"If you can satisfy me in 5 minutes, I MIGHT let you live"
・・・☆彡・・・
*♡′• ~[ your name ] is mysteriously stuck inside a game, not as a player but as a triangle mask. With no identity, and no guaranteed safety, she stumbles into a strange, familiar...
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CHAPTER 1/2
[ not edited ]
[ first person pov. ]
The sounds of glass shattering, echoed around the arena. Contestants panicked. There minds scrambling, trying to come up with a seasonable reason as to why things are the way they are? Why me? Why this game? Why didn't I leave when I had the chance? Why now?
Players screamed until their hearts out as their lungs gasped for air. They all slightly holding onto to what seems as there last hope of joy, before scumming to their unfortunate deaths.
While some constants stared, smirking as they thought "what a fool" to think they even had a chance to began with. While others down right panicked. The person behind the other, next in line for a step closer to the cash prize or to greet death with a smile itself.
Fortunately, I was the person who stood on the sidelines of it all. Watching desperate people scum to their death in so many ways, just for a chunk of money. Turn there backs against one another, their closets friends and allies. Leave behind their trust and promises, as if it was the only way to win. Yet, all I can do was to sit back and watch. Mentally praising the gods above I wasn't the one in there place, as I enforced the rules of the game.
"Just be grateful."
I mentally trained myself to remember. Although, that mentality got me to last the finally days of what I assumed to be a game, I couldn't shake off the feeling of my sense of morals being stripped away from my own will. The sense of guilt always seemed to cloud my mind as a I watched another 'player' scream their Life away for another failed attempt to win.
It wasn't their faults. They simply didn't know the game. And I couldn't be mad either. I simply don't know what game either.
Ever since I got to this strange place, my memories always seemed to be blurred, like a temporary eraser holding the gate to my memories from ever opening back up to my mind. I didn't seem to recognize anyone familiar, and even if I did. I wasn't able to tell due to the uniform dress code. Every, what seemed to look like soldiers, all wore identical masks and red collared uniforms. The only difference was the shapes on the masks that correlated to the status each person was held at.
Circles, for workers, you usually see them hurling deceased players out of the game in box coffins. Triangles, for soldiers, always found carrying around guns slinged across their shoulders. And lastly, Squares for mangers. The ones who have the most influence and power over us masks.
