Orion Lee strolled down the bustling sidewalk, the sun barely peeking through a blanket of ominous clouds.
His thoughts flowed into the voice recorder tucked in his pocket.
"April 5, 2062. 12:45 PM. No classes this afternoon," he noted, keeping his pace steady.
The rhythm of his footsteps matched the low murmur of the crowd around him.
The phone in his hand felt heavier than usual.
It was a special device—one that couldn't make calls or connect to the internet.
It only ran an app ominously titled "Death Without Face."
He had been added to a group chat with ten other anonymous members, a decision made without his consent.
"I never wanted to be a part of this," he muttered under his breath.
Yet, despite his reluctance, curiosity gnawed at him, particularly about one player who might hold the key to unraveling the mystery of his parents' deaths.
With determination, he made his way to a nearby noodle shop, hoping the comforting aroma of ramen would soothe his frayed nerves.
As he stepped inside, the warm air enveloped him.
"Welcome! What can I get you?" the cheerful server asked.
"A bowl of ramen, please," Orion replied, taking a seat by the window.
The clatter of chopsticks and laughter from other customers surrounded him, but his mind was elsewhere.
He couldn't shake the name that had been dropped by the antagonist—Mr. Colondo.
"What is your connection to all of this?" he pondered, stirring his bowl.
His thoughts swirled like the steam rising from the noodles.
Could Mr. Colondo be linked to a powerful corporation financing the desperate players' debts?
The thought sent a chill down his spine.
He pulled out his phone, the screen illuminating his face in the dim light.
Just as he began to eat, the device buzzed in his hand, interrupting his thoughts.
Opening the app, he was met with a notification: The game starts in five hours. Read the rules sent to your email.
"Great," he said, rolling his eyes.
Navigating to his email, he opened two new messages.
The first detailed the game rules, and he began reading while savoring his meal.
The rules were clear yet unnerving.
"This isn't just a game," he murmured, feeling a knot form in his stomach.
As he read on, the implications of the game settled heavily on him.
It wasn't the typical killing game he had encountered in tabletop scenarios.
"Death Without Face" had taken the concept to a chilling level of reality.
There were eleven players, each with a tarot card representing their identity in the game.
Each card was part of a greater arcana:
"Death," "Wheel of Fortune," "Fool," "Magician," and the four aces of the minor arcana.
He absorbed the details, each line steeped in danger and intrigue.
The "Death" card was particularly foreboding.
The holder could kill another player at the end of each round—either directly or through a hired killer.
The consequences were profound, as surviving players would face the fallout from these actions.
Minor arcana players could inherit the abilities of deceased "Death" holders, but alliances were not an option.
"There can be multiple 'Death' holders," he whispered, his mind racing.
The role could shift among players, creating a chaotic battleground with shifting loyalties and dangers lurking at every corner.
As he finished his meal, he couldn't help but feel unimpressed by the idea of a mere killing game.
"I thought it'd be more creative," he scoffed, shaking his head.
But as he stood to leave, the weight of the reality settled in.
This was not just some game.
It was a life-or-death struggle, a twisted reflection of his own reality.
He stepped out into the bustling street, the world around him a blur of colors and sounds.
But the closer he got to the game, the clearer everything became.
His mind flashed to the mysterious player he'd heard about.
What secrets did they hold?
Would they help him uncover the truth behind his parents' deaths?
He couldn't ignore the ominous feeling that had settled in his gut.
This was a game of chance, but the stakes were higher than he could imagine.
He decided to head to the university library, a quiet place where he could gather his thoughts and research more about the game and its players.
His steps quickened, determination pushing him forward.
As he approached the entrance, he felt his phone buzz again.
Another notification from "Death Without Face."
"Time to find out what kind of game I'm really playing," he murmured, glancing around to ensure no one was watching him too closely.
Inside, the library was calm, the scent of aged books filling the air.
Orion made his way to the computer terminals, searching for any information related to the game.
He needed to be prepared.
After navigating through various forums, he found sparse details about previous players and their fates.
He stumbled upon a cryptic message: "Only the brave survive the night."
"What does that even mean?" he whispered to himself, feeling a chill creep up his spine.
Suddenly, he noticed a figure lurking in the shadows at the back of the library.
The person seemed to be watching him, their face obscured by a hood.
Orion's heart raced as he tried to focus on the screen in front of him.
"Just my imagination," he muttered, but unease settled within him.
After a few more minutes of searching, he closed his laptop, frustrated.
He had found little of use.
"Maybe the group chat will have some answers," he decided, pulling out his phone.
But just as he was about to open the app, the figure approached him, their footsteps echoing in the quiet library.
"Orion Lee?" a voice called out, smooth yet commanding.
He looked up, startled.
"Yes?" he replied, trying to keep his tone steady.
The figure stepped into the light, revealing a sharp face with piercing blue eyes.
"I have information about the game," they said, leaning in closer.
"Who are you?" Orion asked, his instincts screaming for caution.
"Someone who knows more than they should," the stranger replied, a cryptic smile forming on their lips.
Orion's heart raced.
What kind of information could this person possess?
He felt the tension mounting, as if the game had already begun.
And suddenly, he realized—this was just the beginning.
"Do you want to know how to survive?" the stranger asked, tilting their head slightly.
"Yes," Orion replied, curiosity piqued despite his reservations.
But as the stranger leaned closer, their breath mingling with the air between them, Orion couldn't shake the feeling that this encounter was a turning point.
"Let's talk," they whispered, pulling him into the shadows.
But as he followed, a question echoed in his mind:
Was he stepping deeper into a trap, or closer to the truth?