Chapter 2: Horror Cruise (Part 6)
The island they'd taken us to wasn't marked on any map.
After processing in the hangar, the 72 survivors were loaded onto military-style transport vehicles and driven inland along a road that cut through dense jungle. Nobody spoke. The exhaustion and trauma of the past five hours had left everyone in a state of numb silence.
The base—if you could call it that—was a sprawling compound hidden in a valley between two ridges. Concrete buildings, guard towers, barbed wire. It looked like a black site, which, I suppose, it essentially was.
We were given rooms, basic medical treatment, and a hot meal. The food was tasteless, but I ate it mechanically. My body needed fuel; my mind was somewhere else entirely.
Selene found me in the mess hall, staring at nothing.
"The monk wants to talk to us," she said, sliding into the seat across from me. "He says he has information about what happens next."
I followed her outside to a concrete courtyard where the monk was waiting. His gray robes looked incongruous against the military backdrop, like a relic from another century.
"I will be brief," he said. "The cruise ship was Stage Two. You previously completed Stage One on the high-speed rail. What comes next is Stage Three—the Slaughter Forest."
"The Slaughter Forest?"
"A wilderness survival and elimination course. It takes place in a designated area of forest terrain. Participants are released in groups and must reach an extraction point within a time limit. Those who reach the extraction point survive. Those who don't..." He left the sentence unfinished.
"How do you know this?" Selene asked.
"Because four of my five trips have included wilderness stages. The locations change, but the structure remains the same. The organizers favor terrain that is difficult to navigate—forests, mountains, swamps—because it maximizes the opportunities for ambush and pursuit."
"How many participants?" I asked.
"The number varies, but it typically includes survivors from multiple concurrent trips, not just one. They merge the pools to create larger groups."
I did the math. If each trip produced roughly 70 survivors and there were multiple concurrent trips, Stage Three could have 200 or more participants.
"When does it start?" I asked.
"Soon. Within days, perhaps. They'll allow us time to rest and recover—" He paused, looking at something behind us.
I turned to see Morphine—the dark-haired woman from the ship's security detail—approaching across the courtyard. She wore the same military fatigues as before, and her expression was all business.
"Ryan Knox," she said, stopping in front of me. "The Director would like to see you."
"Who?"
"The Director. He oversees operations for the region. Consider it an honor—most survivors don't get a personal invitation until at least Stage Four."
I looked at Selene and the monk. They both gave subtle nods of encouragement.
"Fine," I said. "Lead the way."
The Director's office was in the compound's central building—a windowless room dominated by a large desk and an even larger wall map showing what appeared to be the entire Pacific region with various locations marked in red.
The Director himself was a smaller man than I expected—thin, bespectacled, with graying hair and the calm demeanor of a university professor. He looked more like an accountant than someone running death games.
"Ryan Knox," he said, gesturing for me to sit. "Professional kickboxer. Twelve professional fights. Orphaned at a young age, raised in a state facility. Debts totaling two hundred thousand yuan at the time of your first trip." He ticked these off on his fingers like items on a grocery list. "Did I miss anything?"
"You seem to know a lot about me," I said, remaining standing.
"We know everything about our participants. That's rather the point." He leaned back in his chair. "I invited you here because I have a proposition. Your performance on the train was... impressive. Not because of your fighting ability, which is competent but unremarkable, but because of your survival instinct. You didn't seek out combat, but when it found you, you adapted. That's rarer than you might think."
"What's the proposition?"
"Simple. We'd like you to participate in a special capacity in Stage Three—not as a regular participant, but as an observer. You'd still need to complete the course, but your primary function would be to gather information on specific targets."
"What kind of targets?"
"Other participants who've been flagged as... problematic. Individuals whose continued survival doesn't serve our long-term objectives."
I stared at him. "You want me to be your spy?"
"I want you to be a partner. The information you provide could save lives—not just yours, but potentially hundreds of others. Our organization has been running these trips for a very long time, Mr. Knox. We're not monsters. We have goals that extend far beyond entertainment."
"I've seen your 'entertainment.' People torn apart on a train. A cruise ship turned into a floating slaughterhouse. Call it what you want, but I'm not going to be your—"
"Think carefully before you refuse," the Director interrupted, his tone still mild but with an edge of steel beneath it. "Because you are one of the few who can see the bigger picture. Most participants are so consumed by survival that they never look up. But you—you've already started asking questions. About the organization. About the trips. About what happens to the survivors who keep coming back."
He was right, and I hated that he knew it.
"I'll think about it," I said.
"That's all I ask." He smiled thinly. "Stage Three begins in three days. Rest up, Mr. Knox. The forest shows no mercy."
I left the Director's office with my mind racing. He'd confirmed what I'd suspected—these trips weren't just entertainment. They were part of something much larger, something with "long-term objectives." And they wanted me to be part of it.
Outside, the tropical night was warm and humid, thick with the sounds of insects. I found Selene waiting for me near the barracks.
"Well?" she asked.
"He wants me to spy on other participants."
She nodded slowly. "And?"
"I said I'd think about it."
"That's probably the smart answer." She leaned against the wall, crossing her arms. "But you won't do it."
"No?"
"You're not the type. You came on this trip because you have a score to settle—with Drake and with the people who put you on that train. Spying for them would mean working for the people you're trying to bring down."
She had me figured out better than I'd figured myself.
"What about you?" I asked. "What's your angle in all this?"
Selene was quiet for a moment. Then she said, "My father is alive. I'm sure of it. I've tracked enough data points to be certain. He's somewhere in this organization—either a prisoner or a collaborator. And I'm going to find him."
"How?"
"By going deeper. Every trip gets me closer. Every stage gives me access to more information. One day, I'll find him, or I'll find out what happened to him. And if the organization stands in my way..." Her eyes hardened. "I'll tear it down."
It was ambitious—maybe impossible. But I could see the fire in her eyes, the same kind I'd seen in Quinn's. The kind that doesn't go out.
"If we're going to Stage Three together," I said, "we need to be prepared."
Selene almost smiled. "I've been prepared since before you got on the train."
Over the next two days, we trained. Selene taught me some of the tracking and surveillance skills she'd learned as a private investigator. I taught her basic combat techniques—how to throw a proper punch, how to break a hold, how to read an opponent's stance.
The monk trained separately, doing forms that seemed to blur the line between meditation and combat preparation. I watched him once from a distance and was unnerved by what I saw—his movements were so slow they were almost imperceptible, but each one seemed to carry an intrinsic power that made the air around him shimmer.
On the morning of the third day, Morphine gathered all the survivors in the compound's central square. I counted roughly 150 people—not just the 72 from our cruise, but others from different trips who'd been brought here over the past few weeks.
"Welcome to Stage Three," she announced, her voice carrying across the assembly. "The Slaughter Forest."
A large map was projected onto a screen behind her. It showed a vast expanse of forested terrain, with a river cutting through the middle and mountains rising to the north.
"The course is 50 square kilometers of wilderness. You will be released in groups of ten, at staggered intervals, from different starting positions around the perimeter. Your objective is to reach the extraction point—" she pointed to a red marker on the map "—located at the top of the northern ridge, within 72 hours."
"Those who reach the extraction point within the time limit will be considered survivors and will receive the Stage Three reward of one million two hundred thousand yuan, plus any additional ticket stub bonuses. Those who do not reach the extraction point within 72 hours will be considered eliminated."
She didn't specify what "eliminated" meant, but from the looks on people's faces, no one was under any illusions.
"There are supply caches hidden throughout the forest," she continued. "Food, water, medical supplies, and weapons. Finding them could mean the difference between life and death. But be warned—some caches are booby-trapped."
She stepped back, and the screen changed to show a list of group assignments.
"Group assignments are posted at the exit. You have ten minutes to prepare. Good luck."
I found our group. Selene, the monk, and I had been assigned to different starting positions—we'd be released separately, miles apart.
So much for teamwork.
I looked at Selene. She looked back at me. Neither of us said anything. There wasn't anything to say.
The forest would test us in ways we couldn't predict. All we could do was survive, reach the extraction point, and hope to find each other on the other side.
As I joined my assigned group and walked toward the leaving area, I took one last look back at the compound.
The Director was watching from a window on the second floor, his silhouette barely visible against the glass.
I was beginning to understand why he'd wanted to meet me. Not because I was special, but because I was a data point—a variable in their grand experiment.
Well, I'd give them data, all right. Just not the kind they were expecting.