Across every television, phone, and computer screen in the world, the same broadcast played, unstoppable and unavoidable. People, no matter where they were or what they were doing, were forced to watch as a man with an unsettling grin dominated their screens. Zeyrix Veynith, clad in a disheveled suit and radiating manic energy, stood center stage. His every movement exuded a psychopathic enthusiasm, and his voice carried a strange blend of menace and cheer.
"Welcome! Welcome!" Zeyrix proclaimed, spinning on his heels like a mad conductor. His unending, twisted smile spread wider as he addressed his captive audience. "People of the world, I apologize for the interruption, but the show must go on! Today, I've prepared a special performance just for you."
Zeyrix gestured dramatically toward a group of terrified individuals, bound and gagged in their chairs behind him. The camera panned to reveal their tear-streaked faces, their muffled screams a chilling backdrop to Zeyrix's gleeful narration.
"These lovely ladies and gentlemen have the privilege of being my live audience!" he declared, spinning the camera back to himself. "But don't worry, everyone! You at home can enjoy the show too. Now, before our special guests of honor arrive, let's play a little game, shall we?"
The world watched in horror and confusion, questioning Zeyrix's sanity. His erratic behavior, exaggerated gestures, and unnerving grin made it clear that something was deeply wrong with him.
"The game is called Frizz Bi! It's simple, fun, and oh-so-entertaining," Zeyrix explained, holding up a frisbee. "Here's how it works: I toss this frisbee to one of my lovely participants. If they catch it, they're safe. But if they miss, they'll have to answer one of my questions. And if they get that wrong... well..."
Zeyrix's smile widened as he casually brandished a pistol. "...They lose their turn permanently."
He laughed maniacally, the sound echoing across the stage. One of the bound participants was dragged forward by Zeyrix, trembling and begging for mercy. "Lighten up! It's just a game," Zeyrix teased, throwing the frisbee into the air.
The captive lunged for it, but his shaking hands missed. Zeyrix sighed theatrically. "Ohhhh, too bad for you." He raised the pistol and aimed directly at the man's head. "Your question: What's the first step in starting a show?"
The man stammered, his face pale. "I... I think... maybe making banners? Advertising?"
Before he could finish, Zeyrix made an exaggerated buzzer sound. "WRONG!" he shouted, pulling the trigger without hesitation. The man slumped to the floor as Zeyrix laughed uncontrollably, his maniacal glee making viewers around the globe recoil in terror.
"Banner ads?! Oh, how delightfully idiotic!" Zeyrix mocked, firing another shot into the lifeless body. "No, no, no! The first step in starting a show is fear! Fear opens doors that determination never will."
The remaining captives sobbed quietly as Zeyrix turned back to the camera. "Now, everyone, let's give our performer a round of applause. Or would you prefer to join him?" The captives clapped frantically, their fear palpable, as Zeyrix took an exaggerated bow.
Meanwhile, in a concealed chamber, the group the seven displayed as shadowy figures watched the broadcast. Their faces were obscured, but their ranks were clear. The fourth-ranked member groaned, his voice filled with irritation. "Can we turn this off? This is so boring."
The fifth-ranked, the youngest of the group at fifteen, objected. "No fair! I want to keep watching!"
The first-ranked, their leader, spoke softly but firmly. "We don't have a choice. It's our duty to observe and gather information, no matter how distasteful it may be."
At the same time, Mark, Smith, Vanessa, Rin, Jack, and Miwafe sprinted through the streets, tracking Zeyrix's location through Smith's phone.
"This guy is insane," Jack muttered, his eyes glued to the screen. "He just shot another one!"
Smith's face was grim. "We have to stop him before more people die."
As they picked up the pace, the group braced themselves for what lay ahead.
Back on the stage, Zeyrix continued his game, selecting a new participant. This time, it was a woman, trembling as she was dragged forward. Zeyrix smiled wider, holding the frisbee aloft.
"Now, my dear, catch!" he shouted, throwing it with a snap of his wrist. The woman lunged but missed, collapsing to her knees in despair.
Zeyrix aimed the pistol at her, tilting his head. "Your question: Am I human or Seirei? Think carefully."
The woman hesitated, her mind racing. Zeyrix's appearance was too strange to be human, yet he didn't resemble a Seirei either. Finally, she stammered, "N-neither?"
Zeyrix chuckled, lowering his gun slightly. "Interesting answer. Not entirely wrong, but not entirely right. I'll let it slide... for now."
Before she could relax, he asked another question. "How do you think I managed to force every screen in the world to broadcast this show?"
The woman froze, unable to answer. Zeyrix's smile returned. "Wrong again," he said coldly, pulling the trigger.
At that moment, Mark and the others burst onto the stage. "Zeyrix!" Smith shouted. "It's over. Surrender now!"
Zeyrix's eyes lit up as he clapped his hands. "Finally! The special guests have arrived. Took you long enough!" His gaze landed on Mark, a flicker of interest crossing his face. "You... you're different", before he could announce that Mark had no standz he was interrupted by Smith.
"Enough games, Zeyrix. Come quietly, or we'll take you by force."
Zeyrix threw his head back, laughing. "Oh, you've got it all wrong. The show isn't over—it's just getting started!"
In a blur of motion, Zeyrix placed cards on each of their foreheads. Before they could react, Mark, Smith, Vanessa, Rin, Jack, and Miwafe found themselves in a strange, glowing purple room.
The group staggered to their feet, the oppressive atmosphere of the room draining their strength. "Where are we?" Miwafe asked, her voice trembling.
Jack groaned, clutching his head. "I don't know, but this place is messing with my powers."
Smith nodded, his expression grim. "I feel it too. It's like something's sapping our energy."
Only Mark remained unaffected, standing upright as he examined their surroundings. "We need to figure out what's going on," he said.
A large clock appeared on the wall, counting down from 15 minutes. Zeyrix materialized before them, his grin as wide as ever. "Welcome to the Purple Room! Here's the deal: complete the trials before the timer runs out, or the live audience watching goes boom!"
Back in the shadowy chamber, the second-ranked figure spoke up, his tone uneasy. "This is getting out of hand. Shouldn't we intervene?"
The first-ranked shook his head. "No. This region must learn to handle its own problems. They must reclaim the glory they lost when Kyoka left."
In the Purple Room, Mark confronted Zeyrix. "What did you do to us?"
Zeyrix chuckled. "Oh, nothing much. This room drains Standz from anyone inside it. Except you, Mark. You're quite the anomaly. But don't expect anyone to save you. The only way out is through my game."
As Zeyrix vanished, the timer began ticking. The team braced themselves, knowing they had no choice but to play along if they wanted to save the world.