Chapter 2: Trust No One, Answer Fast

"There’s still a while before we reach the next stop. Let’s do another question."

His tone was casual, like a teacher moving on to the next problem. The disconnect made my skin crawl.

I grabbed my phone without thinking.

Even though there was no signal and no Wi-Fi, at that moment, another link appeared in the group chat.

The icon spun, loading for a split second, then snapped into focus. There was no escape.

Autumn and I exchanged a glance, then, hands trembling, we clicked it.

She reached for my hand, her fingers icy cold. I could see her chest rising and falling, breath coming in short gasps.

"How do you usually get around? A. Public transportation like buses or subways; B. Walking; C. Driving a private car; D. Other (please specify)."

The question felt surreal. I stared at the options, my mind blank. Was this some kind of twisted joke?

Autumn looked at me, her eyes full of fear.

She clung to my arm, her voice barely above a whisper. I’d never seen her so scared.

"What do we pick this time?"

Her lips quivered. She was looking to me for answers, but I had none.

I had nothing.

I steadied myself and stared at the barrage of new comments floating in midair.

The comments were back, faster than ever. My head spun as I tried to read them all.

"A whole livestream group picked public transportation and they all died."

The words were jagged, as if someone had typed them in a panic. My pulse raced.

My finger moved toward the walking option.

I hesitated, sweat beading on my forehead. Was there any safe answer?

But the next second, another comment popped up.

"Pick walking and you’ll die too."

The sense of doom closed in, like a vice tightening around my chest.

"Is this question unsolvable?"

Another rider muttered the words aloud, voice trembling. The hopelessness was contagious.

Watching the rapid-fire comments, I slumped helplessly in my seat.

I felt my shoulders sag. It was like drowning in a sea of bad advice.

My girlfriend looked at me, desperate for an answer. I shook my head, bitterness in my voice.

I couldn’t meet her eyes. My voice was hollow, drained of hope.

I felt empty.

"It’s pointless. No matter what we pick, we’re dead. There’s no way out."

She recoiled, her face crumpling. I hated myself for giving up, but I couldn’t lie to her.

"Why? Why do you say that?" Autumn stared at me, her eyes shining with a strange light.

She looked almost angry, as if my surrender was a personal betrayal.

I couldn’t blame her.

I shook my head, closed my eyes, and leaned back against the seat, unwilling to say another word.

The vinyl was cold against my head. I tried to block out the world, but the chaos kept bleeding in.

Everyone on the bus heard our conversation, fear written all over their faces.

People shifted in their seats, glancing nervously at one another. The air felt heavy. Stifling.

No one wanted to make a choice.

The silence stretched on, broken only by the hum of the engine and the occasional sniffle.

The old woman’s voice sounded again from the back.

She sounded annoyed, like a teacher fed up with her class.

"Isn’t this just about choosing a healthy way to travel? How can young people today not even understand that? Every generation gets worse."

Maybe she was right.

After she spoke, a few people seemed to relax a little.

A couple of riders nodded, as if reassured by her certainty. The mood shifted, just a little.

"Don’t listen to her!" I mustered my courage and stood up.

My voice came out louder than I expected, echoing through the bus. I could feel everyone’s eyes on me.

"Just now, everyone who picked the supposedly correct answer ended up under the bus. Think about how you’re still alive now!"

See for yourself.

I pointed to the empty seats, to the blood smeared on the windows. The evidence was right in front of us.

People who’d been about to make a choice hesitated again.

Fingers hovered over screens, indecision written on every face. The tension was a living thing, pulsing in the air.

The driver ignored everything happening in the bus, keeping his hands on the wheel.

He hummed a tuneless melody, tapping the steering wheel with one long finger. It was like we didn’t exist.

Suddenly, a line of red text appeared on my phone:

The letters were jagged, pulsing with urgency.

"Each question must be answered within five minutes. If not submitted in time, you are responsible for the consequences."

The bus erupted in panic.

People shouted, some crying, others cursing. The sense of dread was overwhelming.

Three minutes and seventeen seconds had already passed since the driver gave us the question.

The timer was almost halfway done.

If we waited any longer, we’d all die.

The realization hit me like a punch to the gut. There was no safety in waiting.

Just then, I noticed a man with glasses sitting on the bus. A blue light suddenly appeared above his head.

He was calm, almost serene, as if he’d been expecting this. The blue light glowed softly, casting strange shadows on his face.

He got it right!

Hope flared in my chest. Maybe there was a way out after all.

I quickly got up and hurried over to him.

I nearly tripped over my own feet, desperate to reach him before time ran out.

"Dude, how did you answer? Help us out!"

My voice was frantic, almost pleading. I grabbed the back of his seat, knuckles white.

The man looked at me.

He pushed his glasses up his nose, studying me with a calm intensity that was almost unnerving.

He held my gaze.

Even through his glasses, his gaze was so sharp it felt like it could pierce me.

He didn’t blink. For a second, I wondered if he was even real.

I was about to babble something else when he finally smiled.

His smile was small, but genuine. It made me trust him, despite everything.

"It’s simple. Just give an answer that makes sense, but that he didn’t anticipate."

He spoke softly, as if sharing a secret.

The words sank in slowly, like a riddle I almost understood.

"That’s it?" I couldn’t believe it.

My voice was disbelieving, but a flicker of hope sparked inside me.

"That’s it."

He nodded, eyes never leaving mine. I believed him. I had to.

I started to believe him.

I felt a strange calm settle over me. Maybe, just maybe, we could survive this.

Pattern.

Because as soon as he finished speaking, the barrage of comments vanished.

The silence was sudden, absolute. It felt like the eye of a storm.

Back on the first question, the comments glitched the moment I chose, too.

It was as if the bus itself was listening, waiting for us to understand.

As everyone relaxed, ready to brainstorm, the man with glasses spoke again, unhurriedly.

His voice was calm, almost bored. He looked at his phone, then back at me.

"But whoever submits the answer first is the only one who survives. If others submit the same answer afterward, they’ll die."

The moment he said that, the group that had been huddling together scattered instantly.

People leapt apart, clutching their phones like lifelines. Trust evaporated in a heartbeat.

Everyone watched each other warily, afraid someone would copy their answer.

Eyes darted from screen to screen. No one wanted to be the second to submit.

Autumn glanced at my screen and quickly copied my answer—"crawling"—onto her own phone.

Her fingers flew over the screen, her face set with determination. I barely had time to react.

Before I could react, she hit submit.

She looked at me, guilt flickering in her eyes, but she didn’t apologize.

"You… think of another one. I trust you."

Her voice was shaky, but there was resolve in her eyes. She squeezed my hand, just once.

She stared at the floor, biting her lip. I could tell she hated herself for what she’d done.

There was no time to argue; only 20 seconds left. I wanted to live!

Move.

The timer flashed red. My heart pounded in my ears. Survival instinct kicked in.

The fear of death pushed me to my limit. As the timer ticked down, I had a flash of inspiration and quickly typed:

"I live by the lake, so I swim to get around."

The words appeared on the screen. I hit submit just as the timer hit zero.

A deafening silence fell. The bus seemed to hold its breath, waiting.

The floor of the bus suddenly split open.

A jagged line ran down the aisle, the metal groaning. The air smelled of ozone and burnt rubber.

Something was tearing the world apart.

A few people with no light above their heads barely had time to scream before they dropped straight down.

Their cries were cut short as they vanished into the darkness below. The floor slammed shut behind them.

Finality.

I watched as the floor sealed up again, leaving no trace it had ever opened.

It was as if nothing had happened. The only evidence was the empty seats.