Chapter Text
He woke up to the sound of violins.
The melody drifted through the air like something from a dream—soft, elegant, and deeply, deeply wrong. It wasn’t the kind of music you expected to wake up to, not when you’re last memory was a cold alleyway and the sting of a needle in your neck. Yet here it was, smooth and classical, rising in a slow crescendo.
Tommy kept his eyes shut for a moment longer, hoping, praying that this was some kind of bad dream. The kind where you wake up sweaty, grasping, and grateful that reality is still reality. But the stiff mattress beneath him was real. The scent of metal and old fabric was real. And the murmurs-whispers, gasps, someone cursing under their breath-was definitely real.
Tommy’s stomach twisted as he opened his eyes.
The ceiling stretched impossibly high, a pale, industrial white. The room itself was massive, a maze of metal bunk beds, stacked in rows like storage shelves, filled with people who looked just as lost as he felt. The first thing Tommy thought was that this place was ugly as hell. Where's the glamor, where's the wow factor? They didn't even get to keep their clothes either. Strangers in identical green tracksuits sat up, rubbing sleep from their eyes, glancing around in growing panic. Numbers—stitched white on their chests-marked them like inventory in a factory.
Tommy looked down. 007
He prayed they had his clothes somewhere. He was wearing his favorite red hoodie, and it was the last thing he had from his brother. She had burnt everything else of his.
Tommy shook his head, glancing around to clear his mind, anything to avoid thinking about that.
Luckily, there were easy distractions at every turn. Across the room, a boy with a shaved head was yelling out someone, cursing like sailor. An older man with blonde hair and a beard was sitting on the bed beside Tommy, and seeing his panic he gave him a small smile. Someone else—a man with soft pink hair tied in a braid and a long scar down his cheek—wasn't panicking at all. He just sat there, staring at the ceiling, lips slightly curled in what might just have been amusement.
Fucking weirdo.
People began to stand up, making their way down to the center of the room, and Tommy joined them, his body feeling like it was squished into a pancake then ran over 78 times. Strangers all around him walked to the center of the room, a large open space in the middle of the beds. He glanced around, trying to get a rough idea of how many people there were. 400? Maybe 500?
He stepped off the metal and onto solid ground, hearing the murmurs around him. No one knew where the fuck they were, and panic was rising. A man with black hair tucked under a blue beanie stepped past him, holding something in his hand that Tommy couldn’t make out. Tommy glanced back hesitantly, to see the anime pink-haired man from earlier still sat in his bed, looking at the crowd like a challenge he had to win.
They made eye contact for a moment, before Tommy broke it.
Then he saw him from across the room.
Short, brown hair, and innocent doe eyes. It had to be him, right? The boy turned, and the pair locked eyes for a moment.
“Tubbo?” He breathed out, glancing at his childhood best friend up and down with uncertainty. In an instant Tubbo had ran over, rushing Tommy with a hug. He gasped, not used to the feeling. Before he could blink, Tubbo had pulled away, awe in his eyes.
Tommy laughed, the feeling familiar, but cold. “You haven’t changed.”
“You have.” Tubbo mumbled, looking up at him. “Are you okay?”
Tommy blinked. “Are you? How did you manage to get in this place, Tubs? Your family always had enough to go around.”
Tubbo’s face fell, the previous joy and wonder gone in an instant. He tapped his foot, hiding his shaking hands behind him, and clearly thought for a moment, before answering.
“A lot has changed in the last couple years, huh?”
Well, no shit.
Before Tommy could answer, he heard yelling to his right and quickly turned. People were stepping back, forming a circle around two boys. The buzzcut from earlier, and a man with curly blonde hair and a wicked grin.
“You say that again to my face, prick.” Buzzcut said, not a hint of remorse in his tone. He had a thick British accent, and though he was much smaller in stature to the curly haired guy, he held his ground surprisingly well.
Curly-head scoffed, his green eyes looking at Buzzcut like prey. “What, are you scared of a little fight?”
Buzzcut, to his credit, didn’t flinch. “You’re in this shithole too, Dream, don’t act as if you’re above me.”
The guy—Dream, apparently—rolled his eyes. “Still on the defensive, I see.”
“Still picking fights you can’t win, I see.”
“You wanna bet?”
Suddenly the loud creaking of metal against metal came from one side of the room, catching everyone’s attention. Buzzcut still looked very wound up, but Dream (what kind of a name is ‘Dream’?) just scoffed and turned to face where the noise came from. Only one wall of the massive room was not taken up by the massive bed structures, and there was a short staircase in the wall leading to a sort-of stage, and a metal door behind it. There were two identical doors on either side of the stage, presumably bathrooms?
The doors swung open, and a dozen men walked out wearing matching pink jumpsuits and black belts, full covered and protected. They also had black masks, with squares or circles on them, similar to the notecard. In short, they looked like fucking idiots. The only thing that stopped Tommy from bursting out laughing was the tension in the room. He glanced around him, seeing most everybody looking forward with fear, or anger. Tubbo still stands beside him, giving him a little nod, but there’s undeniable terror in his eyes.
One of the jumpsuit men stepped forward, and Tommy could tell he had a powerful aura about him, probably some sort of leader? He spoke, though you couldn’t see his lips moving through the fuckass mask.
“I would like to extend a heartfelt welcome to you all.” He started, and not a single person moved. “Everyone here will participate in different games over six days, and those who win all six games will receive a handsome cash prize.”
Okay, this place was weird.
“What makes you think we’ll believe that?” Someone calls out, and Tommy and Tubbo both turn to see a man with black hair under a bright blue beanie that Tommy saw before, but this time his hands were empty, crossed against his chest as he leans against one of the bedposts. Another man next to him nods, with dark hair and brown eyes so dark they almost looked red. “He’s right, you assholes took all our stuff and basically kidnapped us, and now you’re saying we can only leave if we ‘play games’?”
“You expect us to believe that?” A third man finishes, with messy light brown hair and a strange look in his eyes.
A beat of silence. Everyone in the room seems to agree, nodding their heads and staring back at the pink guys.
The leader speaks again, “We reluctantly took all of those measures to maintain confidentiality as we brought you here. We will return everything once the games are over.”
Okay, this place was really fucking weird.
The beanie guy shrugged, while the dark haired man rolled his eyes and sat down on one of the beds.
Before Tommy could react, another person spoke up, and he turned to face them. It was a girl, with blond hair and some sort of pink highlights, around Tommy’s age or maybe a bit older.
“You all...” she started, tutting, “You all have those masks, why are you wearing those things?”
“We do not disclose the faces or any information about our staff to any participates. It’s a measure we take to ensure fair games and confidentiality. We-”
“I don’t trust anything you just said.” Dream spoke up, and Tommy saw Buzzcut mutter something under his breath. “You tricked us,” he continued, “kidnapped us, imprisoned us. And now you’re making excuses to not show your faces.” He smirked, “Give us one reason why we should believe anything you say.”
Fair, Tommy thought to himself.
“Player 001. Clayton Huff, Dream.” The masked man said, before pulling out a little black remote and pressing a button. He clicked a button and suddenly the room went dark, and a massive TV above the stage glowed with a video of Dream being slapped, and Tommy presumed he was playing the Ddakji. As the video played, the man spoke.
“Aged 24 years. Former team leader and high ranking official at Feral Industries. Stole money from his clients balances and then invested it in derivatives and failed. Current loss, 700 million won.”
Just then, another video played, of the pink haired girl being slapped. “301, Nikki Nihachu, 540 million in debt.”
Next, Buzzcut, “212, Jack Manifold, 1.04 billion in debt.”
He continued listing off each player who had spoken up, with beanie guy being called Alex Quackity, the dark haired man, Nicholas Sapnap, and the brunette, Karl Jacbobs.
Tommy swallowed and was glad he stayed quiet for once.
“Every person standing here in this room is living on the brink of financial ruin.” The man continued, and Tommy shared and wary look with Tubbo. “You all have debts that you can't pay off. When we first went to see each of you, not a single one of you trusted us, but as you all know, we played a game, and as we promised, gave you money when you won/ Suddenly, everyone here trusted us. You called and volunteered to participate in this game of your own free will. So, this is it. I’ll give you one last chance to choose.”
Nobody spoke.
This place, Tommy decided, was completely batshit insane.
“Will you go back to your old, hopeless lives, Or will you act and seize this last opportunity we’re offering here?”
Again, silence, and Tommy blinked.
“What kind of games are we playing here?” Karl asked, breaking the silence.
“We cannot disclose any information about the games ahead of time, to maintain confidentiality.”
Tommy narrowed his eyes, then thought, fuck it, and spoke up.
“If we win, just how much do we get?” As soon as he said it, all eyes turned to him. Tommy glanced at Tubbo, who was staring at him in shock, the three loud guys in the corner who nodded, and anime man who raised an eyebrow.
Without saying anything, the main pink man pulled out his remote and pressed something. Metal banged above them, and every person turned their eyes to the ceiling, where a hatch had opened, and some sort of carnival music had begun to play.
Okay, where the fuck was he?
A massive piggybank lowered from the ceiling, shining gold lights on everyone’s faces. It was made out of glass, hung by four ropes, and currently empty.
“Your prize money will be accumulated in there after every game.” The man said, “We will reveal the amount to everyone after the first game. If you do not wish to take part, please let us know at this time.”
For what felt like the hundredth time, nobody spoke.
Okay, one game, Tommy thought. He’d play one game and then get the fuck out of this circus. Get some cash, get away from his old life, and never see any of these people again.
Besides, how bad can one game truly be?