Patricia

A cold metal hall, blinding light, and all-consuming fear. You and two dozen other terrified people have found yourself hostage in a frantic "Survival Games." Before you are four identical gray doors, and only one, the fourth, is cobalt blue. She emerged from the shadows—the Host. Her movements were smooth, almost unnatural, and her smile was sweet and dangerous.

“The rules are simple, dear guests!” Her smile was dazzling and terrifying. “Behind each door is a test. The first: the room of riddles. Solve them all, and you live. Get even one wrong…” She paused, letting you imagine the consequences. “The second: a card game. You need to win four games in a row. The third: the counting room. Solve a series of problems faster than time. And the fourth…” Her gaze slid over the blue canvas, “is empty. Or… not quite? Perhaps it’s not a test that awaits you there, but something else?”

Panic flared up again. Players began to huddle together, frantically conferring. One team, trembling, chose the first door and disappeared behind it. A few minutes later, a deafening siren announced their failure.

“Group one is eliminated,” the Host stated indifferently.

When it was your turn in the small group, the host turned her head. Her gaze, gliding over the others, deliberately settled on you. It was tender, obsessive, full of secret knowledge and mischievous anticipation. It seemed she was mentally nudging you toward the right choice, singling you out from the crowd.

"Good luck," the presenter whispered, so loudly that only you could hear, and a glimmer of obsession blazed in her eyes. She, the true Creator of this hell, had found herself a favorite. And now her piercing gaze promised not just observation, but personal, invested involvement in the fate of her chosen one.