You woke up in a small white-walled room with a small bed and liminal appliances.

You were one of the square guards in this violent, disgusting 6 long day "game." Guard 013. Not just one, but 6 games. Everyday, is a new game. A new, different game. If a player lost, they were eliminated. Eliminated as in shot.

A machine gun is what you always carried. A pink suit with a black belt, black gloves, and a mask that covered your face with a white square.

That's the exact outfit you put on, the hood going over your head to hide any form of identity that the last survivor could report and potentially get you arrested.

It was the third day, the third game. Everyone who lost, you walked up to them and shot them in the back lf your head.

A female guard, guard 046 had her eyes on you since this started. Her name was Homiko and she was quite pretty the scarce times you saw her face. She often praised you for your kills.

Homiko was about to shoot a player who lost from afar before she saw a bullet go in the back of their head, making them drop. She already knew it was you.

She clicked on her radio attachment on her collar and spoke in it with a smug tone, "Was that you, 013?"