Twenty people. Twenty opinions. Zero listeners.
One minute passed. Sixty seconds of shouting, finger-pointing, red-faced standoffs — and in the end, only two teams had actually decided: Linray and Harlan, and Dex and Tam. Everyone else drew lots.
Linray glanced at Dex. The red-haired kid had volunteered to walk. Not the guide — the *walker.* The dangerous role.
*Huh. Expected him to bully the weak one into taking the risk. Maybe the kid's not all ego.*
The host's voice returned: "Those who are undecided — draw lots now. Those who have decided, pick up the black veil on the table beside you and cover your eyes."
Linray grabbed the cloth and tied it on.
Total darkness.
"This thing is dense." He pressed the fabric against his face. Not even a sliver of light. When he'd contained SCP-015 in the sewers, he could see in pitch black — his enhanced body gave him that. He'd assumed the blindfold would be a formality.
No such luck.
Dex had already blindfolded himself too. No hesitation. The rest finished drawing lots and reluctantly sorted into their roles — the walkers looking sick, the guides smiling and waving their lot sticks like trophies.
*Enjoy it while it lasts.*
The host spoke again: "Staff will now escort each walker to their starting position. Then — the first game begins."
Something cold grabbed Linray's arm.
Not a hand. Something *wrong.* Cold and hard, with a grip stronger than any human's. It yanked him forward before he could react — ten steps, twelve, fifteen — then released.
The cold vanished. Silence.
He was in.
---
Above, the guides were lifted to elevated platforms. The dark curtains over the maze pulled back, revealing the full layout below.
Every guide's face went pale.
The route was a nightmare. Small pits every three steps. Larger drops every five. Blade mechanisms, dead ends, narrow passages — the whole thing looked less like a game show and more like a medieval torture course redesigned by someone who'd played too much *Saw.*
Ten lanes. Ten walkers. Ten exits. But the paths interconnected — you could cross into someone else's lane and use their exit. That was the trick. Avoiding the traps meant finding alternate routes through the maze, not just walking straight.
Harlan started mapping immediately. Eyes darting across the layout, tracing paths, simulating Linray's movement in his head. The route was doable — barely — but the density of traps meant he couldn't plan more than a few segments ahead.
"Everyone — time limit is thirty minutes. Any team that hasn't exited by then will be considered a failure. And will be punished."
"The clock starts now."
A massive clock materialized above the arena. The ticking echoed through the entire venue.
*Tick. Tick. Tick.*
---
"Linray! Ten steps forward, then turn left — three steps — continue straight seven steps and turn left again!"
Harlan's voice cut through the noise immediately. Clear. Precise. While other guides were still staring at the maze in shock, he was already calling directions — already thinking three moves ahead.
He couldn't plan the full route yet. Too many traps, too densely packed.
Linray moved. One hand brushing the wall, feet testing each step before committing. No rushing.
"Eight steps forward!"
Harlan adjusted mid-call — Linray's stride was longer than he'd estimated. He held his thumbs out at arm's length, measuring distance against the maze below. Steps weren't reliable. He switched to meters.
They moved fast. While other teams were still fumbling through the first stretch, Linray and Harlan had already found their rhythm — call, move, adjust, call again.
The first ten steps were safe. Every team managed that much.
After ten steps, the real maze began.
Traps everywhere. The guides who'd been copying Harlan's confident tone suddenly had nothing to copy. Their walkers stumbled. Hit things. Got caught.
And the worst part — ten guides shouting at once. The voices overlapped, echoed off the walls, blurred into noise. Walkers below couldn't tell which voice was theirs.
"Communication's fucked." Linray muttered from below.
Harlan had noticed too. At this rate, his voice would drown in the others. He was already hoarse from shouting.
*Fuck — I need a phone.* No phone. No walkie-talkie. Arrived in this world with nothing.
Harlan had fully mapped the route by now. If everything went clean and Linray maintained speed, they'd finish in ten minutes.
But his throat was raw. Every direction had to be screamed at full volume to cut through the chaos below.
"Walk sideways! Left wall! Press against it!"
A wooden mechanism blocked the path ahead — a blade mounted on a swinging arm, covering almost the entire width. Only a gap on the left side. Maybe twenty centimeters. Enough to squeeze through if you didn't breathe too deep.
Linray turned sideways and pressed himself flat against the wall. The blade's edge passed close enough that he felt the cold on the tip of his nose.
"The obstacle is long — I can't measure the exact distance. At least ten steps sideways. Go slow. Better to waste time than lose a limb!"
Linray didn't need to be told twice.
Harlan called down again: "Don't worry — we've got time. Even with the interference, twenty minutes is enough!"
They'd cleared a third of the maze already. Ahead of everyone.
The others weren't so lucky.
The guides were trying — genuinely trying, no sabotage, no selfish plays — but the maze was brutal and the noise was worse. Walkers hit traps. Got stuck. Some were injured — nothing fatal, but enough to slow them down, panic them, break whatever thin trust they had.
The screaming started.
"If you don't know how to give directions, stop giving directions!"
"Are you trying to kill me?! I KNEW you'd screw me over!"
"We're all going to die at this rate! Just tell me the right way!"
"Look at THAT team — why can they communicate and we can't?!"
"What the hell are you even saying up there?!"
The maze had done exactly what it was designed to do. Twenty strangers with zero trust, thrown into chaos, turning on each other.
*And we're only in game one.*