CHAPTER 47: CHAPTER 47: 4,383,410

"Please, can you do it?"

Grace asked again, her voice breaking despite her efforts to keep it steady. "While she’s asleep? Painless... peaceful. I want to..."

She covered her mouth as her voice cracked, "I want to... I want to remember her like this. My... my baby girl."

Adam’s tears started to fall again as he stared at her. A scream built in his throat, raw and primal, but before it could escape, Grace’s hand shot out, also covering his mouth. Her eyes were desperate, her head shaking. Pleading.

She looked down at Samantha and whispered so very quietly,

"I love you, sweetie. Mommy... mommy loves you very much."

Grace turned back to Adam, her eyes begging him. The knife trembled between them.

Adam closed his eyes, his teeth grinding together so hard they shattered. When he opened them again, he turned to look at Samantha and gently touched her cheek—and then, with a breath, he grabbed the knife from Grace.

And with a silent cry, he swiftly plunged the knife into the back of Samantha’s neck, where the spine met the brainstem. A single thrust. No hesitation. No suffering.

The knife slipped through, slicing deep in an instant. Samantha didn’t even flinch—her sleep undisturbed as life... as life quietly began to leave her.

Her chest rose and fell, with each breath growing softer than the last.

Until... there was only a soft gasp—a tiny whisper escaping her lips.

And then, nothing.

Samantha would never wake up again.

"My baby..." Grace whispered, cradling her daughter as she had done countless times before. She felt so light in her arms now, so light.

And finally, Grace allowed herself to break. The dam holding her tears shattered completely, and a cry erupted along with it—not raw, not primal—but the most painful one.

The cry of a mother losing her child. Grief that seemed to shake the very foundations of life itself.

"My... my baby girl..." Her body convulsed with each sob, her fingers clutching Samantha’s cheeks, refusing to let their warmth slip away.

"I love you, sweetie," she whispered between ragged breaths, rocking back and forth. "I love you... I’ll be there soon, mommy will be there soon. I promise."

Adam watched, the knife still gripped in his trembling hand. Blood—Samantha’s blood—dripped from the blade onto the ground.

He looked at his reflection on it, and he saw his eyes begging for everything to just stop. He then looked beyond the knife, at Grace, and raised the knife again. His face, losing any hope they ever had.

Grace looked up through her tears and saw him.

And she reached out, her fingers wrapping around his shaking wrist, and gently lowered the knife.

"No," she whispered, shaking her head slowly. "I... won’t let you be alone, Adam."

The knife immediately clattered to the ground, and Adam’s hands along with it. He dropped his head, and another sob tore from his throat.

Grace once again reached out to him, her fingers gentle as they lifted his chin.

And then, she smiled at him.

"Tell me... more about yourself. Please. I want to know you."

Adam stared at her, in disbelief at first. But he took her hand in his, planting her warmth deeper into his cheek.

And then, for the first time in his life, Adam began to tell his story.

Grace listened without judgment, her tears falling freely as she held her daughter’s body with one arm and Adam’s hand with the other. When he faltered, she squeezed his fingers, urging him to continue.

She shared her own story too—and the simplicity of her life compared to Adam caused her to chuckle.

The minutes ticked away, the clock counting down their remaining time together.

"I... I wish I had met you earlier," Adam whispered, tears streaming down his face. "I want to spend more time with you. You’re... you’re my first friend, Grace. You and Samantha. And I’m sorry... I’m sorry I couldn’t save you."

"You saved me enough," she said, her fingers gently stroking Samantha’s hair. "And you showed my daughter that... that kindness exists even in the darkest of times. And for that, thank you. Thank you, Adam. And I... I also would have wanted to spend more time with you. And... Oh... oh god..."

Her words dissolved into a gasp as she felt a strange sensation on her cheek—a crackling, like paper beginning to burn. She glanced up at the clock: sixty seconds remaining.

"I’m scared, Adam." She quickly looked down, focusing only on Adam’s eyes.

And as she saw him meet her gaze, her trembling slowly softened. For a moment, he became the anchor that kept her from slipping away.

"Thank you, Adam," she whispered.

"Thank you, Grace," he echoed.

Grace’s eyes remained on Adam, the fight in them igniting before everything else, "Can you promise me four things, Adam?"

"What is it?"

"If... if you’re still alive after this, after all of this, I want you to make the Administrators pay."

"I’ll do that."

"And then make the Hospital pay for what they did to you."

"Okay."

"And I want you to meet someone special. Because you deserve to love, and be loved."

"I...I’ll try."

"And lastly, please... can you smile for me?" Grace cupped his cheek, her touch gentle despite the crack that had begun to spread across her skin.

And then... perhaps for the first time in twenty years, Adam smiled—a small, broken thing, but genuine.

His lips trembled with the unfamiliar movement, but his eyes softened as he gave her this final gift.

And suddenly, both their faces cracked. Flames erupted from the crevices.

Grace screamed in agony—a sound that pained Adam even more than the fire burning him from the inside out.

Without hesitation, he grabbed the knife from the ground and plunged it into her, sparing her from the torture of burning alive.

He stared at the blade for a moment, contemplating using it on himself, but instead threw it aside.

Instead, he wrapped his arms around Grace and Samantha, pulling their bodies close as the flames consumed them all.

Adam looked up at the clock, at the Dome as it withered and faded away.

He gritted his teeth and released a roar that contained all his rage, all his sorrow, all his regret—but not his pain. He welcomed it.

"Why? WHHYYY!?" His cry stretched out, for as long as his lungs could break them. But like everything, it turned into a whisper, "Why...?"

And very soon, the weight in his arms turned lighter.

Grace and Samantha slowly crumbled in his embrace, their bodies turning to ash that slipped through his fingers like black snow.

Adam slightly panicked, hugging the remains and refusing to let go. Afraid they would scatter away.

The flames continued to burn him, and yet he only cared for the memory of Grace and Samantha’s warmth.

Minutes passed.

But finally, he stood, his flesh charred black, his eyes melting in their sockets. He raised his face toward where the ceiling of the Dome had been... and a single tear, somehow surviving the inferno of his face, traced a path down his ruined cheek.

And then his legs gave way, crumbling to dust as he collapsed among the ashes.

Leaving nothing but silence.

[The 242nd Battle has concluded! Congratulations to the survivors—celebrate your triumph!]

And with those words echoing across the entire world, the 242nd Game was over. Total number of deaths: 4,383,411.

No.

4,383,410.