The fire was low, barely enough to keep the shadows back.
10 sat straight, knife balanced across his knees. His eyes never left the dark between the trees. 399 lay on his side, grinning, tossing pebbles into the flames while there was still fire enough to spit sparks. Each hiss made him laugh under his breath like it was comedy.
I broke the silence first. My voice came out raw.
"10, you are discipline carved into flesh. Every step you take is measured: every glance, a calculation of distance, cover, threat. You believe survival is rules: drink, rest, watch, act. A soldier without a uniform, chained to order as if it's the only thing keeping you alive. But that's your weakness. You will break. And when you do, it won't just be yourself you destroy, you'll drag down anyone close enough to be caught in your collapse. 399, you are chaos given skin. You fill silence with noise, with numbers. You don't count trees, you count people. You measure exits, weaknesses. Where 10 builds walls, you search for cracks. Your weakness isn't the body; it's the void inside you. You hide behind patterns to avoid meaning, but while you hide, you calculate."
I finished speaking, and silence folded over the camp like another layer of night. The fire cracked, a branch split, but neither of them moved. Even the forest seemed to lean closer.
I cleared my throat, the sound too loud in the hollow, and forced myself to keep going.
"And me? I don't know yet. Maybe I'm the middle because I don't belong to either end. Not the soldier who needs the world to follow rules, not the phantom of the void. I see both of you."
The fire hissed low, shrinking into embers. Their faces flickered in and out of shadow, unreadable masks made sharper by hunger.
I let the words settle for a breath, then pushed them further, the truth pressing against my teeth until it spilled.
"One more thing," I said, softer now, though the night made even whispers sound too loud. "There are no animals in this forest. No birds, no deer, not even mosquitoes. A forest this vast should be alive with wings, with scratching in the undergrowth, with the hum of insects. But it's silence. Empty. And that emptiness is deliberate."
399's grin twitched, half amusement, half recognition.
"Organizers stripped it clean," I went on. "Which means we all will starve. Not tonight, not tomorrow, but it's built into the test. No foraging. No hunting. No hope of stumbling across a lucky meal. Just people that grow teeth."
The silence around us seemed to deepen, the forest leaning in as if it wanted to hear what came next.
I drew a slow breath. "And if we're talking it now, think of the others. At muster this morning, I counted, thirty groups at least, scattered across this forest. Three days. Ninety stomachs gnawing at themselves. What do you think happens when the firelight dies and the ache becomes unbearable?"
The words hung there, heavier than the smoke.
10's jaw worked once, a muscle flickering beneath the skin, but he said nothing. 399's grin faded into something tighter, something that wasn't humor at all. His fingers tapped against his thigh, slower now, the rhythm broken.
The fire hissed, sap spitting like a warning. Neither of them answered. So I did.
"They'll turn on each other. Maybe not all at once. Maybe quietly, the way shadows move when you aren't looking. A throat cut in the dark. A body dragged off the path. And when the first blood is spilled, the rest will follow. Because once flesh is gone, it becomes something else. A body becomes food."
The word hung between us like smoke.
"Cannibalism," I said flatly. "That's where this leads. They didn't give us a forest to survive in. They gave us a mirror to see what kind of human we'll become."
The flames cracked once, a sudden pop that made 399 laugh: low, eerie, almost musical. "You've got sharp eyes, Anna," he said, leaning closer to the firelight so his grin shone like bone. "But tell me… when the time comes, are you sure you'll just be watching? Or will you be chewing?"
My throat burned with hunger, but I didn't let it bend my words."No," I said. "I don't eat people. Not now, not ever."
The grin slipped from his face, replaced by a sharper smile. "Everyone says that. Until the belly empties enough to scream. Then the saint breaks, the wolf takes over."
10 stirred for the first time, his knife gleaming in the firelight. "She's right," he said, his tone as cold and clean as steel. "Cannibalism is weakness. It's collapse. You cross that line, you're not a soldier, not a survivor, just an animal tearing at carrion."
399's laughter came quick and wild, filling the hollow like broken glass. "So that's what you two cling to? Rules and purity? How noble. How laughable. The hunger will hollow you out, and when it does, you'll both realize truth has sharper teeth than morality."
I leaned forward, the firelight catching the hollows under my eyes. "And when that time comes, 399, I'll still choose starvation over chewing on human flesh. That's not survival. That's letting the hunger win."
He studied me for a long moment, the grin fading into something quieter, something unreadable. "We'll see," he murmured. "Three days is not a long time. Not long enough for masks to crack."
10 slid the knife back across his knees, never taking his eyes from the dark. "If either of you loses control," he said evenly, "I won't hesitate and kill you."
The silence that followed was heavier than the night itself. The fire sank lower, shadows crawling in like predators.
10's words still lingered, cold and precise: I won't hesitate and kill you. He didn't say it as a warning, or even as a threat. He said it as a fact, already rehearsed, the same way he counted breaths between steps.
399 smirked, though it no longer touched his eyes. He tossed one last pebble into the dying embers, the sparks rising like brief stars before vanishing into the dark. "Kill me if you like," he said lightly, though the tremor in his voice was real. "But I'll laugh in your face while you starve beside my corpse."
10 didn't answer. His gaze stayed on the trees, but I saw his grip tighten on the knife.
"I think we can end this topic," I said finally. "Three days won't starve us enough to make us desperate. The only ones who'll cross that line are the ones who've thought about it before. So, back to what we were talking about, my name is Anna, as you already know. What are yours?"
10's knife rested like a promise across his knees. His eyes never left the dark, but at last, he spoke.
"Bill."
The name was flat, stripped of ceremony, a soldier's truth given without flourish.
399 rolled onto his back, one arm tucked behind his head. He grinned up at the canopy, his voice lilting like a joke only he understood.
"Julian," he said. Then, with a chuckle: "Though I prefer 399. Numbers don't rot. They don't betray you. People do."
His pale eyes slid toward me.
Again testing.
The fire cracked once, then collapsed inward, its glow fading to embers. The night pressed closer. Trees leaned in like eavesdroppers. Shadows thickened until they seemed to breathe.
Then the forest tore open.
A scream ripped through the dark. Distant, but sharp enough to slice clean across the hollow, then cut off as if a hand had clamped it shut.
Bill's knife lifted, what little firelight remained catching on its edge. Julian's grin widened, lips parting like he'd been waiting for this sound.