The theatre lights dim.
The curtain rises—
One spotlight.
Center stage.
The silence is oppressive.
Not the kind that begs for words—
The kind that waits for judgment.
And,
Action–
A single figure steps forward.
Player 5. The Lawyer.
Something cold in his posture. Calm. Surgical. Composed.
He walks slowly to center stage, every step precise, rehearsed, almost reverent.
He stops.
P5 (The Lawyer):
"I wasn't sure what I would say tonight.
But then I remembered… I never have to say everything."
The Audience focused.
The players barely blink.
"There's a truth I've learned in games like this.
It's not about what you know.
It's about what people believe you know."
He turns slightly, facing the empty front row—the invisible Audience.
P5: "So let me make a statement."
His voice shifts—deeper.
Controlled.
Measured.
"One of us will die."
"Not today."
"Not tomorrow."
"But on the third day—someone's story ends."
Murmurs ripple.
Not from the audience.
From the players.
You can feel it.
"You may think this is a threat."
"It's not."
"It's a Statement"
"It's… inevitability."
He steps forward, just a little.
The shadows cling to the stage behind him.
"You see, the system doesn't care about morality.
It cares about outcomes."
"Entertainment."
"And blood, my dear classmates…"
"...is the most ancient form of entertainment there is."
He turns, this time directly facing the players in the dark seats.
"Maybe it'll be the one with the nervous hands. Or the one who thinks 'kindness' is a strategy."
"Maybe the one who watches too much."
"Or the one who wants to be a hero."
Pause.
"But someone's already been chosen."
A lie?
A bluff?
Or something worse?
"The Audience knows.
The System knows.
And soon, all of you will know."
He lets the words sit.
Heavy.
Smothering.
Then—
"I won't name them tonight."
"No, that would ruin the tension."
"But I will say this—"
He walks forward.
Stops.
"Whoever you are… you have two days left to matter."
He gently taps his wrist—three slow knocks.
A countdown.
A funeral drumbeat.
P5 (whispering, just loud enough):
"Tick. Tick. Tick."
Then he steps back. Slowly.
His full height.
Imposing.
"I'm not the murderer.
I'm worse."
"I'm his lawyer."
The camera turns.
A sharp cut—
Player 8's masked face flinches.
The room notices.
Some pretend not to.
Others file it away.
"I don't kill.
I defend.
I argue.
I justify."
"So when the blood gets spilled…"
He spreads his arms slowly.
"...don't blame the knife."
"Blame the case that let it happen."
Silence.
System: "Confession complete.
Return to your quarters."
The lights begin to fade.
Player 5 walks towards the curtains, pauses—
And turns one last time.
P5: "Day three."
"Mark your Calendars."
He exits.
And the theatre doesn't breathe again for another sixty seconds.
Player 3 (The Detective):
His hands tremble slightly as he clenches his fists.
"Two days… Who is he targeting? Why the third day?"
He thinks back to the fragments he saw— the bloody room, the shattered truth—and wonders if he's already chosen because of his knowledge.
Yet still, how would Player 5 know that I saw it.
Did he speak with them?
His breath hitches. Fear claws at his mind, but the resolve hardens.
"I need to watch everyone. Every move. Before it's too late."
Player 2(The Judge):
"Pretty predictable Mr. Lawyer. I hope the others didn't get too scared."
He knows he isn't chosen. He is immune to the Murderer's attacks after all.
"The real challenge now isn't about surviving the murder, It's about preventing it."
Player 4 (The Ghost)
She rushed to her room. Shut the door quickly, as if someone was chasing her.
"Two days. That's soon."
Her mind races, her heart pounds.
She wants a friend, some friends. Someone she can talk to.
"Tomorrow I will try to join them."
"She seemed nice. I think. He is scary though."
She squeezes her hands, seeking warmth in the cold game.
Player 5's Power move impacted the Show quite a bit.
Player's now have a ticking clock in their minds reminding them that the shouldn't walk alone.
Meanwhile.
On a different floor, the top one.
A voice, layered with static and digital distortion, echoes—soft but unmistakable.
Audience:
"The stage is set. The pieces move.
Two days remain until the curtain falls on one.
Will you watch… or will you act?
Remember, players—this is entertainment. But not all shows have happy endings."
The players glance nervously toward the speakers, the voice lingering like a ghost in the room.
It was the players' first time listening to the Audience's voice.
It was soothing. Smooth. Scary. But real.
It was Real.