"Now listen up, everyone. I'll have you pick your poison," Crown announced with a playful smirk, his voice echoing across the room.
As the guards moved through the participants, blindfolds were slipped over each of their eyes, plunging them into darkness.
"Each of you will dig your hand into that jar," Crown continued, his tone light but laced with subtle menace. "Better hope you pick the right one."
Micheal shifted uneasily, his nerves heightened by the lack of information. He could hear the faint sound of Crown rolling something—probably one of those poker chips—on the tip of his index finger.
"What is this trial even about?" Micheal thought, his mind racing. Crown hadn't provided any explanation, leaving him and the others to stumble forward blind—both literally and figuratively.
When it was finally Micheal's turn, he reached out cautiously, his fingers brushing against the smooth, cool edges of what felt like poker chips.
"Uh… poker chips?" Micheal murmured to himself, confused. His hand instinctively grabbed a handful of chips from the jar before he paused, hesitant.
"Micheal, trust your instincts," he told himself, trying to drown out the uncertainty.
Taking a deep breath, Micheal released all but one chip, gripping it tightly before pulling his hand out of the jar.
Meanwhile, Crown observed the participants with an almost amused expression, flipping a poker chip effortlessly between his fingers. His faint smile widened.
"Now, the real trial begins," Crown announced cryptically as the guards moved to remove the blindfolds from everyone's eyes.
Micheal blinked, adjusting to the sudden light. He looked toward Crown, his confusion mounting.
"Why does he keep saying that?" Micheal thought, his gaze narrowing on Crown, who stood there with an air of mischief.
"Now, look at the number on your chips," Crown instructed, his voice cutting through the room. "The number you see will determine the camp you belong to from now until the end of this project."
Micheal's heart raced as he opened his hand, revealing the poker chip he had chosen. In the center of the chip was a bold, unmistakable number: 1.
Crown didn't miss a beat, beginning to segregate the participants into groups based on the numbers they had drawn.
"Please proceed with your groups to the respective locations assigned to you," Crown commanded with a casual wave of his hand. The guards moved efficiently, herding each group toward different exits.
As Micheal joined the group labeled "Number 1," he noticed Crown glancing at him, his faint smile still lingering, as though it carried a hidden meaning.
"What's going on here?" Micheal thought, feeling a knot of unease in his chest.
"Is he trying to manipulate me psychologically?"
He hesitated, his eyes narrowing at Crown's enigmatic smile.
"No, that expression… it seems to be communicating something. But what? Especially in a scenario like this."
Micheal's thoughts churned as he followed the other members of Group 1 out the door,
As Micheal was transported to an unknown location, he followed his group, walking behind four guards who guided them to their destination. The deeper they ventured, the more aware Micheal became of the strange and ominous nature of it all.
After some time, they arrived at a massive academy campus situated in the middle of nowhere. Micheal's steps faltered as he stared in shock at the imposing structure. It seemed almost surreal, its size and grandeur at odds with its remote and eerie surroundings.
As Micheal and the group stepped through the gates, their awe was interrupted by the cold, commanding voice of one of the guards.
"Welcome to your eternal abode!" the guard declared, his words echoing ominously.
Micheal's eyes widened in disbelief, his heart racing.
"Eternal what now?!" he muttered under his breath, trying to process the shocking statement.
The murmurs of confusion from his group mirrored his own disbelief, as many exchanged worried glances and whispered among themselves.
The guard's gaze swept over them with an air of finality. "From here onward, your survival lies in your hands," he said, his tone devoid of empathy.
Micheal felt a chill crawl down his spine.
"This whole thing just turned upside down," he thought, his mind spiraling.
First, there were the sinders, and now this project—everything seemed to be unraveling into a sinister facade. Was this some elaborate trial, or had they been trapped here for eternity under false pretenses?
"No, this has to be some kind of psychological thriller from him," Micheal thought, trying to piece it all together. Crown seemed to have started a psychological warfare against him right from the beginning.
"Bet it's all a game!" he thought, though a part of him couldn't shake the unsettling belief that the "eternal abode" might actually be true.