Day 1

My alarm pierces the darkness at 5:30 AM. I shower quickly, dress in my show host attire, and prepare myself for what lies ahead. The breakfast – oatmeal and coffee – tastes like ash as I force it down, knowing what the day will bring.

The elevator descends into the bowels of the facility. When the doors open, I walk the long sterile corridors toward the heavy dungeon door.

I step into the dungeon as the girls stir from slumber. The fluorescent lights hum overhead, casting harsh glare across the soft gray floor. Their bodies shift under the light—curves and muscles taut with anxiety. Their eyes track my movement as I approach, each expression landing somewhere between hope and dread.

Aria is already sitting up, back straight, face composed except for the slight tension around her eyes. She watches me with the same measured intensity as yesterday, like she's already assessing what she can control in a place built to strip control away. Nala remains near the door, crouched slightly, hands half-raised—she hasn't slept, or at least hasn't relaxed. Her pupils are blown wide, animal-alert. I keep her in my peripheral vision as I scan the room. The other girls are slower to move, disoriented from sleep or whatever sedatives still linger in their systems.

They don't bother covering themselves – they've already learned privacy is a luxury they can't afford. Juliette and Isla shift closer together for comfort, arms brushing, seeking warmth more psychological than physical. Mia keeps her distance, arms wrapped around her torso. Harper stands slowly, rubbing sleep from her eyes with the back of her hand, blinking as though trying to re-enter her own body. Sofia remains curled into herself, shaking, but her breathing has steadied – perhaps resignation replacing panic, or simply numbness creeping in.

My jaw stiffens before I say the words I'd rather not speak at all.

“Today’s the day.” I reach for my pouch with the sticks. My fingers brush the velvet before I’m ready. “Time to draw your lots.”

I hold the bundle of eight wooden sticks in my hand. They look identical at first glance – smooth, polished, each about the length of my little finger. Their ends click softly against one another as I shift them, a sound that seems to echo far too loudly in the quiet. The girls watch as I shake them slightly before holding them out. They don't rush forward – they know what's coming. Their faces reveal dread, resignation, curiosity. Some swallow hard; others forget to breathe.

Aria steps forward first, her movement swift and purposeful. She accepts one from my outstretched hand without hesitation, closing her fingers around it firmly. Her eyes meet mine for just a second before she looks down – no plea, no accusation, just acknowledgment.

Nala follows immediately, her movements sharp and calculating. She doesn't even glance at the stick as she snatches it from me, gripping it tightly, knuckles whitening.

Sofia hesitates, but when I gesture for her to come forward, she does, arms wrapped protectively around herself. Her hand trembles as she accepts a stick, as though the wood itself might burn her. The remaining girls draw theirs in turn – Juliette with quick, nervous movements, Isla slower but with less fear than most, her breath steadying as if bracing for impact. Harper keeps her chin up as she accepts hers, maintaining what little dignity she can. Lian is last, her movements economical, masklike, betraying nothing.

Each girl holds her fate in her hand. No one speaks. The silence is heavy and intentional, as though the room itself is waiting for the verdict.

"Now turn them around and show everyone,” I say. “Two of you have drawn the short ones."

The girls turn their sticks, revealing the truth. Aria and Nala hold the short ones.

A tense quiet falls over the room as the remaining six girls stare at the two holding their death warrants. Sofia whimpers softly, squeezing her long stick tighter like it’s a lifeline. Harper and Isla exchange a look – Harper's face sets in grim resolve, Isla’s in something closer to stunned relief. Mia steps back slightly, eyes darting between the two short sticks, her breath quick and shallow.

Aria and Nala don't move. They go still in the same way two predators freeze before deciding whether to strike or stare each other down. Every muscle in both women tightens, but in different ways – Nala like a coiled spring, Aria like someone turning calculus into composure. Nala's fingers curl tighter around her stick, knuckles whitening. Aria's grip is equally firm, but her face remains impassive, calculating. Their eyes meet across the room – Nala's sharp with challenge, Aria's unreadable.

“One of you has to volunteer to die,” I look first at Aria, then at Nala. “Time to decide.”

The words settle like a lead weight. The two girls with the short sticks remain locked in a silent battle of wills. Nala stands taller, shoulders squared, eyes boring into Aria. The atmosphere in the room thickens as the other girls shift uncomfortably, knowing this isn't just a discussion – it's a negotiation for survival.

"Come on," Nala mutters under her breath, voice a low rumble, almost threatening. "You first. I'll give you a chance to be a hero."

Aria doesn't blink. She shifts her weight slightly, planting her feet firmly on the floor – straight spine, controlled breath, like a predator settling its center of gravity.

"I don’t need to impress anyone," she says evenly. "I just want to stay alive."

Nala's jaw tightens, her fingers flexing around her stick.

"That's what I figured." She speaks with dangerous quiet, challenging Aria with just her gaze.

The remaining girls edge backward, creating space as the confrontation unfolds. Harper’s eyes move back and forth rapidly. Isla keeps rubbing her wrist. Juliette freezes like prey watching something with too many teeth.

"You think this is a game?" Nala steps forward, and suddenly her size feels like an added threat – compact muscle and unbending will filling the space between them. "You think standing there all calm is gonna make me back down?" She gestures sharply at the other women. "I'm not some scared little bitch like these others."

Aria doesn't retreat. She stands firm, her face dangerously calm and unreadable.

"I am not scared either." Her voice is measured, but her eyes narrow slightly.

"One of us dies today." She lets the smallest pause linger, then adds: "And I know it will be you who volunteers."

Nala's nostrils flare. She steps closer, until the two women are nearly touching. The other girls watch with bated breath as the confrontation reaches its peak. Nala's hand twitches toward the short stick she holds, gripping it with white knuckles.

"Make me," she growls.

Nala's challenge hangs in the air like a lit fuse. Her dark eyes burn with defiance as she leans in slightly, forcing Aria to hold her ground or retreat. The dungeon falls silent save for the distant mechanical hum of the ventilation system.

Aria doesn't move, but something in her face shifts – a subtle tightening of her jaw, a flicker in her gaze.

"I do not need to make you do anything," she says quietly. "Just be realistic."

She shifts the stick in her hand – not enough to be threatening, just enough to remind Nala what it means. Nala lets out a short, humorless laugh.

"Realistic?" She scoffs, but there’s a crack in it, a hairline fracture. "You really gonna stand there and try to talk me into dying for you?"

Her voice cracks slightly on the last word, betraying an emotion she clearly doesn't want to show.

Aria doesn't respond immediately. She studies Nala's face, searching for something in her expression, watching for openings, psychological seams. The other girls hold their breath as the standoff continues. Sofia's breathing becomes ragged with fear, while Harper watches with focused attention. Even the cameras seem to zoom in tighter on the confrontation.

“Exactly.” Aria doesn’t even blink when she throws this into Nala’s face. “Which would also mean talking you out of killing me and living with that guilt.”

Nala's lips curl into a smirk, but something dangerous lurks behind it. She glances at the machine room beyond the glass wall, at all the deadly machines, waiting like silent jurors.

“Oh, right… And I’m sure you’d be perfectly fine killing me and then just going on with your life afterward.” She leans in, voice dropping to a razor‑thin whisper. “Tell me, Aria – have you ever killed anyone before?”

Aria’s jaw locks. She doesn’t answer. Not immediately. Her eyes flick away for the briefest second – not fear or shame, just the calculation of someone who’s suddenly aware she’s been cornered.

Nala’s lips curl.

“Yeah. That’s what I thought.”

A beat of raw tension. Neither moves. The other girls barely breathe.

Nala exhales slowly, shoulders tensing as she backs up half a step, reclaiming space without surrendering it. Her voice drops into something heavy, resigned, but edged with anger:
“Listen – one of us has to go. And it’s either you or me.”
The standoff drags too long. The other girls begin exchanging panicked glances; Mia’s foot taps, Juliette bites her lip so hard it turns white.

"Or both of you, if you don't decide soon." I say this calmly, but the effect is like the hit of a hammer.

Nala's smirk flickers and dies as she absorbs what I just said. Aria’s fingers tighten until the stick creaks. The remaining girls shift uneasily, their collective breath catching as they are reminded about the third option.

Nala's dark eyes flash with sudden anger.

"You think we won't decide?" Her words come out sharp and dangerous. "You think we'll just sit here and let you decide for us?"

She steps forward, closing the distance with Aria, who doesn't back away. Her jaw is tight, her gaze sharp – but I can see a flicker of stubborn defiance there, a refusal to yield. Tension fills the air. I notice Aria's face go pale despite the harsh dungeon lighting. Her grip on the stick trembles slightly before she forces it steady.

"Was that supposed to scare me?" Aria says quietly- almost evenly, but not quite. "We both know that is not how this works."

Nala’s shoulders tighten, a low rumble escaping her.

“I won't die first just because you think you're better than me.”

Aria tilts her head, almost teasing, eyes glinting.

“Then maybe we both die. Is that what you want?”

Nala freezes for just a second, her hands twitching. The tension snaps. Her voice hardens, sharper now, edged with frustration and sudden resolve.

“No. That’s your choice, Aria.” Something in her tone shifts – a final thread snapping inside her.

She watches Aria, searching for any sign of weakness or hesitation. A heavy silence stretches between them, broken only by the distant mechanical whirring of the invisible machinery running in the facility. Harper moves slightly, shifting her weight from foot to foot. Sofia presses herself harder against the wall, eyes wide and afraid.

Nala's breathing quickens slightly as she considers possible outcomes. Her inhale sounds almost like a shudder she refuses to acknowledge.

"Fine," she snaps, her voice thick with frustration and something else – maybe desperation. "I’ll do it. Someone in here has to have the balls to do the right thing." She looks at me with burning contempt. “And it sure as hell isn’t you. Don’t flatter yourself.”

Her words hang in the air like a dare, her shoulders tensed, ready for whatever comes next.

A ripple goes through the room. Aria flinches – actual flinching, small but real. Harper shuts her eyes. Sofia huddles closer to the wall, shaking.

Nala's eyes narrow as she turns to face me fully, her expression hardening into something unreadable. She glances back at the glass wall, every mechanism there promising death, then turns her attention back to me.

"I volunteer." Her voice is firm and steady, though I catch the slight waver in her tone.

The words leave Nala's mouth like a stone falling into deep water, creating an immediate ripple of tension through the room. Aria shudders almost imperceptibly, her fingers tightening around her stick until the wood creaks in protest. The other girls react in unison – Harper gasps, Sofia whimpers, Lian's breath catches audibly.

"I respect your decision, Nala. It wasn't easy." Genuine admiration colors my voice as I point to the deadly mechanisms behind the glass barrier. "You have the biggest choice right now."

Nala's face transforms into something resembling relief and grim satisfaction as the full scope of her power over her own death settles in. She walks toward the glass wall with slow, deliberate steps – someone marching toward their final decision rather than away from it.

"Wow, I feel like I'm in a candy store," she murmurs, more to herself than anyone else. "Such a generous selection of ways to permanently ruin my day."

Her hand traces the outline of the guillotine before moving to the impaler.

"I always knew I would die young," she continues, her voice gaining strength as she speaks.

She pauses, glancing back at Aria for just a fraction of a second – not long, but long enough to show she hasn’t forgotten who forced her decision.

Then she stops in front of the circular saw. Her reflection warps across the serrated metal, making her look briefly like two women – one trembling, one unbreakable.

"But I won't be a coward about it," she adds, turning back to face the group.

A beat. Then, almost too soft to catch:

“And I won’t make it easy.”

Nala inhales deeply, her chest rising visibly.

"I want to be remembered," she says, her words carrying with conviction as she speaks. She gestures to the saw. "That one. I'll take that one."

Aria visibly sways, her face ashen. Her mouth opens in a small, broken sound.

"N-Nala..." she begins, but Nala cuts her off with a sharp shake of her head.

“You want to live? Fine. Live with this.”

Aria flinches like she’s been hit, desperation flooding her expression. Her mouth opens slightly, but no sound comes out. Her face drains of color, her eyes flicking from Nala… to the saw… and back again. She lets out a tight, strained exhale. Her body tenses, shoulders stiff, as she stands frozen, caught in the aftermath of the choice she can’t undo.

"You'll be remembered all right – that thing will cut you in half starting with your pussy and all the way to your neck." I try to match Nala's dark humor, knowing I can't. "You sure you want to pick the saw?"

Nala's face twists into something between amusement and disgust at my graphic description.

"Of course I'm sure," she replies, her voice steadier than before. "Death comes to us all, John. At least this way I choose how it happens."

She turns to address the other girls, her expression hard.

"All of you will remember this. You'll remember what courage looks like." Her eyes linger on each face in turn before settling back on me. "You will all remember who made the right choice."

A heavy silence follows Nala's declaration. The overhead lights cast harsh shadows across her face, accentuating the determined set of her jaw. The other girls shift uncomfortably, some averting their eyes, others watching with wide, terrified stares. Aria's breathing becomes audible – a sharp intake followed by a shuddering exhale.

"Fuck," Lian whispers, her arms wrapping tightly around herself.

Harper moves closer to her, offering silent comfort. I can see the fear in their eyes – they are trying to understand what comes next, but their imagination betrays them.