Someone tried to crawl under the table. Another sobbed uncontrollably, shaking in his seat.
The voice cut through all of it, louder now:
"No one leaves the table. No one disobeys the rules. Elimination will be instant… No Mercy."
My ears rang. My hands were shaking. I looked down the long table at the blood. The corpses. The revolver still resting in its tray.
This was suicide.
"Now… let the game begin."
A chilling silence followed. Then the masked man stepped forward again slowly, composed, like this was some twisted banquet he was honored to host.
He reached for the revolver and placed it flat on the silver tray.
He spun it.
The revolver clattered against the metal surface. Everyone at the table held their breath. The chamber spun so fast it blurred. Light glinted off the barrel as it slowed… and slowed…
Until it stopped.
Pointing dead at a boy near the far end of the table. Seat 014.
He was maybe twenty. Skinny. Wore glasses. His lips were trembling.
