Day 0

I wake to the first beams of light 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. I don't usually eat much before executions. But today there are none.

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

The monitors flicker to life as the overhead lights gradually brighten, revealing the eight girls sprawled across their mats. Their naked bodies glisten with sweat, the warm air already thick. Some are curled fetal-like, others splayed in unconscious abandon, limbs twitching as the drugs work through their systems.

Finally the drugged slumber starts to fade. Their bodies shift restlessly as they stir awake. Some groan softly, others remain unconscious. Limbs twitch, muscles responding to involuntary impulses as their minds fight toward awareness.

Sofia is the first to move fully, rolling onto her side with a slow exhale. She stretches her arms above her head, stomach rippling with the motion. She murmurs something in Spanish as she blinks into the cold air, dark hair splayed behind her like an ink spill. She squints up at the lights before sitting up fully, thighs squeezing together instinctively. Then she looks down.

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

The realization spreads. Nala sits up next, frame coiling with tension as her eyes dart around the space. She doesn't react immediately, but the alertness is instant: breathing quickens, shoulders tighten, gaze scanning the room mechanically. Her hands settle at her sides, fingers flexing – raw instinct bracing for danger. She scans the exits, already planning escape routes.

Aria is last to wake, body shifting as her eyelids flutter open. Unlike the others, there's no immediate panic – just a soft stretch. 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 nudity. Her posture stiffens, a faint startle crossing her face before she folds her arms across herself, still too dazed to process the full situation.

Time to go down there and say hello.

The steel door hisses open, cold air rushing in as I step inside. Their heads snap toward me in unison, the girls instinctively recoiling. 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 catches 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, eyes locked on me with raw fear, caution, a few flickers of disbelief. "I have some bad news and some good news for you."

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 lock my hands 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's voice shakes, her posture taut, as if the room itself is shrinking around her.

I force a 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, 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 comes shallow but controlled, 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." My tone stays steady, 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. "You will decide between yourselves who volunteers to die. The volunteer chooses her method of death."

I point to the machines behind the glass wall.

A ripple of realization moves through the group like a shockwave. Fear replaces any ambiguity instantly. Sofia's fingers dig into her own skin as she presses harder against the wall, 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 into harsh, stunned stillness.

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

“Then I will kill both." I meet her gaze – not threatening, just stating how the system works. A fact she can't negotiate with.

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

Juliette speaks, her French accent sharpening under fear.

"So you want that we 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.

"The survivor... she only watches?" Her gaze slides unwillingly toward the transparent wall where the machines wait.

I nod. Slowly. The silence stretches taut.

"The survivor must perform the execution by activating the machine the volunteer has chosen."

Mia shifts toward me. 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, pausing on each face. "The final girl to survive after seven days leaves with fifty million dollars."

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

"Every machine can only be chosen once." My voice cuts 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, controlled. Not mocking.

A ripple of tension runs through the group. Aria's expression doesn't change, but her jaw tightens 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 the calculated fear shows beneath it. She's weighing her options, but there's nowhere to run.

"If I were you, I'd worry more about how to survive." I bring them down to earth, to the gravity of the situation they've found themselves in. "Because only one of you will be left alive on day seven."

The air thickens as they process what I've just said. Nala's breathing quickens almost imperceptibly, her fingers curling into fists. She tries to control herself, but the adrenaline spikes through her posture, muscles coiled like a spring. Her gaze flicks between the other girls, assessing, 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 them intently. None meet my gaze.

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

Aria moves to one of the mats, kneeling 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 she glances repeatedly at the machines through the glass wall.

"We start tomorrow." I turn to the exit. "Try to get some rest."

The heavy doors hiss closed behind me, leaving them 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. Their breathing comes through the sound system, punctuated by occasional whispers and the rustle of movement.

Patterns form 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. 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 move, it's to turn onto her side. The way she positions herself tells me she's trying to minimize vulnerability while 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, 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. Mia stands alone, confused and vulnerable, arms wrapped around herself, not sure what to do next.

I watch them for hours, memorizing each face, each 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.