The Recall Trials
Chapter 28: Spin the Revolver

Chapter 28: Spin the Revolver

Someone tried to crawl under the table. Another sobbed uncontrollably, shaking in his seat.

The voice cut through all of it, louder now:

"No one leaves the table. No one disobeys the rules. Elimination will be instant... No Mercy."

My ears rang. My hands were shaking. I looked down the long table at the blood. The corpses. The revolver still resting in its tray.

This was suicide.

"Now... let the game begin."

A chilling silence followed. Then the masked man stepped forward again slowly, composed, like this was some twisted banquet he was honored to host.

He reached for the revolver and placed it flat on the silver tray.

He spun it.

The revolver clattered against the metal surface. Everyone at the table held their breath. The chamber spun so fast it blurred. Light glinted off the barrel as it slowed... and slowed...

Until it stopped.

Pointing dead at a boy near the far end of the table. Seat 014.

He was maybe twenty. Skinny. Wore glasses. His lips were trembling.

"No," he said under his breath, begging. "No, no, please...."

The masked man slid the tray in front of him.

Everyone was dead silent. No voice. No music. Just our breathing. Uneven. Ragged. Waiting.

The boy stared at the revolver like it might come alive on its own.

He didn’t move.

Then, the voice spoke again.

"You have ten seconds."

A digital countdown began glowing red on the wall behind us.

Ten. Nine. Eight...

The boy’s hands were shaking so badly I thought he might pass out. His fingers curled toward the revolver. He whimpered.

Seven. Six...

He picked it up. His hand barely closed around the grip.

Five. Four...

A sob escaped him. He lifted it toward his head

Three

CLICK.

He pulled the trigger.

Nothing.

No bullet.

The boy collapsed forward, the gun dropping from his hand, and let out a raw, choked sob.

Someone clapped just one slow clap from the other end of the table. I turned sharply. It was Theo.

"You got lucky, kid," he muttered with a crooked grin.

The masked man stepped forward again. Picked up the revolver. Reset it.

And then.

He spun it again.

The gun danced in a violent circle.Everyone’s eyes followed it. Some kept praying.

It stopped.

Seat 042.

A girl with dyed red hair. Tough looking. She didn’t flinch.

Instead, she picked up the gun like it was part of a game she’d played before. She didn’t wait for the countdown.

She pressed it to her head.

And pulled.

CLICK.

No bullet.

She smirked, tossing the gun back down like she just won a bet.

Next spin.

The revolver spun fast. Faster than the others.

This time... it landed closer.

Seat 051.

Carter.

I froze.

He didn’t move for a few seconds. Just stared at it. He’d been a soldier, yeah. But not even war prepared you for a room like this.

With a deep breath, he picked it up.

Raised it to his head.

Pulled.

CLICK.

My heart finally started beating again.

But it didn’t stop there.

The masked man spun it again.

And again. And again.

The sound of the empty chamber was somehow even more terrifying. One boy actually pissed himself.

We were nine spins in.

Every face was pale. Sweat trickled down foreheads. Hands clenched in laps.

There were still 95 of us left at that table.

And five people were going to die.

That gun would find its bullet soon.

And none of us knew when.

The revolver spun again.

BANG.

The revolver spun again. Slower this time.

Like even it was tired of the suspense, dragging it out on purpose.

Clack... clack... clack... click.

The barrel pointed to the right.

To a boy I recognized.

Micah.

Dirty blonde hair. Brown eyes. Wore a necklace that kept slipping under his collar. He was the one who spoke yesterday, right after Carter took a stand, when we forged a group. He had encouraged him. Just remembered the way he spoke... very calm. Like he still had hope

Now?

His eyes were wide.

His lips parted.

And his hands...

His hands were shaking.

I don’t think he expected the gun to ever point at him. None of us did, really.

He glanced around the table at all of us.

Then he gave this little nod. Like he was trying to reassure us. The same guy who just yesterday told Carter yesterday "You did the right thing, standing up. Doesn’t matter if the rest got scared."

The whole room held its breath.

The timer was ticking. You could hear it.

Micah looked down at the gun in his hand.

Then at the trigger.

Then back at the barrel.

He swallowed hard. His Adam’s apple bobbed like a stone sinking in his throat.

He raised it slowly, like he was lifting something sacred.

The barrel touched his right temple.

For a second, he closed his eyes.

I think he whispered something under his breath. A name maybe. Or a prayer. His lips barely moved.

Then

BANG.

Blood.

It happened so fast.

Just a spray. A splash of red across the white floor.. The pristine tray. And then, his body collapsed sideways like a broken puppet. His head hit the table. His fingers twitched once.

And then nothing.

Screams erupted.

One girl stood up screaming hysterically, hands in her hair, rocking back and forth in her seat.

Someone threw up under the table. I heard the splash and the choking noise.

Zaara turned away, burying her face in her hands.

I just sat there.

My ears rang.

Micah’s blood was dripping from the edge of the table onto the floor..

The voice came back over the speakers.

"Contestant 062: eliminated. Four more to go."

Just like that.

Like he wasn’t a person.

Like he didn’t just die in front of us.

The masked man calmly picked up the gun, placed it back in the center of the tray.

Blood still smeared across the handle.

I couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. My hands were sweaty.

I felt sick.

The masked man spun the gun again.

And it kept going.

This wasn’t about who had the strongest mind.

This wasn’t strategy.

This wasn’t even courage.

This was just luck.

Cruel, random, blood-soaked luck