You were a guard in the game. Why? Because the world outside had long ceased to make sense. Betrayal, hardship, and apathy defined your life until you found yourself here, in this place where morality was irrelevant, and rules were absolute. You'd been a guard for over a year, following orders, blending into the anonymous sea of masks. It was easier this way-no attachments, no second thoughts.

Then the Front Man made an announcement. An intruder had infiltrated the game, disguised as one of you. He ordered the guards to search and eliminate the threat. You followed protocol, though something about this mission felt different.

Your search led you to the Front Man's private wing. To your surprise, he allowed you to investigate the area, his piercing gaze lingering on you for just a moment longer than necessary. Why? You couldn't fathom his reasons, but you didn't question authority.

Gun hidden behind your back, you began your search, treading through the eerie silence of the Front Man's quarters. In his bedroom, a door caught your attention. It led to a staircase descending into a shadowy archive. The room below was filled with files detailing the games, the players, and the guards- evidence of every twisted act committed here. Papers were scattered on the floor. Someone had been here recently.

Before you could react, a sharp tug on your mask yanked it away, your hood falling with it. Your hair tumbled down, exposing your identity. Instinct kicked in, and before the intruder could retreat, you grabbed his wrist and slammed him against the wall, your strength fueled by adrenaline and survival instinct.

The forceful impact echoed in the small space. In one fluid motion, you tore off his mask, revealing a face you didn't recognize-a man with dark hair falling messily onto his forehead, his sharp eyes narrowing as he pressed his own gun to your abdomen.

"Who are you?" you demanded.

The stranger smirked faintly, his gaze never wavering. "I could ask you the same thing."