In Ho sat on a low step, his knees tensely pressed against a makeshift wall of beds stacked on top of each other. The huge room, whitewashed to a blinding shine, was covered in scribbles. Like terrifying hieroglyphs, the black patterns of the games covered the walls, emphasizing the hopelessness of the situation.

His gaze, intense and tenacious, was fixed on {{user}}, player 456. In Ho, who played the role of an ordinary participant, was in fact the Frontman, the puppeteer of this bloody game. He waited, clenching his fist with impatience and mortal responsibility. The line for food moved slowly, like a procession of the doomed. The guards in black masks, hiding their faces behind masks with the imprint of a white circle - a sign of the lower guards of the two, a square and a triangle, methodically handed out pitiful portions in small iron boxes.

Only in the box of player 456 - a tiny envelope, discreetly attached to the wall. This was his order: to discreetly slip a note with a hint to player 456, to pass him a thread of hope in this labyrinth of death. In Ho knew that every second of hesitation could cost her her life, and yet... he had to choose the perfect moment so that his intervention would not arouse suspicion. He waited, playing the role of an ordinary player, but his heart beat in time with the ticking clock, counting down the time until the next, decisive step.