They were led through another corridor—bright white this time, sterile and humming with quiet electricity. The metallic scent of the arena was replaced by something even stranger: artificial lavender, pumped into the air like a twisted attempt at relaxation.
After the blood-soaked jungle, the Rest Wing felt surreal.
The survivors of Zone 4—just seventeen now—were each assigned a small, private dorm. The rooms were clean but windowless, equipped with a cot, a sink, a toilet, and a camera fixed in the top corner. No locks. No freedom. Just the illusion of peace.
Ethan sat on the edge of his bed, shirtless, tending to the cuts on his arm with a small first aid kit left on the nightstand. His hands trembled slightly—not from pain, but from the haunting aftershocks of what they'd endured. He'd killed. He'd watched others be torn apart like rag dolls. The images refused to fade.
He didn't even know how long they'd been unconscious before the first round. Days? Weeks? Time felt warped here.
A soft knock pulled him from his thoughts.
Jade.
She stood at his door, arms crossed. Her face was cleaned up, but her eyes remained sharp, wary.
"They said we can move freely in the common areas," she said. "Might be a good idea to see who's still around."
Ethan grabbed his jacket and followed her.
The Common Area
The facility opened up into a lounge-like space. Soft couches, bright lighting, and even a vending machine stocked with snacks. It was absurd—like they were in a breakroom at a corporate office instead of a human slaughterhouse.
Ten or so other survivors were scattered around. Dorian sat at a table playing a slow game of chess with the lanky, quiet man who had been nicknamed "Glasses." Others lingered in corners, watching, waiting.
"Feels like a trap," Jade muttered. "Why would they give us this?"
"To see what we'll do with it," Ethan replied. "We're the entertainment, remember? This is just a new stage."
He spotted a tall girl with braided hair and sharp eyes glaring at him from across the room. He remembered her—she'd been the one who stabbed the gorilla through the eye at the end. Her name was Talia, and she moved like a fighter, deliberate and coiled.
Ethan nodded in greeting.
She didn't nod back.
Jade leaned in. "She doesn't trust anyone. Can't blame her."
As they explored, Ethan discovered a door labeled "Observation Lounge – Authorized Personnel Only." It was locked, of course, but it had a keycard reader and faint voices behind it—laughter, clinking glasses, murmured conversation.
The Elite Circle.
He stepped closer, listening through the wall.
"…Zone 4's got some fighters this season."
"Oh, yes. The one with the hoodie—Ethan, I believe? Quiet, but clever. I like him."
"He's too soft. My money's still on the brute from Zone 1."
"Wait until the Werewolf Game. They'll turn on each other soon enough."
Ethan's stomach turned. They were being discussed like chess pieces. Lab rats. Toys.
He returned to the lounge. Jade was talking with Dorian now, the three forming an uneasy circle of alliance. For now, trust was a currency too rare to spend lightly.
Later That Night
The overhead lights dimmed at what must have been midnight. A quiet chime played through the facility, soft and pleasant, but it only made Ethan feel more uneasy. He couldn't sleep.
Instead, he walked the hallway alone, hoping the movement would burn off some of the restlessness. That's when he saw Glasses slipping through a side door.
Curious, Ethan followed.
Down the corridor, Glasses pried open a service panel, revealing an old maintenance duct.
"You spying too?" Ethan asked softly.
Glasses flinched but didn't deny it.
"There's a hidden server room," he whispered. "Cameras. Audio. They're recording everything. I think some of it's being streamed live. There's a system deeper underground. I saw a tunnel."
Ethan felt a chill. "Why haven't you told anyone?"
Glasses gave him a long look. "Because not everyone here wants to escape. Some of them want to win."
Morning — The Announcement
The lights brightened automatically. A mechanical voice echoed overhead.
"Survivors of Zone 4, report to the briefing chamber in five minutes. Round Two begins shortly."
Ethan, freshly showered and still sore, met Jade and Dorian outside his room. The others gathered in the hallway—seventeen survivors, each of them changed. Faces hardened. Movements more calculated.
They were escorted into a large, circular room with a digital table in the center. On the screen was a symbol: a crescent moon over a shadowed forest.
The screen flickered, and Mr. V appeared.
"Welcome to Round Two: The Werewolf Game. This one is a personal favorite. Deception, deduction, betrayal. It brings out the truth in people."
He smiled.
"You'll be split into groups of ten. One of you in each group will be assigned the role of Werewolf. Each night, the werewolf may kill one player in secret. Another player will be the Detective, able to investigate one player per night to discover whether they are the wolf. One will be the Hunter, with a single bullet they can use during the day to kill anyone they suspect. The remaining seven? Innocent humans."
Ethan exchanged glances with Jade.
"During the day, you'll discuss and vote. The player with the most votes will be eliminated. If the werewolf is killed, all dead humans in that group will be revived and advance to the next round. If the wolf survives until only one remains, the wolf wins—and all others are permanently eliminated."
"Oh, and one more thing: roles are secret. You may lie, deceive, or tell the truth as you see fit. Trust no one. The game ends when either the wolf or the humans succeed."
The screen went black.
A new corridor opened.
"Time to separate you," said a voice over the speakers.
Security guards—masked and silent—guided the survivors one by one into different pods. Ethan's hands were shaking again.
He was either walking into a mind game… or a death trap.
The doors sealed behind him.
A screen inside his pod flickered on.
"Your Role: Detective."
Ethan exhaled slowly.
So be it.