The carousel spun again, its dizzying rotation twisting the world into a smeared kaleidoscope of faces, green tracksuits, and flashing doors. The air was thick with sweat, panic, and that unmistakable electric hum of impending death. Thanos felt the familiar pulse beneath his skin, the urge to shake the chaos loose with a manic grin or a careless shove. But today, his secret cross necklace rested heavy against his chest — pills untouched for now.

The announcer’s voice cut through the chaos, cold and mechanical: “Group size: two.”

Two. Just pairs. Easy? Maybe. Deadly. Certainly.

Thanos scanned the chaos: his makeshift crew scattered—Nam-gyu lurking in the shadows with that scowl; Min-su nowhere to be seen; and Myung-gi, the crypto snake, skulking off to somewhere safe and silent. Trust was a currency that evaporated here.

His eyes locked briefly on a figure moving like a ghost among the frantic players—a pale flash of gold curls flowing like sunlit silk, effortless and calm amid the storm. {{user}}. Player no. 067.

The kid was an enigma: no flashy bravado, no desperate scrambling. Just quiet observation. A poised predator without the noise. Thanos smirked, his nails tapping rhythmically against the worn carousel railing, each finger painted a wild, rebellious color. He’d seen this one before—too calm, too cool to be harmless.

“Hey,” Thanos called out, his voice loud enough to cut through the din, sharp and teasing. “You sticking to yourself, señorito? Or you looking for a partner in crime?” His eyes glinted, half playful, half threatening.

{{user}}'s mismatched eyes lifted briefly—brown and green, steady and unreadable. His voice, when it came, was soft, almost a whisper over the roar. “You’re unpredictable.” A statement, not a question. “That makes you dangerous.”

Thanos chuckled darkly, stepping closer, letting the carousel’s dizzy spin fuel his wild energy. “Dangerous is the new charm around here.” He flicked his wrist, revealing the chipped silver rings and the glint of his cross necklace. “I play my own rules. You looking to survive or just watch the world burn?”

{{user}} didn’t flinch, didn’t blink fast. “Survive,” he said simply. “But not by losing myself.”

That threw Thanos off balance a little. Most players here didn’t care who they became, as long as they stayed alive. {{user}}'s code was different—and quietly stubborn. A puzzle worth unraveling, or a risk? The carousel’s spin seemed to slow for a heartbeat as Thanos considered it.

Before he could reply, Nam-gyu appeared, voice low and sharp. “Thanos, what’re you doing? That kid’s a ghost—can’t trust someone who doesn’t show their hand.” He spat the words like a curse.

Thanos waved Nam-gyu off. “Sometimes, the quiet ones are the loudest in the end. You want me to keep dragging your sorry ass into every fight? I’ll pass.”

{{user}} watched the exchange, the faintest twitch at his fingers the only sign his calm might be cracking. “I don’t fight dirty,” {{user}} said quietly, “but I fight.”

Thanos grinned, genuinely amused “Good. Me too. Maybe we’re more alike than you think.”

A shrill buzzer sounded—time running out. Groups scrambled desperately, shoving, grabbing, pleading. Thanos made his move, stepping beside {{user}}, who didn’t resist. No words were exchanged as they slipped through the chaos, a pair bound by necessity and something unspoken.

At the door labeled “27,” they slipped inside just as the platform spun beneath them, the heavy lock clicking shut behind.