Chapter 122: Let the Best Player Win
I was running.
Down a hallway that stretched on forever, its walls were pulsing with red lights. The sound of footsteps echoed behind me....louder, faster. I turned to see who it was.
Nomi.
She was dressed in a white hospital gown dragged along the floor, soaked in blood. Her throat bled silently as she reached out for me, eyes pleading.
"They took my baby away from me?"
"Yes, I’m so sorry" I choked, stumbling backward.
Behind her, another figure stepped out from the shadows.
Reynolds Aston. My father. Wearing his flawless suit and his flawless smirk.
He lit a cigar over her corpse.
Then looked at me and whispered, "Now do you see? You were never meant to be a father."
I gasped awake, sweat slicking my skin like a second layer. My chest heaved as I blinked into the unfamiliar dark.
It took me a second to realize where I was.
The trial dorm.
Zaara lay curled beside me, asleep, her lips slightly parted and her brow still faintly creased....
I looked at her.
Then at the space where Nomi should’ve been.
Where she never would be again.
Tears pricked my eyes, but I didn’t let them fall this time. I kissed Zaara’s forehead gently, like it would keep her safe just for one more minute.
Careful not to wake her, I slipped out from under the thin covers. My feet hit the cold floor as I sat at the edge of the bed. The room was quiet.
My hands rested on my knees. I stared into the darkness ahead of me like it was a person..
I could still feel Nomi’s blood on my hands. Hear the way her voice cracked when she said "I’m sorry, Vincent." The button. The silence. The gag. The fall.
I gritted my teeth.
"I said I’d do anything," I whispered.
But it hadn’t been enough.
And now she was gone.
Our baby was gone.
And I was still here.
Staring into nothing.
I didn’t know when I drifted off.
One moment I was staring into the dark...my thoughts gnawing at me and the next, I was waking to the harsh, metallic clang of the bell.
Ding. Ding. Ding.
The speakers crackled overhead.
"Final trial today," the voice announced, cheerful.
"One hundred days in the Trials... and it all ends now."
A long pause.
"Who will survive... and win the grand prize of one billion dollars?"
I blinked my eyes open.
The dull ache in my neck screamed at me. I’d fallen asleep on the cold floor, hunched awkwardly against the edge of the bed. My limbs protested as I shifted. I was still in yesterday’s clothes, and everything felt stale...my body, my mind, the air.
"Vincent," Zaara’s soft voice whispered as she knelt beside me.
She gently tapped my shoulder, and I turned, meeting her warm brown eyes. Without saying a word, I took her hand. Hers was soft, warmer than mine, trembling slightly.
We were both just trying to hold on.
"Players, get up," the speaker barked again.
Theo groaned from across the room, rising from the corner mattress. He stretched with a loud yawn, cracking his knuckles and rolling his shoulders like he’d just gotten out of a spa, not survived a death game.
"Final trial," he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. "Can’t believe we made it this far..."
His words trailed off when he saw us.
Zaara leaned into me, wrapping her arms around my waist. She didn’t say anything. Just pressed her head against my chest, as if anchoring us both.
I held her.
Tight.
Not as a lover. Not even as a teammate. But as someone who needed to feel alive. To remember that there was still one person left who hadn’t been taken from me.
My heart beat faintly beneath her cheek.
One hundred days.
A hundred ways we could’ve died.
And still... we were here.
But for how much longer?
"You have twenty minutes to prepare," the voice blared from the speaker.
"Final trial begins shortly."
Silence settled again.
No music. No countdown clock ticking yet. Just a numb stillness that buzzed in my ears, more suffocating than any scream.
Zaara slowly pulled away from me. Her arms dropped to her sides as she stood, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear.
"I’m going to clean up," she said quietly, her voice dry but steady.
She didn’t look back.
I waited two seconds, then followed.
The hall was eerily quiet. The light above us flickered just once, and I could hear my footsteps echo softly behind hers.
Zaara walked into the restroom. I stopped just outside the cracked door, hesitating.
Then stepped in in the restroom beside hers.
I walked to the second sink.
And looked at myself.
My eyes were red rimmed. Bruised shadows under them. Hollow cheeks. Dark circles. The thin scar on my collarbone peeked above the torn jumpsuit neckline. Bloodstains from yesterday still clung to the fabric. Nomi’s blood.
I ran a hand through my hair and just stared.
"Carter," I whispered.
Then quieter, "Jojo... Nomi."
Every face. Every scream. Every last breath.
Gone.
I clenched the sides of the sink, grounding myself with the cold.
"This is for you," I muttered.
Then louder, like a promise to the ghosts.
"I’m going to keep Zaara alive. No matter what. Even if I don’t make it."
I turned on the faucet, splashed water on my face, and exhaled.
Then I stepped into the shower, letting the steam erase yesterday’s horror.
Fifteen minutes later, I changed into one of the spare jumpsuits. It was cleaner—fitted, black, and had no trace of blood yet. I zipped it up to my neck, tied my wrist tag tighter, and stared at the mirror one last time.
My eyes were calmer now.
Dead inside.
But focused.
As I stepped out of the restroom, the voice returned, sharper, more amused:
"TIME’S UP, CONTESTANTS."
"Final Trial begins now."
"Let’s see who the best player truly is..."