Mark and Nick strolled into the gaming lounge, neon lights flickering above as the hum of consoles and the distant sound of button mashing filled the air.
It was their usual spot for unwinding after school, where time slipped away in the glow of digital worlds.
"Are we gonna rot here today?" Mark asked, boredom creeping into his voice as they settled into their usual spot.
"Patience young padawan" Nick responded mildly focused.
"The game froze, you need to restart it."
"I'm doing something," Nick replied lazily, his eyes glued to the screen as he started up a game. Mark crossed his arms, his eyebrows raised.
"I found my pen!" Nick added, clearly proud of the trivial achievement.
"And why do you need a pen?" Mark shot back, half-amused.
"How would I do my homework without it?" Nick mumbled, distracted.
"Dude, we've been here an hour, and you're already wasted," Mark laughed, noticing how sluggish Nick was acting.
"I just had something to get me up, just a notch."
"Well, it's clearly not working."
"Maybe I should take some more?"
"You idiot. Just sit still, please."
"Does Tina know you're with me? Hm? Who's idiot now?" Nick was just spouting nonsense.
Mark just rolled his eyes.
Nick, grinning, rolled back into his chair, fumbling with the controller. "I think I'm safe, you know. Yeah, yeah."
Mark shook his head, trying to focus on the game, but something about the atmosphere felt off. The gaming lounge was always a safe space, but tonight, something felt different.
"Am I safe though?" Nick suddenly asked, his voice quieter now, barely a mumble.
"You're safe. You're safe." Mark replied distractedly, his eyes flicking between the game and his friend.
"I count on you, so he can't hurt me," Nick continued, slurring slightly. "Like he hurt Gene."
Mark froze at the mention of Gene. "What are you talking about? Gene fell."
"Laura saw him too" Nick responded
"Who?"
But Nick didn't respond. His head lolled back, eyes shut, as if he'd fallen into a deep sleep.
Mark tried to wake him up but it was no use. *What the fuck did he just say?*
Nick's phone buzzed, pulling Mark from the unsettling silence. Mark looked at Nick, he was still asleep so he glanced at the screen.
*Snitches get stitches.*
The message was from Nick. Confused, Mark glanced at his friend, who was clearly out of it. Another message arrived.
*Right, Mark?*
A cold shiver ran down his spine. He stood up, scanning the lounge. Everyone seemed normal—kids absorbed in their games, the low chatter of casual conversations—but now Mark's heart was racing.
Nick's phone buzzed again.
*Watch out!*
Suddenly, a girl bumped into him, knocking over a soda, the liquid splashing onto his shirt.
"Oh, sorry!" she said, wide-eyed. Mark barely registered her apology.
Another message popped up.
*Color looks good on you, just how I imagined it.*
Mark's blood ran cold. He looked around wildly. Who was sending these messages? Why him?
An eerie sense of dread crept over him. He had to get out of here. "Nick, wake up!" he shook his friend, but Nick barely stirred, mumbling incoherently.
Mark tried to ignore the rising panic, heading toward the counter to pay for their time. The worker—a guy who was always there, tall, scruffy, with a constant smirk—should've been behind the counter. But when Mark reached it, there was no one.
"Hey, anyone here?" Mark called out. No response.
He leaned over the counter, looking around. The worker's chair was empty. Odd. The guy was never gone, always sitting there playing on his phone or watching the customers.
Mark's phone buzzed again.
*Looking for someone?*
Mark's pulse quickened. He shoved the phone back into his pocket, nerves on edge. He glanced at the back of the lounge, where the storage rooms and broom closets were. Maybe the worker had stepped away briefly.
Mark walked slowly toward the back, the dim lights casting long shadows. His footsteps echoed in the quiet hallway, the noise of the lounge fading behind him. He reached the door to the supply closet and hesitated. Something about this didn't feel right.
He reached for the handle, his fingers trembling as he pulled the door open.
The body of the worker tumbled out, lifeless, collapsing against Mark's legs. His eyes were wide open, a grotesque expression of shock frozen on his face.
Mark staggered back, gasping, barely holding back a scream. His phone buzzed once more in his pocket, but he didn't dare check it.
Fear gripped him, his mind racing as the dark realization settled in: the game was over. Someone was watching, and Mark was next.
