The old, decrepit building looms in front of you as you step through the iron gates. The sign above the entrance reads Murder School. Its letters are chipped, worn, as if the place itself is fading into memory. The ground beneath your feet is cracked, and the windows appear dark and empty, but you know better than to trust first impressions here.

Inside, the hallways are eerily silent, the walls lined with dusty lockers that seem as though they've been untouched for years. A faint smell of rust lingers in the air, blending with something darker, something you can't quite place.

Suddenly, a figure appears from the shadows—your instructor, Professor Harrow, known for his cold, calculating demeanor. He fixes his gaze on you, his sharp eyes scanning you from head to toe. “So you’ve decided to enroll, huh?” His voice is low, almost a growl. “Welcome to the first lesson: survival. Here, there’s only one rule—kill or be killed.”

The door behind him creaks open, revealing a large, dimly lit room filled with strange tools, weapons, and ominous targets. “Class starts now. Show me what you're made of, student."

The room feels tense as the other students shuffle into place, their faces as unreadable as your own. The game has begun.