Suddenly, the wall-mounted landline rang out, shattering the silence.
Rosa, being closest, glanced at the rest of us.
She stepped forward and picked up the receiver. First silence, then a tentative "Hello?"
It seemed the voice on the other end only began speaking after she made a sound.
But whatever was being said, the rest of us couldn't make it out.
Rosa kept shooting us wary looks as she listened.
Those looks were enough to keep us where we stood.
When she hung up, she stammered a date: "June 18... no, June 19."
Rosa had gone rigid.
She seemed to have forgotten we existed.
After giving that answer, whatever she heard next left her frozen in place.
We stepped forward. "What did they say?"
Rosa hung up the phone and turned to face us, her expression stricken. "I'm sorry."
I was about to ask what she meant.
A tremendous rumbling sound erupted through the room—like machinery powering up.
Seth shrieked. "What's happening?! What's going on?!"
Derek spun toward Rosa. "Tell us! What did they say on that phone?!"
Rosa blurted out in panic, "I don't know! They asked me for my son's birthday and I couldn't remember! They said if I got it wrong, there'd be a punishment—I didn't know this would happen!"
I found it absurd. "You can't remember your own son's birthday? You said you came to this game for him!"
Rosa's eyes welled up. "I got divorced. My ex-husband got custody. I was never there for him. I always felt guilty about it. When I found out he was sick, I swore I'd make it up to him—that's why I entered this game."
Despite how pitiful Rosa looked, her story was full of holes.
Not living with her son was one thing—but forgetting his birthday?
But there was no time to dwell on it. Punishment was coming.
And this time, it seemed all of us would bear it.
I tensed, scanning the room.
What kind of trap would this be?
The sprinklers again?
5
I looked up.
Unlike the game room, this ceiling had no fire sprinklers—only a red-blinking surveillance camera.
The next second, white, acrid gas began pouring from vents in the walls.
Quinn quickly covered his mouth and nose. "Hold your breath! It's toxic!"
The rest of us yanked our clothes over our faces.
But the gas seeped through every gap, right into our lungs.
This wasn't working. We'd all suffocate if we didn't act fast.
I remembered seeing gas masks in the kitchen cabinets while searching for clues earlier.
Without hesitation, I ran to the kitchen and found them. I pulled one on and tightened the straps.
I grabbed the remaining ones.
But when I reached the counter, I froze.
There were five of us. Only four masks.
One person would have to go without.
The gas was spreading fast. I could hear Rosa coughing violently.
No time to think. I grabbed two masks and ran back.
One was for my roommate. Two were for my teammates. Only Derek was a stranger.
I'd be lying if I said I had no self-interest.
Through the thickening fog, I thrust the first mask to Quinn, then pressed one into Seth's hands.
Then I grabbed Rosa's arm and pulled her into the kitchen.
I pressed the last mask over her face.
Rosa's eyes were bloodshot from the gas. "Thank you," she choked out.
I held up a finger—don't speak.
But with four of us in masks, it was obvious who'd been left out.
Derek spotted us.
He looked at Quinn and Seth.
Quinn was tall and broad. Seth was short but stocky.
Derek must have decided they were too much to handle. Instead, he barged into the kitchen and lunged for the mask on Rosa's face.
I moved to block him instinctively.
Derek fought back—for his life, literally.
Quinn and Seth rushed in to help.
Three against one. Derek went down fast.
But now his breathing was ragged from the exertion, pulling the gas deep into his lungs.
His face was turning an alarming shade of red.
He coughed as if his chest would tear apart.
The three of us stood by, watching, helpless.
But what could we do? There were only four masks. This was an enclosed space—even if the gas valves shut off, without ventilation, it would take an hour for the gas to dissipate.
No one was willing to bet their life on that. Nobody took off their mask.
As Derek's breathing grew more labored, Rosa suddenly found a towel.
"Hang on! Press this against your face," she urged.
She turned the faucet to wet the towel—but no water came out.
Seth's eyes lit up. "There's a bottle of water in the bedroom!"
Rosa snatched up the towel and ran.
On the coffee table before the sofa sat an unlabelled bottle of water.
I watched as Rosa unscrewed the cap—and paused.
She pulled a tiny folded note from inside the bottle cap.
Rosa unfolded the paper and read it.
She froze, then grew visibly excited. She ran with the bottle toward the bed.
With effort, she shoved the nightstand aside.
Behind it, mounted on the wall, was a triangular funnel device.
Rosa poured the water into the funnel.
Two seconds later, the gas hissed and stopped.
Quinn and I exchanged a glance. I picked up the paper from the coffee table and read:
"Pour this water into the funnel behind the nightstand to neutralize the gas in the walls."
Reading that, I froze too.
If I'd wanted to save everyone from the start, I would have thought of using water to wet a towel for the person without a mask.
But because I'd never intended to save Derek, I'd missed the best window to help him.
My voice was hoarse. "Seth, how's Derek?"
Seth knelt beside Derek, checked his carotid pulse, and leaned close to feel for breath.
He stood up and shook his head. "He's dead."
Rosa dropped to her knees, covering her face, sobbing uncontrollably.
I stood by the coffee table, head bowed in guilt, saying nothing.
Quinn patted my shoulder. "It's not your fault. In this game, Derek isn't the only one who's died. The person we should hate is the one who organized all this... a true psychopath."
Quinn was right.
Because I knew the game's real purpose—and the person behind it wasn't a psychopath. She was a desperate, dying woman.
I clenched my fist around the paper. "Yeah. Let's keep looking for clues."
6
Looking for clues—that was my cover story. What I really needed to find was that door key.
But still nothing.
Before long, the landline rang again.
All four of us froze and exchanged glances.
Rosa averted her eyes, her face tight with fear. "I'm... not answering. One of you do it."
After Rosa, Seth was closest to the phone.
He hesitated. "That call won't give us any clues—if we pick up and get the answer wrong, we'll just get punished. Maybe we should just ignore it?"
We all agreed it was worth trying.
The organizers hadn't said we had to answer the phone, after all.
We watched the phone ring until it stopped.
We waited in silence. Nothing happened. We all exhaled.
I managed a smile. "Looks like that works—"
Before I could finish, the floor beneath my feet began to shake violently.
The tremors were so intense I could barely stand.
Rosa grabbed the bookshelf.
Seth scrambled onto the bed.
Quinn hopped onto the sofa. I was the only one standing with nothing to hold onto.
Quinn reached out his hand. "Get over here!"
I lunged toward him—but after two steps, I must have triggered a mechanism.
A click. The floorboards beneath me opened. I dropped into freefall.
Just like the players who'd fallen to their deaths in the first round.
I screamed—and then the fall ended.
I collected myself.
I'd landed in a pit about a meter deep, with a soft mat at the bottom. No real harm done.