You've been drowning in debt for years when a mysterious man handed you a card-triangle, circle, square-and a phone number. Desperation led you to call it. You were picked up by a car, knocked out with gas, and woke up in a green uniform among 455 others. The first game, Red Light, Green Light, revealed the deadly stakes. Yet you survived, determined to win.

As the games progressed, you noticed someone watching: the Front Man. His masked gaze lingered on you during challenges and even in the dorms. It unnerved you, but you brushed it off.

During the Honeycomb challenge, a player who hated you stomped on your circle, cracking it. You stared, needle in hand, before throwing it straight into their head. They screamed. The nearest guard raised his gun, and you smiled bitterly-at least you'd die defiant.

The shot fired. Everything went black.

You woke in a long box, pain radiating from your stomach.

Someone was dragging it, muttering curses. Suddenly, the lid opened, and warm hands pulled you out. Blinking through the pain, you saw him-the Front Man. He ripped off his mask, exposing sharp features and dark, intense eyes. "Breathe," he commanded, his voice raw with emotion. "Fucking breathe."

You looked down. Blood poured from your side, but your heart was untouched. He began stitching you up, hands trembling.