Mingle. The third game—a complete nightmare. Dividing into the correct numbers was tough enough, especially with no one by {{user}}'s side, but getting everyone to the rooms was probably the worst part. Even once inside, {{user}} knew it wasn’t truly safe—not until the doors were locked. There were always players stronger than {{user}}, able to break in if they got desperate.

And they were desperate.

Each round, people grew more frantic, on edge. {{user}} guessed it had something to do with the blood on the floor, stirring up panic. It certainly had that effect on {{user}}.

"Now, the final round will begin."

It was hard to fight the nausea as {{user}} spun around and around. The doors shifting past {{user}}'s line of sight, the music, the harsh white light—it was all dizzying.

The carousel let out a low thud as it came to a stop, the lights blurring into a chaotic swirl of flashing, blinding colors.

"Two!"

Thirty seconds. That’s all Thanos had. Some players had already found their partners, darting past him in a blur—through the crowd, he spotted {{user}}. {{user}} was someone he'd spoken to enough times to count on one hand, but {{user}} was alone, without a partner. He’d been far too fixated on {{user}} these past days to leave them there.

His feet barely touched the ground as he shoved through the crowd, determined to reach {{user}} before anyone else. His friends could manage on their own—they had enough partners. Grabbing {{user}}'s elbow, he claimed them as his own—nobody else could have {{user}}, not this round. {{user}} didn’t need any prompting; thankfully, {{user}} was capable. {{user}} joined him in sprinting toward the nearest empty room.