THE BROKEN DREAMS

Fred leaned against the cold concrete wall, heart hammering, sweat dripping from his forehead.

His shoulder throbbed where the tall boy had punched him.

His ribs ached.

Every inch of his body screamed at him to stop, to rest.

But Shelter 6 didn't care if he was tired.

Shelter 6 didn't care if he bled.

It demanded one thing:

Survival.

Fred wiped the blood from his lip with the back of his hand.

He stood up, every movement stiff and painful, and limped forward.

The hallway stretched ahead, dimly lit and lined with rusted metal doors.

At the end, a heavy steel door waited, bigger than the others.

Painted above it in faded, peeling letters was one word:

> SACRIFICE.

Fred's stomach twisted.

He walked toward it, step after painful step.

There was no turning back now.

---

The steel door opened with a groan that echoed down the hallway.

Fred stepped inside.

The room was massive — a circular arena of sorts, with high concrete walls and a ceiling lost in darkness.

Bright spotlights flickered to life, blinding him for a moment.

In the center of the room stood a large cage.

Inside the cage were three people.

Fred's heart clenched when he saw them.

They were teenagers like him — filthy, bruised, terrified.

A boy with a broken arm.

A girl whose face was swollen from beatings.

A small kid, maybe twelve, shivering and coughing violently.

All of them wore chains around their ankles.

All of them stared at Fred with wide, desperate eyes.

A loudspeaker crackled overhead.

The mechanical voice returned:

> "You want to advance?"

> "You want to survive?"

> "You must make a choice."

Fred swallowed hard, fists clenching at his sides.

> "Only one key exists."

> "Only one will walk free."

A panel slid open in the floor, and from it rose a small pedestal.

On the pedestal:

A single iron key.

Fred stared at it.

The voice continued:

> "Free one. Leave the others behind."

> "If you refuse... all three will die."

> "Choose."

The speaker clicked off.

Silence filled the arena.

Fred's mind raced.

Save one.

Doom the others.

Or refuse — and watch them all die.

His throat tightened.

He looked at them — these strangers, these victims — and felt a cold, sick weight settle in his chest.

This wasn't fair.

None of this was fair.

But fair didn't matter here.

Only survival.

Only choice.

Only sacrifice.

---

The three prisoners began shouting, pleading, begging:

> "Please! Save me! Please, man! I've got a little sister!"

> "No, me! I-I can help you! I swear!"

> "I don't wanna die! Please! PLEASE!"

Fred pressed his palms against his temples, trying to think.

Trying to block out their voices.

But the guilt... the terror... was too loud.

If he did nothing, all three would die.

If he chose, two would die — and he would be the executioner.

He was seventeen.

He wasn't supposed to have this kind of blood on his hands.

But this was Shelter 6.

In here, you either carried guilt...

Or you carried a corpse.

Fred's breathing grew ragged.

His vision blurred.

Was there a trick?

A loophole?

He scanned the room desperately.

Nothing.

No hidden weapons.

No second keys.

No tools.

Just the cage.

The key.

And the ticking of a hidden clock.

He had minutes — maybe seconds — before the trap closed.

Fred staggered to the pedestal.

His hand hovered over the key.

Sweat dripped from his forehead.

They were still screaming, still crying, still begging.

The small boy's voice cracked, high and raw:

> "I don't wanna die! I wanna see my mom again!"

Fred's vision swam.

His knees nearly buckled.

But he forced himself to move.

He grabbed the key.

It was cold. Heavy.

The choice was real.

Final.

He stumbled to the cage.

The three prisoners reached through the bars, hands grasping, pleading.

Fred locked eyes with the girl — maybe sixteen, face bruised, eyes burning with desperate hope.

Then the boy with the broken arm, tears streaming down his face.

Then the small kid, coughing, shaking so hard he could barely stand.

Fred's hands trembled.

He felt like he was going to throw up.

Then — without giving himself time to think — he shoved the key into the lock closest to the small boy.

Click.

The chain fell away.

The boy collapsed onto the floor, sobbing.

Fred yanked him to his feet and dragged him out of the cage just as the trap sprang shut.

The cage door slammed down, trapping the others inside.

The spotlights shifted.

The girl and the older boy pounded on the bars, screaming.

Screaming for Fred.

Screaming at Fred.

Screaming because of Fred.

But it was too late.

The mechanical voice returned:

> "Sacrifice accepted."

> "Proceed."

A second door opened across the arena.

Fred staggered toward it, dragging the half-conscious small boy with him.

He didn't look back.

He couldn't.

If he did...

He might not have the strength to keep walking.

--

They stumbled into another hallway, narrower, darker.

The boy coughed violently, clutching Fred's arm.

Fred knelt, helping him sit against the wall.

The boy whispered:

> "T-thank you... thank you..."

Fred couldn't answer.

His throat was raw.

His heart was hollow.

He had survived the second trial.

But a part of him had died back there in that arena.

A part of him he might never get back.

---