A low, pained groan emanated from the confines of Coffin #4. It's occupant, the young Ryan Watts, slowly came to consciousness within the darkness of his container. He was probably one of the calmest players to awaken from their coffins - working as a mortician over the age of 21, there had been several blackout incidents in the past where Ryan treated alcohol a little too liberally. At first, Ryan assumed this must have been another situation just like the ones in the past - maybe a friend or a client wanted to spend the night drinking, and Ryan simply misremembered climbing into his own bed the night prior. He sighed slightly, annoyed by the pain he felt all across his body and was about to leave the gloomy coffin he awoke in.

He froze when he saw the teeth. Small holes were drilled into each individual tooth where the string was pulled through, with what seemed to be care and precision far beyond that of a blackout drunk Ryan. In the middle of the necklace was a pendant that shifted gently from gravity and the movement of air nearby - it took some effort to make out the initials D.C. on the back. While initially Ryan wasn't too disturbed by the grisly necklace, he quickly went pale in the face when he noticed this pendant. Ryan pulled his sleeve over his hand and gently opened the pendant to find a child's tooth. Ryan could tell it was a child's - he had worked on numerous children's bodies in the past and had even tried the flesh of one near the beginning of his cannibalistic outings. Children didn't sate his palate, but this necklace had nearly made him vomit. Was it a threat? Dennis still had some baby teeth - is this one he had already lost or is this some random corpses' tooth? Whatever it was, it was clearly the freshest tooth on the necklace, and Ryan was disturbed immensely by this.

Ryan slid the necklace into the pocket of his track pants, being cautious to keep his fingers from directly touching it. If he was lucky, he could get it searched for fingerprints when he got back home. Ryan tried lifting the cover of his casket open, but was met by resistance - it was locked. He pushed hard with his arms and the cover broke easily - less from Ryan's strength, and more so because the wood was of very poor quality. Ryan took several deep breaths, doing his best to calm his nerves. He had no idea where the hell he was, and the fact that he was in a room full of other coffins did not help him keep calm. The thought of climbing the stairs for a better view and to find some windows crossed Ryan's mind, but the only stairway he could see was decrepit and unusable. Looking back at his Casket, Ryan saw a small red mark against the base of it. It was blood - specifically, it was blood from the large #4 carved into Ryan's hand. That explained the pain and dreariness, whoever kidnapped him must have drugged Ryan in order to carve something that looked so painful into his flesh without him waking up.

Ryan read the bloody text on the wall with a fair bit of fear and confusion leaking onto his face. Was it... Some kind of game? Ryan felt another wave of nausea come over him but managed to not throw up. He didn't know when he would next get food or water, so he couldn't waste what he already had in his system. The rules and the sounds of other people waking up caused Ryan to realize he wasn't alone in this predicament. He noticed the other Caskets earlier but had not thought to help open them in his panicked daze. Ryan called out to the others, who he assumed were victims just like he was.

"H-hello? Do you guys know where the h-hell we are?"

For the longest second, Orwell could not determine whether his eyes were closed or open. Eventually his eyes grew accustomed to the darkness and picked up on a faint, green glow of the watch on his left wrist. There was a strange, sharp pain on the back of his right hand, leading him to believe a terrible accident had just happened - until he realized that he was surrounded by wood - rotting, based on the stale scent - and that the wood was in a strangely regular shape, reminiscent of a box. The faint sound of two voices - one male, the other female - as well as dull thuds rallied against the thick silence, though all were muffled by the space Orwell found himself barred in.

All he could think of was Corvus, and a cold bolt of fear shot through him. Was this it? He grit his teeth and thrashed about, fists and feet bashing against the wooden constraints, unwilling to accept the end without a fight. Cracks of light came through on the third kick, Orwell found himself kicking straight through the wood and into the air, then he pushed the remainder of the cover away to the side and leapt out of the box.

Only then did he realize, in the dim light, that the box was a coffin, and that the back of his hand bore a gristly wound in the crude, yet unmistakable shape of the number seven. In the midst of scattered splinters, a folded piece of thick paper, a ring, as well as a small key was among the debris on the floor. To avoid dirtying the items with his blood, he ripped a piece of cloth from the hem of his shirt and wrapped it around the dripping wound, before picking up the items and stashing them in his pocket.

He then looked around and finally saw the source of the voices he had heard. There was a dark-haired young man and a much younger girl standing within the vicinity of coffins similar to the one he had just broken out of. The blood-shot energy of fear and confusion darkened their ever-roving eyes and the similar wounds on their hands lead Orwell to surmise that they, too, were brought here, without their consent. His mind flew back to the items he had found and he turned away from the two to reach into his pocket.

Seeing the familiar smiles of the people in the picture drove Orwell's mind into a tailspin, the ache of the wound on his hand forgotten in the midst of this new, and awful discovery. He closed his eyes and steeled himself, placing the picture back in his pocket before turning to address those who had already made it out of their coffins.

"Something bad must have happened to us, to find ourselves here."

A girl awoke because of the muffled voices she heard. It took her a second before she felt her whole body completely in pain, most particularly on her head and on her hand. She couldn't remember anything that happened prior to her being in pain and in a very dark and creepy place, but it was not remembering that sent her into panic mode. She listed out all the important information about her in her head just to be sure: her name was Risa Watanabe, 20 years old, and a student at a prestigious university. She was left at an orphanage at a very young age and was soon adopted by a filthy rich couple who couldn't have a child of their own.

Risa breathed out a sigh of relief. At least she remembered all the important things about her.

It was then that she started assessing the situation. It looked like she was in a foul-smelling box and right in front of her was the stuff of children's nightmares. It's a head of a play doll with its hair tied on the nail. Its eye sockets were hollow and its chin even looked like it was burned. It had a paperclip stuck on its mouth that said 'It's time for the naughty girl to play a different game.'

Risa's eyes widened. As far as she knew, no one but her and her 'playmates' knew her secret. She even made sure to never let her playmates tell her secret to anyone. Well, not that some of them can anyways. She wondered if its their headservant, her personal bodyguard, or even the new maid that knew it. If she ever got out of whatever situation Risa was right now, she will surely find whoever knew her secret.

She lifted her hand to try to push against the cover of the box when she realized why her hand was hurting so much. Someone carved the number 5 on her hand and it still looked fresh, judging from the amount of blood dripping on it. From the doll's head to her whole body aching, Risa groaned softly not only from pain but from excitement as well; it looked like the person who did this to her really knew how to push the right buttons. It only made her determined to meet that person and make them her next 'playmate'.

She felt a little weak because of the pain but she slowly and surely pushed through the covers of the box, supporting herself as she stood up and stepped out of it. Her hunch was right: it was a coffin, though it looked poorly made for her taste. She still couldn't walk that far but thankfully, she didn't have to. She was standing in a dimly lit foyer with a bunch of other people inside yet another poorly made mansion. Heck, it wasn't a mansion, it was termites holding hands. She could hear the rain and thunder outside the mansion yet she couldn't see outside since all the windows were barred. She saw some words on the wall that looked like were written in blood, stating the rules to a game.

"King? Orders? Punishment? Wha- Is this some kind of sick joke?", Risa exclaimed. She made it look like she was angry and horrified, but she was actually feeling very excited.

Risa turned her attention back to the people with her: a black haired guy, a long-haired girl, and a tall blond man. She thought the black haired guy was super cute, but the blond guy was a total hunk in her eyes. She also noticed three more closed coffins next to them. If the four of them got out of coffins, surely there were still others inside them who're still unconscious or maybe they're just already dead.

She bent down to close her coffin so she could sit on it, letting her ease up the pain she's feeling even for just a bit. "Ugh, my whole body's in pain. Why is my whole body in pain?", Risa said as she eventually laid on top of her coffin while trying to think of ways to escape. As much as she loved playing games, Risa was getting the feeling she wasn't going to love this.

It hurt. That familiar pain had returned. Mari had not felt it in a long time; waking up with open wounds hadn't happened to her since she ran away. She opened her eyes. It was dark and suffocating. Not an unfamiliar feeling. Slight gaps let enough light in for Mari to see one thing in the death basket: a photo. Meaningless shapes came to form as she began to recognize familiar features. Sho, the words refused to escape her lips. It was a photo taken of him not knowing. Why? Why? For what reason? Why? He had nothing to do with this. It was self-defense. He didn't do anything wrong. He deserved to remain unknown. Why was there this photo of him?

Deep breaths.

Now wasn't the time to panic. Panicking didn't help anything. It was better to wait and think about it. Let it blow over first. Figure out what was going on first. Noises from outside? Voices? There were other people.



For better or worse, she wasn't alone. Judging by their confusion, they were just as lost as she was. She looked to the pain. A 1 had been carved into the back of her hand, blood staining both the coffin she resided in and her clothes. Her skull ached, but she couldn't feel any wound there. She patted herself down. No phone, no keys, no pills. She was completely barren of any meaningful possessions. She grabbed hold of the bloody nail holding the photo of Sho and pulled. It, along with the photo, detached from the wood. Both of them went into her pocket.

It was more or less time to leave her box. Carefully, she placed each hand to one side of the box and pushed with all of her might. The lid didn't move. She slid her hands to the other side and pushed. Greeted by the sudden burst of light, her eyes instinctively shut. She rose from the box and slowly opened her eyes. 7 boxes, 5 of which were open with people nearby. Greetings were meaningless. There was no reason to converse. Instead, Mari looked at the writing on the wall. Rules for a game? A terrible one, no less.

While the others didn’t have such a peaceful slumber, and rather, woke up in overwhelming fear. The figure that dwelled within the coffin engraved with a simple number three quietly arose from his comatose, realizing that he was encased within the coffin immediately accelerated his heartbeat - but not in the sense you might think. The claustrophobic space enthralled Riley, and the face set right in eyeshot only fueled this fire. Two hands pressed up at the wood, the sensation weak, old wood that wasn’t meant to entrap but instead to simply hold. The structure splintered with just a bit a pressure, creasing through the creaking wood as it cracked and bursting open.

He rose from the coffin torso first like a mummy who’s curse had just been passed down upon a group of poor treasure hunters. It was lethargic, Riley was not someone who really - they weren’t a morning person. His head turned till his neck popped, and then the girlish boy reached his left hand up towards his head scratching digits loosely through his messy hair as he looked around. Was it Halloween? No, that wasn’t till later on, and everyone seemed to have been freaking out rather intensely! Maybe they should feign panic too? I mean, yeah, the image of her father meant that someone knew about his death and the involvement Riley had in that whole endeavor - but it could’ve just been a jab? It was too soon to draw conclusions, so instead Riley decided to distinguish everyone else’s situations first and foremost.

His eyes peeled from the people in the room, they had all seemingly been trapped in coffins as well. But was more curious was the wound on his hand that he had just noticed, and the blood rules painted rather unfashionably upon the wall. Was it paint? Wait it blood harvested from a person? Was it their blood? Too many questions, too little time, the reactions of the others now frightened Riley not because of their panic being contagious or anything of that ilk but rather - the uncertainty.

”So there’s some rules. I think we should just remain calm, take things one step at a time and not panic - let’s ply along. If this does end up being some sick joke, it won’t last long - if we were actually kidnapped, the police will be looking for us all soon. And before someone jumps down my throat for barking orders, my name is Riley Velskaya! Now you know my name, so, there’s some collateral.”

The boy flashed the others a reassuring and genuine smile, placing his hands at the edges of the coffin and pressing himself up to stand and crawl out of the casket. As he came to his feet Riley dusted himself off a few times before pacing quietly and idly towards the aforementioned wall with the blood lettered upon it. His left hand’s index finger raised up to tap at his bottom lip a few times before extending it out to touch the drying viscous substance adhering some to stick upon the digit and bringing it into his mouth. And then - he would just ... Hum in curiosity. He would then childishly turn on his toes to face the others confirming such a thing.

”I do declare, that is blood - metallic and a little chunky.” His nostrils flared as the delayed reeling of disgust finally kicked in, spitting the diluted saliva out and blowing a few raspberries as well to attempt to dispel the horrible flavor. What was he thinking?

As it turned out, Ryan was the first person to escape from the coffins. Maybe it was all the time he spent around noxious chemicals from his line of work or the fact that he was heavyset for his height from working out, but he seemed to have woken up first from whatever drug was used to keep them all asleep. He was quickly followed by others, however - whether they awoke from his voice or he had no impact on it whatsoever, it didn't make a difference.

The first to emerge after Ryan was a tall Asian girl, and she seemed to be just as nervous as Ryan was. That confirmed it - these other coffins were occupied, and the people in them were at least in a somewhat similar situation as Ryan.

"W-Who.. Did..Did you come out from there too..?"

Ryan nodded in response to the question, not speaking. It wasn't for any particular reason - it was just easier than actually voicing his confirmation. And when it came to names, Ryan felt it would probably be a bit better to wait for the others to get out of their coffins and save the effort of reintroducing himself. Ryan was nervous, and trying to keep order in this situation was the best thing he could do to stay calm. Soon, another coffin opened, and an even taller man climbed out of it. This blond guy seemed more muscular than what Ryan was used to seeing from people in public - maybe his arms could use a little work, but his shirt definitely showed his chest.

Now was not the freaking time to inspect another dude's physique - Ryan had to remind himself that he was in a life and death situation, and as soon as he did, he felt the ice in his veins return once more. This was real, or at least the pain in his injured hand made it seem that way. He had to keep that in mind - in more than a few dreams, Ryan had killed himself in order to wake up, and he didn't want to lose his sense of reality.

"Something bad must have happened to us, to find ourselves here."

The blond said something both very obvious, and very informative. Being kidnapped was unfortunate, but maybe they were kidnapped for a reason - something they did. Ryan thought about what he could have done that would have warranted kidnapping...

Well, Ryan tried, but it seemed more likely that they were picked at random. Ryan couldn't think of anything especially heinous he had done that anyone would know about - his cannibalism was a secret no one knew of... Unless his Ex found his Freexer? No, that was impossible. He'd be in jail by now if that was the case. Maybe he had said the wrong thing while drunk and pissed off some rich bozo? Whatever the case, Ryan still couldn't figure out why they were all being kidnapped.

Another Asian girl with black hair pulled herself from her coffin, but this one's hair was much less messy - pretty surprising, considering she was inside of a decrepit coffin.

"Ugh, my whole body's in pain. Why is my whole body in pain?"

"I-I don't know for sure, but I think we may have been drugged... That seems like the only way they could carve these t-things into our hands."

Ryan held up his hand, which bore the number four in angry, crimson red. The wound was fresh and considering Ryan got up fast enough that it didn't have time to coagulate, it couldn't have been older than a few hours at most. Benefits of being a Mortician, Ryan knew a little about the human body - it didn't seem possible that the kidnapper could have carved into them without some kind of anesthetic to keep them unconscious...

Ryan's line of thinking was interrupted by yet another coffin opening. It was good - the more people there were, the safer they would all be... unless the kidnapper had a gun. Another girl popped out of a seperate coffin, who didn't offer any greetings to those already awake - instead of focusing on the rules in blood. Ryan didn't mind much since the situation was pretty intimidating. It was understandable if this girl didn't want to chat with these random people she met in a place like this. Another coffin opened, and Ryan's focus shifted off of this girl.

The new arrival was another girl, and Ryan didn't even notice the more masculine traits they had. Ryan would have preferred someone who was less authoritative, but to be honest, that was at the bottem of his list of issues at the moment. He simply nodded at the girl(?) and tried not to question the fact they sampled the blood on the wall. Ryan knew it was blood the moment he saw it from his yeaers of experience being around corpses, but he never expected someone to try tasting it - hopefully the kid didn't have an open wound in his mouth, cause that blood could be carrying anything.

Then again, Ryan was in no place to say who couldn't put blood in their mouth. It wasn't too big of a deal anyways, a disease is bad, but still low on the pecking order in this situation. The last coffin remained closed, and Ryan simply assumed that no one was present inside - Riley's introduction was a little loud, considering they were very eager to get the taste of blood out of their mouth.

A soft grinding began to emenate from somehwere below, steadliy increasing in volume. It could be the kidnapper coming to kill them! Ryan's eyes immediatly shifted to his coffin - he could easily break the door off and use it as shielf, though that wouldn't really deter a bullet too much. Eventually, the grinding stopped, and the once empty dumbwaiter opening had been filled. It came down... it was sent from someone upstairs? That could mean that there were other survivors where no one could reach them... or the Kidnapper was up there...

Ryan eyed the other Players before making his way towards the dumbwaiter, trying to have a confident stride. The thing could be trapped, and the strongest people in the room were Ryan and the Blond man. If this thing was trapped, then one of them would have the easiest time dealing with it... and Ryan felt asking a guy he didn't know to check it out was a bit too much.

Once he got to the dumbwaiter, Ryan shook his arms out and hopped in place for a few seconds, before grabbing the contents of the device and pulling his hand out as fast as possible. He crumpled the notecards a little bit but quickly dropped one of the items. A sharp piece of glass with a small amount of blood clinked against the floor, but its thickness prevented it from shattering. Ryan quickly moved the cards to his uninjured hand, a slight cut on his hand lightly bleeding from where he grabbed the glass.

"Ah, Fuck! I knew it was trapped... O-oh, I'll read these cards out."

Ryan chose to read the longer card first since it seemed to be more important.

"Welcome to The King's Game. See the rules above. If you... If you all die, the King wins... If you don't want to die, kill The King?"

This was getting worse by the minute. The kidnapper, this King... he wanted to kill them? That was bit more intimidating than just Kidnapping... After a few seconds of nervous contemplation, Ryan moved onto the second card.

"King's Order... Player #2 and Player #7. One must cut, the other will bleed."

The color drained from Ryan's face as he eyed the glass. It hadn't been a trap... it was a tool. No, it'd be more apt to call it a weapon. Ryan dropped the cards on to where the knife had fallen and walked away from it, hands held in a small surrender.

"T-this is, uh... T-this is a bit much for me... I'm, um, Number 4, so I'll just leave these here..."

Ryan showed his number to the others once again, as if to verify what he just said. Ryan was disturbed by the fact that he might die here, so he wanted to reflect on the situation on his own. He wasn't Player 2 or 7, so this Order wasn't his business. Ryan did wish he was paying a little more attention to the other people's hands as they climbed out of their coffins, however.

There were now six people, all in all, and none of them seemed to know the other. Orwell took stock of those who emerged. Everyone looked younger than he did, and one particular upstart irked him. Riley Velskaya, she - or he, Orwell could hear a distinctly masculine tinge in the person's voice - proceeded to take charge of the situation, telling people to calm down like some first responder, then immediately destroyed that sensible and authoritative persona he just tried to create by licking the red, unknown substance on the wall. Orwell decided to keep his distance from the idiot.

Compared to Riley, everyone else exhibited normal behavior, given the situation. The young man he first saw appeared to be the chattiest of the bunch, quickly interacting with two other girls and making sensible observations on how they might have been dragged here. Orwell turned to glance at both girls the man was talking to, one quite disheveled and the other who still seemed surprisingly put together despite the ordeal she has just gone through. Neither of them seemed happy about the situation, which was not surprising, at all.

Another girl stood in front of the "rules", staying away from the rest of the group. It was not an unwise decision, given that they were all strangers in a ominous, and possibly life-threatening situation. He approached the wall she was looking at and proceeded quietly read the rules as well, committing them to memory. Apparently they were all 'players', which meant that this was a game - implying that there would be winners and losers. Even worse, there was a King, and this King reigned supreme. Given the circumstances of their awakening, the coffins were a blatant threat to those who would dare to disobey.

His thoughts were interrupted by a persistent tap coming from one of the wooden boxes.

Orwell was about to approach the offending coffin, when a loud, metallic screech rang out from the dumbwaiter. He laughed to himself, thinking about a movie with a similar premise that ended badly for everyone in it. The first to approach the metal box was the young man, revealing that his curiosity - or was it a misplaced sense of chivalry - was stronger than his fear of the unknown. That warranted a degree of respect, and Orwell decided, for now, that he would make a useful ally in this grim situation.

He pulled out two cards and what seemed to be a glass shard, but not before cutting himself on the sharp blade. On on of the cards was a rule, which only served to strengthen Orwell's suspicions that they were playing for their lives - if the King was telling the truth about letting the winner live. All the same, Orwell already decided that he didn't want to die here.

No, he wanted to die, old and by the beach, with a cold mai tai in his right hand and a half-burnt cigarette in his left.

His vision of blissful retirement was interrupted as the young man read the words on the second card out loud. He clenched his wounded hand and went over to pick up the glass shard, leaving the cards on the floor.

"Four, huh? I'm lucky number seven." Orwell nodded at the man, as if to say hello, then paced around the rest of the room, glancing at their hands. None of them had the number he was looking for.

Only one box was left unopened, and again, he noticed the incessant tap-tap-tap of something against wood. After taking a deep breath to ready himself for whatever horrors he might find, he put the shard in his pocket and pushed the cover aside.

Inside the coffin was a boy with closed eyes, body stiff and stationary as a stone, save for his foot. Orwell swiftly took the shard once more and drew it against the boy's already wounded hand, creating a superficial, yet bleeding cut then drew quickly back while pocketing the weapon once more, in case the boy darted for his throat out of fear and surprise.

"Sorry, kid, King's orders. It's time to wake up... unless you want to sleep forever right away."

"I don't have any money, but you can tell me what you want, instead of hurting me again. I won't resist."

Fear radiated from the boy's every gesture, his eyes only breaking contact to survey the wound he had just received. Orwell moved back to the group, giving him space - a gesture of neutrality.

“Why didn’t you leave your coffin?”

Orwell faced the tall, teenaged girl, glanced at her hand once more, and shrugged.

"Seems to me that he's more cautious than most... Six. In a sense, you could say this room is just one big coffin, too, if we lose the game."

Pointing to the wall, he then turned to talk to the boy he had just pricked. "We are in a situation, and those seem to be the rules. I don't know about you, but I don't want to be the first one to experience the King's retribution. I'd say a small beauty mark is a small price to pay to survive another round." Orwell then pointed out the boarded up exits around the room. "And quit talking about money. There's no use for that in a place like this."

A sudden, but familiar creak of the dumbwaiter signalled that another round was about to begin. Seeing as he was "tagged" by the last order, he made his way towards the device, peered into it to survey its contents, pulled out the note card and read it aloud.

"Player #5 and Player #1. From one a tooth and from one a nail." He placed the card back inside and stepped away from the device, as if to make way for either Five or One to make a run for the dumbwaiter. "There is a nasty pair of pliers inside... looks like the King's getting serious."

Risa was just sitting back on her closed coffin as she watched from the sidelines. She wanted to know what kind of people she was with, and how they cope in stressful situations. She definitely keeping an eye out for the tall blond, but her attention was caught by more people emerging from their coffins. Her eyes lingered longer on the last one but it didn't open, making her think if the person in it was dead or was just too much of a scaredy cat to go out of its litter box.

Just then, she heard a creaking sound like the rest. It was a dumbwaiter that descended from the upper level, revealing two cards and shards of glass. The black-haired guy read the cards out loud. Basically, all they had to do was kill the King and rest will survive; the opposite will happen when only the King was left standing.

Risa's face stayed emotionless, but she was brimming with excitement on the inside. She has never even heard of this type of game before, but it gave her the impression that this was a psychological game as well, because all they needed to do to win was to find out the King.

Then the guy read the message on the other card, stating that either #2 or #7 should cut or bleed. A couple of moments passed and the blond guy walked past them with a grim look on his face. Risa managed to see the number on his hand - #7 - before he opened the coffin and began to cut what seemed to be #2. Two seemed to be so surprised and horrified by what just happened, it made him look like a confused puppy. Risa resisted the urge to laugh and sneer at him.

She turned her sights back at Seven, and her admiration of him grew tenfold. Risa bit her lip. She cannot wait until she can play with him and hear him scream.

Upon the completion of the order, they all heard the familiar sound of the dumbwaiter lowering again, only this time it sounded smoother than before. Seven walked to it and read the cards as he also said there was a nasty pair of pliers inside. Risa finally stood up and approached the dumbwaiter to read the message herself. Her lips quivered as she nervously raised her hand back to the group, revealing to them the #5 on her hand. With her other hand, she picked up the rusty pliers and looked up at the tall blond.

"I-I want to get this over with. I'm s-so scared, but... I wanna live", Risa said to Seven as she looked at him with sad, puppy eyes. She looked back down on the pliers on her hand and decided to remove the nail on her pinky on her non-dominant hand. Risa thought of outsmarting the King to remove the nail on her coffin instead, but where's the fun in that?

Risa removed her red coat and folded it before she bit on it. She knelt to the ground and stepped on her pinky finger to keep it from moving. She clasped the nail with the pliers and, taking deep breaths, channeled all her might into removing the nail. She filled the mansion with her muffled screams as tears started to fall from her eyes due to the pain. She bit down very hard on her coat so it would at least pacify the pain.

Eventually, after what seemed like an eternity of pain, the nail finally got off. She felt like she stuck her finger into a fire from all that pain she's experiencing. She tossed the pliers away from her in fright as she cradled her bloodied finger, still kneeling on the ground in pain and shock. She didn't realize she tossed the pliers in the direction of #1.

Beneath all that pain though, was Risa having the most fun she had in years.

The rules on the wall were quite simple and easy to follow. Simply put, follow the orders and win. That's all there was to it.

Rather than converse with the others, Mari chose to watch. With eyes opened wider than they should have been, she watched everyone else. It was wholly unenjoyable, but what else was there to do?

The girlboy introduced himself. Mari didn't care about his name or who he was. He spoke about staying calm—something Mari already was—and simply playing along for now. He also tasted the blood on the wall. An entirely unneeded act, considering how there was zero doubt on if it was blood. Each of them had already been carved and bashed on the skull.

Then the cards came down. The game ended with death every which way, so stated the first card. The second carried an order with it: cut someone.

Quickly, the buff blonde manslashed the lanky boy. He was rather polite about it, for some reason. He chose to slash a cut only slightly deeper.

Besides those things, nothing of importance happened. Only idle chitchat and a plea. The things that Mari didn't care about, nor would she remember for more than a fleeting second.

The two Asian women mostly stood and watched. Though, their reactions were completely different. One seemed constantly lost in thought, only to have sweat bead down their brow when they realized what was going on. The other was practically dead, choosing not to show anything on her face.

Weird.

But so was the girl—herself—looking at everyone else with an unnatural amount of intent.

Then, a new order came alongside a pair of pliers. Tooth and nail. Proverbial, was it? Whoever was the king must have thought real long and hard on that order. That was her bitterness speaking.

Had she been a strapping young firebrand in his peak, she could have easily caved Five's jaw in and dropped the rusty nail in her pocket in. In fact, it would have been the most logical route to follow. The amount of suffering and loss would be minimized by all parties. Mari wouldn't feel pain and Five would had been too gobsmacked to suffer needlessly. Unfortunately, Mari wasn't a buff freak. Her strength was more akin to Glass Joe than Mike Tyson. Possessing an almost skeletal physique, one could make out every protrusion of bone on her body. Nonexistent muscle and pale skin did little to give her strength. Even if she charged at her with pliers in hand, she would do little more than stumble and bruise skin.

Such a hypothetical was completely meaningless. By the time she had fully thought it out, Five had grabbed the pliers and
began to tear out a nail. Rather than stop her, Mari did what she had been doing since: watched with eyes unnaturally open. And she watched as the pliers flew towards her feet.

Again, if she was strong, she could have ran over and knocked one of her teeth out. It would be easier that way. But she wasn't.

Like a cruel version of the objects that teachers passed around a classroom that designated a speaker, all eyes would have been on her. She chose to use this moment to unload all of her thoughts at once.

"The easiest way to win a game is not to play," she began, "the fastest way out would be to draw lots and just kill from there." She was entirely blunt in every way possible. Each word was as matter-of-fact as the rest, void of nearly any exertion or emotion. "One in seven the king ends up winning, one in seven that everyone else survives, five in seven that a few people survive. If I die from it, so be it."

She paused for a brief moment. In truth, she wanted to live. She wanted to see him again. She wanted him to tell her that it was all going to be okay. But just knowing that he would be safe from whatever harm the unknown malefactors brought was enough for her. As long as he was safe, she was okay with going through pain again. She was okay with never seeing him again if she knew he would be safe.

"You wouldn't get arrested for something like that, either. Extenuating circumstances."

She took a knee on the cold, rotting wood flooring. Without an ounce of hesitation, she rested the pair of pliers on her bottom lip. It pressed against her canine. The cold and bloody metal was cool to the touch. Unlike the girl before her, she wouldn't give anyone the enjoyment of her suffering. Her tongue held steady behind it all. Quickly, she took a single deep breath and plunged her face—pliers first—into the ground.

She didn't scream.

No, it was too familiar to scream. This wasn't a brand new experience for her. Unlike Five, Mari's pain was incredibly easy to handle. It was sudden, it was expected, and it was fast. Like pulling off a bandaid, her body quickly went to compensate her suffering with as many endorphins as it could. But still, it hurt like hell. Tears welled up in her eyes as her mouth opened. A glob of blood and spit fell out alongside a familiar white mass. In a pained motion, she grabbed the bloody tooth and hucked it towards the others. For now, she just lay on the ground with pliers in hand, clutching them as tight as she could with groans of pain audible between the dripping of her bloody saliva.

Number 7 turned out to be the blond, which Ryan was somewhat glad for. He felt that the blond was probably the person who could take the cut the easiest. Of course, that was probably expecting too much out of a stranger he hardly knew. Number 2, instead of taking the cut himself, simply grabbed the blade and started checking each of the group for Number 2. When he didn't find them, he elected to throw open the single, unopened coffin that remained in the room with the group. The wound was superficial, but it was certainly far too sudden for Ryan to feel comfortable with it.

Number 2 wasn't comfortable with it either. He looked defensive, as any sane person would be, and began talking to Number 7 in a low tone.

"I don't have any money, but you can tell me what you want, instead of hurting me again. I won't resist."

That was unsettling. If Ryan was suddenly being attacked, he would probably have yelled instead of calmly addressing the situation. It was clear that Number 2 was nervous, but he was very well-kept despite that. The messy-haired Asian girl, who Ryan now knew was Number 6, questioned Number 2 on his choice of staying in his coffin. It was odd, but considering his eyes were initially closed when 7 Opened it, Ryan assumed that he simply hadn't awoken yet. It made sense - some people were just more susceptible to drugs than others, so whatever substance the King used to kidnap them... Well, Number 2 probably didn't agree with it very well.

Another metallic Screech echoed throughout the room. This time, Number 7 answered the dumbwaiter. Ryan's blood ran cold when he saw the cards and rusty pliers. It hurt Ryan a little to realize how much relief he felt when neither of the players designated by the king were him. Number 5 was the first to begin following orders.

She screamed as she pulled her pinky nail off. Ryan wasn't disturbed in the slightest by the gore - although, it was nowhere near as appetizing when the owner of the flesh was still alive. Rather, he was pierced by her screams. They reverberated around he house violently, demanding the attention of everyone involved in this game.

Number 1 seemed to care much less about the ordeal. She picked up the rusty pliers that Number 5 threw at her feet, and began to talk to the others, the first time she had opened her mouth since awakening.

"The easiest way to win a game is not to play, the fastest way out would be to draw lots and just kill from there. One in seven the king ends up winning, one in seven that everyone else survives, five in seven that a few people survive. If I die from it, so be it."

What got Ryan however, was the final thing she said, before reaching the pliers into her mouth and pulling out a canine.

"You wouldn't get arrested for something like that, either. Extenuating circumstances."

Ryan was far from innocent. He ate human flesh regularly, whether recently deceased or buried or frozen a few weeks ago. He even had a freezer in his basement to make the whole process more efficient. But even then, Ryan had only ever thought of killing once - and it was to kill his recent ex, Jennifer. It disturbed him that he found killing these strangers, a group where he only knew the real name of one of them, was a more unnerving thought that killing someone he shared a bed with. Maybe because these people were the same as Ryan - innocent people stuck in trying circumstances.

Even with rationalizing things like that, Ryan still felt horrible that he didn't offer the tooth necklace he had to Number 1. He just couldn't risk contaminating it... If he got out of here alive than the only physical evidence that Ryan was kidnapped at all would be these teeth - especially if they had printed on them, or some were taken from Dennis.

"T-that's... That's Cruel!"

Ryan had to say something - some of these characters already seemed a little strange, especially considering they were so eager to carry out the commands. Didn't they read the rules? The players had three hours to complete an order! Unless 'all orders' meant every order until they were all dead, and not each one...

"L-look... I'm just saying, don't you think that's... a bit much? We don't even know if one of us is the King! The dumbwaiter comes down from above, so wouldn't that mean he's upstairs?"

Ryan turned towards the destroyed staircase. If it was possible to climb up there, it would take an incredible amount of time and effort... If it was possible at all. Ryan decided to continue, doing his best to try and not make himself look more like the King than he already did.

"I mean... We have three hours to complete an Order, right? L-let's say the King is down here - He probably wouldn't target himself, right? We have three hours until we need to do anything drastic, we can think this over calmly..."

He didn't like her suggestion very much, but Ryan had to admit - if he felt any people weren't the King, it would have to be Number 1 or 5. They both sacrificed a body part... Even if it's small, that's no meager feat. Ryan hoped the others weren't as disturbing as he was starting to think they were - would they think killing one another would be okay? Even if it risked an innocent person's life?

The situation, as it was unfolding, was progressively becoming bloodier with each order carried out.

Two decided to literally take her nail out in the most agonizing way possible, stomping on her finger and pulling on the thing until it separated itself from her bloody flesh. For a scared girl, she put up quite a display of resolution, carrying out what the King asked without a moment's hesitation. Even he would have tried to find a way to delay or minimize the damage done to himself, had it been him given the order. It seemed that she really didn't want to die and was ready to go through any amount of pain to see it through.

In other words, she was a contender. Orwell decided to keep a watchful eye on her, sizing her up discreetly, but throwing his necktie in her direction, motioning wordlessly to her that she could use it as a bandage.

After that gruesome ordeal, the silent girl finally spoke, making some astute observations about their chances of survival, as well as the legal repercussions of murdering someone during the 'game'. Apparently, One didn't care much about living or dying, which relieved Orwell. If anyone was going to die first, it would probably be her. Without much ado, One did a faceplant onto the pliers, and off came her tooth, which she promptly threw towards the rest of them. He glanced at the bloody thing, then back at her. A mess of red now flowed from her mouth, which stained the floor as she salivated, like some injured animal. The pliers clutched tight in her hand also meant that like him, One was now armed with something.

Before anyone else could speak, Four made a sudden outburst.

"T-that's... That's Cruel! L-look... I'm just saying, don't you think that's... a bit much? We don't even know if one of us is the King! The dumbwaiter comes down from above, so wouldn't that mean he's upstairs?"

Orwell was still beside the dumbwaiter, and he peered at it as Four continued speaking. It was true that the King -or at least another person- might be personally placing the items, but it was just as possible that a remote-controlled device was used to load them into the dumbwaiter. Although Four's theory did feel congruent to the disrepair that the stairs were now in. It might be possible to send someone up, if two or three people made a human ladder.

"I mean... We have three hours to complete an Order, right? L-let's say the King is down here - He probably wouldn't target himself, right? We have three hours until we need to do anything drastic, we can think this over calmly..."

It was true that they had time to search around, but they did not have forever.

"We have about seventy two hours before we die of thirst - probably even less for those already injured, unless we decide to start drinking blood, or unless the King decides to send us some supplies, which I find highly unlikely."

Orwell raised his arm and briefly showed them his watch, which indicated that it was a little past midnight. For some reason the date displayed on the watch was tampered with; the month was clearly wrong, almost seven months past the date he last remembers, and he guessed that the day was probably changed as well. As if the King were trying to tell him that a dead man has no use for time.

Well, he wasn't dead yet, and he doesn't plan on dying any time soon.

"It might also be true that someone... maybe even another player... is up the stairs, but it would mean sending one smaller person up there to check. If there is someone up there, they are likely to be armed. Let me know if there are any volunteers willing to put their neck on the line for a shot in the dark."

He remembered the key in his pocket and started heading towards the only closed door. If there was something horrible waiting for him there, Orwell decided that he wanted to get it over and done with. The crumpled picture in his pocket felt like it weighed a ton.

"The rooms - could be something useful in them. Hints, tools, bandages, food? Wouldn't hurt to find out. There's got to be a reason why the King chose us."

As Orwell reached the door, he took out the key and to placed it in the keyhole right below the worn knob to see if it would fit. He could have sworn that the room had gotten much colder - or was it just his imagination?