Chapter 3:The Last Hope
1382 Words
In the real world, the deadly game had only just begun. The entire nation of Drakenia was on edge, anxiously watching the live broadcast. Every moment of Dorian's journey through the Haunting Dimension was being streamed in real-time. His success or failure wouldn’t just determine his fate—it would decide the survival of his entire country.
A team of experts from Drakenia’s government had gathered in front of multiple monitors, analyzing every second of Dorian’s attempts to survive. Their leader, an older man with greying hair, spoke in a low, tense voice as he reviewed the latest footage.
“This is Dorian, right? The adventurer from Drakenia?”
“Yes,” one of the analysts confirmed. “We’ve received his full profile. He’s a third-year student majoring in information engineering. A fan of detective novels and escape rooms.”
“An engineering student?” another expert muttered, frowning. “Not exactly an ideal background for surviving something like this...”
They watched as Dorian lay motionless on the hospital bed, the screen flickering with the eerie lights of the Haunting Dimension. His face was pale, his expression tense. At that moment, other nations' adventurers were already scrambling through their respective dimensions, trying to decipher clues and avoid the horrors lurking in the dark.
But Dorian remained still, his body rigid, as if frozen in place.
Knock, knock, knock.
A soft tapping sound echoed on the screen. In the eerie silence, the sound was almost deafening.
The leader of the expert group leaned forward, his eyes narrowing at the screen. “What is he doing? Why hasn’t he moved?”
Dorian, after four failed simulations, had learned to act with precision and speed. The experts watched as he suddenly sprang from the bed, moving with an efficiency that stunned even the most seasoned observers.
“He’s folding the clothes?” one expert asked, blinking in confusion.
On screen, Dorian swiftly gathered the scattered clothing, folding it neatly and placing it in the bedside drawer. He smoothed out the sheets on the bed with practiced hands, as though he’d done it countless times before. Without missing a beat, he pocketed the small knife from the drawer and resumed his task.
“It’s like he’s rehearsed it a hundred times,” another expert murmured.
“He’s following the rules,” the leader of the group said quietly, a glint of admiration in his eyes. “He’s figured it out.”
In the Haunting Dimension, Dorian moved quickly but deliberately. Every action was executed with cold precision, as if each step had been meticulously planned.
He had learned through blood and failure that the hospital’s rules had to be followed perfectly. The room had to be spotless, medication had to be taken—or at least, it had to look like it had been. Any misstep, any hesitation, would lead to instant death.
But even though he was following the rules, Dorian knew the game wasn’t over. Not by a long shot.
After spitting out the pills into his hand, he carefully stashed them under a loose floorboard beneath the bed. He had no intention of ingesting whatever sinister drugs this hospital prescribed. He knew from the blood-streaked note that they were likely the cause of the hallucinations—the reason so many of the patients disappeared.
As the nurse and doctor entered, Dorian greeted them calmly. The nurse glanced around, her cold eyes scanning the room. After a moment, she nodded in approval. The doctor, standing tall and eerily still in his bird-like mask, asked his usual question.
“Have you taken your medication?”
Dorian nodded without hesitation. “Morning, noon, and night. Just like you said.”
The doctor eyed him for a long moment, as if considering whether to believe him. Finally, he nodded, satisfied. “Good. The treatment will continue. Today, you’ll be transferred to a new ward.”
Just as before, Dorian heard it—a faint sound, barely audible. A dog’s bark. He glanced toward the hallway, his heart thudding in his chest. That sound—it was always there, echoing faintly through the corridors. Yet, none of the hospital staff seemed to notice it. Or maybe, they chose to ignore it.
“Why do I keep hearing a dog barking?” he asked carefully, masking the fear in his voice.
“There are no dogs in this hospital,” the doctor replied flatly. “It seems your condition is worse than we thought. We’ll need to increase your dosage.”
Dorian clenched his fists. He had to stay calm, stay in control. There were no guarantees of what would happen next, but he couldn’t afford to draw any more attention to himself.
The experts back in Drakenia watched with bated breath. Every second counted. The analysts noted how Dorian was beginning to unravel the hospital’s dark secrets—how he had figured out the key contradictions in the rules.
“He’s asking about the dog again,” one of them remarked, his tone wary. “Do you think it’s some sort of clue?”
“Possibly,” the leader replied, his voice heavy with tension. “But it’s just as likely to be a trap. The Haunting Dimension is designed to break the mind. Everything Dorian sees, hears, or feels could be part of a grand illusion.”
“And what about the other adventurers?” another expert chimed in. “They’re not doing well, are they?”
They all turned their attention to the screens displaying the progress of adventurers from other nations. One after another, the challengers were failing. Some had been killed within minutes of entering the dimension. Others had vanished without a trace.
The mortality rate was climbing higher by the second.
As the experts wiped their brows nervously, one voice broke the silence. “There’s still one left.”
“All eyes on Dorian, then,” the leader said grimly. “He might just be our last hope.”
Back in the Haunting Dimension, Dorian was escorted out of his room and into the hallway, where other patients shuffled listlessly. They all moved silently, as if under a spell, their expressions vacant and drained. As they walked toward the cafeteria for breakfast, Dorian kept his head down, carefully navigating the strange, oppressive atmosphere of the hospital.
He had survived another day, but there were still too many unanswered questions.
After entering the cafeteria, Dorian’s eyes darted to the chef, whose face was obscured by a grotesque pig mask. The chef looked up, his hollow eyes staring directly at Dorian. Without warning, Dorian remembered his last simulation—the cleaver splitting his skull in two.
This time, he was ready. He couldn’t afford to die again.
Before the chef could act, Dorian grabbed a tray, choosing a simple breakfast: a bowl of porridge, some salted vegetables, and a plain bun. He kept his movements measured and calm. No sudden gestures, no questions. Just blend in.
He moved to sit with the other patients, who all ate in eerie silence. The tension was suffocating. Dorian could feel the weight of unseen eyes watching his every move.
Suddenly, the patient sitting next to him collapsed face-first into his food, his body going limp. Dorian froze, staring at the lifeless figure, a cold dread creeping over him.
“Help!” the word was on his lips, but before he could act, a sharp kick to his shin snapped him back to reality. Another patient across the table shook his head violently, signaling Dorian to stay quiet.
Dorian bit his lip. The rules. He remembered the rules. No noise. No disruptions. If he shouted, if he tried to help, he’d break the rules—and that would mean instant death.
But the man beside him was dying. Blood dripped from his mouth, his body twitching.
What should I do?
His mind raced, weighing the consequences. The back of the warning note flashed through his mind: “If you see someone dying, ignore it. Stay quiet, or face the consequences.”
Just like the rest of this twisted dimension, the rules were a trap—two contradictory choices that each led to certain death.
Either way, he knew... the wrong choice would be his last.
- Writer
