Previously On Captivity...

Amidst the chaos of Level 5, the corridor has turned into a battlefield — a suffocating prison of shrieks, steam, and rising water. Lumin’s desperate bike crashes against the reinforced exit door leave him battered and bleeding, yet with every collision, the cracks on the metal grow.

While the beasts hiss and claw, Awandea, Anex, Caleb and dozens of players form a watery defense line with enchanted hoses, keeping the monsters at bay. Coordination replaces panic. No new deaths. But the pressure mounts — quite literally.

Lumin’s last impact nearly kills him, launching him into the flooded floor as the cooldown timer on his Luminous Bike locks him into a dreaded five-minute wait. Demnin yells, tension boils, and players scream for action. But Lumin can barely speak. Still, he rises. Screams. Declares he will do this.

And as they wait for the cooldown to reset, the water creeps higher.

Children like Haru and Nia tremble behind older players — kids no older than seven, trapped in what was supposed to be a game. Asahi, just thirteen himself, stands guard with a smile that hides fear, blasting beasts away to protect the ones too small to fight.

The door still stands. The clock ticks. And all hope now rides on a blood-soaked bike, a cracked helmet, and a boy who refuses to fall.

ESCAPE THE HALL LV.5
OVERSPILL

In the Real World
Tokyo, Shinjuku, Japan

The hum of the city outside Rui’s high-rise office was faint through the thick soundproofed windows, replaced by the low whirr of the air conditioning and the occasional creak of leather as Rui spun slowly in his chair. He lounged back lazily, legs crossed, absently flapping a folded document in his hand like a paper fan.

The sleek, minimalistic office around him glowed with muted whites and polished blacks. A single desk lamp cast a golden circle over the glossy surface of his table, where files lay stacked in organized chaos. Several screens lined the walls behind him, all dark for now — silent observers to his thoughts.

He sighed and glanced up at the ceiling, the fan-flutter of paper steady in his grip.

The door creaked open without a knock.

A tall man stepped in, dressed in a tailored black three-piece suit that fit so well it seemed painted onto him. His mouth was hidden behind a sleek black mask, and his eyes were concealed by dark sunglasses despite the indoor lighting.

He shut the door behind him with a quiet click.

“Sir,” the man said, his tone sharp, efficient — always clipped at the edges like he was on a time crunch. “We’ve found something.”

Rui stopped swaying the paper.

The man continued. “There are five children, all admitted to different hospitals within Tokyo. All roughly the same age. All admitted on the same night — just hours apart.”

Rui straightened slightly, his gaze sharpening.

“They’re in comatose states, though none of the hospitals have officially labeled it as such,” the man added, stepping forward and placing a slim tablet on the desk. “But i need to know why we are looking into this, sir.” Rui didn't reach for it.

Instead, he stood up with a rustle of his white overcoat and turned his back to the man, reaching for the small glass bowl on a nearby shelf. He picked out a lollipop, unwrapped it slowly, then popped it into his mouth. He savored the silence for a second.

“Hm,” he hummed, eyes distant. “My sister’s child...”

He trailed off.

The man raised an eyebrow behind his sunglasses. “What about your sister’s son?” he asked, folding his arms casually, though curiosity edged his voice.

Rui didn’t turn around.

“Babe,” he said, smirking slightly, “let’s mind our own business, shall we?”

There was a heavy pause. The man rolled his eyes behind the glasses — Rui could feel it even if he didn’t see it.

“Sure,” the man replied dryly, spinning on his heel and heading for the door. “Keep your family drama to yourself, then.”

The door shut behind him with a deliberate thud.

Rui exhaled slowly, his smirk fading.

He turned back to face the empty room, gaze drifting toward the ceiling tiles as the lollipop rolled against his cheek.

“…Kiyoshi,” he murmured.

The name tasted bittersweet.

His nephew.

His sister’s only child.

Just eight years old.

Kiyoshi had always been bright — too bright, maybe. Obsessed with puzzles, computers, games. A curious little mind with a gentle spirit. But lately, something had shifted.

It started small — moments you could brush off.

A longer stare at the monitor.

A session of playing online games turning into hours of silence in front of the screen.

Then, slowly, Kiyoshi began to sit motionless in front of the computer — not playing, not typing. Just watching. Eyes wide, unmoving. Sometimes in the middle of the night, his mother would find him sitting upright in the dark, lit only by the faint blue screen glow, hands folded neatly on his lap as if waiting for something.

It wasn’t a phase.

Rui remembered how panicked his sister sounded on the phone. “It’s like he’s there… but not really. He doesn’t respond for minutes sometimes. And then he just… blinks and acts normal again. I don’t know what to do, Rui. Please look into it.”

And he had.

He pulled every string he could. Dug through school reports. Monitored home security feeds. Investigated the board games, searched the computers, reviewed his online activity.

Nothing.

Kiyoshi was a textbook case of a well-behaved child. He went to school. Came home. Did his homework. Played board games. Squealed in delight at snacks. Studied more. Ate dinner. Slept.

Perfect routine.

Perfectly… ordinary.

And yet, something had pulled him into that silence. Into that void.

Rui let the lollipop shift slightly, the candy now just a pebble between his molars.

He didn’t believe in coincidences. Not when five unrelated children slipped into medical states no one could explain.

Not when one of them… was Kiyoshi.

He turned slowly, picking up the tablet the man had left behind. The screen lit up as he tapped it, revealing hospital files, timestamps, vitals, MRI scans.

A pattern.

There was always a pattern.

And Rui would find it — even if he had to dive into the unknown to drag Kiyoshi back out.

Rui still remembered the moment the case landed on his desk.

It had arrived without drama — just a slim file tossed onto his already cluttered workspace, stamped with red ink and the words URGENT: MISSING CHILDREN CASE. He had taken it in stride, sighing as he reached for it like it was just another oddity in a long string of strange assignments.

But what followed wasn’t normal.

Children had vanished from their homes in the dead of night — with no evidence of break-ins, no witness accounts, not even security footage showing them leave. Just… gone. No clues. No calls for ransom. No bodies. And no blood.

And then — just as quickly — they reappeared. Each one found near their homes the following evening, seemingly unharmed. No bruises. No signs of trauma. Nothing but vague confusion and exhaustion.

When Rui took over the case and started making calls, the reports started pouring in.

The kids had come back. All of them.

Some called it a miracle.

Others whispered about Rui like he was a genius investigator — a man who solved the unsolvable in record time. His name was praised. Applauded.

But the truth?

Rui had done nothing. He hadn’t even begun the investigation when the children were already standing at their doorsteps again.

And he hated that. The false credit. The lack of answers.

He had looked into it for days.

What linked them? Where had they gone? How could they vanish without a trace and return as if nothing happened?

There was only one common detail.

Captivity.

A board game. Just an ordinary-looking one — or so it seemed. Every child involved had it at home. Every single one.

The same box.

But no explanation.

Not even Rui, with all his connections, surveillance access, and digital tracking tools, could trace anything beyond that.

He'd stare at the reports until his eyes burned, trying to fit a puzzle that refused to take shape. Even Kiyoshi — his own nephew — had started behaving strangely ever since that game entered their lives.

“Hah… my brain will explode…” he muttered, dropping himself heavily into his chair again, hands dragging down his face as he leaned back and stared at the ceiling like it had answers.

That was when his phone buzzed on the table beside him.

He blinked. Groaned.

Snatched it lazily without checking the caller ID.

“Yeah?”

“Rui,” a familiar voice chirped.

He paused.

“Ah. Kaori? What is this all of a sudden?” he said, swiveling slightly in his chair with a soft sigh, eyes narrowing.

His tone was casual.

But inside, something churned.

Back in the Game: Captivity

Preliminary Rounds
Round One
Level Five: HUNT BEAST
Time Remaining: 160 minutes
Obstacle: Beasts
Reward: Hunted Beast Powers
Penalty: DEATH

Only twenty minutes had passed.

But it felt like days.

Lumin’s lungs burned as he gasped inside the helmet, his arms trembling from the weight of exhaustion. He leaned forward on the Luminous Bike, one hand gripping the handlebar, the other pressing against his ribs where bruises throbbed with every breath.

The door stood ahead, dented and cracked — but still standing.

And behind him?

Chaos.

“OH MY GOD, NOW WHAT?!” Akio’s panicked voice tore through the air, raw and sharp.

Lumin turned his head just enough to glance back.

Akio’s water hose — which had been blasting at a moderate stream only seconds ago — had gone berserk. The magical nozzle bucked in his hands, spraying torrents of water like a broken dam. The force of it nearly knocked him backward.

“What the hell—?!” Akio yelped, struggling to hold it down.

Beside him, Asahi tried to speak, one hand raised toward Akio — but before he could get a word out, his own hose began to writhe in his grip like a living serpent.

“Ah—wait—!” he grunted, both hands now gripping the hose with all his strength.

Water erupted out violently, soaking the area around him in seconds. The noise was deafening.

Behind him, little Haru stood frozen, his tiny fists clinging to Asahi’s pants. His eyes, wide with terror, filled with tears as he looked between the older boys.

He didn’t understand what was happening.

He just saw the fear in their eyes — and that was enough to break him.

Tears slid down his cheeks. “Asahi… I’m scared…”

Elsewhere in the hall, the others began to realize it too.

“What the hell is going on?!” Anex snarled, trying to steady her own out-of-control hose. It thrashed in her hands like it was possessed, water bursting out in a crashing stream.

All around, every single player’s hose began to malfunction.

One by one, each weapon they had purchased from the shop now erupted in violent sprays. Water splattered across the walls and ceiling. Steam hissed as it met beast flesh. The roaring shrieks of monsters still echoed through the wet chaos, but it was getting harder to hear anything now.

Everyone was panicking.

“Turn it off!!” someone shouted. “I can’t—!”

“It won’t stop—!!”

“Aaah—shit, shit—!”

The players stumbled around, slipping, choking on their own fear. Some tripped into the rising water. Some screamed as beasts lunged from vents or walls, splashing through the chaos. Most just stood frozen, their hoses gushing torrents they couldn’t stop.

Amid them all, only the children — those under ten — Aadam, and the injured Jackson were without hoses.

Aadam still had Jackson hoisted on his back, the boy’s head lolling against his shoulder. He kept glancing around, wild-eyed, trying to assess the situation.

But even he didn’t know what was happening.

None of them did.

Awandea stood in the center of the storm, frozen for a second as her own hose twisted in her hands, spraying water across the ceiling uncontrollably.

“What…what is going on…” she whispered, almost to herself.

Then her gaze dropped.

And her heart froze.

The water had risen.

Far faster than it should have.

Far too fast.

“Uh…guys…” she said, voice low at first.

No one heard her. The room was full of shouting, crashing water, beasts snarling in agony. No one listened.

So she screamed.

“GUYS!!! THE WATER LEVEL!! WE’LL DROWN AT THIS RATE!!”

Her voice cut through the panic like a whip.

Even Lumin flinched, still on the bike, still trembling — but his head snapped up at her scream. His gaze dropped to the floor.

The water was up to mid-shin now. Swirling. Cold.

Too high.

Too fast.

The players turned, stunned, glancing at their feet.

“Oh god…” someone whispered.

“Oh shit—oh shit—” another player dropped their hose, backing away from the spreading flood.

The enchanted hoses were overflowing. Glitching. Uncontrolled.

What was supposed to be their salvation…

Was about to become their tomb.

And the door?

Still standing.

Still closed.

Lumin tightened his grip on the bike, jaw clenched behind the helmet. His muscles trembled. The engine revved beneath him.

Because he only had one more chance to break that door down.

And now — the clock wasn’t just ticking.

It was drowning them.