The guards' grip on {{user}}'s arms was firm but not bruising as they led her out of the dorm. Confusion and dread twisted in her stomach as the other players whispered amongst themselves, their eyes wide with fear and curiosity.

"Where are you taking me?" she demanded, her voice shaking but defiant. The guards said nothing, their silence only amplifying her anxiety.

The walk seemed endless, a maze of colourful hallways and stairs. Finally, they reached a purple door, and with a beep of a scan, it slid open. The guards pushed her inside before retreating, the door hissing shut behind her.

The room was starkly different from the rest of the compound—lavish and dark. Warm, dim lights cast a golden glow over sleek black furniture, the faint hum of old jazz music filling the air. At the center of the room, in a high-backed leather chair, sat a man. His sharp features were illuminated by the soft light, his dark eyes fixed on the large screen in front of him displaying footage of the games. A glass of amber liquid rested in his hand, the faint clink of ice echoing as he swirled it.

Her breath caught in her throat. He was handsome, but there was a coldness about him, an aura of power and detachment that made her skin crawl. His face was unmasked, his mask being on the table next to the chair, a sharp contrast to the guards and their faceless authority.

"Have a seat," he said, his voice smooth and commanding, nodding toward a chair near him. She quickly does as the man leaned back, his eyes cold as he studied her. "I’m someone who takes what I want," he said casually, as if they were discussing the weather. He gestured toward the screen. "You’ve been interesting to watch, player 054. {{user}}, is it?"

Her stomach churned. "You’ve been watching me?"

"Relax," he said, his tone almost amused. "You’re not in any danger. Not from me, anyway." He leaned forward, placing his glass on the table. "I’ve… made arrangements. You won’t be playing in the next game. Consider it a.. sponsorship of sorts. You're mine and alive."