My name is Casimir.
Every morning, the alarm rang at 8:30 a.m. On weekends, 10 a.m. Strict routine: two glasses of orange juice, a brioche, nothing more. In summer, my little indulgence was the barbecue. Unfortunately, I never had anyone to invite. At noon, a movie to fill the silence before going back to work.
It was simple. It was my routine. It was my stability. I had finally found balance in my life.
So explain to me… WHY… WHY AM I IN THIS PLACE?!
I reopen my eyes, disoriented. Around me, a completely white block, no windows, no visible doors. Rows of seats stretch endlessly, like in a sterile conference hall. Above, a large screen displays a single number: "100."
I stare at the number, confused. Then I look around: about a hundred people, frozen, confused, eyes wide. No one speaks. The silence is almost sacred.
I stand slowly, my legs trembling a little. A woman next to me turns to an old man:— Do you know where we are?— No idea, he replies in a dry voice.
Their exchange awakens the others. Murmurs, questions, shallow breaths. A girl of barely seventeen starts to cry. A guy behind me keeps repeating:— It's a dream. It's just a dream.
But the more I look at the others, the more I feel that it isn't.
I take a deep breath and approach a small group.— Do you remember anything?
A girl shakes her head:— No… I was sleeping. And then… this.— Same, adds another.The last memory is my bed.
It's the same answer everywhere. Like a collective echo. And suddenly, a chilling thought strikes me: nobody remembers how they got here.
Time stretches. Some sit, others pace. The tension becomes almost tangible, like a weight in the air.
Then, without warning, a hum resonates. A low vibration shakes the floor beneath our feet.
The screen lights up. White light floods the room. Hands rise to shield eyes. And a voice echoes. Cold. Metallic. Inhuman.
— Hello, ladies and gentlemen. I am 404.
A shiver runs through the room. The voice continues, calm, almost amused:
— I am the founder and organizer of this place. And the one who brought you here.
A dense silence falls. No one dares to breathe. The screen stays blank. No face, no image. Only that neutral, almost mocking tone.
— The room you are in is Point A. From here, you will be able to explore the Territories. A map will be given to you to navigate. The Block contains around forty.
The words hit like stones in water. A man in the back lets out a nervous laugh.— Is this a hidden camera or what?
No one answers him.
The voice resumes, deeper:— Before explaining your mission, let me tell you why you are here.
Breaths halt. I feel my heart pounding in my chest.
— Each of you was personally chosen. Because every one of you has committed one or more crimes.
An uproar erupts immediately.
— What?! — That's not true! — I didn't do anything!
People stand, shout, defend themselves. A man in his thirties, in a wrinkled suit, steps toward the screen:— It's a mistake! I've never killed anyone!
I look at him, and despite his panic, I feel he's telling the truth. But deep inside, something cracks. A small, insidious doubt. What if we really had forgotten something? What if I… had done something I couldn't remember?
I clench my jaw. No. Impossible. I know my life. I know every morning of my routine, every brioche, every noon movie. Yet the doubt doesn't fade.
The voice cuts through the noise, sharp:— You have no memories. And that is perfectly normal.
Silence. Brutal silence, almost painful.
— Welcome to the Block, the prison I built for my amusement. Here, the rules are simple. You move forward, you fight… and some of you will die.
The word prison makes the crowd explode. Cries erupt:— Bastard! — Show yourself, you jerk! — We'll kill you!
I freeze. My stomach twists. And amidst the chaos, the voice resumes, unshaken:— Continue, continue. It's entertaining. You will give me great shows, you bunch of trash.
The room erupts. Chairs fly, fists hit the floor. Anger becomes a collective storm.
I clench my fists. That emotionless, almost playful tone makes me nauseous.
Then, through the uproar, a girl steps forward. Dark-haired, hard gaze, scarf around her neck.— Wait… "die"? Did you really say die?
The question slaps the room. Everyone goes quiet.
The voice laughs. A distorted digital laugh.— Of course. It's more fun this way. You are one hundred. You will earn points. The top ten will leave. And the first… will become my successor.
Murmurs return, more nervous.— It's a game? — He's crazy? — But what if it's real?
404 continues, relentless:— Across the forty Territories, you will find quests, resources, villages. And enemies. Fight them to progress. Help the inhabitants. Or kill each other, if you prefer.
A girl near me steps back, tears in her eyes. A man screams:— You sick freak!
But the voice goes on, almost gleeful:— Save the souls of the Block, and maybe, just maybe, you will earn redemption.
My throat tightens. This is no game. This is a calibrated nightmare, a closed arena.
And suddenly:— One last detail, announces 404. You will be separated into different Territories.
I freeze. Separated. Alone.
The hum returns, louder. Traps open in the ceiling. Thick white smoke descends upon us.
— What the hell is this?!
I cough, recoil, but the smoke stings my eyes. Cries fade. Figures blur.
I reach out to someone — a cold female hand, disappearing in the fog.
And in that void, the last thing I hear is that mechanical laugh. The laugh of 404.
Then nothing.
Act 1
— Ahh… headache… this sucks.
I slowly reopen my eyes. A few seconds pass before my brain accepts what it sees.
The world around me has changed.
This time, it's no longer the suffocating white of the Block. It's… green.
Greenery stretches as far as the eye can see. Trees, moss, damp ground. The air smells of earth, forest, something alive. I'm lying down, still numb, but alive.
— I see a color other than white… That's a bad sign.
I sit up, wiping sweat from my forehead. Every muscle aches. Where am I? How much time has passed?
— Where are we? I don't recognize this place.
I startle. That voice… feminine. I've heard it before. I turn my head.
Our eyes meet.
A figure, a few meters away. I squint. Black scarf. I recognize her. The girl who dared to ask the question back in the Block, when everyone was screaming.
She hasn't seen me yet.
It's just the two of us. Alone, in an unknown place.
And somewhere above us, 404 is probably watching.