Locked In: The Class Prefect's Deadly Game / Chapter 4: The Prisoner’s Dilemma
Locked In: The Class Prefect's Deadly Game

Locked In: The Class Prefect's Deadly Game

Author: Kabir Sharma


Chapter 4: The Prisoner’s Dilemma

05

I never imagined I’d be trapped in a real-life ‘prisoner’s dilemma’ like some Bigg Boss show gone wrong.

Arjun divided the 28 of us into four classrooms, seven per group.

We were herded like goats before Eid, shuffled into separate rooms. Someone muttered, "Bas, now it’s like that Bigg Boss show, na?" The doors slammed shut, sealing our fates.

Each group could discuss whether to reveal the truth about that year.

The air was stifling, thick with suspicion. Even old friends eyed each other like strangers.

If any one group told the truth, the other three would be killed by poison gas.

Arjun’s rules were cruelly simple. It felt like Antakshari teams splitting up—except the losers didn’t just sing, they died.

If all four groups—the remaining 28—kept silent, Arjun would let us go.

A tiny sliver of hope flickered, but fear was already gnawing at everyone.

Leaving the biology lab, I saw rotting corpses piled in the corridor, the air thick with the stench of blood.

My feet slipped on the sticky floor. Faces were swollen, unrecognisable, the blood seeping into the tiles forever.

Some lay face-down, some face-up, their features lost.

I tried not to look, but my eyes searched for familiar clothes—Ritu’s blue salwar, a silver anklet. Anything.

A few girls couldn’t hold it in and vomited onto the bright red flesh.

The retching echoed, mixed with the sickly sweet smell. Someone wiped her mouth, sobbing, "Maa, mujhe ghar jana hai."

But Ritu’s red salwar wasn’t among them. For a moment, relief swept over me—then guilt. Was I happy she was gone, or just scared to find her?

The class prefect’s "kind" reminder rang out: "Classmates, you have only one hour. Heh~ heh~"

His fake sweetness made my skin crawl. I pictured him somewhere, sipping chai, eyes glued to CCTV.

I followed Bhaiya, Amit, Ramesh, Kunal, Meera, and Chanchal to another classroom.

It felt like being assigned to a new section—familiar faces, but no comfort.

Bhaiya’s arm was ruined, but he sat in the corner, eyes glazed with pain, cradling it. Someone offered a handkerchief, but he waved them off, cursing softly.

He kicked an empty glass bottle, shards scattering at the window’s base.

The crash startled everyone, but the silence soon returned.

"I only came to this damned reunion because I was soft-hearted. We were all tricked by that lunatic Arjun. ‘Only one left,’ my foot..."

His bitterness was raw. I remembered the WhatsApp group, the endless nostalgia. Who could have seen this coming?

I remembered Arjun’s careful messages, the hints of accusation hidden in every friendly word.

Kunal bent over and whispered to Bhaiya: "Bhaiya, I’ll listen to you. Should we talk or not?"

Kunal’s voice was hopeful, his glasses sliding down his nose. He looked younger than the rest, desperate for leadership.

Everyone called him by his nickname—he wore his nervousness like a badge.

"Get lost, stay away from me, you disgust me."

Kunal just nodded, swallowing his pride. Nobody had the strength for old fights.

Kunal turned away and glared at him, but the glare faded. No one had energy for rivalries now.

The room fell silent, only the distant ticking of the school clock and muffled sobs filling the void.

I walked to the window, lost in thought.

Outside, the playground was deserted, moonlight barely catching the outline of the goalpost. Memories tugged at me—Sports Day, Sneha leading the parade, Ritu and I sharing spicy aloo chips. The memory was twisted by the horror of now.

The day Sneha jumped, by the time I found out, she had already leapt from the rooftop.

It was graduation day. The air thick with jasmine and cheap perfume, parents posing for photos, teachers giving blessings. Sneha handed out marksheets and transfer certificates, her smile small and tired.

I barely remember her speaking, her eyes already distant. I should have noticed, but I was too caught up in my own worries.

Some boys made dirty jokes—cruel, coded, the kind that stick. Someone whispered, "She was always with you, na? Log toh kuch bhi bolte hain..."

At that time, where was Arjun?

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