Part 1
I’m not crazy.
Everyone says there is no such thing as a Mr. Beast Squid Game video where people really killed one another. They say, “You’re crazy.” Or, “You must be confusing Mr. Beast’s Squid Game video with the Netflix show.”
No, I’m not confusing anything with anything. I was in it. I was one of the few who survived.
And ever since that day, I… Well, I can’t sleep. Every time I shut my eyes, I see it.
I teleport back to that glass bridge where the soles of my feet bled like a bucket with a hole. Or the tug of war where my palms sizzled from the pulling traction or…
…Or I see Mr. Beast’s straight face and hear his forced giggle for the camera. “He.He.He”
I’m not writing this for sympathy or to try to justify what I… What I had to do.
I’m writing this because I need to get this off my chest. I need someone to believe me. To believe the week of torture I endured. Or even to believe the scars on my face and the blood on my hands.
Reddit… I hope you listen when I say, Don’t agree to go on a Mr. Beast video that won’t be posted on YouTube.
***
January 7th, 2022, the seventh worst day of my life.
I was on my way back home from my job at a stupid pizza restaurant. My 2003 Honda Accord was just another vehicle in the afternoon traffic. The sun reflected off the surrounding cars and straight into my untinted windows. It was as if God was calling me out directly for being such a pathetic loser.
In traffic, your mind can’t help but wonder. And with a spotlight on me, I thought back to all the times in my life where I was the center of attention and completely embarrassed myself. There wasn’t one damn time where I didn’t. It’s like everyone else knew I had trouble with those situations–and just people in general–but they still put me through it because it was amusing for them.
I sunk into my seat, discreetly wiping the tears from my eyes.
The surrounding cars inched forward, and the spotlight vanished. The car in front of me has already put enough space for me to move as well. A barrage of honks exploded from behind.
“Fuck, Fuck. Relax.” I murmured as I stepped on the accelerator. It didn’t move.
What the fuck? Did my car seriously just turn off now, of all fucking times?
Cars warped around me, honking and flipping me off as they passed.
I twisted the key, the engine cranking and rattling. Come on… Come on…
The honks grew louder, people became more irritated.
Fuck… Fuck… Come on, come fucking on! I banged on the steering wheel, as if it would do anything.
But it did do something…
Black smoke seeped through crevices in the hood and drifted up into a black cloud over me. Are you fucking kidding me?
I opened the door and stepped out. Wind smacked me in the face every time a car passed. I looped around back, frantically waving at the incoming traffic to help.
No one ever did.
Eventually, by some miracle, I managed to push my car to the shoulder of the road. I sat in the driver’s seat, feet kicked up and hanging out the window. Thirty damn minutes until the towing truck came and took me home. In the meantime, I was scrolling through Instagram and TikTok.
That’s when it happened.
A notification from YouTube popped up on my screen. ‘Mr. Beast has uploaded a new video: Watch this video if you want to be a part of my upcoming video!’
Maybe the day wasn’t too bad, my favorite YouTuber uploaded! I thought to myself, trying to cope.
I pressed on the video and put it in full screen.
Mr. Beast was sitting in a chair surrounded by darkness. The only light came from behind the camera, I presumed. He was alone in this video. No Chris or Chandler. No extras or camera crew. Just him and a serious face.
“He.He.He,” he broke the silence. He continued in a serious tone, “Hello YouTube. Welcome to another video. As you can see, this won’t be a regular video. I’m making this because I’m looking to recruit 50 people for a Squid Games part 2. The last video did so well, so I figured ‘Why not make another, for a more… suitable audience.’ He.He.He.” His voice shifted back into his usual friendly tone. “Anyway! We are giving away 1 billion dollars this time around–That’s one zero, zero, zero, zero, and uh, more zeros. All you have to do to join is to be one of the first 50 people to comment! Oh, and be subscribed… Duh.”
One billion dollars? Holy shit! My mind couldn’t even fathom it.
I closed off full screen. But before I scrolled down to the comments, the subscribe button caught my eye. Huh, odd. I must’ve accidentally unsubscribed.
After subscribing, I scrolled down to the comments. Only 10? What the hell. I sat up straight, fumbling my phone.
‘Hey, I would love to be a part of your next video!’ I commented with trembling fingers. There’s no way I made it in time. I must’ve refreshed hundreds of times to make sure. But there was my comment, 11th out of 50.
My heart pounded in my chest, I was gonna be meeting MrfuckingBeast! Let’s go!
***
The days that followed were boring. Full of me drinking my ass off, working out, and watching an ungodly amount of self help videos. ‘How to be more charismatic.’ and ‘How to be more social.’ To name a few.
I did quit my job, which was pretty fun. Mr. Beast gave us these weird rules to do before he flew us out. The rules were as follows:
Whatever, I thought, it’s the least we can do. Mr Beast will be paying us just for participating!
On the day he flew us out, we were in this private jet. I assumed he’d fly us out on commercial flights because it’d be cheaper, but I guess I underestimated his wealth.
There were exactly 50 seats on the jet, each being occupied by someone. As I walked down the row, I could feel gazes piercing me. My shoulders slumped under the weight of the glares. Breathe, remember what the self help videos said, just breathe.
My seat was towards the end on the left-hand side. Seat 11. There was a woman about my age (22) sitting down with some Apple earbuds on.
“Uh, H-Hey.” I said, as I sat. She nodded her head. I don’t know if it was at my greeting or because of her music. So I continued. “Nice weather… huh?”
She looked at me, pulling out her earbuds. Thin eyebrows shot up in confusion. Her heavy eyeliner gave me the impression she was an emo of sorts. Or maybe just trying to close people off. “What do you want?”
“Oh… nothing, just said the weather was-”
She rolled her eyes and put her earbuds back in.
“Ladies and Gentlemen!” A voice reverberated throughout the jet. “Fasten your seatbelts! We’ll take off in a bit! In the meantime, here’s a word from our sponsor.”
A TV folded out from the ceiling. The pixels lit up and displayed some Honey ads. I averted my eyes, fidgeting with the seat tray in front of me. A passing attendant startled me and I accidentally pushed the seat in front of me.
“The hell? You got a problem, ese?” A manly voice said. The person in front peeked over at me. His fluffy eyebrows were furrowed. He had a thick goatee and a teardrop tattoo under his eye. This guy definitely isn’t about it. The teardrop is a tattoo that someone who isn’t about that life would get, thinking it’ll make them tough. “Talk chump!”
Chump? Ese? This guy is white, acting like a stereotypical cholo. Shit. I just realized I haven’t talked. All those ‘How to analyze people’ videos are doing my socializing skills no justice. “Not at all, man.”
“That’s right! Pfft.” Like a turtle, he retracted back into his seat.
The last of the Honey ads played and the jet rumbled. We were finally taking off. I leaned my head back, planning to sleep through the whole flight.
…It was going to plan, but about an hour or so in, a flash and click of a camera jolted me awake. Two attendants were going row by row, snapping pictures of us while we slept. Strange, but it’s probably just for identification purposes.
I drifted back to sleep.
***
All the events leading up to our arrival were boring. Just some clowns messing around and getting acquainted. A few seat couples forming an alliance. And the occasional Honey ad waking up everyone on the jet. It was as if the jet ride was a part of the video itself.
Wait…
I surveyed the jet and sure enough, there were cameras lined up against the ceiling on either side. Shit, they saw me picking my nose. Hopefully that doesn’t make the cut.
Once we landed, we were escorted by some sketchy looking guards. They each held automatic weapons ranging from AK47s to M14s. The warehouse they were escorting us to was the size of two football fields.
I felt an odd sensation walking through that landing strip and towards the warehouse. One, because I had no clue where we were. It was surrounded by the desert. And two, because all the other members were either jacked or doing the same thing as me, analyzing people.
This was gonna be a tough yet fun challenge, I thought to myself, That money is gonna be mine.
We walked inside, greeted by an intercom.
“Welcome ladies and gents.” The voice echoed in the darkness, “I hope you’re ready…” The lights flickered on. As my eyes adjusted to the sudden contrast, I saw we were standing on a catwalk, looking down at six stages separated by thick concrete walls. “…For the annual Squider Games!” An awkward silence hung overhead. “Jesus, guys. Really? The Hunger Games reference. Alright anyway, as I mentioned before, this will not be like our last Squid Game video. Let’s just say… It’ll be more realistic.” My eyes darted back and forth, looking for where the voice was coming from. I looked up and saw a platform where four silhouettes looked down on us behind a glass wall. One was holding a mic. I presumed it was Mr. Beast.
He concluded with a sinister voice, “May the odds be ever in your favor.”
The guards simultaneously raised their guns, and emptied their clips into the ceiling. My eardrums felt as if they were being stabbed over and over. I clasped my hand over my ringing ears and looked around. Everyone was panicking, running for exits that weren’t there.
Over the high pitched sound in my ears, I faintly heard Mr. Beast over the intercom. “Eliminate the people whose first instinct was to flee.”
The guards aimed their firearms at the bustling crowds. I ducked to the floor and covered my eyes.
They… They fired.
I heard screams getting cut short. Flesh being torn through. Bullet shells bouncing off the ground. The catwalk rumbled with frantic footsteps and rattled with the kickback from the barrage of gunshots.
I didn’t dare look. I didn’t dare move.
The gunfire dwindled away.
The contrast of Mr. Beast’s nonchalant voice shook me to my core, “That leaves us with, uhh, 32 Survivors! Woohoo! Y’all got this.”