I burst through the door, lungs burning, heart hammering. The server room is a cathedral of humming metal, a maze of blinking lights and humming fans. My breath catches. Emily is there, her face half-lit, eyes darting. She's not alone—Professor Lee stands beside her, a gun in his palm, its cold barrel glinting. "Welcome," Lee whispers, voice low and cruel. "You're just in time to join the game." Emily steps forward, trembling. "I didn't mean to betray you," she says, voice breaking. Her words hang in the air, useless. My chest tightens. The lights flicker. Darkness swallows the room. A footstep echoes. Then a whisper, like a breath against my ear. "You'll never escape the truth." The lights sputter back. Emily's face is a mask of fear and guilt. Then the room goes black again, and I feel a hand—cold, calculated—clamp onto my chest. I try to push it away, but it's too strong. A voice, far too familiar, slides into my mind. "You should have stayed out of the competition." I don't know why I'm here. I was just supposed to code, not get caught in a murder plot. The server room hums, a steady drumbeat of data. The gun in Professor Lee's hand points straight at me. My mind races, code flashing across my vision, logic and panic colliding. Emily's eyes dart to the gun, then back to me. "I didn't know," she whispers. "I didn't mean—" The gun's barrel shivers. The room trembles. The humming fans grow louder. I see a line of code flickering on a screen, a message that wasn't there before. The text reads: "RUN". It wasn't my code. It was someone else's—someone who knows my every move. I try to think—what's my next move? The door to the corridor is ajar. The corridor outside is dark, the pipes groaning like ancient beasts. The footsteps behind me grow louder. I can feel the weight of the gun's cold barrel against my back. Suddenly, a shadow flickers behind me. I spin, heart slamming into my ribs. The gun's light catches something in the corner—an outline, a silhouette, a figure that looks like a student, but not. The figure steps forward, and the room feels colder. "Professor Lee?" I say, voice shaking. "What is this? Who's there?" The figure steps into the light. The gun falls to the floor. A second gun appears, one that wasn't there before, a second shooter. The second gun points straight at me. I freeze. My eyes widen. My mind is a whirl of panic and code. I can almost see the final line of my program, the one that will end the competition. But my body feels like it's made of glass. The second gun's barrel points at me, the cold metal humming. The second figure's eyes are a