Chapter 4
Eve's POV
My head feels like it’s splitting open.
I gasp awake, vision swimming with blurred edges, and the first thing I register is noise—so much noise. A chorus of shouts, sobs, and confused murmurs crashes over me like a wave, making my temples throb.
I blink hard, trying to focus, and the world slowly sharpens: a cavernous room, concrete walls stained with what looks like rust or maybe blood, and rows upon rows of people, all strapped to metal chairs identical to mine.
Hundreds of them, at least.
My wrists jerk instinctively, and I realize I’m bound—thick, scratchy restraints digging into my skin, securing me to the chair’s cold frame. Panic lurches in my stomach. Where am I? How long have I been unconscious?
“Vicky?” I croak; my voice is hoarse. No answer, just the din of strangers. I crane my neck, scanning the crowd. Faces blur together—fear, confusion, rage etched into everyone.
Damn it! Where on earth am I? I moaned.
How long have I been out? Days? Weeks? The last thing I remember is the van, the pain in my neck, the voice saying Contestant No. 28.
Where is Vicky?
"Eve?" Eve Cheney! Is that you?" A slightly familiar voice came. I was startled and then followed the sound to look.
I looked around. About four meters away from me, I saw the Marcus couple. It was the two of them calling me.
"Mr. Marcus!" Mrs. Marcus!" I responded, then struggled for a moment but failed. I added, "Why are you here too?"
The Marcus couple were my old neighbors. Mr. Marcus was a car salesman, and his wife was a full-time housewife. They were very kind and even paid several hundred yuan for me when I couldn't afford the rent before.
Mr. Marcus had a pale complexion. His right hand was drooping and weak, with several large scars. Said, "They caught Jimmy."
My whole body trembled and I said, "Ah?" Jimmy? I'm looking for Vicky!"
Jimmy is the eldest son of the Marcus couple. Last year, he died from a stray bullet fired in a gang fight. Mr. Marcus rushed into the fighting circle to save him and dragged him out. The injury to his right hand came from that. I even gave Jimmy first aid. Then the head nurse said he had to be sent to a higher-level hospital, but not long after, I heard that Jimmy had died.
Jimmy isn't dead?
Mr. Marcus shook his seat and moved a little closer to me, saying, "Yes, Aurora and I received a call a few days ago. We heard Jimmy's voice and were told that if we wanted to save Jimmy, we had to go to Mount Saint Denis Park. And when we woke up, it was like this."
While Mr. Marcus was speaking, Mrs. Marcus let out a SOB. He hurried back and clung tightly to her petite and beautiful wife. I saw that her jumpsuit seemed to have been torn apart violently, and there were bruises on her face. But I know that Mr. Marcus would never physically abuse his wife. I noticed again that the stockings she was wearing were stained with some unknown white liquid. I could vaguely see that her underpants seemed not to be on, and her legs were shaking all the time, trying to close them.
I have treated patients with such characteristics, and almost every one of them was a victim of rape.
I whispered, "Mrs. Marcus, are you okay?"
Mrs. Marcus kept crawling into Mr. Marcus's arms, sobbed a few words, and said nothing. Mr. Marcus glanced at me, pursed his lips helplessly, and then turned to comfort his wife.
"It's very likely that she was gang-raped when she was in a coma." A man beside me suddenly said.
The voice is calm and steady, coming from my right. I turn to see a tall man with a lean, muscular frame, and glasses pushed up onto his forehead. His jaw is covered in a neatly trimmed beard, wearing a rumpled dress shirt.
I recognize the style of this shirt. It's one of the regular uniforms for the army. David served in the military before, and I'm quite familiar with him.
I turned my head to look at him, "Luke Howard." The man said, his voice steady and powerful, piercing through the noisy wailing in the room.
Luke glanced at Mrs. Marcus again, lowering his voice but enough for me to hear: "I've seen quite a few women like this." He paused for a moment and then looked around at the huge, sealed cage of a hundred people. I guess many women were violated when they were brought here. This shows that the guards here don't care about the consequences at all.
I subconsciously touched the inner side of my thigh. Everything was fine, but I did feel a bit of pain in my chest. My breasts felt as if they had been squeezed hard and my nipples had been bitten.
Hearing Luke say so, I was a little scared and said, "What are these people going to do?" And how do you know?"
Luke sighed and replied, "I'm a field doctor. I served in Afghanistan and Iraq. Believe me, the most serious injury there wasn't a gunshot wound, but syphilis."
"As for what the person who brought us here wanted, I think there's only one." "
"Using our relatives as a threat to force us to do many bad things." "
Luke’s gaze hardens. “Why else round up this many people? We’re not hostages. We’re… bait.”
Before I can respond, the room erupts in a new wave of shouts. The double doors at the front of the room are sliding open, and a squad of guards marches in—all clad in black armor faces hidden behind visors, rifles slung over their shoulders. They fan out along the walls, their presence silencing the crowd into nervous murmurs.
And then a man steps through the doors.
He’s tall, with a lean, elegant build, dressed in a perfectly tailored black suit. A half-mask—silver, etched with intricate patterns—covers the upper half of his face, leaving only his mouth and jaw visible. He moves with a fluid grace, like a dancer, and when he steps into the center of the room, all eyes fix on him.
“Silence!” he says. His voice is smooth and cultured, carrying across the room.
The crowd doesn’t listen. A woman in the back screams, “Where’s my son?”
"You idiot! Let me go!" "
The man in the suit sighs as if annoyed by a minor inconvenience. He reaches into his jacket, pulls out a gun—a sleek, silver pistol—and fires a single shot.
The sound is deafening. The woman in the back crumples to the floor, a red stain spreading across her chest.
Silence falls. Absolute, suffocating silence.
The man smiles, a cold, amused curve of his lips. “Much better. Now. Silence!”
My stomach churned violently, but I clenched my teeth and forced myself to look straight ahead. I had seen death in the hospital before, but never such a casual Execution. Fear drenched my entire body like ice water, but for Vicky's sake, I had to see clearly—I had to survive.
But the woman sitting next to me isn’t so lucky. She has brown hair, and the number of her jumpsuit is 092. I hear a soft, wet sound and glance over to see a dark stain spreading across her pants.
She peed on herself.
I look away, focusing on the man in the suit.
“Allow me to introduce myself,” he says, spreading his arms. “I am Lafayette. Your host for the 7th Annual Eden Island Survival Games. Welcome… to Eden Island.”