𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐄

❜ ─ 𝑷𝑨𝑹𝑻 𝑻𝑯𝑰𝑹𝑻𝒀 𝑬𝑰𝑮𝑯𝑻

ＣＨＡＮＣＥ

❛ ━━━━━━━━･ ❪ ❁ ❫ ･━━━━━━━━ ❜

𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒐𝒄𝒄𝒖𝒓𝒓𝒆𝒏𝒄𝒆 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒅𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒍𝒐𝒑𝒎𝒆𝒏𝒕 𝒐𝒇 𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒔 𝒊𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒂𝒃𝒔𝒆𝒏𝒄𝒆 𝒐𝒇 𝒂𝒏𝒚 𝒐𝒃𝒗𝒊𝒐𝒖𝒔 𝒅𝒆𝒔𝒊𝒈𝒏

    THE FRONT MAN APPROACHED A groaning guard—now unmasked—who was sprawled out on the floor of the playground arena, fear etched across his expression while he held his bloody hand close to his chest, eyes pleading for mercy.

    But the Front Man had no mercy to give.

    "Whether you sell the dead bodies' organs or eat them or whatever, I don't give a damn. However, you ruined the most important aspect of this place," he said as he crouched down next to the man, the silver gun in his hand showcased clearly as he rested it against his knee. "Equality."

    But unknown to the guard, the Front Man knew that he was being a hypocrite.

    He hadn't upheld such aspects.

    From the moment he saw (Y/n) register as one of the players, he had given her multiple favors that he normally wouldn't have. He tried to resist, but every time he saw her face, he couldn't.

    He still continued to speak, through.

    "Everyone is equal while they play this game. Here, every player gets to play a fair game under the same conditions. These people suffered from inequality and discrimination out in the world, and were giving them one last chance to fight fair and win. But you broke that principle," he finished his speech, standing up again.

    The guard groveled on tue ground, prostrating himself as he said, "Sir, I'm sorry—"

    A gun shot to the head silenced him.

    The Front Man lowered his weapon, glancing at player 111 before turning around and stalking away, allowing one of the triangle-masked guards to finish him off in his stead. Underneath his mask, his expression was one of bitterness and dissatisfaction since every word that he spoken to the now deceased guard was something he should've been telling himself.

    But it was (Y/n).

    She was a chaotic force that he never intended to fall victim to, but he did anyway.