NOVEL WEB Chapter 11: The Violet Maze
The prison loomed like a city turned inside out.
June walked with slow, even steps through the crowd of survivors, her purple cargo suit clinging to her skin like a second identity. Around her, thousands stumbled in a daze, whispering, weeping, shouting for answers that would never come.
She didn't speak.
She just watched.
Watched them panic.
Watched them cling to hope.
Watched them pretend this place made sense.
She passed a girl throwing up into a trash chute. A boy pounding his fists against a sleek metal wall, screaming for his mother. A man in his forties already haggling with a group of younger inmates, trying to form an alliance like this was a strategy game.
The corridor was wide, wide enough for a freeway and lined with shimmering walls that pulsed gently like breathing lungs. Neon veins ran through the floors and ceilings, casting the world in a cold violet glow.
Eventually, the corridor opened into something vast.
The Atrium.
It stretched beyond anything June could comprehend, a circular hall big enough to house a stadium, tiered like a coliseum with levels upon levels rising up and up, impossibly high. Hundreds, thousands of floors stacked like a spiral shell, each one lined with prison cells. Each cell had a glowing white number etched into the gate.
She looked up.
A massive digital screen hovered in the center of the void like a suspended moon. Red letters blazed across it...
1,000,000 Survivors Online
1,000 Games Remaining
June's breath caught.
That wasn't a scoreboard.
That was a countdown.
A million people now. A thousand games left. And only one person could win.
No second places.
No ties.
Just one.
Her gaze flicked to the floor. Engraved in smooth alloy, she saw her number again... 0099372. And ahead, her assigned cell, exactly matching it.
A machine at the end of the hall beeped and opened a thin compartment in the wall. A tray slid out. Inside were two gray nutrition bars, a folded blanket, and a cup of water sealed in hard plastic.
Welcome package.
Luxury.
She left it.
Instead, she turned, drawn by something else, movement and color.
Across the atrium, massive holo-signs lit up like advertisements in a capitalist hellscape.
GEAR & ARMORY
MEDICA
ARENA SIMULATION CHAMBER
CANTEEN
TRADE HUB
BARBERSHOP and Hairdresser (Someone had already spray-painted "WTF" on it.)
It was a market.
A damn shopping district.
June's boots echoed as she stepped across the polished floor, moving past desperate survivors begging traders for help, or flashing wristbands that probably stored token balances.
And there, the shops.
Inside the Weapon Store, sleek alien-looking blades and plasma rifles glowed in their cases. Behind the reinforced glass, she saw serrated daggers, impact grenades, weighted gauntlets. A gun that looked like it could vaporize bone.
Above them, a red sign.
"ALL PURCHASES FINAL. KILL RESPONSIBLY."
The message wasn't a joke.
The gods didn't want just games.
They wanted death.
They wanted blood.
They wanted them to fight, not just in arenas but here. Outside. Anywhere. All the time.
She turned and saw another shop, Medica.
Inside, glowing vials in all shades of blue and green sat on illuminated shelves. Labels floated in holographic script:
Regrowth Serum - 150 Tokens
Tissue Mend Kit - 60 Tokens
Painkillers (High Grade) - 30 Tokens
Resuscitation? -"NOT AVAILABLE. THE DEAD REMAIN DEAD."
So that was the game.
They gave you tools.
Not safety.
Not mercy.
Just hope twisted into capital.
And every ounce of survival you bought was purchased with blood.
Your own, or someone else's.
June stared at it all. Her brain buzzed, not from fear, but from cold, precise calculation. It was like someone had plugged her into a puzzle box and left the lid open.
She didn't panic.
She mapped.
A thousand games. One million players. The vast majority would die in the first few rounds. That was math. That was guaranteed.
But there were rules.
Hard rules.
If you cheat, you die.
If you're late to curfew, you die.
If you run, you die.
If you lose… you're forgotten.
It was brutal.
But logical.
A system of artificial fairness balanced by artificial cruelty.
She was smart enough to see the framework behind the chaos. They wanted killing but controlled killing. Murder inside a game? Fine. Murder outside? Still fine. But disobedience? That was the true sin.
She stood there, hands in her pockets, staring at the Medica display.
Those healing serums could mean everything. Fix a leg. Seal a gut wound. Give someone just enough edge to crawl away.
But not enough to bring anyone back.
Never enough for that.
Around her, the crowd kept moving. Arguments broke out near the trade hub. Someone was dragged away by two guards made of shadow and silver, no weapons in sight, just presence. The person they took didn't even resist. He just wept.
Then...
A voice boomed through the atrium, from all directions at once.
"ATTENTION SURVIVORS. CURFEW IS AT 20:00 SHARP."
"FAILURE TO BE IN YOUR DESIGNATED CELL WILL RESULT IN ERASURE."
"YOU HAVE TWO HOURS REMAINING."
Everyone froze.
Some sprinted for their levels. Some ignored it. Some laughed nervously, assuming it was a bluff.
But June didn't.
She didn't assume anything here.
She turned away from the shops and made her way back toward her cell.
Not because she was scared.
Because it was smart.
June turned from the Medica display and headed back toward the residential tiers, her mind still spinning with the twisted mechanics of this place.
That's when she collided with someone.
Hard.
She stumbled backward and hit the cold alloy floor with a grunt.
"Whoa, sorry..." came a voice above her, oddly cheerful for a place like this.
June looked up.
The guy standing over her had a sharp black mohawk, shoulders inked with twisting tattoos that ran down his arms and disappeared beneath his prison uniform. He was grinning. Not cruelly. Not mockingly.
Just... happy.
He offered a hand. "You good?"
June hesitated, then took it.
His grip was firm. Warm.
"You South African?" he asked, squinting at her like he already knew.
June blinked. "Yeah. Mixed."
His grin widened. "No ways. Me too. South African. Mixed."
She noticed his number as he helped her up, 0099373. Just one after hers.
"So your cell's next to mine," she muttered.
"Looks like it," he said with a nod. "Name's Miguel."
"June."
"Well, June, I'm not tryna get erased on my first day," he chuckled. "So I'll catch you later, yeah?"
He gave a friendly salute, turned, and jogged off toward the direction of the cells.
She watched him go, expression unreadable. He looked around her age. Maybe a year older. Maybe a few more scars inside.
Then she continued walking, alone.
But the hallway ahead wasn't empty.
Three men leaned casually against the wall. Thugs. You could see it in their eyes. The way they watched her approach. Like vultures waiting for a limp in the walk.
She kept moving, tried to pass without looking at them.
One stuck out his arm.
She tried to step around.
Another shoved her, hard. She hit the floor again, hands scraping against the cold metal.
"Look at this one," one of them sneered. "Not much, but she'll do."
Boots circled her. Someone crouched down. Grabbed her by the collar.
"Not even pretty. But desperate times, huh?"
He reached for her belt.
June didn't move.
Didn't scream.
Didn't resist.
She just lay there.
Eyes unfocused.
Heart rate steady.
She didn't care. Not anymore. Let them. Let the system chew her up and spit her out.
But then...
CRACK.
A fist slammed into the thug's jaw. The sound of it echoed off the walls like thunder.
The man toppled backward, slamming into the wall with a wheeze.
June blinked.
Miguel.
His chest was rising and falling like a drum. His fists clenched.
"A gentleman," he said calmly, "never puts hands on a lady without her permission."
He stood between her and them like a wall.
The other two thugs lunged at him.
Fists flew.
June didn't move.
She just watched.
Watched them beat him to the ground. One kicked him in the ribs. Another stomped on his back.
He didn't fight back.
Not after the first punch.
Not really.
But June saw it.
The way that first strike landed. Precision. Form. Power.
That wasn't luck.
Miguel could fight.
He chose not to.
She narrowed her eyes, analyzing him through the chaos.
Superhero complex. Stupid. Noble. Dangerous.
Then, a new sound cut through the violence...
"CURFEW COUNTDOWN: SIXTY SECONDS."
The thugs froze.
One of them hissed, "Shit, shit, go, go!"
They scattered, running off into the maze of levels.
Miguel lay there, bloodied, coughing.
He laughed bitterly. "This place is vibes, hey?"
June stood. Dusted herself off.
Miguel rolled onto his side. "I don't know where my cell is... I'm gonna be erased."
June looked down at him, emotionless. "You're 0099373."
He blinked. "Yeah?"
She turned, already walking. "Mine's 372. Ours are side by side. Try not to die on the way."
Miguel grunted and limped after her, holding his ribs.
Each step was pain.
June didn't slow.
Didn't look back.
She didn't owe him anything.
But she didn't leave him either.
They reached their tier, Level 372, just as the final countdown rang through the halls:
"TEN."
"NINE."
"EIGHT."
Their cells glowed in sequence. 0099372. 0099373.
June stepped into hers.
Miguel stumbled into his and collapsed face-first onto the bunk.
"ONE."
The doors slammed shut.
Locks hissed. Lights dimmed.
Inside her cell, June looked around. One bunk. One bathroom. One basin. One tiny shower in the corner. All sterile steel and silence.
Through the wall, she could hear Miguel breathing raggedly.
A faint "Ow."
Then, the gods spoke.
Not through speakers.
Through everything.
"Six survivors failed to return to their cells by curfew."
Their voices echoed in layers again, divine and cold.
"They will now be erased."
A sound like a blade sliding through the atmosphere cut through the silence.
Then...
Screams.
Not fast. Not clean.
It went on for minutes.
Echoes of horror bouncing through the tiers. Wails that bent into insanity.
One after another.
Until silence fell again.
Above the atrium, the giant screen updated.
999,994 Survivors Online.
1,000 Games Remaining.
June sat on her bunk.
Eyes hollow.
Hands still.
The six were gone. Not dead. Gone.
Erased.
Miguel coughed again from his cell. "Well... that was intense."
No answer from June.
She just stared at the ceiling.
The games hadn't even started yet.
And already the killing had begun.