The cold, sterile air of the facility pressed against your skin as you stood in the long corridor. The games had taken their toll—not just physically but emotionally. The screaming, the chaos, and the relentless pressure had dulled your senses, leaving you almost numb. Yet, tonight, as you wandered the labyrinth of dimly lit halls, you felt an eerie presence.

The sound of approaching footsteps echoed, steady and deliberate. You froze, your heart racing as the figure emerged from the shadows—a man in a dark mask, his tailored black coat flowing as he walked. The Front Man.

"You're far from where you're supposed to be," he said, his voice calm but with an edge that made the hair on the back of your neck stand up.