Note: mild depictions of death, as well as strong language in this chapter.

———

Little by little, the main building fills up with yellow jogging suits. Eventually, all one-hundred players are back in the same room; all pumped-up ready to play the games. The atmosphere is lighthearted and full of excited voices; conversations of the dreams of winning so much money; laugher among new friendships; and playful trash talking between players. Upbeat music plays over the speakers in order to add to the morale.

"I'm gonna beat you so hard!" player 024, Andrew jibes at player 025, George, smacking him upside the head.

"I'd love to see you try mate," George retorts to his lifelong friend.

"Ohh, bring it on, Yog, bring it on!" Andrew cackles. "At least they didn't call me by my full name back then!"

"Yeah, yeah." George folds his arms disapprovingly. "Well, I didn't know whether to give my name as George Michael, or whether to give my Greek name. So I went with Greek! I didn't know how official this thing was, did I?" He shakes his head, an embarrassed smile spreading across his face. "But whatever buddy — I'm gonna win this game, and I'm gonna finally launch our music career. You just watch."

"Not if I win the money and launch our music career before you do," Andrew taunts.

With shared laughter, the boys head over to a small group of other players to introduce themselves. Meanwhile, Michael decides to take the risk of approaching somebody else in the game. He scans the room slowly, calculating the potential responses of everybody he could hypothetically attempt to mingle with. His eyes fall on player 063, Whitney. Could he go and speak to her? What if she's unpleasant or rude? There's only one possible way for him to find out.

He makes a bee-line for the young lady; she's sat by herself, her back leaning against the wall and her legs drawn to her chest. Her arms hug her knees to hold her position. With a small pang of nervousness, he sits by her side, before trying out a conversation starter.

"I'm Michael. Your name's Whitney, right?" He gives her a genuine, warm smile to suggest his friendliness to her.

"That's correct. It's nice to meet you Michael." She returns the smile, which immediately puts him at ease. "Player 077, huh?"

In instinctual reaction, Michael looks down at his own jogging suit to see the number embroidered onto his chest. "That I am." He looks up to check her number. "And I see you're 063."

"Indeed. What brings you to this thing?"

Michael, feeling more relaxed by this point, edges a little closer to her. "Well, I have a lot of bills and stuff to pay for. Just lost my job so I can barely afford it. Things are tough," he explains. "But what about you?"

"Ah, I'm kinda in a similar position," Whitney replies. "I owe my parents a lot of money and, well ... I have no job right now either. My last place wasn't so fun. Falsely accused me of stealing company stock. I'd never do such a thing. They didn't believe it." She shrugs, as if it's nothing to her anymore. "Figured this was a way to get rich quick."

"I suppose it is. But it sucks that there's only one winner." Michael exhales through his nose, before tapping her arm. "Hey, maybe we could make a deal — if one of us wins, we help each other out a little. How 'bout that?"

Whitney's once-straight face dissolves to a smile. "Sounds good to me. What do we say — a million dollars to the losing player?"

"I'll take that," Michael laughs. "That's more than enough for me. Man, I can't believe how crazy that prize is really."

"Me either. Life-changing." She rests her head in her hands, almost in a dream-state. That is, until a loud voice starts to play over the tannoy.

"Welcome to the party, to all players! Please follow the team members to your first party game!"

The masked team members emerge from a door at the side of the room, ushering silently to the partygoers to follow the direction they're walking in. Michael watches as the other 99 players head in the same direction; he follows behind a good majority of them, deciding it's a logical decision to let others go ahead of him so he has a little longer to contemplate a game plan.

After walking down numerous corridors full of streamers and balloons, a team member opens a door to reveal the first game room. The large space is reminiscent of an arena; with a huge open space for partygoers to play the game. At the edge of the room stands a group of ten tall figurines of wolves. However, the wolves are stood up on their hind legs; much like humans, with their backs facing the players.

The players take in their surroundings in awe; the whole room is simply surreal — the great size of it alone is breathtaking; let alone the details such as the wolf statues and the walls painted to match the appearance of a children's bedroom. The players stand together, bunched at one end of the room. The team members exit out the same door they entered from, leaving the partygoers alone.

"Welcome to the first game. This game is, What's the Time Mr Wolf?" the tannoy announces. "I will now give you the instructions. Players must call out 'What's the time, Mr Wolf?', and await an answer from the wolves. For every hour they give, you must take one step forward. Three o'clock is three steps forward. Seven o'clock is seven steps forward. When the wolves shout 'Dinner Time', players must run back to the starting point without the wolves catching them, to avoid being eliminated. If a player reaches the wolves before they shout 'Dinner Time', they will pass the game."

Michael's face contorts in slight confusion. Is it really so simple, that all the players must do is pass some kids' games in order to win such a huge amount of money? This seems too easy to be real, to him. It perplexes him, as to how anybody could possibly lose this game.

"The game will begin ... now."

"What's the time, Mr Wolf?" the players ask in unison, quite like clockwork.

After a few moments' pause, the wolves answer.

"Four o'clock."

The players take four steps forward, before asking once again — "What's the time, Mr Wolf?"

"Seven o'clock."

Seven more steps forward. Most players have already gotten at least a third of the way to the wolves by the second round. The game continues — five o'clock; two o'clock; nine o'clock — until a handful of players are only a few paces away from the wolves.

"What's the time, Mr Wolf?" the players ask once more.

"Dinner Time!" With that, the wolves turn around simultaneously, startling a good number of the players. They all begin to dart towards the starting line; the lucky few who didn't get as far during the game make it safely back without being eliminated. Michael makes it back over the starting line just in the nick of time, turning around to see if any players get eliminated.

Player 054, a man who looks to be in his thirties, has to pause to catch his breath; and player 027, a young woman who looks around twenty years old, trips up over her own feet, and goes tumbling to the ground. The wolves catch up to those two players; wrapping their human-like arms around them. Within seconds, player 054 falls to the ground. Silence fills the arena; an unsettling confusion is easy to pick up among the safe players. Michael averts his eyes to the wolves; their claws can be seen slowly sinking back into their fingertips, as if they had spawned magically, only for the purpose of catching those who have been eliminated.

The remaining 98 players watch the two eliminated players, waiting for them to respond to the fact they've lost the game. Some begin to laugh and taunt that they failed such a simple game so early; some stand silently waiting to see how disappointed they are; some ask the people close to them why they aren't moving.

"The game will now begin again."

The players, still a little unsure, call out — "What's the time, Mr Wolf?"

"Six o'clock."

Six steps forward is just the right amount for the players in the front to reach those who were eliminated in the first round. Player 019 bends down to shake player 027. "Hey girl, how'd you feel about losing?" she chuckles. However, she receives no response. "Girl? Hey?"

She flips the young woman over onto her back, which finally exposes stab wounds from the wolf's claws; the crimson of her own cold blood adorns the front of her yellow jacket. Player 019's eyes widen in horror. "Oh my god!" she screams, stepping back with her hands covering her face. The mental image of 027's body remains etched into her mind. "She's dead!"

On demand, player 048 checks 054 and reaches the same conclusion for him — though not wanting to. "So is he! They've been killed!" Player 048 runs his hands through his hair anxiously. "What the fuck is this!"

The group erupts into screams of fear and anguish — some try to escape the room (to no avail); some stay dead still; some begin to cry or have panic attacks. Michael stands, a matter of steps away from the bodies of those who have been killed, simply staring at the poor victims of the elimination.

"Oh shit," he breathes to himself, having never seen anything quite so horrific in his life. "Elimination means fucking death!" His hand swipes across his forehead, to rid the sweat beads that have gathered along his hairline. He doesn't get much chance to react to the scarring scene before him, as the tannoy sounds again.

"Please continue the game, or be eliminated."

With shaking voices and quivering bones, the group reluctantly asks — "What's the time, Mr Wolf?"

"Twelve o'clock."

Twelve of the most painful, wobbly steps later, Michael turns his head back around to see the bodies once again. The shock has entered the core of his body, making it hard to focus on the game. He is in the middle of the group — not too far forward; but not too far back. Some of the players in the front are only a few steps from the wolves. He evaluates that he'd rather be a little further back, than risk being killed for taking the lead. He notices, however, that Prince — the man he met before the game — is in first place at present. He turns around, spying Michael and flashing his signature smirk.

"Whats the time, Mr Wolf?"

"Eight o'clock."

Eight steps is more than enough for Prince and a few others to reach the wolves and tap their backs, thus passing the game.

"Player 017 — pass. Player 097 — pass. Player 012 — pass. Player 022 — pass. Player 088 — pass."

By this point, Michael is perhaps ten steps away from completing the game.

"What's the time, Mr Wolf?"

"Dinner Time!"

The group run as if their lives depend on it — because they quite literally do. Michael sprints as fast as his legs will physically carry him; he makes it back to the start point, barely able to watch who gets eliminated this time around. He hears blood-curdling screams from those who are stabbed to death by the wolves; the collapse of their lifeless bodies to the floor; the shrieks of pure terror from the players who are safely at the start point. By the time it falls silent, and Michael has gained the courage to turn to check who's alive, he sees that at least thirty people have somehow been killed just in this round alone. His heart thuds out of his chest; he feels physically sick seeing the contorted remains that were humans only seconds ago.

"The game will now begin again."

"What's the time Mr Wolf?"

"Twelve o'clock."

Another twelve steps.

"What's the time, Mr Wolf?"

"Nine o'clock."

Nine more.

"What's the time, Mr Wolf?"

"Five o'clock."

With another five steps, Michael is only a few steps away. He is currently at the very front of the group, which fills him with fear. He turns his head to see the other players who have yet to complete the game with him; since the third round begun, a lot more people passed — around fifteen to twenty. Only around 20 players remain on the playing arena, unsure of whether they'll reach the end alive.

Michael's heart palpitates; and his eyes close as the group asks — "What's the time, Mr Wolf?"

Michael hopes and prays with all his might, that they don't say 'Dinner Time'. If they did, he'd be dead immediately, what with how close he is to the wolves. He mentally pleads for five steps — this would be perfect for him to pass the game safely.

"Three o'clock."

His chest sinks. Is it possible for him to make it to the wolves in three steps? He figures it's worth the risk to be safe.

One large stride down, he's a little under three metres away from the wolves. Can he really cover three metres with two steps? Time will tell.

Two large strides down, he's around a metre and a half away. His only option is to leap, if he wishes to pass the round this time.

Two large strides and a jump for his life down, he comes face to face with the back of one of the wolves. He raises his arm, tapping the wolf. His eyes close once more; he doesn't wish to be made aware visually if he's on the verge of his death.

"Player 077 — pass."

A shaky exhalation of expelled anxiety gives away his relief. His head buries into his hands as lightheadedness kicks in; he can barely see in front of him. Once the sensation has subsided, he turns around to check the progress of everyone else who's in the game.

"What's the time, Mr Wolf?"

"Seven o'clock."

Seven steps later, more people reach the wolves.

"Player 091 — pass. Player 080 — pass. Player 025 — pass. Player 069 — pass. Player 063 — pass."

Michael's eyes light up as he realises Whitney has successfully gotten to safety. She flashes a smile at him, but not one of happiness. She is just as mortified as he is over what has been witnessed by the players.

Eventually, the game ends, with around sixty survivors and forty deaths. The players who passed all sit at the finishing line, each with varying reactions to what they've just experienced. Some are glad to be alive; some are shaking; some have even thrown up at the stomach-churning sight of so many dead bodies.

"Congratulations players — you have passed the first game. Please return to the main function room."

~~

Chapter four! Finally a bit of action. I hope you enjoyed this one!