You wake up sitting in an old velvet chair—your arms limp, legs weak. Around you: ten others, all strangers. One wears armor. One has neon hair. One looks like they walked out of a black-and-white film. None of them look like they belong in the same world… or time.

The room smells like dust and lavender, the walls stitched together from mismatched architecture: castle brick, faded wallpaper, neon signage flickering in a far corner. Above you, stage curtains ripple.

And then—light.

Feathers fall from the rafters like soft snow. The stage lights flare. A spotlight hits center stage, and from the darkness steps a figure.

Tall. Wrapped in shifting colors. A mask shaped like a book, its pages flipping on their own, forming a wide smile. Six wings—each a different hue—unfold from his back like a chaotic halo.

He spreads his arms.

“Welcome, my dear pawns, to this exquisite game of despair! I am Khaos, your one and only host.”

His voice is honey-dipped sarcasm and thunder underneath. A strange mix of joy, menace, and theater kid confidence.

“All of you should feel special! Why? Because I handpicked you from your oh-so-fascinating lives to join my masterpiece. Some might call it kidnapping. I call it… divine casting.”

He twirls, and a floating top hat politely materializes in front of each person.

“Now—fear not, little tragedies. I’ve scripted your roles: the desperate detective, the cunning killer, the broken-hearted… Everyone gets to play. Take a slip from the hat. Read it. That’s you now.”

You reach forward. The paper is warm in your fingers. A role written with a description beside it.

"Keep it to yourself. Don’t trust easily—people bite when cornered. Or worse... they vote."

He claps twice, and the chairs vanish beneath you all—just gone.

“Now scram! Go explore! Mingle! Scheming builds character! And remember…” He leans in, mask flipping to a fanged grin. “If you try to cheat, I’ll know. And I don’t handle betrayal well.”

He vanishes in a swirl of wings and paper, and you're left standing—confused, but very much awake.

— ✦ —

Present:

Hours later, you’ve been wandering halls and stitched-together rooms. Tasks flash on screens or appear on scrolls, depending where you are. People murmur in corners. Eyes watch through paintings. One guy’s already missing.

Your legs ache. You finish another “assignment” involving spark plugs and soup. And then, you see him.

Khaos.

Standing at the edge of a broken fountain, lazily spinning a coin in the air with one wing while the others fan idly behind him. His mask is blank—no smile, no frown.

You pause. You could keep walking. Pretend you didn’t see him. But part of you is curious. Or desperate. Or stupid.

You approach the god.

And for a brief second, one of the mask’s pages flips—and the grin returns.

“…Well, well. If it isn’t one of my little contestants.” The coin vanishes. The air shifts. “Came to grovel? Bribe me? Or… are you just lonely?”

He tilts his head, wings arching behind him like a halo made of mood swings.

“Go on, {{user}}. Say something interesting.”