The day broke, staining the sky a sickly orange—a hue reminiscent of exposed flesh. There was no chirping of birds or the soothing sound of waves; only a heavy silence that seemed to press against the eardrums. In the hotel's main lobby, the thirty-seven "winners" remaining from the night before huddled under the immense crystal ceiling. The luxury of the Carrara marble and gold chandeliers now felt like a cruel joke in the face of the pale complexions and deep dark circles of those beginning to doubt their own luck.
In the center of the hall, upon a small platform, a man stood motionless. He introduced himself as Smith. He wore a charcoal-gray suit without a single wrinkle, and his smile was as artificial as the plastic flowers decorating the side tables.
"A very warm welcome to our water park, ladies and gentlemen!" Smith's voice was mellifluous, projected perfectly throughout the room. "I am the owner of this little slice of paradise. But, as every good host knows, the fun only truly begins once everyone knows the house rules."
Before a single question could be asked, the natural light was obliterated. A crimson glow—violent and intermittent—flooded the lobby, accompanied by a siren that seemed to pierce through bone. The floor shook. It wasn't a natural earthquake; it was the sound of colossal gears, of metal grinding against metal.
Everyone rushed to the massive glass walls overlooking the ocean. The spectacle was terrifying: from the seabed, walls of reinforced steel and concrete, dozens of meters high, emerged from the waters like the teeth of a prehistoric monster. The sound of the displaced water was deafening. In a matter of minutes, the horizon disappeared, replaced by a gray bulwark that encircled the entire island. We were encased in a dome of death.
"What the hell is this?!" The scream came from a burly man, the veins in his neck bulging. He lunged toward the platform, his face flushed with fury. "This is kidnapping! I have contacts; I'll destroy—"
He didn't finish the sentence. A nearly imperceptible electronic hum came from the ceiling. An automated defense system—a small metallic turret with thermal sensors—swiveled with precise timing. A single, dry shot echoed, and a perfect hole appeared in the center of the man's forehead. He didn't agonize; the impact threw him back like a ragdoll. Blood splattered onto the dress of a nearby woman, who began to scream hysterically.
"As I was saying," Smith continued, not even glancing at the corpse as he used a silk handkerchief to wipe an imaginary speck from his lapel, "patience is a virtue. You are the guests of honor at the 'Resort from Hell.' For the next seven days, your limits will be tested. Ethics, morals, strength, and intelligence... we shall see what remains when the facade of civilization falls. And only one group will leave this place alive."
Panic was replaced by a bone-chilling cold in Alex's spine. Beside him, Harry—a man who seemed to always calculate three steps ahead—had a face drenched in sweat, yet his eyes remained fixed on Smith. Dante, the youngest of the group, was visibly trembling, his hands hidden in his pockets to disguise the shaking.
The formation of the groups was swift and cruel. Smith designated Alex as the "Grand Winner," granting him the right to choose four companions. Alex did not hesitate. He already knew Harry and the silent loyalty of Yuki, who stayed glued to his arm, clutching his jacket sleeve as if it were her only anchor to reality. He also called for Dante, knowing the boy, though terrified, was loyal.
The remaining spots were filled by Smith's random system: Elisa, a woman with a sharp gaze and a posture that exuded near-military discipline, and Foxy, a fellow with platinum hair and dark sunglasses who seemed to find the entire situation mildly amusing.
"Looks like I ended up on the protagonists' team," Foxy ironized, adjusting his glasses as the group retreated to one of the rooms to draft their first plan.
Strategy and Arsenal
As they closed the door to the luxurious room, the soundproofing brought a silence that seemed to ache. The weight of what had just happened in the lobby crushed everyone's shoulders. No one sat down. The comfort of the velvet armchairs felt like a trap.
"We need a plan, and we need it now," Harry broke the silence, his voice sounding authoritative. "Smith isn't playing. That wall outside is real, and so is the defense system on the ceiling. This isn't just about the park; it's about who's left. What is each of you actually good at? No lies."
Foxy went first. He leaned against the wall, flipping a gold coin between his fingers with hypnotic dexterity. "I'm agile. I can get in and out of places you can't even imagine. And I have a... particular history with blades. I've trained in knife combat since I was a kid. If anyone gets too close with bad intentions, I'll make sure they don't get a second chance."
"I'll be the vanguard," Alex interrupted, clenching his fists. Adrenaline was beginning to burn through his veins. "I've practiced martial arts for years. My reflexes are above average, and I'm not afraid to get my hands dirty to keep us alive."
Yuki stepped forward, her voice small but resolute. "I can cook, and I know basic botany. I know what can be eaten in the forest and what is poison. I've also taken first-aid courses. I can keep you guys on your feet."
"I... I don't know how to fight," Dante confessed, his voice faltering for a second. "But I was a sprinter and a swimmer in high school. If we need someone to fetch something quickly or act as a scout, I'm the fastest one here."
Elisa, who until then had only been observing the emergency exits and the positioning of the furniture, finally spoke. "Logistics and containment. I know how to devise defense strategies and prepare improvised traps. If we have materials, I can turn any entrance into a minefield."
The group was beginning to take shape as a unit, but something was missing. Yuki, her hands shaking, opened her backpack and pulled out an object wrapped in a dark cloth. Metal glinted under the room's lights. It was a black semiautomatic pistol, sleek and heavy.
"Where did you get that?!" Alex exclaimed, his heart jumping.
"My father," Yuki replied, handing the weapon to Alex. "He always said the world is a hostile place. He gave this to me before the trip, said that if things got strange, I should be ready. But I don't know how to use it, Alex. It only has one magazine—seven bullets. Use it only when there is no other way out."
Alex felt the cold steel in his palm. The weight of that gun was the weight of everyone's lives. He checked the slide, feeling the perfect mechanics. "I know how to shoot. I trained a lot with my uncle. I'll take care of this."
Foxy, watching everything with a half-smile, tossed out the question no one wanted to ask: "Before we go out that door... are you prepared to kill? If one of those groups comes at us with the intent to take our lives, will you hesitate?"
The silence that followed was thick as pitch. Alex looked at each of them. "I would hate to become a killer," he said, his voice losing any trace of doubt. "But if someone tries to touch any of you... I won't hesitate to pull the trigger."
"If it's to protect Alex, I'll do whatever is necessary," Yuki added, with a naturalness that made even Harry shudder.
The Confrontation at the Warehouse and the Escape
They decided they needed supplies before chaos became absolute. Moving like shadows through the service corridors, they reached the supply warehouse. The smell of metal and dust was replaced by the acrid scent of sweat and fresh blood.
Two groups were already there. The combat was primitive and brutal. John, an ex-soldier with robotic and lethal movements, dealt bone-breaking blows. He was facing Matheo's group—a wealthy man who was unsuccessfully trying to command his subordinates as if he were in a boardroom. Kitchen knives and iron bars glinted under flickering fluorescent lights.
"Now, Dante!" Harry commanded in a whisper.
While the bloody battle distracted the others, Dante bolted. He was a blur, moving between the shelves with surgical precision. He didn't take everything—only the essentials: backpacks with military rations, gallons of water, and medical kits. Before the victors of the fight could notice the missing items, Alex's group was long gone.
As they left the hotel, the sight was bleak. The lobby was strewn with bodies; civilization had lasted less than an hour. They didn't stay to see who would win the hotel. They plunged into the dense forest surrounding the resort.
The vegetation was thick; the trees had twisted trunks that looked like arms trying to grab them. The sound of wild animals, strangely active for that hour, accompanied them. After hours of silent trekking, Elisa spotted what they were looking for: a cave camouflaged by ancient roots and vines.
Inside, far from the eyes of the other groups and the cameras Smith surely had hidden, they sat around a small fire, the flames kept low by Harry so as not to betray their position.
"We'll fortify ourselves here," Harry explained, drawing on the dirt floor. "The hotel is a target. Let's let them kill each other there. Passive survival is our best chance now."
Alex leaned against the cold cave wall, feeling the weight of the pistol in his coat. The orange sun was already setting, giving way to a night that promised to be even longer. The game had only just begun, and he knew: the island would accept nothing less than blood as payment for their freedom.