As the others scattered toward their doors, Mitzie stood still, staring at the yellow one in front
of him. Something about it felt familiar—the same eerie pull he'd felt from the jellyfish shape
floating beside Kling right before he blacked out. While the rest of the crowd rushed forward, he
stepped through his.
Beyond it was a room scattered with weapons, and at its center, a single yellow card resting on
a table. Despite the arsenal surrounding him, Mitzie's expression didn't change.
A voice echoed through the room. "You have ten minutes to choose your weapons."
He took the card first. His instincts told him it already meant something—some clue to how
this game actually worked.
"Five seconds remaining."
He moved fast, grabbing what he thought he could manage: a Glock 42, a taser, smoke and
flash grenades, a combat knife.
I've never even held a gun before, he thought. But if I'm right about this, I'm going to need
every one of them.
Two new doors rose from the floor—one red, one blue. A faint, knowing smile crossed his lips.
So I was right. Red or blue. He made his choice and stepped through the blue door.
On the other side stretched a dense, sprawling forest. A screen flickered into being in front of
him:
MITZIE VS PAUL — BET YOUR COLOR
He didn't hesitate. He tapped Yellow. The card vanished from his hand instantly.
I knew it, he thought grimly. To get a color, you take it from someone else. Whichever door you
walked through—that was your starting color. And all these weapons... they really do want us to
kill each other.
The pieces clicked into place, one after another. They told us to collect nine colors. They never
said we'd have to fight for them. You have to bet a color just to enter a match—and if I run out, I'm
eliminated. Everything they announced back there was a half-truth. They told us almost nothing
about how this actually works.
His expression hardened. I just hope I can win this without killing him.
• • •
Across the forest, Paul stood in the same confusion. He had no idea how he was supposed to
collect colors, where the nine rooms even were, or who this "Mitzie" was. He bet his yellow card.
Does that mean I have to take it from him? He shook his head. Whatever. I'll find him and figure it
out.
He turned to run and slammed into an invisible wall. A prompt flared in front of him:
BET YOUR CARD TO START
"Bet my card?"
Flustered, he tapped Blue without thinking. The card vanished.
"Wait—where did my yellow card go?"
Before the panic could set in fully, another screen appeared:
ELIMINATE YOUR OPPONENT TO CLAIM THEIR COLOR CARD
Paul looked down at the rifle in his hands—a Heckler 417A8. His stomach dropped. They want
us to kill each other, just to take a card? He gripped the weapon tighter, resolve hardening over the
fear underneath it. I was in the military. I don't know why I'm here, but if this is what it takes to
survive, I'll do it.
He moved out from his starting point. Elsewhere in the forest, Mitzie stayed calm, laying
simple traps along his path through the trees. It might be a while before we cross paths, and there's
no time limit that I've seen. First, I need water.
• • •
Far above the forest, in a control room lined with screens, a shadowy figure watched every
corner of the game unfold. Around him, men in black uniforms shouted bets and laughed as the
matches played out. His attention settled on one screen in particular—Fox, shirtless, covered in
blood that wasn't his own. The room went quiet. No one had expected a match to end that fast.
• • •
Mitzie found a stream and knelt beside it. Is this even safe to drink? He drank anyway—he had
no idea what counted as safe out here, and no better option. Sweat soaked through his shirt; his
breathing came hard and fast. I really should have exercised more. I get tired so easily, and this
heat is unbearable.
Paul moved with practiced caution, tracing his way to the spot where Mitzie's door had faded
from the air. He matched the fading outline against his own and found flattened grass and muddy
footprints leading deeper into the trees. He's inexperienced, he thought. Leaving a trail like that?
He followed it—until he froze. His heart slammed against his ribs.
He was standing on a landmine.
The "obvious" trail had been bait the whole time. Paul let out a short, bitter laugh. Careless. I
walked right into it.
• • •
Some distance away, Mitzie stood at the water's edge and finally understood where he was. Not
a forest—an island. I'm exhausted, but I can't stop. I don't have anywhere safe to hide, and I don't
even know if these traps will hold. If they fail, I'm finished. I'm not athletic. I have no stamina. I
barely know how to hold a gun. He let out a breath. I look desperate. I probably am. I just want to
survive.
Paul called into the trees, lowering his rifle slightly. "Come out. You already got me. I just
want to see who set this."
Silence answered him.
"Hey! Where are you? Show yourself!"
Nothing.
"...Is he even here?"
While Paul waited under the punishing sun, Mitzie was fast asleep inside a hidden cave, unaware of how close he'd come.
• • •