The Stranger’s Invitation

They awoke to stillness. But this time, it wasn't haunted.

It was controlled.

The room was unlike anything they'd seen before—no golden light, no grotesque mirrors, no surreal furniture or twisted architecture. It was plain. Sterile. Clinical. White walls stretched seamlessly into a curved ceiling. Five chairs sat in the center of the room, arranged in a perfect circle like pieces on a chessboard waiting to be moved.

Lina blinked away the exhaustion. The last game—if it could even be called that—had drained her, not physically, but mentally. Trust had become a trap. Every word, every glance had weight.

Now this.

Saira was already sitting upright, shoulders stiff. Her eyes were red-rimmed but cold.

Zayan leaned back in his chair, arms folded across his chest, watching everyone like a gambler trying to read the table.

Areeba sat still, gaze lowered, but the tension in her jaw betrayed her calm.

Haider rested his elbows on his knees, staring at the floor, silent.

Then came the voice. Smooth. Confident. Distant.

> "Today, there will be no trial."

No one exhaled. The silence remained untouched.

> "No doors to choose. No rooms to escape. No wires, no mirrors, no fear."

Lina's breath caught. This was worse. She didn't trust the absence of chaos.

Because what replaced it was something far more dangerous: judgment.

> "You will each cast one vote."

A soft mechanical click. From the armrest of each chair, a panel slid open, revealing a black card and silver pen.

> "Write the name of the person you trust the least. Or the one you believe should no longer remain. No explanations required."

The panel closed again with a soft thunk. The chairs locked in place.

> "You may not leave your seat until all votes are submitted."

Lina reached for her card slowly. Her hands trembled.

Who do I trust the least?

That question was a lie. No one trusted anyone. It was now about who seemed too dangerous to keep around. Or too quiet. Or too clever. Or too broken.

She didn't know what name to write. Her hand hovered.

---

Across from her, Haider's brow furrowed.

He scribbled something, then paused, stared at it, and flipped the card face down.

Zayan didn't hesitate. His hand moved quickly, confidently.

He tucked the pen back neatly, leaned back, and looked bored again.

Areeba stared at her card for a long time.

Her fingers tapped the pen against her leg. When she finally wrote something, she bit her lip hard enough to leave a mark.

Saira moved the slowest. She picked up the pen like it was a blade. Her eyes darted toward Lina, then Zayan, then Haider.

Lina finally made her decision. She pressed the pen to paper and wrote a single name.

---

As if it were watching, the moment the fifth vote was cast, the voice returned.

> "Voting complete."

Each chair clicked again. The cards vanished into their respective panels.

> "And the result…"

A pause. They all leaned forward.

> "...is inconclusive."

They looked at each other, confused.

> "Each of you has received one vote."

A single heartbeat passed. Five players. Five votes. No majority. All equal.

> "Such balance is… rare."

The lights dimmed slightly, as though the room itself was reacting.

> "In the absence of a majority, the system cannot proceed with a clear outcome."

A longer silence followed.

> "Therefore, a new rule has been triggered."

Lina's stomach twisted.

> "The one who hesitated first… has already been marked."

Everyone sat still. No one spoke. Not even Haider.

Marked?

For what?

> "The game will not reveal the consequences today."

A soft mechanical hum began. The far wall of the room split in the middle and slid open without a sound, revealing a hallway bathed in pale blue light. Carpeted. Comfortable-looking. Too normal.

> "You may rest. But remember: the game remembers everything. Even silence."

The voice disappeared like smoke.

---

The five remained seated.

Saira stood first and walked through the hallway. No hesitation.

Zayan followed next, shoulders squared.

Areeba moved without looking at anyone.

Lina and Haider exchanged a glance. Just a breath. Then both stood at the same time and walked together, side by side, into the quiet corridor.

No alarms. No trial. No explosion.

But something had shifted.

In the shadows of the game, someone had been chosen.

Not eliminated. Not yet.

But marked.

---