Emery's POV 
I sat there, watching. Watching them scramble, watching them beg and cry, handing each other a pathetic helping hand, all trying to survive. It was disappointing, really. I expected more from them by now. I wanted more. I wanted to see them crawl out of their own skin, desperate to escape this nightmare, to tear at each other just for a breath of air. But instead... it was getting boring.
How could something so thrilling become so dull? The fear in their eyes was fading, and that didn’t sit well with me. I needed to change that.
With a sigh, I stood up from my seat, signaling for attention. I wanted their eyes on me. All of them.
"Congratulations," I said, my voice ringing through the room, loud and clear. "You’ve all made it this far. Surviving, clawing your way through... this." I gestured around lazily. "And now, with the final fight between Noah and Matthew ending, two more games remain. Three more... before your fates are sealed."
Silence fell over the room. No one spoke. Even my father and Noah didn’t move, didn’t dare speak up. They knew. They knew their power was slipping, and I was the one taking it. Good.
My father—he was the one who started this. He was the mastermind behind all these sick games, long before I brought them back. And now, he would watch as I made him feel as miserable as he once made us. He broke Noah, he broke our mother, and now it was his turn.
I felt a cold smile curl at the corner of my lips. A smile that wasn’t meant to comfort anyone. "So, Father," I said, turning toward him, my tone sharp and mocking, "are you ready? Ready to introduce the next game? The one you created long ago?"
I saw the flicker of hesitation in his eyes. He wasn’t so sure anymore. He knew the weight of what was coming, the ghosts of his past clawing their way back. He couldn’t stop it now. I waited, watching him, daring him to make a move.
But he didn’t. He couldn’t. 
I nodded, satisfied. "That’s what I thought. Coward."
Without another word, I reached for the remote and powered on the big screen. The static hummed to life behind me, a still image frozen on the screen, just waiting for my command.
"Let’s not waste time," I said, my voice dripping with challenge. "If you won’t tell them, I will. Let’s show them the truth. All your dirty little secrets."
I hit the button, and the screen flickered before playing the old footage. The room grew tense as the video began, the air thick with anticipation. Every player had their eyes glued to the screen, but none more than Noah. He stared, confusion pulling at his features as the images rolled on. Of course, he didn’t know. He didn’t know the depths of our father’s cruelty, of the deadly games he played with his friends... and our mother.
The video showed a time long past—when the garden still bloomed with life, when the trees were younger but still reached the sky. There was our mother, her legs strong, not yet confined to that wretched wheelchair. She was laughing, running, playing with him. My father. 
And then, the playful yelling began, the camera turning to Lucas’s mom, running from the family dog, laughing as Lucas’s dad tried to calm the excited animal. It was all so... innocent.
But I glanced at Lucas and Abigail. Abigail’s tears were already flowing, and Lucas... Lucas clenched his jaw, holding her tightly. They watched, as did the others, all of them focused, absorbing every second. But Noah... Noah was the most affected. I could feel the shock rippling through him, though he tried to hide it. 
Then, the video shifted, the colors fading, growing grayer. The signal was weak, like it didn’t want to show the truth that came next. But I knew. This was my favorite part.
The screen cleared, and there it was. Blood. Blood on the floor, chaos erupting as the game turned deadly. Lucas’s dad, Abigail’s father—they were in a brutal fight, battling for their lives. And my father... my father stood there, pushing Lucas’s mom aside like she was nothing, shouting at her to give him the damn injection.
But Lucas’s mom, her voice shaking, refused. "Nick I can’t... I can’t do it... I’m injected too! Please, don’t... my son, we have a son, Nick! I can’t die here!" She fell to her knees, sobbing, begging for her life.
The next part hit hard. Harder than any of them were ready for.
A loud slap echoed through the video. My father had struck her. She collapsed, hitting the ground, and he didn’t even blink. He didn’t care. He just injected my mother, saving her while the rest bled and fought.
The room was deathly silent as the video played on. Everyone was watching in disbelief, fury building inside them. I could feel it. Abigail was trembling, Lucas was barely holding it together, and the others... their faces were painted with horror.
But I wasn’t horrified. I was satisfied.
The next clip showed Abigail’s dad, covered in blood, standing over Lucas’s father, the life draining from him. Tears streamed down his face as he screamed at my father. "Why?! Why, Nick?! Why did you create this?! For what?!" His voice was ragged, desperate. "You sacrificed us... for what?! For your experiments?!"
His voice cracked, echoing in the room, the weight of his words sinking deep into the players. And then... a gunshot. The sound of a bullet tearing through the air and landing in Abigail’s dad, sending him crumpling to the ground.
The video faded to gray once more, the screen flickering out, leaving the room in thick, suffocating silence.
The tension in the room was unbearable. They thought I was the enemy, that I was the one to fear. But no. The true devil was still here, still breathing, still playing his games. The past was coming back to haunt us all.
The silence was thick, suffocating, but I stood there, not moving. The air around me buzzed with the weight of what I’d just shown them. Their pasts, my father’s sins... it was all out there now, for everyone to see.
But the best part? No one could do anything about it. Not even him.
I glanced at my father. He sat there, pale, hands clenched so tight his knuckles turned white. He wasn’t in control anymore. He couldn’t stop the truth from coming out. For years, he hid it, buried it, and tried to keep it locked away. But I brought it back. I wanted him to suffer, to feel the weight of everything he did. 
Noah, though, he was different. His eyes were still locked on the screen, his mind racing as if he was trying to piece it all together. He didn’t know. He never knew. And now, all this time, everything he thought about our family, about my father, was crumbling before him. I could see it in his eyes, the confusion, the betrayal.
I almost felt sorry for him. Almost.
"Why?" His voice cracked, breaking the silence that hung in the room. He wasn’t asking me. No, he was asking ‘him’—our father.
But Father didn’t answer. He wouldn’t. He couldn’t.
I crossed my arms, leaning against the back of my chair. "You didn’t think it would catch up to you, did you?" I whispered, my voice cold but calm, cutting through the thick air like a knife. "You thought you could keep running, hiding behind your games, behind your lies. But here we are."
I watched as his face twisted, not with guilt or shame, but with anger. He hated being cornered. He hated losing control. But that’s exactly what was happening. The players, Noah, Abigail, Lucas—they all sat there, still processing what they had just seen.
Abigail’s eyes were red, tears silently streaming down her face again. She didn’t even try to wipe them away anymore. Lucas calming her, his jaw clenched, fury bubbling under the surface, but he stayed quiet. 
They were broken. All of them. And it was my father’s fault.
"You think I'm the villain here, Emery," he finally spoke, his voice low but filled with venom. "But you don't know what you're doing. You think you're in control, but you're just like me. You ‘are’ me."
I felt my chest tighten, his words digging deeper than I expected. But I didn’t show it. I couldn’t.
"Maybe," I replied, my voice steady. "Maybe I am. But at least I’m not pretending to be something else. At least I’m not lying to myself or to anyone else."
He didn’t respond, just glared at me, his eyes burning with the rage he could no longer unleash. He was trapped, and he knew it. And that’s what made it so satisfying.
I turned away from him, looking at the others, at Noah. He was still in shock, still trying to process everything, his eyes searching mine for answers I wasn’t going to give him. Not now. Not yet.
"I told you," I said, my gaze locking with his. "There’s more to this game than you know. More than you’ll ever understand."
Noah shook his head slightly, his lips parting as if to speak, but no words came out. He was lost, torn between the person he thought he knew and the reality he was now facing. His silence spoke louder than anything.
I took a deep breath, feeling the weight of the room, the tension, the fear, the confusion. They were all at my mercy now. They thought I was just playing some sick game, but this was more than that. This was about tearing down the walls my father had built, about making him face the consequences of his actions.
The players didn’t realize it yet, but this wasn’t just about survival. It was about retribution. About making sure he could never hurt anyone like that again.
But for now, they needed to believe it was just a game. They needed to think I was the one they should fear.
I smiled again, this time softer, but with the same coldness I’d shown them before. "Three more games," I said, turning back to the screen. "And then we’ll see who really wins."
With that, I turned away and sat on my sest, leaving them to sit in the mess of emotions I’d stirred up.
I stand there, watching the flicker of the screen, the room heavy with silence. My eyes drift over their faces, waiting for the panic to sink in. Some of them are already on edge, others still trying to make sense of what they’ve seen. But that’s not my concern anymore. The next game is about to begin.
I take a deep breath, a slow smile creeping onto my face. It’s time to move things forward. The fifth game. The game of trust.
The room shifts as I stand straighter, capturing their attention. “Listen up,” I say, my voice echoing through the chamber. “You’ve made it to the fifth round. But don’t get too comfortable. This is where things get... interesting.”
I can feel the tension rising, the way their eyes widen, their bodies stiffening. They know it’s not over yet. They know there’s more to come. I step closer to the edge, my gaze sweeping across the room.
"This next game," I continue, "is simple. It’s a game of trust." I let the words hang in the air for a moment, watching their confusion build. “Six participants. Two to a team. One will be given a weapon. The other won’t.” I pause, watching as they start to shift in their seats. “The question is, can you trust your partner not to use that weapon against you?”
Their eyes dart around, some of them already whispering to one another, but I raise a hand, silencing the room. “There’s only space for six players. That means five of you will get to sit this round out. But here’s the catch—you have to decide who plays. You can vote, or you can... convince others to take your place.”
I smile wider, feeling the electricity in the air, the panic spreading. “You can fight. You can manipulate. You can force someone to step into the battlefield. Whatever it takes to survive.”
I watch their reactions carefully, some of them already tense, others whispering frantically to each other. They’re all trying to figure out how to stay safe, how to avoid being chosen. Good. Let them squirm. Let them tear each other apart.
Without waiting for more questions, I lift a hand to the screen behind me. With a flick of my wrist, the board flashes to life, numbers swirling across it before six random numbers appear in bold.
1.
2.
3.
4.
5.
6.
The numbers linger there, taunting them, daring them to make their move. I can already see some of them tense, fists clenching at their sides. But they’re still hesitating. Still waiting.
I raise my voice, cutting through the whispers. "You have five minutes to decide. Good luck."
The silence shatters.
Immediately, the room erupts into chaos. Shouts, curses, bodies pushing against one another. Some are pleading, begging not to be picked. Others, the stronger ones, have already started moving, throwing punches, shoving others toward the center.
I lean back, folding my arms, watching as they begin to turn on each other. This is what I wanted. The breakdown. The desperation. It’s fascinating to watch how quickly fear takes over, how easily trust dissolves.
I see Lucas shoving someone back, his face hard with determination, while Abigail pleads with Finn, trying to stay close to him, trying to stay safe. But it’s not just them. I hear Alex growling at someone, his fists clenched tight as he steps between a couple of the players, daring them to fight him.
But then, there’s Noah, standing at the edge, watching the chaos unfold, his eyes narrowed. He hasn’t moved yet, hasn’t spoken. But I know him. He’s waiting. Calculating. He won’t act unless he’s sure. But he’ll make his move, eventually.
They’re running out of time, and they know it. Fists fly, bodies collide, and I can hear the panic rising in their voices. Some are screaming, others bargaining, trying to get someone—anyone—to step into the ring for them.
I clear my throat, my voice cutting through the noise. “Four minutes left. You might want to hurry.”
They don’t need any more encouragement. Punches are being thrown harder now. Some of the players are practically being dragged toward the center, others still trying to fight their way free. I can feel the desperation radiating off of them, the fear. 
It’s almost beautiful.
I hear someone scream as they’re shoved forward, a body hitting the floor hard. Abigail clings to Finn, her voice barely audible in the chaos. “We have to stay together. Please. Don’t leave me.” Her words are desperate, full of fear. But Finn isn’t looking at her. He’s watching Noah. Watching, waiting for him to make his move.
But Noah stays still, his eyes cold, unmoving.
“Three minutes,” I call out, letting my voice carry over the noise.
Now it’s pure survival. No more bargaining, no more deals. It’s violence. It’s chaos. And it’s perfect.
I can feel their fear. I can see the way their trust breaks, shatters, as they turn on one another. This is what the game was meant to be.
A faint sound cuts through the chaos, something small but sharp, like a shift in the air. I glance toward it, noticing someone stepping forward. It's Nathalie. She moves with purpose, each step more certain than the last, heading straight for the battlefield.
Before I can fully register the moment, she’s already there, standing tall, her eyes locking onto mine. Cold. Unbothered. Almost like she doesn’t care about the madness happening around her. There's no fear in her stare, just courage. Pure, unshakable courage.
I smirk to myself. Impressive. Nathalie’s learning fast, streaking through the chaos, figuring out how to survive in this mess. She’s not the same timid girl from before. No, she's becoming something else, something stronger.
But then, Finn’s voice breaks through. 
"What the hell are you doing, Nathalie?" he shouts, storming into the battlefield. His voice is full of disbelief, almost like he can’t believe what he's seeing. "Are you crazy? You don’t need to do this!"
They start arguing, right there in the middle of everything. Their voices cut through the air like knives, sharp and full of tension. They argue like a couple that’s been through too much already but can’t help but care about each other.
I love it.
I fold my arms, leaning against the wall, watching the scene unfold with a strange kind of satisfaction. This is what I wanted. This moment. The chaos, the emotions spilling out, raw and real. It’s beautiful in its own way.
I clear my throat, looking at Finn. His face is red with anger, his fists clenched at his sides. He’s furious, completely thrown off by Nathalie’s choice.
"Finn," I say, my voice calm but with a hint of amusement, "once you step into the battlefield, you’re officially part of the game. There’s no going back now."
He glares at me, his face full of frustration, but I just shrug. Rules are rules, after all.
"You really couldn’t stay out of it, could you?" I add with a small, bitter laugh. "What a perfect moment for lovebirds to argue in the middle of all this." The sarcasm drips from my voice, and I can see it only makes Finn angrier. But I don’t care. This is entertainment. This is the game.
Before Finn can respond, Noah’s voice comes out of nowhere, calm but firm.
"Since Finn and Nathalie are now players, I think it’s only fair we bring two more into the game," Noah says, his eyes scanning the room. "We still have people from the Blue and Red teams. Two of them should step in."
There are four of them left, and I can already feel their resistance building, their eyes darting around, looking for a way out. But before they can even protest, Noah moves. Quick as a flash, he kicks one of the boys in the stomach, sending him crashing to the ground. 
The others freeze, fear tightening their expressions.
Noah’s not done. He turns to the remaining three, his gaze hard and unrelenting, like he’s daring them to challenge him. But they won’t. Not now. Not after seeing how easily he took one of them down.
I watch the moment closely, my chest tightening with something like pride. Noah is good at this. He knows how to play, how to keep his emotions out of it while still using them to his advantage. He’s calculating, sharp, and I can’t help but feel impressed.
Eventually, two of the remaining players step forward, trembling. They don’t have a choice. They know it. We all know it. They enter the battlefield, their fear practically radiating off them.
I glance at the screen as their names flash across it.
1. Nathalie  
2. Finn  
3. Caleb  
4. Vince  
Two more left.
Just when I think things are settling, Noah steps into the battlefield, his presence commanding. He doesn't say anything, just walks in like he belongs there, which he does. The tension in the room shifts again, and I glance over at my father, who’s sitting there, watching but not really watching. Like he’s not even paying attention to the fact that these players are about to tear each other apart. Coward.
Suddenly, Alex shoves another player toward the battlefield, the kid barely keeping his balance as he stumbles forward. "Oops, sorry," Alex mumbles with a smirk. "My leg slipped."
The other player is ready to fight, fists up, but it’s too late. The moment has passed. They’re all in now.
I stand up, letting my voice carry through the room. "Alright, the fifth round is about to begin. You have three minutes to prepare yourselves."
The room falls silent, all eyes on me.
"Let me remind you," I continue, pacing slowly across the front, "the players in this round have a special pass. After this, they’ll have the choice to skip the sixth round and go straight to the final round. But," I pause, letting the weight of my words sink in, "there will be no passes for the last round. And you can’t give your pass to anyone else. What’s the fun in that?"
I smile as I see the realization hit them, the way they start processing their options, their chances of survival.
"As for the rest of you," I say, turning to the players who are still watching, "you’ll have two more games to play. So, enjoy the show while you can." 
The room buzzes with energy, anticipation thick in the air.
This is what the game’s all about. Chaos. Fear. And the chance to survive—if they’re smart enough to take it.
I step forward, facing the big screen. My fingers hover over the controls for a moment, then I start scrambling the players’ names. The system does its thing, mixing and matching, while the tension in the room keeps rising.
Once the names finally settle, I watch the results flash across the screen. The six players’ names appear, paired up for their battles. A twisted smile tugs at my lips.
Nathalie going against Vince.  
Noah going against the weakest one, the one Alex forced to enter.  
Finn going against Caleb.
They’re so damn lucky. I can’t help but laugh, but it’s a bitter sound, filled with the unfairness of it all. This will only take minutes. It’s not even a real challenge for them. I wonder who will get the chance to hold a weapon, and who will be left defenseless. That’s where things might get interesting.
The three minutes pass quickly, and then, the sound of the bell rings loud, signaling the start of the fifth round.
I glance at the six players, standing next to their metal boxes. Each of them looks tense, their eyes flicking back and forth, waiting. Waiting for the right moment to make their move, to see if they’ll be the ones lucky enough to hold a gun, or if they’ll be left empty-handed, their fate hanging by a thread.
It’s Caleb who moves first. His hands reach toward his box, and the rest follow, almost in sync. Their fingers search frantically inside, feeling for that cold, deadly metal. The room is filled with the sound of shuffling, of hearts pounding.
I catch the moment when Caleb’s hand closes around the gun, and he pulls it out, a twisted grin spreading across his face. He turns to Finn, the empty-handed fool, and lets out a laugh that echoes through the room. Caleb already knows how this will end.
On the other side, Noah has the gun too, of course. And his opponent, the weak one, the one who didn’t even want to be here, is left defenseless. Pathetic, really. Noah doesn’t even break a sweat as he stands tall, gun in hand, his eyes cold.
My final glance falls on Nathalie. Her fists are clenched, knuckles white. Her metal box is empty. She has no gun, no weapon. But Vince, standing across from her, he has it. The look on his face says it all, he’s already tasted victory, and Nathalie, well, she knows exactly how much trouble she’s in.
I close my eyes for a second, letting the tension seep into my bones. I can already predict how this will play out. It’s all so predictable. The strong will crush the weak, and the lucky ones will walk away with the upper hand. I can feel one of the strong one will end their lives to this round, but who could it be? Nathalie? Finn? or Noah?
Still, part of me wonders… will any of them surprise me? Will any of them find a way to turn this around?