All eyes were on Mikeal. The anticipation he had managed to create among the audience was astounding. A few hours had already passed, and Mikeal had somehow dodged and killed two or three cannibals—purely by dumb luck.
He had hidden in the best places he could find, the kind of places no cannibals would dare enter. But for some unexplainable reason… they always found him.
Beaten, battered, and bruised, Mikeal was surviving on his last few breaths. Whatever he had to do—he better do it fast.
Now, Mikeal was hiding in a familiar place, nursing his wounds. He was in the same mall from that incident. Although, due to some memory loss, he couldn't quite recall the details—yet he couldn't shake the feeling that something terrible had happened there.
To put it simply, this place—this district—was a replica of the Playground District. Almost everything was an exact copy… yet also somehow different.
He was crouched inside a storage unit, hand covering his mouth, breathing slow and steady. He couldn't afford a single mistake—any noise could cost him everything.
One thing was for sure—this hiding place was solid. Even though the district was a replica, everything from the buildings to the layout felt exactly like the real Playground.
Truth be told, Mikeal had done better than anyone expected. He didn't have a Brand to help him, yet he was still standing his ground—so much so that even some of the audience began cheering for him. Not that he knew that. To him, he was just alone, surrounded by more than a hundred hungry, monstrous cannibals.
The only aid he had was the exo-skeleton suit he was given. It wasn't exactly advanced—it didn't offer much protection. But it did tend to his wounds.
For instance, whenever he got hurt—cuts, bruises, or worse—the suit would release a healing substance that reduced the pain and closed the wound.
That was the case now, inside the storage unit. While trying to escape a horde that almost devoured him, he'd sliced himself badly on a rusty, definitely infected fence.
Clearly, the suit wasn't made of strong material. Within the first hour, it was torn and barely recognizable. The fact it could still administer healing treatment at this point was a miracle.
Now, Mikeal was waiting for the substance to kick in and do its job.
The healing agent came out in the form of white steam. It would sprinkle onto his wounds and then sizzle like boiling water. It sounded terrifying, but it wasn't—it was soothing.
However, Mikeal was caught off guard. His wound remained unhealed. It didn't matter how many times the suit sprayed the substance—it had no effect.
That was odd—even for someone like him, who had seen his fair share of weird in the past few days. This was something else. The suit released its final spray... and then stopped.
Mikeal didn't have to think too hard—he already knew. The suit was worn out. That was expected.
But the real question—the million-dollar question—was: why hadn't the substance healed him?
It was supposed to be enough.
As that question lingered, his status screen popped up:
---
[Unknown substance in body detected]
[Unknown substance has been rejected]
[Unknown substance has been cleared from user's system]
---
Reading this new information, it all began to make some sort of sense—even if the questions in his mind only grew heavier.
Leaving him in pain was one thing—but being discovered in his hideout? That was a whole different nightmare.
---
[Something with sinister motives detected]
---
One thing about the system—it loved riddles. Every notification forced Mikeal to scratch his head and try to decode what it meant.
Behind him, something… if you could even call it that… lurked in the shadows. It was drooling. Breathing. Growling. All of this Mikeal failed to realize—until it was a minute too late.
The creature behind him began clicking.
Thick, disgusting drool dripped onto Mikeal's face.
He blinked.
Wiped it off.
Felt the thickness of it.
Then, slowly, he turned around.
By the time he saw it, it was too late.
The cannibal roared at him, spitting saliva in his face.
Paralyzed by fear, Mikeal stood frozen.
The creature clawed him across the chest.
He stumbled back, bleeding. His suit, supposed to be made from high-grade material, was torn open.
The blood poured.
The cannibal screeched—calling the others.
And they came. Like a flood through the tunnels.
Not just Mikeal, but everyone watching knew what was coming next.
Mikeal wasn't going to just fail the test.
He was going to die.
He could barely run—barely walk. But his body moved anyway. Limping. Dragging. Trying.
He picked up a rusty iron rod to defend himself.
It didn't matter.
The swarm caught up.
The cannibals jumped him—one after another—ripping and tearing, all trying to get a piece of him.
Meanwhile, the other contestants were also taking on their tests. While they couldn't see each other's battles, the rest of the audience could.
Hector, contestant number one—nervous and assuming he'd fail—was doing better than anyone expected. He had cut down nearly half of the cannibals chasing him. Their bodies littered his designated district.
After Mikeal, the next to be transported was his childhood friend—Alexia.
She was beating time. Faster than the first two guys.
Within just one hour, she had taken out seventy-five percent of the cannibals chasing her down.
Next was Celine. She barely used her Brand at all. Her strategy? Genius. She used her mind. Her calculations.
And because of that, the cannibals turned on each other—tearing each other apart. She barely lifted a finger.
Finally came the overconfident, determined Griffin.
And he wasn't just surviving—he was thriving.
He became the hunter.
He hunted every last one of the cannibals—tracking them to their hidden places.
---
"Here comes Griffin!" he shouted before slaughtering them.
---
His district was unlike the others. While theirs were covered in bodies, Griffin's streets looked untouched. No cannibals in sight.
He was swinging nonstop—no breaks, no exhaustion. Cannibal blood drenched him.
"Wooo!" he screamed in joy with every kill.
When he was done, he emerged smiling, blood on his face, dragging a plastic bag.
Inside?
Heads.
The heads of every cannibal he killed.
Every district had micro-cameras—undetectable to the naked eye.
Somehow, Griffin found one and stared right at it.
He raised the bag of heads and smiled.
---
"So, what's next?" he said to the camera, holding the bag up high.