Chapter 3: The Game Begins

02

The classroom went dead silent.

Three years had gone by, and no one had dared utter her name since.

The shame hung over us like cemetery fog. No one could meet anyone else’s eyes.

"No one wants to speak?"

A sharp, mocking laugh—"heh"—crackled over the intercom.

It was cruel, not just sarcastic. He was daring someone to break the silence.

"Then I'll add a little something for you, how about that?"

Just like last night, words flashed before my eyes.

[Comments]

*Here we go, the show is starting.*

*The poison gas Derek prepared isn’t enough to kill everyone. How many do you think will die in an hour?*

*I bet ten.*

*Only ten out of forty-seven? Boring. At least half should die—then the opening will be exciting.*

[End of comments]

A chill crawled up my spine, as if someone was watching from the shadows. I rubbed my arms, suddenly feeling exposed and deeply unsettled.

While I was panicking, a sharp, acrid smell began to spread through the room.

It burned my nose—plastic and ammonia, like a science experiment gone wrong. Eyes began to water and coughs echoed off the walls.

Others smelled it too, panic rising.

People started coughing and wheezing, hands flying to cover their mouths and noses as dread set in.

Chaos erupted. Classmates shouted, panic ricocheting around the room.

The noise became a jumble of screams and desperate instructions. Someone bolted for the sinks, others just froze, wide-eyed, staring at the vents.

"Find water, wet your clothes, cover your nose and mouth!"

But the building was scheduled for demolition—there was no water in the lab faucets.

The taps rattled uselessly, dry as bone. Someone pounded the metal, swearing, as if fury alone could summon water.

A couple of girls yanked out bottles of water, but classmates snatched them away in a frenzy.

The bottles were ripped from hands with wild strength. Emma shrieked as hers disappeared, tears streaming down her cheeks.

Everyone shoved and fought, and more than half the water splashed onto the tile floor—almost nobody got a sip.

The slap of sneakers on the wet tile echoed through the chaos. People cursed and screamed, their voices hoarse with terror.

I clutched my backpack to my chest, slid back toward the window, and remembered the water bottle I’d stashed from the reunion. I didn’t dare make a sound.

At least for now, I could survive.

I pressed myself into the shadows by the window, hugging my bag tight, barely breathing. Every muscle screamed with tension as I hid my water, praying no one noticed.

[Comments]

*It’s started, it’s started, they’re turning on each other now.*

*I love watching this kind of chaos. If I’m going down, I’m dragging everyone with me.*

*Haha, go for it.*

[End of comments]

The big, athletic committee member couldn’t hold back any longer.

Dwayne—the former football captain—towered over the crowd, his face twisted in fury.

"Damn you, Derek! Wasn’t it all because of what happened with Lillian Carter?"

"You made such a big deal just to ask this? She’s dead, why didn’t you do something before? Even if I knew, I wouldn’t tell you!"

His voice broke, but the anger was raw—like he’d been waiting years to say it out loud.

"Let us out! What time is it? The building’s coming down in the morning, you want us all to die for your little girlfriend?"

Before he could finish, an ear-splitting "SCREECH—" blared from the intercom…

The sound was physically painful—everyone doubled over, hands clamped over their ears, some dropping to their knees. It drowned out everything else for a moment.

We all clutched our heads, gasping in pain.

"Giving you face, huh? Let us the hell out..."

Dwayne wasn’t backing down, yelling even louder.

His face was beet red, veins standing out in his neck. He looked ready to rip the speaker out of the ceiling.

The rumors about Derek and Lillian had only started after she died.

No one knew where they came from.

Back then, gossip moved faster than wildfire—halls and group chats overflowing with half-truths. The real story? Nobody could say for sure.

They said the sweet, quiet girl had gotten involved with a rich kid from out of town.

Everyone had their own theory. The stories were always about Lillian being led astray, never about her side or her struggles. People just liked to talk.

As for why Derek’s dad suddenly had money six years ago, nobody knew for sure.

There were stories about scratch-off tickets, hush money, secret deals—Maple Heights had never lacked for wild rumors.

The big guy spat into his palm, cursed, and threw himself at the classroom door.

Dwayne’s footsteps thundered as he crashed into the exit, rage boiling over.

The biology lab had two doors: one wooden, one steel.

He tried the wooden door first, yanking the handle so hard it nearly snapped. Then he turned to the steel door, eyes narrowed.

He got the wooden door open, but as soon as he touched the steel one, a jolt of electricity shot out—a sharp CRACK, and his whole arm went black and charred. He collapsed, writhing on the ground.

The crackle of electricity filled the air, and the smell of burnt hair turned my stomach. Dwayne’s scream echoed off the tile, mixing with the chemical stink of the gas. Everyone shrank back, horrified.

[Comments]

*Moron. If they locked you all in, there are obviously traps. With this much recklessness, how can we keep playing?*

*You lost. Pay up. Who wants to bet what trap goes off next?*

*The next one will definitely kill someone. Anyone want in?*

[End of comments]

Derek’s voice oozed fake concern over the intercom, sweet as syrup and twice as sickening.

"Does anyone else want to leave?"