"I looked everywhere for the truth, and even till this day, I would die for it.
But in the land of lies, there is a truth that burns—
There is a king, and his name is not the devourer.
No... it is Liar."
Game Master:
"There seems to be some confusion," he said, his voice smooth and sharp.
"This game is not for your entertainment. If you survive, you'll be inducted into the Liar Games.
From there, you may claw your way up the ranks—if you have the stomach for it."
He scanned the crowd. His stare made you feel like he already knew your secrets and whatever pride you held.
"Most of you are expendable," he said, the words falling like stone.
"I'm not here for players.
I'm here for liars."
He made sure everyone heard.
Before we continue," the Game Master said, his voice cold as winter steel, "I'd like to offer a wild card."
The players leaned forward, eyes narrowing, breaths caught in anticipation.
"If one of you can correctly guess how the games will end—and survive until the end—you will win automatically. No need to fight, no need to betray. One answer. One chance, but it's a gamble, if you guess incorrectly it is your death.
The room went still, the silence heavy with possibility.
"The devices mounted in your cells have now activated," the Game Master continued, gesturing to the blinking panels that had sprung to life on the wall. "You'll find a single question displayed: How do you believe the game ends? You may type your answer at any point, but be warned. You only get one submission. If you die before the end, your guess dies with you. But if you live, and your prediction is right..."
He smiled faintly, the expression never reaching his eyes.
"You walk away. Alone. Free and victorious."
The silence was deafening. Some players exchanged glances, while others stared at their devices, minds already racing with possibilities.
"Now, let us continue," the Game Master announced, spreading his hands with theatrical precision. "To the game of life and death."
"So with that… the games continued."
"You see," he said, his voice calm and deliberate, "I believe in fate.
If you win these games, it won't be due to your strength, skill, or will.
It will be because the script decided it."
"No matter how hard you fight,
No matter how loudly you scream,
No matter how desperately you claw at fate,
It won't change a thing."
"This world doesn't bend for hope; it crushes it."
"No one escapes what's already been written. Destiny doesn't care about your dreams, your ambition, or your begging."
"We're all just pieces on the board. And the game?
It ended long before you took your first breath."
"So struggle if you must. Resist. Pretend you have control.
But in the end… fate always wins."
[A sharp buzz cuts through the room. The screen behind the Game Master glows blood red. A five-minute countdown begins.]
Game Master:
"Now… twenty-seven players will be executed at random."
"You have five minutes to prepare."
[Panic surges. Shouts erupt. Footsteps scatter. But in the chaos, two players remain still.]
Player 43:
"What… what is this…?"
Player 42 (rising from his bed):
"You're surprised?"
Player 43 clutched at his collar, fingers trembling. His glasses—perfectly maintained until now—slipped down his nose, but he made no move to adjust them. The perfect posture he'd maintained throughout the bureaucratic selection process had crumbled.
"I thought I was here for a test," he whispered, voice cracking. "I applied to the civil service exam. Passed every requirement. Perfect scores on ethics and governance." His hands clenched and unclenched. "I just wanted a career as a government official. To serve. To make things better."
The fluorescent lights caught the sheen of sweat on his forehead as he lowered his head, shoulders curving inward.
"And now I'm in some kind of... death lottery?"
Player 42 watched him, expression unreadable. The scar across his right hand caught the light as he folded his arms—an old wound, precisely placed. He'd been still as stone during the executions, neither flinching nor fidgeting.
"Well..." he said, measuring each word like a pharmacist with poison, "welcome, I guess."
His eyes, when they met Player 43's, held something between pity and calculation.
Player 43:
"This isn't what they promised. They said I'd be trained, evaluated… given a role in the system."
Player 42:
"They didn't lie, no not at all.
This is the evaluation. You're just seeing what lies beneath the surface."
(He looks around the room.)
"People think climbing the ladder makes them safe. But up here… the stakes are just higher. The blood is cleaner.
The rules? don't protect you.
They erase you."
Player 43:
"So what? That's it? We just stand here and wait to die?"
Player 42:
"That's up to you.
Some people run.
Some beg.
Some lose their minds in the final seconds."
(Glances at the timer: 3:17…)
"But you want to survive.
Player 43:
"Of course I do!"
Player 42:
survival here isn't about strength. It's about understanding the script.
And right now, we're being tested.
If you don't learn fast… you're already dead."
Player 43:
"But you just said it's all decided. That nothing we do matters, that is fate
Player 42:
"Is fate something we shape with our will, or merely a path carved before our birth? We chase choices, cling to the illusion of freedom, but every step feels like it was always meant to happen. Humans speak of purpose, of destiny, yet behind it all lurks the same silent truth:
We dance between possibility and inevitability—our actions carving channels through time while ancient currents guide our hands. Each decision both ours and not ours, each moment both created and discovered. We are authors writing in a language that existed before us, sailors steering ships upon waters that have their own mysterious tide. In our resistance, in our surrender, in our moments of creation and destruction, we find fragments of meaning within the great game.
That we have but one fate, and that is death."
Player 42:
"Most people think fate means helplessness.
But the truth? Fate is a river of whispered possibilities.
If you fight it blindly, it drowns you in its cold indifference.
But if you learn how it flows—where it narrows and where it widens—
You might ride its current long enough to glimpse what lies beyond the bend."
Player 43:
"...You talk like your experienced
Player 42's eyes reflect something ancient, something that doesn't belong in this moment. He doesn't reply.
Player 43:
"So what do we do?"
Player 42:
"We wait in the shadows of inevitability.
We watch for the moments between heartbeats.
And when the time comes—when the tapestry of destiny reveals a single loose thread—we don't hesitate to pull until everything unravels."
[Timer: 2:01... 2:00...]
Player 42 (voice barely audible):
"Fate is cruel.
But it's not blind."
(His fingers trace invisible patterns in the air.)
Player 42:
"You see... in these games of cosmic consequence, you're only a liar if your deception fails to become reality."
Player 43:
"So what's the point, then? Why orchestrate elaborate deceptions if truth always threatens to break through?"
Player 42:
"That's where you fundamentally misunderstand."
(A smile forms like a crack across porcelain)
"Lies aren't meant to withstand scrutiny.
They're meant to fracture certainty itself."
Player 43:
"...Fracture certainty?"
Player 42:
"A master of deception doesn't build fortresses of falsehood—he dissolves the boundaries of perception."
(He leans forward, voice dropping to a hypnotic cadence)
"He weaves lies and truth into such an intricate tapestry that even he forgets which threads were original and which were added later."
Player 43:
"So deception isn't merely a strategy... it's the fundamental nature of the game."
Player 42:
"Precisely.
The moment you question whether any reality is absolute...
The architect of illusion has already claimed victory."
He paused, a terrible knowing gleam in his eyes,
"But if I am to be completely honest,
I am that liar."