolutely necessary. Her pale skin contrasts starkly with the harsh lighting, and her jet-black hair is cut short, ending just below her jaw in a blunt, straight line. There's no style to it—just clean, efficient, and out of the way. Her gray eyes are blank and unreadable, not scanning the room, just... existing. Like none of this really matters.
She wears a simple black long-sleeve shirt tucked into straight-cut charcoal pants. No design, no dirt, no loose threads. Her boots are just as nondescript—dark, unscuffed, and silent. Everything about her is neat, controlled, and almost aggressively neutral. It's like she stripped away anything unnecessary, including emotion.
Isabella stands quietly just a few steps away from me—closer than anyone else, though not close enough to say she's reaching out. It's subtle, but it feels intentional. Like she's anchored herself to the one familiar voice she remembers hearing first. There's no eye contact, no words—just her presence, hovering nearby like a shadow trying not to be noticed.
Her light brown hair falls in long, wavy strands, partially hiding her face as she keeps her head slightly lowered. The soft curls shift when she fidgets with her sleeves, which are part of a large, oversized cream-colored sweater that nearly engulfs her small frame. She's dressed in black jogging pants and gray running shoes that look well-worn, the soles just a little frayed at the edges. It's the kind of outfit someone wears for comfort, not attention.
When she finally did speak earlier, her voice was barely more than a breath—shy and reserved, not because she didn't care, but because she didn't want to say the wrong thing. There's a quiet vulnerability to her, like she's holding herself together just enough to stay upright. Unlike Blair's emotionless stillness, Isabella's silence feels... human. Scared, maybe. But real.
The silence is almost more suffocating now that we can see each other.
Kai breaks it first... with a stupid ass joke.
- Kai: "Well... damn. We're a pretty weird bunch, huh?"
Christy doesn't even blink.
- Christy: "Is now really the time for jokes?"
- Kai: "What, you want me to cry or something?! I'm all outta tears here! Besides, I don't see you balling your eyes out!"
Christy shoots him a glare but doesn't respond. Her arms tighten slightly while still crossed.
- Lena: "At least we're not alone, right? I mean… it could be worse."
Lena pipes up with a nervous laugh.
I guess she's trying to ease the tension in the air.
- Blair: "It will be."
Everyone turns to look at Blair, but she just stares at the light above, unfazed, her face blank—completely devoid of emotion, like it doesn't even register.
Isabella shifts slightly beside me. I glance her way, but she doesn't say anything. Just clutches the hem of her sleeve tighter.
Before anyone could continue talking, the loud voice echos yet again, as if trying to get our attention.
- ???: "Your pointless drivel bores me."
It isn't just loud—it's inside our heads. Like it bypasses our ears completely, vibrating behind our eyes and deep in our skulls. It's calm, measured… but there's something wrong about it. Too smooth. Too pleased.
- ???: "However, some of your reactions are… enjoyable to watch."
I feel Isabella tug on my shirt from behind. She's shaking. It's like those words were directed at her. I unconsciously move my arm to cover her.
- Christy: "Who are you? What do you intend to do with us?"
- Kai: "Yeah, like Princess Tightass said. Why the fuck did you have to move me while I was taking a shit?!"
His pointless display of confidence is shattered by his embarrassing claim. No one even acknowledges him. Except Christy, who just seemed confused from what he said.
Is he actually an idiot??
The voice pays him no mind either, as it continues on with what it was saying before being interrupted.
-???: "By now, you've probably guessed—this is not your world. Not your home. Whatever you knew before… it no longer applies here."
-???: "You may be wondering why you're here. The answer is simple. Mortals love their games, don't they? Always chasing thrills, clawing for survival, desperate for purpose."
His voice is starting to piss me off now. Especially when it ratles my fucking brain.
- ???: "So, consider this my gift. A new game. One with rules. One with stakes. One where only the strongest… the cleverest… the most ruthless… survive."
The voice begins to stifle slightly, almost as if it's holding in an even bigger laugh. I look towards the others. Everyone is digesting what was said in one of a few ways—discomfort, fear, agitation. I can feel everyone's disdain for this thing.
The one who caught my attention the most was Isabella. She's much closer to me now than before and is holding my black t-shirt a little tighter. Her shaking has only increased in its intensity. She's not the only one though. I'm feeling really exposed right now. It feels like this voice is able to understand what we're thinking.
Before any of us can speak again, the voice hums—low, vibrating, almost amused.
- ???: "You feel it, don't you? That weight crawling under your skin. That little pulse of dread."
The lights flicker once.
Then—Click.
A second, sharper snap echoes above us. Not from the light this time. Something else.
- ???: "Ah… but you'll need more than fear, won't you?"
Fzzzzzzzzt.
Something crackles in the air—static, invisible, like lightning on the verge of forming. Then it manifests.
Floating just inches in front of our faces, translucent panels blink into existence. Thin, angular outlines frame softly glowing screens, each tinted faintly in blue-white light. They shimmer like glass dipped in oil. Text begins to etch itself across them line by line.
- ???: "You'll need your little stats and boosts, won't you? After all, you humans are so… laughably weak."
The screen sharpens and the words become clearer.
——————————————————————
STATUS SCREEN
Name: Ayden
Level: 1
XP: 0
Attribute Points: 0
[ATTRIBUTES]:
Strength: 5
Speed: 5
Perception: 5
Intelligence: 5
Vigor: 5
——————————————————————
- ???: "Of course, I'm no heartless monster to send you into the fray completely unequipped. As you currently are, you wouldn't survive ten minutes."
What's out there that could kill us that fast?
A sharp ping cuts through the air. The status screen glitches, and a new tab glows at the bottom.
[SKILLS]
- ???: "Each of you will be granted a different skill fulfilling a specific purpose. Of course, do not think you are strong enough to survive on your own."
Then, the next thing the voice says is in a whisper. It's so unnerving that it feels like something is ripping away at my conscience.
- ???: "…you…are…all…nothing…"
Suddenly, there's silence.
- Kai: "Um… Hello? You still there?"
There is no response.
- Kai: "Huh, I guess not."
It seems we're alone now. No guides, no voices, nothing… just the empty sounds of our thoughts rushing from all the events that have transpired.
What do we do now?