Chapter 2
The musty scent of rotting paper and metal hung in the stale air as Simon wandered the building's empty halls, his footsteps echoing against the cracked linoleum. He passed rusted lockers, torn-up classroom doors, and rows of broken fluorescent lights that flickered intermittently like a dying heartbeat.
To most people, this would feel like a nightmare.
But to Simon, this was curiosity on a leash.
He didn't have anything to do, no pressing goals or alliances. The man on the speaker had only given one command: Survive three nights. That could mean anything—or nothing at all.
But Simon had already reached a simple, logical conclusion.
If the goal was to survive the night, then the day must be safe.
That's how these things usually went, didn't they? Daylight was the eye of the storm. Nighttime? That's when the real monsters came out. It was almost poetic. A little too predictable—but it would do.
Near the entrance of the building, where they'd first been herded in, there was an old analog wall clock. One of the only working things in this corpse of a school. Rusted hands ticked steadily forward, uncaring and unaware of the dread that each passing second brought.
"That must be why they left the clock here," Simon muttered to himself. "To remind us. To count it down."
He gave it a quick glance.
4:37 PM.
Still plenty of time.
He moved through the hallways, memorizing everything as he went. The location of every staircase. Each hallway's dead ends. Which classrooms were easy to enter, which doors were jammed. He mapped it all out like a machine recording blueprints.
He wasn't just exploring.
He was calculating.
Others were out too, he noticed. A few people had finally worked up the nerve to wander. A pair of boys crept down a corridor holding broken broom handles like weapons. One girl darted in and out of classrooms, scribbling notes in a journal. Some moved in groups, whispering, their eyes wide with tension. Simon ignored them.
They were scared. Paranoid. Trying to form bonds. "If we stick together, we'll survive." The usual human herd mentality. Pathetic.
Simon didn't need a herd. He just needed high ground.
By the time the clock ticked to 5:30 PM, Simon had already memorized the building's layout. First floor—lobby, gym, and cafeteria. Second floor—classrooms and the infirmary. Third floor—science labs and storage. Fourth floor? Locked tight. Chained and sealed. Interesting.
But unnecessary.
He returned to the first floor briefly, checked the clock again.
6:30 PM.
Thirty minutes left.
Everyone had scattered by now. The central lobby—their so-called "safe zone"—was nearly abandoned. Only one guy sat there, hugging his knees and rocking back and forth, whispering to himself.
Simon watched him for a moment, then turned away.
"He'll be the first to die," he thought with a smirk.
He made his way to the third floor, deciding it would be the most advantageous place to observe.
The science labs had wide windows that overlooked the front of the school, and a narrow hallway that led to a locked supply room—easy to defend if needed. Simon pried open a window, just a crack, and looked out.
The sky had turned to a washed-out orange. The last rays of sun were melting behind the jagged treetops.
Soon, it would be night.
He leaned on the windowsill, breathing in the scent of dust and iron.
"This is the first time in my life," he whispered, "that I might actually enjoy something."
His yellow eyes reflected the fading light like a predator's.
"Let's see what you've got, Game Master."
---
DING. DONG. DING.
The school bell rang.
A sound that hadn't rung in years.
Then came the familiar voice, distorted now, deeper and with an unsettling static buzz:
> "Nighttime has begun. Good luck."
The lightbulbs in the hallway all snapped off at once. The building was plunged into shadow.
Simon didn't move.
He just waited.
Three minutes passed.
Then—
"AaaaAAAHHHHHHHHHHH!!"
A scream tore through the air like a blade.
Simon's grin widened.
The scream wasn't from the hallway. It was far, maybe second floor. A girl.
And she was in pain.
Not panic. Not shock.
Pain.
It was raw, guttural, the kind of scream that clawed at the back of your throat and made your whole body tremble.
Then came another sound.
THUNK. THUNK. THUNK.
Something heavy.
Like steel. A weapon?
Then—
"NOOO!! Please! PLEASE, DON'T!!"
Her voice cracked.
Another crash.
A wet, sickening splatter.
The screams stopped.
And for a few seconds… all was quiet.
Then somewhere, down the hallway, someone else screamed.
Panic was spreading now. Simon could hear doors slamming, footsteps running, more shouting.
It was beautiful.
He chuckled to himself.
"So… it's one of those games."
"Survive from the killer."
Classic.
Simple.
And just the way he liked it.
Simon pulled up a nearby stool and sat by the window, casually observing the shadows outside.
"How many will die tonight?" he wondered aloud.
"Ten? Fifteen? Depends on how playful our little killer is."
He wasn't afraid. Not even curious about the identity of the killer.
No, what interested Simon was how long it would take for the rest of them to break.
How long until they started accusing each other?
Betraying one another?
Locking doors behind them?
Killing each other just to survive?
That was the real game.
And Simon? He wasn't here to play fair.
He was here to win.