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Chapter 4: Threads of the past

My eyes darted to the others, hoping for some sense of reassurance. Instead, I found only confusion and fear staring back at me. No one spoke. No one moved. It was as though the robotic voice had drained all sound and willpower from the room.

"This isn't happening," I whispered to myself, the words barely audible. "I'm just stuck in some bizarre dystopian novel. Any second now, I'll wake up in my bed. Any second..."

But the cruel reality was impossible to ignore. That doll—its oversized head, those lifeless eyes, and the eerily cheerful face—stood at the far end of the field, waiting. Its painted gaze seemed to pierce through me, pinning me to the spot.

"Okay, Ayla, this is just a game," I muttered, rubbing my palms against my thighs to keep them steady. "A creepy game, sure. But you're good at following instructions. You'll cross the line, and then you'll figure out what's really going on here."

The robotic voice came back to haunt me, its words still fresh in my mind. I tried to focus on the task, but the heavy silence was unbearable, filled only with the shuffling of anxious feet.

And then, like a knife slicing through the tension, the doll's head turned with a mechanical click.

"Green light!"
The crowd stirs to life, cautiously moving forward like ants navigating a deadly trap.

It's a game. It's just a game, Ayla. You've played this before. But this time, I can't shake the dread pooling in my stomach. Something is terribly wrong.

"Red light!"
A man near the front freezes too late, and the world holds its breath. The sound of the gunshot slices through the air like a whip. He collapses, and blood pools beneath him.

My knees buckle, but I force myself to stay upright. What just happened? Was that—?

"No, no, no," I whisper frantically, clutching my chest. This can't be real.

But it is. The air is thick with screams now, chaos unraveling like a thread pulled too tight. My heart pounds as more players fall, their lives snuffed out in an instant.

I close my eyes, trying to block it all out. But I can't. The sounds—screams, gunshots, the eerie countdown of the doll—bury themselves deep inside me.

"This isn't a game anymore," I mutter, trembling. "This is survival."

Time blurs as the game continues. I move with the crowd, my legs stiff and my breaths shallow. Every "red light" feels like an eternity, and every "green light" is a frantic dash for survival.

Almost 30 seconds until the end of the game ...

Then I see them—two players, a young man and a woman, frozen in fear. They're too far behind. If they don't move now, they won't make it.

"Don't," I whisper to myself, but my legs are already moving. My heart screams at me to stop, but something stronger pushes me forward.

I grab the woman's arm first, yanking her forward. "Move!" I hiss through gritted teeth, ignoring her panicked cries. Then the man—his feet feel like cement blocks, but I force him to stumble ahead.

"Green light!"
We lurch forward together, the finish line just meters away.

"Red light!"
We freeze, our breaths caught in our throats.

"Green light!"
I give one last push, and they stumble across the line just as the countdown ends.

The final "red light" echoes, and the gates slam shut. My chest heaves as I collapse to my knees, my body trembling from head to toe.

When the time comes to 00:00 all players who haven't finished the line , are eliminated, this is horrible.

"You didn't have to..." the woman starts, but her voice fades. The words don't matter. I saved them. That's all that matters.