The night was cold and damp, a constant drizzle falling from a sky as gray and tired as the city below. Streetlights flickered, some dead entirely, casting long shadows over the cracked sidewalks and trash-filled gutters of South Vinton Street.
Ethan Cole stood at the edge of the bridge, staring down into the black water far below. A single step forward. That's all it would take. Just one.
His fingers trembled on the rusted railing, knuckles white from the grip. His shoes were soaked through, the cold seeping into his bones, but he didn't notice. He couldn't feel much of anything anymore.
A week ago, he still had a life. A job. A woman he loved. A reason to fight.
Now he had nothing.
No money. No home. No hope.
Just a heart full of scars and a mind drowning in betrayal.
He replayed her voice in his head again, not because he wanted to, but because his brain wouldn't stop.
"You were always too trusting, Ethan. Thanks for the free ride."
Those were the last words Jenna said before vanishing, along with every cent in his bank account. Not just the money—his name, his credit, his reputation. She'd drained it all. Identity theft, fraudulent loans, and even pawned off the ring he'd planned to give her.
She left behind nothing but chaos and a few mocking voicemail messages.
The job let him go. The cops couldn't help. The bank wanted repayment. And Ethan?
Ethan just wanted it all to end.
The wind whipped harder. His soaked hoodie clung to his skin. Below, the river's current moved like a snake, silent and indifferent. No one would miss him. No one would even notice.
He closed his eyes and leaned forward slightly.
And then, his phone buzzed.
His body jerked in reflex, startled, like someone had touched him. He pulled it out of his pocket, half-expecting another collections message or scam call.
But it wasn't.
It was a push notification.
"Do you want to win a billion dollars?""A new life. A final chance. Tap here."
Ethan blinked.
"What the hell…?"
He looked around. No one nearby. The bridge was empty except for an old beer can rolling in the wind.
His thumb hovered over the screen. A scam. It had to be. Another lie.
But he was already standing on the edge of death. What was one more illusion?
He tapped it.
The moment his finger touched the screen, the display went black. No buffering. No loading bar. No browser pop-up.
Just nothing.
"Of course," he muttered. "Figures."
And then his vision swam.
He stumbled back from the railing, hand shooting to his head. His skull throbbed like something was burrowing into his brain. He opened his mouth to scream but no sound came.
His knees gave out.
The last thing Ethan saw was the stars above beginning to twist, spiral, then vanish—
—
✦✦✦
When he opened his eyes, it wasn't to the wet slap of concrete or the freezing touch of river water.
It was to heat.
Light.
And the low, echoing murmur of hundreds of voices.
Ethan gasped and sat upright. The ground beneath him wasn't the bridge. It was marble—polished, white, and warm to the touch. He squinted against the harsh lights beaming down from artificial sunlamps in the sky.
"Where…?"
Around him, people stirred. Some stood already. Others were waking like him—groggy, confused, panicked. A few screamed. A man nearby was retching on the floor.
Ethan looked around in disbelief.
They were in a massive, circular chamber—like a sports arena, but with no seats. Just towering glass walls encasing them in a dome the size of a football stadium. Dozens of cameras hovered silently on drones above, capturing every angle.
"Hey! HEY! What is this?!" someone yelled.
Another voice shouted, "Where the hell are we?!"
Before anyone could piece it together, the air filled with static.
A giant screen flickered to life above the dome's center. The image cleared, revealing a man in a dark red suit and silver tie, his face splitting in a devilish grin. Behind him, golden curtains and champagne bottles suggested luxury, but there was something off about his presence. Something theatrical—and wrong.
"Ladies and gentlemen… welcome," the man said, voice smooth and mocking. "You've all been chosen for the opportunity of a lifetime. The final game. One winner. One billion dollars."
Gasps rippled through the crowd.
Ethan's heart pounded.
The man continued, smile never faltering.
"I am your host, Alistair Virelli. You may call me Mr. V. And you, dear contestants, are the lucky thousand selected from the depths of despair and desperation. Every one of you agreed—willingly or not—to the terms of participation by tapping that lovely little ad."
The crowd erupted. Shouting, disbelief, fear.
"Bullshit!"
"I didn't agree to this!"
"I want out! You can't do this!"
Mr. V laughed. Not a belly laugh—more of a slow, indulgent chuckle.
"Oh, but I can. And I will. You signed away your rights with a digital waiver—one more line of code in a world already addicted to them. Consider this your salvation, not your punishment."
He gestured grandly as the camera panned out to show the sheer scope of the arena.
"Here's how it works: You will face a series of trials. Dangerous, violent, and wholly entertaining. Survive them all, and you win one billion dollars. Fail… and, well… at least your life will finally have meaning. Spectacle."
Ethan's breathing grew shallow.
This couldn't be real.
It felt like a dream—or a nightmare too twisted for fiction.
The screen zoomed in on Mr. V's face again.
"The first trial begins now. You will each be placed into one of ten zones. One hundred per zone. Your task: defeat the beast. Only those who survive may advance."
Gasps. Screams. Someone fainted.
"Ah-ah—don't worry. You'll be given… a chance. We aren't monsters. Well… not all of us."
The screen went dark.
A loud hiss echoed through the chamber as the floor split into ten sections. Massive circular platforms began to descend into darkness below. The floor under Ethan's feet trembled.
He staggered and looked around. His section was lowering—dozens of people panicking, grabbing onto each other, trying to climb out—but it was too late.
Metal doors slammed shut above, locking them in.
The last thing Ethan saw before full darkness consumed the shaft was the floor beneath them morphing—changing—from sleek white to dirt. Trees sprouted from the sides. Jungle vines crept from hidden doors.
Then: a deep, bone-rattling growl.
It didn't sound human.