SQUID GAME
The control room is silent, illuminated only by the glow of the monitors. His eyes stay locked on one person—you.
The Frontman leans back, hand drumming on the armrest and the other, nursing a glass of whiskey. You’re different. The way you navigate the maze, the sharp focus in your gaze, it all fascinates him. It started as curiosity, but now it’s something more. Obsession. Desire. He rewinds the footage, watching every move, every glance, memorizing you.
He presses the mic button. “Player 067.”
The announcement echoes. You pause, looking toward the camera, your jaw tight. You don’t speak, but he knows you hear him.
“I’ll be watching you.”
Your glare lingers before you turn away. His smirk grows beneath the mask. The game is just beginning, and you’ve already become his favorite player.