The arena was vast, an expanse of sand that felt like a burial ground even before the first drop of blood was shed. Towering, windowless concrete walls hemmed in the space, reaching toward an artificial sky that offered no hope of escape. In the far distance stood the doll. She was colossal, her bright yellow dress and neatly tied pigtails a grotesque contrast to the cold, industrial brutality of the walls. Her back was turned to the players, her mechanical face pressed toward a weathered wooden tree, as if she were a child waiting to begin a game in a nightmare.
A heavy, suffocating silence fell over the arena. It was the kind of silence that allowed Rami to hear the frantic drumming of his own heart against his ribs. He could smell the dry dust of the sand and the acrid scent of sweat rising from the 456 players lined up in their numbered green tracksuits. They exchanged hollow, wandering glances; some forced nervous smiles, desperately clinging to the hope that this was a high-budget reality show, while others stood paralyzed, sensing the predatory stillness of the environment.
Then, a cold, feminine voice crackled over the hidden speakers—a voice devoid of any human inflection: "The first game begins: Green Light, Red Light. You have 5 minutes to cross the white line."
The doll began to sing. Her voice was a rhythmic, childish drone, her head swaying slightly with the melody: "Mugunghwa kkochi piotsseumnida..."
At first, the crowd surged forward with a burst of misplaced adrenaline. Some ran, laughing as if they were back on a school playground, sprinting past Rami. Rami did not rush. He moved with a calculated, steady rhythm, his eyes scanning the ground for any uneven patches of sand that might cause a stumble. He kept a firm grip on the sleeve of Adam's jacket, anchoring his younger brother to prevent any impulsive movements that could lead to a fatal loss of balance.
"This is easier than I thought, Rami," Adam panted, his voice trembling as he tried to mask his growing terror. "Maybe the money was just a lure, and the game is just... entertainment for the rich."
Rami didn't answer. His entire being was focused on the mechanical joints of the doll's neck in the distance. He whispered to Adam without turning his head, his voice chillingly calm: "Don't relax, Adam. In the world of games, the quietest moments are the setup for the ambush. Watch your rhythm, and do not leave my side."
The music stopped abruptly, as if an invisible thread had been snapped. The doll's head spun around with startling mechanical speed, the sound of grinding gears echoing faintly in the silence. "Red... Light!"
The players froze in a chaotic array of poses. A deathly hush descended, so profound that Rami could almost hear the whirring of the sensors in the doll's eyes as they scanned the field with cold precision. A young American man, standing barely two paces from Rami, chuckled dismissively. He looked at his friend, convinced the game was over. He moved with a confident swagger to adjust his cap, muttering sarcastically, "Well, look at that. Is this the big surprise? It's just a wooden doll."
In that exact second, a sound rang out that no one had ever heard in a game. BANG!
It wasn't just a gunshot; it was a thunderous crack that shook the arena. The bullet didn't come from the doll, but from hidden sniper nests high within the walls. The young man's head exploded right before Rami's eyes. Hot, metallic-scented droplets of blood splattered across the sand, speckling Rami's face and the lenses of his glasses. The body collapsed like a heavy sack of meat, life extinguished in a heartbeat. His dark blood began to seep into the thirsty sand.
A horrifying silence lasted for what felt like an eternity, as if the players' minds had simply shut down, refusing to process that this was an execution. Then, a primal, hysterical scream tore through the air from a woman in the back. That was the spark. Everything collapsed. People began to run in every direction like panicked sheep, screaming incoherently as they tried to flee back toward the locked iron doors they had entered from.
Taratatata!
Automatic turrets erupted from the walls, scything through the crowd. The peaceful arena turned into an open slaughterhouse in an instant. Bodies fell atop one another, the screams of the dying drowned out by the relentless chattering of lead. The air grew thick with the smell of gunpowder and fresh iron.
"Adam! Freeze! Do not move a single millimeter!" Rami roared, his fingers digging into his brother's shoulder with enough force to bruise. He watched as people fell around him like autumn leaves in a scarlet storm, bullets punching dark, weeping holes through flesh and bone.
The doll resumed her cold, melodic singing once the field had quieted, leaving only those who had mastered their crumbling nerves standing. The survivors moved now with a leaden, crushing fear. Every step felt like a gamble. Rami chose his footing with agonizing care, navigating around the fallen to avoid slipping on the slick, blood-soaked sand. Near them, a man tripped and fell face-first. In a desperate, instinctive grab for life, he reached out and clamped his hand around Adam's ankle, trying to pull himself up.
Adam panicked, his eyes flooding with tears as he began to lean down to help. "Rami! He's got me! I have to help him up... we can't just leave him!"
Rami didn't give his brother the chance to make the mistake that would end both their lives. With total, icy detachment, his eyes fixed forward, Rami slammed the heel of his shoe onto the man's hand. The precise, heavy strike crushed the man's fingers against the sand, breaking his grip. Rami then shoved Adam forward to regain his balance.
"Don't look down! If you move now, you die with him!" Rami hissed. His voice was a blade, devoid of any human pity. He knew that in this place, mercy was the shortest path to the grave.
The music stopped again. "Red... Light!"
Rami and Adam stood like statues over a pool of warm blood. The man on the ground tried to move one last time, reaching out toward them with a dying gurgle... and then... BANG! A bullet tore through his back, and he went still forever beneath their feet, his face buried in the dirt.
Only a few meters remained. The giant digital timer above flashed a menacing red, counting down the final seconds of their lives. The sand had become sticky and difficult to navigate. With a final, desperate burst of energy, they lunged over the white line
As the countdown on the giant screen hit zero, a haunting silence fell over the arena, broken only by a sharp electronic command. For those who had been frozen by shock or failed by their own legs, standing even a centimeter behind the white line, there were no second chances for mercy. In a single, synchronized roar of gunfire, the remaining laggards were mown down where they stood. They fell onto sand that was no longer yellow, but a deep, soaked crimson.
Once the last movement ceased, hidden side doors slid open. A rhythmic column of "Staff" in pink jumpsuits and silent masks emerged. They moved with terrifying, insect-like efficiency, dragging wooden carts laden with glossy black boxes. Each box was adorned with a massive pink ribbon, looking like a macabre gift in a distorted celebration. With clinical coldness, the workers hoisted the corpses and placed them inside the caskets, hammering the lids shut with a rhythmic thud that echoed across the empty space. In minutes, the "Deadzone" was transformed into an organized warehouse of hundreds of black boxes lined up with geometric precision, waiting to be carted to the incinerators—as if these human beings were nothing more than expired inventory being cleared from the shelves.
Rami collapsed onto the hard floor, gasping for air as if his lungs were on fire. Suddenly, with a cold ping, a translucent blue screen materialized before his eyes, displaying the results like a scoreboard in a video game:
[Stage 1: Complete][Survivors: 306/456][Current Prize Pool: $15,000,000]
Adam lay beside him, sobbing uncontrollably, his entire body shivering as if with a fever. Rami stared blankly at the high concrete ceiling, his eyes hollow. In that moment of eerie stillness, the memory of "Big Mike's" sneer flashed in his mind—the way he had tossed that card onto the desk in the dark basement 48 hours ago.
Rami closed his eyes tightly, trying to shut out the images of the corpses, trying to crawl back to the hours before this nightmare began, searching for the answer to one question: How did we fall this far?
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