"The system isn't playing games," Kret muttered under his breath, eyes locked on the crimson mess staining the white floor.
The crowd had gone pale. Some were trembling. Others couldn't even speak.
Now, they all understood:
Desire wasn't a choice.
It was a curse—a parasite latching onto the soul.
You obey… or you die.
Then—static.
A low hum echoed from the ceiling. Everyone instinctively looked up. A speaker panel slid open from the sterile white surface.
A few seconds of silence.
Then a voice—gentle, unnervingly soft. Female. But artificial.
"Hello, everyone. Welcome to the Trial of the White Cells.
Each of you has been assigned a system—Desire.
The Desire System is designed to explore the depths of human craving.
Once a desire is detected, a quest will be issued.
You cannot decline unless you possess a rare Rejection Token.
Refusal without one will lead to… consequences, as demonstrated."
The crowd shivered.
"Meals will be provided three times a day. Participating in trials will grant you points, which may be exchanged via the System Merchant.
Each trial is designed with unique objectives to… keep you entertained."
Click.
The speaker vanished back into the ceiling.
No music. No fanfare.
Just dread.
"…Are we in some kind of game?" Art thought, scanning the room. Everyone else looked just as confused.
Suddenly, someone raised a hand.
An elderly man with a long, flowing beard and a tall, colorful pointy hat stepped forward. His cloak shimmered slightly, covered in arcane symbols.
He looked like a wizard straight out of a fantasy RPG.
"Ahem, young man," the old mage said, pointing to a man in a sleek, high-tech armored suit. "Might I ask—who is responsible for cleaning that poor soul's remains off the floor?"
The guy blinked behind his visor. "Huh? Me? The hell? I don't even know where I am!"
Art blinked. "What the actual fuck am I watching…"
Kret sighed, rubbing his temple. "Old man, you seem to be a mage, yes? You said earlier you're from the Circle of Glass or something?"
"Yes! Master Wizard of the 8th Circle. Graduated top of my class—"
"Then use magic or something. This system seems to blend all kinds of worlds—maybe your magic still works," Kret interrupted.
The mage raised a brow, then closed his eyes, focusing. His hand glowed faintly, swirling with pale blue particles.
Nothing happened.
"…Huh," the mage muttered. "It's like the mana here is… artificial. Filtered. Twisted."
Art crossed his arms, coldly watching the chaos unfold. "Different worlds… different systems… But one thing's clear."
He glanced toward the bloodstain still steaming on the floor.
"This place only cares about one thing: desire."
Just as the crowd began to settle into their uneasy silence—
Bzzt.
The speaker from the ceiling crackled to life again. The same soft, female voice echoed through the white chamber.
"Ah—one more thing I almost forgot.
As part of the fairness protocols in this trial, you are not permitted to use any abilities from your world.
This is to ensure an even playing field across all eras and dimensions.
However, you are free to use any weapons you currently possess—swords, guns, or other tools of your craft.
And yes, as some of you have guessed… you are indeed from different worlds and timelines.
We only take individuals classified as 'non-essential' to their original timelines—so as not to disrupt any major events."
Click.
The speaker vanished once again, leaving only silence.
Art stood still, his brows slightly furrowed, rubbing his chin.
"So… they're pulling people from multiple eras… but only the ones that don't matter?
Is it just Earth's timeline they're worried about… or all worlds at once?"
The thought left a bitter taste in his mouth.
Suddenly, a shadow fell over him.
A woman stepped into view—her clothes were barely hanging on. Laced corset, fishnet stockings, torn gloves… She looked like a prostitute from some distant, dirty kingdom.
She leaned forward with a sultry smile, voice low and teasing.
"Hey there, mister~"
Art turned his head. "Hm?"
"Mind helping me out with a… little Desire Quest~?" she whispered, her tone dripping with innuendo.
A small smirk curled at the edge of Art's lips.
"I suppose I could…"
Ding.
A message appeared in front of him.
[Welcome, Subject #017]
[Main Mission: Survive the Trials]
[Desire Detected: LUST]
[Desire Quest: Satisfy that bitch]
[Reward: +50 Desire Points]
Without another word, Art took her by the wrist and led her silently into one of the unoccupied white cells.
Meanwhile…
Outside, murmurs stirred among the other prisoners.
"Oh god, she's being so loud," one woman groaned, trying to plug her ears. "There's no way it's that good…"
A fat man nearby wiped sweat from his forehead. "Yeah, I'm calling it now. She's definitely faking it."
Ivana, sitting against the wall with her arms around her knees, blinked innocently. "I heard… when you do it with someone you love, it feels amazing. Maybe she's in love?"
"…Sure," Kret muttered, not even looking up.
After a while, the silence in the cells returned—broken only by the sound of heavy breathing and soft footsteps. Art adjusted his black necktie with a smirk, his suit wrinkled and slightly unbuttoned from the… activity. Behind him, the woman stumbled out of the cell, legs shaking, her cheeks flushed red with a mix of exertion and embarrassment.
"I-I think I'll stay here for a bit," she murmured, leaning against the wall. "I can't even walk straight…"
Art gave a faint chuckle, brushing back his sweat-dampened hair. "Suit yourself."
As he stepped back into the main hallway, the murmur of voices filled the space—conversations, debates, nerves beginning to fray. And then…
BZZZT.
The speaker embedded in the ceiling crackled to life. Instantly, silence fell. Everyone looked up.
The soft, synthetic female voice echoed once again:
"Hello, participants. It is now time to begin your first game. Welcome to Game 1: The Weight of Truth.
Objective:
You will be placed into groups of ten. Each of you must speak a personal truth from your past. Something real. Something raw.
Should you choose silence, deceit, or cowardice… the punishment will be waiting for you—on the table in the center.
The deeper your truth, the greater your reward. Desire Points will be distributed accordingly."
A mechanical whirring echoed through the chamber.
A section of the white wall hissed open.
Beyond it: a pitch-black corridor.
"Please enter."
Everyone turned toward it. No one moved at first.
The silence stretched like wire.
The bloodied corpse from earlier still lay nearby, headless, a grim reminder of what happened when someone didn't play by the system's rules.
Art cracked his neck, shoved his hands in his pockets, and walked forward without hesitation.
"This is gonna be fun," he muttered, disappearing into the darkness.
One by one, others followed—nervously, cautiously, some trembling as they stepped past the threshold. The air inside the hallway was colder. Heavier. As if even the shadows were watching.
They didn't know it yet—but this was only the beginning.