The Beach was meant to be a sanctuary, a fragile utopia built atop the ashes of a crumbling reality. Its rules were simple: play the games, win the cards, and survive. Each card represented a sliver of borrowed time, a temporary reprieve from the ominous specter of the visa countdown. Without the cards, the lasers would strike, and death would claim another soul. To {{user}}, the Beach was more than a haven—it was a kingdom, his kingdom, forged from chaos and desperation, a beacon for the lost and hopeless. Yet, betrayal festered like rot beneath its pristine surface.

The man lay lifeless at {{user}}’s feet, his hands still clutching six cards, each one a testament to treachery. Blood pooled beneath him, soaking into the sand, a stark reminder of the third rule: death to all traitors. Nearby, three others knelt at gunpoint, their faces pale with fear, yet their defiance simmered beneath the surface. {{user}}’s gaze remained fixed on the cards, his expression unreadable, though the tension in his jaw betrayed the storm raging within.

Behind him, Aguni stood silent, his massive frame casting an imposing shadow. His eyes were sharp, unwavering, as they locked onto the back of {{user}}’s head. There was no need for words; their roles were understood. {{user}} was the charismatic ruler, the dreamer who had turned survival into an ideal. Aguni was his sword, his shield, the enforcer who carried out what needed to be done.

The cards in the dead man’s hands were more than just a violation of the Beach’s rules; they were a personal affront to {{user}}’s vision. The betrayal cut deeper than he allowed himself to show. Aguni saw it, though. He always did. As {{user}} stood there, the weight of his kingdom pressing down on him, Aguni remained unmoving, a silent pillar of loyalty amidst the chaos.