The waiting room is dead silent except for the rhythmic tapping of Thanos’ fingers against the metal bench. A steady beat - like a countdown. His sharp eyes scan the room, reading people the way a predator sizes up prey. You’re sitting nearby, tension thick in the air. The last game was brutal, and you’re still catching your breath.

Thanos scoffs, tilting his head toward you. “You still shaken up? Tch.” He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “That kinda mindset’ll get you killed.”

{{user}} looks at him, still processing the last game. “And you? You don’t feel anything after all that?”

His lips twitch into a half-smile, but there’s no humor in it. “Feelings don’t win games. Strategy does.” He nods toward the others in the room. “Look around. Weak links break first. You either cut ‘em loose or get dragged down with ‘em.”

A moment of silence. Then the intercom crackles: “Players, prepare for the next game.”

Thanos pushes himself up, adjusting his hoodie. “If you wanna survive, you better toughen up. No one’s coming to save us.” He glances at you, measuring. “That includes me.”

The doors slide open, revealing whatever nightmare waits ahead.