The Ultimate Proctor

4

Are You Planning to Move In?

Arthur Wright emerged from the confinement room to find the corridor eerily quiet.

The bald man across the hall had fallen silent, blood seeping from under his door and pooling across the floor.

A flicker of disgust crossed Arthur's face as he stepped around the crimson streaks.

But after a few paces, he froze.

That uncanny sensation of being watched crawled over him again—as if something were craning its neck from above, lifeless eyes fixed silently on his back.

Arthur looked up.

Only the dim glow of a ceiling lamp greeted him.

Nothing else.

...

"s**t! Almost overslept past curfew! That coffin-faced bastard didn't even—" Rapid footsteps descended the stairs, then cut off abruptly as someone rounded the corridor corner.

"You! Cough... you're out?"

Arthur lowered his gaze from the ceiling.

It was Invigilator 922, Sebastian Cole.

Upon seeing Arthur, Sebastian instantly resumed his official tone. "Excuse me," he said brusquely, striding toward the bloodstained door at the end of the hall.

Moments later, he hauled out the limp Gregory Smith.

Sebastian half-dragged the limp middle-aged person, walking like a stroke victim.

"Why are you still here?" he asked Arthur.

Arthur shoved his hands in his pockets. "Waiting for you. I’m not keen on turning to ash."

Sebastian: "Where’s Alistair?"

Arthur: "No idea."

"That lazy bastard sneaking off again?" Sebastian muttered under his breath.

He hitched Gregory higher, too busy to argue. Jerking his chin toward the exit, he said, "Move. Time to escort you back."

...

Second floor of the cabin.

Victor Clarke leaned lazily against the window frame, arms crossed, gaze downward.

Lamplight spilled into the woods as Sebastian led two examinees through the snow-laced shadows, soon swallowed by the blizzard.

Victor narrowed his eyes, lost in thought.

A raven croaked hoarsely.

After another beat, Victor clicked his tongue and straightened up.

He walked to the desk, teasing the raven’s sharp beak as he fed it a seed. "Doesn’t it feel like something’s missing?"

The raven mocked perfectly: "Ha."

Victor: "An invigilator?"

The raven: "Ha."

Victor tapped its beak, opened the door, and headed downstairs.

Two steps out, the raven flapped after him.

Victor scanned the lobby, then turned down the corridor. Faint scraping—like chair legs dragging—echoed from Arthur’s former confinement room.

Victor raised an eyebrow, amused. "Anyone there?"

Thud. Thud. The chair slammed harder.

Victor: "Mind if I come in?"

The chair nearly cracked the floorboards.

Victor undid the lock.

The door swung open to reveal the missing Invigilator 154, Alistair Reid.

Bound to the chair, hands tied behind his back, a massive paper ball crammed in his mouth.

Scrawled across it in bold marker:

Fuck off, little girl.

Victor suddenly laughed.

Alistair jerked in his bonds, about to remind Victor to untie him first.

But seeing the laughter, he thought better of it, settling the chair quietly.

Fortunately, Victor didn’t admire the insult long.

Moments later, Alistair was finally free, rubbing his reddened wrists. "Three years an invigilator, and I’ve never seen an examinee like him! Others weep and beg for mercy; he sleeps? Others tremble before invigilators; he ties me up on sight?"

Victor leaned against the desk, listening lazily. "Quite the rhyming rant. Go on."

Alistair: "..."

If possible, he’d have shown Victor the "f**k off" on the paper ball.

"As an invigilator, tied up by an examinee in a confinement room—embarrassing?" Victor’s eyes narrowed.

Alistair’s coffin-face tightened. "Extremely. Thank god Sebastian didn’t see. He’d laugh for two years straight."

Every insider knew: invigilators were selected from top examinees. Only the strongest survived the transformation.

Ranked by capability and ruthlessness, they became the numbered invigilators.

...

Single-digit numbers belonged to legends no one dared cross.

Like 001.

"You said earlier... that examinee slept in confinement?" Victor paused, as if weighing his words, then settled on: "The examinee?"

"Yes. When I entered, everything was intact—walls, floor, ceiling. No changes. He has no fear."

Alistair hesitated. "But is that possible? In all my years, I’ve only met one like him."

Victor’s fingers stroked the raven’s neck.

"Maybe life’s been too smooth? Never faced true terror?" Alistair speculated. "Though his luck runs out today. His group drew the ‘toothpaste question’ first round."

Victor shot him a look.

"Another ridiculous nickname?"

"Sebastian’s idiotic invention, not mine." Alistair maintained his deadpan. "But it fits. I dreaded these questions during my exam! Not because they’re hard, but because initial clues are near zero. Impossible to score early. So the first submission’s always wasted... doomed to sacrifice one examinee."

Alistair shuddered at the memory. "Lucky I only faced it once... and wasn’t chosen. Wonder who’ll be sacrificed today?"

He checked his watch. "Seconds left."

...

Outside the snowbound cabin.

Exhausted but clinging to dignity, Sebastian held his breath until departure, then stopped Arthur.

"Problem?" Arthur’s impatience was palpable.

The first submission deadline loomed. Even through the howling wind, Arthur sensed the cabin’s panic.

Not a second to waste.

Sebastian said, "One more rule. As confinement veterans, neither of you may answer this round."

Arthur’s expression frosted over.

Sebastian waved a hand. "Don’t glare. First rounds are death traps anyway—no one scores—"

Before he finished, Arthur turned and shoved the door open.

Warmth rushed out as a rooster’s crow shattered the silence.

Submission time.

Gregory crumpled to his knees, scrambling crab-like to a corner, eyes vacant, trembling violently.

His panic was contagious. Several others collapsed where they stood.

Oliver Yu knelt over Dominic Taylor, pinning him down, clutching something—likely wrestled free.

In the cacophony of crowing, Oliver looked dazed. "Arthur... I found the knife. But time... time’s up?"

Then what?

Frozen terror held the room. Each crow hammered their hearts.

"Will... will we really be expelled?" someone whispered.

Vanish into ash like the tin can?

BANG!

The latched door burst open, slamming against the wall.

Everyone flinched.

Outside, Sebastian froze mid-departure.

A gale unlike any before tore through—like a plane ripped open mid-flight—sucking them toward the void.

"Ah—!" Benjamin Yu cried out, tumbling as an invisible force yanked his ankles toward the door.

...

"The rooster crows nine times before submission ends."

"And this idiotic question has a first-round loophole. Tsk... shameless, really."

The words surfaced in Arthur’s mind.

No time to dwell. He snatched the folding knife from Oliver, vaulted the obstructive table, and stood before the answer wall.

As the final crow faded, he scrawled a single character:

Answer.

Solution.

Outside, Sebastian: ".................."

You’ve got to be kidding me?!

It worked.

Crowing and wind ceased instantly.

Benjamin’s head stopped inches from the threshold, scalp bleeding where the topmost hair vanished. Oliver clung to his leg, sprawled on the floor.

Hearts pounding, they stared blankly before turning to the answer wall.

An eternity later, a bold red mark appeared beside the flamboyant "Answer":

+2

The room gaped.

Sebastian staggered back, drunk on disbelief.

He stood frozen in the cold a moment, then spun and sprinted to report.

...

Much later, the room processed the miracle.

Legs weak, they helped each other up.

"b****y hell, scared me half to death..." Benjamin sported a b****y monk’s tonsure now.

But he was alive.

Oliver released his father’s leg, collapsing like a dead dog.

Seconds later, he slapped his own face. "Stupid! How’d I forget? Teachers always say: write ‘Solution’ first! Two points per word! Arthur, you genius!"

"..."

Arthur silently pocketed the knife. This felt less like praise.

To shut Oliver up, he deigned to ask: "Who had the knife?"

Oliver’s face darkened. "Who else!"

He pointed at Dominic. "Him! Found it on him! I knew he was shady. While everyone searched for clues, he hoarded knives like a bear stocking winter rations. If Eleanor hadn’t been bumped during the scuffle, revealing the knife... who knows when we’d have found it!"

The memory chilled him. Without that chaos... without finding the knife in time... even Arthur’s return wouldn’t have saved them.

His father Benjamin...

Dominic, pinned to a chair, faced the group’s wrath.

But the answer wall shimmered.

Prompt: Travelers seek shelter in a hunter’s cabin. Hunter A says: "I have 13 table settings, but food for only 12. Secrets hide within the tableware. One is fated to die. Will you be spared? It’s not too hard—light is the world’s most wondrous thing."

Requirement: Find the damned setting (without damaging tableware)

Knowledge Tested: Optics

Everyone: "..."

As they stared, new text bloomed:

Violation Warning: Penalized examinee submitted illicit answer. Invigilators notified.

Invigilators: *001, 154, 922*

Everyone: "..."

...

Ten minutes later.

Second floor, Invigilator’s office. Invigilator 001 faced the repeat offender.

Arthur: "..."

Victor: "..."

After a long silence, the invigilator twirled his pen and smirked. "Planning to move in?"