Welcome to the playground

A loud, grating buzz tore through the air, jolting Sam awake. His heart raced as he sat up abruptly, disoriented.

"Welcome to the game!" a voice boomed through unseen speakers.

Sam blinked rapidly, his eyes adjusting to the sterile white light illuminating the room. He looked down and saw he was dressed in a blue shirt with white stripes at the edges.

His jeans and tattered hoodie were gone. A quick glance around revealed rows of identical beds lined up neatly in the room, each occupied by someone just waking up.

To his left and right, people—men and women—were groggily rising from their beds. They all wore the same uniform, but each shirt bore a unique number printed on the chest. Sam looked down at his own.

015.

The voice continued as everyone stirred.

"There are 100 of you here, each assigned a number that you will bear until the end of the game. Pay attention, as the rules will not be repeated."

Sam craned his neck, taking in the vast room. Rows of beds stretched out, each occupant appearing just as confused as he was. Some rubbed their eyes; others inspected their uniforms with bewilderment.

Before he could process further, the doors on one end of the room swung open, and a group of men entered.

They were dressed in red uniforms, each face obscured by a black mask. They carried strange, sleek guns that gleamed under the harsh light.

The announcer's voice boomed again. "These are your guards. They are here to ensure order and enforce the rules. Disobedience will not be tolerated."

A wave of unease rippled through the room.

"The game will last for one week," the voice continued. "That means five days of challenges and two rest days—today and the fourth day. Each day, you will face a game. Failure to complete the game as instructed will result in immediate elimination. Do you understand?"

The room buzzed with murmurs and whispers. Sam's mind raced, trying to piece together what he had signed up for.

Suddenly, a voice cut through the crowd. "Hey! Enough of this long talk!"

Everyone turned toward the source. A burly man, wearing the number 067, stood with his arms crossed. "How much are we getting after all this? That's what I wanna know."

The announcer paused for a moment before answering. "The reward for completing all the games is a fixed amount of $200 million."

The room erupted.

"Two hundred million?" someone shrieked.

"No way!"

"Holy sh—!"

Voices overlapped as players shouted, laughed, and clapped in excitement. A wiry woman wearing the number 034 grinned, leaning toward her neighbor. "I'm buying myself a yacht the size of a damn football field."

"Yacht? Forget that," the man beside her said. "I'll own an island and fill it with models."

A younger player, barely 18 by the looks of him, whispered to himself, "This is it… I'm gonna pay off my mom's mortgage."

Sam stayed quiet, his gaze fixed on the floor. The noise around him grew, a mix of wishful thinking and outlandish plans. But his mind was calculating.

'A hundred players. Two hundred million dollars. That's two million each if we split evenly,' he thought. 'More if people get eliminated.'

His heart skipped a beat. Two million dollars would cover Mia's medical bills and then some.

But doubt gnawed at him. 'No one gives away money like this for free. If the trial mode was that simple, the real game is going to be… dangerous.'

He scanned the room. Most players were too blinded by the promise of wealth to notice the ominous undertone in the announcer's words.

The voice returned, cutting through the noise. "Today's schedule includes formal registration and orientation. Follow the guards in numerical order to the registration hall outside. There, your photographs and fingerprints will be taken."

The guards motioned for the players to form a line. Despite their excitement, everyone obeyed quickly, the promise of money outweighing any hesitation.

Sam found himself sandwiched between 014, a quiet woman with a focused expression, and 016, a wiry young man with dark green, spiky hair. As they shuffled forward, 016 turned to Sam with a wide grin.

"Man, did you ace the trial questions too? I didn't even break a sweat," 016 bragged, his voice loud enough to carry to the others nearby.

Sam raised an eyebrow but said nothing.

"Seriously," 016 continued, addressing the player behind him now. "They were so easy. I'm telling you, this game's gonna be a piece of cake. I'm smart as hell. Bet I'll finish first."

The person behind 016, a lanky guy wearing the number 017, scratched his head awkwardly. "Uh… I only got two right."

016 rolled his eyes. "Two? Dude, you're lucky they let you in. Some of us are born winners."

Sam scoffed under his breath, resisting the urge to comment. 'It wasn't like the questions were rocket science,' he thought.

The line moved slowly, and as they passed through a set of double doors, Sam got his first real look at the facility.

The hall was massive, painted a bizarre mix of green, yellow, red, and pink.

The colors clashed violently, making the place feel more surreal than it already was. The players marched forward in orderly rows, each staring around in awe or unease.

Sam's focus was on the guards. They stood motionless along the walls, their masked faces unreadable, their weapons a constant reminder of the stakes.

As they reached the registration area, Sam noted the meticulous nature of the process. Each player stepped forward, their number called out, before being photographed and fingerprinted.

The excitement of the others was evident, their eagerness drowning out any lingering doubts. But for Sam, the unease was growing.

'I'm in this with a hundred desperate people,' he thought, glancing at the chatterbox 016 and the anxious 017. 'This isn't just a game. It's a fight for survival. And some of these people… they'll do anything for that money.'

He clenched his fists, the image of Mia lying in her hospital bed flashing in his mind.

'I have no choice.'

The line continued to move forward, and with each step, Sam felt the weight of the game pressing down on him.

The stakes were set. There was no turning back now.