Chapter 4: Aftermath and Panic

Rohan hurriedly typed:

[What happened, Ananya?]

But there was no reply. The WhatsApp group, usually full of memes and forwards, fell eerily silent. Someone fiddled with her scarf and said,

"Ananya has the most points now, so we’re safe. She’ll win and take us home, na?"

"Yeah, better stick to her side. Some people are going to regret their choices."

She shot me a look, lips twisted. The boiled potato in my hand tasted bitter.

I kept my head down, mouth dry, chewing slowly to make the food last. The system only gave us one boiled potato per meal. My stomach growled, but Amma’s voice echoed in my mind: 'Don’t waste food, beta. Who knows what tomorrow brings?'

A chilly wind swept through the broken mandir where we sheltered. The cracked idols watched over us, their paint faded. Some huddled under thin shawls, shivering as the ceiling fan spun lazily overhead. The metallic clatter of a tiffin box closing sounded nearby, blending with the distant call of a chaiwala.

We went to sleep hungry and cold, concrete floor beneath us, fear heavier than hunger.

Next morning, the system’s electronic voice sliced through our dreams:

[There are currently 29 surviving strategy players. The bonus pool is 2 crore rupees.]

"What? Why one less?"

Someone’s voice trembled. The boys exchanged glances.

I opened WhatsApp and saw Ananya’s desperate messages:

[Bachao—It hurts—]

[Nawab is a psycho. We just slept together, and he chopped off my arms and legs, put me in a vase.]

[Help—help—. Save me, please—.]

The last photo showed Ananya, limbs severed, blood and tears streaming, beauty mark gouged out, flies buzzing. My hands trembled so badly I nearly dropped my phone. Sweat trickled down my upper lip as the oppressive mandir heat pressed in. The group chat was silent; everyone seemed to hold their breath.

Someone finally screamed, "Ah—!"

The group collapsed into panic—some covered their mouths, others stared at the wall in shock.

"Male lead? He’s a monster! Yeh kya ho raha hai?"

"System! Let us go home! I don’t want to raid anymore!"

But the system’s voice remained cold:

[All strategy players, life countdown has begun. Please begin your raid as soon as possible.]

In the chaos, Rohan climbed the altar and called out,

"Calm down, sab log! Don’t lose your heads. We still have 29 people. Even if the nawab is cruel, there’s still a chance."

The group slowly quieted, some dabbing tears from their eyes with their dupattas.

Priya, the monitor, frowned, "Did you see? The bonus increased. Yesterday it was 1 crore, now 2 crores. Does it go up every time someone dies?"

Rohan nodded, adjusting his glasses, "Yes. We need to stick together. United we stand, divided we fall. This 2 crores can be split—about 6.8 lakhs each. Don’t you all want to go home with that money?"

A girl hesitated, twisting her churidar’s hem, "So…what do we do now?"

Rohan replied, "From Ananya’s progress, getting close to the nawab earns points. Yesterday, I found out they’re recruiting maidservants and guards at the haveli. There are limited spots. Let’s draw lots to decide fairly."