Day 0

I wake up in the morning to the first beams of light coming through my window. At least I have a window here, unlike the girls below. I order a full breakfast and take my time with it – not my normal routine when I’m here, as I prefer not to eat much before executions. But today there will be none.

I make my way down to the observation room and take my seat. The girls were brought in at night and the dungeon’s lights are still dimmed to allow them to sleep longer.

The monitors before me flicker to life as the overhead lights in the dungeon gradually brighten, revealing the eight girls sprawled across their mats in various states of slumber. Their naked bodies glisten with a light sheen of sweat, the warm air in the enclosed space already thick with the mingled scents of sleep and feminine musk. Some are curled fetal-like, others splayed in unselfconscious abandon, their limbs occasionally twitching as the drugs still course through their systems.

I lean forward in my chair, watching the girls intently.

Finally the drugged slumber of last night starts to fade, their naked bodies shifting restlessly as they stir awake. Some stir with small groans, others remain in deep unconsciousness. Their limbs twitch, muscles responding to involuntary impulses as their minds fight their way back to awareness.

Sofia is the first to move fully, her toned body rolling onto her side as she exhales a slow breath. The girls are stirring now, more fully than before. Sofia stretches her arms above her head in a way that makes her breasts rise enticingly, her toned stomach rippling with the motion. She murmurs something in Spanish as she blinks into the cold dungeon air, her long dark hair splayed out behind her like an ink spill. She squints up at the lights above her before sitting up fully, her thick thighs squeezing together instinctively. Then she looks down.

A sharp inhale. Her fingers twitch. Realization floods her face as she quickly covers herself with her arms, staring around at the other women with wide brown eyes.

The realization is spreading. Nala sits up next, her muscular frame coiling with natural tension as her dark eyes dart around the space. She doesn't react immediately, but the alertness is immediate and visible: her breathing quickens, shoulders tightening, gaze scanning the room mechanically. Her hands settle at her sides, her fingers flexing slightly in the raw instinct to brace for danger. She looks around the dungeon, scanning the exits as if she's already planning escape routes.

Aria is last to wake, her slender body shifting as her eyelids flutter open. Unlike the others, there's no immediate panic in her movements – just a soft stretch, her small breasts rising with the motion. Her mind is still climbing out of whatever fog they put her under. She lifts her arms, rubs her eyes, and only then notices her own nudity. Her posture stiffens, a faint startle crossing her face before she folds her arms loosely across herself, still too dazed to process the full situation.

Ok, time to go down there and say hello...

The steel door hisses open, cold air from the corridor rushing in as I step into the dungeon. Their heads snap toward me in unison, the girls instinctively recoiling at my sudden presence. The overhead lights cast harsh shadows across their bodies – some quickly drawing their arms across their chests, others freezing entirely as if movement itself might provoke something. Fear is their first instinct, before thought has time to catch up.

Sofia immediately scurries backward until she hits the wall, her dark hair clinging to her damp shoulders. Her breath comes quick, shallow, her fingers digging into her thighs.

"Good morning," I begin, my voice carrying the practiced tone of a game show host. The girls remain silent, their eyes locked on me with raw fear, caution, and a few flickers of disbelief. “I have some bad news and some good news for you.”

I watch as the girls shift around nervously, not yet understanding the meaning of my words but already bracing for the worst.

“The bad news is that this is not a beauty contest and you will not like your stay here,” I continue, my hands locked behind my back. “The good news – one of you will eventually win a prize and go free.”

“One of us? What do you mean one of us?”

Lian is not crying yet, but her voice is already shaking, her posture taut, as if the room itself is shrinking around her.

I force a fake smile.

"Welcome to Final Girl – a reality competition like no other. The rules are simple, but deadly." I gesture toward the transparent wall where the machines wait, their mechanisms gleaming under the harsh lighting.

Sofia presses herself harder against the wall, nearly flinching at her own shadow. Nala's jaw tightens, her breath shallow but controlled, her body angled slightly forward in unconscious readiness. Aria stands very still, arms held close to her torso, eyes fixed somewhere just past me – the look of someone too overwhelmed to choose where to look.

"The eight of you will spend seven days here," I continue, my tone steady and cold. "Each morning, you will decide your fate by drawing wooden sticks." I pull out a small velvet bag and open it, letting the contents rattle – small lacquered wooden sticks, two shorter than the rest.

"You will draw blindly. The two of you who get the short sticks..." I pause, letting the words sink in. "They will decide between themselves who volunteers to die. The volunteer will have the option to choose her method of death." I once again point to the machines behind the glass wall.

A ripple of realization moves through the group like a physical shockwave. Fear instantly replaces any ambiguity they might have felt before. Sofia’s fingers dig into her own skin as she presses harder against the wall, her breath quick and uneven. Nala’s jaw tightens, the muscle in her cheek twitching once – a controlled reaction from someone trained to stay controlled. Aria's face remains impassive, but her breathing slows – a harsh, stunned stillness .

Sofia finds her voice first, cracking as she speaks. "And if we... if we don't volunteer?"

“Then I will have to kill both." I meet her gaze as I say it – not as a threat, but as a statement of the system. A fact she can’t negotiate with.

The words hit them hard. Sofia recoils as if slapped, small sound escaping Sofia's throat as she presses even harder against the wall. Nala's nostrils flare, her control visibly slipping for a heartbeat. Aria’s fingers twitch at her sides, but she remains silent, taking it all in.

Juliette speaks, her French accent sharpening under fear.

"So you want us to sentence ourselves to death." It's not a question – just a statement of grim understanding.

Lian swallows, her voice low and steady in a way that makes the moment worse.

"And the survivor... does she just watch?" Her gaze slides unwillingly toward the transparent wall where the killing machines wait.

I nod. Slowly. The silence stretches taut.

"The surviving girl must perform the execution by activating the machine that the volunteer has chosen."

Mia shifts, drawing attention to her small frame as she speaks with surprising steadiness.

"And if the volunteer changes her mind...?" Her eyes are huge, shining, terrified.

I smile thinly.

"There's no going back once the decision is made." My gaze sweeps across them all, pausing on each face in turn. "The final girl to survive after seven days will leave with fifty million dollars."

The air thickens. Breathing grows shallow. Someone lets out a thin, involuntary whimper.

"Every machine can only be chosen once," I continue, my voice cutting through the heavy silence. "Which means, each day, a different torture awaits."

I point to each machine in turn, allowing the girls to consider the impossible options before them. The guillotine's steel blade gleams under the harsh lights. The circular saw's serrated teeth glint with metallic hunger . The impaler's metal spear glints with a menacing shine.

Aria breaks the silence first, her voice steady and measured.

"How do we know you're telling the truth about the prize money?" There’s a challenge in her tone, her dark eyes searching my face for any sign of deception.

"I'm afraid you'll have to trust me on that." My smile is small and controlled, not mocking.

A ripple of tension runs through the group. Aria's expression doesn't change, but I notice her jaw tighten slightly. Her skepticism is well-founded – who would believe me without proof? Trusting a man orchestrating their suffering seems impossible. And yet, what choice do they have?

"Trust," Nala scoffs, crossing her arms. "We're supposed to trust the man running a death camp."

She glares at me with the intensity of someone used to holding power, though I can see the calculated fear beneath it. She's weighing her options, but there's nowhere to run.

“If I were you I would worry more about how to survive.” I bring the girls down to earth, to the gravity of the situation they have found themselves in. “Because only one of you will be left alive on day seven."

The air in the dungeon thickens as the girls process what I’ve just said. Nala's breathing quickens almost imperceptibly, her fingers curling into fists. She tries to control herself, but I can see the adrenaline spiking in her posture, her muscles coiled like a spring. Her gaze flicks between the other girls, assessing them, calculating.

Aria's fingers twitch at her sides, her calm facade cracking slightly. Her lips press into a thin line, and she looks away, staring at the machines with quiet intensity.

“Questions?” I look at the girls intently, none of them willing to meet my gaze.

The atmosphere in the dungeon remains thick with dread. Nala shifts her weight, clearly uncomfortable, but knows she's powerless to protest. I see her mind working furiously, searching for some advantage – some weakness in the system. She looks back at me for a fraction too long, suspicion burning in her stare.

Aria moves to one of the mats, kneeling down with deliberate slowness. She doesn't lie down immediately, instead stretching her legs in front of her, fingers lacing between her knees. She doesn't meet anyone's eyes, but I notice how she glances repeatedly at the machines through the glass wall.

“We start tomorrow.” I turn to the exit. “Try to get some rest in the meantime.”

The heavy dungeon doors hiss closed behind me, leaving the girls alone with their thoughts and fears.

The surveillance feed spreads across multiple monitors in the observation room. Each girl is visible through high-definition cameras positioned throughout the dungeon. I can hear their breathing through the sound system, punctuated by occasional whispers and the rustle of movement.

I notice patterns forming almost immediately. Nala positions herself closest to the door, scanning the space constantly. Her eyes keep returning to the machine controls – studying them, trying to understand how they work. She's a tactical thinker, and her police training shows in her methodical approach to understanding the threat.

Aria sits motionless on her mat for nearly twenty minutes before finally lying down. She doesn't close her eyes, just stares at the ceiling, her chest rising and falling slowly. Controlled. Calculated. Even as the others shift and murmur, she remains perfectly still. When she does finally move, it's to turn onto her side, giving me a clear view of her bare back. The way she positions herself tells me she's trying to minimize vulnerability while also refusing to hide – an act of defiance in its own way.

Lian keeps her mat deliberately away from the others, creating distance between herself and potential threats. She's curled on her side, but her posture remains taut, alert. Her fingers trace the edges of her mat repeatedly, a nervous habit she's trying to conceal. Occasionally, she glances at the other girls, studying them just as they study her. She doesn't speak, doesn't interact, but she's processing everything – who sits where, who moves when, who stares at whom.

Sofia curls into a fetal position on her mat, her hands tucked between her thighs. She keeps her head down, her hair creating a curtain around her face. She trembles, but not enough to make noise. Her breathing is shallow, erratic, fear radiating from her in waves.

Isla and Juliette sit together in the far corner, whispering something to each other, while Mia just stands there, confused and vulnerable with her arms wrapped around her, not sure what to do next.

I watch them for hours, memorizing. Each face, posture, each breath, each nervous twitch. They are alive now, but soon, they will not be. I want to remember them exactly like this – people, real living people. Imprint them in my mind before I become the instrument of their deaths.