Kevalina had laughed when she signed the terms and conditions.
“You may be asked to make a choice.”
What kind of weird clause was that for a clothing store receipt? Still, the dress was too perfect to pass up. An emerald green wrap silk dress, soft fabric that fell just right, and 80% off at a boutique she stumbled upon called Choice. It felt like fate. She joked about it with the cashier, who only smiled politely “It is not that easy, you’ll see” and handed her the receipt.
The next day, she received a message:
“Congratulations! You’ve been selected for a private gift reveal. You have 24 hours to claim it.”
Kevalina loved surprises. She loved mystery. She thought maybe she’d won a voyage, a voucher, or another ridiculous discount. Something small to make a great day even better.
She stepped into the shop again, greeted by a different woman this time. The attendant simply gestured toward the back room and said, “You can head to the back room to make a choice. You can place your smartphone in the safe here.”
“Can’t I keep it?” Kevalina asked.
“Your choice,” the woman replied with a slight smile.
She kept it.
But once inside, she realized there was no network. No signal. Nothing but silence.
The door closed behind her with a click.
Kevalina reached out to switch on the light, there wasn’t one. No light switch. No fixtures. Just the dim glow from the overhead panel. No mirrors, no clothes, no dress waiting on a pedestal like she expected.
The room was empty.
Still in good spirits, she called out, half-laughing, “Hello? Little help here?”
Silence.
She called again, louder this time. Nothing.
Her voice echoed faintly against the sterile walls. No reply. No footsteps. The woman outside didn’t answer.
Her smile faded, just a little.
No mirrors. No clothes. No lights except for one overhead panel and a screen on the wall. A low hum vibrated in the silence. She turned back, tried the doorknob. Locked.
Then the screen lit up. Two live camera feeds appeared. One showed five children, aged around 8 to 12, huddled together. The other showed ten adults, their ages labeled only as 22 to 78.
Beneath the screen, a small drawer slid open with a mechanical click. Inside was a printed copy of the terms and conditions she had signed at the boutique. Neatly highlighted was Clause 23.
A second sheet followed:
“With reference to Clause 23, you are hereby requested to make a choice. The choice is : Choose to save either Group A: 5 children aged 8 to 12, or Group B: 10 adults aged 22 to 78. Your decision must be final. You have 24 hours.” The images were distorted blurred faces, slightly warped movements. The audio was worse. Their voices came through as static, barely human.
Only Kevalina could be heard but she did not know it.
A robotic voice echoed through the room:
“You have 24 hours to decide which group lives. The other will not. If no decision is made by the deadline, you will be sentenced to complete isolation in a timeless prison.”
Her stomach twisted slightly but she didn’t flinch.
She blinked. Stared at the red digital numbers.
23:59:41
Then, she glanced up at the ceiling camera and exhaled a soft scoff.
“What the fuck,” she muttered.
No panic. No screaming.
She stood there for a moment, arms folded loosely, eyes scanning the bland white walls. She gave a small shrug and started to walk slowly around the room, five, maybe six steps from one wall to the next. Paced. Turned. Paced again.
Every now and then, she looked back at the screen with the blurred faces and the looping, distorted video.
The kids. The adults. The fake-sounding voices.
It looked staged. She wasn’t even sure the people were real. The whole thing could be AI. Actors. A prank show. A sick marketing campaign. Who knew anymore?
She sat on the floor, leaned back on her hands, and stared lazily at the camera.
“Very immersive,” she said flatly. “Next time maybe get better actors.”
The clock ticked.
23:55:07
And so she waited. Calm. A little bored. Mildly curious.
Not yet aware that the joke wouldn’t end.
Not yet aware the decision was real.
Eventually, she pulled out her phone. 98% battery. No signal.
She tried toggling airplane mode. Nothing. Opened her browser. Nothing loaded. WhatsApp spun endlessly. She opened the WiFi menu. There was one signal available: CHOICE-GUEST.
She tapped it. It asked for a password.
She rolled her eyes. She didn’t think it would work. Didn’t think it would actually be that. But she typed it in anyway. “Obviously… choice.”
She typed it in. It connected.
But still—no sites loaded. No messages sent. She tapped around in frustration, and a small notification appeared across the top of her screen:
“Thank you for providing your personal information. It will be kept and used in due course.”
Kevalina froze.
“What the motherfucking fuck?!” she hissed.
She scrambled over to the drawer and grabbed the terms and conditions again, this time scanning it line by line.
There it was, near the bottom in faint gray ink:
“By connecting to our WiFi service, you agree to share your device data, history, identity, content, and biometric information with our internal systems and affiliates.”
Her blood ran cold.
She looked back at the screen.
The kids were moving now, frantically gesturing. One of the adults appeared to be banging on something. Their voices weren’t just static anymore, they were distorted screams. Pained, desperate. Muffled like crying underwater.
It was no longer a joke.
Kevalina clutched the paper tighter.
“What the fuck is going on here?”
The red clock ticked on. 23:00:00
Her phone was useless now. She stared at it in her hand, then put it back in her pocket. The screen dimmed, then went black.
She stood up and pressed her palms to her face.
“This cannot be real,” she whispered. “It cannot be real.”
But the screams were louder now. Sharper. The children’s voices, warped and hollow. The adults, shouting; one voice deep, another shrill, all of it blending into a disturbing chorus.
She clutched her ears.
“I CAN’T HEAR YOU PROPERLY!” she yelled at the screen. “THE VOICES GET DISTORTEDDDDDDDDDD!”
Her scream bounced off the walls. No reply.
Just more static. More terror.
And the clock ticking down.”
She groaned. “I need to pee.”
She looked up at the camera. “Hello??? I need to use the restroom?”
A loud mechanical click echoed through the room. A previously unnoticeable seam in the wall slid open, revealing a small, sterile bathroom. Toilet. Sink. No windows. No handles. No way out.
A voice buzzed through the speaker:
“You may use the toilet. You have 22 hours and 56 minutes to decide on the fate of the groups. You need to make a choice.”
Kevalina stared into the room. Her voice dropped to a whisper.
“What the fuck… what the actual fuck…”
She stepped into the bathroom, eyes darting around, searching for anything unusual – an emergency exit, a button, a loose tile. Nothing.
Her gaze fixed on the toilet.
An idea. Desperate, irrational.
She grabbed the edge of the toilet and tried pulling it free from the ground. It didn’t budge.
She slammed her foot against the porcelain. Again. And again. It cracked, a hairline fracture near the base. She moved to the sink- punched it, kicked it, tore at the faucet.
If she could break the plumbing, overflow the water, maybe it would flood. Maybe that would force someone to come in. Someone would have to clean it up. Someone human would have to intervene.
The water began to drip from beneath the basin. She kept going.
She didn’t even know if there was plumbing behind the walls.
She just needed something -anything- to break this silence.
But nothing happened.
No one came.
The water trickled, but the system didn’t react. The silence was still absolute.
She slumped down against the wall, trembling. The anger had drained out of her, and something colder settled in its place.
Tears rolled down her cheeks.
No sobbing. No sound. Just tears.
She wiped her face, sniffled, and reached for the paper again. The terms and conditions. She unfolded them, hands shaking, and looked for anything – anything at all – about the two groups.
There was nothing. Just their numbers. Their age ranges.
She stared at the line on a newly added part of the terms: Group A: 5 children aged 8 to 12. Group B: 10 adults aged 22 to 78.
She started thinking.
Five children. They were only kids.
But ten adults… How many of them were old? Had they lived enough?
But she was an adult too. And she still had so much to do. Her career. Her life. Her dogs.
What if the children were all sick? What if they had terminal cancer? They might die anyway.
But… will they suffer before they die?
A sudden, stabbing thought hit her:
I didn’t tell my father I loved him. Does he know?
She pulled out her phone again. The battery icon glowed at the top. Still no service.
She opened the gallery. Photos of her dogs. One lying in the sun, the other chewing through her sandal. She smiled, but the smile didn’t last long.
She wept quietly, clutching the phone to her chest.
“What the fuck do you want from me?!”
A voice answered, cold and even:
“As stipulated in our Terms and Conditions, you need to make a choice. The choice is yours only to make, and you will bear the consequences. You can either choose to save one of the groups… or remain in isolation for the rest of your life.”
Her hands trembled. She stood staring at the screen.
“Choose the adults,” she muttered aloud, trying to think logically. “You save ten lives. More lives. More people.”
But her eyes drifted to the children.
And then her mind betrayed her.
In the haze of panic and grief, one of the kids’ faces shifted, morphed, blurred into someone familiar.
“Kaeera?” she whispered.
The child on the screen screamed. Distorted. Inhuman. But in that moment, Kevalina believed it was her niece.
She fell to her knees.
Her brain began to spiral.
What if all of them were people she loved? What if every person in both groups wore the faces of her family and friends?
She couldn’t call anyone. She couldn’t ask. Couldn’t confirm.
Her mind filled in the gaps. Gave them names. Gave them memories.
The kids were her siblings when they were young. Her best friend. Her neighbor’s daughter.
The adults became her family. Her first boss. Old friends from school.
Her mind was breaking.
What if they’re all mine? What if it’s me I’m killing?
Then suddenly, a new thought clawed its way in.
What if the two groups also had to choose?
Her eyes widened.
What if this is all a test?
A test of the innocence of children… and the greed of adults.
What if the children were asked the same question? Would they sacrifice themselves for the adults? Would the adults even consider doing the same?
What if this wasn’t about numbers?
What if it was about who deserved to live based on what they valued most?
She stared at the two feeds again.
The distorted screams now sounded like pleading. Some were crying. Some were silent. But none of them could answer her.
What if they already made their choice?
She shook her head.
“No… no no no no… This can’t be real. This is not how it works. This is not fair!”
A new message appeared on the screen: “You have 22 hours to make a choice.”
Kevalina stared blankly. Her breathing shallow.
Am I dreaming? Hallucinating?
“Yes… yes, must be that,” she muttered. “I had too much to drink last night.”
She started laughing – short, sharp, and empty.
“Okay! Stop,” she said out loud, wiping her eyes. “I am stronger than this. I am not going crazy over some AI shit.”
She pointed at the ceiling camera. “Melodie. OK, OK, I give up. You got me. Now get me out of here. I’ll treat you to lunch.”
Silence.
Nothing but the low, endless hum of the room.
She stood up suddenly, snapping her fingers, eyes wide with a wild clarity.
“This must be AI. Yes, of course! AI designed to test if it can fool me. That’s all this is.”
She threw her head back and laughed. A mad, defiant laugh.
“Hahahahahaha! A IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!”
Her voice cracked. Her chest heaved.
“I can still distinguish fake from real! You hear me?! I’m not fucking stupid!”
Her legs weakened beneath her. She slid back down to the floor.
She felt tired.
So tired.
She closed her eyes for just a while, her breathing slow and shallow.
Just a few minutes. Just to rest. Just to pretend it wasn’t happening.
She awoke to the screen flashing again: “You have 21 hours to make a choice.”
Her heart skipped.
She sat up slowly, hair stuck to her cheek, blinking the sleep away.
Then another thought struck her like a blade:
What if one of the adults is pregnant?
What if they’re not just ten people? What if one of them carries life inside them? What if choosing the adults means saving not ten, but eleven—or more?
She whispered to herself, “Sacrificing the children… maybe that’s the better choice. Cold. Calculated. But logical…logical?”
Then she shook her head violently.
“No. No, this must be a joke.”
A sudden ding from her phone.
She grabbed it, hands shaking.
Notification: Your account number 0003435667353 has been emptied. Your PIN is 3011. We thank you for your donation towards The Choice.
Her eyes widened in horror.
It was her PIN.
Her breathing grew rapid. She clutched the phone to her chest again, but this time out of terror.
They had access.
They knew everything.
A final message blinked slowly onto the screen: “What you are living today could be your everyday. Make a choice and be free.”
Kevalina’s fists clenched.
“LET ME OUT!!!” she screamed.
She ran to the nearest wall and began kicking it, pounding her fists against the smooth surface.
Kicked. Punched. Slammed the heel of her boot into the glass shielding the camera.
Her breath came in sharp bursts. Sweat dripped down her neck.
Then, suddenly – stillness.
She froze.
Her eyes welled again.
“God…”
Her voice broke into a whisper.
“God helps people. God listens. Let me pray.”
She dropped to her knees.
And there, in the silence, Kevalina began to pray out loud, words desperate, trembling, and half-forgotten, but honest. Her voice echoed in the room where no one answered.
But she kept praying anyway.
But nothing happened.
The screen lit up again: “You have 20 hours to make a choice.”
A few minutes later, her phone buzzed again.
Notification: Julie and Bolt will be sent to a dog pound for euthanasia if you do not make a choice.
Her breath caught.
Her eyes locked on the screen.
She stared in disbelief.
And now, her dogs?
They were threatening her life, her love, everything.
Her hands shook. She stared at the screen, her heart thudding violently.
She turned off the WiFi immediately, fumbling with the settings, desperate to sever the connection.
The signal dropped. The network disappeared.
But the dread remained.
She took a deep breath and muttered to herself, “Now let’s think like a psychologist.”
She sat back down, crossing her legs, trying to steady her breath.
“What am I feeling? I’m feeling pressured. Pressured to do something I don’t want to do. That’s coercion. That’s psychological manipulation.”
She glanced around the room, narrowed her eyes at the camera.
“Who are those cowards behind the walls? Huh? You think I’ll break?”
She stood again, pacing. “I’m going through the five stages of grief. Yes. Denial. Anger. Bargaining. Depression. Acceptance. That’s it! This is a psychological test. A resilience test.”
She paused. A spark of hope in her eyes.
“Wait… this is part of my job application, isn’t it? This is for a job! A secret project. Psychological endurance. Decision making. Stress response. I am winning this. I am badass.”
She pointed to the screen, defiantly. “The secret is not to take a decision without thinking it through. You hear me? I’m still thinking. I’m not cracking.”
And just like that, for a moment, she almost believed it.
She began speaking out loud, pacing again.
“Let me tell you about my work experience,” she said, raising her voice. “I started as a trainee. I was making photocopies for the bosses, fetching coffee, organising files.”
She laughed. “Now look at me. Caged in a room, being tested like a lab rat.”
Suddenly, the screen showing the children flickered.
The children started screaming.
Kevalina froze. The sound was warped, chaotic, painful.
She stared at the blurred faces.
“This is all AI!” she shouted. “They’ve blurred the faces so I don’t recognize them, so I don’t think it’s real. That’s it!”
Her eyes lit up. “You are genius, Kevalina. Fucking genius!”
She laughed again, shakier this time. The room, however, remained cold and still.
Then the screen blinked again: “You have 19 hours to make a choice.”
A faint click another door opened.
Kevalina turned sharply and rushed toward it.
Inside was a small compartment. A table. Covered in her favorite foods. Warm, aromatic bread. A bowl of creamy pasta. Her favorite pastries. And two bottles of sweet white wine, still chilled.
There was silver cutlery arranged neatly beside the plates.
She didn’t eat.
She stared at the display, her jaw slowly tightening.
Then she burst out laughing.
“Alcohol! Hahahahahaha! You idiots! You gave me alcohol!”
She grabbed the silver cutlery and crouched to the floor.
“I set this fucking place on fire!”
She started rubbing the utensils together, over and over, desperately hoping for a spark.
Nothing caught. But the glint in her eyes refused to dim.
She stared at the wine bottles.
Without thinking twice, she twisted one open and drank straight from it. Long gulps. Burning. Sweet. Sharp. Her eyes were wide and wet.
She finished the bottle. Smashed it against the wall.
Shards clattered across the floor.
“I will kill myself,” she shouted, holding one jagged piece. “There is nothing you will be able to do!”
The room didn’t react. For a moment.
Then the voice returned, calm and cold:
“Should you choose to kill yourself, you will be sacrificing your father and your dogs. They shall be killed the same way you are killing yourself.”
Kevalina froze, arm mid-air.
The bottle shard slipped from her hand.
She crumbled to the floor, chest heaving, face wet with silent tears.
Then, slowly, she dragged herself toward the food.
She took a bite.
Then another.
Then another.
She ate fast, mechanical. Chewing without tasting. Eating made her forget. Eating drowned the noise.
She was full. But she kept eating.
“Is there more?” she whispered to no one.
And then she vomited – on herself, on the floor, on the untouched pastries.
Her body shook. She opened the second wine bottle with trembling fingers and drank it all in one go.
The sweetness didn’t register.
She dropped the bottle.
And passed out cold on the floor.
She woke up choking, her body trying to throw up the remnants of everything she had forced down.
She vomited again, weakly this time.
She had peed herself. Her dress stuck to her legs.
She’d gone blackout drunk.
The smell in the room was unbearable now.
The food area had been sealed shut. The door that once offered comfort now closed off, hidden as if it never existed.
The screen flickered on: “You have 7 hours to make a choice.”
Kevalina’s heart pounded.
Her mouth was dry. Her head throbbed.
She sat up, holding herself.
“No one is dying,” she whispered. “No one is dying.”
She pulled out her phone and scrolled through her gallery. Little videos of Julie barking at nothing, Bolt trying to fit under the couch, her father smiling as he stirred a pot on the stove, her friends waving at her from a hiking trail.
She watched them on loop, each one stabbing deeper than the last.
Then, with sudden fury, she kicked the wall.
Punched it.
Again. And again. The pain grounded her.
She turned toward the screens.
The two groups weren’t moving.
They stood still. Upright. Blank. As if they were… waiting. As if they didn’t even know what was coming.
Or worse – as if they accepted it.
“Why do you just stand there?!” she screamed. “Why won’t you fight?!”
She punched the wall again, harder this time. Her knuckles split.
Blood smeared the surface. She didn’t stop.
Her knees buckled and she collapsed, slipping on the layer of vomit.
She lay on the floor, heaving, bleeding, trembling.
Alone.
She wiped her face with the back of her hand, sat up slowly, and whispered, “I have made my choice. And it is final.”
She looked at the camera, her voice steady but hoarse.
“But I will only tell it to you once I am out of here.”
She laughed – a cracked, dry sound.
Then her body gave in again.
And she passed out.
The screen flickered again: “You have 2 hours to make a choice.”
Kevalina began to dream.
In the dream, she was punching the walls – just like she had done in the room, but this time, the wall cracked. She kept hitting it until it broke open. She crawled through the jagged opening into sunlight.
She was free. Running through the streets. Breathless. She burst through her front door and her dogs jumped into her arms. Her father was there too, smiling. Her friends were on the couch, waving.
“You did it,” someone whispered.
But then –
The screams returned.
Distorted. Loud. Growing.
The children. The adults.
Their voices ripped through the peace of her dream and dragged her back into the cold, reeking room.
Kevalina jolted awake, heart racing, the image of home still fading behind her eyes.
The screen lit up again: “You may choose the way the groups will die: fire, acid, poisonous gas, or broken bones. The deaths will be slow and painful… unless you choose between the two groups”.
Her pulse thundered in her ears.
She stared at the message, bile rising in her throat again.
What does that fucking mean?..No…” she whispered.
But the words on the screen didn’t change.
She drew a deep breath, stared straight into the camera, and said, “Do it all to me. I accept these terms.”
There was a pause.
Then a voice echoed back, calm and metallic:
“Is this your final decision?”
Her lips trembled.
And then she remembered; if she died, her father and her dogs would die too. The same way. The same pain.
Her heart dropped.
She said nothing.
Then, silently, the screen changed.
A countdown appeared.
01:00:00
Kevalina just stared. Numb. Her mind was blank. Her body limp.
Tears rolled down her cheeks again, but she didn’t sob. She didn’t speak.
She watched as the seconds dissolved.
When the countdown ended, the screen changed again.
The blurry images sharpened.
Faces. Real people. Not AI. Not illusions.
She could see their eyes.
The children. The adults. All of them.
The groups had been divided into four.
Five burned alive.
Five had acid poured over them.
Five choked in poisonous gas.
Five got crushed, we could even hear their bones break. One scream after another.
Kevalina didn’t move.
She didn’t scream.
She just watched. Frozen.
She heard their voices now – clearly. Terrified. Screaming for help.
Calling her name. She did not even question how they knew her name.
And then, darkness.
She passed out.
When she opened her eyes, everything was white.
She was naked.
Attached to a wall with IV drips in both arms. She couldn’t see what was being injected in her. She just lied there in a trauma induced paralysis.
She was alone in eerie silence.
All alone.
How did the story make you feel?
