The group stepped into the mysterious cave. Inside, a structure resembling a laboratory awaited them: computers that had stopped working due to the passage of time, and fastened to the walls, a complete blueprint of the island. It was a detailed map showing internal structures and secret entrances.
"Is this… a floor plan?" Alex asked, surprised.
"Definitely. It even shows the island's internal layout and hidden passages. This must be how Smith moves around and where they transport the game rewards," Harry deduced.
"Hey, guys! Look what I found," Dante approached, holding a flash drive. "There might be something important in here."
"You're right, but I doubt these computers still work," Alex muttered with discouragement.
"Lucky for you I'm here," Harry shot back before beginning to assemble a new computer using salvageable parts from the old machines. "Got it! Dante, hand me that flash drive."
Dante gave it to him, and Harry plugged it into the improvised system.
"There are several videos here. I'll play one."
The video began. On the screen, a man dressed in engineer's attire sat in a chair and began to speak:
"Welcome… I guess. If you're watching this, I assume you found the page I hid on the island. My name is Salazar. I'm an engineer, and I'm going to explain—more or less—what's going on in this place."
The day had started like any other in Salazar's life: sitting in his office, reviewing several work proposals. Until one of them, specifically, caught his attention.
"Dear Mr. Salazar, I invite you to take part in building a water park on an island focused on entertainment. I await your response. Signed: Smith."
"A water park? Why not?" Salazar thought.
He contacted the mysterious Smith and accepted the challenge. The project began as a simple job, operating excavation machinery and preparing the hotel blueprints. However, the first sign of strangeness soon emerged: the pool was supposed to be designed specifically as an obstacle course for races.
"How odd. Looks like he plans to host events here too. Well, nothing too strange… he did mention entertainment. But something feels off."
Salazar had already heard dark rumors about the place—and especially about Smith's intentions. The area's popular nickname was "Nightmare Island," something Salazar initially dismissed as an urban legend spread among the workers.
The construction progressed without major incidents—until the day one of the workers made a mistake that delayed the schedule.
"Listen closely: I will not tolerate stupid mistakes, understood?" Smith said, keeping his usual showman tone. "You need to understand that failures are not allowed here. Consider this a small warning…"
Without hesitation, he shot the man and pushed the body into the pool. The corpse melted instantly upon touching the acid that filled the tank.
"What the hell are we building?" Salazar wondered in silence, finding no answer.
Smith turned to the remaining workers:
"Oh, why the long faces? Let's not ruin the work atmosphere, shall we? Unless you want incidents like this to become frequent?" He pointed to the pool with a sadistic smirk.
After the summary execution in the acid pool, an eerie silence settled. The workers scattered like shadows, avoiding eye contact, each carrying the weight of fear on their backs. Salazar, hands still trembling, sought refuge in his improvised office.
"This isn't a construction site… it's a slaughterhouse," he whispered to the empty walls.
Fear gave way to caution. He knew that in a place where mistakes were paid with blood, his life hung by a thread. Salazar walked to his small cabin—an isolated wooden structure between the shoreline and the thick forest. There, under the faint light of a lantern, he began to record the horror.
"If the world doesn't learn what Smith is doing here, no one will ever know where these people went," he wrote on the first page of his journal. "I left clues about my hiding spot in the forest. If I'm not here anymore when someone reads this, I hope this information serves as a weapon against the monster who brought us here."
The Warning From the Past
Days became weeks in a macabre routine. Workers disappeared under the pretext of "discipline," and the amusement park took on bizarre contours. Salazar's composure shattered when he himself made a technical slip in one of the control panels. It wasn't a fatal mistake for the project, but it was a breach Smith would never tolerate.
Knowing his minutes were numbered, Salazar ran to the secret hideout and turned on the camera. This is the video Alex and his group now watch, surrounded by the static of the old tape and the shadows of the cave.
"Listen carefully…" Salazar's voice was hoarse on the video, his eyes sunken from lack of sleep. "Smith has turned this island into a death complex. But he is arrogant. He left weaknesses behind. If you're smart, you can use his own engineering against him."
The engineer paused, leaning closer to the lens as if trying to cross time itself.
"Smith monitors every move, but he's obsessed with two specific young people. He talks about luck, about fate, but it's a lie. It's all scripted. He chose the pieces of this game long before the first boat arrived."
The video ended with a dry snap, leaving the cave in absolute silence, broken only by the soft hum of Harry's computer.
Bitter Truths
"So it was all fake?" Alex exploded, irritation sharpening every word. "We're not here by bad luck. We were selected for this slaughter like branded cattle?"
"Looks like it," Harry replied, his fingers gliding across the island blueprints projected on the screen. "But Salazar gave us something Smith didn't expect: the map of this place's veins. Look here—these dotted lines are maintenance tunnels. If we memorize them, we can ambush other teams or disappear when things get rough."
They searched the metal crates at the back of the room. Among the engineering tools, they found a small arsenal. Alex felt the cold weight of a submachine gun and an additional revolver. He checked the cylinder of the smaller gun and, after a moment of hesitation, handed it to Elisa.
"Keep it," he said simply.
"And me?" Yuki asked, her hands empty, her expression uncertain.
Alex looked at her. The indifference he usually wore like armor seemed to crack just slightly. He approached her, his voice softer and more genuine than at any other time during their journey.
"Yuki, as soon as we get back to our camp, I'll teach you how to shoot. You have good instincts, but you need to know how to defend yourself if things get bad. I won't let you stay unprotected."
Yuki nodded—surprised, and maybe even a little happy with his sudden change of tone.
The group gathered what they could carry and left Salazar's cave behind as night fell like a heavy cloak over Nightmare Island.
Upon reaching their safe refuge, exhaustion finally washed over them. They knew there would be no games that night, but the knowledge they now carried weighed more than any physical trial. Before closing their eyes, each of them understood that Smith's hunt had just turned into a war.