Terminal Zero isn't a room.
It's a plaza. Too big. Impossible big.
Marble floors. Polished. Arden sees her reflection. Distorted. Wrong.
Gothic arches overhead. Rising. Rising. Never ending.
Stained glass windows. Violence in red and gold. Battles. Murders. Deaths.
Gargoyles on every corner. Stone faces. Watching.
And in the center. A fountain. Water flowing upward. Defying gravity. Defying logic.
"Welcome." Miranda appears beside the fountain. Still smiling. Still wrong. "To Terminal Zero. Your home away from home. Your last stop before oblivion."
The forty-seven players cluster together. Scared. Confused. Some crying.
Arden counts them. Habit. Old habit.
Forty-seven. Including her.
Always forty-seven.
"Why forty-seven?" she asks.
Miranda's smile widens. "Because that's the number. The perfect number. The number of fear. Of guilt. Of delicious, exquisite suffering."
She walks through the crowd. Players scramble away from her.
"Each of you has something in common. A moment. A choice. A failure. Something that haunts you. Something that defines you."
She stops at a young man. Maybe twenty-five. Asian. Surgeon's hands.
"You killed forty-seven patients. Euthanasia. Mercy killings. Because you thought death was better than suffering."
The man's face drains. "How did you—"
"I know everything." Miranda moves on. To an older woman. Fifties. Graying hair. "You watched forty-seven children suffer abuse. Knew about it. Reported nothing. Said nothing. Did nothing."
The woman backs away. Silent. Guilty.
Miranda continues. Through the crowd. Exposing secrets. Revealing sins.
Stops at Arden.
"And you. Horror novelist. You watched your sister drown. Counted to forty-seven before calling for help. Forty-seven seconds of paralysis. Of choice. Of cowardice."
Arden's jaw clenches. "I was twelve."
"Old enough to scream. Old enough to jump. Old enough to save her." Miranda leans close. Whispers. "But you didn't. You counted. And that counting? That hesitation? That's why you're here."
She pulls back. Addresses the crowd.
"The Entity feeds on fear. On guilt. On the moments that break you. Each of you has that moment. That number. That sin. And now you'll relive it. Station after Station. Death after death. Until you're Empty. Or until you win."
"What do we win?" Someone shouts. Man. American. Bearded.
"Your life. Your freedom. Your memories intact. You go home. Resume your existence. Forget this ever happened."
"And if we lose?"
"Then you become Empty. Or you die permanently. Or you stay here. Forever. Entertaining us. Suffering for us. Feeding the Entity with your endless, infinite fear."
Silence. Heavy. Suffocating.
"The first Station opens in ten minutes. Castle of Blood. A lovely place. Vampires. Gothic horror. All the classics. I recommend you use these ten minutes wisely. Form alliances. Make plans. Say goodbye to whoever you were before."
She vanishes. Not walks away. Just. Gone.
The crowd erupts. Shouting. Crying. Panicking.
Arden stands still. Watching. Analyzing.
Kael appears beside her.
"You're calm," he says.
"Panicking doesn't help."
"No. But it's human."
"Then maybe I'm not very human." She looks at him. "You knew this would happen. You tried to warn me. Why?"
"Because I've done this before. Many times. Different versions. Different timelines. Different Games."
"You're lying."
"I wish I was." He looks tired. Ancient tired. "The Entity. It's not linear. Not simple. It pulls people from different realities. Different moments. I've ridden Bus 000 forty-seven times. Died forty-seven times. Resurrected forty-seven times. And every time I remember. Every time I try to help. Every time I fail."
"Why do you keep getting pulled back?"
"Because I made a deal once. A long time ago. And deals with the Entity don't expire. They compound."
Before Arden can ask more, the plaza shakes.
A door appears. Massive. Stone. Gothic.
Carved into it: STATION ONE - CASTLE OF BLOOD
Miranda's voice echoes. Everywhere. Nowhere.
"Let the Game begin. Enter alone or enter together. Die alone or die together. The Entity doesn't care. It feeds either way."
Players rush the door. Desperate. Thinking first means safe.
They're wrong.
The first three through the door scream. Immediately. High. Terrified.
Then silence.
The crowd stops. No one else moves.
Arden walks forward. Steady. Calm.
"Don't," Kael says.
"Staying here doesn't help."
"Neither does rushing to your death."
"Then come with me. Help me survive. That's what you do, right? Try to help?"
He hesitates. Then follows.
They reach the door. Arden touches it. Cold. Stone. Real.
"Together?" she asks.
"Together."
They step through.
Into darkness.
Into blood.
Into Station One.