Chapter 3: The Rules Are Never Wrong

A golden countdown blinked on the ceiling. Underneath it: KINDNESS AND COMPASSION.

This wasn’t the battle royale I pictured. I’d expected alliances, betrayals, maybe a shootout. But here, decency was the trap.

A man’s voice, trembling: "Dad… why are you here?"

"I—I… you…"

"Dad, you were supposed to stay home and look after Emma!"

"I picked up a card at the pharmacy. Figured I’d try my luck."

The son clenched his fists. "I told you not to worry about money!"

"Not worry? Should I bet on your lottery tickets? You ever win?"

Their argument died off. Both stared at the host, thinking.

The old man spoke first: "Dad, listen. I’ll do it—I’ll take the hit, okay? You stay alive for Emma."

The father’s face broke. He stood up, rested a hand on his son’s shoulder. "Even if I make it, who knows how many more rounds there’ll be? You live. I’ll go."

"Dad—"

"That’s it. If you go too, then it’s just Emma’s bad luck."

He strode toward the host. "I’m willing to give my life so he advances."

The host gestured. Two staff pinned the old man. The dagger flashed, and blood trickled from his mouth. They dragged him away.

"Dad—!"

The son collapsed, pounding the floor, sobbing so hard it echoed. It was raw and American and so real it made me look away.

I wondered—what does it take to survive a game where kindness is a death sentence?