POV: Main Character (Caius Turner)
Morning came like a slap.
The announcement echoed throughout the estate, its synthetic calm slicing through the air like a razor:
"Three have died during the night."
"The Lovers… and the Cop."
"Kindly proceed to the meeting area for today's discussion and vote."
I froze.
The words didn't register immediately—like they hit a wall in my mind and refused to sink in.
Three dead?
The Lovers…?
The Cop??
The room blurred as I stumbled out, heading toward the meeting area like everyone else. A heavy silence hung over the hallway—then the door opened, and the chaos began.
"FUCK. FUCK. FUCK!!" The Soldier slammed his fists against the wall. His eyes were wild, bloodshot. "No—no, no, no! This is bullshit!"
Everyone stared. No one dared to interrupt.
"They just got lucky," he muttered to himself. "That's all. Just blind fucking luck… or maybe—maybe it's a false claim. Maybe it's a bluff—" His voice cracked. "No way we lost the Cop. There's no way."
And then he screamed.
"FUCK! WE LOST ONE OF THE MOST IMPORTANT PEOPLE! AND MY FUCKING FRIEND!!!"
In my mind. Friend? So the cop was 1 of the people when the soldier came to my room.
The room flinched at his volume. His rage was too raw, too real, and in it was the echo of something we all felt but didn't want to say.
We were screwed.
The civilian core was crumbling and the Cop, the one who could investigate roles thoroughly, the one who can kill the mafia team. The one we were supposed to protect, was gone.
I stood there, silent. I didn't cry. I didn't scream. Like them, But inside, something split—something cold crept into my chest.
I looked up.
17 left.
Including me.
And just then…
My phone buzzed.
I blinked and slowly pulled it from my pocket. A message flashed on screen:
Selene [Reporter]
"I had leads. I hope this can help."
My brows furrowed.
Why?
Why me?
Why not tell everyone? Why send this to me and not the group?
My fingers hovered above the screen before I typed:
"Why are you helping me?"
The typing bubbles appeared immediately.
Then came her reply.
"Because you're the only one still thinking clearly. The only one not distracted by fear. I trust your mind. I don't care about leading—I care about surviving. And maybe… because I want someone to remember me, if I vanish."
My chest tightened.
Her words were honest. Vulnerable. And yet…
And yet here I am. I thought bitterly, not even trusting her.
Still, I tapped the attachment she sent.
A name came up.
Reyna Solace – BILOQUIST (Mafia team)
What…?
A Biloquist.
Isn't Biloquist stands for puppeteer? Wait and suddenly it clicks. So the person who attacked us was really a civilian and it was controlled… by the puppeteer since a normal civilian wouldn't be able to do a killing unless its command or control by someone else… It all make sense now.
Reyna…
Quiet. Always observing…
I barely had time to think when another message buzzed.
But this wasn't Selene.
It was them.
The same unknown number from before.
"tik tok."
"Time is ticking."
"If you won't reveal your true self, you won't be able to win this game."
I stared at the screen.
Again with this cryptic crap. Again with these nudges toward something I wasn't seeing. Or refusing to see.
Reveal your true self…
What the hell did they mean?
What was my true self?
Was it the paranoid civilian barely holding it together?
Or something else?
Everyone in the room was arguing now. Voices rising. Accusations flung like daggers. But it all blurred behind the roar in my ears.
I clutched the phone tighter, my grip white-knuckled. Seventeen left. One more vote today. One more chance to get it right or bleed more roles into the hands of the enemy…
Reyna.
I looked at her across the room. She was calm. Too calm.
Maybe Selene was right.
Maybe… just this once… I needed to listen to someone else's voice besides the one screaming inside my own head.
But even as I considered it, I couldn't help but wonder—
How long before Selene disappears too?
And when she does…
Who will I be?
As people gathered and threw words like daggers, the room was buzzing with panic and desperation. It wasn't a discussion anymore. It was a verbal warzone—accusations overlapping like static, logic buried under screams of the people who are arguing.
Votes were cast in a rush. No one truly knew who they were choosing.
And in the end, it was Silas Dray who stood at the center of it all.
10 votes.
Only 2 votes were on Luther Hale, the soldier and 5 votes are undecided including mine.
The moment those results echoed through the speakers, something inside me clicked.
That many votes? That fast?
I narrowed my eyes.
I was right. Some of the mafia voted. Maybe most of them.
Silas wasn't a chaotic voice. He was quiet. Focused. Intent on studying the truth, not spreading lies.
Why would they choose him?
And then the voice of the announcer came, cold and mechanical:
"Silas Dray – Role: Detective."
Everything stopped.
Like a punch to the lungs, no one moved, no one breathed. The silence was deafening.
Then—
"FUCK!!!"
Luther erupted, his chair flying backward as he stood, face red with rage, hands gripping his own head like he was trying to tear the truth out of it.
"WE FUCKING MESSED UP! We killed the Detective?! Are we all fucking STUPID?! YOU ALL EVEN VOTED ME!!! ARE YOU ALL FUCKING SERIOUS THIS IS LIFE AND DEATH!!!"
People flinched at his voice, but no one dared to speak.
Silas didn't flinch.
He stood with his chin up and eyes burning.
And then he smiled.
A twisted, bitter smile.
"Fuck you all," he said through clenched teeth, voice shaking with fury. "I hope the Mafia wins. Every last one of them. If I die, I hope they make you all suffer. One by one."
There was no apology in his voice. No plea. Only contempt.
Then the lights cut off.
Total darkness.
Shuffling. Movement. A wet splash.
When the lights came back on—
Gasps tore through the room.
His head rolled going to the center and ended in a upright position of the round table, lips still curled in that final smile.
His eyes stared blankly toward the ceiling, lifeless but full of defiance.
His body?
Gone.
No one spoke. Not even the soldier. Not anymore.
Something had shifted.
It was no longer just a game of votes.
It was blood for blood.
And now, no one felt safe.