The air was thick—too still, too cold, as if the room itself had been holding its breath for hours. David awoke first, his neck aching from the unnatural angle at which it hung.

His eyes fluttered open to unfamiliar surroundings: cracked cement walls, iron pipes weaving along the ceiling, and a bitter scent of rust and damp cloth. He tried to move, but the sharp tug at his wrists and ankles told him he was bound.

Panic set in like a slow poison.

Across from him, Emma began to stir. “David?” she croaked, her voice hoarse and terrified. Their eyes met, and for a fleeting second, comfort passed between them. But then they took in their surroundings—matching chairs, matching ropes, a matching fear blooming in their chests. A sudden click of static made them both flinch.

A small, dusty radio on a shelf buzzed to life.

“Good morning, you beautiful liars,” a voice sang, distorted and too cheerful.

“We’re going to play a little game today. It’s simple, really. One of you kills the other. If you don’t… Well, we kill your children. Mia and Oliver, right? Ages six and nine. Such sweet faces.”

Emma screamed, “No! Please! Don’t hurt them!” “Shhh,” the voice purred, “Don’t ruin the moment. You've got five minutes. There's a knife under each chair, taped tight. Use it well.”

David’s heart thundered. His mind raced, searching for logic, for loopholes. "They could be lying. We can’t see them. This could be some twisted test or prank—"

“Do you really want to bet your kids' lives on that?” Emma whispered, tears streaking her cheeks. “David… what do we do?”

The voice laughed again. “Four minutes now. Tick-tock, mom and dad. Make a decision. One life for two. A fair deal.”

They struggled, twisted in their chairs, muscles screaming with every move. David finally managed to tip his chair, crashing sideways with a grunt. His fingers scraped under the seat until they found cold metal—tape and a blade. He couldn’t bring himself to grab it. He lay there, heart pounding, eyes locked on Emma.

“Don’t,” she said. “Don’t even think about it.”

“I’m not—Emma, I’m trying to think. Maybe we fake it. Maybe we—”

The radio crackled. “Three minutes. Your daughter just asked if she could keep your wedding rings after the bloodbath. So cute.”

Emma’s face twisted in horror. “You monsters!”

Then suddenly—silence. The radio shut off. No countdown. No mocking.

Just… nothing. The room was deathly quiet, the kind of quiet that felt like holding a scream in your throat. Emma looked up, her lips trembling. “Do you hear that?”

“What?” David rasped.

She hesitated. “Footsteps.”

A door behind them groaned open. David tried to lift his head, his breath caught in his throat. Small feet patterned across the floor. Two shadows entered, cast long and distorted by the low, flickering bulb. Mia stepped into view, clutching a teddy bear with one hand—and a kitchen knife in the other. Oliver followed, humming a lullaby out of tune, his eyes vacant.

“Hi, Mommy,” Mia said, her voice light and overly sweet but… off. “Hi Daddy.”

“Run!” Emma cried. “Get out of here, baby! It’s not safe!”

But the children only smiled wider. The man behind them emerged slowly, a gaunt figure in faded surgeon’s scrubs, his gloves soaked in something too dark to be painted. His face was hidden behind a cracked porcelain mask.

“They’re perfect, aren’t they?” the man said, voice smooth and reverent.

“After years of work… finally obedient. Finally free from the weight of emotion.”

David shook his head violently. “What did you do to them?”

The man tilted his head. “Oh, they chose this. You see, your children were the first to play the game. And they chose each other.”

Mia giggled, stepping forward. “We won, remember? You told us if we helped the next family, we could keep playing.”

Emma screamed in raw anguish, straining so hard against her restraints her skin split.

“Time’s up,” the masked man whispered.

The light bulb above them burst. Darkness fell.

And the sound of slicing metal echoed through the room.

The End.