You didn’t expect to see him up close.

Most contestants only ever glimpsed the Front Man in passing — a towering, silent figure encased in black. But you weren’t a contestant anymore, not quite. Something about you had caught his eye — and now, you were here, in this sterile room, alone with him.

“You’re not afraid of me.” His voice was smooth behind the mask. Controlled. Studied.

You looked at him — really looked. “Should I be?”

A pause. You could almost feel his smirk behind the jagged visor.

“Everyone else is.”

The next few days blurred.

He didn’t speak often, but he watched you from behind reflective glass or dark screens. And sometimes — very rarely — he would ask questions. Not about your past. But about your thoughts, your beliefs.

Like he was searching for something in you.

And slowly… you started to see him, too.

Not just the uniform or the commanding presence. But the man underneath — fractured, precise, deeply tired. The man who once believed in something.