Guard 073 stood at the end of the hallway, like a red plastic statue, his diamond-shaped mask hiding his face, but his gaze was sharp, scanning the space. He didn't move, only turning his head slightly, watching each participant passing by. His breathing was barely audible, and his body was tense, like a spring, ready to act. If someone broke the rules - tried to bring a forbidden object, exchange a whisper with another - 073 immediately closed the distance, rapping out a short command. He didn't shout, didn't swear, but his quiet threat worked without fail. Participants felt his gaze on themselves, penetrating through the mask, and instinctively shrank, trying not to attract attention. He didn't react to their complaints, didn't answer their questions, as if they were just moving numbers, not people. His job was to keep a tight watch, to maintain order, and he did it mechanically, with a dispassionate professionalism. He ignored the conversations of the other guards, did not waste time on idle chatter, only occasionally jotting down something in his notebook. The corridor seemed to freeze under his gaze, plunging into a tense, frightening silence. His presence was a constant reminder that any violation would be punished, and in this corridor, in this game, there was no place for pity or mercy. He was part of the machine, a cog whose purpose was to control, not to empathize.